> i haven't written in a long time. it's good to be back.
× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141.
Part 1
Traitor.
That's what Price thinks as Simon and Soap drag you from the table, nearly choking on your food as they give you no time to understand what's going on.
Alarms ring in your ears as you force the piece of stale bread down your throat, trying to stand on your feet but they're taller than you, so your feet end up dangling, useless. You take a deep breath, your voice shaking as much as you are.
"What's going on? Is this some kind of sick joke?", you ask, looking at Simon, desperate to find an explanation for this other than the anger and torment in his eyes.
Simon doesn't answer. Nobody does. Soap's grip tightens, but he doesn't say anything, his expression hard.
No.
No.
You can tell they are not joking when you realize they're taking you downstairs. Sweat rolls down your face, fear creeping from the base of your neck to your toes, making you snap. You beg them to tell you what's going on, to explain why you're being dragged down there. You kick and struggle, a sob ripped deep from your chest as you start screaming, begging for a reaction. And then, pain.
Tears fill your eyes when it's Simon who hits your stomach with his fist, effectively shutting you up. You can smell the blood from past tortures mixed with bleach, and, distantly, the scent of forgotten wet rags. There's something salty in the air, and that's when you freeze, the pain in your stomach becoming nothing compared to the fear that grows in your chest.
They know you.
You've been with them for nine years. They know your fears.
"No. No. Please. Simon, Johnny— Please, please, please" you beg, sobbing as you can't do anything but go limp and heavy in their grip, doing the best you can to keep them from tying you to the chair. But it's useless.
Stars and colors dance behind your eyes as a fist connects with the side of your chin. You wonder if it would be better if they made you pass out right now. Maybe if you bite your tongue, it could—
"Gag her" Price tells them.
He's trained you for nine years.
He knows you.
You try to bite down on Johnny's fingers as he stuffs your mouth with an old rag, but it's difficult when your senses are unfocused after such a hard punch. The rag wet and disgusting, the scent and the taste making you sob again, shaking your head, your eyes big as you look at Simon.
Please.
Then a wet rag is pressed to your face. You inhale sharply as cold buckets of salty water are dropped right on your face, the cloth making it impossible for you to breathe. Salty water fills your lungs, making you choke and cough around the gagging rag.
You can hear questions, accusations, but you're paralized with fear, with pain and grief.
Grief.
They've been your friends, your family for so long. It's impossible to tell if you'll live through this. It's impossible for you to think of them as anything but monsters.
You know they usually did this with traitors, with enemies when it was necessary.
And you know they never enjoy it.
You've scolded Simon for smoking so late at night, you've had so many drinks next to him when he can't even speak. Simon often flinches awake from nightmares, startling you and then sharing quiet nights side to side.
You know this.
But then Simon hits your face again, taking the rag out of your mouth, and you can't find the love you have for him. It's expelled from your body with each hard cough, with each drop of blood falling from your nose.
"Did you not hear me?" Price demands, his arms crossed. "I'll ask one more time, then."
Smack.
Your chest is heaving, the fear so paralizing you can't even feel each punch as much as you should.
"What did you tell them?" Price continues, not looking one bit anxious for you to answer. He stands in front of you, his feet dry despite the salt burning your lungs.
"I don't know what you're talking about" you manage, looking up at Price, your eyes wide and bloodshot.
With a hard yank on your hair until your head is thrown back again, you're gagged once more, and the rag is pressed to your face. The salty water keeps on filling your lungs, unable to breathe, unable to cough around the gag.
You can't say anything. You truly don't know shit.
Hours later, when it becomes clear you won't speak, Price kicks you across the chest, hard, and the chair flips back.
You're tied up to the chair, exhausted and wet, your lungs burning with salt.
Memories of you as a child, nearly drown to death by your cousins, fill your mind. It had been a good day, until it wasn't.
Simon had held you when you told him, kissed you, and tucked you in for a good night sleep.
Johnny managed to make you crackle when you told him, patting your head, and saying your cousin had awful skills.
Now, there's nothing. Nothing but pain, and the burning in your lungs.
Price, who was sitting on the patio of Simon's newly painted house, sharing a beer with the man under the afternoon sun as they talked about renovation. Two men, shirtless under the sun, glistening sweat trickling down their chest as their belt bulges, hair pushed back with sweat and glittering under the sun.
Nikolai and Soap, who have suddenly never understood each other more. Why Soap would choose a man so unserious and brooding, why Nikolai would shag his captain after every damn mission. Because he would too, if he ever saw Price walking around like that.
When soap gets home from being deployed, as much as he wants to pounce on you and ravish you within seconds of laying his eyes on you.
If it happens to be that he’s arriving home in the middle of the night and you’re already asleep. He’ll let you sleep.
Slipping under the sheets next to your sleeping form and pressing himself up against you. He’ll just bask in the calmness of this moment.
Before he feels his eyelids going heavy and he lets sleep take over.
But don’t think you’re safe just because he’s letting you sleep. Oh no. He’s letting you gather up your energy.
Because the minute he feels you start to stir and your body moves against his.
He’s on you.
You open your eyes to just a face full of soap as he hovers above you, not even letting you muster up a “good morning” before he’s pressing his lips against yours.
His hips rut up against your body automatically. His cock hard within seconds.
“Johnny!” You manage to say in between the attack of his lips against yours.
“Just need a lil’, Bonnie. That’s all.” He mutters, before slipping underneath the covers and nestling in between your legs.
Hooking his finger round the crotch of your shorts, he pulls the fabric aside before running his tongue through your folds. His mouth latches onto your clit, sucking it into his mouth, before dipping back down to your entrance and lapping his tongue in the mess he’s made of your sweet pussy.
“Johnny.” You sigh, feeling your eyelids go heavy as you relax into the bed and into the feel of him taking care of you and himself.
“Shh, sh, it’s okay.” He says, pulling the covers back to peer at you from where he lays between your legs. “Go back to sleep.” He says, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, before going back to lapping at your pussy.
Letting your eyes flutter shut, you give your body over to Johnny. Knowing he’ll be good to you.
He always is.
Caging you with his body, Johnny allows his cock to spring free of his boxers before lining himself up with your entrance.
Pressing a kiss to the centre of your forehead Johnny pushes himself into you. His body molding against yours as if you were one. Nestling himself to the hilt he slowly rocks his hips into yours. Your pussy squeezing around his cock even though you’re asleep right now.
He drops his head into the crook of your neck, sucking at the delicate skin between your neck and shoulder, as the steady rhythm of your breathing fills his ears.
His hips roll, dragging his cock against the soft walls of your pussy as he admires the small purple bruise he’s left behind on the crook of your neck. Smiling down at your sleeping form. You look so calm and at peace as he gazes down at you.
