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oceantornadoo · 1 month ago

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inspired by a dramoine fic i read! simon riley x f!reader

it’s the third time today someone has handed you simon’s paperwork and you’re starting to get confused. in fact, there’s the distinct feeling that you’ve missed a memo.

first, it was the visiting captain, so you couldn’t blame him for confusing lieutenants. but then it was johnny turning in his mission report, muttering something about “cannae be late this time if ah give it ye, lass.” which was odd, considering you weren’t his direct report (you were gaz’s). but what really sent you over the edge was getting called into price’s office and being met with a load of folders addressed to one Lt. Ghost (Confidential).

“sir, i’m a bit confused as to why you can’t just give these to him yourself.” price looked up from his desk, eyes flickering from under his boonie hat. “hav’ you seen ‘im today, lieutenant?” you nodded immediately while trying to scoop all of this paperwork (that was not yours!) into your arms. “yessir, i saw him before breakfast and then during training and then…what?” price had silently quirked an eyebrow, his beard echoing the movement. “i haven’t seen ‘im all day, so i figure it’s faster for you to deliver since you’re more well-versed in his movements than i am.” huh. “i’m sure he’s just doing his ghost thing, y’know? slipping into shadows and…”, price patiently gave you an exasperated look, “but i’ll get these to him, sir. see you later!”

the problem was, you knew exactly where simon was. in your office.

his own had an unfortunate ground level window near the track, so he was always complaining about nosy recruits until you offered to share some office space. temporarily, of course. it’s not like you were using all the empty space anyways and it made it much easier to get the opinion of your fellow lieutenant on a report by walking over to his desk, rather than going up and down stairs. that was the second point he made, and who were you to say no?

after pushing open your office door, you beelined for simon’s desk, dumping the stacks of folders on his desk. “wot’s this?” his mask was off so you could see his eyes widen at the mess of papers. “everyone now thinks i’m a drop off box for your paperwork, so i got burdened with all of this when i was doing my rounds.” he nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of his tea. “cheers, love.”

“what do you mean, cheers? don’t you think it’s odd for them to give me your paperwork? and why do we even have so much paperwork? i swear im drowning in it this week.” he snorted at your last sentence, opening the first folder in front of him while you rounded your desk, sitting in your comfy chair with a hmpf. “yer out an’ about more than me, tha’s all.” well, that was true. the infamous ghost was not known to be a sociable person on base. “i guess…” you turned to your old radio, passed down by a retired captain, and turned on simon’s favorite classical station.

“ya want mess or the pub tonight, love?” another great thing about being on base with simon - you never had to pay for dinner. “actually, that thai place we like is doing a special tonight.” he gave you a half-smirk, one cheek ticking up. “bloody raccoon. we had thai two nights ago.” you didn’t respond, instead blinking your best impression of puppy dog eyes at him. simon sighed, then shook his head at his desk. “olrigh’. the things i do.” you smiled and winked, dipping your head back down to your desk. “thanks, si.”

two weeks later, you were prepping for a duo mission with simon. price had been grilling the two of you for the past three hours, making sure you had everything memorized. satisfied, he leaned back in his office chair and rubbed his temples, the feeling of a headache coming on. “one more thing.” both of you snapped your head up at price, desperate to leave and eat. you’d already missed dinner and your stomach was complaining.

“the safe house is pretty small, basically a shack. one bed, no couch. i assumed ‘s fine since y’r datin-“ “‘s fine, captain.” simon cut him off, an out of character move that had you frowning. “it’s fine, cap. not like ive never slept on a floor before.” now price was frowning at what you said. he turned to simon, who shook his head imperceptibly before becoming still again. price’s brow furrowed but he didn’t push further. he got up from his chair, eyes flitting suspiciously between you two. “i’ll see you at 0600.”

“what was that about?” you whispered to simon after as you walked down the hall. “‘s nothin’.” you were missing something but it was so unclear what. “he thinks that we’re datin-“ “said it’s nothin’, sweetheart. he’s an old man. let’s get some food in you, yeah?” you nodded, letting him guide you to the kitchen. price wasn’t that old. and you were not dating simon riley.

the mission was beautiful, your best one in years. it was the first duo mission between you and simon, so the nerves of pulling your own weight had settled in hard. thankfully, your skills balanced each other out and you’d gotten the target in record time. now, all you had to do was wait in the safe house for exfil.

“you were so good.” you whispered once he’d locked the door. he only hummed a response, checking exit and entry points while you set up your packs, scrounging up MREs and testing the shack for electricity. price wasn’t kidding - it was practically a studio apartment. one bed, a bathroom and a decrepit stove. the soldier part of you was fine with it, but that small soft part of you ached for the warmth of your apartment. memories of yelling at simon for using all your shampoo even though he didn’t live there, of him running you a bath after a long day of training.

“you were good too, baby.” he snuck up from behind your spot on the floor and lifted you onto the mattress that had definitely seen better days. you hadn’t even checked it for bed bugs yet. “c’mere.” he pulled you into his lap, unbuckling your tac vest as you pulled off your bandana. you tugged off his mask - the hard shell since you were on a mission - and ran your nails through his short haircut. simon started kissing your neck, wet and sloppy like he couldn’t get enough. the unrestrained want he displayed sometimes scared you. the respective pulsing in both your chest and cunt scared you more.

“so are you sleeping on the floor or am i?” he flipped you over, your back flush with the mattress as simon loomed over you. there was still eyeblack around his eyes, caught on his blonde eyelashes as well, and you couldn’t help the hand that reached up to brush some of it away. “y’r funny, sweetheart.” you grinned at that - a real toothy smile. he bent down to kiss you, scarred lips caressing your own. simon bit your lip and you moaned, sliding your legs out from under him to wrap them around his torso. when you tugged him in he went willingly, grinding into your clothed cunt. his tac vest was still on, scraping against your shirt, hardening your nipples.

“keepin’ you in this bed all night.” cold fingers dipped past the waist of your pants. you were already wet, his fingers sliding easily up and down your slit as they warmed up. that’s when you realized he still had his glove on, his movements harsher than normal. wide eyes met his own, and simon stopped so you could make a decision.

it didn’t take much as you dug your heels into his back harder, meeting him in a sloppy kiss as his gloved thumb played with your clit. “fuckin’ made for me.” he whispered, and you chalked it up to dirty talk because obviously, you weren’t together. he just knew exactly what to do, giving your clit the right amount of pressure as his other fingers teased your hole, the stretch burning more than usual. it only took a few flicks and you were off, your orgasm settling through your bones like a warm cup of tea. “jesus, si.” he grinned, his scarred lips pulling up to show a beautiful smile. “know ya like th’ back of my hand, huh?” you shook your head, capturing the idiot in another kiss.

after the mission, after debrief and a hot shower, you made your way back to your base office. thankfully, paperwork had only slightly piled up. one envelope stood out though - a thick card-stock with glossy, swooping letters. an invite to london’s military gala, addressed to a Lieutenant & Lieutenant. simon’s name was next to yours, connected by a singular symbol. you turned to him in disbelief. simon had been going through his own backlog, but his head snapped up under the focus of your glare.

“simon, are we…dating?”

this was fun!!! check out the fic i linked it was so good and i couldn’t put it down.

#simon ghost riley #tornadothoughts #cod 141 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost call of duty #fluff #simon ghost riley cod #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x oc #fwb simon #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x f!reader

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beloveds-embrace · 12 hours ago

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(a lil stress-written drabble of princess reader x guard 141)

The grand halls of your father’s castle are silent today. There should have been a glorious, blessed wedding- your wedding. Instead, there is only hushed gossip and veiled glances as servants scurry about, pretending not to discuss the tragic and untimely passing of Lord Davenshire. The fourth such incident this year alone.

You sip your tea, watching the garden from your balcony, a pleasant smile gracing your lips and a complete contrast to the angry, fearful cloud that has been haunting your father lately. It’s a beautiful morning. Birds sing, the sun bathes the palace in golden warmth, and best of all, there is no unwanted husband at your side.

No, your dear father will have to try again. And again. And again and again and again.

Soft footsteps approach, too quiet for the untrained ear. But you know them. You don’t flinch as strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, a familiar scent of leather and spice enveloping you.

“Another one bites the dust.” Gaz murmurs, his voice low and amused against your ear.

You hum in response, setting your teacup down. “Oh dear, how unfortunate.”

Strong fingers trace along your forearm, and you turn your head just slightly to meet Gaz’s gaze. His eyes gleam with something wicked and delighted.

“Unfortunate indeed,” Price says as he steps onto the balcony, hands clasped behind his back. He looks every bit the disciplined captain he is, but there’s a certain satisfaction in his gaze as he surveys the castle grounds below. “The poor man was simply riding his horse when it suddenly reared and threw him.” He shakes his head, feigning solemnity. “Neck snapped like a twig.”

“How dreadful.” You croon, feeling Gaz’s smirk against your neck.

“Dreadful,” Soap echoes as he lounges on the railing, twirling a dagger between his fingers. “Cannae imagine why these men keep droppin’ like flies.”

“They must be terribly unlucky,” Gaz adds, leaning against the stone wall beside you, his smile sharp. “Or perhaps they should have considered who exactly they were trying to take from us.”

Your heart flutters at his words, at their words. Loyal, deadly, devoted- the four of them have been your constant shadows, your protectors, your everything.

Your father calls it misfortune. He believes some curse has befallen your suitors, that fate itself refuses to see you wed. And in a way, he is right. Just not in the way he thinks.

Because fate has intervened, but in the form of the most dangerous men in the kingdom. Men who would see the world burn before they allowed another to place a ring on your finger.

You turn in Ghost’s direction, reaching a hand out until he obediently places his chin in your delicate palm. He doesn’t take his mask off, but you can nonetheless feel his mouth against your skin. His eyes darken as he looks down at you, and you feel the weight of all of them- the unyielding devotion, their willingness to kill for you, to ensure that no one ever takes you from them, not now and not ever.

And you? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You smile, letting your fingers brush over Ghost’s jaw before turning to the others. “It seems I am doomed to remain unwed.” You sigh dramatically, though your grin betrays your amusement.

Price chuckles, stepping closer, his calloused fingers lifting your chin. “A tragedy, truly.”

“Aye,” Soap agrees with a shark smirk. “Guess that just means you’ll have to settle for us, lassie.”

Your heart swells, warmth pooling in your chest. Settle? No, this is exactly what you want.

You lace your fingers with Ghost’s, leaning into Price’s touch as you glance at the others. “Whatever shall I do with four such devoted guards, hm?”

Gaz smirks, his voice a teasing whisper as he brushes his lips against your temple, hands dipping low to hold your waist. The warmth you feel now has nothing to do with the lovely weather, anymore. “Oh, Princess, I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

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niccolites · 1 month ago

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green cliffs: - lessons in mortality. chapter three

highlander!soap x fem!reader. cw dubcon. read here on ao3

You grab the nearest item in Johnny’s room and lob it at his head, which he dodges with an ease that sets off your temper again. It’s a cup and it shatters against the wall, a last gasp of dust that settles into the air.

“You are a right bastard,” you hiss at him, so angry that you shake with it. You had barely been allowed a moment to process what Johnny had announced - without consulting you - before you were being hustled out. Johnny’s arms a firm band around your waist as he brought you to his room, something that had almost set you off in the hallway.

You expect him to get angry at you, the way he did out in the woods. If anything he seems delighted, broad smile as he laughs at you. Dodges your next throw - a book this time - and catches you, sweeps his arms around your waist and hoists you up against him. “Am sorry, a am sorry,” he grins into the curve of your jaw, the hint of teeth before he settles on a smacking kiss as you squirm to get away from him. “A just couldnae contain masel’, I had tae tell ‘em.”

“There’s nothing to tell, what are you talking about?” you snap, thumping your palm against his shoulder to get him to relinquish you. His shoulder is hard underneath his white cotton shirt, firm muscle that flexes as he adjusts his hold on you.

