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godihatethiswebsite · 22 days ago

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A Soul With No King

Highlander!Soap x You

Saviour | Part 4

Non-Con smut. Johnny and Simon continue being terrors. Take care besties.

Almost an entire day passes on horseback, hooves picking through hock deep mud and gorse. Low branches scraping your hair as Simon forces your head into a bow with a rough hand. They stop twice, only to relieve themselves and let you do the same.

Humiliatingly, Johnny stands over you as you squat, not trusting that you won’t flee. Admittedly the thought crosses your mind, except you have no idea where you are, the weather beaten hills rolling into sharp gorges, stern peaks of slate poking through the moss and withering green. It could be dangerous to leave the safety of the path, you don’t know the terrain well enough to understand how far the cottage is or whether it’s even viable to attempt the journey on foot. You don’t doubt there are others worse out there than the two that abducted you and have no desire to end up dead in a ditch.

“Do you fucking mind?”

Johnny averts his eyes ostensibly, looking up at the trees as you desperately try not to wet your shorts. That won’t help the bone deep chill you feel, barely suppressed by the blanket Johnny gave you.

“Nothin I haven’t seen before bonnie. Dinnae know why yer bein so precious about it.”

You roll your eyes and attempt to focus on the task at hand. Still, you can’t shake the feeling Johnny is definitely trying to get a glimpse between your legs. Without any hesitation, those blue orbs ate up the view of you shivering in your t-shirt, the goosebumps forming on your skin in the autumn breeze.

Simon seems completely unfazed. You hope that continues frankly, two pairs of wandering eyes would test your patience to an extreme. Already you’ve counted the weapons clinging to the pair of them, they’re armed to the teeth. But you’ve never used anything even faintly similar to a flintlock pistol, or a sword. They look heavy, unwieldy. Potent skill and familiarity would be needed to cause any damage, also you have the feeling both of them wouldn’t go down easily, if the silver scars littering their skin are anything to go by.

Back on a jolting horse, you watch browning ferns curl inwards as the light of day starts to fade, stepping back into dense woodland. Johnny insisted you ride with him for the remainder of the journey, one broad and calloused palm resting on your hip to keep you in place. Hands still bound, you’d tried to heave him off, but only succeeded in nearly toppling over yourself.

Johnny growled at you, steadying your arse forcefully with a slap that stung. Sufficiently shamed by that, you’re now mutinously clinging to the mane of his grey mare. Trying to avoid rubbing his crotch any more than you can help.

Your thighs are crying with muscle strain by the time night truly begins to fall, burning ferociously until every movement makes a dry sob build inside your throat. Finally, Johnny slows his horse to a stop, dismounting quickly to join Simon on the ground and holding out a hand to you.

Gratefully you take it, a squeak of pain leaving your mouth as the chafed skin of your legs reunite, having been knocking against a saddle for hours. Johnny watches you walking oddly with a rye look in his eye.

“No much used ta ridin then?”

You shake your head in response, exhaustion and cold setting in now you’re away from his wandering palms and body heat. Shivering, you examine the inflamed flesh below your shorts.

Simon is tethering the mounts, while Johnny slopes off presumably to help. Your skin isn’t broken yet, but it does prickle angrily under the coolness of your fingers. Absolutely typical, you’ll be sore for days no doubt, with no end in sight for the rambling journey.

A makeshift camp appears around you, wind rustling the muddied canvas tent stretched and pitching, while the men work. Johnny’s thick thighs materialise, a flask of water presented in his freshly cleaned hands. Grateful, you accept it, a balm to your chapped lips and hoarse windpipe. He kneels while you’re slugging it down, teeth sharp with how cold it is. His blue eyes and a weathered thumb start examining the chafed flesh of your thighs until you yelp and bat him away, a droplet accidentally spilling over your lip.

“Dinnae fash, tryin to help ye for chrissake.”

Freezing liquid from the flask is splashed across the irritated skin so you yelp, trying to scramble away from the additional chill. He holds you firm with a paw, reaching inside his jacket for a small, stoppered glass vial, which is then offered to you reasonably politely.

“What is it?” Suspiciously you eye the thin white liquid.

“Calendula. S’good fer soreness.” He replies stoutly, pulling the stopper loose with pearly teeth. “Ye wan me to do it fer ye?”

“I can do it!”

Johnny smiles at the snap in your voice, mirth dancing under his long lashes. Then, rather unexpectedly he gets to his feet and leaves you to it, like he wants to give you some modicum of privacy. It takes you a little by surprise actually, given the way he’s barely stopped glancing at you since you came round from unconsciousness.

