#Highlander!Johnny

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Highlands and Full Hearts 🌧

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Highlander!Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x reader

《A/N》: First of all, THIS IS NOT HISTORICALLY ACCURATE!! This is fiction. I did do some research about the Great Kilt, but that's it. This is purely for fun! I highly suggest checking out Fandabi Dozi on YouTube. Even just to take a peak so you can get a better idea of what Johnny's wearing <3

《Content》: NSFW. proceed with caution. Cuddlefucking, unprotected PiV, nipple play, cockwarming. This is so silly and cute, and I love it, and I hope you will too!!

The ask is here!

《WC》: 3.5k

Please don't copy my work! I put a lot of heart and effort into the things I write.

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It was as if the Gods were damning you, cursing you to a cold death as the sky opened up, breaking in two as heavy rain started pouring from it like currents in the mighty sea.

The wide open hills left trees to be desired to seek shelter from this flood. What you wouldn't do for the protection of a blanket of green hanging far above your head. The grass turned slippery and you had to watch your step so you wouldn't tumbled down into the nearest glen.

Johnny had you tucked close to his side, trying his best to cover you from the heaviest pour with his Plaid. The thick woolen fabric warmed you up despite the wetness as the two of you quickly made your way across the Highlands, hoping to find somewhere warm and dry to escape certain death.

His bonnet sat atop his head, the few wet curls that were peaking out of the hat sticking to his forehead. The white shirt he wore was clinging tightly to his chest, the soaked fabric accentuating his broad chest. The hem of your skirt was stained with green and brown hues of grass and mud.

Thankfully, Johnny's Great Kilt kept most of the water away from your torso, the water running down the wool in fat rivulets. Just as you were thanking the gods for his Plaid, you thanked yourself for insisting on the woolen socks that kept your feet warm and dry. You glanced over at Johnny, rain dripping from his brow as he rolled his shoulder with a grunt, the pack frame digging into his back.

"How far are we out? I swear we didn't stray from the path, did we?" You asked with uncertainty, your voice already muffled by the sound of the rain pounding on the ground.

"Jus' through this glen right there an' we should find some trees, at least." He gave you an encouraging smile while he, himself, had a twinkle of worry in his wonderfully blue eyes, something you'd never miss.

The only thing you could muster was a tight-lipped smile as all the worrisome thoughts knocked around in your head like a woodpecker on a strong oak.

Although his kilt and body heat were keeping you warm, you couldn't help but let your brows furrow in concern at his soaked shirt. He would surely catch his death like this, something you were too stubborn to let happen. Death would have to pry him from your grip before you'd let him go anywhere.

You ducked away from the shield that was his Plaid and tucked it across his chest.

"What are you doin'?" He asked, almost frantically, as he reached up to his shoulder to pull the fabric free.

The rain was now soaking your previously dry hair, the drops running down your neck.

"You'll catch your death! I'll be alright for now." You replied firmly, cupping his hand with yours and pulling it away from the Kilt to intertwine your fingers.

His lips parted slightly.

"Absolutely no'. I'm not lettin' ya get sick." Johnny argued, already fiddling with the corner of the Plaid that you had tucked away.

"Don't you argue with me! I'm not letting you get sick either." You stood your ground, more figuratively than literally as the soft mud was making you sink into the earth.

Johnny sighed, dropping his hand, the other never leaving the tight grasp of yours. Arguing now would be of no use, shelter was the priority right now.

He could scold you when you were dry and warm. You took a step, catching a particularly slippery patch of grass. With a yelp, you fell, terror tearing through your chest as you prepared yourself to tumble down the hill through wet mud and sharp rocks. Johnny, however, managed to catch your arm, making your fall end on your knees.

"Careful, mo leannan." He scolded softly, pulling you up from the ground and tucking you into his side with a tight grip around your shoulders.

"Thank you." You breathed, blood rushing in your ears, your ribcage suddenly feeling all too small for your rapidly beating heart.

He wordlessly pressed a kiss to your temple, urging you to fasten your pace. The wet grass and mud squelched beneath your feet as your hope for shelter dwindled by the second.

The water was starting to soak through your dress, making a shiver run visibly down your spine. From the corner of his eye, Johnny had caught the subtle movement and untucked his Plaid and wrapped it around your shoulders.

"Johnny-"

"No." He said sternly, keeping his eyes forward toward the horizon.

You kept quiet. The only thing now filing the silence between the two of you was the heavy rain, a sound both sending dread and a soothing feeling through you.

Trusting Johnny to keep you on your feet, you took the liberty of looking past the part of the Kilt shielding your view. His was still forward. You turned your head in all directions, hoping to spot a tree or maybe bush you might've missed.

Instead, a dark structure caught your eye. Your face lit up, no matter what you'd spotted, it would keep the rain from pounding against your skull.

"Look!" You exclaimed, pointing toward your discovery and eagerly pulling Johnny in its direction.

"Shelter at last." He sighed, breaking into a smile.

You hurried up the small hill, revealing the structure to be a small and lonely cabin built from wood and stone. You'd hoped that whoever lived in it wouldn't possess a cruel heart and let you and your lover warm up inside. If not, well, Johnny could be very persuasive.

You rasped your knuckles on the heavy wooden door, waiting for a response. When no response came, you tried calling out.

"Hello? Is anyone in there?"

Still, no reply. You looked at Johnny with furrowed brows. He had a thoughtful look on his features, as if pondering between decisions before he reached out a hand to get inside. Your eyes widened and grasped his arm.

"Johnny, no! We can't just go inside-"

"I'm sure they won't mind." He shrugged, pushing open the door and ushering you inside.

The complaint on your lips died quickly as you stepped into the dry room. A sigh of relief slipped past your lips when the door fell shut behind you and the rain wasn't pouring down on you anymore.

Your gaze flitted over the interior of the cabin. It was sparse, but enough to get you and Johnny through the night and until the rain stopped.

"Surely it's not abandoned.." you mumbled, walking around.

"A huntin' cabin, maybe?" He said, looking around himself.

There was a table with a pair of chairs and in the corner stood a bed with a strong wooden frame. The centerpiece of this humble abode, however, was the stone fireplace.

"No matter. Let's hope the owners won't come back until we can continue our way home."

Johnny took the pack frame off his back and set it down, stretching his arms with a groan.

"Jus' us for miles, Ah bet." You spotted a pile of firewood by the bed, carrying arm fulls to the fireplace.

"We need to start a fire. Need to dry off." You said, arranging the logs.

Johnny kneeled down beside you and pulled his flint stones from his pocket and started on getting a tiny spark into a raging flame. While he was working on the fire, you busied yourself with laying down the sheep skins Johnny kept rolled up on this pack frame near the fireplace.

You were already intruding in someone's home, you were drawing the line at sleeping in their bed, too. The flame crackled to life, making Johnny hum. Taking off his soaking bonnet, he shook his head, his wet hair making droplets of rain fly across the room.

You giggled, shielding yourself from them as he ran a hand through his tussled mohawk.

The next thing to come off was his soaked shirt which he draped over his pack frame to let it dry. He's never looked this handsome, in your eyes. The damp locks, his bare chest covered with a layer of hair, and his Plaid hanging from his waist. The earthy, brown, and green tones shone nicely against his skin.

You couldn't help but let your gaze linger on the trail of dark hair that peaked from his waistband. Johnny could feel your eyes bore into him, a faint smirking tugging at the corner of his mouth when he noticed how you hurriedly looked away, a blush sitting on your cheeks so prettily.

You laid down on the soft furs, letting the heat of the fire seep into your bones. Johnny slotted himself behind you, his chest pressed to your back as his arms wound themselves tightly around you. He nuzzled his face into your neck, the cold tip of his nose making goosebumps rise on your skin.

"Are you sure you're not cold?" You asked softly, twisting to look at him.

"Never been cozier, my love." He hummed, pressing kisses to your jaw and cheek.

You giggled and sighed at the sensation. The exhaustion that sat deep in your flesh started to catch up with you, a yawn escaping your lips as you settled deeper into the warm sheep skins. Johnny continued his kisses, trailing them down your neck and then up to your jaw again.

"Johnny... what are you doing?" You sighed sleepily, the feeling of his lips on your skin making you all warm and fuzzy inside. His hand slipped upwards, kneading one of your soft breasts through the thick fabric of your dress.

"Warming you up, bonnie.." he mumbled against your throat, his stubble scraping against your delicate skin deliciously. A soft moan fell from your lips. It all felt so good. His lips, his hands, the outline of his hard cock pressing into your rear.

"Oh, Johnny...."

"Tha's right, mo leannan, say ma name.." he whispered softly, slipping his hand over your stomach, down your legs and underneath your skirt, bunching the wool around your hips.

His breath against your neck had your breathing pick up and your eyes flutter shut. He dragged his calloused fingertips up the inside of your thigh all while gently rocking his hips against you.

A breath got stuck in your throat when he stroked over your slit, your legs falling open just for him. You were lost in bliss, a heavy cloud of euphoria fogging up your mind as he continued to circle your clit and swipe his fingers through your folds, getting you nice and wet for him.

Your pert nipples poked through your dress, a sight Johnny couldn't resist. He snuck his second arm underneath you and pinched and tugged at your buds until you were coating his fingers in your slick.

"An absolute sight you are..." he spoke lowly, a breathless strain in his tone.

"Please, I need you, please.." you begged, mewling when he tugged his cock out from under his Plaid and rested it between your thighs, snuggly sat on your slick cunt.

"I'll give you whatever ya want, you know tha'." Johnny breathed, a groan ripping from his throat when he rocked his hips against you.

"Don't... do that.. I need.. I need.." you whined breathlessly, your words getting cut off by a moan as he pushed inside of you.

The ecstasy that flooded your veins was already making you melt into his arms, but when he reached between your legs to rub at your clit, you were putty in his hands. You were reduced to a mewling, moaning mess as he thrusted into your sweet cunt so deep yet softly, reaching parts of yourself you never knew existed.

"Ah know wha' you need.." he whispered against your temple, so sweetly, in fact, it made your head spin. You fit like puzzle pieces, made for each other. A choked moan escaped Johnny as he slid in to the hilt, pulling you impossibly closer. He pulled his hips back only to fit them snuggly against yours again in one smooth stroke.

Johnny quickly set a satisfying pace, fucking into you so nicely your eyes were rolling to the back of your head. The furs were soft against the exposed skin of your thigh and the popping fire started to fill the cabin with warmth.