He doesn’t. Just continues to laugh, as if you hadn’t even spoken, eyes sparkling as he seems to be caught up in some other thought. Let's go of you but you can’t go far before he has your head held in his hands. “My father will want a full ceremony, so we can make it official there, Am sorry that I announced it before, a couldn’t help myself.” He nudges his nose against yours, affectionate like he’s allowed to be.

“I don’t understand,” you whisper, a twist in your mouth. You think about your brother, think about how you are going to get back to him. You’re starting to think that maybe you were the one to leave the pitchfork in the hay and guilt curdles in your stomach, another mess for Ian to clean up after you. Johnny’s hands cradle the back of your skull and you think that you are stuck here. Walked into the maw of a lion and were surprised when it bit down and caught you.

“That’s alright, angel, I can sort everything,” Johnny soothes you, but it just raises your hackles more. He nuzzles his face into the size of yours, the bristles of his beard catching on your skin and leaving you feeling raw. He pulls back, just enough to nudge his nose against yours. His mouth is so close to yours, and he seems to realise this, blue eyes going half-lidded as he sways forward.

“Johnny,” you interrupt, and his breath hitches in his chest, a fine tremor running through him as his name sits in your mouth.

“A know, cannae help maself around you,” he admits, leaning back just the smallest amount, a hint of bashfulness that you narrow your eyes at. Like he’s putting it on. “I’ll go speak wae my da, see if we can speed up the wedding, yeah? Then we don’t have to be so nervous.” His eyes shine, as if caught up in a fever dream.

“Johnny, I don’t -” you start, but he gives you another kiss on your cheek and darts away before you can finish what you were about to say.

Maybe that is how he justifies this to himself. If he isn’t here to hear you protest, then maybe that means you aren’t protesting at all. You scowl around his room, wondering how much destruction you can get away with.

It’s messy, which is about what you would expect. An oak table in the corner with a few dishes on it, left behind presumably from the last time he left - you hope. His bed tucked into the corner of the room, rich red sheets, crumpled, as if he had left in a rush. You wander around, drag your hands down the wolf hide thrown over the armchair by the fireplace. Imagine yourself being here, living here. Dig your fingers into dead flesh, the give of fur that has been stripped from a living thing.

His blood is still under your nails. You suddenly decide that you need to be clean, need to be scrubbed down of any traces of the last couple of days and start anew. Maybe Johnny is like an animal, if you stop having his blood on you, he’ll let you go.

There is a metal basin in the corner, but there isn’t any water in it yet. You falter, uncertain as you look down at it. Then square your shoulders. If you were going to convince Johnny to retract his proposal - that was more skipping past proposal and straight into matrimony - you would need to be brave enough to at least ask for warm water.

You poke your head out of the room, trying to catch the eye of anyone wandering. A stout woman is wandering past with a basket on her hip, filled with sheets. You tentatively call out and she turns a questioning look on her face. “Hello, sorry to bother you. Do you know where I can get some water for a bath?”

The woman - grey streaking her hair even crammed into her bonnet - squints at your face for a moment before she glances at the room that you are poking your head out of. “Ah! Johnny’s bride, aren’t ya? Nae bother, lass, I’ll run and get ye some water just now.” She pauses, giving a frown at the general state of you. “I’ll grab ye some clothes as well, poppet, ye look a right state.”

She’s off before you can find the words to let her know that you are not Johnny’s bride. Not that you know to even begin to articulate such a statement. You wonder if you do protest too much, if you would just be forced out of the keep. Told to find your own way home then, if you were happy enough to rudely reject the heir. You know that you are to the west of your home, but the intricacies of the journey are lost on you.

You slink back into Johnny’s room and settle into his armchair, feel the fur of that dead wolf on the back of your neck as you sigh. Stare down the portrait of what must be one of Johnny’s old relatives on his wall.

The older lady is efficient, barely any time has passed before she is back, bustling in with a bucket of water that she sets by the fireplace and starts trying to spark a flame. Mrs Duncan, she introduces herself as she settles down on her haunches with a grunt. “Oh, I can sort that - it’s alright,” you start to say, standing from the armchair and hovering as if ready to take over.

“Nonsense, ye’d likely dae it wrang and then I’d have tae come back and do it fer ye anyway,” she says. The words are harsh, but the manner in which she says them is as if she hadn’t just insulted you. You bristle, beginning to frown. You’re interrupted when she catches sight of the rest of the room. “Ah, look at the state of this. See that boy, absolutely no shame, y’know if he expects a woman to be living here wae him, he cannae be leaving it in a state like this,” she tuts, fire catching finally and she bustles around leaving the fire to warm up the bucket and gathers up any of the dirty dishes that have been left behind.

You twist your mouth, trying to hold back a scowl. Mrs Duncan is gone again anyway, returning with another bucket. There is a constant stream of conversation, even if you aren’t contributing much to it. She has a nephew in the keep, the stablemaster, and apparently he is as messy as Johnny. You hum politely, nodding in the right places.

You jolt back to yourself when she stands you up, the buckets of now steaming water in the basin, reaching behind you to undo your cloak and tossing it at her basket of sheets. “I can do that myself,” you yelp, stumbling away from her as she reaches for the stays on the front of your dress.

Mrs Duncan pauses, watching your wriggle away from her. She looks a moment away from protesting and yanking your dress off anyway, but the mullish look on your face pulls her up short. “No need to be prudish around me, poppet, I’ve seen all sorts in this place. I’m sure you haven’t got anything that would concern me,” she tells you, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I’m not - I just would rather sort myself out,” you manage. Her face doesn’t move. “It’s been a long couple of days, I just would prefer to.” She relents at last, a gust of a sigh before she scoops up her basket and leaves. You are left with firm instructions to leave your ruined dress by the door and put on the new one she brought for you - a pointed pat on the fabric that she has laid on Johnny’s desk.

Alone again, you tip the water into the deep basin, watch the steam wrap up in the air. It catches on your face and sticks, curled into the curve of your cheek and leaving behind the faintest of moisture. You yank your dress off, finally taking stock of it. It is ruined, Mrs Duncan hadn’t been exaggerating. Blood and muck and dirt, the skirt torn at the edges slightly. You hope that Mrs Duncan doesn’t toss it away, it had been your favourite for a while. You wonder if she would notice if you managed to get it cleaned in the bathwater after you were finished. Something tells you that you are unlikely to get away with it.

There’s more water than you’ve ever seen here. Usually, there is a single bucket that you manage to heat up and tip into the basin that you and Ian had been using since you were young. You suppose this is Johnny’s bath, and must be large enough to accommodate him. Deep and forged with a thicker metal than your basin back home.

Standing in your slip, you gnaw on your lip as you watch the door. There is an overwhelming urge to be cleansed. Some sick combination of Johnny and those Englishmen’s blood has seeped through your clothes in some places and have stained your hands, your legs. Your skin crawls with the need to scrub it off. However, the fear of Johnny coming back to his room and finding you naked is enough to give you pause before you jump into his bathtub.

You pause, twisting bare feet on the cold stone of his floor, as if you have created the time in which he will come back in. A few beats pass. If he comes back, which is unlikely, then you will just ignore him, you decide. You tug the filled basin slightly around the corner just in case. Childishly hoping that he may not notice you now at all if he does come back.

Your slip comes off and you sink into the warm water, groaning at the feeling. You dip yourself down fully, suspended in water for a moment before you pop back up, reborn again.

You scrub at yourself with your nails, dig off grime and blood. There’s a hardened piece of animal fat, soaked in a sweet smelling oil that you imagine is Johnny’s soap. You scrub yourself with it, an old version of yourself slicking off and sitting as a filthy film in the water. You dig into your hair next, lather and rinse until your scalp stings.

Perhaps you overindulge. Lie with the rim of the basin digging into the back of your neck and stare at the ceiling for a little too long. You think that the more likely reason is that Johnny is able to sense that you are naked and comes running.

The door opens and you flinch, sinking further into the water. The liquid surges, almost capsizing over the sides at the startled movement. Johnny flies in through the door and stutters to a standstill, almost hurling over himself at the sight of you. Blinks and breathes through his mouth, a faint wheezing noise.

You sink further into the water, cradling yourself as if to hide from his view. “Could you be a gentleman for one minute, and leave so I can get out?” You ask, trying to sound firm, but it comes out as a faint plea that makes you wince. Your plan to ignore him has fled, he commands too much attention, too much of your attention.

He barely seems to hear you, eyes focused on the flesh he can see through the water. As if entranced he stumbles towards the basin, distantly starting to tug his kilt out of the pin at his chest. Slow at first, then faster as his chest starts to heave.

“What - Johnny !” you exclaim as he strips off with an eagerness that almost throws him into a wall before he’s bare and striding towards the basin. He’s all muscle, built with no give in him. There’s hair over his chest, thinning to a line down his belly that has you averting your eyes with a flush. “I can get out -” you start, one hand still trying to cover yourself while the other tries to find some purchase on the edge of the basin.

You’re lifted up by your arms before you can stop him, squealing as he all but jumps into the basin and drags you down on top of him. Water sloshes everywhere, you hear the slam of it on the floor as he gets settled. It rocks around the two of you for a moment before it finally starts to settle.

Flesh squeaks against flesh, your breasts pressed against his chest as he holds you still until he’s sat down, you half-cradled into him. A familiar position, although it irritates you a lot more than it did in the saddle. You wiggle, trying to struggle free but it only makes him groan, hands seeking out the expanse of your back to grip, making you still. “This is inappropriate,” you hiss, feeling something twitch on the soft skin of your belly. Animal panic, the kind that makes you want to buck and kick him away but also freezes you in place.

“You’re the one who’s bare in ma bedroom,” he points out, hefting you further up his torso so that your faces are pressed together before you lean back. He almost goes cross-eyed, trying to take in your face as well as the press of your chest against his. The hair on his chest is wet, flattened down but it still tickles when you shift slightly. Fine but dark, plastered to tan skin. A freckle on his shoulder that catches your attention before you drag it back again.

“I was taking a bath,” you try to justify yourself. He hums in response, smoothing his hands up and down your flank. A hand up your side to glance against the side of your breast which makes him groan. “Johnny, we’re not even married yet - this is so inappropriate.”

He laughs at your scolding, dipping his head to press a kiss to your cheek and then bites at the apple of your cheek. Light, more to feel you jump under his hands more than anything. “We’re no’ swiving,” he points out, nose in the wet of your hair. “We’re promised, a reckon the Father wouldnae look too harshly on us fer getting tae know each other.”

“I would,” you snap.

“Ye look like a water nymph,” he murmurs, half-dazed as if he had been struck. Half the water is out of the basin, leaving your back cooling in the air. He's like a furnace, against your will, you instinctively curl into him, try to keep warm. His hands are grabbing at your back, as if he wants to touch all of you at once.

“Johnny,” you start, trying to get up again. Palms flat on his shoulders, try to use this momentum to force yourself up, but he all but yanks you back down. Your hands barely cover the breadth of his torso, small as they curl into his collar.

He sighs against your temple, a groan trapped in his chest. He bucks against you, forcing you still again and you feel him slide against your belly. “Ah, fuck,” he mutters. “C’mon, c’mon.”

You don’t know who it is that he’s speaking to, feel the kick of his leg as he braces you against himself, the rock of his hips against yours. Flesh and water, feel the lap of it around the curve of your waist. His breath is hot against the skin of your cheek, your scalp, your neck. He digs his fingers into your backside until you flinch and whimper which just makes him moan even hotter against you.

You hold tension in your back until you can’t, a twinge in the muscle. You deflate, let yourself sag into Johnny as pants into your ear. There’s a coil in your belly, has you tucking your head into his collar, waiting it out.

The sight of you giving in must be too much, you feel the same wetness from the forest only this morning, kick out onto your belly. The water likely washes it away, but you feel it like it’s branded you. He whines your name out, sounding pained. The sound of his punched out voice has something in your belly clenching, even as you ignore it.

His hands are still rounding over the curve of your backside, but you let him. Decide to save the energy for something else you will need to argue about. There’s a red scratch hidden in the scratch of his beard. You lift your hand and thumb over it. He hisses slightly, but you feel his cock kick at the feeling. “This from those men?” you ask, voice hushed.