Dinner is a paltry affair, rough and stale bread while Simon starts building a small fire. Johnny sits at your side, but not a word is spoken between the three of you, only the babbling of a small stream nearby breaking the silence, alongside the movement of the horses, their gentle munching a background hum.

You’re so tired it’s making your eyelids itch. Once or twice you jerk awake, having started to drift off against the broad shoulder nearest you.

“Come on lassie. To bed with ye.” Ever eagle eyed, Johnny has spotted your weakness, nodding his head towards the tent. Gratefully you get to your feet and trudge towards it, until you realise he’s following right behind you.

“What are you doing?!” Incredulously you eye him. Johnny grins stupidly, tilting his head.

“Hittin tha hay. Didnee think ye would be hogging tha only shelter all night did ye?”

“I knew you weren’t a gentleman, but this is taking the piss!”

“Ach bonnie, ya nearly hurt ma feelins wi’ tha one!”

You scowl at him, every hackle raised like a dog guarding a precious bone. This man has assaulted you, forced you onto a horse in the middle of the night and made it entirely clear he has the loosest morals going. The tattered shreds of your dignity won’t stand for an evening secluded with him. Already the way he’s looking at you, suggests you’re going to be consumed by his wolfish expression if he has any chance for it.

“I’m not sleeping in that fucking tent with you.”

Johnny tilts his head, amusement playing in those wicked blue orbs, fingers toying with the glittering handle of his broadsword. He seems to revel in your lack of cooperation, like it excites him down to the marrow of his bones.

“I’ll put it fer ye like this then. Either y’let me take my rest with ye tonight, or Simon will be breaking yer in.”

You glance over at the silent brute. Tearing kindling apart with his bare hands, knuckles bruised and bloody, his flat gaze turned down towards the earth mirroring it’s colour. A mountain in every sense of the word, you have absolutely no desire to go anywhere near him again. Not after the roughness of your last encounter, hell your back still hurts from the vicious nudge of a pistol into it.

Like he reads your mind entirely, Johnny winks.

“I warn ye Bonnie, he’s thick as an oak bough and mean wi’it too.”

“Got experience with him have you?” Your eyebrow quirks as the words leave your mouth without censorship. Johnny barks out a loud laugh, throwing his head back so the scar on his chin catches your gaze. He’s obviously no stranger to violence, probably has a fight in every town he passes through.

“Dinnae have to be a scholar to notice the way the lasses walk after a night with Si. But by all means, go ahead, if yer reckon he’s tha’ better bet.”

There’s nothing to be done, you don’t doubt that Simon is the greater of two evils. Just the way his cold eyes flicker in the light of the fire makes your flesh curl, goosebumps igniting over the surface of your body. Nearby the horses snort, velvet noses plucking at the fresh blades of grass underfoot. Suddenly you wish you were back in the saddle, uncertainty would be preferable to the knowledge you’re going to have to spend the night fending off a man smelling of sweat and gunpowder.

Johnny’s beaming grin only gets wider still, when you turn on your heel and huff towards the entrance of the dismal, solitary tent. As quickly as possible you lie on your side, shaking on the damp ground, one arm tucked under your head as a pillow. You can hear him undressing, sliding his belt onto the floor with a chink of a buckle and pulling off his furs. The weight of his body comes to rest right behind you, after he makes a performance of laying out a rough blanket.

Your teeth start to chatter involuntarily, the dirt underneath you drawing every ounce of warmth from your bloodstream.

“Come on bonnie, dinnae freeze to death over yer pride. I’ll keep ye warm eh?”

The heat is radiating off him in waves, even through the harsh wool of his tartan. As he shifts you hear the small metallic knock of metal, likely a dagger concealed somewhere, close enough to be at hand and no doubt to remind you of it’s presence.

“No thank you.”

Johnny snorts at the shortness of your reply.

“Suit yerself.”

But after what feels like hours since Johnny's soft snores have filled the canvas, you’re shuddering worse than ever, so chilled it’s painful, causing wracking sobs to leave your blue lips. The night clothes you’re wearing are soaked to the bone, iced material clinging to your thighs.

Carefully, you roll towards the human furnace next to you, trying not to alert him to your movements. It’s all in vain though. Abruptly the snores come to a halt, one thick arm uncoiling from the blanket and scooping you roughly into his clutches. You squeak, struggling to release his hold. Johnny just chuckles happily, clutching you tighter still and arranging your form so it’s sprawled over his chest.