His hips rock and stutter before he’s finishing inside of you. Gently lowering himself on top of you, he grasps ahold of your sleeping figure and pulls you with him as he rolls onto his back. Wrapping you up in his big arms, he keeps his cock buried inside of you. Allowing the mess to be a later issue as he too drifts back off into a blissful sleep.
requested?: no
pairing(s): john 'soap' mactavish x afab!reader x smon 'ghost' riley
genre: smut
warning(s): threesome, smut, unprotected sex, reader is a virgin, oral (f&m recieving) doggy style, probably the best ever aftercare which has ever been written on this blog, masterbation, fingering, overstimulation, spanking (ass and pussy), orgasm denial, slightly oc!reader (she has a cat, change it if you want), simon not being a cat person (he calls reader's cat a rat), a LOT of mentions about sex before it acc happens, reader is rlly living the y/n life icl, dom!simon, dom!johnny, sub!reader, light choking, lap dancing (soap gets a lap dance from reader), breast-play, dry humping, kinda pervy characters icl, mentions of porn, johnny whimpers like once, reader is insecure about how her titties sit (dont be insecure about them my loves, you are all perfect), finger sucking, degredation, praise at the end, not proof-read (i was writing this at 1am and posted it today), hair pulling, squirting
summary: 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘰𝘩𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺
word count: 5.1k (i cooked bro)
a/n: first ever threesome on this blog and the longest fic i have written thus far. remember to eat and drink something, love yas, mwah! -Cilla (p.s. i ate this up)
it was another sunday, the night before you went back on deployment with the rest of tf141. you were excited, but albeit nervous. price had debriefed you all and told you it would be an especially hard mission. he hadn’t told you what the goal was or what you would be doing while you were gone.
since it was so close to deployment time, you were all cutting down on alcohol since you all wanted to stay healthy. it was a tradition at this point for you, ghost and soap to go out for mocktails and a meal. simon went begrudgingly, only because you and johnny had begged him oh-so nicely to go with you both. he didn’t know why he agreed, but as much as he acted like he didn’t, he did enjoy being there with you both.
today was like no other, you were all laughing over drinks with no alcohol and the best burgers you had ever had in all of your lives put together. but this time, johnny was going on about a recent rendezvous he had with a woman a few nights prior. he was going into a lot of detail for someone who was usually so secret about his love and sex life.
as he was talking about the things he had done to her (eating her out, fucking her in doggy, etc) something twisted in your gut. you felt jealous, but also something else. you didn’t know how you felt, but one thing you certainly felt was jealousy. you squirmed in your seat as you chewed on the straw of your finished drink.
simon was an observant man. and he was also sitting next to you. he had seen you squirming in your seat, and he was definitely smirking under that stupid ghost mask he always wore. however, johnny didn’t realise how… ‘uncomfortable’ you were getting. he kept talking about what he had done to her, and god was it filthy.
you had always found johnny and simon rather attractive, especially since you had always seen them on duty, their big arms holding the guns they could very much end a life with. they could bith very much end lives with how massive their biceps were, and sometimes they did. you wondered sometimes what it would be like if they squished you in-between their biceps, how it would feel when you slept on them, how it would feel when you bit into them due to the immense pleasure they were giving you.
you saw almost every part of them. their chests, their abs, their v-lines, their massive biceps, their happy trails, every part of them. you saw them shirtless every single time you were laying low at a safe house during a mission. you went practically crazy every time, and almost every time, you ended up with your hands stuffed inside of your panties. you were never able to come from it. you needed more than just your nimble fingers playing with your clit.
you were broken out of your daydream when you felt a nudge. simon was looking down at you from where he sat. you were now slightly slumped in your chair, johnny still hadn’t stopped ranting about his one night stand with the girl he didn’t remember the name of.
“you alrigh’ lovie?” he asks gruffly, his chest moving with every word, you watched it move. his eyes squinted as you did so. he was either grinning or his brows were furrowed, either one would still make him look hot. you had only seen him without his mask once.
you remember it clearly. he was getting dressed after a shower. his mask was off as he didn’t expect anyone to walk into the room unannounced. you walked in as you had just gotten to the safe house after being separated on the mission. you were wanting to ask him what he thought about the choice johnny had made for dinner that night when you saw he had no mask on. your mouth fell completely open. you stood there and stared at him for a good few minutes before he finally snapped you out of your daze.
“like what you see, lovie?” he asked. and god, you did. his blue eyes, pale lashes. god, he looked amazing. you couldn’t even speak. and you didn’t.
you stood there and gawked until you heard soap bounding up the stairs. simon put his mask back on, though he still remained shirtless. you had your phone still in your hand, although it had turned off god knows how long ago.
“wha’s takin’ so long, bon? are we gettin’ a chippy or not simon, I fancy a kebab so it better be a yes” soap stood next to you in the doorway. you and simon stared into each other’s eyes for a moment longer, sharing something of understanding.
“lovie was just giving me ideas on what to order” johnny obviously took that to his advantage and began to talk about what was the best things to get from a chip shop.
eventually you had all come to a conclusion on what you wanted, and simon offered to go out and get the chippy. obviously, you wouldn’t forget what happened with johnny after that.
simon snapped his fingers in front of your eyes, bringing you back to the covert of the pub. you had all finished eating a while ago, and you just continued to chew on the plastic (shocker) straw of your mocktail.
“you alrigh’ bon? you’re very quiet tonight” soap observed (another shocker). you didn’t say anything and only nodded. he furrowed his brows, “ye sure, bon, you would’ve usually chewed my head off abou’ worrying about you by now” he asks, his tone slightly teasing.
“i’m fine, really, just thinking about what i’m gonna do when i get home tonight” it was a white lie. you were wet and you knew it, but you refrained from rubbing your thighs together as you felt it would make it a lot more obvious.
“are ya not gonna be a crazy cat lady when you get home?” he teases. you glare at him.
“i have one cat. one. besides, he’s in the catery for a while until i get back from deployment” you say, putting your empty mocktail glass down on the table in front of you. you fold your arms.
“wow, never woulda thought you would put that rat somewhere where he would be away from you for a long time” simon chuckles, you thwack his arm.
“i’m not gonna leave him for however many weeks without being looked after by someone nice” you defend “and he’s not a rat” you add pointedly.
“alrigh’ bon, enough abou’ the cat. what are you doing tonight?” soap interjected.
“dunno, probably just watch a movie. or a kids show to make me feel better about the fact we’ll be going god knows where doing god knows what for around a month” you speak, and as you finished, you looked down at where your hands were in your lap. you started picking at the skin around your nail.
simon discreetly placed a hand over your knee, stopping it from bouncing. you smiled appreciatively.
“how’s abou’ you come stay with me and simon for the night, bon? we was goin’ to stay together tonight anyway since we can jus’ get up and go tomorrow mornin’ it would be no trouble if you decided to stay. really bon” his voice started off uncertain, but by the time he reached the end of it, it sounded like he was pleading you.
“i would, really, i would, but my bag is at my house and i-“ soap cuts you off.
“we can go get it before we go over to mine. bon, i know you’re worried about the mission and what better stress relief than to stay with your best friends in the whole world” he says with that massive shit-eating grin on his face.
“i’m not sure simon is my best friend. especially not after he called dusty a rat” you say with a small smile after thinking for a couple of minutes. simon pats your hand that he was still sort-of holding.
“well, i didn’ hear a ‘no,’ did you, simon?” he turns to the man with the mask.
“i didn’ either, johnny” your smile got wider at the response simon gave.
“well, its sorted then, sleepover!” johnny cheers louder than he probably should have for a middle-aged military man. luckily, people were to engrossed in their own conversations to nosey over at your conversation.
you didn’t realise when, but somehow the bill had come over, you thought maybe simon had called it over while you were talking with johnny about your ‘sleepover’. but before you even tried to open your purse to pay your share of the bill, simon grabbed it and put it back into your bag. you furrowed your brows.
“what good gentlemen would we be if we didn’ pay the bill for our little bon?” soap spoke up, placing some cash on the bill, simon followed suit and put some more cash on the bill. both of them out on more than enough to cover everyone’s food and at least a twenty pound tip.
“home time” simon says as he gets up. you grabbed your bag before following behind the two men who were walking in a single-file line.
you eventually got back to soap’s car. you sat in the back while the two large men piled into the front and johnny started driving. it wasn’t long before you were back at your house, asking before you left the car if there was anything else you should bring with you other than your bag.