The quiet of your voice seems to catch his attention more than you’re yelling does. Attention stretched to you, catching each word in a tight net. “Aye,” he murmurs, turning his head as much as he can without shifting your thumb from the bolt of his jaw. His eyes are half-lidded, but alert when pointed at you. His hair curls into his forehead, dark and soft looking.

You twist your mouth, study that small scar. There had been a fight in your village once, daggers drawn between two men. One of them had cut the other across the throat, you remember the spray of blood, vicious, like it was escaping. A smooth arc in the air before it landed, the horrible choking that had followed. Blood spraying, gurgling as if it had changed its mind and wanted to stay instead.

One of the men must have had a dirk on him, must have caught this a little before Johnny had dealt with them. You imagine if the Englishmen would have cut your throat in the same way, if your blood would jump out of your throat, or stick close by you, dribble down and stain your skin instead.

You sigh, and drop your hand. Evidence of the hurt Johnny has earned himself is enough to quiet you, leave you ruminating over him. It’s distracting, being naked on top of him, everything that has you reeling at the impropriety of it all. Then, there is the scar on his calf, the cut on his jaw. Marks of hardship. For you.

Johnny nuzzles his nose into the space between your ear and your hair, inhaling loudly. “You use my soap?” he murmurs. You nod and he sighs happily again, you ride the wave of his chest deflating beneath you. “You smell like me.”

Even though you had been the one to use his soap, it’s another branding mark. You’re spared having to make some kind of response, another justification for your behaviour, as a fierce shiver shudders through you. Johnny may be a burning furnace under you, but the water is tepid now, and most of your body is left out of the water to the cool draught in his bedroom. He laughs at you, wrapping his arms around more of you as if to catch your shakes. His chuckle is a boisterous thing, starting in his lungs and bursting out. A nice sound, you imagine, if it didn’t always seem to be at your expense.

“Up we go,” Johnny hums, his hands scooping you out of the water like a messy toddler. Water cascades again but the mess was already there, so you barely give it any notice. Your feet almost slip on the stones but it barely matters with how Johnny won’t let you go.

You cover yourself as best you can with your hands, Johnny frowning at the sight as he holds the towel that you need. You frown back at him, one hand holding your breasts from sight, the other crossing your belly to cover the crux of your thighs. You can’t reach a hand out for your clothes without exposing yourself. Johnny seems to realise this and his fists tighten in the cloth, expectant grin. Open maw.

A heat in your cheeks, but you rationalise that he has already seen most of your body anyway. One hand still holding your chest, the other reaches for the towel. Johnny snaps his arms around you again and lifts you against him, something between a snarl and a laugh as he drops his head to your collarbone. “Can I get dressed, please?” you hiss, cold and irritated.

He presses a harsh kiss to your skin, beard catching and scratching at your skin, amused at your annoyance again. “Aye, my dear,” he smarms, letting you take the towel from him. You dart away, but you think that he lets you, more than capable of crossing the distance with a few strides and yanking you back into him. The towel must be his, large enough to cover yourself from view but also catch the damp of your hair as you tousle it dry.

You glance over your shoulder at him, and find him watching you, eyes suddenly sharp, taking you in. “What is it?” you ask, hiking the towel further up your chest. He’s still naked, dripping water shamelessly on the floor, adding to the mess.

He’s quiet, which immediately sets you on edge. Appraises you, eyes darting between yours, then all over. Silent. His size had been an annoyance, but you suddenly understand how those Englishmen must have felt when he came at them. You’re standing, a drenched cat, in the shadow of something much larger than yourself.

He still hasn’t dressed again, just watches you with water droplets all over his chest. The flex of his waist as he inhales, the twist of muscle there, seeming to flex as your gaze drops there. Everything in reaction to you. You refuse to look any lower, drag your eyes up and frown at his face.

Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he takes a step forward and cups your face in his hands. You startle at the heat of his palms but he doesn’t let you go anywhere. Leans down and kisses you before you can stop him.

Strange to think that this is the first time that you’ve kissed, everything is out of order. You have only been kissed once, with the butcher’s boy who was a few years older than you, and had been sweaty. He’d tried to put his hands up your skirt and you had pushed him into the dirt and stormed off. You don’t imagine you could do that to Johnny, likely he would drag you down with him.

The sweat has washed off of Johnny, but you barely have any time to discern the press of his lips before they’re opening and you’re gasping, a revelation. His tongue in your mouth, licking into you like you were meant to be tasted. His thumbs on your temples, the span of his fingers cradling your skull. Held in place as he groans and licks further into your mouth.

There has to be something blasphemous about this, something unholy. There’s nothing appropriate about Johnny’s spit spilling into your mouth until it slicks in the gaps between your panting mouths. Spills down your chin as he tilts your head back to reach more of you. His tongue on the back of your teeth, the space between your gums and your teeth. A place that you thought only you knew about.

You’re frozen until you sway into him, head heavy in his hands. He doesn’t seem to require much reciprocation given he’s in your mouth, but you tentatively lick back, try to slide your tongue against his and you almost shy away from how loudly he moans at that.

He pulls back, just enough to seal his lips around your tongue and suck for a moment, eyes heavy on yours. Filthy. He pulls his head back enough to let you catch your breath, but now he just rests his forehead against yours. You blink at him, bleary. His spit, or yours, on your face. His spend on your stomach. Water everywhere else, but it doesn’t cleanse like you thought it would.

“Ma da wants us tae have dinner wae him, tonight,” Johnny murmurs, thumb smearing the spit across your chin. Pupils blown, swallowing up the blue.

“Alright,” you whisper back. He hums in response, as if considering kissing you again. “I should get dressed.”

His eyes flicker back to yours, silent again. His hands bracket your neck now, hands spanning across your collarbone. A beat. Then: “I’ll see if we can get the priest over here in the mornin’.”

You aren’t left any room to argue, before he’s crowding you into another kiss and pulling back with a smack that disturbs you. A string of spit between your mouths that pulls until it breaks. He’s across the room, yanking on his white linen shirt and is out of the door with his kilt held in hand.

You shuffle, uncertain, dripping wet in a strange man’s bedroom. The water spreads over the stone floor, catches in the divots and speeds up. There’s the smallest hole in the mortar, the water spilling towards it.

You drop your towel over the gap and step over the mess to get dressed. If the water wasn’t going to clean you out, you weren’t going to let it escape before you could.

#johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #highlander au #green cliffs #nic writes #cw dubcon #cod x reader #cod #call of duty x reader #call of duty #next chapter is the wedding ! maybe ! there are already problems in this marriage and it hasn't even begun #but god loves a trier so god loves johnny

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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

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Part 3 for mean!Simon

Content: Consensual dom/sub between Simon and Johnny; dubcon interactions with reader and Johnny. Simon is a dick per usual.

When Johnny comes home, the first thing Simon does is set him back to rights. He's been gone a bit, long enough to need a refresher on how things are done. Just in case he's gotten some silly ideas about who calls the shots.

So once he's through the door, squeezed a little "oof" out of you, and stuck his tongue down your throat, Simon hauls him off for a "reintroduction."

Simon gets him off fully-clothed, whining and panting on his boot, before he's satisfied that Johnny's not forgotten any of his manners. He's rewarded by getting to suck Simon's cock unguided for a little while, drooling and moaning and choking himself to tears. It makes such a pretty sight, Simon is almost tempted to save his discipline for another time.

Almost.

"Up."

Johnny's flushed face twists with dismay, but he drags himself away.

"What have I always told you about your toys, hm?"

Cock-drunk, it takes Johnny a moment to understand the question and develop an answer.

"Tha' I hafta earn 'em," Johnny answers, voice ruined.

Simon hums, carding his fingers through Johnny's sweat-soaked hair.

"And to keep 'em?" Simon prompts.

"Take care of 'em."

Such a smart, well-trained boy... mostly.

He yelps as Simon twists his fingers into his mohawk and wrenches his head back, exposing the vulnerable line of his bobbing throat.

"Then you want to explain what the fuck you've been doing with that pretty pussy I got you?"

Johnny's blinks, sputters. But it's obvious he doesn't understand what Simon means or why he's in trouble. Simon sighs in disappointment, knowing that'll just upset Johnny more.

"'S my fault, I s'pose. Thought you were ready." He shakes his head, eases his grip on Johnny's hair. "Thought you knew how to take care of such a nice toy."

He remembers the unmarked skin of your plush thighs, your round ass. Tsks and shakes his head, watching Johnny paw wordlessly, pleadingly, at his pants.

"M'sorry, sir," Johnny whimpers, puffy bottom lip wobbling. "M'sorry, I'll do better."

"Fuckin' right you will," Simon growls, curling a hand around his vulnerable throat. "Because you're not getting her back 'til I've taught you better. Understand?"

Johnny only just bites back a whine. But he sees the way Simon's eyes narrow and quickly nods, leaning into the hand on his throat, body going lax in submission.

"Yessir," he slurs. "Understood."

Simon strokes his thumb over Johnny's pulse, rumbling with approval. "Atta boy. Your first lesson: if you don't mark something as yours, it's free for the taking."

He hauls Johnny up and throws him face down on the bed.

"Let's begin."

By the time he's done with Johnny, the sun has gone down and the house smells like food.

It seems you haven't been idle while they've been preoccupied. Dinner is simmering on the stove and you're just finished turning the dishwasher over.

You turn as Johnny enters the kitchen, expression carefully neutral when you notice the slight limp in his step and the new, dark marks on his neck. He comes right up to you, slinging his arms around your waist and burrowing into your hair.

"Missed you, bonnie," he sighs. "Didnae say so earlier in all the excitement."

From the doorway, Simon watches you blink and carefully circle your arms around him in return. But your body stays rigid, slanted ever so slightly away. Would maybe even be leaning back if not for the counter against your spine.

"It's alright, I um... I got it from the kiss," you assure, patting his shoulder.

He nuzzles in a bit and you seem curious, confused. "Everything okay, Johnny?"

"Aye, jus'... LT says I cannae play with you for a while."

Your eyes dart to Simon, going big and nervous when you realize he's observing.

"Ah. W-well... uh, we can worry about that later, right?" you soothe, gently pulling away to look him in the eyes. He's bit sniffly still, even though Simon made sure he was good after "lesson." You just seem to comfort him like a favored stuffy. "Let's get a proper meal in you for now."

Johnny nods, clutching onto yours hand as you lead him around the kitchen. Collecting serving bowls, spoons, ladling out stew in generous portions - at least for two of the servings - all with one free hand.

Johnny is quiet, drowsy. You keep glancing at him, but he only sways into you whenever you stop moving, rubbing his cheek against yours.

"Havnae been takin' care of you right," he mumbles as you're reaching for tumblers from the cabinet. "LT is gonnae teach me better, though."

You freeze, blood draining from your pretty face. Your eyes flick fearfully to Simon, right where you last saw him. He doesn't so much as twitch, staring you down until you visibly swallow and turn away. There's a little tremble to your hand now as you finish getting the glasses.

"That should be... interesting," you manage. "Ready to eat?"

"Aye, m'hungry. Missed your cooking."

You muster up a shaky smile and gently hand him a bowl of stew.

"That's good to hear, Johnny. C'mon, before it gets cold."

You send him off to the dining table. In his absence, you draw in a deep breath. Then pour Simon a glass of bourbon, taking both it, and his bowl of stew to his customary spot at the head of the dinner table.

He stalks from his place in the kitchen doorway, purposefully crossing you at the corner so that you're forced to flatten yourself against the wall and sidestep. While he seats himself, he hears you getting yourself a water, collecting your own bowl.

When you return, you try to sit next to Johnny as usual, who's sat at Simon's right. This way, he acts as a buffer between you two. But Simon clicks his tongue and you pause, turning to him with a curious blink.

"Over here." He gestures to his left side, putting you across from Johnny.

"Oh... um, okay."

