just saying, soap is sooo the type to take sketchy pills because they promise to make his dick look bigger
18+ (smut, tiny bit of humor)
cw & tags: cis fem!reader, medic!reader, sub!soap, dubcon, unprotected sex, ment. of risk of pregnancy, small dick!soap, workplace relations (y'all are NOT supposed to fraternize), maybe some medplay, medical inaccuracies (probably), light pining, i think that's it, word count: 1.3K
“This is a joke, right? Sergeant Garrick or someone else put you up to this?”
You’ve been working with the task force for several months now, but you’ve been a medic for far longer. You can honestly say you’ve never had anyone come to you with this kind of problem.
“I’m not takin’ the piss, I need yer help, Doc,” he whines, shifting uncomfortably on the medical bed.
You swallow, reminding yourself that you’re a professional– this is what you get paid to do. “Can you tell me the name of the pills you took and how long it’s been?”
“I cannae remember the name, I just grabbed what I saw first. Took ‘em about an hour ago.”
You really don’t want to ask this next question. “And why exactly did you think it was a good idea to take erection pills you bought at the gas station down the street?”
His face is flushed, mostly embarrassment, but judging by the bulge in his pants, desire's playing a role in it too. He mumbles something barely audible.
“What?”
He looks anywhere but straight at you. “I thought it’d make the wee lad look bigger. Didnae ken it would make me hard like that.”
You sigh, running a hand over your face. “The pills don’t work like that. They can’t make you bigger; all they do is increase blood flow. They don’t magically give you a monster cock or make you hard.”
He scoffs at you, and you nearly shriek when he suddenly tugs off his jeans. “Explain this then,” he says, pointing at his crotch.
You make a point to stare straight at his face– only his face. “You got aroused, that’s how it works. You must have been thinking of something that stimulated you.”
You watch as the realization dawns on him. “I was thinkin’ about comin' tae you–” You hold your hand up, hurriedly shushing him.
“I don’t need to know.”
He pouts at you, eyes locked onto yours. “Well, what can ye do for me, Doc?”
You close your eyes and take in a deep breath. “Once you’ve… finished, as long as you don’t get aroused again, you should be fine. The medication doesn’t prevent you from softening again. I suggest you either go to your barracks and take care of it alone or–”
You hate the way your chest burns with jealousy at what you’re about to say. “You can try and find someone to help you.”
“Will you not help me, Bonnie?” he whispers, sending heat straight to your core.
“Are you sure you can’t just… do this yourself, Mactavish?” You ask for the third time.
You look over at him as tears start to form in his eyes. He’s only in his boxers, and you can see just how hard he is through the thin, wet fabric. You’re trying to focus on anything other than the sticky feeling between your thighs.
“I tried before I came to you, swear it, bonnie; it wasnae enough. I cannae take this. Hurts so bad, ah need somethin’ even if it’s jus' the tip.” He's breathing heavily, one of his hands is grabbing at your waist, the other is palming his cock
You look at him– really look at him– his pupils are dilated, and there’s a thin layer of sweat covering his flushed skin.
You sigh, ignoring the whine he lets out when you shove his hand away. Quickly walking over to the door and turning the deadbolt before hastily removing your scrubs.
“Just the tip,” you grumble, removing the last of your underwear before walking over to the bed. You place your hands on his shoulders, hovering over his lap.
He wastes no time in pulling down his boxers, running the head of his cock through your folds. He lines up with your entrance, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pushes the wide head into you.
He’s not lengthy by any means, but he’s so incredibly thick. The stretch burns, but it feels so good as he twitches inside you.
His head's thrown back, mouth fallen open in a silent gasp. “You alright?” you whisper, as he runs his hands along your body. He can only nod wordlessly, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.
“Need more, please.” He tries to push his cock further into you, only for you to pull away, forcing him out of you completely.
“We can’t do this if you don’t behave. I’m not supposed to fuck my patients, Johnny. You don’t wanna get me in trouble, do you?”
“No, but, but–” he begs, wet tears rolling down his cheeks. Whatever he took has done a number on him; just a small taste of your pussy, and he’s begging so pathetically.
Not that you’re any better– you’ve barely felt him inside you, and you’re ready to bend and break every rule that his Captain gave you.
“What if I dinnae move it? Does that count?”
You pause, pretending to think it over. “I guess not.”
He grabs your waist and yanks you back down, your hands gripping at his shoulders to brace yourself. “Thank you, thank you,” He groans as your dripping cunt quickly swallows his cock.
You push down on his hips the second he tries to thrust up. He’s settled snugly inside you, your hole stretched wide as he looks up at you.
Your cunt aches, begging for friction, but you don’t move, not even slightly. You’re giving him exactly what he asked for– nothing more.
His head is thrown back against his pillow, soft noises falling from his lips as your hands roam up and down his chest. “What’s wrong, Johnny?”
You clench around his cock, and he lets out a groan. “Isnae enough., need tae feel you move, please?”
“Fine, but if anyone finds out–”
Every nerve in your body feels like it’s been lit on fire as he starts to thrust his hips up into you. His mouth’s wide open, the broken moans falling from his lips barely audible over the sound of your skin slapping against his.
He doesn't reach deep inside you; his tip can just barely graze that spongy spot inside you. That doesn't make it feel any less pleasurable for you, though.
It's not the way you tighten around him, your pretty little noises, or even the sound of your wet cunt that makes him start to falter. No, it's the feeling of you finally crashing your lips against his– something he’s wanted for so long.
“Wait, Johnny, not inside, I’m not, mmm, on the pill,” you whine out, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders.
His pace doesn’t slow down or falter, and all you can focus on is the tight knot settling in your stomach. “Please, Bonnie? Dinnae think, hng, I can pull out. ‘S too much and I can feel you clenchin’ around me, know how bad she wants me tae fill ‘er up.”
You don’t even realize just how close he is until you can feel his hot seed spill deep inside you. You go to pull away– not because you really want to, but so you can at least tell yourself you tried– but his hands on your hips keep you firmly in place. It’s enough to make you cry out as you fall apart on his cock.
Your orgasm sends a shiver down your spine, thighs trembling as you make a mess all over him. You glance down where your bodies are connected and see nothing but white dripping out.
You don’t move, taking a moment to allow you both to catch your breath. He looks up at you, a sly grin on his face. “Dinnae tell a soul about this, yeah? It’s a pure beamer.” He pants, hands roaming up and down your sides.
“Of course not, Mactavish, doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.”
CW: Slight dub/non-con (tho they’re both exactly where they want to be, trust me, lmao) Playfighting, Soap being a brat (as always), Gender-neutral!Sex-indifferent!Reader, mild dehumanization, I suppose? (Reader sees Soap’s arousal more as like, a toy to muck about with, if that makes sense.) Light Dom!Reader. Very much sub!Soap. Sort of Mean!Reader. Kinda QPR with Soap? Sorta? Not beta read. No use of y/n.
MDNI 18+
Uhhhh… Something, something Sex neutral!Reader who gives Flatmate!Soap, a boner just to win an argument.
Also apologies I’m a bit rusty lmao.
It started accidentally, with just a playful swat at Johnny’s chest when he was being cheeky and goading you about your favourite team loosing a match, which rather rapidly devolved into you both rolling around your living room, wrestling, laughing and squawking loud enough to drone out the telly, and multiple near misses between both of your foreheads and the overladen coffee table.
Eventually you get the big pillock on his stomach, pinned beneath the breadth of your thighs, with his arms pulled behind himself, — biceps flexed from the strain, and shoulders arching off the ground — and his wrists trapped beneath your palms against the small of his back. His chest heaves, pushing you up and down with his laboured breaths.
“Ye get all o’tha’ out yer system then?” He slurs. The prick still had enough audacity left to grin, albeit lopsidedly, with the way his cheek was smushed against the surface of your favourite rug, the corse fibres scraping against his stubble in a way that surely could not be comfortable.
“Maybe,” you allow, like a ruler gazing down from their throne. Appraisingly, your fingers flex around his wrists feeling the way the delicate bones shift beneath your hold. They’re probably the most delicate part of his entire body— not that he seems to care at the moment, far more busy squirming around beneath you, trying to twist himself around to look at you to any degree. “Depends,” you squeeze your thighs around his ribs, forcing him still, which from the sound of it, also has the unintended effect of knocking the wind from his lungs in one ragged exhale.
