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devil-in-hiding · 3 days ago

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Hear me out. Reader who is convinced she’s barren x soap with a breeding kink. HEAR ME OUT-

I KNOW I KNOW you wanted this to be a hell of a lot more smutty than I wrote it to be. That’s my bad pookie I haven’t been horny enough lately 💔 hope you enjoy anyway :)

Warnings: Angst. Smut. Mentions of infertility, fear of miscarriage, etc. Fem!Reader. Reader is very insecure and self-deprecating. MDNI.

“No,” you whisper, avoiding his eyes.

Johnny stills. Dark eyebrows furrow with hurt and shock, thin lips turning downward. A rejection was the last thing he expected to hear from you when he dropped down on bended knee and presented an intricate ring he’d spent weeks designing. Crickets chirp around the two of you, the river gently rippling beneath the bridge he brought you to—the bridge where he kissed you for the first time after one of your early dates, where he came to the devastating realization that he had fallen completely in love with you as your excited voice rambled to him about the wandering egrets and ducks that sat on the water’s surface.

“N-no?” He’s rightfully taken aback, resting his other knee on the ground as his hands fall into his lap, the ring he thought would be on your finger by now still safely tucked away into its little box.

“I’m not- fuck,” you suck in a deep breath, nearly choking on a sob. “Johnny, I love you, but I-I’m not what you need.”

Your boyfriend stills, those pretty blue eyes that you’ll always have a weakness for now trained on the pebbled ground, glossy with unshed tears. In all the time you’ve been dating him, not once have you seen him cry. He gets choked up, sure, but he never lets you see him at his most vulnerable. Not usually. Not until right this moment, when you might as well have ripped his beating heart from his chest and stomped it into the pavement. With trembling hands, you lean down and cup his handsome face in your palms, coaxing him to look up at you. It’s your turn to break.

“Baby, it’s not you,” you sniffle, thumbing away the moisture in his waterline. “I love you—God, you have no fucking idea how much I love you—b-but that… that’s why I can’t marry you, Johnny. You deserve more than what I can give you.”

“Ah dinnae understand,” he murmurs.

“I don’t wanna do this here,” you look around with a shaky sigh. “Let’s talk about it at home, okay?”

Silently, he stands, but his head hangs low as he begins the walk back to his truck. He doesn’t even reach for your hand like he normally would, and that in itself makes your stomach drop.

You could have anticipated the silence on the ride back to your flat. Instead of the comforting quiet you’ve grown accustomed to with him, it’s awkward. Painfully so. It’s wrong and it makes you nauseous, makes your head ache. When you finally arrive Johnny walks around and opens your door, and you give him a faint smile. He doesn’t return the gesture. You shuffle inside and he follows closely after, muttering under his breath as he checks the locks three times, like clockwork.

Despite being with him for so long, despite living and sharing a bed with him, you never expected the relationship to get this… serious. You’re happy with him, sure, but you’ve never really allowed yourself to imagine a future with him. He wants a big, happy family like the one he grew up in. You can’t bear the idea of holding him back, keeping him all for your selfish, dysfunctional self.

“Ah’m gonna get ready fer bed,” he informs you quietly, and instead of dragging you into the bathroom with him to fulfill your nightly routine like he typically would, he shuts and locks the door before you can even process what he said.

You chew on your bottom lip anxiously as you slip off your shoes and tread into the bedroom. Your side of the bed is neatly made and his is a mess—you can’t help but huff out a bitter laugh at the irony of it. He’s much more organized than you, generally. Johnny runs on discipline, confident and unshakable thanks to his years in the military. But you? You just take life as it comes, blindly swaying in whatever direction the wind decides to blow you in at that very moment.

He needs someone more like him, a leader. Someone who is more of a partner than a burden. He needs someone who can raise a family and hold down the home while he’s away working to support the household. He doesn’t need you, a woman who can’t give him the very thing he wants most. You can’t give him the abundance of life he desires to drown in.

His knee pops when he lowers himself onto the bed, facing the wall instead of wrapping his arm around you and pulling you into him. After you strip yourself down and replace your outfit with one of his shirts, you join him, taking it upon yourself to hold him instead. He flinches, tensing at the contact.

“Didnae think ye’d wanna touch me,” Johnny grunts sarcastically; it stings, but you somewhat expected it.

“Johnny,” you coo, carefully pushing down on his shoulder so that he lays on his back. “Please look at me.”

He complies but there is no enthusiasm in the way he blinks up at you. There’s a maelstrom of emotions hiding in those stormy irises, and you can tell he’s trying his hardest not to say something he’ll regret. Johnny is a hothead, but he never takes it out on you. He’s never even gotten this close to losing it before. You hate yourself for being the cause.