You shuffle around to the other side, still shaky as you set your bowl down and take a seat. Simon watches you for a long moment as you studiously avoid his gaze, eyes on your water glass.

"This is your spot from now on. Understood?" he asks.

You tilt your head enough to make it obvious you're answering him. "Yes, sir."

"Look at me when you answer," he corrects.

You twitch a bit, shift uncomfortably as you force your eyes to look at his chest.

"Yes, sir," you repeat, soft and conciliatory."

"Atta girl," he gruffs. "Now fuckin' eat, the both of you."

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#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #mean simon

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perfinn · 1 year ago

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translate your vibration

rugby player!soap mactavish x reader

wc: 3.1k

summary: you're a fieldside medic for a rugby league team and you care a bit too deeply for one of the players. he cares right back

cw: NSFW, f!reader, medical inaccuracies, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), johnny's face is covered in blood, medical malpractice too probably, semi-public sex, johnny is lowkey concussed so dubcon just to be sure (but he wants this trust)

special thanks to @kitkatscabinet for helping this come to be!

read on ao3, divider by saradika

“Ye come here often?”

It takes everything in you not to laugh at Johnny’s obvious attempt at flirting. Not because he’s misguided or the advances are unwanted– truly, you wouldn't mind at all in any other circumstance. Only right now, you’re trying to assess him for a concussion. That, and he’s still got his mouthguard in so paired with the blood dribbling from his nose, his words are a garbled slur.

“Stop moving, Johnny,” you tell him, handing him another cloth to press to his bleeding nose– broken again, you’d wager. You’ll get to that in a moment.

“‘Am no,” he mumbles, lifting his head when you tilt up his chin and giving you a charming grin. Even with the mouthguard and a twisted nose, he’s still the most handsome man on the team. Which, given your own penchant for beefy rugby-type men, is saying something. “Just askin’.”

“It's not helping your case, then,” you say, gripping his jaw tighter when he tries to move again. “Because you know good and well I come here often. I’m your medic.”

“ Mine ?” Johnny echoes with a somewhat-delirious chuckle. “Och, I’m lucky then, have ye all to maself.”

You want to correct him, to tell him that you're technically the whole team’s medic, but you don't. You let him be, and instead reach to grab a light to check his pupils. He does manage to hold still as you shine it into his eyes, though he’s helped along by your firm grip on his jaw. His pupils react normally, but you’re still concerned.

“How are you feeling?” You ask, taking a seat across from him as he finally spits out his mouthguard and presses the cloth to his nose. “Head pounding?”

“Aye,” he says, and you frown as you watch the cloth steadily soak with blood. “But it has just been knocked off my shoulders. ‘Am not seeing two of you, if that's what you mean. Wouldn't be complainin’ if I were, mind you.”

You hum in response, seeming dubious. You suppose that's good, all things considered. Flirting aside, if he is concussed, it's not deeply serious. Still, you’re concerned. But you know Johnny. He loves to play, loves the game. And he’s one of the best players in the club. You glance behind you at the screen that's playing footage of the game, biting your lip. You can see how desperately Johnny wants to get back out there, he’s practically buzzing in his seat. So somehow, you’re going to have to break it to him that you’re keeping him off the pitch for at least the remainder of this half. Naturally, he’ll be a nuisance about it. Whine, complain, probably beg you to reconsider. Part of you doesn't want to deal with the guilty feeling those puppy dog eyes envokes.

So, you stall.

“And the nose?”

“Fuckin’ kills,” he confirms, lowering the rag and grunting in satisfaction when no more blood drips free. “Broken.”

“Again,” you sigh, moving to stand up again. The fact his nose has stopped actively bleeding does loosen the vice-like grip of worry that’s wrapped around your ribcage. He’s breathing okay too, which loosens it again. Still, though, it’s suffocating.

(You shouldn't worry so much about Johnny. He’s been knocked around far more than you could ever handle and played through much worse. But you’re a bit selfish when it comes to Johnny… you care about him more than you ought to as a professional.)

“Cannae complain when it means I get to see ye,” Johnny says with a cheeky grin as you put your fingers to his nose. “I like it when ye dote on me.”

“You won't like me in a second,” you say. He laughs shortly, and you suppose that he assumes you’re talking about setting his nose. In a way, you are. But that's not why he’ll actually be miffed with you. He’d probably never be miffed about setting his nose anyway, he knows it's a necessary pain.

You give him a smile, gently prodding at his twisted nose to get your hands in the right position, and you don't bother giving him a countdown. Instead, you break the news to him as quickly as you can manage as you snap the bone back into place, “I’m keeping you off.”

“ Fuck ! Yer what?!” Johnny rears back in his seat with the combined impact of the pain and the sudden information. You step back, wringing your hands together as he blinks harshly. You’re sure there’s dots in his vision from the pain, and once his head clears enough he’ll process what you’ve said.

“Bonnie,” he says slowly after a moment. The sweet name makes your stomach twist in a strange anxious delight. “Tell me yer joking.”

You give him a sheepish smile, unmoving– and he knows you won't budge. He also knows how much his coach trusts you, and if you say he’s out, he’s out. His coach won’t put him back in if you say not to. But you know he’ll argue anyway. “Until the next half, at least. I need to keep an eye on you.”

Johnny groans deeply, sinking down in the chair. He growls your name, and you’re a tad ashamed to say it goes right to your core.

“We’re only 20 minutes in, I’ll miss half the game! You cannae-”

“You’re staying off, Johnny,” you say firmly. When you’d started on as the Eels’ medic, you’d been a bit shier. But you’d learned quickly that these men were hardheaded in more ways than one, and being shy and timid would get you nowhere in enforcing their safety. So you took note from their coach and got tough with them. It earned you the respect you needed, and also the trust from their coach in knowing that you could handle them. “And you know I won’t be changing my mind. Now if you want to go back on at all, you’ll behave.”

This earns you another groan, but the growly tone of it says something entirely different than the last one. You feel your cheeks warm, and hope to god he doesn't notice.

“Talkin’ dirty won’t make me forgive you, you ken,” Johnny says, knuckles pressed against his closed eyes. “Ye really won’t budge?”

“You know me better than that.”

“Aye, I do,” he sighs, dropping his hands and lowering his lidded gaze to you. “Lucky yer sweet talking me, lass. Wouldn't be so forgiving otherwise.”

It's not a threat meant to be taken seriously, you know. It's a threat that does something else entirely, but you hurriedly stand and clear your throat. Professionalism, you tell yourself. It's the backbone of your career. To be surrounded by hot, burly, virile men all day and not do anything about it is a god damn superpower.

“Price will be as disappointed as you are, but he’ll let you watch from the bench-”

“‘Am no going out there,” he says, standing up with less hurry and far more care. Despite his protests, he is heeding your warnings and taking care with his head. “Can watch the game from in here. Got another way for us to pass the time.”

You stop as you’re turning toward the door, glancing back at him while he inches closer to you. “Johnny…”

You know exactly where he’s hoping to go with this. And as much as you want to – god, you want to – you truly can’t. You’d lose your job. Probably lose your licence if the powers that be were feeling extra annoyed by it, and absolutely shatter your reputation in the process.

But then… that’s only if you get caught. There’s no security cameras in the locker rooms– there isn’t allowed to be. There’s 20 minutes left of the half, no one’s going to come in here until then. You could. You could do it, and be done with it before anyone notices.

(You’re obviously being intentionally naive in thinking you’d ever be satisfied with just one taste of Johnny, but for now it’s the only way you can rationalise it.)

“C’mon, bonnie.”

You turn back round to face him, bouncing a bit on your toes. “We’ll need to be quick.”

Johnny’s bloody and bruised face lights up with a toothy grin and he nods dutifully as he closes the distance between you both. He lifts his hand to place it on your cheek, his palm warm and rough against your skin. “Cannae tell ye how much I’ve thought about this.”

You laugh a bit, staring up at him. You don’t mind so much that he’s still a bit covered in his own blood. “This is so unprofessional.”

“Aye, it is.”

He doesn’t waste another second before he’s putting his mouth on yours, teeth clacking against yours with the desperation and intensity of his kiss. You hear yourself make a soft noise of surprise, or something akin to that. It’s hard to say, hard to organise your emotions when your brain only wants to focus on Johnny, Johnny, Johnny.

He’s intoxicating. If being around him and simply being flirted with by him was as addictive as it was, actually kissing him, touching him beyond just treating his injuries, is heroin. He’s backing you up toward the lockers before you realise it, moving his hands from your cheeks down to your body. His hands explore you with no inhibitions, his rough hands squeezing at your tits. He groans into your mouth, pulling his lips away from yours to look down.

His forehead presses to yours as he takes in the sight of your body. Of course, you’re fully clothed and it’s nothing he’s never seen before, but it’s the fact that for this moment it’s his.

(Johnny is well aware that half his team wants you. Maybe more than half, but half of them had openly expressed it. While you’re gone, while they’re winding down in the locker room. But none of them could pull it off. None of them had seeped through the cracks in your professionalism and found their way into your pants. But Johnny had. He had barely even started with you, and he's already thinking about how he might gloat about it.)

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, bonnie,” he mumbles, pressing a short kiss to your lips. “Would love to take my time with ye.”

“Me too,” you breathe, arching into his touch as he gropes at your tits. “But we can’t.”

“Aye,” he says, a scowl creasing his bloodied face. “Bloody tragic. S’alright, lass, next time.”

Part of you wants to say there probably shouldn’t be a next time, which is true, but your brain is already surpassing its ability to form sentences– and the idea of denying yourself of more Johnny sounds like a nightmare right now. You can’t even entertain the thought, not while Johnny is pressing his bulge to your leg, groaning as he shamelessly ruts against your clothed thigh.

“What d’you want, bonnie?” He asks, voice breathy, almost growling in your ear. “Tell me. I’ll give it to ye.”

You have to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from asking him to fuck you outright. You’re not entirely sure why you don’t say that, actually. Maybe it’s the time constraints, or maybe it’s his cock pressing against your thigh, but fuck, you want to taste it.

“Let me suck you off,” you demand unceremoniously. Johnny chuckles, likely at your commanding tone, but nods as he presses a kiss, then another, to your neck.

“Christ,” he says between heated kisses. He seems almost disappointed to let you sink to your knees, leaving his mouth unoccupied. He almost starts panting as he sees you stare up at him from your knees, reaching for the waistband of his shorts. “Yer fuckin’ perfect. Goan then, lass, then I’ll give that pretty pussy of yours the treatment it deserves after, yeah?”

Nodding along to his ramblings, you tug his shorts down and find yourself disappointed as you come face to face not with his cock, but with his compression shorts. The both of you groan, and Johnny almost tears them off in his desperation to remove them, cursing the shorts under his breath– you bite back the urge to remind him of the medical benefits of wearing them; besides, any thought you have is cut off by the sight of his cock, hard and leaky, springing free.

It's beautiful, which is a strange thing to say about a cock, you know, but there's little else to describe such a pretty thing. You wrap your hand around the base, licking an appreciative stripe along the underside of it.

“ Fuuuuck ,” Johnny groans, hand falling gently on the back of your head. Not pushing, but just resting there. “Good fucking girl.”

You take the head of him into your mouth, gazing up at him as you begin to take him deeper, bobbing your head along the length of him. Johnny’s head hits the wall as he moans freely, seemingly unashamed of the idea of being caught. He’s lost in the warmth of your mouth, and you can't much blame him, because you’re lost in the weight of his heavy cock on your tongue.

Johnny’s eyes are lidded as he turns his gaze down to watch you, and you feel his thumb rub gently over the back of your head as you take him deeper, stopping about halfway down his length, and just stroking what you haven't fit.

“S’alright, bonnie girl,” Johnny mumbles, voice low. “Dinnae have to take me all today, we’ll work at it, aye?”

His muttered promises make you moan, and that makes him moan. You go back to bobbing your head, the locker room filled with the lewd noises of your mouth.

It doesn't take Johnny an exceptionally long time to start reaching his end, his hips twitching as he holds back on the urge to fuck right into your mouth. He has the self control to care for your comfort at least.