“Depends?” He rasps, “bloody hell— ah let ye win one time and—”
“Let me win?”
“Aye, surely ye dinnae think ye—”
“I got you on your arse fair and square—”
“O’fer the luv’ah Christ— naw ye dinnae—!”
“Did to!“
“Did naw!”
“Did to!”
“Did—!” Before Johnny can get another word in, you rock back on your heels, using your hold on him to arch his spine further, and wind your other arm around the front of his neck. You can feel the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the click suddenly rather loud despite the announcer still droning on about the now inconsequential match. “Fuck…” He gasps, as though you’d just kicked him in the ribs instead. Uselessly his fingers flex, the tensions jumping under your touch.
Oh.
That’s… different. Theres this almost airy lilt to his voice that you’ve never heard before.
It’s enough to get your brow to furrow, especially when paired with how suddenly silent Johnny’s become, no longer even attempting to meet your gaze. You pull your arm tighter where it’s under his jaw, forcing his head back, just to see if he’ll do it again.
A noise that you can only describe as a whine, however tentatively, falls from his lips, bitten and clipped, still half caught in his throat. This newfound angle gives you a brilliant view of his face as it goes positively crimson.
Oh.
Oh.
Fuck. That’s why he’s picking fights?
You can’t help the snort you make, much to Johnny’s apparent mortification, based on the way he reddens even further.
“Seriously?”
“Ah cannae help it!” He snaps, squeezing his eyes shut so tight that it’ll surely give him a headache.
Of course you knew Johnny was a bit of a randy mutt, you’ve seen him stiff around the poor sods sitting by themselves bar side on pub night— but, Christ, this is a new low, even by his low, low standards.
“You’re a sad specimen, MacTavish.” How could someone be so desperate for it that even just getting thrown around made them worked up?
“O’ away an’ — Shite —” despite your words, it doesn’t stop you from flexing your arm around his neck again. His hips twitch forwards, rolling against the floor, before flinching back, jostling you, and he tenses like he can’t decide which direction’s worse, “bile yer head, ye minging bastard.” Somehow you think this is making him more breathless than the scuffle did. His brogue thickens as he delves eagerly into cursing you, and your entire lineage out. Not that you can understand a lick of it after a certain point.
It becomes a game, almost, of you finding new ways to poke and prod at him as he gets increasingly worked up, just trying to see what sort of reactions you can stir from him from where.
Stroking down his strong back elicits a shiver, grazing the pads of your fingers along an exposed sliver of skin from where his shirt had risen up in the scuffle has him squirming, dragging your nails across it earns you a grunt. You even try tugging at his hair, threading your fingers in deep, and pulling, letting out a laugh in delight as he lets out a louder whine, interrupting himself mid sentence.
He doesn’t ask you to stop, even in the deepest part of his rant about how you’re the worst mate ever, just kicks his leg back, fruitlessly trying to dethrone you, even though you’ve long since let go of his hands.
“Fuck— Jus’…” Johnny lets out a low sound of frustration and drops his head forwards limply, pressing his chin into your arm, “please,” he huffs.
Hm. “Again,” you say with a chuckle, just to see if he will.
“Please,” Johnny begs, as though something, anything would do, his body finally falling still under you.
“… Fine, fine,” you relent, releasing him and rolling off with a grunt, landing on your back beside him with a dull thud.
There’s a dark stain on the ceiling from when he had snuck up behind you one evening, and startled you so hard you sloshed wine up onto it, and all over him. Had taken a couple hours to clean it all up, or well, most of it, evidently.
You wonder what it would take to get Johnny to be that same shade.
Johnny makes a rough, wounded noise, and lets his head fall, knocking harmlessly off the carpet. “Yer the fuckin’ worse, ye ken,” surely its supposed to be an admonishment, but he sounds far too sulky for it to contain any proper bite.
You grunt noncommittally, and try not to smirk too hard when Johnny pushes himself up, unable to meet your eyes; your own reflexively darting to the tent pitched in his trousers, as he does the loser’s skulk of shame off to his bedroom to take care of it, sure to emerge later pissy and angling for another spat.
Worth it.
Hullo. I’m not dead, lmao. Just been super busy for the last few months.
This was supposed to be a lil’ practice free use handjob blurb feat. Soap, but uhhhh, it got away from me as usual, clearly.
Anyway— I just got Baldur’s Gate 3 thanks to the steam summer sale, and I am enjoying it immensely (I’m only forty hours in and not even out of act one yet, and 100% recommend it to anyone who hasn’t tried it yet.) But despite my love for Wyll, I promise I’m not ditching the boys.
I may however, be stuffing them into some fantasy settings. :3
Also!!! Thank you so much, to the person who sent me a writing request a while back, I did see it and I am working on it— I just got stuck on a scene, but I promise ima try to figure it out ^w^
johnny getting so transfixed on the sight of your thong peeking out of your pajama shorts.
you’re both sprawled out on the living room couch, johnny on his back, and you lying stomach down on top of him with your cheek resting on his chest. your knee is hiked up a bit over his hip just enough to be comfortable. he’s holding a book up in the air with one hand.
he’s not the biggest reader, but simon recommended it, and he has trouble saying no to simon.
his other hand explores you absentmindedly. nothing inherently sexual yet. but then he feels the waistband of your thong that had ridden up the curve of your hips from the position you’re in. he calls it serendipitous.
it’s not in a place where it’s bothering you at this point, just a slight bit of pressure. he can’t help but tug the cotton up just a little bit, waiting to see if you’ll flinch.
he pretends he’s still focused on his book when really he lost his place about five minutes ago.
you shift, readjusting and cramming yourself further into johnny’s chest, if that’s even possible at this point.
you murmur a tired “stop it,” and johnny’s hand move up your back and away from your underwear. a few more minutes of johnny pretending to read pass, and you’ve reentered that floaty state between sleep and consciousness.
he feels your breathing even out, and his hand wanders back to the band of your underwear. this time he gives it a firm yank upwards.
you screech, shooting up from his chest, now straddling his hips. you can feel his cock chubbing up through his trousers and groan in disgust.
“ugh! johnny you are such a freak, you know that?” you slap his chest, and he grabs your wrists to stop your swatting before it reached his face.
then you’re storming off, yelling one last “disgusting!” his way.
I want to start approaching these things like a fucked up cooking recipe online where you have to slog through my stream of consciousness before you can get to the shameless porn. At the end of the day I'm not just a piece of meat I'm a woman with thoughts and feelings it's just that most of those thoughts and feelings are perverted. Soap gets blue balled in this one lads, sorry for the spoiler. Let me know if you'd like another part where soap can finally get some real action. Unless you want to keep my version of soap needy and pathetic which is completely valid. Crazy to think that that's like edging a character that's not only not real but also double not real because the cod cannon hates to see me coming PLUS he could just never be written by me so that's like triple not real. Crazy. My last planned part after this is going to be properly hardcore I think so prepare your tits (or lack thereof you're all valid). Anyway now I've bloated my word count some more have fun gooning freaks xoxo
female reader again, dubcon, groping and fondling but that's about as far as it goes. soap's being a horndog as per and can't control himself. I have no idea how to tw these things so idk it's porn if it gets too much for you please stop reading it. BARELY proofread (I'm writing this at 2am for me waiting for the HotD episode to drop please have mercy)
Before everything you'd been a respected soldier; never top of the rankings but you were obedient which pleased the brass to no end. It was your former superior who'd put you in for the recommendation in the first place. Knowing you weren't as physically bulky as the rest made you work twice as hard to make up for it, pushing yourself to the limit of your endurance just to hear that praise. Price had studied all the files sent his way; insane athletes, top of their class marksmen, men who'd proven themselves time over in combat, yet it was your file that gave him pause.
He met you for a coffee to discuss what you'd be getting into should you be selected for the position. It felt like an interview and in a way it was, he was sussing you out. You looked like a fragile thing but you nodded with enthusiasm at his every word like a bobblehead on a dashboard. Price wasn't just looking for muscle, he wanted someone he could trust, and the way you looked at him with wide compliant eyes made him know you'd follow his every word.