“I-I know that this is all you want,” you hum, hesitating before hooking your finger beneath his scarred chin. “To get married, start a family with someone who loves you.”

“Aye,” he nods, and despite himself, leans into your warmth.

“Johnny, I can’t- I can’t give you that.”

He shuts his eyes in frustration, running a rough hand over his face. You’re being cryptic and you know it, but the truth is something you haven’t admitted to anyone before. To say it out loud would make it all too real.

“Ah thought we’re doin’ alreit, thought ye… hen, ye’re the love o’me life. Ah wanna give ye me las’ name, wanna show the ‘ole world tha’ ye’re mine. Bunny, ah c-cannae imagine livin’ any longer without ye as me wife,” he pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to hide the way he’s blinking back tears. “Ah wan’ ye tae be the mother o’me children. Ah wanna be buried w’ye.”

“I want nothing more than to be your wife,” you choke out. “But I’ll never be the partner you need me to be. I-I’ll never carry your children or-”

“Jus’ stop,” he laughs bitterly, sniffling as he sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Ah ken s’not wha’ ye wan’. Ah’m not wha’ ye wan’, bunny. S’okay tae say so.”

“I want you more than you know, John MacTavish,” you retort, furrowing your eyebrows. “I already told you that it has nothing to do with you!”

“Ye’re doin’ a great job at convincin’ me,” he spits. “Ah’m sleepin’ on the couch. Willnae take up yer space any longer.”

“Johnny, please wait-!” You call after him, but he’s already slamming the bedroom door shut.

God, the last thing you want is for him to be angry with you, but you can’t exactly blame him. He’d spent weeks planning, spent the whole day waiting for this evening to propose in a way he thought you’d love, expecting you to say yes because why wouldn’t you? Instead, you crushed him. Ruined him. You let out a frustrated sob, pulling the covers up over your head.

Maybe it’s for the better. Better to hurt him now and give him time to get over you than to marry him and have him realize how miserable he is with you. You would never be able to forgive yourself if he devoted himself, his life, his everything to you, just to find that you’re nothing but damaged parts. A broken machine pretending to be functional just to feel something real. You were foolish to believe that you could keep up the facade.

He’ll leave early tomorrow morning to go to the gym, like clockwork. That’s when you’ll pack up your things and leave this apartment like you were never there to begin with. Maybe, after time, he’ll be able to convince himself that this—that you—were never real. One last night in this bed might be detrimental for your mental health in the end, but you’re too exhausted to care about where you’ll end up. All that matters is that Johnny gets his happy ending. All you care about is his joy.

You fall asleep as quickly as your tears dry.

The gentle dip of the bed startles you awake at an ungodly hour. A strong arm wraps around your waist, and the warmth of a familiar body melts into your back. The shirt he’d had on when he first got in bed is gone, and you never thought you could love the feel of his skin on yours more. Chapped lips trail kisses along the softness of your jawline.

“Johnny?” You question, voice raspy with exhaustion.

“Ah’m sae sorry, hen,” he whispers. “Feel terrible fer ‘ow ah treated ye.”

You turn to face him, humming contentedly when he rests a large palm on your cheek. Even in the dark, his bright eyes manage to hold your attention.

“No, don’t apologize. Y-you were… I hurt you, Johnny. I deserved it.”

“Dinnae make excuses fer me, bunny. S’not fair o’me tae expect ye tae wan’ the same things as me,” he shakes his head softly. “Ah dinnae care if ye don’t wanna get married or ‘ave kids. Ah’m willin’ tae give those up. Ah jus’ cannae live without ye.”

You sigh softly, resting your forehead against his. Your hand moves his own from your face so that you can intertwine fingers, squeezing fondly.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you admit. “I just can’t. I-I… Johnny, I’m infertile. I can’t give you kids, and I refuse to let myself marry you if it means I’ll hold you back. You deserve to be with someone who’s able to give you everything you want. I can’t stand the thought that you would settle for- for this shell of a person that I am.”

He sucks in a long breath and his grip on you loosens. Your boyfriend is still, silent for a while. You can only assume that the gears are turning in his head.

“I know it’s a lot to take,” you mutter. “But it’s fine. I’m packing in the morning-”

“Wha’?” Johnny’s incredulous voice takes you by surprise—when you flinch, he holds you tighter once again. “Nae, ye’re not leavin’. Oh, lass, is tha’ the only thing holdin’ ye back?”

“I-I mean… yeah? It’s a big thing.”

Johnny tuts, cupping your face in both of his hands and pulling you as close as possible. The tip of his nose brushes against yours clumsily, but neither of you seem to care.