“Gonna- fuck , lass, can I come in your mouth?”

Were it anyone else, or any other situation, you’d probably say no. But it's Johnny ; and right now the two of you can't exactly afford to deal with a mess. You hum your affirmative, and apparently the slight vibration of it is enough to have him coming. You see the muscles of his lower abdomen tense before you feel his hot release spill onto your tongue. You take every drop, even when it begins to feel a bit much. When his body relaxes and he leans back against the wall, you pull away and swallow, making Johnny groan lowly.

“Perfect,” he praises, gently guiding you to stand before kissing you again. He licks into your mouth, tongue laving over your teeth like he’s trying to taste himself. Only as you lean to return the favour, he’s flipping the both of you around so your back is against the wall and he’s kneeling before you.

“Promise is a promise,” he mumbles, tugging eagerly at your leggings. You can tell he’d love nothing more than to rip them from your body, but he exercises enough self control to just drag them down to your calves, your panties going along with them.

The position isn't ideal, but Johnny’s enthusiasm isn't hindered. He spreads your legs as far as the leggings will allow, one thumb tugging your lips aside. He groans, leaning forward and inhaling deeply. His nose brushes against your clit and you whine, cheeks warming at the lewd gesture.

“Johnny,” you urge, threading your fingers through his mohawk and tugging gently. Johnny moans. Then, he shuffles forward on his knees and presses his face between your thighs, dragging his tongue over your dripping pussy.

One of his hands grabs at your thigh as he licks you, slurping desperately at your slickened cunt. Another tug at his mohawk draws his focus to your clit, which he sucks into his mouth with an appreciative groan. Even when he can't talk, Johnny is incredibly loud; there would be no hiding this from anyone listening outside the door.

He sucks at your clit, hand moving from your thigh to slip a finger into your cunt, making you moan before you slap a hand over your mouth. Johnny’s eyes open, and his eyebrows furrow.

He pulls away, despite your whined protest, and takes a short breath. “Lemme hear ye, lass,” he encourages. “Don't hide from me.”

“Johnny,” you begin to protest, cutting yourself off with a gasp when he eases another finger into you and curls them right against a spot that has a loud moan falling from your parted lips.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, ducking right down to graze his teeth over your clit.

His mouth combined with his rough fingers is driving you mad, making you squirm in place as pleasure begins to sear the ends of your nerves.

“ Johnny !” You cry, head banging against the wall as your orgasm hits you without warning or much buildup at all. It feels as though it's been punched out of you, making your body tense and tremble for a few good seconds, mind floating miles above your body.

When you return to earth, Johnny has pulled his fingers from your pussy and has them in your mouth, his nose pressed against your clit as he ruts his hips against his hand. You're entranced watching him rub himself through the overstimulation, fingers in his mouth and bruising nose in your pussy. It's only a few more moments before Johnny spills into his fist, a guttural groan muffled by your cunt.

He sighs, pressing a loving kiss to your pussy. Then, he pulls back, face shiny with your slick, and looks up at you, grinning lopsidedly. “Alright, bonnie?” He asks, like he hasn't just jerked himself to a second orgasm on his own.

“Yeah,” you breathe, words like laughter. “Are you?”

He nods, shuffling awkwardly to his feet and looking at the mess on his hands. Pants still around his knees, he shuffles over to your medical supplies and gets himself a tissue, wiping his hand off before tugging up his shorts.

He returns to you, who’s struggling to stand, and gently tugs your pants up for you. He kisses you, softer and sweeter than before, and smiles against your lips. “Ye were perfect, bonnie.”

You hum, shifting your legs so that your underwear doesn't press wrong against your oversensitive cunt.

The door opens before you can respond, and the first person inside is Johnny’s coach, John Price. The two of you must have somehow missed the siren in the heat of your joint pleasure. The bearded man takes in the scene of the two of you standing so close, and the slick on Johnny’s flushed face, and a heavy sigh leaves his lungs.

“Fucking hell, MacTavish.”

#soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #cod #my work #do not ask me how tjis ended up 3k words. i dont know #smut #cod smut #rugby au

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queenhunter102 · 7 months ago

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You are waiting for them on base

Hey little loves, Am I slowly returnting to posting? yes! so enjoy a little more of my drabbles Blurb: Imagine you were already on base trying to surprise them when they returned from a rought mission

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley Simon marched out of base scratching at his mask desperate to take it off, but wanting some amount of privicay when he tore it from his face, his boots sounding like a small army as he pounded his way out of the building and into the open air. “Si?” you called rounding a corner, you could recongise those angry footsteps and practical feral growls from just about anywhere, once you were in view of Simon’s back he paused and turned around “Cap I’ain’t-” he paused when he saw you standing there looking at him. The next thing you knew was his warm arms and his broad chest “I thought I told you to wait for my call” he whispered, as he buried his head into your hair “And you really thought I was going to wait for your stupid call” Captain John Price John had come out of his office the smell of his cigars following him around like a cloak, as he pulled his hat off and threw it down the hall a groan of frustration following after it, he slammed his hand into the wall, followed by his head as he rested it against the cool wall. “I can only hope your throwing your hat because your mad about work and not me” you said as you waved it under his chest, John’s head snapped up to find you smiling at him, that sweet smile the one that made everything perfect again, “No never you dovey, never you” Johnny ‘Soap’ McTavish You found Johnny in gym, it was his usual place after a rough mission his belief that if maybe he was stronger or faster he could have saved someone or done something he wouldn’t feel so…useless. You watched from the side as Johnny lifted more than you knew he could, you watched as he strained to lift his last set, strained to rest the bar, you watched as he whipped off his face with his towel, as you approached he you could hear him muttering to himself “I Cannae lift something as simple as weights no wonder—” he was cut off by your reflection in the mirror, you gave him a little wave that brought back the smile you adored from him all teeth and bright sunlight “I hope my boyfriend isn’t talking shit about himself again” you say as you crouch down in front of him “Never Baby” Alejandro Vargas Alejandro huffed as he walked out to his car, running his hands through his hair, pulling at the strands as he went, he roughly pulled out his keys unlocking the car, pausing when he heard the gravel behind him. “Look John I know I was pretty rough ba-” He said as he turned to find you standing there waiting for him holding his beer and a large pack of crips in your hand, a weak smile on your face as you open your arms to him

“Hey love” you call to him as you walked closer, Alejandro smiled as he welcomed you with open arms “cariño what are you doing here?” he asked as he pulled your head under his chin “I knew you were back today and I came to surprise me” he smiled as he whispered “Consider me surprised” Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick Kyle huffed as he slammed his way into the pub, seething as he settled in the far back of the pub, settling in one of it’s dark corners, he buried his head in his hands as he let out another huff, the only thing breaking his dark and dreary thoughts was the sound of a glass being slid across the table. “I know I allow you to be pouty but I never thought you’d be this pouty” you said, as Kyle’s head snapped up “What are you doing here?” he asked as he stood bumping his knee into the table to pull you into a hug. “The boys gave me a call and said I should look for you and since I was already here..” you trailed off as you rubbed your hand into his cheek, “Who gave you the shiner?” you asked, as Kyle turned away “Someone who had to set me straight”

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See you around, my little loves.

Kissess.

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ohlawdthebirds · 9 months ago

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Ace In The Hole

Platonic!141 x Gn! and Asexual!Reader

Huge thank you to @groguspicklejar for letting me turn her drabble into a full fic. You can find the drabble here.

TW: Nothing huge, slight NSFW because sex is mentioned in this fic.

Synopsis: Price is fed up with how much Soap and Gaz sleep around. He's at his wits end until you come up with a solution.

And credit to @cafekitsune for these gorgeous dividers.

FREE PALESTINE FOREVER!!!!

Captain John Price was a lot of things: a respected member of the armed forces, a diligent leader, and an overall powerhouse of a man. He’d survived weeks of bootcamp, hailstorms of bullets, and targets on his life at every given turn. That all being said, he found himself wondering where he went wrong in life. When did he, captain of an elite task force, become mediator for his subordinates’ squabbles?

Soap and Gaz sat in front of him, petulant as toddlers, arguing over their latest paramour. The two of them shared a barracks room and were arguing over a “sleepover schedule” so that all of their “needs” were being met. From what Price had gathered, they currently had no set schedule, leaving them walking in on each other while with their barrack bunny of the week.

Not for the first time, John Price considered an early retirement.

“Ye cannae take the whole week, ye bampot!” Soap was indignant over Gaz’s proposed schedule, one that would give him Monday through Thursday, leaving Soap with Friday and Saturday. Sundays were off limits. Even God rested.

“Ah’m no lettin’ ye keep the lass to yerself. Isnae fair now innit?” He cried.

“Fair? You want the bird all to yourself, then? As I recall, you were balls deep in her most of last week. Nearly had to pry you out of her, you arse!” Gaz tossed back.

It was no secret that the two of them were sluts. Whores, even. John “Soap” MacTavish and Kyle “Gaz” Garrick had a penchant for sleeping around. They’d bedded no less than half their battalion, bedded a fair number of civilians during their leaves, and even bedded each other on a few occasions. Price would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed. But with these conquests came the inevitable: arguing over shared partners and said partners sometimes fighting over who got to sleep with whom. It was ridiculous, really.

They continued on until Price decided he was actively losing brain cells. He slammed his hands on the desk and stood from his chair. Two of his best and brightest froze in their seats, eyes wide as they stared at him.

“Right then, is there any particular reason you lot felt the need to have this discussion in my office? Clearly you two don’t have enough to keep you busy. Seems I’ll have to change that.”

Soap and Gaz loudly protested, voices overlapping each other’s. Price was gearing up to distribute both a mountain of paperwork and multiple laps around the building when a knock came from his office door. He fixed Soap and Gaz with a piercing stare that silenced them, before calling out for whomever knocked to come in. You stepped in, brows furrowed over the yelling you heard earlier.

“Everything okay in here, sir?”

Price nodded gruffly. “These two were done anyways. Boys, you’re dismissed.”

Once Price declared something there was no pushing back on it. The man was immovable once he made up his mind.

The two sergeants decided it was best to cut their losses then and there and continue their argument back in the barracks. They greeted you on their way out, Gaz gently clapping you on the shoulder and Soap bumping fists with you. Price sat back behind his desk and retrieved a cigar from a drawer.

“I thought you were on leave today?” the captain said.

“Still am,” you replied, “Just wanted to make sure nothing came up before I left out.”

Price shook his head. “You’re all good, kid. See you Monday.”

You grinned and nodded. You were about to move towards the door but paused, turning to face Price. “Captain, I know it’s none of my business, truly, but I overheard what Soap and Gaz were arguing about before I came in. I think I could potentially help you out here.”

Price’s brow furrowed. You continued, “You know how competitive those two get, right? Why not use that against them? Make a bet to see who can go the longest without sleeping with anyone.”

Price ran a hand over his moustache as he considered. It wasn’t a bad plan. It was certainly one that had potential.

“Could work, certainly. But you know they won’t just accept a bet without a good prize, right?”

A smirk crossed your lips. “Of course, Cap, that’s where this gets interesting.” You leaned forward, eyebrows raised. Price indulged you, leaning forward himself.

“I enter this little competition. A third person will ensure they won’t try cheating, since they’ll have to keep themselves accountable. The winner not only gets to decide on whatever weird schedule thing they’ve got going on, provided all partners consent of course, but they also get dibs on the good seat in the chopper on our next mission.”

Price sat back in his chair, mulling it over. “Knew there was a reason we recruited you. Ace, you might have just saved me a weekend’s worth of headaches. I’ll inform those two gits.”

You grinned. This would certainly be interesting, especially since no one knew you had quite the “ace” up your sleeve.