That night the girls from your former squad insisted on taking you out to celebrate. The only bar near the base was pretty sleazy and was crawling with other officers who'd freshly returned from tours - a group of young women waltzing in there in their shortest skirts was like a flock of lambs walking into the lion's den. It wasn't so bad, it felt good to just be a woman again - no drills, no training just some not so innocent fun.
You all drank a lot and danced a lot too, delighting in teasing the men that approached your group on the dancefloor. One of the girls was shaking her ass like her rent was due as another poured the remnants of her drink over it causing the material of her dress to cling to her lewdly. The men watching looked like they were about to get down on one knee for her right there and profess their love.
One man sidled over from across the floor, passing your friend and dancing directly behind you. You peeked over your shoulder at him; he smelled strongly of whiskey and had a dumb mohawk that made you chuckle. He was built like an ox though, his t-shirt straining over his chest and biceps in a way that made you weak. You bit your lip and started grinding your ass into him, causing the other girls to whoop and cheer. The stranger smirked at you, placing a hand on your hip to keep you from getting away.
You continued this way for a few more songs before you turned to face him. He thought he was about to get a kiss from you, and you thought the same for a moment too. Instead you slipped the drink from his hand, necking back what was left and shooting him a coquettish smile before you slipped away. The stranger laughed to himself, slightly stunned but eager for the chase. Hot on your heels he pushed through the crowd in pursuit of you, dodging drunk dancers and spilled drinks that made the ground sticky. He finally caught up to you as you attempted to hail the bartender unsuccessfully through the crush of people around the crowded bar. Using his height over you to his advantage he waved, leaning next to you while the mixologist approached.
"What ye drinkin' lassie?" The stranger shouted over the music to you and you graciously allowed him to buy you a drink. The light here was slightly better and you finally got a good look at him. His face was square, his jaw peppered with dark stubble and he had some small scars here and there that made him look rugged in spite of the cheeky look he seemed to constantly have on his face. He was pretty hot you had to admit.
"Sae hou'd a bonnie thing like you end up in a shitehole like this?" The Scottish stranger had initiated the prescribed small talk; family, friends, favourite colour, childhood pet, the whole nine yards.
"Uh I work over on the base actually." He looked at you surprised.
"Really?" He squinted for a second seeming shocked he didn't know every person at the expansive base. "Hou come a'v niver seen ye around before?"
"I only transferred here a few months ago, I actually just got promoted today that's why I'm here tonight." For the first time tonight you got a little shy so you tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. It felt strange to boast about yourself like that.
"Cheers tae ye then lassie." You clinked your glasses together gently, his eyes never leaving you as you both took a sip. "Whit will ye be gettin up tae now in yer braw new job?"
"If I told you that I'd have to kill you." You smirk. It wasn't a lie, your job would be highly classified from here on out. You wouldn't be starting well if you blabbed to the first random you met in a bar.
You watch over your handsome stranger's shoulder as three other men emerge from the smoking area looking around the room, their eyes fixing on the man next to you before they begin making their way over to him. The Scottish man looks at you puzzled before turning around.
"They found me." The stranger finished the drink in his hand, his voice holding the same sense of dread as a criminal caught after a long chase.
The man leading the pack looked familiar, he had distinct facial hair that you swore you'd seen before but that the alcohol in your system wouldn't allow you to recall. He was followed by a young man wearing a baseball cap as well as a beast of a man in a mask trailing behind the pair of them like a shadow. As they approached the familiar man's eyes widened in surprise as they met yours.
"I see you're already making nice with your new colleague, Soap." Christ it was him, your new boss. He put a hand on the stranger's shoulder - who you'd now surmised was "Soap" - and he leaned in closer to him. "Hopefully no conflict of interest the higher-ups will want to be aware of?" He looked back over to you, looking you up and down quickly before raising an eyebrow at Soap.
The poor Scotsman looked a mixture of stunned and crestfallen. He thought he'd successfully pulled a bird that night but he'd just been cockblocked by his own Captain. He'd assumed you were in admin, or at least something a little less rough and tumble than what he and the lads usually got up to; you seemed too slight a thing to keep up with a squad full of 6-foot-something men with years of military experience and training behind them. He'd wondered what Price had seen in you to take you on, and he prayed to God that it wasn't Price himself.
The memory was so vivid; it had been coming to you in dreams every night since your unorthodox disciplinary. The morning sunlight streamed through your flimsy blinds in long ribbons, rousing you back from your fitful sleep. You rolled over as you covered your face with the blanket praying to go back to your simpler dream world. It was no use, you'd have to face them again.
You decided you'd spend the day hiding from them all as you had every day since, the gym made a perfect alibi. Yes it was communal, but a baseball cap and headphones made it clear enough your intention to be left alone. None of them could fault you either, you were getting your training in like you always had - who could fault you for getting even more hours in?
You pulled on your gym clothes, shrugged your bag over your shoulder and made your way down the long hall towards the common room. You stopped in front of the door, taking in a deep breath to compose yourself. With as much feigned confidence as you could muster you swung open the door and walked as fast as possible to the exit door.
Of course nearly the whole lot of them were in there. Gaz was blending himself a protein shake in the small shared kitchen, Price was reading what looked to be some reports you were sure to be caught up on soon while Soap sat at the small dining table eating some cereal. The whole room turned to look at you as you entered, all noise halting and spoons dropping and clanging against crockery. You paused a moment, and stared back at them all. Everyone wanted to say something but no one was completely sure what to or how, instead everyone seemed frozen by the awkwardness of the whole situation. After what felt like a lifetime of silence you cleared your throat and looked at the floor as you quickly made your escape.
As the door closed behind you Soap jumped up out of his seat, Price shot him a warning look as he reached for the door handle which caused him to pause for just a moment. They understood your boundaries even without you having to say a word, when you were ready you'd come back to them and forcing you would only make things worse.
Fuck that. Soap's skin was crawling from withdrawals from a substance he'd never even gotten to try, and every night since he'd thought about it as he tugged his cock with enough force to rip the thing clean off. He'd made up his mind that he couldn't wait any longer.
You'd started to get into the swing of your routine when the familiar mohawked man entered the gym too. You couldn't outrun them forever, and honestly you'd done well avoiding them this far, and plus you hadn't got exclusivity rights on the shared training hall so how could you argue with him being here? You tugged down the brim of your cap hoping to melt into the scenery and continue your set.
You swore that man could smell you on the wind.
Before you knew it Soap had plonked himself down at a machine directly in your line of sight, giving you a small nod as you locked eyes. You tried your best to ignore him. He was never one to take a hint.
He had followed you from machine to machine which you finally surmised about 3 moves in. You'd have considered it coincidence had he ever stopped staring at you for the duration of your game of stalker's musical chairs. Now all that was left were stretches before you could bolt, he observed these closest of all. You could feel his eyes on your body as you bent and twisted in ways you'd never imagined to be lewd before now. He made you feel like prey as he stalked you with the persistence of a hungry animal, except like an animal you didn't have the good sense to save yourself.
"Is there a problem?" You took a headphone out as you approached your squadmate, hands on hips as you stood above him doing a half-hearted rep at the weight bench. You'd seen him train in earnest and you knew he was capable of lifting a far greater weight than he was currently. It dawned on you that these were the first words you'd spoken to any of the boys in days.
"Eh? Nae bonnie, there's nae problem." He answered quickly, almost as though he'd anticipated your noticing. You rolled your eyes which seemed to amuse him, and that pissed you off more. You were about to return to your position when he interrupted you.
"A just couldnae help but notice yer form wis wrong." He wasn't looking at you as he spoke, which was for the best as your gaze could've turned him to stone in that moment.
You weren't going to qualify for the Olympics anytime soon, even you couldn't deny that, but you'd been in the military since you'd left school and spent your fair share of time in a gym. You weren't a silly girl out of her depth, you were a soldier same as him. His words hit at the sensitive spot of your insecurities that had formed since your punishment slash group bonding exercise.