“Ye’re more than wha’ yer body can or cannae do,” he says firmly. “Ah fell in love w’ who ye are, bunny, not yer fuckin’ uterus. Ah could give two flyin’ fucks about biological kids if it means ah cannae be w’ye.”

“B-but you want-”

“Ah wan’ ye. Ah wan’ all o’yer flaws and struggles. Ah wan’ every bloody part o’ye,” he interrupts. “Children are negotiable. But ye, mo chridhe, are not.”

He’s so warm and so genuine that it makes your heart drop into your stomach. You sigh softly against his lips as he pulls you in for a slow, tender kiss, tangling his fingers into the hair at the back of your head. Somehow you eventually find yourself pinned beneath a shirtless Johnny with his hips settled between your thighs.

“Johnny, wait,” you pant, grabbing onto his shoulders as he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth. “Are you sure? I understand if you wanna call this off.”

“Steamin’ Jesus, ye drive me mad sometimes,” he huffs, partly with frustration and partly with amusement. “Ah’d rather die than let ye go, hen. Ye’re a part o’me, now. Alweys will be.”

You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in closer, running your hands along the expanse of his broad neck and shoulders. Johnny leans down for another kiss and grunts appreciatively into your mouth when your fingers dig into his muscles. He is carved from stone, an immovable mountain, and yet when he allows himself to indulge in the tenderness of you, he crumbles. He would argue that, in pieces, he is stronger—especially when you are by his side to build him back up when he needs it most. Even when you hide, he is there to wrap himself around you like a fortress. A team, and one that Johnny would sooner give up air than breaking.

“Ah love ye sae much, bunny,” he hums, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “Gonna sho’ ye tha’ ye mean the world tae me. More than tha’, ye ken—ye mean everything tae me.”

His hand travels down past the place where your bellies meet, and he hooks his fingers into the hem of your panties. You lift your hips to aid him in removing the garment and he rewards you by grinding himself against your bare cunt. Your breath hitches as he slides the length of his clothed cock through your folds in a slow tease.

“E-even though I can’t give you babies?”

“Even if ye cannae give me any babies,” he murmurs, cupping your chin in one hand and squeezing just slightly so that your lips pucker out, “Ah’ll still fuck ye like we’re tryin’ fer one.”

“Johnny,” you gasp, squealing when you feel him pull his boxers down so that his flushed skin finally meets yours.

Your man’s tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip before he devours both yet again, notching the head of his cock at your weeping entrance. Any other night, you would ask him to prep you first to get your poor pussy ready for his girth, but tonight, he’s so desperate and you’re not going to deny him anything—not after the emotional rollercoaster you put him on. When he finally pushes his thick cockhead inside, he swallows the pained whimper you release into his mouth.

“Ah ken it hurts, hen. Ah’m sorry,” he apologizes, leisurely feeding himself into your aching heat inch by agonizing inch. “Tell me if it’s too much, aye?”

You nod as your eyelids screw shut. Johnny sighs softly when he feels his balls press against your ass, now fully sheathed inside of you, intertwining both of his hands with yours and pinning them beside your head.

“Alrigh'?” He asks, but the little moan you let out along with the tight pulse of your walls around his dick tells him all he needs to know. “Gonna move now, bonnie.”

“I love you,” you rasp through a broken weep the moment he starts moving, crossing your legs over the small of his back.

In this position he can barely move, but the grinding of his hips against yours is all either of you need. His cock hits deep, and his tongue licks over yours, and it’s the closest you’ll get to heaven while still on this planet.

“Ah love ye more,” he whispers. “Cannae believe ye’d ever think otherwise.”

“I’m sorry-” you begin, but Johnny shushes you with a particularly lengthy pump of his hips.

“None o’tha’, baby,” he tuts. “Nothin’ tae apologize fer. Jus’ gotta talk tae me, aye? Dinnae wan’ ye feelin’ less than because o’summat ye can’t control.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breaking your hands free from his to trail them up his back and feel the muscles there contracting with his every move. His own hands travel lower to grasp the backs of your knees, pushing them up to settle his body over yours. Your pretty eyes widen when he hugs your thighs so that your calves rest on his shoulders, keeping you completely spread and useless beneath him. Your boyfriend grunts as he starts thrusting quicker, harder, mouth hanging open as he stares down at you with those crystalline eyes full of admiration. He just about bursts when his rhythm causes your shirt to ride up over your tits.

“Ye’re bloody perfection,” Johnny groans, lowering his head to lick a broad stripe between the valley of your breasts. “Cannae breathe when ye’re gone from me. Cannae think when ah’m awey from ye. Price is startin’ tae keep me off the field ‘cause all ah do is worry ‘bout ye.”