It wasn’t a secret that you were asexual, it just wasn’t something that came up often. You never officially came out to the 141, deeming it unnecessary. When asked whether you were dating, you’d brush off the questions by answering that you weren’t all that interested. When prompted further if anyone on base had caught your eye, you’d respond that you were too busy. These things were true in a sense; being a sniper for the 141 certainly kept you busy and even during your downtime you found yourself preoccupied with whatever hobby you’d decided to indulge in that week or hanging out with your teammates. You lived a full life and considered dating relatively low on your list of priorities. There was also something deeply hilarious about your callsign being “Ace”, though it was referencing just how skillful you were with a sniper rifle. Entering this contest wasn’t anything difficult for you. In fact, you thought it would be interesting to see how your teammates would rise to the challenge.

The first week after Price announced the challenge was probably the funniest week of your life. Soap and Gaz were indignant, which you expected, but they accepted the challenge, nonetheless. When Price revealed that you were also in the running, they made it a point to corner you at the shooting range. You were reloading your gun when they walked in. Soap was the first to approach you, striding forward with his arms crossed.

“So, Price told us yer the one who proposed this whole contest, aye? Fir wye?” he asked.

You placed the gun down and turned to fully face your teammates. “’Why?’” you repeated back, “Because the two of you were causing chaos on base and Price was ready to assign you cleaning duty for the rest of your careers. If anything, you should be thanking me.”

“Well, we’re letting you know that we’ve accepted the challenge. That heli seat is mine,” Gaz said. After his incident from last year, Gaz made it a point to sit as far away from the helicopter door as possible.

“That’s fine by me,” You turned and picked the gun back up, “Though, I’m sure this’ll be easy.”

Gaz cocked an eyebrow at you. “And what makes you say that?”

“Oh, nothing in particular. Just excited to see how this’ll go.” You cocked the gun and aimed it, firing off a round into the center of the target paper.

After finishing at the gun range, you headed towards the canteen to grab lunch. It wasn’t until you’d grabbed your food and began to look for your teammates that you heard laughter bubbling up around the canteen. You ignored it, moving towards the back table where Ghost currently occupied a seat. Ghost didn’t acknowledge you when you sat down, his eyes trained just past your shoulder. Your brows furrowed and you quickly followed his line of sight, turning back towards the door. The moment your eyes locked onto Soap and Gaz you nearly fell out of your chair in shock.

They were dressed as nuns, and from what you could tell, they were wearing legitimate nun habits instead of cheap costumes from Halloweens past. They strode forward, faces solemn and hands folded in prayer. Soap fiddled with a rosary his mother had given him on his first deployment. They approached your table, made the sign of the cross, and sat down. Ghost shot incredulous looks at the both of them.

“What’s all this, then? Halloween come early?” He asked.

“We’ve taken a vow of chastity, Lt. The ol’ Johnny and Kyle are no more. We’ve devoted ourselves to prayer and abstinence. We’re men o’ the cloth now,” Soap replied.

“Shoulda’ taken a vow of silence,” Ghost tossed out, digging his fork into whatever mystery meat the canteen had slapped on his tray.

You and Kyle didn’t bother holding back your chuckles.

“You do realize the nun habits are unnecessary, right? Price never said you had to wear them.” You said.

“Yes, but this shows that we’re serious about this challenge,” Kyle piped up.

You fixed him with a deadpan stare. “There’s absolutely nothing serious about your current get-up. But okay.”

The rest of lunch passed without much else happening, save for the occasional snort of laughter from other personnel.

The second week was just as nonsensical as the first. You knew the terrible two were up to no good when jangling and clanking noises came from them as they walked into Price’s office. The men sat, albeit quite stiffly, and tried their hardest to ignore Price’s hard glare.

“What’s all that ruckus?” Price growled out.

Soap had the nerve to look as though his captain were speaking in riddles. “Ah’ dunno what yer on about Cap, we’ve done nothin’ wrong. Right Gaz?”

Gaz at least had the decency to look embarrassed. You placed down the file you were examining. “What’s all that clanking you two have got going on?”

Soap wasted no time in standing up and yanking down his pants. You were met with the sight of a leather and metal thong with a padlock over the crotch. A chastity belt. The man was wearing an honest-to-God chastity belt.

The room was stunned into silence. Gaz hung his head in shame. It only took you a moment to realize he was wearing the same contraption. Ghost was the first to break the silence.

“Those come with keys?”

“Why Lt? You lookin’ to unlock me?” Soap smirked at Ghost, still a flirt despite the clear restrictions on him.

“I’m lookin’ to throw those keys out the window,” Ghost replied dryly. You caught Price trying to stifle his laughter behind his fist.

“Do those hurt?” you asked.

“Nah, but they do pinch a bit. Mostly awkward to walk around in,” Gaz said.

Price stood from his desk and passed over more files. “If you’re all well and done, Laswell’s got a few updates from last week. Give these a read.”

You had to admit, there was something comical about reading over confidential information while knowing two men in the room had actual chastity belts on. Price soon dismissed you all back to whatever tasks you had on base. You headed to the gym with Ghost right alongside you. Soap and Gaz clanked out the door and down the hall.

“How long d’you think they’ll keep this up?” You asked once you were in the gym, scooting yourself underneath the bench press. Ghost shrugged, adding more weights to the bar.

“Depends on how just how committed they are to this whole thing. Though I’m sure they’ll break soon,” he answered.

“What makes you say that?” Your hands reached up to the bar, readying yourself to lift the weights.

“Just a feeling. Adjust your grip, you’ll kill yourself otherwise.”

“No, seriously, what makes you say that?” You gripped the bar, raising up and lowering it to your chest before raising it back up again.

“On the field, those are some of the smartest men I know. On base? Barkin’ mad, the both of ‘em. Surprised they even lasted this long.”

You racked the weights above your head once your set was finished. “You’re probably right. But you have to admit, this has been a pretty entertaining two weeks.” You looked up at Ghost, who seemed to be deep in thought.

“Why’d you join this contest anyways?” He asked.

You sat up and turned to him. “Because I knew it’d be an easy win. I don’t exactly…ah, well, I figured it’d be fun to see how things played out.”

Ghost grunted in reply. “Fair enough. Now give me twenty more reps.”

You groaned as you made your way back under the bar.

As it turned out, Ghost was right. The third week was when things reached their breaking point. You were on the hunt for a missing knife, one you’d lent Gaz a few days back. Ghost’s words replayed in your mind; were the sergeants reaching their breaking point? Would they soon throw in the towel?

You approached Soap and Gaz’s barrack, fist raised to knock, when you heard a noise that froze your fist mid-air. There was the sound of rustling and grunting. You jumped back from the door.

There was no way…unless?

You stepped forward again, rapping your knuckles against the wood. All sounds behind the door stopped. You were about to knock again when the door swung open.

You came face to face with Gaz, his eyes blown wide and his chest heaving.

“Gaz? You alright? Why are you so flushed?”

Your eyes caught sight of a bruise on the column of his throat. In fact, there were multiple bruises. Before he could raise his shirt to cover them, you yanked down the collar.

“Hold it, what’s this? What’s this, Gazzy-boy?! You get attacked by over-enthusiastic mosquitoes?!”

Gaz swatted your hands away. “N-no, this is just-! I burned myself earlier!”

Ignoring his protests you shouldered past him into the room, where you were met with the sight of Soap trying to pull on clothes as fast as humanly possible. You paused in the middle of the room and inhaled deeply. The air stunk of sweat and lust. Soap, having wrangled himself into pants, tried to approach you.

“Listen Ace, this isnae wit ye think it is. We were just havin’ a chat, Gaz’n ah. ”

You turned to him with a grin stretching from cheek to cheek. “Oh really? Because I think you two were having more than just a chat. And I think I just won the bet. And this-” You whipped out your phone and snapped a picture of the two of them, clothes disheveled, and skin marked with hickeys, “Is enough to prove it!”

With that you turned on your heel and booked it out the door, flying down the corridor and across the building towards Price’s office. Gaz and Soap ran after you, yelling for you to stop. The door to Price’s office nearly flew off the hinges when you barged in, phone held out in front of you. Price leveled you with a glower.

“This better be good, sergeant, otherwise you’re runnin’ laps for the next hour.”

“Oh, this is better than good, Captain, this is great.” You upped your phone’s brightness and slapped it on his desk. Price leaned over, squinting at the screen. It took only a moment for him to register what he was staring at before his eyes widened. Soap and Gaz barreled into the room, out of breath and speaking over each other.

“Cap, isnae wot ye think-!”

“Ace is framing us! We weren’t-!”

Price's face darkened. He stood from his desk, your phone in his hand.

“You fools couldn’t last 3 weeks?”

The room went dead silent, and you swore the temperature dropped a little. For a moment you wondered if you made a fatal mistake.

Price stalked forward, nearly towering over the three of you.

“Ace, you’ve won the bet. But I’ve just realized that we only discussed the reward and not the punishment for this. Any ideas?” He turned to you and handed your phone over.

Gaz and Soap shot you pleading looks, silently begging for you to be merciful. And for a moment you wondered if you should make them suffer, make them writhe. But in a moment of mercy, you decided against it.

“You know, I’m impressed that these two were able to find those nun habits and chastity belts. And such high quality too! You think they can find maid costumes?”

Price’s face lit up with the sick delight. “Oh, I’m sure they’ll manage. And I’m sure they’ll wear ‘em for the next three weeks too.”

Soap and Gaz’s faces were masks of pure shock. It was at that moment that Ghost walked into the office, a cup of tea in one hand and a file in the other. He stared at the scene in front of him, turned, and walked back out.

You were wrong. The weeks during the bet weren’t the funniest of your life. It was truly the weeks after that took the cake.

As per your request, Gaz and Soap procured maid outfits, complete with fishnet stockings and kitten heels. They were met with raucous laughter everywhere they went. The only one with a modicum of shame was Gaz, and even then, you caught him strutting his stuff when he passed you in the halls. Soap was happy to be back to normal. He even claimed that the costume was a hit with his partners that liked role-playing.

You saddled up next to Ghost in the rec room one night, thanking him when he brought down your favorite tea from the shelf. The two of you prepared your drinks in companionable quiet. Ghost turned to you, spoon halting in his cup.

“I would say congrats on winnin’ that bet, but I figured you would.”

You huffed out a gentle laugh. “Thanks, Lt.”

Ghost paused for a moment, seeming almost sheepish.

“You, uh…you never finished what you were saying, back when we were in the gym. Said you ‘didn’t exactly' and then you trailed off.”

“Oh, I can’t believe you remembered that. Yeah, I just…um…basically I don’t experience dating and relationships the same way everyone else does.”

“What d’you mean by that?”

You stopped stirring your tea. A part of you wondered if Ghost would understand, if he’d be supportive. You knew the man well enough that he wouldn’t ridicule you, but not everyone was understanding. It often felt like being asexual was a fringe thing. You sucked in a deep breath. Regardless of anyone’s feelings, you were asexual. It was real and anyone who said otherwise could get a mouthful of your boots.

“I’m asexual. Don’t really experience sexual attraction, y’know? Like, when you see someone others deem “hot” or “attractive” or whatever and want to have sex with them? I don’t understand that, and that desire doesn’t really happen to me. It doesn’t mean I don’t have a libido, its just never directed towards any one particular person. It’s a whole spectrum.”

You ended your ramble with a sip of tea.

“Oh, so that’s what it’s called? Didn’t realize there was a name for it,” Ghost muttered. You stiffened, cup halted in midair.

“When’d you figure that out?” Ghost asked.

“Kinda knew I was different when I began faking crushes on people back in school. And anytime those “crushes” reciprocated, I was weirded out by it. I did have real crushes, but those came a bit later. I’ve dated before, and thankfully my partners were understanding. I even had sex once! Just to try it out. It was…y’know, it was fine but I’m still definitely asexual.” You trailed off with a nervous laugh. “Sorry for the ramble, but whenever people ask, I try to explain everything, so I don’t have to keep answering questions.”

“I appreciate the honesty,” Ghost said. He cleared his throat. He seemed stuck between wanting to ask more and wondering if he was asking too much. In the end, you looked over and said: “I have a few books on it if you ever want to read up more on the subject. They helped me out a lot.”

Ghost said nothing, only nodding. He gently clinked your cup with his before he turned and headed towards the door. He stopped at the door frame and looked back over his shoulder.