You ignored him, despite everything he still outranked you - even though he was a complete twat. Soap didn't do well when ignored you'd found, he liked the sound of his own voice too much and liked to know when his cheeky jabs had gotten to you. You could tell it was working with the way he stopped everything to stare at you now, looking for any hint of reaction which you refused to give.
You bent at the waist to touch your toes, watching between your legs as two familiar shoes approached from behind. You tried to stand up out of your pose as a hand pushed on the small of your back menovering you into the "correct" position.
"Thare ye gae bonnie, just like that" You could feel his crotch pressing against your ass, already half hard before he'd ever laid a hand on you. You'd been vulnerable for a mere moment before he found his opportunity to pounce.
"Ye'll blow yer back oot doin it yer way." The double meaning wasn't lost on you.
His hands were slow to release you, even as he relented from keeping you bent before him they lingered on your hips just slightly too long to be appropriate between two colleagues. You were going to turn to scold him again but he stood his ground, and your breath hitched as you flashed back to that night in the bar - the stranger that smelled like whiskey behind you just as he was now. The air was heavy the same as it had been those months ago.
His hand came up and rested on your jaw, keeping your head turned over your shoulder to look at him. Before you'd been friends, pratting around and winding each other up like siblings would, but now the look in his eyes communicated anything but innocent brotherly love. Tentatively, juddering towards you like he thought you'd run for the hills if he'd gone all in too fast, his lips found yours. Softly at first like trying not to scare away his hard won meal, then all at once.
All of a sudden you were being spun around and lifted onto a waist height stack of mats behind you, your legs wrapping around his waist on pure instinct. It frustrated you how naturally it came. You tried half-heartedly to pull away, to put a stop to this madness and go back to being sulky and broody, but his hands were digging into your hips so hard and gripping you so tightly you had no chance of getting away - not that you earnestly wanted to anyway.
Deep down you knew you were withdrawing from them not because of any deep offense to their treatment of you, but because you hadn't stopped thinking about it since. Each night as you laid in bed you ran the events through beat for beat and told yourself you were disgusted and that those men had taken advantage of you in a vulnerable state. So why then did your hand creep between your legs every time? You should've reported them all the moment it had happened, these predators that had used their positions of command above you to have their way with you. Instead you'd rubbed yourself raw to the idea of it happening again, and this time letting the other two get a turn too.
His hands snaked their way to your ass slowly as if not to startle you and ruin his progress; he'd been this close before multiple times now and had it stolen from him at the last moment, this time he wasn't going to let anything stop him. He could feel the plush fat and the firm muscle below it through the stretched fabric of your leggings, sinking his fingers in and wishing for enough purchase to rip his way through the material keeping your skin from him. It was like he had a demon inside him coaxing him closer and closer to social ruin just to finally feel you, and the scariest part was that it taking complete control of him was hanging on a knife's edge.
Soap broke the kiss a moment to quickly look around. Had your brain not been so hazy from the adrenaline you'd have laughed at how dumb he looked as he peeked around the gym like a meerkat scanning for predators. When he was satisfied he took your hand and placed it on his clothed cock.
He was hard as a rock under your hand. As your fingers formed around the shape of him he scrunched his eyes shut and let out a quiet groan; it was almost pathetic how much this small touch affected him. It made you feel drunk seeing him this needy knowing it was all because you. Your hand moved painfully slowly as you rubbed him over his thin gym shorts, studying his face as his eyebrows knitted together and his lips parted slightly.
His hand clutched at the side of your face, a thumb resting on your bottom lip and pulling them open. He rested his forehead on yours, staring longingly at your mouth allowing himself to indulge in the thought of them finally wrapping around him. He thought his knees were going to buckle underneath him at the thought, the shiver running down his spine threatening to finish him on the spot. He knew he needed this, he'd thought of nothing else for days, but his desperation now was something else.
You halted your teasing making him seemingly angry at the lack of sensation, evidenced by the groan that escaped him that almost sounded like a growl. Instead you reached for his drawstrings and pulled slowly, the knot easing itself loose at an agonisingly slow pace. You bit your lip and smirked at him, enjoying as you practically edged this poor man who would've plunged into you dry the second he'd seen you had he had it his way. Soap slapped your hands away and hurridly took over causing you to chuckle, he needed to feel you on him properly right now and wasn't going to wait a moment longer. He hooked his fingers under his waistband about to free himself when -
CLANG
Both of you snapped your necks around towards the source of the noise. Across the gym you could see the broad back of a huge man wearing all black by the weight rack, at his feet was a barbell with the most insane amount of weight you'd ever seen someone lift in real life. The man glanced over his shoulder towards you two casually allowing you a glimpse of the mask that covered his face.
Shit.
You and Soap scrambled to look as casual as possible, Soap turning on his heels and scratching his head in the classic picture of guilt. Your face was bright red as you snapped your legs closed and hopped off the mats, rushing to grab your bag.
There was no way Ghost hadn't seen. Fuck, you looked like such a whore. This was work where you're meant to be professional and not let personal feelings get in the way of your job, except now the majority of the team had gotten to have a go on you. Had he been there the whole time, quietly lurking in a corner like a weirdo? It didn't matter now, he'd seen enough and had wanted you to know that.
You looked straight at the floor as you rushed past Ghost to the door and out of the gym block. He watched as you sped past him with his typical coldness that was practically unreadable, his eyes locked onto you a moment too long as he watched you through the swinging glass door. He turned back to Soap who shot him an awkward wave before trying to busy himself with something else.
Ghost chalked up his hands and set himself up for another set of deadlifts, the rage pulsing through him doubling his reps before he finally failed and dropped the barbell with another loud clang. He stumbled back onto a bench sweaty and out of breath. He huffed in ragged breaths as his exhaustion helped to mask the overflowing emotions pouring out of him.
In that moment he'd made up his mind; he wasn't going to let you get away with treating him like a cuckold again.
Johnny MacTavish who can't keep his hands to himself.
18+ MDNI
Johnny was insatiable when it came to you. As much as he tried - or didn't - he couldn't keep his hands to himself, always having to touch you in some form or another. He had explained to you that he needed the physical touch to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating, that you were really physically with him.
You thought it was cute at first, smiling at the way he always kept a hand on the small of your back when you were standing next to each other while you had the boys over, his hands finding your shoulders when he came up behind you while you were cooking some delicious smelling food for supper.
Even the occasional hand resting on your thigh while you sat in the booth of the corner pub together, laughing at whatever bullshit left your boyfriends mouth, not even having to turn your head to see Simon’s eyes rolling and the barely there twitch of John’s lips.
…
But then there was times where his hand slipped from its original place on your lower back straight down to your butt, giving the globe a nice feel.
“Johnny!” You whispered between clenched teeth and a smile, the warning half hearted.
“What? I canae help that ye got such a nice arse.” He smirked, giving it another squeeze and a pat before putting his hand back into a more appropriate place.
…
Or when he came up to you while you were stirring up some mashed potatoes for dinner, humming a soft tune as his warm palms settled on your shoulders, immediately relaxing under his grip.
That was before he pressed himself against your back and said palms made their way around your body, cupping each of your tits mindlessly and rubbing his thumbs over your fabric covered nipples, evicting a surprised squeal from you.
“Johnny! I’m cooking!”
“Oh, c’mon, bonnie, am jus’ tryin’ ta help, y’know? Carryin’ all that weight must be hard” - he’d use that excuse regardless of your cup size, though.
…
The worst was when he had a pint too much, that sly smirk forming on his lips that immediately made you squint your eyes in suspicion.
But he didn’t even flinch, keeping the light banter with going with both Ghost and Gaz while his hand on your lap - having behaved way longer than expected - started slowly creeping up the smoothness of your thigh that was barely covered by the shorts you had been wearing to the pub.
He squeezed the soft flesh, massaging circles with his thumb that made you tense up for the mere fact of not wanting to moan straight into his captains face who sat across from you.
Your own hand came to stop his ministrations, but since he was much stronger than you and took it as an advantage to feel your legs already quivering, he simply pushed yours away and kept letting his fingertips wander more and more upward before they shamelessly rested within your crotch.
You were almost fooled as he kept his hand in that exact position without so much as a twitch of his muscles, but you knew Johnny and you were more than sure he had something in mind as the topic switched to the upcoming football final that the boys wanted to watch together.