“only those nice little brownies you make, bonnie” you smile softly and jog towards your house, unlocking the door and going to the kitchen, grabbing a small plastic box and putting the rest of the brownies you had made inside of it. you grabbed your pink duffle you left by the door. you locked the door and made your way back to johnny’s car. both of the men were staring intently as you made your way back.
you got into the back of the car and rested the box of brownies on the seat next to you, johnny turned back and grinned at you.
“the best bon in the whole world” he grinned before turning his head back on the road and drove to his house. it was fairly far away from your house, and you had always been someone who was quickly able to fall asleep in cars.
you fell asleep fairly quick, and you had a weird dream. or rather, maybe you could call it a flashback.
the night simon left for the chippy that johnny had pre-ordered (you all chipped in with the bill, well, you tried to. they didn’t want your money even when you insisted), you were sat on the counter in the kitchen. you were sat sipping on some lemonade in nothing but johnny’s oversized tee and some skimpy knickers when johnny walked into the kitchen.
your legs were in the way of the cabinet johnny needed to get to in order to get to the non-alcoholic drinks you had stored. but instead of being a normal person and asking you if you could move your legs so he could get a drink, he spread them.
but then again, it was johnny, what did you expect? you were flushed when johnny patted your thigh and said a small, ‘thanks bon’ before he left to go drink his drink in the lounge. you never forgot about that, especially that night when your slipped your hand into your panties and failed to make yourself come for the umpteenth time in your life.
you only woke up when you were in someone’s arms, your cheek pressed against that someone’s chest. you opened your eyes and looked up at who is was. you were met with a ghost mask and concentrated eyes, not looking at you, but the way forwards. you closed your eyes again and squished your cheek more against simon’s chest.
soon, you were layed down on what you assumed was johnny’s sofa. you pretended to be asleep for a little while longer until you heard the tv turn on. it was a random tv show that was on way past a child’s bed time, and because they still thought you were asleep, it was on a very low volume. you opened your eyes and peeked at what tv show it was.
you eventually got engrossed in the tv and was fully awake watching it. you assumed the two other men knew you were awake, but your assumptions were wrong when they started talking. about you.
“simon?” johnny asked, simon grunted gruffly in response, “why’d bon get so quiet after i started talking about having sex with that lass?” he was so ignorant it almost hurt, simon shot him a sideways glance.
“maybe because she wanted to be in her place” simon shrugged. you were already rigid, but somehow you managed to become more stiff.
“what? i always though’ bon wan’ed to have sex with you. that’s why i laid off off her” you almost rolled your eyes at his foolishness. almost.
simon looked over at you. that’s when you knew you were busted.
“mornin’ lovie” simon drawled. you gulped as you took in how he was sat. legs spread, an obvious tent in his pants. since simon was fairly comfortable with you and johnny, he also didn’t have his mask on. you could see how his face darkened when he took in that you were fully awake.
you sat up and stretched.
“is it true?” johnny spoke up from where he was sat. his ankle was resting on his other knee, his large bicep laying along the back of the sofa, letting his elbow downwards dangle from the back of the chair.
“is what true?” you tried to play innocent.
“oh, come on, bon. don’t try to be all innocent. did you want to be in her place? the girl i was fucking” he said it so plainly, so seriously that you flushed red and shuffled where you were sat.
“does it matter?” you ask, avoiding both men’s gazes and instead looking and fiddling with your fingers.
you were so busy playing with your own fingers that you didn’t realise that someone else’s had begun to lift your chin. the two men stood directly in front of you, making you have to crane your head fully to look up at them.
“yes, it does” simon said gruffly.
“because we can make it happen if you wan’ us to fuck you, bon” johnny husks. it was his fingers that had lifted your chin, and they were beginning to trail down to your neck.
“we can fuck you good. make you cum all over our fingers, faces and cocks- so good you won’t want to be fucked by anyone else after we’ve done with you” simon lusts next to him.
you squeeze your eyes shut. they didn’t know you were still a virgin, you never shared anything about your sex life, not to anyone. it was now or never to tell them, you squeeze your eyes shut.
“i’m a virgin” you practically squeak, and when you opened your eyes again, looking up at the two men in front of you through your lashes, they were well and truly gone. well, mentally.
“oh fuck” johnny almost moans, “you tellin’ me that tigh’ little pussy hasn’t been fucked by anyone? haven’t even made yerself come?”
“i’ve tried, but it never worked” you say shyly, a faint blush creeping up your neck, painting your ears and cheeks a shade of light-ish red.
“what did you think about when you tried, lovie?” simon spoke up.
“you two” you blush harder, the light red now turning almost a wine-red colour.
“oh fuck” this time johnny did moan, the bulge in his cargo pants becoming more and more prominent. “you know how to lap dance, bon?” it was an unexpected question, so unexpected that you thought you turned redder, if that was even possible.
you didn’t trust yourself with words, you knew you would just become a stuttering and stumbling mess, so you let yourself shake your head.
“tha’s alrigh’ lovie, johnny‘ll show you” simon drawled.
as johnny sat down, you were practically hauled onto his lap by simon. johnny’s hands instantly found your hips, kneading, squeezing and guiding. out of your peripheral, you saw simon sit down not that far away from where the both of you were sat, having a clear picture of the two of you. johnny dragged your hips down until your barely clothed pussy came into contact with his bulge. you gasped and your hips jerked, but they jerked downwards, applying more pressure down onto his clothed cock.
“oh fuck, bon, yer makin’ me so hard” he rasps from beneath you. letting his head fall onto the back of the couch, his throat bobbing with a swallow.
he continued to move your hips, moving them in a circular motion. you were now wishing you had worn better panties instead of your skimpy light pink thong. at least they made your ass look good.
you glanced over at simon, which proved to not be a good idea at all. he was palming himself with a look in his eyes, watching the both of you with the darkest most lustful look in his eyes. it made your stomach flutter, hips stutter, but your stomach burn with confidence. johnny’s hand was now travelling up your body to your breasts. he was now watching you too, hypnotised, transfixed.
he gave you a look when his hand hovered above your breast. you nodded and he instantly began fondling with it. grasping, pulling, pinching. you were out of your mind, and with your new-found confidence? you felt almost unstoppable.
you took control, guiding your hips in a seductive way, wiggling them, grinding down on johnny with such force he actually whimpered. your ego was growing within the second. johnny’s other hand began to also travel up your body, and when your thought he was going to play with your other tit, he kept moving it upwards, around the collum of your throat. he squeezed slightly, not enough to cut off your oxygen all together, but enough to make a statement.
you continued to grind against johnny’s cock. at some point, you even threw your head back for dramatic effect.
that was until you were hoisted up over someone’s shoulder, your ass given a small slap when you instinctively kick. it was simon. you could tell by the blond hair. you looked up and saw that johnny was following and that simon was taking you upstairs.
you didn’t know where you were until simon threw you down onto what you knew had to be a mattress. nobody moved for a few seconds until you spoke up.
“what’re we doing up here?” you barely had time to get your words out before someone’s mouth was on yours. you instantly melted into it, tugging whoever’s hair that was kissing you. soon enough, your mouth was pulled away from the mystery person’s and another mouth was placed on yours. you couldn’t tell, but you had a sneaking suspicion you were kissing simon first before johnny wanted a turn.
who you thought was simon began to kiss down your body until he needed to pull the sundress you had on, off. johnny (you think) helped pull off the sundress before reaching over to the nighstand and turning on a lamp so everyone could see better. your suspicions were right when you looked up and saw johnny hovering over you with red lips and simon was down in-between your thighs.