The rough linen undershirt he’s wearing tickles, muscles formed by days of brawling and combing the land, tense like springs underneath you.

“Fuck yer cold to the bone bonnie.” He wraps you tight in his body heat and the blankets, rubbing your back soothingly like he’s steadying an unbroken filly. “Easy now eh, I’ll warm ye.”

You’re too exhausted to fight it anymore, the relief of being near something so hot is just too intoxicating. You stop moving and allow him to pat your head gently, the callouses on his palms catching your strands.

“Better?”

Sleep comes quickly, too swiftly in fact. Before you know it morning is breaking over the edge of the awning, birds singing brightly in the gap between rain clouds. Stretching, you try and recall your surroundings, brain hazily catching up with the events of the night before. There’s a warmth between your thighs that feels nice, a building sensation tingling over your breasts until your nipples harden to buds.

You lurch into full consciousness, desperately trying to squirm away from Johnny, who’s lazy fingers are cupping your entire core over the top of your shorts, while one hand kneads your tit. His shovel like palm is wide enough to cover it entirely.

He doesn’t release you, or make any sign he’s behaving appallingly. The man just grunts with slight annoyance when you wrestle his knuckles up and away from your pussy. A weighty forearm clenches around your neck, holding you firm so that your words come out in a strangled yelp.

“Stop it!”

Those azure eyes blink at you, then he starts prizing your legs apart with his thick thigh.

“I said stop!” You’re panicking, nausea flooding the pit of your stomach in waves. Johnny is too strong, he splits your knees with his own and puts his hand back over your mons. It’s heavy, vice like so you can’t buck him off.

“Tha’s no way ta treat me, kept ye warm all night an’ I was tryin’ to work tha’ bad temper outta ya before ye woke.” His grip around your neck tightens until your eyes water. “Lie still n’ let me play wi’ye.”

“No!” You hiss, nails scratching marks on his flesh everywhere you can reach until he grunts, his skin lodged under the keratin. His orbs flash dangerously down at you, fingers pinching your nipple so hard you howl with the pain.

“Willne say it again.” His dagger presses cold on your side through the shirt he’s wearing, strapped tight under one corded arm. A silent but very real threat.

With a low sob you feel his hand scorching down into your folds, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your sensitive nerves until they’re singing for him. The thick digits occasionally dipping down into your folds and collecting the wetness he’s coaxing out

His own breath starts to come out ragged as he works you, touching until he’s soaked up to his wrist with your slick. One of his broad digits eases it’s way inside you, even as you try and tighten, your traitorous cunt sucks it in, creaming with delight at his ministrations.

“God in heaven yer drenchin ma fingers bonnie!” He withdraws his knuckles, bringing them to your face so you can see the beaded pearls of arousal on his hand. Johnny opens his mouth and slots them inside, lathing his tongue over your juices as his eyes roll back in his head. Without meaning to, you accidentally moan at the sight, then clamp your jaws shut tightly to prevent anymore encouragement from escaping.

Like Johnny takes it as agreement, he makes his way back down to your clit. Lost in it, you can’t stop your hips from bucking into him. As much as you hate yourself, the friction of his body feels delicious, those hairy thighs rubbing against yours as he bullies his way back into your soaked core.

“Ye gonna cum fer me? Wet ma arm wi’it hmm? I’ll ride all day long wi’ yer honey over them, ye can clean it off wi’ yer tongue later on.”

“No! Absolutely not!” You gasp. But it’s a lie, your knees act of their own accord, flopping open to allow him to press deeper, add another finger to follow the first one. He curls them until your nails stop trying to scratch him and start urging him into a faster rhythm, the unmistakable sound of your arousal close in both of your ears as you whimper.

“Tha’s it, needed this aye?” His breath hot in your ear, one thumb pressing your clit firmly until pleasure scorches up your spine. “Wanna hear ye, such pretty noises. Jus’ relax bonnie, dinnee fight me fer yer pleasure.”

Johnny’s well timed words are what send you over the edge, the filth dripping into your ear along with his potent masculinity prove to be the most blinding combination. Your brain goes entirely fuzzy, legs shaking against him as you turn to fluff in his grip. A soft sugary thing made of whimpers and throbs while your release floods into his palm.