The praises he cooed into your ear were a jumbled mess, not only from his pleasure but you were too far gone to think about what he was saying to you.

He held you close to his chest, grasping you so tightly as if you were to disappear the second he'd let go.

"Ah love you, my bonnie lass. Love you s'much." He muttered into your ear, the stutter in the movement of his hips indicating he was close.

But so were you, with him filing you so perfectly and his fingers rubbing over your clit.

"O-Oh, Gods... feels s'good.." you babbled mindlessly, sharp breaths and moans falling from your lips at the delicious drag of his cock against the warm walls of your cunt.

He was panting heavily into your ear, a few groans and moans making it into the mix, while he continued to snap his hips against your supple ass.

"Johnny, please..!" you cried out, every muscle in your body tensing up as that buzzing feeling of bliss gnawed at your bones, slowly working its way up to the crown of your head.

"C'mon, ma beauty, let go f'me.." he heaved, his lips attaching themselves to your neck once again.

A cry of pleasure ripped from your throat, his fingers swiping over your clit making you topple over the edge. You clenched down on him, going lax in his arms when he reached his end as well, a few more thrust making him spill inside of you with a groan.

A fuzzy feeling crawled up your spine, a dazed smile on your face as you pulled his arms around you even tighter. You laid in pleasant silence as your breath evened and the exhaustion of the say really started to set in. With a twist of your head you looked at Johnny with a soft smile.

"I love you too." You said quietly, watching how his eyes filled with warmth.

"Ah know, my love. Don't need tae say it. Ah can feel it." He mumbled until your skin, sighing as he finally settled in, ready to rest his body to prepare for the last part of the trek. Hopefully the rain would give the two of you a break, even just enough to get into town dry and warm.

The harsh fall of water softened during the night, leaving you with the sounds of Johnny's breathing, the crackling fire and the vast Highlands, stretching on for miles.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The next morning, you were up and about as soon as the sun peaked behind the horizon. The rain had subsided, and you'd use every opportunity to not get drenched again.

Everything was packed up quickly and the pack frame was hoisted onto Johnny's back once again as you left the little cabin just as neat as you'd found it.

Although the sun had decided to hide behind the clouds, there was no downpour. Only a gentle breeze that combed through the heather on the hills.

The green and purple swayed in the wind, painting a beautiful scene before you. Hand in hand, you made your through hill and glen, past trickling streams and past spots of trees huddled together.

While Johnny was busy keeping the both of you on track and occasionally admiring landscape, you were spending your time looking at him.

You wanted to etch his profile into every mountain face so the world may see what you fell in love with.

Those blue eyes that lit up whenever he smiled but had no problem becoming cold and piercing if the moment called for it.

Those lips of which you dreamed whenever you went to sleep, the feeling of them always lingering on your skin.

That voice that you could spend listening to until the world came to its end. Even if Johnny babbled and talked about things that made no sense to you, you'd always listen.

Those strong arms that could hold and protect you all at once. He'd carry you across the world if you'd ask.

You could list things about him until dusk. Until poets ran out of words. Until you'd both lay on your deathbed, ready to cross into the next realm together.

"You're starin', love." Johnny pointed out, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"I'd call it admiring, really." You quipped back, a smile on your face.

A smirk tugged at his lips.

"Oh, and what're you admirin', mo leannan?" He asked teasingly, taking his eyes off the path for the first time in hours. Johnny didn't want to admit it, but his heart leaped every time he saw you.

No matter how many times he'd seen you before, or how you'd never changed, your beauty would never fail to knock the wind out of his lungs.

"You." You hummed in response.

He nodded thoughtfully, trying to hide a bright smile.

"And why, might Ah ask?" He was teasing, a grin on his face.

He expected a compliment, how you liked his eyes, or the shape of his nose or his broad chest. And while all of that was true, the words that left you caught him off guard.

You gently stopped him, standing atop a hill, spotting the local tavern that was just out of town. Your hand went to cup his cheek, caressing his cheekbone.

"Because I'm utterly in love with you."

His jaw slacked. He knew that you loved him, of course he did, but this was the first time you'd said something like this. And what he wouldn't give to have you say it again and again. He'd never get sick of it.

Johnny cupped your hand, keeping it pressed against his cheek while his other pulled you in by your waist.

The baffled expression was quickly replaced with a soft smile and eyes that were looking at you with so much love and devotion even the sweetest honey would taste bitter in comparison.

"As am I." He spoke softly, connecting your lips in a kiss full of passion and adoration.

Caught up in your feelings, you'd failed to notice how thick clouds darkened the sky. In a change of fate, it started pouring once more, leaving you and Johnny without cover and in the middle of a kiss that could be written in a fairytale.

As the first drops fell down on you, your brows furrowed and you let out a sound of disapproval against his lips. Johnny chuckled, keeping you firmly in place when you tried to pull away.

"We need to get to that tavern-"

"Let's enjoy this, yeah?" He spoke softly, chasing your lips once again.

The rain was pounding down on you but how could you ever care about that when Johnny was kissing your breath away. You were held firmly in his embrace, melting into the kiss as water droplets were running down your face, the rain drenching you to the bone.

There was nowhere you'd rather be at this moment. The rain and wind were making you uncomfortable, shivers running through you, but the warmth Johnny ignited in your heart was enough to keep you warm for centuries. You pulled away, breathless, smiling at him.

"Come on!" You giggled, pulling him by the hands to follow you as you ran down the hill.

He had to hold onto his bonnet so it wouldn't go flying with the amount of force you'd tugged at him.

Between the heavy rain, only your pounding footsteps, along with giggled and laughter, was heard as you rushed down the slope, hand in hand.

"Slow down, will ya?" Johnny laughed, almost tripping and landing face first in the mud.

It was scene straight from a book. Two lovers running free, not even the worst storms being able to stop them.

The mud and wet grass made you stumble more than once, but the sheer happiness of such a special moment made the dirt caking your dress and the water running down the back of your neck a worthy sacrifice.

When you reached the bottom of the hill, Johnny slowed the both of you down and wrapped his arms around your middle. You were hoisted up, a noise of surprise falling from your lips, as he spun you around.

You pressed your lips to his in a giggly kiss while Johnny set you back down.

"Ah truly love you more than ya could ever know, my love." He said softly, rubbing his thumb over your wet cheek.

"I love you too. I know I've said it a million times, but I can't stop." You chuckled softly, earning yourself another soft kiss from Johnny before he finally pulled you into the tavern.

The evening was spent wrapped in blankets, an ale in hand while you sat in your favorite little corner. Music was playing and people were dancing, but you were content right here.

Next to Johnny, your head on his shoulder, gently nodding off so you could dream of him and wake up tomorrow, just to do it all over again.

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What do we think of Highlander!Johnny? 👀

More of my work -> 💫

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[godihatethiswebsite]

18+

Oh to spend a day in the crisp autumn highlands, wrapped up in MacTavish plaid, hands kept warm with a small thermos full of mulled wine, watching a wild and carefree Johnny—all boyish smiles and face flushed from the cold—skipping rocks over the loch looking handsomely rugged in full Scottish kilt and a chunky knit sweater.

And if later on he lays you out on the blanket and keeps the chill away with his brawny weight draped over top and his hot breath panting babbled praise in your ear then who's around to judge a lad for keeping his bonnie hen warm the old fashioned way?

Masterlist

[brewed-pangolin]

MDNI 18+

Expert horseman John MacTavish, who has a very hands-on teaching style and makes you ride the saddle in front of him for post trotting exercises.

His thick frame pressed up against your back. Hands gentle yet firm on your waist as be guides your body to rise and fall with the rhythmic movement of the mares trotting gate.

"Tha's it, bonnie. Watch 'er. Feel 'er as she moves." His instruction's smooth, deliberate. Breath soft and warm along the edge of your neck.

"Ya got it, lass. Up on th'diagonal. Jus' like tha'."

"Eyes forward. Let 'er guide ya."

Your fingers wrapped tightly around the taut weathered reigns. Textured leather broken seamlessly at the seams sliding along your palms. And his expert hands directing the ebb and flow of your hips as the chestnut mare trotted effortlessly within the fields of wheat.

-

And as a reward for your continued equine education, your Scottish horse master gifted you with a private lesson in riding a more able-bodied and robust saddle.

Leather reigns replaced with thick clumps of hair that adorned the broad plateau of his chest. Rolling your hips in tandem with his upward thrust, mirroring the diagonal rhythm you perfected only hours ago.

"Tha's it, hen. Move wit me. Jus' like I taught ya."

The rumbling growl in his voice only accentuated the overwhelming sensation of him beneath you. Feeling him pulse within your silken walls, his hands on your hips as he guided you to bounce without restraint on his throbbing cock.

"Faster, John. I wanna go faster." You pleaded. Breathless and breathtaking while riding him.

"No-,not yet," he retorted. Jaw clenched, caging a moan within his throat, panting as he continued.

"Got'a master-, the trot before you move-, to the canter."

"Then teach me, John. Please."

"Aye. I will," he grunted. Lifting your hips as he vigorously bucked up into your cunt.

"Gonnae teach ya so good, hen. Make ya mine. Make ya me-, highland rodeo queen."

Drabbles Masterlist

[dovabunny]

Soap taking Ghost home for the 'highland games'

And that's how Ghost learn that the MacTavish clan has a near legendary legacy of winners that stretch centuries amongst men and women who look like gods. Needless to say he never called it a 'skirt' again.

When Soap came home with a ring on his finger, Grandma MacTavish makes Ghost compete in the games to show he is worthy of the MacTavish surname and her blessing.