“oh fuck” this time it was simon’s turn to groan. “these panties are the best fucking thing i’ve ever seen on you, lovie” he said lowly, kissing the inside of your thighs, wrapping his arms around them, “gonna keep these on while i make out with this pretty cunt, okay lovie?” johnny was watching the whole exchange before looking down at your panties.
you saw his eyes close and he took a deep breath, very clearly fighting the urge to take over from simon and ravage you until you were begging for him to stop. luckily, you didn’t have to wait much longer after a comment simon made about being drenched that its soaked through your panties before he moved the thin pink fabric aside, spread your legs and put his mouth on you.
he licked a large stripe up your cunt. from your hole to your clit, giving his tongue a flick when it got there. your hips jolted and hands flew to simon’s hair as he did so, a silent prayer, urging him to keep going. you honestly barely paid any attention to the fact that you were almost fully naked in front of the two men until johnny started suckling on one of your tits. you didn’t like the way your tits sat.
you had watched porn, obviously, you were curious. and whenever you saw a female’s tits, they always sat so nicely. yours didn’t, and you felt insecure about it. simon never stopped devouring you, not listening to the conversation you and johnny were having and instead focusing on making you feel good, plunging a couple of fingers in occasionally and scissoring them as well as curling them into a really good place.
“i- oh fuck- i know they don’t sit nicely-“ johnny looked up at you as you spoke, never disconnecting his lips from your nipple, but he looked at you curiously. “they don’t sit as nicely as other girls’ tits do- i don’t like how they sit-oh fuck, simon keep going”
“no, simon, don’t keep going” johnny sat up with furrowed brows. simon stopped sucking your clit with a wet pop.
“you should taste her johnny, so sweet” simon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sucking on the fingers he had just taken out of you.
“how do you think her tits look?” johnny asks, staring down at you intently. you try to sit up, but johnny placing his hand on your throat stopped you. you laid back down.
“they look perfect, why?”
“she doesn’t think they do”
simons eyes widen, you sigh.
you were then lifted up, turned around and forced on your hands and knees.
“simon, you fuck ‘er mouth. make sure she swallows and makes you come before she gets to. keep ‘er quiet from saying absolute bullshi’” you try to protest, but before you could even make a sound, simon’s cock was shoved down your throat.
he groans and keeps your head steady while he made sure you weren’t going to gag anymore. johnny then leaned down and ripped your panties straight off, discarding them somewhere in the room.
“they were my favourite panties” simon says through a groan as you took him deeper into your mouth.
“you never saw her in any others” johnny says pointedly before leaning down for his mouth to become level with your cunt.
“they were still my favourite” you moan around simon’s cock as johnny shoved his full face into your pussy, thrusting his tongue inside of you, hitting all the right places that make you moan and gasp around simon’s cock, making him pull your hair and groan back.
you didn’t know how long it would take to make simon come, but you knew by how johnny decided to make him fuck your mouth, he would last a while. johnny had already denied you an orgasm three times and you were beginning to feel hopeless.
and he did, every time you began to feel some kind of knot forming in your stomach, it would simmer away simply because johnny took his mouth away as his best mate hadn’t come in your mouth yet. simon gave you little to no warning when he was about to come.
the thrusting into your mouth became shallow and sloppy, you thought he was close, and he was. simon came with a low groan, spilling every little drop into your mouth. you swallowed instantly, since you knew johnny said if you swallowed and made him come that you could come.
simon pulled his cock out of your mouth, prying your mouth open with his fingers, looking to make sure you had swallowed every drop.
“how did it taste?” simon asks lowly, johnny was behind you, slowly rubbing circles on your clit.
“salty” you reply softly, almost gagging as simon shoved his fingers down your throat.
“she can come now” simon agreed along with johnny.
johnny got back to it, licking your clit, sucking and teasing, all the while, simon had his fingers in your mouth, making you such and gag on them. luckily, it didn’t take long before you felt the coil beginning to tighten in your lower stomach you felt unreal as you let go.
you let out an outright pornographic moan as you came on johnny’s tongue. your saliva dripped down simon’s hand, your legs were shaking as you came, your first ever orgasm.
when you came down from your high, you didn’t have long to adjust to being back before a cock was nudging at your hole.
“can i fuck you while johnny fucks your little mouth? please lovie, need to feel you wrap around my cock so well” simon practically begs.
“yes-oh please fuck me” you practically spread your legs a little, the two men chuckle as you do so.
you didn’t look down at simon’s cock as it entered your hole. it was full, and it burned as it stretched you out, johnny also gave you a couple of seconds before he opened your mouth, letting you take his cock into your mouth. you gagged as it hit the back of your throat. it was definitely big. like simon’s.
simon didn’t move until you were ready. you nodded slightly, moving johnny’s cock further into your mouth. you gagged, but it soon turned into a moan when simon slid his cock almost entirely out of your hole before slamming it back inside, making you take more of johnny’s cock into your mouth.
“oh god” you moan around johnny’s cock.
“not god, just simon and johnny, lovie” simon retorted.
“shouldn’ talk with yer mouth open, bon. ‘s not very polite” the scot pipes up.
“you’re right, johnny. maybe we should teach our girl some manners” simon coos, running a hand lightly down your back before slapping your ass harshly.
you yelped and jolted forwards onto the cock in your mouth, you barely had time to recover before you felt a hand come down on your clit. you were still sensitive from before, so you squeaked and your hips jolted away from the man who had just slapped your pussy.
you felt a few more spanks on your pussy and ass. each one as unexpected as the others before simon began to piston his cock in and out of your hole. your pussy was tight around his cock, he told you so. as did the squelching noises in the room. you were moaning, drooling, whining and completely in bliss as you tried to make johnny feel good.
“oh, just like tha’ bon” johnny moans out, gripping your hair when you did something right. you didn’t know what, so you let johnny take more of the lead.
they both moved in tandem, the only thing you were doing was making pathetic little noises, as well as occasionally bringing a hand up to cup and massage johnny’s balls.
you didn’t know how much longer you could last, especially not when simon had then reached forwards and began to fondle with your clit with his ring and middle finger. the lewd squelching sounds were bouncing off of the walls of the house. it was times like theses where you were happy that johnny lived in a semi-detached house so his neighbours would not have to look at you differently.
you couldn’t give any warning about your oncoming orgasm, partly because you didn’t know it was about to happen yourself. but before you knew it, you had screamed out, the sound muffled by johnny’s cock, but still loud enough that the two men had heard.
you were coming down from your high when you felt liquid dripping down both of your thighs. you were completely soaked, and you could say the same for the bed sheets.
“so pretty, lovie, so fucking pretty. squirting around my cock like that for me? oh i’m gonna fucking come, you’re so fucking pretty with your juices dripping down your thighs like a dirty little slut, oh, you fucking like that, don’t you?” simon’s thrusts were growing more sloppy, but harder at the same time, working you through your orgasm. “i’m gonna come, gonna come all over this pussy, paint it with my come-oh fuck, i’m coming” simon says through gritted teeth.
“oh i’m coming too- fuck, gonna swallow my come, paint your mouth all white with it- oh fuck” both men tensed around the same time, simon pulling out and spraying his come all over your pussy, whereas johnny came down your throat.
you eagerly swallowed again, it was almost the same taste as simon’s, but a bit different.
when you all caught your breath, johnny spoke up first.