And there it was. Suddenly, his fingers moved upward, expertly using his skills to open the button of your jeans shorts and pushing two of his fingers beneath, rubbing the pads against your panties that soon enough soaked in your arousal.
Your grip around his wrist tightened, the other hand tightly holding onto the cocktail that you had completely forgotten in your hands, desperately pretending to listen to whatever they were saying while biting your tongue so hard, you almost drew blood from the force.
When he dared pulling your underwear to the side and swiping his fingers over the swollen folds, your eyes widened and your only reasonable idea to get him to stop was to harshly stomp on his foot.
Johnny let out a colorful cuss, hissing as he flexed his toes, eyes finding yours, squinting them for a moment before smirking yet again, shaking his head.
“Wot?” Ghost asked, brows drawn together, looking back and forth between the two of you, clearly aware something wasn’t right. You couldn’t fool someone his level of observance.
“Ah, nuffin’, jus’ my bonnie lass bein’ a bit clumsy, aren’t ye?”
Johnny shot you a look as he finally pulled his fingers from between your legs under the table, making you squirm slightly, waiting for Ghosts eagle eyes to turn away again to continue his arguing with Price, giving the Scott the chance to move the tips of his fingers to his lips, opening his mouth and wrapping his lips around the slightly glistening digits, sucking them clean quickly and giving you a shit eating grin afterwards that you immediately wanted to strangle from his face. Disgusting arse.
Contents: afab reader ("lass" and "ma'am" are used to refer to the reader), period and PMS symptoms mention, breast + nipple play, dry humping, handjob, oral (fem receiving, implied)
Word Count: 1,624
MDNI! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked!
Roommate!Johnny, who tracks your period and knows everything about your cycle.
You're not dating (minus sharing a bed most nights and hooking up sometimes), he's just being a good roommate. The cabinets and fridge are stocked with whatever you crave the most, he'll fetch the heating pad for you if you need it, and he has zero qualms with running to the store to get some pads or tampons. When migraines hit, there'll be painkillers and water on your bedside and the lights will be dimmed.
He knew pretty much everything about your cycle and how it affected you now... Or so he thought. After the two of you got back from a shopping trip, he noticed you were kind of tense on the ride home. You dashed to your room as soon as he unlocked the door, but he didn't question it and just got to work on putting things away.
You complained loudly as you came back from your room. You just had to get out of your stupid bra... So sore. But he couldn't quite make it out... He just knew you didn't sound happy.
"What was that?" He called out to you as he put the milk into the fridge. "Didn't hear you."
Disgruntled, you flopped onto the couch like a ragdoll and let your head loll over the back of the couch. Your eyes were closed, legs spread wide, and one of your hands gently massaged one sore breast.
"Hey... Hey, what's wrong?" Johnny made his way to the couch, lowering himself onto the spot next to you. "You alright? Och, wait, is this because you tried lifting that one bag on yer own? I warned you, you put too much shit in it and--"
"It's not a fucking muscle strain," you interrupted his lecture, not moving your head or opening your eyes. "It's my tits, man."
"...Sorry?"
"My. Tits." You gestured to your chest and squeezed your eyes shut. "I swear, this shit happens every month..."
Johnny was lost, you could just tell by the silence that followed. Your Scottish roomie was never silent.
"So, your breasts hurt...?" He asked cautiously after a moment or two.
"No, they're just tender or sore--"
"That's the same thing, yeah?"
"Not the same thing." You sighed deeply and finally lifted your head to look at your confused roommate. "Every month, my breasts get a little bit sensitive like a week before my period. Just another stupid period thing because of some stupid ass hormones. It's nothing, just PMS." You waved a hand dismissively, letting the hand that was massaging your chest fall onto the cushion beside you.
You'd told Johnny that you had aches and pains before your period, but the breasts thing? You somehow never mentioned it... And his eyes were glued to your chest now. It wasn't until you cleared your throat and waved a hand in front of his eyes that he seemed to realize it himself.
"Hey, I know we've fucked before, but that's still rude." You teased as you sat up straighter so you looked less like a limp ragdoll.
"So we have..."
Johnny, still taking in the information given to him, scooted a bit closer to you. A sly smile came to his lips, an idea had clearly formed in his head.
"Could I help?" He asked, hands moving to the hem of your shirt. "I'll be gentle..."
"I don't really trust your hands, Johnny... No offense, but your definition of gentle is not the same as mine." You reminded him, but didn't stop him as he pushed the shirt up more. "You're too rough, and usually that's not an issue but..."
"C'mon, bonnie... I can be gentle," he protested as he moved your shirt up and over your breasts. They were bare, no bra to hide them from his hungry stare. "Fuckin' look at them... They look bigger, too."
You lifted your arms, letting Johnny pull the shirt off the rest of the way as you grinned. "You would notice that... They're a little swollen, it's totally normal."
Johnny tossed your shirt aside and slid his hands up your sides before carefully cupping your breasts. One of his thumbs grazed over a nipple, a low groan leaving him as it pebbled under his touch. His other hand squeezed as gently as he could manage, and you sighed gently as he did. It felt really good... Better than your own hands, his were larger and warmer, and yes... Gentle for once.
"Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?" He asked, his voice lower as he rolled one of your nipples between his fingers. "You know I would've helped you."
"Didn't think it mattered," you said, and a moan followed your words. You watched, pupils blown wide, as your roommate gently kneaded at your tender breasts. Your eyes moved to his face and zeroed on his mouth, watching his tongue dart out. "Mmh, wait... Hold on, I have an idea."
"An idea...? Ye say that like it's a good thing." Even as he's painfully turned on, he somehow found the time to be sarcastic. But he did remove his hands when you gestured for him to let go.
Not bothering to tell him to shut up or even laugh, you wasted no time and climbed into his lap. You straddled him, one leg on either side of his own. His obvious arousal pressed against your inner thigh, and you rolled your hips down for good measure.
"Fuck-- Bonnie, this is for you, remember?" Johnny's hands pawed at your hips, gripped them for dear life as you repeated the motion.
"I know..." You placed a hand on the back of his head, and with your free hand you cupped one of your breasts. "So help me by using that mouth for something other than talking, MacTavish."
Johnny's eyes darkened with hunger, and he didn't need to be told twice. He leaned forward slightly and laved one of your nipples with his tongue. It was leagues better than his fingers or hands, the hot weight against the sensitive peak felt like nothing you felt before. Your fingers tightened in his hair, urging him to continue. After lapping and circling the nipple a few more times, he gently took it into his mouth and sucked.
"Oh...! Oh, fuck, do that again!" You ground your hips against his, a damp patch forming on the cotton panties under your pants as he did it again. "Feels s'good… Again."
"Yes, ma'am..." He moaned before doing it again and again... In between sucking, he swirled his tongue around the bud. As you continued to ground down against him, he pressed a kiss to the breast before switching to the other.
Johnny gave the same amount of attention to the other breast, laving and swirling and sucking gently all while you humped his lap and begged him to keep going. As he switched back again, he began to lift his hips slightly to press against you more. The friction and the arousal he felt from this moment alone was pushing him closer... Closer to the edge. Your nails against his scalp are what really did it, though. He was going to cum right there if you kept going.
"Fuuuck, lass... I'm..." He tried to warn you, pulled back from your breasts so he could get the words out. "Please... If you keep fuckin' squirmin'..."
You were moaning, not slowing down. Deliberately, you locked eyes with him and moved faster, rolling your hips against his with a cruel smile.
"Hmm... Yeah? What're you gonna do?" You asked teasingly, breathlessly. "Say ‘please’ again..."
"Please, fuck, please...!" His words were a growled plea, but the moment you stopped moving your hips he let out an honest to god whimper.
You lifted yourself enough and slid back just a bit on his lap, enough to wrestle with the waistband of his basketball shorts and boxers. You pulled him out and stroked him from base to tip a few times, coating his length with precum. A half strangled moan left him as his hips tilted up as much as they could. As you jerked him off, you sat up more on your knees and brought your chest back to his face.