[s0fter-sin]

prince!ghost and lord in waiting!soap

ghost is a warrior prince, next in line after king price and it’s always been accepted he would be the lone ruler; never one for entertaining the courts or indulging foreign rulers trying to consolidate their power. he hardly acts like a prince at all, in name only when he spends more time as a pseudo captain of the guard. price has never begrudged him that, not when he himself has been a lone king since his inauguration

though he’s a warrior prince, he’s never lost the favour of the people; many see him as a guardian even if he doesn’t interact with the people as much as benevolent and stalwart king price. who he does interact with is the kingdom’s children; always ready to bend a knee and listen to bright voices, to praise stick swords and shields or hear the plight of a struggling family. it was a common belief that if he wasn’t out protecting, then he was with the protected; face covered, blonde curls shining in the sun

soap’s always loved ghost. as his lord in waiting, it’s been his job to attend him since they were young and even as a child, he’d idolised him; his skills in battle, his surety. he thought his life would be nothing but service, clothing a brat prince and making sure his shoes shined. but ghost has proven more than that; he treats him as an equal, consults him on strategy and court politics and over time that idolisation turned into love

and ghost has always felt the same. he’d begrudged the idea of a lord in waiting, not wanting someone always in his business but then came this spitfire who never missed an opportunity to push back on him; to make him dig deeper. johnny is more than some mere servant; he’s his confidant, his best friend, his… everything. he could be simon with him, not prince ghost

but simon figures that out too late

king price gets word from king shepherd, a kingdom they’ve only recently stopped feuding with and he’s offering up his son, prince graves, as a way to bond their kingdoms together and firmly put war behind them. price is ready to deny him, he doesn’t fear war from shepherd, when he sends some ancient laws that leave him unable to refuse. he hates it, hates that he’s ruining ghost’s happiness and feels like he’s betraying his adopted son but there’s nothing he can do

graves comes to their kingdom within the month and it’s clear from the moment he walks through their gates that he’s the opposite of ghost; arrogant and conceited, his ceremonial armour glossy and untouched by battle. he’s dismissive of their servants, of their ways, of their people and ghost hates him

graves insists that the wedding happen as soon as possible, pushing the craftsmen and cooks beyond their limits to prepare and every moment ghost spends with him, the more he dreads his wedding day. every evening he retreats to his room, exhausted, and it’s all johnny can do to keep him afloat; trying to keep him positive as ghost falls away and simon breaks in his arms. he wants to whisk him away like the old tales, the pain his oldest friend and love is in making his heart ache but all he can do is promise to be there with him

but it seems graves wants to take even him away

“soap’s been my lord in waiting since we were children,” ghost protests, voice barely clinging to civility. “i wouldn’t want to lose such a valuable worker.”

“there are plenty of decent servants in our kingdom; you’ll forget this one soon enough,” graves waves away, carding a possessive hand over his curls and it’s only bc he’s looking for it that soap sees ghost’s jaw twitch beneath his neck gaiter. “it’s custom for one marrying into our kingdom to embrace all that it has to offer, leaving who they were behind to become someone better. you’re entering a new life with me; you don’t need the baggage of this dreary place.”

soap feels sick as he walks behind them, his blank expression hiding all sign of his breaking heart.

“soap is beholden to me,” ghost declares. “we were sworn together by the old laws. i’m afraid a custom isn’t enough for me to break a vow to the gods.”

graves lets out a disgruntled noise, tugging harshly at one of ghost’s curls with only a thin veil of fondness; his conceding smile not reaching his eyes.

“i never made a vow to the gods,” johnny points out later. “price gave me to you because he was sick of me setting fire to the kitchens.”

simon hums and sets his freshly cleaned armour aside, turning to him with a twinkle in his eyes he’s barely seen since sheperd’s missive. “you pinkie swore that you would never leave me; that’s more powerful than any promise to the gods,” he says and soap’s thrown back fifteen years, to a willow tree big enough to touch the sky; to two boys from different stations who didn’t care that one was dressed in silk and the other in scraps.

johnny feels a lightness he hasn’t in a month as simon winks at him. “besides, do you really think graves is smart enough to figure it out?”

the days pass quickly, graves’ veneer of affection growing ever thinner, and before either of them are ready, it’s the eve of ghost’s wedding.

he’s said nothing, done nothing but stare at the wedding robes graves had tailored for him in the fashion of his kingdom and johnny doesn’t know how to break the silence. he draws out each second as he fusses with the cape piece and ensures the shoes shine in the fire light until he has no more excuses.

he sighs as he straightens up, brushing off polish onto his pants. “i suppose this is where i leave you,” he says with a weak smile but it quickly dies when simon still doesn’t look at him. “i’ll be here in the morning to help you get ready… good night, simon.”

johnny bows and makes for the door, trying to convince himself he didn’t just say goodbye.

but he’s stopped by simon’s hand loosely wrapping around his wrist.

he looks back as simon finally tears his eyes away from the robes, looking at him with such clear longing it almost brings him to his knees.

“i don’t want graves to be the first man to touch me, johnny,” he confesses and johnny’s breath hitches. “i don’t want to be married to another… not when the one i’m set to wed isn’t you. but if i have to do this… please let me feel loved one final time.”

simon’s thumb brushes the back of his hand; their kingdom’s greatest warrior caressing him with a touch light as silk. he doesn’t pull johnny in, doesn’t need to; johnny’s already sinking into his touch.

desperation and love tinge every movement; johnny dancing his fingers over simon’s neck gaiter until he all too happily removes it, baring his scarred cheeks and lips. johnny kisses each one, willing his love and his touch to linger above all others as they move together; sharing breath, sharing body, sharing soul the way they wish they always have.

when ghost makes his way down the aisle, it’s not in the fine embroidered robes graves had laid out for him. he’s in his battle armour; dark and weathered, the sign of the ghost, the warrior prince, going to battle. the only thing missing is his helm, tucked under his arm.

showing his hair; curls gone and shaved tight to his skin.

a thing done only in a time of great mourning.

graves looks irate and it’s the only spark of joy ghost feels as he stops before the altar; set beneath the willow tree where johnny promised himself to him. one final insult.

ghost is silent throughout the ceremony and in spirit and in grief, so is the entire gathered kingdom until the priestess reaches the final vows and suddenly, a great roar rises above the crowd as seemingly every child in the kingdom swarms the altar.

ghost is too shocked to do anything but let them push him away from graves, bullying their way between them like they’re preparing to protect him just as he’s always protected them.

graves is furious but the children stand firm in the face of his threats until he moves to strike one-

and freezes as soap’s blade finds his throat.

“you would dare hurt these children?” he growls, sword following graves as he stumbles back. “you’ve kept up your charade the entire time and here is where you show your true colours. i think it’s time i show mine.”

graves splutters as johnny turns to the priestess and king price, falling to one knee and offering up his blade. “your grace, i wish to challenge prince graves for the hand of prince simon!”

his voice rings clear and he feels the eyes of every person in the kingdom.

but he only cares for one man.

who is watching him with more love than he’s ever felt.

“who are you to challenge me?” graves sneers. “you’re nothing more than a servant; no better than the dirt on my boots.”

johnny doesn’t bother to look at him, too caught in the love in simon’s eyes and the grateful look on king price’s face. “then you should have nothing to worry about. you’ve been crowing your accolades from the rooftops since you got here; let’s see if you live up to the hype.”

because simon only ever introduced him as his lord in waiting.

never as sir soap- his second in command and one of the greatest swordsmen their kingdom has ever seen.

[sillystringsimpsons]

sorry for inactivity!!! have a bunch of whiteboard fox doodles :3

[glorybean]

IMO, the Ghoap fandom is sleeping on the Highland Games. Here is Soap, proudly Scottish and vocal about it, and I've never seen a fic or art about him attending or participating in a Highland Games competition. The Highland Games are the second oldest international athletic games competition and predate the modern Olympic Games. Many of the events are tests of physical strength.

The caber toss:

(video from my home county!)

Hammer toss:

Sheaf toss:

Ardblair Stones/McGlashan Stones (not traditionally part of the Highland Games, incorporated in the 1980s) based on the tradition of Clach cuid fir, ie: Manhood Stones

Other athletic events include stone put, weight for height, and tug of war

You look me in the eye and tell me that Ghost wouldn't have a field day with these events, either to show off for Johnny or as a genuine challenge. I think Soap would be good at the Sheaf Toss/Weight for Height (precision and strength).

Other events include music (piping and drumming), dance and herding dog trials. Non-competitive elements include cultural food and regional specialties, craftsman demonstrations, and of course shopping.

Disclaimer: I have no Scottish heritage, please correct me where I am wrong!

[peachetteprice]

Currently obsessed with the sappiest version of Johnny MacTavish there ever could be (he is my hyperfocus now), who feels so inadvertently put-out by his own wrenching feelings towards the wee town's primary teacher, a young-ish thing, naïve in aspiration and prospects alike, who can hardly stomach spending more than five quid on a drink, opting for the kind man in the pub to spot her a round that she promises to pay him back for. Frankly, he's too pre-occupied being disgustingly worried by the idea that he might fuck up whatever this thing is that has him cocooning around a pint of lager at the pub, dragging his sweaty palms over his thighs and hoping she laughs at the half-fledged jokes tumbling from his lips that are partially gulped down after each unsure, wobbling sentence.

He's confident, or seems it, at least. She'd have no true way of knowing, which works partly in his favour, the other part careening more towards the possibility that she simply doesn't care enough to even consider indulging in his folly, regardless of its well-meaning intent.

| Masterlist |

[penis-flytrap]

@lovely-lady-fox I meant to publish this a few days ago, but forgot... It's been sitting in my drafts folder instead 😅

I thought maybe seeing Healers-era Johnny in full gypsy mode might help lift your blahhhh moods a little bit? 😉 So here's some videos of him performing and singing with his childhood hero, Scottish folk musician Bert Jansch:

[andromeddog]

may i interest you in whatever this is

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

my before bed imaginary scenario recently has been taking shelter during a storm with captain mactavish 🥰

Why, hello! <3

This... um.. didn't come out the way I think you wanted it to-

HOWEVER

I think it's better!!

Because make it Highlander!Johnny + cuddlefucking + a kiss in the rain!!!

Please go check out Fandabi Dozi on YouTube!! He makes incredible survival videos with a 1700s Highland kit in a Great Kilt!! There's so much better than regular ones imo 😌

I watched the Scotland footie games and lost it okay.

This is not historically accurate whatsoever!!

There are very obvious things placed for convenience.

(Like a fully furnished cabin in the middle of nowhere stocked with already chopped firewood *cough cough*)

I had a blast writing this tho!!

Highlands and Full Hearts 🌧

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Three - Deja vu

Remember when I said this was supposed to be the easy side project made of easy to consume chapters that was supposed to be easy on my brain? Oh the way life throws a wrench in things.

Apologies for the wait but thank you for the patience! A bit longer of a chapter this time (almost double the length) because if you also read my other fic you'll know I have a moderation problem :)

Trigger warnings: angst, depression

Time converted its seconds into a slow-motion camera, capturing the hectic moment as a series of shutter clicks in your mind. Rich earthy elixirs trapped like icicles in a frozen pour from heated spouts. Spare precious change suspended in mid-air spilled from jittery hands. A systolic heartbeat waiting to finish its rhythm. An overplayed Christmas jingle with the record player set to the lowest speed. 