“shower?” simon nodded and so did you.
both men helped you onto your feet and helped you to the bathroom. since johnny didn’t have a bath in any of his bathrooms (crazy, right?) you had to make do with a shower.
both men helped you stay upright as they both cleaned you, johnny wiping your cunt in order to keep it clean while simon washed your hair. you then cleaned the two men off, and got out of the shower.
the men let you have your privacy while you peed (you read it somewhere, don’t judge a girl, it’s what you’re meant to do, okay?) and they changed the bed due to your most recent orgasm, and simon’s.
and then, you were all comfortable in bed, your head resting against simon’s chest. you were laying on your side as johnny cuddled you from behind.
“that was good” you whisper with a yawn.
“yeah? who was better, me or simon?” johnny asked jokingly, kissing your shoulder. simon shot him a glare and instinctively pulled you closer. “oh come on, we know it was me. i gave her first ever orgasm”
“i made her squirt” simon adds pointedly.
the scot went in a huff, but still held you anyways, you didn’t hear them bickering, you were already asleep and off in dreamland where scots and englishmen weren’t fighting over who was better at fucking you.
We have all heard dom!simon, dom!price, dom!kyle........
But (ahemahem)
I think all of us would like to see what's up with dom!johnny.........
hmm.......
hmmmmmmmmmmmmm...........
Well, dom!johnny is totally the type of guy to perch you down between his knees, looking at you with that smug smirk.
And you?
Yes,yes, a buzzing dildo sitting snuggly in your soft, already leaking cunt. Your cheeks were flushed with hues of pink and red, and oh boy, you loved it so much.
Johnny was just back from deployment, all horny and in severe desperation and need of your soft, wet, welcoming pussy. It would be utterly wrong to state that he didn't wank off his huge, girthy cock to your oh-so-naked photo. But now his sweet, pretty, dolled up wife was kneeling shakingly between his thick thighs, what does a man need more?
Your handcuffed wrists protested to just grab onto his thighs for support, only because your wet cunt was twitching all the time and poor baby couldn't take it. "Jo-Johnny, please, i- I ca-can't, ah!"
"Wan' it so bad, bonnie, ay?", he leaned to cup your sweltering and sweaty face in his one big hand, with his thumb gently caressing your drooling lower lip. He crashed his desperate lips with yours, tasting all your neediness in one go. The tip of his tongue explored deepest hidden corners of your chubby, warm mouth, only to increase the buzzing heat between your thighs.
"Pretty girl f'me, ay? Gonna be all warmed and dolled up at home when I supposed tae come back, and ain't expecting to taste this bonnie, little cunt of ya?", his voice becomes raspy and thick as he picks you up in one little sway. Your handcuffed wrists lay on his chest as you face him with fluttering eyelids and lips red from biting to muffle your moans.
You grind back against the dildo, hoping to get some friction on your poor clitoris. Your mouth falls open as Johnny splays his two large palms on your arse, both of them taking in the softness of your pretty skin. Boy, Johnny already had a tent pitched up in his cargos, the outline clearly visible. His right hand travelled to your puffy cunt in a nasty manner, gathered all that slick to coat his fingers with.
You jerked as your folds sensed the movement of the dildo as well as Johnny's fingertips near your aching clit. His left hand was now pistoning the dildo up and down your tired pussy, with his fingers circling your swollen clit in a messy rhythm. Your head involuntarily fell on the nook of his broad shoulders, with your bound wrists clawing at his rigid, toned chest. He was giving no mercy to your wet cunt as he chased your sweet climax. Your heavy, breathy moans intertwined with his guttural curses, as your arse met with innumerable thrusts that had your back arching in a perfect curve.
Johnny loved to see you like this. Johnny was obsessed with your incoherent mumbles, pleading him to slow down. Your body shook like the ripples in a calm lake. There were crescent-like, red marks on his carved shoulders, for you to admire later. You pleaded "Johnny,Johnny-", but Johnny was way pussy whipped for you.
"My pretty bonnie, doin' so,so good f'me. She deserves everything from me. Looking so cute getting fainted by jus' 'his. Ay, bonnie, there's long waey tae go, hmmm, my pretty, pretty baby"
Your knees threatened to give away, as the climax neared. Your head tilted back due the relentless, sweet torture on your poor cunt. The silicone head kissed that gooey spot inside you every fucking minute. Slick, white liquid was already flowing down your inner thighs. Your vision was watery, with only blotches of colours clear in your red eyes.
Johnny wasn't ignorant to all this, he was dealing the same with the much harder tent in his cargos. It would been a lie that he didn't dream of your dreamy, whipped, blushed up face beneath him. Having his face between your plush thighs, right on your pulsing cunt made him feel like the luckiest man to ever exist on earth.
"Fuck, Jo-Johnny!", the cool,white pleasure washed over you, but Johnny anchored the dildo right in you. Slowly pulling it out,he gazed at the dripping, warm liquid.
On Friday, Johnny MacTavish proposes with fairy lights, little dancers, and a choreography stitched out of your life.
Warning: Smut at the end 😉
26. Eight Counts to Yes
Johnny was awake before your alarm.
Not just awake—beaming.
Flat on his back, hands folded on his chest, staring at the ceiling like it had personally delivered him a miracle.
You rolled toward him, sleep-heavy and soft. "You're staring."
"I am," he said, positively glowing. "Mornin', love."
"You okay?" you mumbled.
"Aye."
"You're... smiling."
"Aye."
"Suspicious."
"Aye."
You squinted at him. "...Johnny what the hell."
He just grinned harder. "Nothin'. Jus' happy."
He kissed you before you could interrogate him further—quick, sweet, entirely in the way of a man hiding something wonderful.
You moved around your bedroom in the morning rush, pulling on leggings, an oversized sweatshirt, stuffing your dance shoes into your bag. You scraped your hair into a bun while walking, mascara applied in three practiced flicks, glitter from yesterday somehow still clinging to your collarbone.
Johnny watched the whole chaotic routine like it was art.
"You're adorable," he said, leaning against the doorway.
"Adorable? I look like the crypt keeper in athleisure."
He crossed the room, tipped your chin up with two fingers. "You look like the woman I'm gonna marry."
Your heart did a thing.
A big thing.
But you only nudged him with your shoulder. "You're gushy today."
"You like it."
"Unfortunately," you muttered.
He kissed your forehead and grabbed your bag. "Car's warm. Let's go."
Johnny could not stop touching you.
Hand on your thigh.
Thumb stroking the inside of your wrist.
Knuckles brushing your knee.
Another thigh touch.
Another.
"Are you nervous?" you teased.
"Nope," he lied, sweating.
"You sure?"
"Aye."
"You're fidgeting like a toddler waiting for ice cream."
He coughed. "Just excited."
"For?"
He paused. "Friday."
You narrowed your eyes. "It's literally just Friday."
He grinned. "Not for long."
Before you could demand answers, he pulled into the studio lot and hopped out, running around the car like a man possessed to open your door.
"Since when are you my chauffeur?" you laughed.
"Since always," he said, offering his hand with a dramatic bow.
"Stay here," he ordered once you'd set down your bag at the front desk.
"Why?"
"Orders."
"You're being so weird."
"Aye."
And with that, he sprinted out the door, returning ten minutes later with:
• Your exact coffee order
• Jenna's coffee
• Rhys's drink
• Two muffins
• A protein bar you pretend not to like but always finish
• A straw
• Napkins folded like a psychopath
You blinked. "Who are you."
"Your man," he said, placing everything in perfect rows. "Next question."
Around noon, while you were reorganizing costumes, your phone buzzed.
Johnny: check the front desk
You: Johnny what did you do
Johnny: open the bag
You: JOHNNY
Johnny: aye
He'd ordered your favorite wrap, a side of fruit, your preferred chips, and a tiny bottle of sparkling lemonade "in case you're feelin' fancy."