Both of you moaned, filling in the silence of the living room. He suckled and lapped at your nipples as you stroked him faster. Johnny came with a louder yet muffled moan against your chest, eyes screwed shut as you milked his orgasm. Pearly ropes of cum landed on his shirt and on your hand, dripping down onto his shorts. His dick throbbed in your hand as he laid his head against your chest.
"You were so good... Helping me like that... So good, Johnny," you praised, bowing your head slightly to kiss the crown of his head. "Feels better..." And they did feel better, in all honesty.
Whatever Johnny said, it was muffled against your chest. His dick softened in your hand before you let go to climb off of his lap, and you licked up whatever you could from your hand.
"Y'need help with anything else...?" Johnny asked, looking over at you with lust-clouded eyes.
You thought for a moment and laid down, resting your head against the arm of the couch. But you already knew what you were going to say.
"I think... I might need your mouth again," you mused as you glanced up at him. Your fingers undid the button of your jeans, but you didn't move to take them off at all. "If you're alright with that...?"
Your pants (and panties) were gone within seconds, legs over his shoulders as he helped you a bit more.
thinking about the 'comes back wrong' trope with soap...
alt link; ao3
18+ mdni !!! (horror, smut, dd:dne)
cw: fem!reader, horror (psychological mostly), HEAVY dubcon, mild gore, brief ref. to drugs, ment. of blood, obsessive behavior, grief denial & mourning, dissociation during sex, minor violence, canonical character death, heavy angst, unhappy ending (guess it depends on the character though), again DD:DNE, repetition for emphasis, turns into ghoap x reader by the end, inspired by obsession (2026), word count: 4.8k
It feels wrong to be here. The kind of wrong that makes you question every step you take.
Johnny always promised he’d take you to visit his hometown one day. He swore that you’d love it, and he was right. Scotland is beautiful, really– you just wish he were here with you.
Your shoes sit next to you, a cheap pair of black flats– black like your ill-fitting dress, black like the edges of the urn you’d scattered his ashes out of. Your feet and hands dig into the sand, the rough texture anchoring you back to reality.
You’ve always hated the beach, but Johnny insisted you’d just never been with the right person– you suppose you’ll be forced to hate the gritty sand for the rest of your life, then.
Your eyes continue to stare dully out into the horizon, the occasional wave brushing against your skin.
A flinch wracks your body, leg yanking away instinctively when something smacks against the side of your foot.
Your heartbeat steadies the second you glance down and find a rock, and you quickly reach down to pick up the smooth stone. It’d be entirely grey if not for the thick white line wrapping around it.
Your fingers wrap around it, mind wandering back to a conversation you’d once had with him– not long before he’d passed.
“Am tellin’ ye, it’s a real thing!” He’d insisted, shaking his head as you’d laughed at him.
You rolled your eyes, throwing back the rest of your shitty beer as you sat in the booth with the rest of your teammates. “You expect me to believe that Scotland has magical stones that grant wishes?” you’d questioned him, eyebrow raised as you stared at him.
He shook his head, hands gesturing as he spoke. “Not just wishes– curses,”
Even Ghost chuckled, “Y’know that’s a load of rubbish, righ’, Johnny?”
Your boyfriend just scoffed, as if you were the ridiculous ones. “One day, we’ll all go visit together, and I’ll prove it tae you.”
“And what are you gonna wish for, Soap?” Gaz asked, a teasing smile on his face.
“Isnae obvious?” He shook his head before picking up your hand, placing a gentle kiss on your palm. “Am gonna wish for my bonnie lass tae be mine forever.”
At the time, the words were romantic, sappy enough to make your friends groan and mock the two of you– now they just feel like a cruel reminder.
It’s desperate, yes, but no more so than the dozens of prayers you’ve said since his death– prayers to anyone who’d listen. And it certainly can’t be any more humiliating than the muffled sobs you’d cried into your lieutenant’s shoulder as he’d forced you to look away from your body.
A dream that won’t come true can’t possibly hurt more than facing the reality of what has already happened.
“I wish John Mactavish were alive,” you whisper, your thumb brushes along the broken white line, ears ringing with Johnny’s words about curses, wishes, and stones. The air grows hot, unbearably so, as you raise your arm and toss the rock into the sea.
Bright white briefly blinds you, the sky tearing open like a familiar wound.
Your scream echoes along the beach, body scrambling backwards as you watch a strike of lightning shoot down into the water. The thump of your heart is all you can hear as your hands hurriedly slip on your shoes, running breathlessly back to your car.
The ache in your chest only worsens as you step into your apartment. The apartment that once belonged to both you and Johnny.
Price keeps telling you to box it up and just move in with him or one of the boys– he’s insistent it’s only causing more harm than good. You’ll never admit it out loud, but as you stare at traces of what’s left of the man you love, you know he’s right.
Dark green color catches your eyes as you scurry off into your bedroom– the blanket your boyfriend always used during movie nights is still draped over the couch.
You slip off your dress, tossing it into the corner with the promise to never wear it again. The same way you promised to tell Simon if you needed anything– if the unread texts on your phone are anything to go by, you’ll be wearing it again tomorrow.
Ironically, Johnny hated the dress, saying it looked like something his Nan would wear– he loathed that woman.
You like to think of it as your way of screaming ‘fuck you for dying, for leaving me here alone’. No one else will ever have to know you wore it to his half-baked funeral out of spite– or that you’ve worn it every day since.
But can you even call it a funeral if only four people gather? If instead of lowering a casket, burying a body, you’re scattering remains into the wind? You briefly ponder the question as you crawl into bed, taking a deep breath as you bury your face into the covered mattress.
It’s disgusting, but you haven’t changed your sheets since he died. Your mind is too convinced that you can still smell hints of him– cedar, amber, and cloves– on the soft fabric.
You wrap your arms around a pillow, his pillow, squeezing your eyes shut– like if you close them tight enough, you won’t notice the empty spot next to you.
It doesn’t work, yet you fall asleep anyway.
The smell of old dirt and rot fills your lungs as you struggle to wake up, your mind barely registering the arm wrapped around your waist.
You blink, slowly turning your body to find familiar blue eyes staring straight at you.
“Good morning,” Johnny whispers, voice hoarse as his thumb brushes along your cheek.
Tremoring fingers reach out to touch his neck, resting right against his pulse point. You hold your breath at the feeling of his skin beating to life underneath you.
He glances down at you, eyebrows furrowed in worry. “Whit’s the matter, bonnie?”
What the fuck are you supposed to say? If he doesn’t remember dying, you don’t want to make him.
It dawns on you then that you can’t tell anyone– especially not Simon. What if they called you crazy? What if you are crazy? Worse, what if they take him from you– again?
His mouth crashes against yours, snapping you out of your thoughts. The movements are all Johnny; one hand on the back of your neck as the other slides up your bare leg. The taste of his lips is nothing familiar, though– a lingering aftertaste of decay settling on your tongue.
You pull away, heart hammering as you realize this is real. That the man lying next to you is real– the wishing stone worked.
You don’t notice how worse for wear he is until you lean back, eyes racking over his body. There’s a scar on the side of his head that was never there before– you try not to linger on it too long. His hair’s grown out a bit, his fingernails too, and his body is smeared with soil that reeks of mildew and mold.
You look him in the eyes, only slightly unnerved to find he’d been staring at you the whole time. “Johnny, why don’t I give you a bath? Like we always do after a mission, yeah?” Your voice threatens to crack as you speak.
He tilts his head, eyes squinted as if he’s flipping through memories. “Is that where I was? A mission?”
You swallow, glancing down at your shaking hands as your brain scrambles to weave a story. “Yeah, you were. We all went on a mission. You got shot, but the medics saved you. We’re on leave right now.”
His eyes stare at you unblinkingly as he slowly nods. “Aye, I remember now. We were on a mission, I got shot, am on leave. We always wash up together after,” he repeats back.
He’s sitting in the tub, arms wrapped around his knees that are pressed against his chest. You’ve gone through two washcloths already while scrubbing him down– the once white material now grimy and brown.
Your eyes trail his form for any discrepancies. You’re not sure if the fact that every single scar, mole, and birthmark is exactly where it’s supposed to be makes things better or worse. You grab the cup, gently letting the warm water wash away the last of his body wash.
He’s completely still as he watches you, content to just observe as you gently pat him dry with the fluffy towel before handing him some comfortable clothes.