How did you not pick up on the telltale signs sooner? It wasn’t as if this was a first occurrence for you anymore. Precious moments of escape wasted daydreaming of warm comfort when it could’ve been spent backpedaling to the safety of your vehicle. Even more insulting when you considered how perceptive you’d been not ten minutes prior, untrusting of your nose to keep you from trouble in the supermarket bakery, head on a dizzying swivel for any more unwanted surprises.

Yet here you were again, betrayed by the very caffeine that was supposed to be your savior, too slow to duck back out the shop before your scent had a chance to reach his nostrils. 

Now you were pinned in place by a complete stranger who had no business smelling that edible.

Pupils blown wide mirrored your own. Blue irises framed by full lashes contrasted against a faded tan that spoke of time spent abroad in warmer climates. Dark brown hair shorn close on the sides peaked into a mussed up mohawk, slightly damp from melted snow and tousled by the wind. Your eyes unfocused to take in the body belonging to the man - shifting lower, past slightly parted lips greedily inhaling your scent and a craggy chin scar encircled by a dusting of dark stubble. 

A deep brown leather bomber jacket stretched tight across broad shoulders only a few shades darker than his hair, upturned against the elements and protecting a tree trunk neck, accented along the trim by matching tufts of a lighter insulating sherpa. A hint of medium wash jeans caught in your periphery, unable to glance further at the lower portion of his body, too encapsulated by the cosmic force that kept you snared within his gaze.

The back of your neck prickled with the knowledge that whatever was passing between you in the charged space across the checkerboard tiles was a transient mirage at best and a dangerous amalgam of broken aspirations at most. That grim lesson had been embedded into your retinas the hard way– 

No matter how potent the connection, this man was not yours. 

You shouldn’t be here. You should not be here.

The alpha didn’t miss the way you transferred your weight onto your back leg. Predatory focus latched onto the subtle way you shifted, instincts preparing behind barely contained canines. You’d accidentally triggered something; a millennia’s worth of ingrained primality overriding the structured norms of good societal behaviour. Like an old timey saloon, it was an overstrung standoff to see whose will would break first.

Your need to run outweighing his need to possess. 

Eyes narrowed slightly, he pointed right at you with a warning look. In a rough brogue, “Don't…”

You didn't listen.

“Hey hey hey–!” 

It was all too familiar now - this choreographed dance of avoiding uncomfortable affairs instead of facing them head on, ignoring the startled clamor of bewildered customers as you darted past a group of unsuspecting teenagers through the narrowing gap of the cafe door.

Nearly bowling an elderly couple over in your haste to escape, you fumbled out a half-hearted apology as you skidded around the next corner with a high pitched squeak, losing traction on the glassy ice in your well-worn snow boots and catching yourself on a vintage lamp post that you used like a springboard to gain a few precious milliseconds of a head start. 

This was twice in two days now that you’d undergone a fateful encounter the majority of the population could only dare dream of. And here you were bolting from destiny like a frazzled rabbit scurrying helplessly through the underbrush from what should have been your savior.

What the hell kinda luck was this?! And why did it have to choose now of all times?!

The door flung open only moments after, the previously innocent bell chime now a harbinger of doom. Heavy footfalls slapped through the condensed slush of snowfall. Something feral rose up in the presence of a hunter in pursuit of his quarry. 

There was something on your tail, and it felt far more intimidating than a starving wolf leering at his lunch.

Your pulse was bellowing in your ears, weaving through the conglomerated foot traffic as best you could with a body not prepared for a long winded chase. A hot poker stitched your side and hobbled your gait. Frost coated your lungs with every ragged inhale, sapping what little breath capacity you had and crippling until you were little more than a wounded mammal, panicky and acting on pure foolish adrenaline. The rational part of your brain spoke of the futility against someone his size, the brief glimpse afforded to you of his stocky frame earlier proof that your alpha was capable; well fed, sculpted for survival, muscles made of endurance and stamina. 

Everything desired in a good mate, the back of your mind unhelpfully supplied.

Long strides ate up the distance, navigating the pavement far more sure footed than you.

“Bleedin’ Christ!” growled out the voice. “Will ye jus’– wait!”

The firm grip on your bicep rather than his frustrated words was what halted you in your tracks. The slippery slush beneath your feet gave way to an involuntary squeak as another hand snapped out to steady your skidding, keeping you from tucking ass over tea kettle. Heavy breaths turned visible in the frigid winter air as you panted from exertion, sucking in a heady mixture of espresso and chilled vapors that fogged up your mind and muddled your senses. 

Fuck, he smelled good.

A gloved hand shuffled you further out of the way from the crowds of passersby, huddling beneath a shopkeeper's veranda, muffled conversation from the building’s interior a muted buzzing compared to the ringing in your ears. He shifted so as to take the brunt of the whipping winds on his back, sheltering you from the worst of it and allowing you to blink clear the stinging snowflakes from your eyes.

Although you never really stood any substantial chance of escape, there was still something surreal to be said about standing toe to toe with an alpha outside your family circle. He beheld you with the same wide eyed stare you gawked at him with, pupils stuck in a constant state of dilation as he huffed in your shared air, just as drunk off his scent match as you were. At this proximity, even the outside breeze wasn’t enough to dampen the waves of pheromones spiking like heated tesla coils between you. Unlike you, he found it in him to scrounge together just enough self control to soften his stance and manage a relaxed smile your way.

“There now, lass.” His words weren’t winded in the slightest, something that petulantly annoyed you in your weakened state - even if the accented baritone of his vibrato was soothing the consternation from your veins. “See? No need fer misbehavin’.”

There was an obvious gentling to his tone; something placating with an edge of sternness that felt at odds with his choice of haircut. Blue orbs roamed your face as if he half expected you to collapse on him, no longer holding on to you but keeping a readied hand hovering in case your shaky legs gave way. Truthfully - with how you were still sucking in breaths - you weren’t quite sure his assistance wouldn't be needed.

“Christ, LT was right about ye. Got a scent that can skelp a man flat on his arse.”

Even in your current state he must’ve judged you steady enough to maintain balance, despite still keeping the rigid preparedness in his shoulders as his hands sought a place in denim pockets. “Got a habit fer runnin’, dontcha?”

The capability of speech was all but lost to you, tongue cemented to the roof of your mouth and dry as a wilted prune abandoned on the vineyard soil. You’d at least managed the bare minimum of appearing less like a beached guppy by snapping your jaw shut, but the snicker from his lips at whatever he found while searching your face revealed your inadequacy to mask as a functioning human.

Azure eyes sparkled with mirth. “I ken I’m a looker, hen, but I ‘ave tae say it’s been a while since I’ve left a bonnie lass like yerself truly speechless. Strokin’ my ego a bit, ye are.”

“Your coffee…”

The first words you say to the man of your dreams and all you can think of is his wasted cup left unoccupied on the counter.

“Eh, it’s only a drink.” His shoulder’s finally loosened with a shrug. “More concerned about yers. Not tae make ye feel bad, lass, but ye’re lookin’ a wee bit peckish if I can say.”

So your mirror liked reminding you every morning. 

You waved him off on instinct, not needing the alpha to start concerning himself with your health. Not like there was much either of you could do about it. “It’s fine. Shouldn't be spending the money anyways.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, raising an eyebrow at your justifiably frazzled appearance, but choosing not to question it just the same.

“Gonna be honest, lass. Wasn't exactly expectin’ ta bump into ya.”

You could tell by the bite marks on another woman’s neck.

No. Stop it girl. That’s not fair to him.

You shoved back the bitter taste of jealousy, forcing a smile you both knew was awkward. “Yea… what are the odds…”

“Mind ye, when the others mentioned their wee run-in with ye at the shop the other night I ken’d there was a chance– Christ, when Cap’n finds out the…” His words carried on, but you stopped processing them beyond a certain point in his ramblings, focusing more on the melody as it slowly faded to the background. There was a lilt to his speech that didn’t quite fit the occasion - at least to you. A restrained awe; measured happiness so as not to overwhelm you right off the bat with unbridled emotion. 

Part of you was thankful for his careful insight considering the delicate nature of the situation. But even so, the squiggly edges of his personality felt forcefully crammed into an elaborate puzzle rather than fitting naturally into a predetermined space.

You should be thrilled to be having this conversation. Things should be clicking and the world should make sense and his voice should be songbirds twittering in your ear on a beautiful summer’s day without a cloud in the sky and…

All you can hear is the man in a blue camry honking at the lady jaywalking in front of his car, the squeal of halted tires and shouted insults from hot spilled coffee across his lap. The poor woman on the corner shaking a can of loose pennies in hopes of a two dollar meal from the shop down on 7th Ave. Dogs barking at strangers and high heels clacking on wet slushy pavement. 

Overstimulation hits you hard, leaving you incapable of making out anything but the shapes of his mouth without any of the feedback. His voice muffles despite only the foot distance between you, and try as you might you have no idea what’s causing that smile on his face. For all you know he could be just as easily discussing the week's snowy forecast or reciting Chaucer like those lunatics on the steps outside the performing arts college. 

The nagging presence makes itself known in the back of your mind, adding to the chaos plugging your senses and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in a way that has nothing to do with the chill. The disgruntled alpha half a country away calls to your fraying nerves, taking advantage of your weakened mentality and twisting like a gnarled root around your windpipe. You disguise the full body trembles with a forced shiver, the restlessness of your fingers giving in to the urge to claw at your mating mark, hiding the motion by readjusting your scarf more securely and clearing your throat. A cold sweat breaks out underneath the insulating layers of warmth, adding to the already miserable conditions of the snowy bluster. There’s only so much more you can take before you split apart at the threads and reveal to the stranger just how rotted your insides were.

You needed to end the interaction.

“Look–” you interrupt his languid tirade, voice barely holding steady and as timid as a field mouse, mittened palm up to keep him from going any further and stunning him into silence. “You don’t have to do this. This kinda thing just… doesn’t happen to normal people. I’m not gonna hold anything against you when it was a one in a billion chance of us ever crossing paths. You have your life and I have mine.”

Something hard caught in your throat and gummed up your words, threatening to crawl into your lungs and make a permanent home if you focused on it for too long - gave it too much power. You hoped he didn’t see the way you forced yourself to push through. “Let’s just… be adults, acknowledge that it happened, and go about our day as if we were two strangers passing by on the street. No expectations, no mess. ‘Kay?”

Clearly not envisioning that reaction now that he’d finally gotten his paws on you, something in his look tightened at being told ‘no’. “Hardly seems fair.”

Who was he to know ‘fair’?