He appeared through the office door moments later, hands in pockets like he totally didn't just DoorDash your entire soul. "Eat."
You squinted. "Are you buttering me up?"
"No."
"You're absolutely buttering me up."
"Aye," he admitted.
Your evening block was always heavy—older kids, advanced combos, trick practice. You were busy enough that you didn't notice Jenna and Rhys slipping into the small studio with bags of supplies.
Fairy lights.
Flowers.
The taped circle on the floor.
The bluetooth speaker queued with the song.
Johnny did notice.
His stomach flipped.
He wiped his palms on his jeans.
He almost threw up.
He absolutely did a little fist bump in the hallway like an unhinged man.
He leaned in the doorway of Studio A, arms crossed, watching you teach the older class.
You didn't see the way his expression changed.
You didn't see how his chest rose and fell too fast.
You didn't see how he mouthed your counts with you—five, six, seven, eight—as if you'd carved the rhythm into him months ago.
You corrected a dancer's foot, demonstrating a line with your arm.
Johnny swallowed thickly.
"God," he whispered to himself. "I love her."
Jenna appeared in the doorway, hair wild, face flushed with excitement. Rhys behind her, barely containing a grin.
"It's done," Jenna mouthed.
Johnny's heart stopped.
He nodded.
She flailed her hands silently: GO GET MAGGIE.
He sprinted out like a man late to defuse a bomb.
Maggie arrived five minutes later with the twins. Glitter on their cheeks. Flowers in their hands. Confusion in their eyes.
"Uncle Johnny?" Leigha asked. "Why are we sneaking?"
"Mission," he whispered. "Respect and drama."
Maisie gasped. "THE QUEEN."
He snorted. "Aye. The queen."
"Good work tonight!" you called as the teens gathered their bags. "Remember pointe shoe fitting on Monday and—"
Someone spoke your name in the doorway.
You turned.
Johnny stood there.
But he wasn't smiling goofy or flirty or sarcastic.
He looked... steady.
Soft.
Shining.
Your breath caught. "Hey, babe. What's—?"
"Can you come see something?" he asked quietly. "In the small studio."
You blinked. "What is it?"
"Just somethin' we've been working on."
"We?"
He nodded toward Jenna and Rhys behind him.
"And us!" one of the twins squeaked, peeking out from behind Maggie's leg.
Your brows knit. "What's going on?"
Johnny swallowed. "...Come see."
He led you down the hallway.
Your heart started to race for reasons you couldn't name.
He pushed the door open.
And there it was.
Fairy lights draped across the barre.
Candles (the fake kind—studio-safe) glowing soft.
A little taped circle in the center of the floor.
Flower petals lining the mirror.
Your dancers' chairs pushed aside.
It looked like a scene from the softest dream.
"What... is this?" you whispered.
Jenna cleared her throat. "We, uh—made something. A little phrase. Will you watch?"
You nodded slowly.
Johnny guided you to sit against the mirror, exactly where you always evaluated their pieces.
And then the music started.
That song.
Your song.
The one from the sleepover dance.
From Our Sunday.
Your heart stuttered.
The twins walked out first, small steps, holding flowers to their chests.
Jenna and Rhys followed, moving in a phrase that was achingly familiar—your choreography language woven into a new story:
• The reach-fold-rise from your solo.
• The bow-to-the-wing from Hold the Line.
• A mirrored sequence from your juniors' lyrical piece last year.
• A weight shift you taught Johnny during the recital.
It was you.
It was all you.
Pieces of your life stitched into eight-counts.
And then—
Johnny stepped into the doorway.
Your breath punched out of you.
He didn't dance, not really.
He moved.
Shifted weight.
Turned a half-step.
Placed his hand on his heart on count seven like he was counting breath instead of music.
Your eyes burned.
Jenna and Rhys moved aside.
The twins approached him, each holding out a bouquet of lavender and white flowers.
Johnny knelt in the taped circle.
Your hand flew to your mouth.
He lifted his head and looked at you like you were sunrise incarnate.
"Come here, hen."
You stood—legs shaking—and walked to him.
The room fell silent except for your breathing and the hum of fairy lights.
Johnny took your hand.
His voice was steady.
Warm.
Full.
"From the first day you shouted at me for wearin' my shoes on your floor," he said, "I knew I'd found the most brilliant woman I'd ever meet."
A tear slipped down your cheek.
"You taught me how to count again," he continued, thumb brushing your hand. "How to breathe. How to live slow. You let me into your world—the lights, the glitter, the chaos, the beauty. You made me want a future I didn't even know to ask for."
Your chest cracked open.
He slipped a velvet box from his pocket.
"I love you. And I'm not leavin' again until your last name is MacTavish."
You sobbed.
"(Y/N)," he whispered, opening the box to reveal the perfect oval ring, catching the light like it had been waiting for this moment—
"Will you marry me?"
Your knees nearly gave out.
"Yes," you breathed, choking on it. "Yes. Yes, Johnny—yes."
He exhaled like he'd been underwater.
He slid the ring onto your shaking hand.
It fit perfectly.
The the room explodes.
Not physically—though honestly, if glitter cannons went off right now you wouldn't even blink—but emotionally?
Detonation.
The twins SCREAM.
Like feral, delighted, Disney-princess-on-caffeine screaming.
"HE ASKED!" Leigha screeches.
"SHE SAID YES!!!" Maisie shrieks.
Maggie covers her face with both hands and ugly cries into her sleeves. "FINALLY. OH MY GOD. FINALLY."
Rhys wipes his eyes like a man who refuses to admit he has tear ducts. "I'm not crying. I'm sweating from my corneas."
Jenna openly sobs and walks directly into a wall. "THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL," she wails, then hits the barre with her hip and limps back toward you. "I LOVE LOVE."
And you?
You're holding Johnny's face in both hands, kissing him like your name has already changed.
He laughs into your mouth—messy, breathless, shaky—and wraps his arms around you so tight your toes leave the floor. You bury your face in his neck and it hits you all at once:
You're going to marry him.
Your fiancé.
Johnny MacTavish.
A man who asked you to marry him under fairy lights in your favorite studio, on a floor you've spent your whole life dancing on.
It's perfect.
It's beyond perfect.
It's exactly right.
When he sets you down, he cups your cheek, thumb brushing a tear you didn't realize had fallen.
"Hi, fiancée," he whispers.
You hiccup-laugh. "Hi, fiancé."
The twins barrel into both of you at full speed.
"WE'RE FLOWER GIRLS!!!!" Maisie yells, jumping up and down.
Johnny ruffles their hair. "You two saved the day."
"We always do," Leigha says proudly.
"You absolutely do not," Maggie mutters through her tears. "But today? Yes."
Jenna rushes forward and grabs your hands with a squeal. "THE RING. SHOW ME THE RING. GIVE. GIVE. GIVE."
You lift your hand, still trembling.
Jenna nearly faints. "OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. IT'S SO YOU."
Rhys leans in and whistles. "Damn, MacTavish. You didn't hold back."
Johnny shrugs with a smug little smile. "Love of my life deserves the best."
You kiss his cheek and he glows like he swallowed the sun.
Maggie steps forward, still crying, still sniffling, still wiping mascara smears off her chin. She gently takes your face in both hands.
"You are... so loved," she whispers. "And you deserve every second of this."
Your lip trembles. "Thank you."
She hugs you so tight the ring glints over her shoulder.
Then she turns to Johnny—hands on her hips like the world's softest drill sergeant.
"You take care of her."
Johnny nods, instantly serious. "With everything I've got."
She breaks. "OH MY GOD I'M GONNA BE RELATED TO YOU."
Johnny blinks. "Are you okay?"