“I missed you.” His words are so quiet that you barely hear the whisper.
“I missed you, too, Johnny.”
You’re happy. Your boyfriend is back, he’s alive, he’s in your arms. There is a heart beating inside his chest and something other than emptiness in your own.
You scream when you notice him, the glass cup shattering across the floor.
“What the fuck, Johnny?” you shout, voice shrill as you stomp over to the dark corner of the kitchen where he stands.
He tilts his head, his arm stiff by his sides as he smiles widely at you– too wide. “You werena in bed,” he mumbles as if that’ll calm your rapidly beating heart.
“I needed a glass of water. Are you– is everything okay?”
Silence fills the air. The kind of silence that scrapes at your skin until it hits decaying tissue like a maggot.
Your hands shake as you hesitantly reach out, rubbing his shoulder in a poor attempt at comfort– at normalcy. “Are you okay?” you repeat.
“I had a nightmare,” he admits– something not uncommon given his line of work. “I was in a tunnel, there was a gun pointed at me, and I could feel the blood pouring out of my head.”
“It was just a dream,” your voice trembles as you lie.
His hands grip your bare shoulders, fingers digging into the skin so hard you can practically feel the bruises already. “I can still feel it sometimes, dripping down my skin– can taste it every time I close my mouth.”
As if to prove his point, he presses his lips against yours. The taste of salty iron just barely brushes against your tongue. He breaks away from you, and you make the mistake of glancing at his scar– all you can see is bright scarlet.
You thrash against his grip, eyes trying to blink away the sight of him lying on the concrete, covered in gore.
“Wha’ did ye do?” He whispers, eyes piercing down at you in a glare.
Acid-like regret creeps up the back of your throat, threatening to spill from your mouth. You don’t reply– you can’t.
“What did you do?” he repeats, shaking your body as a broken cry leaves his mouth. All you can do is hold him as he mourns– you wonder if this is what Simon felt in that tunnel as he tried to shield you from the sight of Johnny.
His head is buried in your neck as you rub a hand up and down his spine. “I’m sorry, Johnny,” you whisper.
Another lie.
After all, your boyfriend is back, he’s alive, he’s in your arms– you’re happy.
It’s far too easy to settle into a routine after that– to pretend that everything’s normal– as long as you ignore the glaring disparities between the man who died and the one that came back.
You act like you can’t hear when his accent randomly drops– as if it’s something he has to manually remember to do. When he glares at you in borderline resentment, you just give him a soft smile, watching as he only snaps out of it the second he feels your eyes on him.
It’s as if when he came back, all the pieces of him got replaced.
Your Johnny hated horror movies– the imitation of him loves them. So here you sit in his lap, watching a masked man chase some poor, naive woman with a knife.
The sounds of his laugh fill the air, mixing with shrieks coming from the television as the killer finally catches up to the protagonist. His arms are wrapped tight around your waist– unbearably so. “That’s not what it’s like, you know?”
You swallowed hard at the feeling of his cold fingers on your exposed skin. You don’t ask him to elaborate– you’ve learnt better by now– but he continues anyway.
“Dyin’ doesnae feel like that, it’s better, somethin’ greater than any fuckin’ higher power. It’s nothin’ and everythin’ all at once– warmer than any cunt ye could bury your cock in and colder than any drug that could be shot up yer veins,” he rambles.
You can feel how hard he is as he presses into your ass. You tell yourself it’s desire that settles in your stomach, not fear. You’re happy– you want to be happy. You hate what a convincing liar you’ve become.
You stand up, sinking onto your knees as he spreads his thighs, his eyes never once leaving the gory scene playing. Your hands shake as you unzip his jeans, hand reaching out to free his cock.
You don’t waste time before wrapping your lips around the tip, breathing in through your nose when his hand on the back of your head forces you to take all of him down your throat.
You squeeze your eyes shut as he roughly fucks your mouth. If you concentrate hard enough, you can ignore the guttural screams coming from the movie.
You let your hand drift down between your legs, your fingers dipping past your lounge shorts and into your underwear to gather what little slick is there as you rub at your clit.
His hand slaps against your cheek, the sting forcing your eyes wide open as you glance up at him. “You scared o’ me, bonnie?”
You press harder against your clit, shaking your head as best as you can with your mouth around his cock– you could never be scared of Johnny. Your Johnny, your boyfriend who's alive.
He chuckles low, the snapping of his hips pushing his member further down your throat. Fat tears roll down your cheeks as you stare into his dull eyes. “Why are you crying? This is what you wished for?”
He spills in your mouth without any warning, forcing you to drink it all– it’s cold and tastes like ruins on your throat.
You gasp for air when he finally pulls out, giving you no time before he’s dragging you onto the couch and spreading your thighs.
He doesn’t hesitate before shoving his cock inside you, splitting your poor cunt open. “Johnny!” you cry out, hands gripping his shoulders as he repeatedly slams into you.
“Yer mine, y’know that bonnie? Not even death could do us part, aye? Tha’s why you brought me back, ye selfish hure.” You don’t reply, hazy mind too focused on the pressure building in your stomach.
He leans in close, nose touching as he whispers against your lips. “Say it, and I’ll let ye cum.”
“I’m a selfish whore! Couldn’t live without you!” you cry out before crashing your mouth against his. He bites down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, moaning into your mouth at the metallic taste.
“Alrigh’, bonnie, go on– make a mess.” That’s it all it takes for you to let go with a sob, head tossed back as a shudder wracks your body.
His pace doesn’t slow, hips continuing to snap against you as he stares straight through you. He twitches inside you, and you know it won’t be long before his own climax approaches.
“Mmm, Johnny, need, y’gotta pull out,” you whine. The second your hips start to move back, his rough hands grab them, pulling you closer to him.
He shakes his head, snickering at your blissed-out expression. “Dinnae be silly, hen. I said yer mine, and I meant it– I’ll fill ‘er up and yer gonna take every fuckin’ drop with a smile, aye?” He coos at you, hand gripping your jaw as he looks at you expectantly.
You gasp, feeling the tip of his cock brush against the deepest part of you. You nod your head, a pathetic whimper falling from your lips. “I’ll take it, fill me up, ‘m yours!” you cry out, head falling back when he finally spills inside you.
He collapses on top of you, cock still settled inside your cunt. He stares down at you, and you swear his eyes used to be a brighter shade of blue.
“You could’ve y’know?” he whispers, lips hovering over yours.
Your body tenses, weakly smiling up at him. “What?”
“Live wit’out me. You could’ve, you just didnae want tae.”
You don’t know what to say to that, so you say nothing. Your boyfriend is back, he’s alive, he’s in your arms– you’re supposed to be happy.
Only, it’s never that simple, is it?
You feel like you’re going insane– you probably are. Making that asinine wish you’d made was just the first sign of your declining sanity.
Rapidly declining– you correct as you ignore yet another call from your former lieutenant.
From across the dinner table, Johnny’s staring at you; he always is. His smile is too wide. His teeth are too straight.
His grin was the first thing you fell in love with– always arguing with him that the chip on his front tooth added to his charm.
He hasn’t touched his dinner– steak, medium rare– even though it used to be his favorite.
“Did ye ever hear the tale o’ the ship of Theseus?” Johnny waits for you to reply– you miss when he used to interrupt you, voice loud as he rambled.
You nod, eyes glued to your barely picked at plate.
He continues, eyes tight as he stares at you. “The wood was rotted, the ship’s wheel broken, and the flag was covered in holes. The people of Athens repaired it, year after year, replacing it piece by piece, until there was not a single piece of the original left.”
His fist slams on the table, your eyes wide as you look at the sour expression on his face.
“Is it nae still the ship of Theseus? Am I nae still yer Johnny?”
You shift in your seat, his words ringing in your ears. You’ve given up on lying; he can always tell somehow.
“I don’t know,” you whisper, hand reaching for your glass.
He scoffs, mouth twisting into a snarl. “You dinnae ken? Ye never were good wit’ riddles, aye? How about this, then bonnie: dae ye love me?”
“I don’t know,” you repeat, desperately swallowing what’s left of your wine.