“And what about us?” he continued with an unexpected bite. “Ye think we can jus’ ignore the fact that our scent match is wanderin’ about somewhere in the city unguarded and at risk of bein’ hurt or– or taken?”

You could almost taste the self satisfaction flaring across the tainted bond, fighting back a wave of nausea and bristling at the emotional wound he unknowingly gut punched.

“And your omega?” You watched him flinch at the obvious retort, both hating and relishing in his discomfort at having reality thrown back in his face. At least you both knew there was an element of betrayal lingering beneath the surface. “You really want her to have to come home every day with you smelling like another woman? Your fated woman? Do you realize the damage that’ll cause not just to her but to your mating bonds?”

In a perfect world, this whole encounter would be different. He’d say hi, you’d give him your most winning smile. The two of you would go back to the cafe and he’d pay for your coffee. You'd sit across from each other with stars in your eyes, getting to know the ins and outs of their soul for however much time your schedules allowed, blowing off prior commitments in favor of lyrical words dancing sugar plums around your head. Numbers would be exchanged and you’d both part ways feeling lighter and hopeful and impatiently waiting for the start of the next exciting chapter.

God, you hated fairy tales. 

The alpha was clearly frustrated at how the conversation was playing out, scratching a rough hand through his mohawk with a groaned out hiss, eyes darting around empty space as a grimaced mouth searched for the right words. “Look, lass. The four of us–” 

Four. There were four of them. Four mates. 

“–aren’t gonna stop worryin’, not now that we ken ye’re within reach and without a pack of yer own.” Blue eyes skimmed downwards trying to peer beyond the veil of your scarf, flicking back up to your face when he failed, searching for a sign that you remain unmated as he suspects by your reactions thus far. 

Glancing off to the side, you avoid his gaze and focus on the piles of brown snow gathered along the curb, not trusting yourself to keep a straight face under his careful scrutiny. He must take your avoidance as confirmation, returning to the conversation at hand.

“Alright, yea. We’ve already bonded another. Nothin’ tae be done about it now and there’s no use bawlin’ o’er what might ‘ave been. But if ye think that's gonna stop us from tryin’ tae be a part of yer life then yer sorely mistaken.” 

There’s an endearing quality to his convictions - as misguided as you believe them to be. So sure of himself, reflected in the take-no-objections posture and firm set of his brows. All confident alpha bravado. 

A small part of you keens at his certitude, recognizing it on a primal level and wanting to bask in the commanding presence your– the alpha provides. But those same instincts that scream at you to welcome his protective nature also serve as a reminder of why that could never work.

There’s a reason packs only keep one omega. While alphas are stereotyped as being the possessive pigheaded brutes who covet your kind like unstable beasts, everyone knows there is none so fierce as a territorial omega, baring her teeth to encroaching females without a moment’s hesitation to defend. It’s not like you’re the worst sorts of overly attached pack mates though. Society wouldn't be able to function if an omega snapped every time they all came within three feet of each other. 

But to have the two coexisting within the same ecosystem fighting over the affections of the same alphas…

If the heartbreak wouldn’t kill them, the blood on their teeth will.

The fact that he’s trying to send all that flying out the window is both impressive and infuriating in its stubbornness. 

Your own voice is far more subdued as you fidget with the hem of your coat. “That’s not how this is supposed to work…”

“Oh aye? Turnin’ down gaggles of soulmates jus’ a light Saturday mornin’ fer ya then?”

Despite the dour mood, you huffed in something akin to levity at his words, feeling some of that tension unreel from your bones in the face of the small upward curve of his lips that accompanied them. “If I say yes will that convince you to throw in the towel?”

Enchanting eyes sparked with determination and something playful. “Hate to break it tae ya, lass, but we’re a right stubborn bunch o’ blokes.”

“And her?” 

Cerulean eyes hardened again. “We’ll sort that out between us.” 

A leather covered arm reaches out to guard your left side, a firm body stepping into your space to block you from a passing beta encroaching too close on your private conversation. You don’t miss the slight rumble in his chest given as a warning to the traipsing man, the subtle growl claiming this spot and two of you in it, an intimidating scowl berating him for nearly knocking into you because of it. It catches you off guard, unconsciously leaning into the alpha's safety from the unaware intruder, the heady scent of freshly ground coffee beans permeating his clothes and coating you in a fresh pot to ease your delicate nerves.

It takes the two of you a moment to separate despite both of you knowing the ‘threat’ is gone; and even then the amount of space between is kept minimal at best. It’s hard to deny the pull molecularly chaining you to this man whose pheromones are carving out spaces in the cracks between the marrow like rapids, filling the pock marked gaps and branding your existence as something completely different than it was before. 

The structural fibers in your body are being split in half like colliding atoms in a particle accelerator. It’s a molecular tug of war between listening to ancestral instincts imploring you to stay with the protective alpha and past emotional trauma begging you not to give in to complicated matters of the heart. You’ve been hurt once before by someone of his kind and the last thing you needed was to punt yourself all the way back to square one when it had taken you so long to reach this part of your healing journey. 

You know where that path leads. There’s nothing waiting for you but despair.

Unknowing or lacking regard for your internal struggle, the alpha surprises you by shifting his arm to sprawl across your shoulder, a gentle but unrelenting force ushering you back in the direction you’d originally come running from, the deceptively casual grip brokering no room for argument. “Now, what’s say we make up fer scarin’ ye earlier with that cup of caffeine ye were gantin’ after, eh?” 

Maybe if you’d possessed a stronger will you might’ve opened your mouth to protest his commanding treatment over you. Instead, nestled close to his body and tucked in tight against his shoulder, he was gentleman enough not to comment on the small whiff you snuck on your way back to the cafe.

The soft instrumentals playing festive tunes over the cafe speakers were an appreciated break from the harsh monotony of whirring kitchen equipment. Depictions of snowmen and candy canes painted artistically on the inside glass celebrated the joyous season. Evergreens and mistletoe; frozen fractals falling from white fluffy clouds. A veritable winter wonderscape - the natural frost accumulated on the outside only adding to the weathering effect. 

Red and green twinkle lights hung strewn across overhead support beams. Garlands with small plastic ornament bobbles snaked around the insides of display cases. An electric votive nestled cozily in miniature wreaths and placed at every table flickered warmly for an added ambience to the already welcoming interior.

The holiday decorations had been up since Thanksgiving, but you’d never taken a moment to really notice them, too focused on the transactional exchange and the time on your phone to give it more than a passing glance of acknowledgement. Fidgeting in your seat, it was a welcome distraction.

You’d been ushered towards one of the secluded tables upon returning to the cozy cafe, your companion either ignorant or uncaring of the odd glances tossed your way by those still inside who witnessed your previous outburst. You kept your head ducked from the initial embarrassment, blood heating your face as he helped you out of your coat and slung it over the back of your chair, making sure you were settled before sauntering off towards the register to place the drink order you’d rattled off. 

While he stood distracted at the counter amongst a sea of waiting customers, one of the older baristas with a candy cane apron discreetly tried to flag down your attention, meticulously cleaning one of the espresso machines with a soiled napkin purposefully tilted away from his view. 

The words in scribbled sharpie pointed your way: ‘You ok?’

Touched by her concern, you gave her a surprisingly genuine smile despite your jittery insides, easing her enough to pass along a thumbs up as she goes back to working on whatever festive drink concoction the lady at the drive thru has deigned to torture her with. It was kind of her to look after you given the strangeness of the day. But against what should be all rational thought you trusted the man who was for all intents a complete stranger.

Here’s to hoping life didn’t pair you with a serial killer.

Shaking your head of such nonsense (hopefully), it took you a moment to recall the last time you gave yourself permission to linger somewhere. With the exception of the hour spent every week in Dr. Miranda’s office, you avoided congregating in public spaces for more than the few minutes it took to get in, get out, and return to the safety of your abode. Crowds made you skittish; the abused animal inside burrowed deep within your rib cage voicing its objections and reflecting its displeasure in the way it made you outwardly twitch. Once upon a time even stepping foot in a place like this - enclosed, swirling with clashing aromas, a singular point of escape - seemed like such an unattainable goal. Even now the awareness of the situation caused your agoraphobia to writhe under your skin, poisoning like fire ant venom and tempting your lungs into anaphylactic shock. 

Deep breaths, girl. In… out… in… out… let it wash over you… inhale… exhale… 

You are safe. You are safe. You are– 

Like nails on a chalkboard, the scratching of wood against ceramic jostled you from your meditative process, an involuntary yelp met with a small grin of apology as the imposing alpha placed your own drink in front of you before taking up residence in the open seat across. Something about the setting exacerbated his already potent smell, mixing with the sweetness of the beverages and leaving you with a deep gnawing ache to lean across the table and drink it straight from the source.

The tide of anxiety receded back to the depths of your mind, your inner omega settling in the presence of your scent match. Even if you couldn’t escape the dark presence prowling like a half-starved panther on the other end of the bond, the natural relief that came with sitting three feet away from your opposite designation had you breathing steadier than you had since leaving therapy a short while ago. You may not be entirely comfortable with this predicament, but at least the attention came with a few built in perks. 

The fake candle in the center highlighted the limited edition designs on your respective drinks, but it’s the name scrawled in sparkly black sharpie that catches your attention on his disposable cup. “MacTavish?”

“John,” he confirms, “pleasure ta meet ya, lass. Though I s’pose tha’s how I should’ve started things out in the first place. With, ya know… manners.”

“Not like I made introductions easy for us…” you mumbled with a wince, tracing over the cafe’s symbol on your cup as a small distraction from having to make eye contact at the admission.

“Aye, ye didn’t. But I cannae fault ye fer havin’ a sense of self preservation starin’ down a big burly Scotsman, now can I?” 

It had been moreso about running from your problems than being outright intimidated by the man, but you weren’t about to question his assumption and open up a whole new can of worms in the process. “Right...”

There was a brief pause as he stared at you expectantly, hoping you’d return the favor now that he’d taken that first step with an official greeting. Something about offering up even that little part of yourself scared you though. It felt like handing over power to the fae folk; like once he knew your name he could strip the autonomy from your spirit and ensnare you forever in his enchanted domain.

Instead, you took a sip from the hot liquid in your hands, soothed by the syrupy blend like a steady palm rubbing lines down your back. Not nearly as good as the earthy bouquet your nose had been sampling with every inhale. Maybe if you’d added a pump of caramel…

You fought desperately to ignore the part of your brain that whispered comparisons to the rich espresso-y figure across the way, stopping any and all sidetracking towards scandalous thoughts of a more private taste testing. 