“Christ!” He almost snarls the words, wrapping his dripping hand around himself under the kilt, rucking it up and tugging with your release as lube. It takes him a few short jerks, then he spills, coming with a surprisingly vulnerable whimper in your ear, his seed flooding over the front of your pyjamas until it soaks your flesh.

Tacky and warm, Johnny reaches one hand down and smooths it into the fabric, over your aching pubic bone. He does it lovingly, with a reverence usually reserved for something precious. You sniff, fat tears rolling out of the corners of your eyelids, while Johnny pants beside you, still tracing circles in the sticky mixture. He’s almost self soothing with it, mouth slack and nostrils flaring with the scent of your sex hanging low in the air.

Then he glances at you, seemingly taken aback by your reaction.

“Wha’s wrong?”

Is he really so utterly clueless? Totally ignorant to the fact he’s just forced himself on you? Starting to cry in earnest, you roll away from his relaxed arms, trying to make yourself look presentable. A thankless task, Johnny’s left a huge damp patch on the thin cotton, right over your thighs in a way that leaves no doubt what’s spilled there.

He has the grace to look vaguely disconcerted. Staring into your crumpled visage, like answers to your sorrow are going to be provided if he looks hard enough.

“Ye no enjoy that lass? I thought ye did?”

His hand reaches for you, beginning to close around your wrist as though he’s going to fold you into him again. You resist, scrambling away, leaving him with his softening cock resting on one muscled leg, a distinct expression of confusion etched on his features.

“Bonnie? I - ”

Simon’s gruff voice echoes on the other side of the tent flap, followed by the pound of a fist on the fabric.

“Y’fuckin done yet? Need to move.”

“Aye.” Johnny replies coarsely. “I hear ye Simon.”

He sighs, then in a conciliatory manner, Johnny pulls you to your feet, wiping your cheeks with rough strokes. Deft hands tie the blanket over you in an almost toga, then he plants a kiss on your forehead before dressing, hitching his belt around his waist with a huff. Steadily he leads you outside, still sniffling.

“Was’ wrong with ya pet?” Simon jerks his head at you. You whimper, cowering away from him as Johnny begins to pack up camp.

“Dunno, think it’s because I got’er night clothes wet or sumthin.” Johnny shrugs, as you watch him balefully. Simon cackles, leaving you feeling more miserable than ever before.

“Such a dog Johnny int’ya.”

When the time comes to mount up and ride on, you refuse to be helped up onto Johnny’s horse. You’d take Simon and his mean dark stallion any day over feeling Johnny behind you again.

But Johnny’s patience appears to have worn thin, even though daylight has barely broken around you. Unceremoniously you’re hoisted onto his grey mare by one wrist, until you’re howling with indignation.

“If ye dinnae stop your caterwauling I’ll gi’ ye something to really cry about.”

The certainty with which he mutters those words stops you in your tracks, mid wail. Sullenly you bump along with him, watching his hands deftly jerk at the reins, while Simon grins appreciatively at his friends show of dominance.

You’ve got to get away from him. You refuse for this to be your reality, waking up to a fondling and having to spend the rest of the day in wet undergarments because of it.

Masterlist

@murder-hobo @misshugs @cutiecusp @pxssygxblin @lin15 @tellyourcatisaidpspspspsps

#have a hug #dobby is very pleased mistress #he's the perfect mixture of audacity and sweetheart

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godihatethiswebsite · 26 days ago

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part 10 of zombie!ghost

Simon was due for his turn after an undead civilian had been cured.

you try to be happy. you try to smile and tell him that it's been long overdue, that he'll finally be normal again. but his silence tells you that he sees right through you.

it should be a happy day but you feel like you're losing part of your soul when he's taken to the lab. for once, you're not as chatty, not as bright.

he can't get the chance to hold your hand one last time before he's taken to the lab.

but he vows to see you again soon.

you remember a time when Si was just your next door neighbour. back when he was just the reclusive weird guy you saw every so often.

you didn't mind him much. he was quieter than your other neighbours. hardly bothered anyone. it was hard to find anything about him to be disconcerting, except maybe for his large size and his balaclava. maybe then you'd think he's a burglar.

you might have been more inclined to stay away from him because, you know, stranger danger, and big scary man with a mask against you wouldn't have ended well for you. if it weren't for the fact that he stood up for you when your crazy ex-boyfriend decided to show up at your doorstep and cause a scene.