Johnny laughs, the same exact sound he’d make after he told a bad joke mid-mission. “I ken I’m not him, and am not your Johnny anymore, but is it tha’ terrible– loving me?”
You don’t reply, watching the red liquid fill your glass.
“Y’know wha’ I think about the riddle, hen? I think tha’ maybe it doesnae matter if they call it the ship of Theseus, is that nae what it is? If you call me Johnny, is that nae who I am?”
You slam your glass on the table so hard it shatters, shards slicing up your skin as sticky wine runs down your hand.
“I’m stepping out for a minute,” you announce, eyes on your back as you slam the door behind you.
You ignore the odd looks as you run down the stairs, small droplets of blood dripping down your palm and onto the floor. The sight of crimson on grey concrete is just another bitter reminder of what happened to your Johnny.
You don’t think when you press the call button, his phone barely has a chance to ring before Simon’s gruff voice comes out of the speaker. “What ‘appened, love?”
“I fucked up, bad, I don’t know– I need you to fix it, please, fix him.”
The first thing he does when you open the door is pat your body down. “I’m not injured, Simon, I just– look, you need to come up to my room.”
His eyes drift down your blood-soaked hand– but he doesn’t call you out. “You go M.I.A for weeks, don’ answer my calls, leave the fuckin’ force without a word. What the bloody ‘ell happened?”
You shake your head softly, grabbing his arm as you drag into the eerily quiet apartment. “Do you remember what Johnny told us about wishing stones? That they can curse people?”
He looks at you as if you’ve gone mental. You can’t blame him, you know how it must sound– how you probably look.
“Love…”
“No, Simon, I’m telling you, there was a stone, and I was selfish, I know, but I just wanted him back! And he’s here, but he’s, you just, you don’t understand–”
You don’t have time to prepare him before Johnny, your Johnny, stumbles into the living room, his body upright and rigid, fists balled at his sides. “Really, bonnie, ye called, LT?”
For the first time since you’ve known him, you can hear hesitance in Simon's voice. “Johnny?” he whispers, slowly approaching him, his palm outstretched as if he’s terrified the other man will run.
“In the flesh,” he replies, a smug smile on his face as he stares Simon down, making no move to get closer to the man.
The look Simon gives you makes you sick to your stomach. It’s a look of gratitude, like you’ve done something noble. “Dove, what did you do?” Awe taints his words, his thumb brushing along your boyfriend’s jaw.
“I didn’t know it’d work. I don’t know what to do, he's...”
Johnny scoffs, face pinched as he shoves the man away. “Dinnae ken why she’s like this, LT. Disnae love me even though am still her Johnny, your Johnny, look exactly like him.”
You take a step towards him, red smearing the side of his face as you touch him– he smiles at the familiar scent of iron. “I love you,” you say, knowing deep down that it's not quite the truth.
“Do ye love him?”
It’s an unfair question, one you can’t answer– one you’ve never been able to– but just like your Johnny would, he asks you anyway.
“Do you love him?” he asks again.
Simon comes to your rescue, the way he always does. His arms wrap around Johnny, burying his nose in his hair as he breathes in deep before pulling away– you wonder how he can stand the stench of death that clings to your boyfriend.
“Course she loves ya' , we both love you so much,” Unlike you, Simon doesn’t lie to him– you know he means every word. “Tha’s why she called me. Y’know our poor dove gets overwhelmed so easily.”
The words seem to calm him down, any hints of something deeper than anger leaving his face. “You both love me, our poor dove just got overwhelmed.” He repeats the words back, as if he’s committing them to memory.
“Exactly, Johnny, why don’ you go wait in the bedroom? Give us a minute to talk?” Johnny listens to Simon– the same way he always used to– quietly walking into your bedroom and shutting the door behind him.
“Simon, you don’t, he’s been so… he watches me all the time, and sometimes I think he fucking hates me–” You can’t help the sob that wracks your body, crying into his chest as his arms wrap around you.
“It’s okay, lovie, I know, dealin’ with this all by yourself, ‘s too much, yeah? But ‘m so proud of you, y’ brought our Johnny back.” The pride in his words makes you flinch, sweat dripping down your spine.
You distance yourself, head shaking so fast you swear the room starts to spin. “He’s not our Johnny, he’s someone else–” Your protest falls on deaf ears.
His rambling doesn’t stop, your protest falling on deaf ears. “–Gonna fix ‘im, and it’ll be the three of us– like it was always ‘sposed to be,” he coos, thumb brushing along your jaw before his mouth crashes into yours.
Kissing Simon is nothing like kissing Johnny; all you can taste is him– all you can taste is life. You melt into his touch, hands eagerly caressing his arms, unable to hide your surprise at the warmth of his skin.
He pulls away first, hand wrapping around yours as he drags you towards the bedroom. His voice cuts you off before you even have the chance to plead with him. “C’mon, lovie, ‘m fixin’ your mess, you owe me– owe us– made poor Johnny think y’ don’ love him.”
The way your arm jerks back gets ignored as he pushes you onto the bed. Your feet scrape against the floor as you kick and try to break away from him.
Johnny’s eyes are on the two of you before you even enter the room, his stiff body relaxing as soon as you land next to him on the mattress. “Missed ye,” he whispers, pulling you into his lap, frigid arms squeezing your waist. The all too familiar smell of death fills your lungs as he buries his head into your neck.
You hate yourself for moaning when he sticks his hand past your underwear. “All tha’ from a little kiss?” Johnny coos as he crawls on top of you.
Simon chuckles, kneeling by the bed as he drags Johnny into a kiss. Our Johnny– the words he’d said ring in your ears as you watch the two paw at each other. A string of spit connects the two, faces flushed as they pull away. “All tha’ from a little kiss, Johnny?”
You don’t protest as Johnny starts to rub his hard cock against your clothed cunt. Lips parting with a moan as he grinds against your clit. It’s easy to pretend that the pit in your stomach is want and not guilt.
As Simon stares at you, you realize he was right. You’re so selfish, making poor Johnny– your Johnny, Simon’s Johnny– think you don’t love him.
“I’m sorry, been so horrible t’ you, swear I love you, you’re our Johnny.” You cry, fingers digging into his shoulders after a particularly harsh roll of his hips.
“Told y’ so, Johnny,” Simon mumbles, his lips trailing down your neck. You’re unsure when he moved, but his chest is pressed against your back, hands on your hips, forcing you to chase that pleasure building in your lower stomach.
No, not forcing– helping. You want this. You want him. You love him. It’s one thing to believe your own lies; it’s another to make Johnny believe them too.
“I love ye too, bonnie, love both o’ ye–” Simon moans into your skin at the words, rutting his own hard on against you. “Ye both love me, poor bonnie jus’ go’ overwhelmed– didnae mean it, aye?”
You’re not sure whose orgasm comes first or whose comes last. The sounds of panting and moaning all mix into the air– somewhere in the back of your mind, you can faintly hear the sounds.
Simon crawls into bed next to you, his head lying on your chest, an arm stretched over you to rest on Johnny’s side. Your body swelters under his touch, his feverish skin a harsh contrast to the icy feeling of Johnny pressing against your back.
As you fall asleep, you wonder if this is what Johnny meant– if this is what death feels like. Hot. Cold. Nothing and everything all at once.
It's borderline infuriating how easily things fall into place once Simon moves in– more and more glimpses of your Johnny peeking through.
You can't be surprised, though, after all, Simon's always been terrifyingly efficient at fixing your mistakes, cleaning up your messes.
You’re sitting at the dinner table again, your glass was replaced weeks ago with a plastic cup– safer, Simon had insisted.
Johnny’s staring at Simon, a half-eaten steak sitting on his plate, but his gaze occasionally drifts towards you.
“Thank you for makin’ dinner, dove.” Simon coos at you, red dripping from his lips as he swallows the sickeningly raw steak. You suspect the only reason he likes it so much is that the metallic cut of meat tastes like Johnny’s lips.
Your plastic fork picks at the salad on your plate– just the thought of eating anything else brings a sour taste to your mouth. You feel eyes on you, glancing up to find both of the men staring at you.
You smile at them, your eyes as dead as the man you loved.
Johnny is back, he’s alive– even if all of his original parts have been replaced, it doesn’t matter.