This was not the time for slick inducing fantasies.

Once he realized he wouldn’t receive an echoing answer, he mirrored you with his own brew, humming in approval at whatever pleasant taste he found and dropping the subject temporarily. Thankful he didn’t push, you read further down on his own drink, unable to help the small scoff of surprise after reading the incriminating label.

“A sugar cookie latte? Not the most masculine of drinks, is it?” You’re not sure where you found the courage to softly tease him over his beverage of choice. Clearly his heavy alpha pheromones were messing with your logic receptors. “Thought your kind liked to keep things dark and bitter.” 

“I'm an alpha, lass. Chasin’ after sweet smellin’ omegas is what we do fer fun.” There was a sparkle there that hinted towards your earlier predicament, a not so subtle implication combined with his cheeky grin that reassured you it was all good natured. You at least had the decency to duck your head abashedly, face heating up from more than just the warming drink. “Kinda gives us a wee proclivity fer honeyed tastes.”

Honestly, he had a point. Can’t say you’d ever thought of it that way before. I mean, seriously. Whoever said alphas needed to be gritty when they came naturally ingrained with a sweet tooth?

“Guess that’s why she smells like chocolate.”

Your lips formed the words without thought, something mean tugging at you the same time he did. Nails bite into the recycled coffee sleeve like sharpened teeth, taking out the urge to scratch on the poor item rather than call attention to the scarf still secured around your neck. Couldn’t even get through a normal outing without him adding his two cents to the mix.

A hard tap on the tabletop called your attention back to John. You’d maybe expected an affirming response, but what you don't expect is to find him staring at you from across the table with a suddenly serious expression, speaking to you in an almost chiding manner. “I'd rather ye didn’t bring up sore spots to intentionally cause yerself pain.”

He didn’t allow you to hide, his face moving in tandem with yours as you attempted to duck his gaze, the blunt observation leaving you sheepish as you worried your bottom lip. 

“...can't avoid the conversation forever.”

“Aye. But the least we can do is get ta know each other first.”

That genuinely puzzled you. “Why?”

Even through the bulk of his winter coat you could see the way the material stretched to make way for his biceps as he crossed them over his chest, leaning back in his seat as he regarded you with easy going eyes. “Yer my scent match, lass. Ye think I'm not o’er ‘ere stewin’ in a fruity cocktail wishin’ I’d ‘ave taken ye tae a juice bar instead?”

Your face heated again at the implication. Seems his own thought pattern wasn’t too terribly dissimilar to the wiley suggestions pawing at your psyche with scintillating ideas of debauchery. “Wouldn't go that far...”

“Got no shame in admittin’ yer drivin’ me up the wall.”

He really didn’t, did he? 

“Not sure you should be saying things like that.”

“Probably.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Ne’er been one fer followin’ rules though. Doesnae make sense when we're both wantin’ the same thing.”

You examined him over the rim of your cup, forearm resting on the sticky laminate as you leaned in closer, almost imploring in your tone. “Isn't that just further proof we shouldn't even be talking right now?”

Taking a sip of his own, he brushed off your concerns like a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Ye really think ye can jus’ wipe yer hands and forget about us?”

Silence laid thick in the air between you. There was no point denying when he felt every bit the earth-rattling gravity well that had the two of you touching toes beneath the table. 

He didn’t even bother trying to hide the smugness from his expression. “Exactly. I may not be takin’ ye ta my bed, lass, but yer mine nonetheless.”

You shouldn't have liked the way that sounded. For the past four years of your life you’ve been unwilling property to a man holding you confined in a secret realm of bleak oblivion. You’ve begged and pleaded through every starless sky to go back to being the woman you were before fate intervened, desperate for peace in an internal war. All you ever wanted was freedom; to bound over mountains and soar across fields. To scrape off the layers belonging to him and build castles in the clouds far beyond his reach.

Yet here you were thanking the maker of scent wicking panties that your match couldn’t detect the perfume wafting up between your legs at the thought of him staking his claim over you.

“So,” he went on, “we figure out a way tha’ we can be in yer life that doesnae cross any boundaries and ye gain four brutes that'll gladly shank a man fer ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at his choice of wording before taking a sip from your cup. “Sounds a tad extreme if you ask me.”

Canines gleaming, the look he sends you is downright carnivorous. “Oh, yer in fer a spell, lass.”

Chatter turns to small talk in an effort to distract you from the discomfort of previous conversation. Turns out he’d drawn the short straw when he and his pack mates realized over piles of paperwork and exhaustive meetings that certain individuals who would not be named - but he’d been more than happy to throw under the bus - hadn’t checked some things off their list while out doing a routine grocery run the other night. Seems like the previous two you’d met were left nearly as shaken as you after the encounter, forgoing the last few needed aisles in favor of ending things early to process tough decisions behind closed doors.

That’s all the information he offers; no further details exchanged on the matter. The internal workings of your personal lives kept private. It didn’t take a mathematician to understand why you prefer to remain guarded, but you assume on his end it had a fair bit to do with the obnoxious purple elephant in the room, trumpeting and stampeding all over the future you could’ve built had it just stayed locked in a zoo. There’s still some moments along the line where he lays a trail of tiny bread crumbs, challenging you with hungry eyes to follow the path through winding woodland and glittering caves towards whatever lay beyond. You’re tempted a few times to chance a couple steps, toeing the line of curiosity but always pulling back to the safety of the unknown. 

The less you know about their lives the better. You never even inquire as to the missing three names.

Eventually you settle on the topic of just how exactly he proposed this hairbrained… relationship?... was going to work. Fuck, there really had to be a better word for it. Not friends, not lovers. Not a situationship. Not total strangers anymore.

Companions? Counterparts? Symbiotes?

Either way, you’d both been spouting suggestions for the better part of five minutes and you weren’t any closer to a solution that would leave both parties feeling satisfied. Granted the only thing that could work for you would be as little interaction as humanly possible, but he was firm in his convictions.

“We can keep it ta texts fer right now if ye like.”

“But then she'll feel bad if she sees you writing them.”

“Then we'll jus’ ‘ave tae come visit.”

“But then I'll feel like some sleazy homewrecking call girl.”

“Now yer jus’ bein’ a numpty.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Yea, ye should stop tha’.”

“John!”

“Lass.”

Oh, how you wanted to wipe that flippant laughter off his face and pry it from his mouth with dental tools. The damn thing was unfairly infectious in the way it warmly beckoned a smile to your lips. Here you were trying to be sensible about the situation he created and so far all attempts to come to some sort of compromise were met with off handed ribbing and facetiousness.

You wouldn’t admit that some of the holdup was partially your fault - looking for desperate excuses to keep this from happening - but it hung suspended in the quiet between your words. And what’s more he knew it too.

“What about the occasional email?” you threw out for the hell of it.

John outright guffawed at the ridiculous suggestion, drawing the attention of some of the surrounding tables without a care towards who heard, brawny arms tossed upward in fond exasperation. “This ain’t a business transaction, hen! Saints, what a notion…”

“Well…” you sputtered, “then it seems like we’ve reached an impasse.” 

Please just drop it.

He just looked at you with further amusement, swirling circles on the table with the bottom edge of his now empty coffee cup. “Ye always a neurotically charged mess or is this jus’ my lucky day?”

Oh god. In your desperation to undo the upheaval he’s already causing in your life you really weren’t painting a pretty picture of yourself were you? 

You cringed backwards at the realization. “Pretty sure you’re the reason I’m making myself look like one.”

“Aye, but a bonnie one,” he agrees.

“And you’re not worried about the mental stability of the person which life has comedically deemed yours and is making a complete fool of herself?”

“Just tryin’ tae make ye smile. It's been workin’.” A fact he looked quite proud of.

And it was. You couldn't deny that. For how much havoc this was wreaking on the parts of yourself that had become so ill equipped to handle basic human interactions outside your minuscule inner circle, there was a part of you that was glad to find you still possessed the capability of laughing with a stranger.

The conversation paused as his brow knit in confusion, the faint buzzing of a cell phone rattling in his pocket barely audible over the din as he drew it from the interior lining of his coat. The way he held the device and flicked through it with his thumb implied a text message as opposed to a phone call, huffing as he read over the contents before palming it in his meaty hand.

“Och, the louses are houndin’ me fer their caffeine fix. Hang on a tic, lass.” Flashing a quick smile, his chair slid back with a sharp squeak as he stood, strolling back towards the counter and flagging down an unoccupied barista. It was impossible not to follow him with your eyes, ogling his stocky frame as he rattled off coffee orders from the conversation pulled up on his phone. Even the sweet beta girl behind the register wasn’t impervious to his roguish charms; just a little more subtle in the way she admired the casual arrogance in which he leaned against the marble. 

How long had it been since you last let your eyes wander over the shape of a man and thought of something other than a rancid dumpster and abrasive brick scraping morse code across your exposed back?

There was something uniquely disarming about the alpha. In many ways his ability to break past your bullshit reminded you of Dr. Miranda. Both refused to let you spiral to darker thoughts, spinning the world into one of muted colors rather than shades of desolate gray. But where she spent years undoubtedly locked in a study hall pouring over dissertations and cramming decades of designation theory over red bulls and ramen, John had accomplished that same level of trust in a matter of–

You checked the time on your phone. The pair of you had been sitting in this cafe for roughly fifteen minutes now. That’s all it took for this whirlwind of a man to blow away the cobwebs accumulating in your chest and deliver a shot of adrenaline to your synapses.

Too bad the monster in your veins would make sure it didn’t last.

John came back from the counter holding a cardboard coffee carrier by the handle, looking down at you expectantly from his position towering over you. “Right, lass. Need tae be droppin’ these,” he raised his arm a smidge, gesturing to the drinks, “off tae the lads. So hows about we quit the stallin’ and skip tae the part where ye stop overthinkin’ things and lemme have yer number?”

He didn’t even let you open your mouth in feeble defense of that (true) statement before serving you a warning look that dissolved the syllables from the tip of your tongue. From what little you’d gathered during your brief stint together, you didn’t doubt his potential gumption to wrangle you to the cold tile floor - even in the presence of all these people - just to fish the device out of your pocket himself if need be.

Personally, you didn’t feel up to testing his bluff. 

Working off pure muscle memory, you handed over your phone and watched as he pulled up your messaging app, inputting his name amongst the scant others on the list and shooting off a fruit emoji. If he noticed the sparse amount of contacts in your phone he didn't comment on it. Not like it was hard to miss a grand total of four separate text chains.