You whimper as he sucks a nipple between his lips before kissing his way up your neck right back to your lips. His entire body drapes over yours once again as he holds you down in an overwhelmingly warm bear hug, pressing his sweaty forehead against your own. Your nails scratch down his back carelessly as he presses deeper and deeper still with every pump of his hips, damn near reaching the plug of your womb.

“B-but you love—fuck, Johnny, right there!—you l-love being on the field,” you cry, legs bouncing uselessly in the air.

“Not as much as ah love me gal,” he murmurs. “Bit difficult tae focus on the enemy when ah’ve got a hard-on thinkin’ about the wey ye feel around me. Fuck, like bloody heaven, lass.”

You go crosseyed when the pleasure that had been building in your belly finally peaks, and your pussy tightens around him so hard it’s like it’s trying to push him out, but Johnny persists—strong hips snapping forward as hard as his body allows. He cups your face in his big hands and pushes one thumb into your mouth, pressing it against your tongue. When you begin to suck, it sends him over the edge. He growls as ribbons of hot cum coat the inside of you.

“Bleedin’ ‘ell,” pants Johnny, collapsing on top of you and peppering your neck with slow, lazy kisses. “Could do nothin’ but fill ye up fer the rest o’me life and die a happy man.”

“Freak,” you breathe affectionately, flipping him onto his back so that you can cuddle into his side.

“Aye, yer freak,” he huffs amusedly, rough fingertips caressing your back and the nape of your neck.

“I wanna marry you, Johnny," you admit after a moment of silence.

“Ye do?” He questions too quickly, clearing his throat to try and hide his excitement. “Bunny, are ye sure? Ah dinnae wanna pressure ye intae anything.”

“You’re not,” you assure him. “I do. I want to marry you.”

“She’s comin’, mate,” Simon informs the groom, leaning against the doorframe of the men’s dressing room.

“Wha’?” Johnny asks, straightening his tie before turning to face his best man with a confused scowl on his face. “Righ’ now?”

“Affirm,” the blond man grunts, giving you a polite nod when you approach and stepping out of the room so that you and your future husband can have a moment alone.

You look nervous, and Johnny’s first thought is that you’re getting cold feet. His heart sinks as he sees you in your gorgeous dress, tears in your eyes and your painted lips trembling. You look stunning even in your fear.

“Wha’s wrong, lass?” Your fiance coos, carefully wiping the moisture from your waterline. “Ye havin’ second thoughts?”

“No! Yes? Fuck, I-I don’t know,” you ramble, starting to hyperventilate.

Johnny guides you to sit on the sofa in the dressing room, kneeling before you. He takes your hands in his and gingerly rubs his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Talk tae me.”

“I took a couple of tests because I’ve been feeling off lately,” you admit slowly.

“Tests?” He cocks an eyebrow, heart pounding inside of his chest. “Like-?”

“Johnny, I’m pregnant,” you conclude, nervously meeting his eye.

“Ye’re…” he pauses, utterly confused. “A-ah didnae think ye could-”

“Neither did I,” you squeeze his hands tightly. “I’m so fucking scared. I don’t understand.”

“Alrigh’. As soon as the ceremony’s over, ah’m tellin’ Price ah wan’ out o'the field fer good—only deskwork from now on,” he says sternly, confident in his plan.

“What? No, no, no, Johnny, please don’t do that just because of me. What if it’s a… a false positive? W-what if I lose the baby? What if I can’t-?”

“Relax, hen,” he smiles, sitting up on his knees to cup your face in his hands. “Everything ah do is for ye. Ah wouldnae wan’ it any other wey. No matter wha’ happens with this pregnancy, this marriage, any challenges we’ll face, ah swear ah’ll be righ’ by yer side fer all of it.

“I don’t deserve you,” you whisper, croaking out a gross sob.

“Ye absolutely do. S’why we’re gettin’ married,” he grins.

“You weren’t even supposed to see me yet,” you sniffle, looking down at your dress. “I ruined it.”

“Nae. Ye needed this, bunny. Didnae think ye cared about traditions anywey,” he teases.

“I thought you did.”

“Used tae. All kinda changed when ah met ye. Ah much prefer takin’ it one day at a time w’ye, now,” he leans in to press a lingering kiss to your lips, then kisses his way down your sternum until he reaches your belly, whispering something inaudible before resting his forehead there.

“We’re gonna be alrigh’, ye ken.”

You nod, allowing him to help you stand and pull you into a gentle, loving hug.

“Let’s go get married, Mr. MacTavish.”

#crying in the bathroom #oh my GOD

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