“Hey Ace?”

You sipped more of your tea.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

You smiled.

“Anytime, Ghost.”

#super happy with how this came out; ghost and reader ace realnesssss #task force 141 x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #captain john price #ace! ghost ftwwwww

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guppybibi · 6 months ago

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𖦹 pairing: John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x gn!reader (i think?)

𖦹 content: Crack & fluff + talking about death & reincarnation, not proofread, probably ooc

𖦹 notes: more self indulgent fics

“I wouldn't mind bein' reincarnated as a bird whin ah die,” Soap starts, looking up at the sky as a flock of birds elegantly pass by. Almost as if it was planned. “it doesn’t seem tae damn bad.”

You looked back at him, sporting a look that simply said “What the hell did you just say to me?” And he knew that look all too well.

“Cmon, ye'r lookin’ at me lik' ah said a'm a serial killer or something. Stop that.” He huffs, which you then reply with. “You just told me you wanted to become a literal bird if you could get reincarnated if you die, why a bird?” Seriously, out of all the things in the world–he chose a bird? You can't fathom the reason why he chose that creature out of everything, maybe it was the ability to fly part?

“How come nae a bird?” He asks, questioningly lifting up an eyebrow. “Well I guess they're cool because they can fly and stuff but..there's a lot of better options out there.” You truthfully answer, stating out your opinion. An opinion that Johnny smirks at, uh oh..

”Wha says us folk cannae fly either?” He questions yet again, placing the two of his arms on his hips. “Well I mean not literally since we don't have wings-” You try to explain, yet the man that stands before you wastes no time and hoists you up. “See! ye kin fly as weel lassie! ye dinnae hae tae be a bird.” He remarks, and after a few moments of laughter and spinning you around like a professional ballerina, he gently sets you down.

“So, you don't want to become a bird because of the flying thing..I give up on guessing, why?” You finally ask, shaking your head in defeat.

“ ‘Cus ah wanna see how it feels tae tak' a shite in th' sky.” There, he said it in the straightest possible face he could use. “Oh.” How typical of him to say that.

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katzenmas · 1 year ago

Note

I CRAVE A PART THREE OF CREEP TATTOO ARTIST READER PLEASEEEE

(IF NOT THATS FINE I REALLY WANNA BE MOOTS THOUGH)

LILYY HELLO I WAS LITERALLY JUSY READING YOUR FIC AJSHNSHDHA I'M SCREAMING!!! MDNI: Smut, pervert!reader, dub-con, afab reader, ghoap x reader, johnny is also a pervert i can not help myself, sub simon Two days after Simon's tattoo was done and he changed his second skin he found himself unable to fall asleep. His mind was preoccupied with the tattoo artist. He tried to get himself to believe that he did not like her lingering touches in places where her hands should not have been, but he wasn't a man that was too keen on lying, even to himself.

So that's how he found himself entering the shop again the next evening. He saw you, tattooing a man's upper thigh. his eyes darted to your left hand that was casually gripping the blue eyed man's bulge through his boxers and the shit eating grin on his face told Simon that he was quite enjoying the touch.

your eyes snapped up to him and a smile broke out on your face. your foot left the paddle and the tattoo gun stopped whirring in your hand.

"Johnny, I'd like you to meet mister stiffy, otherwise known as the newbie that decided to get a full sleeve" the man-johnny let out an amused laugh and raked his eyes over simon, something glinting in the icy blues.

"What can I help you with?" The smile on your lips looked sweet, but your hungry eyes made Simon feel as if he was being watched by a predator, his cock twitching at the thought in his pants.

"Need some more second skin" he grumbled out, hoping the excuse was believable enough. you nodded your head over to a built-in cabinet in the wall and Simon got the clue.

"It should be right next to the cherry flavored lube" Johnny called out and Simon thought he was joking, until he opened the cabinet and was greeted by what seemed like a small sex shop right next to the second skin he needed.

it had everything. There were different kinds of lubes, condoms, handcuffs, edible underwear and a leather muzzle. it looked so out of place that it rendered simon motionless as he studied the muzzle with curious eyes. his fingers brushed against the leather straps as he tried to imagine what you used this for, who you used it on.

" Does that interest you?" Simon's breath hitched. you were behind him, your chin almost touching his shoulder as you leaned down over his crouched form and looked at the muzzle. Simon looked back at you, his eyes burning as they momentarily darted down to look at your lips.

that seemed to be your undoing. you slotted your lips over his and simon closed his eyes. you tasted sweet as you moved your mouth over his, your hands clutched at his shoulders and you moved simon closer towards you.

A cough got Simon to pull away. He looked over to the chair where Johnny was sitting, waiting for you to return and finish his tattoo. Instead of annoyance, Simon found the man's gaze to be burning with hunger.

"ya gonna finish this or are ye givin' me a show so i cannae forget 'bout the pain?'' Johnny's scottish accent paired with your hands on his body had Simon aching in his jeans, the pressure bordering on painful so he shifted. your gaze fell back on him and you cupped simon through his pants.

"want to be a good boy for us?" The speed with which Simon nodded his head was almost embarrassing. you could've asked him to assassinate the queen and he'd do it if it meant your hands were still palming his cock.

you smiled and clutched at simon's shirt as you led him over to the chairs. your lips found his again as you sat down on one of the chairs and brought his head down to continue the kiss, deft fingers tugging on his short strands as your tongue did wicked things to him.

Simon tried to grind against your core, feel something so he could relieve the pressure on his cock but you tutted and broke the kiss. faux disappointment shone in your eyes as you pushed down on his shoulders and got him to kneel in front of you, face to face with your spread thighs.

"stupid puppy, you have to be good for us and then you can get your reward." you chided and slowly slid your pants off, leaving in your gray panties that had a wet spot at the front. Simon felt his mouth water.

" go on puppy, we’re waitin’ " johnny was behind simon, leaving kisses on the side of his neck.

Simon kissed you through your underwear first, then he hooked his fingers through the flimsy garment and ripped. Before you could chew him out over the ruined pair of panties his nose was buried in your cunt. Tongue wildly lapping at your folds, teeth nibbling at your swollen clit. The soft sounds that left your mouth were egging him on, made him slip one finger into your tight cunt while he sucked on your clit.

With a cry you arched your back off the chair and gushed all over Simon, but he was not letting up. He cleaned you up through the aftershocks of your orgasm, each shudder and whine going straight to his weeping cock. Through the haze of it all he looked up at you with his honey brown eyes and bit down on your thigh, hard.

Only to get yanked away by his neck the second his teeth make contact with your soft skin. Johnny’s hand was rough and unforgiving on Simon, the fury in his icy eyes made Simon shiver.

“ Mutts like you don’t get tae bite what’s mine” Johnny seethed and suddenly there was a wight over Simon's face and leather was biting into his skin. Johnny fucking muzzled him.

“Ya ken yer goin’ tae get away with that? Stupid untrained mutt, cannae even eat pussy without bitin’ “ Johnny’s hands were as fast as his words as he undid Simon’s jeans and pulled his weeping cock out, the red sticky wetness gathering on his swollen red tip made the scot laugh.

“Like a bitch in heat” You said from your place up on the chair as you watched Simon with a cruel smile. - I'M SORRY I SWEAR THEY WILL FUCK IF I DO WRITE A PART 4 I JUST HAVE NO IDEA HOW I WANT THEM TO DO IT 😭

#call of duty x reader #cod headcanons #cod #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost headcanons #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #ghoap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap smut

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pandora-writes-one-piece · 4 months ago

Text

Mine to Protect Part II

Source for Pic

Mine to Protect

Word Count: 7026

Tags for the whole story: Highlander!Kid; Fem!Reader; Alternate Universe - Scotland 13th century; Gore; Blood; Violence; Death; Mild Angst; Fluff; Nudity; Cursing; Sexual Tension; Explicit Sexual Content; Protective!Kid; Possessive!Kid; Soft!Kid; Feral!Kid; Jealous!Kid; Happy Ending; Sort of Enemies to Lovers; Teasing; Banter; NSFW; MDNI; Mature Audiences;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: Your father and his allied clans are at war, and you're a liability. When you're assigned a guard to protect you - against your will - you do everything in your power to infuriate him. The problem is that he can be more infuriating than you, as you're about to find out.

Notes: This is the largest of the chapters, sorry about that but I couldn't find another logical way to split it! I hope you're all enjoying Highlander Kid! I know I am 😎 Also, this part doesn't have a prompt, as it was pushed to part 3.

Part 2 of 3

The days that follow the attack, you don’t acknowledge what passed between you and Kid. Neither does he. Other than building an intricate iron lock for your window himself, and forbidding you to open it at night, which inevitably leads to another argument between the two of you.

“You don’t give me orders! My father hired you!”

“Stop bein’ a brat! It’s a damned lock, and ye have the key tae open it! It’s no’ a prison, lass!”

“You don’t tell me what to do.”

“I do when it comes tae yer safety! Between all yer shenanigans and trips tae town, I’m already burdened enough.” You turn sharply away from the window, your gaze burning against his as he purses his lips, realising the mistake he made.

“Burdened?”

“No’ what I meant. Yer just being difficult.” He clears his throat, grunts, and crosses his arms over his chest, clearly a defensive position.

“Aye, I get what you meant, Kid.” You scoff. “Matter of fact, you just earned a night off. I don’t want to burden you. Go away and leave me alone. You're dismissed, Kid.”

He stands in silence for a beat, and you turn back to the window, actually locking it so he does leave you alone.

“Yer no’ the one who hired me, lass. Ye cannae dismiss me.”

“Get out!” You shout, banging your palms against the window, frustrated breaths leaving your mouth in ragged pants. You don’t look, but a shuffle of clothes and the click of the door tells you he’s left.

Good.

Because today, you need to go into town without your shadow, or your plan won’t have the slightest chance of working.

-*-

You heed the advice Kid gave you on your first encounter and cover your face with the hood of a plain, worn-out brown cloak, travelling inconspicuously to the inn on the outskirts of town, where no one will find you.

You arranged an encounter with a laird’s employee from one of the opposing clans. He has vital information that could help turn the tide of the war, and he’s willing to sell it to the highest bidder. With a sack full of jewellery, you’re it at the moment.

Dismissing Kid was either the brightest idea you had or the dumbest. You don’t know this man at all, but you came prepared. Your hands pat the two daggers strapped to your thighs, and you take a deep breath before entering the inn. It’s eerily empty which makes your encounter setup very suspicious.

Except for the fact that the man is young –roughly your age– handsome, and clean. So maybe this can pass as a lover’s encounter instead of a strategic one, and that plays in your favour.

“My lady.” The man drawls as you sit in front of him, pulling your hood back a little but not removing it entirely.

“Sir.” You return the greeting. “Let’s get to the point, please. I must return before my absence is noted.” You think about Kid once more and hope you made the right choice by dismissing him.

“I understand the rush, but I must say I’m impressed.” You raise an eyebrow, your right hand clutching the dagger at your thigh as you hold your breath. “You’re stunning.” A small surge of heat rushes to your cheeks as you were not expecting that.

“Thank you?” You begin, not really knowing how to respond to his compliment. “Now, I have gold and–”

“The price has changed.” He says smoothly as his eyes devour you.

“What do you mean? We had an agreement, I can’t get more gold on such short notice, and–”

“I don’t want gold anymore.” Your breath hitches as he grins, and you understand immediately what he wants, even before he says it. “I just want one night with you.” He says it anyway.

One night? Closing your eyes, you rest your elbow on the table, pressing your index finger and thumb against the bridge of your nose. One night… if one night is all it takes to get information that can free your people, you’re willing to sacrifice it.

It’s not like you’re a maiden anyway. You’ve been with men –scratch that– you’ve been with boys who barely knew how to touch you, but… are you willing to do it for your people?

Absolutely.

“Fine. I accept.”

-*-

Kid can barely believe his eyes as he watches through the window. He rakes one hand through his fiery hair while the other grips the handle of his sword. He followed you to the outskirts of town to a run-down, rickety inn just so you could meet with a man? He lets out a low growl as he clenches his teeth.