His phone buzzed again from the text he sent himself, handing back your device with a smile that erred on the side of slightly devious contentment. The bastard knew he won and was being unfairly smug about it. “There now. See how easy that was, lass? Perfectly painless.”

That’s when it hit you.

“What if she says no?” The sheer panic gripping your chest catches you off guard as much as the blurted out words. Trepidation crushes like a hydraulic press, the thought of this precious fleeting moment being all you ever get seizing your body like a hundred electrified shocks. The rickety tower of emotional stability you’d been working so hard to keep steady seemed to crumble beneath your feet now that there was a chance he wouldn't be around to keep it from falling. “What if this is all just some big mistake and we never should have met and I end up ruining your pack–”

Gods, this was so fucked up. A minute ago you wanted nothing more than to never hear from John again and now your inner omega was giving you whiplash trying to cling to an alpha that wasn’t hers by the skin of her blunted teeth. 

This was exactly why you didn’t want to have anything to do with them in the first place! It was a no win scenario that was only going to make things worse by confusing your already emotionally precarious omega. Delaying the inevitable. Dragging things out. Torturing her wounded soul trying to wring water from stone.

But you couldn’t give him up anymore - not now. Maybe once you’re home safe in your nest and can breathe clean air not tainted with his fragrance. When you’ve forgotten the oceanic hues that gleam at you with such open eagerness. When his brogue and his candor are replaced with flashes of doe eyed brown and thick flowing locks and the taste of chocolatey truth cuts too deep to heal. Maybe distance will make this ache inside easier to bear. 

But at this moment, despite your earlier hesitations, you weren’t ready for the clock to strike midnight on the impossible.

If he couldn’t read the distress on your face then he certainly was made aware of it by the sour smell of overripe fruit cascading off of you, bitter and tart and pungent as you began to spiral, getting lost in a torrent of what ifs and worst case scenarios. 

You never got to finish your verbal stream of consciousness. Alpha instincts snapped into action before you could begin blowing fumes, disregarding his coffee as he hoisted you up from your seat with immediate alertness. Strong arms encased your vulnerable form, one hand cradling the back of your neck with gentle pressure, engaging the bundle of nerves located there with a direct line to the body’s limbic system. An omega’s weak spot; it overrides all internal circuitry and sends calming signals to the brain, disengaging stress receptors, activating the amygdala, bringing you to a headspace of obedience and security. It was highly taboo to touch an omega there without their explicit permission; a right reserved only for close family members and chosen pack mates. 

You should be angry– you should be furious. How dare he assume that just because he was your scent match that it gave him any right to manhandle you! Robbing your ability to retake control and leaving you just as helpless as that fateful night in the alley.

But he was. And you just didn’t care. Call it biology working against you, but all you felt in that moment was a deep rooted need to sink into his grounding embrace and let your mind go blissfully blank. Trusting in fate to send you an alpha with morals and integrity. Handing over the keys to a man who knew how to drive.

Releasing more of his smooth creamy scent into the air around you, body and designation worked in tandem to soothe every aspect of your overwhelmed being. Outside influences floated away with all the cares of the world, revolving around a fixed point in space exactly where you stood. Nothing else existed in this fraction of the universe. Just two souls destined to be together by forces beyond comprehension.

This was what you were made for. This felt right.

And, god– he was purring for you.

“Hey hey– shhh shhh. Settle, omega, settle... easy now. Jus’ like tha’... There’s a good lass.”

Slowly but surely, the acrid odor of anxiety faded back into the sweet juicy scent of a fresh crisp pear. A small whine escaped your lips as he sapped your body of strength, held aloft only by the taut muscles in his forearms. Glazed over eyes reflected the haze fogging your senses, melting you down into something gooey and malleable that dripped like corn syrup, sticky and coating every inch of your skin in a clear varnish. Breathing became easier. The heavy thumping in your ears faded back to white noise. Bones turned rubbery and tendons fell limp until you could no longer remember what upset you in the first place.

No longer needing the subduing effects of gentling, his hand moved from its spot at the back of your neck to the base of your skull, thumb tenderly stroking where skin met hair, shushing soft assurances against your temple.

“Ye needn’t worry a strand on tha’ bonnie wee head of yers. Ye dunnae ken her like we do. Jus’ leave everythin’ tae me. I’ll sort things right as rain, yea?”

The rational part of your brain knew better than to believe honeyed lies, but in the cloudy serotonin you simply nodded into the dark leather of his coat, spellbound under his tranquilizing touch.

“Atta girl. C’mon, let’s get ye tae yer car.”

Helping you back into your coat, he made sure you were bundled up nice and snug before shuffling you outside into the frosty air, a hand resting over the small of your back in a way you didn’t object to in your current slothful state. The chime felt a little less abrasive this time around as you exited the cafe, moving in the direction of your car parked in its spot alongside the bustling rush hour traffic.

You knew the elderly thing was a spectacle to behold; all chipped paint and rusted metal, duct tape holding the bumper together, a dent in the passenger door from where your neighbor’s kids had kicked a ball into it last spring. There was a crack across the windshield from where a bird made friendly with it earlier in the year that sliced through your vision but didn’t impede you from driving. 

‘Character’ was the word you used to describe it, but it certainly wasn’t what everyone else usually chose. John obviously fell into the latter camp.

“Ye sure tha’ thing’s operable, lass?” He scrutinized every banged-up, well-worn inch of it, pulling a face at what he found lacking and raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Not sure I trust it ta get ya to point b without a few bumps and scrapes.”

You sighed at the familiar criticism, having heard much the same from your fathers. “It gets the job done. Still safer than walking around by myself anyways. I promise I wouldn’t drive it if I thought it’d get me killed one day.” Only a partial lie at least.

He was clearly unconvinced, but blessedly didn’t say anything further besides whatever mumbled remark he kept under his breath. Watching quietly while still keeping an eye on the surrounding area, he stayed near your side as you fumbled with the keys, grabbing the handle to hold it open as you tossed your bag on the passenger seat. “Right. In ya go then.”

You thought that would be the end of it as he closed the door behind you, buckling your fraying seat belt and hoping he was far enough away that you could safely attempt to start your car without any more judgment from him if this ended up being the one time it didn’t turn over.

You jumped slightly as his gloved hand tapped on the glass, turning your head to watch him motion for you to lower the window. Rolling the old school contraption down, you were again hit with a velvety shot of espresso as he half leaned in towards you, forearm resting against the top of your car.

“If ye think fer one minute tha’ I’m gonna jus’ up and forget about ye now tha’ we’re partin’ ways ye’ll be sorely disappointed lass. Tha’ there thing in yer purse’ll be ringin’ before ye ken it and I’m not afraid to come lookin’ if I dunnae get an answer.” 

The promise in his tone felt suspiciously like a threat, but one without any real intended consequence. His relaxed posture and sparkling irises assured you that while he’d probably still be cross if you ignored his attempts to reach out, you wouldn’t be awoken in the middle of the night to someone taking a battering ram to your flimsy front door.

At least, you hoped they wouldn’t.

Flashing you a playful wink, John took a step back from the vehicle. “Take care, omega. Be seein’ ya real soon.”

You’re shouting your name at him before you even realize what you’ve done, the small part of you that longs for a deeper connection clawing free from the part that fears having her heart shattered. From a few feet away you could still see the fireworks bursting in his eyes, the way he stands a little taller and puffs out his already broad chest with euphoria at your proffered olive branch. You can’t bring yourself to regret it when his unabashed smile conjures images you never dared hope for.

He waited until you rolled up your window and heard the telltale click of the locks on your doors engaging before finally taking off, crossing to the other side of the slippery street and walking with a hand tucked into his coat pocket until a line of cars finally blocked his retreating form from view. 

You sat there for a moment with your hands on the steering wheel, the silence in the vehicle more deafening than the wind howling outside. The past twenty minutes played like rewind on a VCR, speeding through the chain of events leading to the present to be watched again and again and again. 

After the fifth or sixth replay, all you could think of was rushing back to your apartment before fate could intervene once more and you accidentally run over your fourth scent match’s pekingese with your fucking car. 

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[brewed-pangolin]

After playing both the campaign and warzone, I have come to the simple conclusion that there are two very different sides to Mr MacTavish. Something that I am lovingly referring to as...

The Highland Coin Toss

How he reacts and treats you is purely dependent on the relationship and what he's more comfortable with you calling him. And if you are lucky enough to gain access to both sides, flipping his coin turns into an all out 'spin the bottle', color me horny fuck fest. So, without further ado, let us begin....

18+ MDNI under the cut

CW: Just some personal headcanons sprinkled on a giant heap of smut. Sub/Dom Soap. P in V, Fem receiving.

AN: This is the first anything I have written in over 5 years, so apologies if it's absolute shit. Honestly, though, had so much fun with this double-sided Scottsman! Much Love 💛

'Heads' Johnny MacTavish

Walls? Yeah, he's got 'em. More to protect himself from those around him. But patience will prevail. Give it time, and you'll begin to see those barriers slowly crumble down.

Honesty goes a long way with Johnny. He can generally read people like a book (please don't bring up Graves, he's still sore after that traitorous bastard) If he does catch you being untruthful to him or any of the 141 or Voqueros, good luck getting back on his good graces. Book's closed, done.

Beneath that hardened exterior, Johnny is incredibly affectionate. And not just in a romantic aspect. He doesn't see 141 and Voqueros as soldiers or troops, they're his brothers.

Don't try to get in between him and his missions. Johnny is a military man through and through, and nothing is more important to him than the completion of the task at hand.

Loyal to a God damn fault.

Johnny is the fighter of the coin toss. Calculated, thorough and eyes on every detail, no matter how insignificant they may seem.

Once those walls are dust, this man will be nothing but putty in your hands.

Now, on to the fun stuff...

Johnny is 100% a switch! If you want him to be in control, he'll gladly take the reigns. But if you're feeling a bit more frisky and want to be in control, this man will be in absolute heaven (he won't deny it, Johnny loves watching you ride him)

Is absolutely obsessed with your body.

No matter the time, place, or scenario, he's going to have a hand on you (leg, thigh, arm, hand, neck, ass, foot, head...) And those hands like to wander...simple caresses turn into deliberate touches with one goal in mind.

And Johnny knows ALL of your pleasure zones. Will either focus his fingers on them or dance around them entirely just to drive you wild. Once his touch has been satiated, his mouth will go to work.