"No!" Maggie sobs. "I'm emotional. And thrilled. And terrified because the twins are already making flower-girl choreography."
The twins hold up hands in jazz positions. "WE HAVE NOTES."
Johnny whispers to you, "We're doomed."
Johnny pulls out his phone with a devil-grin.
"Time to tell the idiots."
He snaps a photo of your hands—his big one holding yours, the ring sparkling like it was born for this moment—and sends it.
Soap:
BOYS. BOYSSSS
SHE SAID YES
SHE SAID YES
IM GETTIN' MARRIED
Gaz:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYEEEEEEE
WE KNEW SHE WOULD
WE LOVE HER
CONGRATS KING
Ghost:
Finally.
Took you long enough.
Also: ring rating?
Soap:
OVAL. GOLD BAND. LOW.
zero snag probability
engravin' inside
Ghost:
10/10. I approve the marriage.
Price:
Proud of you, son.
Tell her congratulations from all of us.
Gaz:
PUT US ON FACETIME
FACETIME FACETIME FACETIME
Johnny snorts. "Absolutely not, Gaz."
Ghost:
Turn the phone around and let me see if she looks traumatized.
You laugh and lean into the camera. "I'm thrilled, thank you."
Ghost:
Good. Because if you hurt him, I'll—
Gaz:
GHOST. STOP THREATENING PEOPLE.
CONGRATS YOU TWO LOVE-SICK LOSERS 💍❤️🎉
Johnny pockets his phone, grabs your waist, lifts you briefly, and kisses your cheek. "They approve."
"I fear what that means," you laugh.
Jenna and Rhys usher the twins out.
Maggie hugs you again.
Rhys salutes Johnny dramatically.
Jenna blows you two a kiss and screams "WEDDINGGGG" down the hallway.
Then the door shuts.
And it's just you and Johnny.
In the small studio.
Fairy lights glowing.
Petals on the floor.
Ring warm on your hand.
Johnny steps closer, hands sliding around your waist.
"You good?" he whispers.
"More than good," you breathe.
He kisses you slow.
Soft.
Deep.
The kind of kiss that rewires your ribs.
When you break apart, he rests his forehead on yours.
"I love you," he murmurs.
"I love you," you whisper back.
He picks up your left hand and kisses the ring slowly, reverently. "Looks perfect on you."
"It feels perfect," you say quietly.
He smiles—small, genuine, boyish. "Marry me soon?"
"Yes," you whisper. "Whenever you want."
He lets out a breath that sounds like relief and joy and awe all tangled together.
"Okay," he says softly. "Let's go home."
You don't remember the drive home.
One second you're in the small studio, fairy lights still hazy behind your eyes, ring heavy and perfect on your finger, Johnny's hands shaking as he buckles you into the car.
The next, you're outside your flat.
The hallway smells like stale laundry and someone's overcooked dinner, the usual hum of the building oddly distant. You're still in your rehearsal clothes, glitter clinging stubbornly to your collarbone, your dancers' congratulations pinging your phone in a steady stream.
Johnny unlocks the door.
You don't let him get it open all the way.
You shove him.
Not hard—just enough to get him inside, enough to slam the door with your heel and press him back against it, your hands already in his shirt.
He huffs a breathless laugh. "Christ, hen—"
You kiss him.
Not the careful "we're in public" kind. Not the soft "we've been together for years" kind.
You kiss him like your answer is still ringing in your bones.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
His hands go to your hips like muscle memory, fingers digging in, thumbs rolling over the band of your leggings.
"You okay?" he manages against your mouth. "We don't have to—"
"You proposed to me in a room full of fairy lights and children," you say, voice already wrecked. "I am engaged to a man who made up choreography with my students. I am absolutely going to fuck you, Johnny MacTavish."
His eyes go very dark.
"Aye," he breathes. "Right. Well. Can't argue with that, can I?"
You jump a little; he catches you automatically, hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you like you weigh nothing. You wrap your legs around his waist, laughing into his mouth as he stumbles a step away from the door.
"Thought you'd want a proper fiancé," he mutters, kissing you again, deeper now. "Didn't realize you were after a full-body assault."
"Shut up and take me to the couch," you say.
"Bed's closer."
"Couch first," you insist, nipping his bottom lip. "Bed later. Always later."
He groans.
"Woman, you're killin' me."
He carries you anyway, across the tiny living room, dropping his keys somewhere (they hit the floor with a jingle you'll find in the morning). He half-falls, half-sits onto the couch with you in his lap, your knees bracketing his hips, your hands already shoving his jacket off his shoulders.
"You sure?" he asks again, breathless, letting you push the denim down his arms. "You've had a big day. Want to make sure you're not just runnin' on glitter and adrenaline."
You cup his face, thumbs brushing the freckles on his cheeks.
"I'm sure," you say. "I want you. I want this. I want..." Your throat thickens; you look down at the ring and back at him. "I want to remember exactly how it felt the night I said yes."
His expression cracks open.
"Okay," he says, voice low. "Then I'm yours. However you want me."
You kiss him again, slower this time, savoring the way he tastes—coffee, sugar, the faint tang of nerves. His tongue slides against yours, tentative at first, then more confident when you sigh into it, fingers tightening in his hair.
He's warm everywhere. Big hands, broad chest, the solid line of his thighs under you. You roll your hips, just a little, and his breath catches, eyes fluttering closed.
"Fuck," he mutters. "You're gonna make me embarrass myself five minutes into bein' your fiancé."
"Guess you should keep up, then," you say, and pull his shirt up.
He helps, arms going over his head, the fabric tangling for a second because your hands are shaking and he's laughing, and then it's on the floor and he's bare from the waist up, skin flushed from the chill and from you.
You splay your hands over his chest, tracing old scars, new ones, the familiar dip between his collarbones. He watches you like you're something holy, breathing a little too fast.
"What?" you ask, self-conscious suddenly.
"Just never thought I'd get to see this with a ring on your hand," he says, thumb brushing the band where it gleams against his skin. "Feels like some sort of fever dream."
You lean forward and kiss him again just to shut him up before you cry.
His hands slide under your sweatshirt, palms hot against your back as he gathers the fabric and pulls it up. You lift your arms; it's gone in a second, tossed onto the growing pile on the floor.
You're left in your bra and leggings, hair half out of its bun, ribbon slipping, glitter smeared. You should feel ridiculous.
He swallows hard.
"Beautiful," he murmurs.
"You are biased and wrong," you say, but your voice comes out softer than you mean it to.
"M'completely right," he says. "But I'll prove it later."
"Later," you agree. "Couch now."
He laughs again, breathless, and slides his hands up your sides, thumbs brushing the edge of your bra. He pauses, looking up.
You nod, already arching into the touch.
His fingers find the clasp; a second later, the straps slide off your shoulders. He eases the bra away, eyes tracking every inch of new skin he reveals.
The air is cool. His hands are warm.
"Johnny," you whisper.
"Aye," he says, almost reverent.
He leans in, kissing along the line of your collarbone, his beard scraping just enough to make you shiver. When his mouth closes over the swell of your breast, your fingers clench in his hair, a tiny shocked sound escaping you.
He takes his time there, kissing, tasting, hands mapping every new curve like he's cataloguing changes, worshipping them instead of mourning. When your hips rock down again of their own accord, grinding against him, he lets out a noise that's more growl than anything.
"Right," he says, voice frayed. "Okay. These—" he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of your leggings "—need to go."
You snort. "You first."
He grins, cocky even now. "So that's how it's gonna be, aye?"
You nod. "Equal opportunity or nothing."