“what you're going to do, mate, is this,” Ghost held your ex against the wall by his shirt. the latter had just arrived back from his job, hadn't even had the chance to take his uniform off.

still in green, still carrying a few visible knives on his person (you don’t want to think about the ones you can’t see), the man was menacing. the mask alone had more of an effect than anything, but the camo was an added bonus on the scary metre because you've never seen your ex so terrified in your entire life. he usually so tall, domineering and not afraid of confrontation.

now you see that it's all for sure. that he's nothing in the fact of another man who's bigger, meaner and has all the intent to kill if he has to.

“turn around and never come back here.” Ghost commanded. “if i catch you at her doorstep again, or even if i hear that you did something to her in or outside this building, you're gonna wish the cops got to you before i do. is that understood?”

that was a threat laced within a promise. one you know he has full intent on keeping. you don't know how you feel about someone potentially getting hurt on your account but you like the thought of being protected. it's not often you have that.

“y-yes! yes, sir–” your ex nodded vigorously, voice shaky and teary eyed. he's let off the hook and shoved to the side.

“off you go then.” Ghost jerks his head and the man doesn't waste a second to take off. you watch the man in green turn to you, his gaze softening. “you alright, love?”

“yeah…” you let out a sigh of relief and nodded. “thank you.”

you didn't exactly become his friend until after the world ended. but you appreciated his presence from there on.

brought him a few pastries to enjoy whenever he returned from work. spoke to him a little more and he returned your friendly jibes with some light banther and smiles hidden under his mask. if it weren't for his eyes crinkling, you wouldn't have known.

he never told you why he felt the need to step in and stick his nose where it obviously didn’t belong, nor did you ask. but he never posed a threat to you or anyone who didn’t cause any trouble.

for that, you stuck around him as much as he would allow. you hadn’t known how valuable his presence would be when things came crashing down. granted, you would’ve tried to keep him from getting infected but...

you would’ve stuck by him all the same.

you don't get to be close to him for at least three days. Price explained to you that it's part of the process. an induced coma to help keep him still while he heals.

for now, you just watch him through a glass wall. he's in a hospital bed. hooked to breathing tubes and iv’s and a bunch of other wires. you keep your eye on the heart monitor, the little line going up and down, a sign that he's still alive. that’s all you need to know. that’s all that keeps you going.

after that, Simon won’t be able to talk for a while until they can do reconstruction surgery for his jaw.

it’s a pity you won’t be here for all of that, though. you would’ve liked to see him through the entire process. you would’ve liked to hear what he sounds like when he speaks real words instead of incoherent groans.

they were already planning on distributing the cure and you’re not sure how long you’ll be allowed to stay on base. you just want to go back to how things were before the world ended.

“thank you for all your help.” Rudy, despite his smile, still had his eyes following you as you packed a bag. “you sure you can't stay longer? Ghost won't be happy to know that you're not here.”

you know that. the mere thought of it makes your skin itch uncomfortably and you force yourself to ignore it. that there’s things you have to do out there. the prospect of a cure gave you hope for anybody you knew and cared about to come back from this alive. you should, at least, try to save them rather than sit back here and do nothing.

yet you hate, more than anything, that you won’t be here when Simon wakes up.

“i know.” you said, shoving a few clothes in the bag. “but there's stuff i need to take care of and people who i need to find.”

you kept a list of what to take and what to leave. there’s more resources here but you don’t want to lug around a heavy bag. makes it hard to run when you’re in a bind.

if Simon were with you, it wouldn’t have mattered. he would’ve insisted upon carrying the bag for you.

you clench your teeth and moving. Rudy’s silence only made you feel worse. but he concedes and nodded with a finality in his tone. “i understand.”

you only met Gaz at the gates. Gaz had suggested you have a tracker on you at all times, which you don’t disagree with. it’s smarter that way. knowing that there’s people out there who know where you are at all times.

he also gave you a satellite phone and insisted you check in with them every so often. just to let them know that you’re still alive. also a good idea.

“if you need anything,” Gaz says as he hugs you. “know that you’ve always got friends nearby.”

“duly noted.” you patted his back before he reluctantly lets you go. “don’t die out there.”

you’ll try not to.

Simon would hate that.

been a hot minute. the last chapter will be out idk when. offer a coin to the picklejar Cure For Me Masterlist No. Taglists. banner by @cafekitsune ffs read the goddamn rules before you follow

#have a hug #grogu just casually dropping this outta nowhere holy shit!#i wasn't mentally prepared for an update o.o #i still think about this one all the time #he's gonna be such a grumpy gills when he comes to and finds us gone >>;

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