Kissing Johnny is an experience in sexual nirvana. His hands will cradle your head as his tongue explores and tastes you. Only when you're a breathless mess will he give you reprieve and move on. Every inch of you will be peppered in starving kisses. Loves your neck and inner thighs the most (mainly due to the reaction and moans you elicit in response)

But his main prize is the deliciously warm cavern between your thighs. Is nothing short of methodical when eating you out. Torturously so at times.

Starts with long, languid draws of his tongue along your folds. Quickly followed by precise and deliberate attention on your pulsing clit. Loves to oscillate between these two maneuvers, purely out of satisfaction as you all but lose your mind beneath his salacious mouth.

Johnny knows exactly where that special bundle of nerves is, he knows how much you can take and will push you to your limit. You'll be on the verge of insanity, and all you'll see between your legs is victorious glacial eyes beckoning you to break and come apart on his tongue.

He is so atuned to your body it almost makes you wonder if soul mates are a reality or just a long told fairy tale. This thought always creeps into your mind as he enters you. So slowly, you feel ever inch of him, and once he's fully seated, you swear you can feel his rapid heart beat within your welcoming cunt.

Slow and steady wins this race in his mind. Johnny is fully aware that it is not the pace that gets you off, and is willing to spend all night getting you to the ecstasy you both so desperately desire.

Don't count those determined hands out when he's thrusting balls deep within you. He'll find that pulsing bud and match his determined circling fingers with the pace of his hips.

Speaking of hands, Johnny never keeps them in one place for too long. His fingers will traverse and explore your curves like meandering, sexually driven pilgrim.

King of Priases! "Y'So beautiful hen." "Good bonnie. Feel so fucking good." "C'mon, I know ya can give me another one."

Will talk you through your orgasms.

"Keep your eyes on me, bonnie."

"That's it. Cum for me. Cum for me, hen."

His voice will be soft, slightly above a whipser with just enough strain in it to send you over the edge.

You'll know when Johnny's close. He'll hold you tight, desperately so, to the point you'll feel like he'll suffocate you. His pace will stammer and with one last thrust you'll feel him empty himself within you.

Johnny is in heaven when he cares for you post romp. He'll pepper you in soft kisses while his fingers dance across your still trembling skin. And he's always prepared; damp washcloth within arms reach because he knows you both can get quite messy.

You'll fall asleep first, because that's what he wants. Soft whispers of how beautiful you are, how good you make him feel will echo into your ears. The last thing you'll remember is strong arms wrapping around your waist and the slow beating of his heart as you let sleep take you over completely.

'Tails' Soap MacTavish

Walls? Yeah, no. Try fucking skyscrapers. Only way you're getting to this side of the Scot is by proving you're not a complete waste of time and flesh. Even if he has opened himself up to his more accepting side, don't push your luck trying to figure out what he hides behind closed doors. Soap will read through those lines within seconds and shut it down. And he'll be a locked vault from then on.

Assertive. Especially during and immediately following missions (it takes Soap a day or two to get back to civilian life).

Bit of a control freak, particularly when it comes to his routines. (Yes, he has a very specific hair regimen. So if you value your life, don't touch anything. And no, he's not going to talk about it)

Patience. Patience. Patience. Let Soap open himself up to you. It may take a few months, maybe even years. You may need some help from his brothers in arms to get to this man (Gaz especially, he's such a softie). They're truly the only ones that know Soap for who he really is.

Complete trust is necessary to gain access to Soap, and once that element has been reached, you'll have your own personal body guard at every beck and call.

Soap is the protector of this flip of the coin. Think of a 200lb, military trained pitbull. God forbid anyone looks at you the wrong way.

Smexy time!!

Soap can be a bit aggressive at times, especially if he's been without any release for a long period. But make no mistake, Soap is a pleasure Dom to the absolute max! He'll get off, no doubt about that. You on the other hand, depending his mood you'll have either one mind blowing orgasm or several. (Good luck trying to walk after those nights)

While Johnny has a routine while being intimate with you, Soap is all over the place. He may start by fucking you relentlessly for hours, followed by eating you out and finish with devouring your mouth. Then start all over again in a different rhythm, and will probably throw in some shower sex just for good measure. Soap's unpredictability is what drives you to insanity. You can't keep a handle on him, and in that, your mind goes blank and purely enjoys everything he gives to you.

Ultimate grabby hands. Can get a bit carried away at times. Don't scold him for leaving bruises, consider them ultimate fleshy love notes.

Formidable make-out extraordinaire. While Johnny is affectionate and somewhat desperate, Soap is aggressive and all-consuming. And he won't give you a break from his mouth until he's had his fill. (Cue your grabby hands so you don't fall to the floor)

Hickeys. Hickeys fucking everywhere. Obsessed with leaving them in the most random places. Your calf has become his new favorite, and you strangely enough can't get enough of it.

Three words: Teasing. Fucking. Bastard.

Loves to watch you squirm beneath him, whether it be to his mouth or to his hardened and precise cock. And his hands, God damn his hands! You've started calling him your 'Clitoral Beethoven" since he can make you sing by the sheer power of his fingers alone.

Soap is ravenous with his mouth on you. This fact is proven time and again when he is buried between your thighs. His vigorous workings are only magnified by his vibrating groans that tantalizingly work their way up your spine.

Soap is the epitome of messy when he's eating your pussy. He'll all but swallow you whole, covering his stubble and chin with your juices. Those gorgeous blue eyes disappear between your thighs, replaced by darkened orbs filled with needy hunger. Your breaking point is when he begins to seesaw his head from side to side, the friction of his mouth combined with his determined tongue will having you screaming his name within seconds.

No flat surface is safe with this man. Can and will bend you over at any moment, especially if you're alone. (If not, expect a fair amount of borrowing stares and even a firm grab of your ass if he's feeling extra horny, which is pretty much always)

Speaking of horny, Soap is so needy for your pussy he can't always wait for you. But this man is resourceful, and almost always prepared. You don't know where he keeps it, but somehow he's got lube in his hand and already stroking his cock and you've barely pushed your pants down for him. And there's nothing gradual about how Soap enters you, he's balls deep first thrust. But he does hold and let you get used to him, purely for the feel of your cunt quivering around his cock.

Loves, loves, LOVES doggie style! Not only does it give him the most perfect view of your ass, but let's him have complete control of the pace. And whoa mama you're gonna need to mentally and physically prepare yourself, cause Soap is gonna fuck you senseless!

Have a mattress warehouse on speed dial. Just do it!

Mentioned that Soap is assertive. That's an understatement when he's having his way with you. He's strong, Godlike when he so desperately wants to feel your pulsing cunt around him. So expect a fair amount of man handling and body contortions (cue you turning into a human pretzel fuck toy; yoga may become a necessity before any Soap sexathon)

And that Scottish accent will only thicken as he pounds himself in your molten core.

"Be a good lass and scream fer me. Want e'eryone to know yer MINE."

"Takin me so well, aren't ya?"

"Can't get enough, can ya bonnie? Always so fuckin hungry fer my cock."

"So fuckin wet fer me. Yer a dirty girl, aren't ya?"

You're going to either have a strong hold on him or anything with a firm base, because Soap is going to completely ruin you. The room will be a cacophony of skin slapping, pleading moans and reverberating growls. The sounds will tempt you to poke the bear, but do so at your own risk...

"Harder, Soap. Fuck me harder."

His calloused hand will firmly grib the back of your neck, and the other will give your ass a hardened smack. You'll feel his body weigh down against yours, hips contuing their assault as his mouth ghosts the cusp of your ear.

"Fuckin needy little thing, aren't ya lass?"

Consider the bear, poked.

Soap will undoubtedly fuck you through your orgasms. He may be talking, but it will probably be some overly gratified Scottish that you don't understand. It's the growl of his words that make you go over the edge, blissfully cock drunk as your body convulses around him and your mind goes completely white.

Aftercare with Soap will almost always end in a bath. One to clean the excessive amount of fluids, and two to help soothe your blissfully overused body. As rough as he can be during the act, Soap is incredibly tender and gentle afterwards. Only thing on your mind will be when he came during the deed. His repsonse is always the same...

"Non of that now, bonnie."

Want to give some massive kudos to @yeyinde, @irnbru32, and @mvtthewmurdvck for their inspiration to get me back to writing. Y'alls fics are so unbelievably well done and immersive, I honestly can't get enough! Glad to be back and part of the Soap Squad 🧼 💛

[oakappleday]

Oh kilt time, you're so good to me

[cosmictapestries]

The second chapter of my WIP CageBlade fic is up!

Title: Who Wants to Live Forever

Rating: Explicit due to violence

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandoms: Mortal Kombat/ Highlander the Series

Characters: Sonya Blade/ Johnny Cage

Summery:

From the dawn of time they came; moving silently down through the centuries, living many secret lives, struggling to reach the time of the Gathering; when the few who remain will battle to the last.

Immortals have always been told "There can be only one" but what if the rules were to change?

Tossed into a ragtag team of other immortals, Sonya Blade will have to learn to set aside everything she has known, everything she has been taught, to help decide the fate of millions. They will fight, struggle and die together in an ancient tournament known as Mortal Kombat. Everything they've ever known about The Gathering is about to change...

[hoperays-song]

Everyone’s Base Animal References in the Human AU Continuation Fic

All of my current in the works fics are written as Human AUs. However, I did want to keep the acknowledgements of their base animals, so... I put some imagery of their base animal in their clothes or design somewhere. Here’s a list of the references!

Buster: Koala patterned socks

Eddie: Sheep keychain on belt loop

Nana: Sheep shawl pin

Hobbs: Penguin watch

Rosita: Pig necklace

Norman: Pig patterned socks

The piglets: Pig keychains on backpacks

Gunter: Pig pin on jumpsuit

Mrs. Crawly: Iguana necklace

Clay: Lion tattoo on ribs

Marcus: Gorilla tattoo on right shoulder

Stan: Gorilla tattoo on left thigh

Barry: Gorilla tattoo over heart

Johnny: Gorilla charm on belt chain

Nooshy: Lynx earrings

Aamanee (Meena’s mom): Elephant pin on hijab

Tahiyat (Meena’s grandmother): Elephant necklace

Wildan (Meena’s grandfather): Elephant patterned tie

Meena: Elephant bracelet on right wrist

Ash: Porcupine quills in jacket

Ryan: Tiger necklace

Jimmy: Wolf cufflinks

Porsha: Wolf ring on right hand

Suki: Saluki pin on suit lapel

Darius: Yak earrings

Harry: Panther cuff bracelet