He shifts, maneuvering you just enough that he can work his belt open, the metal clinking softly in the dim room. You help, fingers brushing his knuckles, both of you laughing when you fumble it in your hurry.
"Easy, hen," he teases. "We've got time."
"Do we?" you murmur. "You did just tell a room full of people you're not leaving until my last name is MacTavish. That's a lot of commitment."
He groans. "Keep talkin' like that and I'm not gonna last long enough to make it count."
You drag his jeans down over his hips, leaving them tangled at his knees. It doesn't matter. You're not going anywhere.
He helps you peel your leggings off, fingers careful around your ankles, leaving kisses on your calf, your knee, the inside of your thigh that make your breath stutter and your hands clutch at his shoulders.
You are suddenly very aware of the thin barrier of your underwear and the obvious lack of his.
He catches your face in both hands, bringing your gaze back to his.
"I want you," you say. "Just you. Like this. Like always."
He nods once, eyes soft, and kisses you so hard you feel it in your toes.
You don't bother with grace. Shoes end up kicked into corners, clothes trailing from the door to the couch. At some point he manages to get your underwear off and you honestly don't know how because you're too busy drowning in his mouth, his hands, the way he says your name like a prayer.
It blurs.
Your back hits the cushions; he follows, body slotted between your thighs, braced on his forearms so he doesn't crush you. You wrap your legs around him, heels digging into the muscles of his lower back, pulling him closer.
There's a brief pause—his hand between you, guiding, the familiar flex of his hips as he lines himself up—and then he's pressing into you, slow and careful.
Your breath catches.
It's been enough days that you feel the stretch, the burn easing into heat as your body remembers him, opens for him.
"Tell me if it's too much," he mutters, jaw clenched. "Don't try to be a hero."
"Shut up and move," you whisper back, and he laughs, broken and fond.
He does.
He keeps it unhurried, slow at first until your hands slide to the small of his back and your hips tilt, asking for more. Then he finds a rhythm that steals your breath—deep and steady, every roll of his body pressing him into you just right, pushing you into the cushions, making the old couch squeak in protest.
You cling to him, arms around his neck, fingers in his hair, your other hand catching in the chain around his neck, right where the ring sits between your collarbones every time he kisses there.
He kisses everywhere else now.
Your mouth, your jaw, the hollow of your throat, the place just below your ear that makes you gasp and dig your nails into his shoulders.
"That's my girl," he murmurs, picking up the pace just a fraction. "So good for me. Always so good."
You don't need the details.
You have the heat, the weight, the way he breathes your name between kisses, the way his accent roughens when your hips meet his just right and you both see stars.
The way he murmurs, "I love you," into your shoulder, like he can't hold it in anymore.
The way you say it back without thinking, the word catching on a half-sob, half-laugh.
The way everything coils tight inside you, your hand clutching at his hair, your toes curling, breath stuttering as he gives you one more deep, perfect thrust and you shatter.
You come apart around him, whole body tensing, a broken sound pulled from your throat before you can bite it back. You cling to him, riding it out, the world narrowing to white and heat and him.
He swears, harsh and choked, his rhythm breaking.
"Fuck—love, I—"
You feel him pull back at the last second, muscles straining as he slips free of you. He curses again under his breath, low and rough, as he finishes, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, hand braced on the couch beside your head.
For a moment, neither of you move.
Your heart hammers.
His does too.
Your lungs burn.
Slowly, the world creeps back in—the tick of the old clock on the wall, the distant honk of a horn outside, the soft hum of the fridge.
"Right," he says eventually, voice muffled against your skin. "Okay. Definitely engaged. No way a man walks away from that just casually."
You laugh, breathless and dazed, and card your fingers through his hair.
"You good?" he asks, lifting his head enough to look at you properly.
You nod, cheeks hot, still trying to remember how your limbs work. "Yeah. You?"
He grins, exhausted and stupidly happy. "Best I've ever been."
He presses a soft kiss to your mouth, gentle now, sweet, the frenetic edge gone. Then he pushes himself up with a soft groan—"M'old, hen, you'll have to be gentle with me in my golden years"—and nudges your knee.
"Don't move," he says. "M'gonna grab somethin'."
You raise a brow. "If you think you're going to the kitchen naked—"
"Oh, so now you're shy?" he says, smirking. "You weren't shy five minutes ago when you tried to break me in half."
"Go get a towel, MacTavish."
He salutes, still grinning, and pads off down the hall, snagging his discarded boxers to step into on the way. You flop back against the cushions, muscles pleasantly sore, a goofy smile you can't quite fight tugging at your mouth.
Your phone buzzes on the coffee table.
Jenna: ARE YOU STILL ALIVE
Jenna: DID YOU FAINT
Jenna: IS HE FIANCÉ OF THE YEAR OR FIANCÉ OF THE UNIVERSE
You stare at your hand for a second, at the ring catching the lamplight, at the faint outline of his fingers on your hips, at the way your whole body still feels like he's touching you everywhere.
You type back with shaky fingers.
You: universe
You: he's universe
Johnny returns with a warm, damp washcloth and a dry towel, face a little pink but determined.
"Right," he says, gently nudging your ankle. "C'mon, up a bit."
You let him fuss with you, cleaning you up with a tenderness that makes your chest ache more than anything else tonight. He's careful, checking in with his eyes every time he shifts you, making sure you're okay.
"Comfortable?" he asks when he's done, tucking the towel under you, rearranging cushions so your neck isn't at a weird angle.
"Yeah," you say, watching him. "Johnny?"
"Aye?"
"You know you don't have to do the full spa package."
He snorts, flopping down beside you and immediately hauling you into his chest. "Shut it. Let me spoil you. It's in the fiancé handbook."
"There's a handbook?"
"Rhys is drafting it as we speak."
You laugh, tucking your head under his chin, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and soap and the faint citrus of your studio cleaner from earlier, somehow clinging to his shirt.
His fingers find your hand where it rests on his chest, his thumb rubbing over the ring, the motion soft and almost unconscious.
"You're not..." He hesitates. "Not overwhelmed? Or scared? Or... regrettin'?"
You shift, tipping your head back so you can meet his eyes.
"I'm overwhelmed," you say. "And I'm a little scared." You lift your ringed hand between you. "This is... huge. And I'm sure at some point, probably tomorrow, I'll have a full-blown meltdown about guest lists and centerpieces and what color napkins we want."
He smiles, mouth quirking.
"But I'm not regretting anything," you finish. "I meant it. I want this. I want you."
His throat works.
"Good," he says softly. "Because you're stuck with me now, hen. Two left feet and all."
You poke his chest. "You're really not that bad."
"I literally almost fell when I turned around in the middle of the studio," he reminds you.
"You were crying," you point out. "I'll allow it."
"I was not cryin'," he protests. "I had... dust. In my eye. From the... glitter."
"Okay, fiancé," you say, snuggling in closer. "Whatever you say."
You feel his smile against your hair.
He reaches for the throw blanket at the back of the couch and pulls it over you both, tucking it around your shoulders. His hand settles at your waist. The other stays wrapped around your fingers, thumb tracing lazy circles over your ring.
"Count to eight with me for the rest of our lives," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.
You close your eyes, the day's images blurring together—fairy lights, tiny dancers, a taped circle on the floor, Johnny on one knee, and now: the steady rise and fall of his chest under your cheek, the warm weight of his arm around you, the soft kiss he drops on your forehead as sleep starts to drag you under.
"Always," you whisper back.
You fall asleep in his arms on the couch, half-wrapped in a blanket, completely wrapped in him, your ring catching the lamplight, your futures already stitching themselves together in counts of eight.