That’s why you got rid of him so fast earlier, you wanted to get laid and needed to get rid of him.

He knows he should turn back and go to the keep, he even tries to argue with himself, trying to convince himself that the only reason he’ll stay is because your father hired him to protect you, but he knows he’s lying.

He’ll stay because he can’t bear the thought of you in another man’s arms, but he bears it even less if he has to stay away from you while you do it. It’s the most twisted form of masochism he’s ever known.

At first, it looked like just a meeting, but now you’re climbing the steps towards the rooms and he can barely stop his pacing. The demons in his head fight and struggle against him, as they have been doing since the cursed day he laid eyes on you. Demanding that he split his attention between duty and want, honour and need.

You’re the most beautiful, aggravating creature he’s ever met. And damned if he doesn’t care for you more than he should.

Fuck this.

There’s no way he’ll dig a hole in the floor with his pacing when he can drag you out of that fucking room himself. You can be mad at him for all eternity, if you wish, but he’d much rather have that than see you in another man’s arms.

Kid silently enters the inn, his scowl and weapons prompting no questions from the man behind the counter when he leaves a coin there and climbs up. Upstairs, there’s only one closed door.

Kid seethes and grits his teeth, his jaw nearly snapping from the tension, but as soon as he reaches the door, he hesitates, your voice, coming softly from the inside, stops him in his tracks.

“Can I have the war information now?” You ask, a slight tremble in your voice he’s not accustomed to hearing, which makes him furrow his brows.

War information?

You’re giving yourself to this bastard for information? Somehow, this makes him even madder than the though of you being here willingly just to fuck another man. This is wickedly cruel. Sacrificing yourself for information?

He knows that’s something you’d do easily. You go out almost every night, there’s barely any jewel to your name, and you give away most portions of your own food. He knows how much you’re willing to give and do for the people you care so much about. But this? This he cannot stomach.

“Soon, my lady, soon. Let’s get to this first, shall we?”

Kid clenches his fists and hesitates again. You being mad at him for interrupting a quick lay was something he was fine with. But you being utterly angered at him for ruining your chance of turning the tide of the war… that will get him in real trouble with you. And he’s weighing all the pros and cons of it. Is he willing to risk it? Can he fucking bear it? Because there’s no way he’s going to leave you here alone, even if he has to hear everything that happens in that fucking room.

“Wait, wait. No, stop. I’ve changed my mind, I need more time and–”

“I think not, my lady. You’ve had enough of that.”

Fuck the risks.

-*-

Your hands are still pushing the man’s hands away from your legs when Kid kicks the door open, sending it flying back, broken and splintered. A gasp leaves your lips as he rushes forward, grabbing the man by the collar and shoving him to the ground near the door.

“Get the fuck out.”

Kid doesn’t need to say it twice before the man bolts, tail between his legs. And now you’re pissed.

“What the hell, Kid! I said you were dismissed for the night! That man had vital information about the war front and–”

“And ye’re willin’ tae do what for it, exactly?” Kid roars as he turns to you, his cheeks nearly as red as his hair, but he doesn’t scare you. The only time he did was when you didn’t even know who he was. So you take a step forward, meeting his eyes with the same fire he’s pining you with.

“Whatever was necessary to save my people!”

Kid points at the bed, the veins in his neck protruding dangerously as he steps closer. “Lay with him? Whore yerself for information?”

A surge of heat rushes through you, and his words hit harder than you expected, but you still bite back with equal venom. “I would’ve done anything. My people matter more to me than my body or one measly night. I don’t care.”

“Ya should!” His broad figure towers over yours, and you sense him tense up, the lines on his face sharper, the intensity in his gaze darker.

You shove his chest, but he doesn’t budge an inch. “Well, I don’t! And I could’ve handled it alone.”

His laugh sends a waft of warm air against your hair, and you hiss. “Aye, aye! I believe ye! Like ye’ve handled it all the other times? Little Miss ‘I dinnae need help from anyone’!” He mocks.

The condescending tone makes your anger burn hotter, the air between you dense with tension, crackling with energy. You shove him again –to no effect. “I cannot let my people suffer through this war anymore!”

“What about ye?”

“I don’t matter, Kid!” Another shove. “They matter! The children, the elderly, the sick!” A stubborn tear falls from your eye and you shove him again. “I’m the only one they’ve got! I don’t give a damn about myself, I–” You shove him again but his hands gently catch yours, and you sob. You’re relieved he showed up. You would’ve done anything, but that doesn’t mean you wanted to do it.

“And ye think I give a damn about yer charity? Yer people?” His hand reaches up, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting your jaw so you have to meet his eyes. “Lass, I’d rather see the world burn down tae ashes and be ravaged by war, than let some bastard touch ye like that.”

His admission takes you both by surprise, but he quickly masks it with an angry scowl. Your heart, however, gives you no reprieve, pounding violently in your chest. You will yourself to throw back a witty retort, angry words, anything– but nothing comes out except awkward sputters as you struggle to shut your open mouth.

Kid’s words hang in the air between you like a storm cloud, charged and dangerous, leaving you unsure how to act. He lets go of your hand and chin and you step back, dowcasting your gaze and taking a deep breath, your anger subsiding as your voice loses the edge and intensity it had a minute ago.

“I don’t know what else to do, Kid. It’s my people, my responsibility.”

“It’s no’.” His voice is level again, still edged, but much less intense. “It’s yer da’s. He should be the one seekin’ aid and information, no’ ye. There’s always another way, and next time ye want tae get information,” Kid sighs heavily. “Dinnae do it alone.”

You swallow hard. There are no more tears, but the weight of his words hangs heavily on your chest. You can’t rely on your father for help. He doesn’t leave the keep, barely knows what’s happening around him, aside from the warfront. It was up to you. And… and now Kid… put an end to it.

“You ruined everything.” You whisper, not daring to meet his eyes because you’re being unfair. He saved you.

Again.

“Aye. I’d do it all over again.”

-*-

It’s a painful feeling, the one that lingers afterward. You know you care more for Kid than you should. It’s not just desire –but by the gods, there’s so much desire– it’s something far deeper, far more intense. His words resound in your head like a sickly echo.

“I’d rather see the world burn down tae ashes and be ravaged by war, than let some bastard touch ye like that.”

He cares too. There’s really no other explanation. But you don’t know what to do with it, so once again, you and Kid don’t talk about it.

He’s more and more adamant about not leaving you alone and, sometimes, it pisses you off so much that you sneak out, elude him, and trick him so you can just find some peace. He always finds you and you always end up arguing.

Today, though, you manage to buy yourself a decent amount of time by asking the children from the town to distract him, and before Kid even realises what happened, you’ve already given him the slip. There’s every chance he’ll find you soon, but for now, you will enjoy the coolness of the nearby loch. There’s a more well-known, wider area of the loch, where children usually play, but you know of another, smaller bay just a few metres away, and it's perfectly secluded and peaceful. Just what you need at the moment.

Peace.

Because there’s none of that when Kid is around. Not inner peace at least. There’s always a war raging inside you, willing you to push him to his limits, to defy him because you don’t need –nor want�� his protection. Yet, the space between the two of you is always charged with raw energy and magnetism, like a storm cloud waiting to pour its deluge on both of you.

Unsurprisingly, now that he’s gone, you miss him.

Fuck me.

-*-

It takes Kid almost an hour to sniff out your trail, and he’s beyond pissed. He’s about to lay all his anger on you, almost wishing you’d gotten into trouble, just for you to realise that you need him and stop doing foolish shit.

The loch?

He approaches silently, always moving like a shadow before making his presence known, and by the gods, he made the right choice in doing that now, because you’re standing naked at the loch’s edge, preparing yourself for a cold dip.

Kid’s heart pounds violently against his chest as he watches you. His eyes devour your body, blood roaring with the desire he’s felt for you since you tried to punch him on that first night. But it’s on your face his gaze lingers unabashedly. You have a look of utter relaxation on your features, and he’s never seen you like this around him. Completely vulnerable, unguarded, and free.

He’s lived on edge since meeting you, constantly tense in your presence, alert to any and every danger that could take you away from him, and even when there’s no danger, there’s always something far more perilous. An unspoken tension between the two of you, anger and desire mingling into something he can’t quite place, but that keeps pulling you to him. It’s maddening.

Yet, what he’s feeling now goes way beyond anything he’s ever felt in your presence. It’s wilder, untamed, and desperate.

Gritting his teeth, Kid knows he can’t stand and watch you forever, but he’s not willing to let you be alone anyway, so he makes his presence known. “Enjoyin’ yerself, lass?”

-*-

You spin around in the water, facing Kid through wet lashes, but surprise is only etched on your face for a split second. You knew he’d find you.

“I was. Go away.”

“I cannae do that. It’s my job, ye know that.” He crosses his arms and leans against a tree near your discarded clothes. “Besides, yer a sittin’ duck right now. Have ye learned nothin’?”

You turn away from him again with a tut, dipping your head back to get your hair wet. “I don’t need protection, Kid. Leave. I want to be alone.”

“I’m never leavin’ ya alone again, lass. Better get that straight into yer noggin.” You can hear him snicker as you splash your hands against the cold water, trying to chase your frustration away. “Enjoy yer little dip, while it lasts. I’m no’ leavin’.”

“Gods, Kid! You’re infuriating! Leave. Me. Alone.” You accentuate every word with another splash, but that just makes him grin more.

“Ye dinnae have tae like me, but I thought ye’re used tae me by now.”

You stop thrashing, and he chuckles infuriatingly again. He thinks he’s won this round, but you’re about to serve vengeance on a cold platter. He doesn’t want to leave? Fine! But you’ll win this argument without uttering a single word.

You turn back to him, defiance splattered all over your face as you gaze into his fiery, cocky red eyes. Without so much as a blink, you strut to the shore, baring your naked body to him without a hint of shame.

You have to fight a victory smirk from gracing your lips when Kid pushes himself away from the tree, his arms falling limp at his sides as he follows you with his gaze.

-*-

You want to kill him. That’s the only explanation he finds for what you’re doing at the moment. Because if it’s vengeance, it’s quite petty. Kid has to fight the urge to reach into his breeches and adjust his cock, which gets hard just by looking at you. The way you’re staring into his soul while baring yourself to him, water dripping over your body, your perky nipples shimmering and slick with water, walking with long, unapologetic strides. It’s too much.

Fuck.

He’s fought all kinds of men and beasts and never once did it occur to him to surrender. But to you, he’d fall on his knees and beg, and that is the scariest thought he’s had in a while. Kid clears his throat as you approach him, your chin raised in that regal way about you that he both loathes and admires.

“What are ye doin’?” He barely recognizes his own trembling voice. It’s like he’s a boy again, pissing himself while facing an enemy on the battlefield.

“I told you I don’t need protection.” You take another step, and it takes all of his willpower not to thread his fingers through your dripping wet hair, grip it and pull it back until your throat is vulnerable, and then crash his lips against yours. Kid bets you’d taste delicious.

“Aye.” Not his smartest answer. Not even an answer, really, and you must know you have the advantage because the smirk that curves your lips is both infuriating and endearing. Then you move closer, almost as if you’re going to whisper something to him, and as all the blood rushes to his cock and his heart thrums in his ears, all Kid can think about is how your soft skin would feel against his rough and calloused hands, or how your moans would sound whispered against his ear.

He holds his breath and you lean in. Your perky nipple grazes his arm and burns like the hottest of fires, undoubtedly etching and scorching a mark on his skin, something that digs deeper than his ugliest scars. It’s like the moment freezes in time, the air shifting into something heavier and more dangerous. His fingers itch to touch you and his hands almost move of their own volition to fulfil a desire fueled by his loins. Then you break the moment by bending and grabbing the clothes next to his feet, pulling the dress over your head and batting your lashes at him innocently.

“Problem?”

His jaw clenches and unclenches three times before he deems it safe to speak. “Stop playin’ with fire, lass.”

Your smirk grows wider as you slowly pass your arms through the sleeves, bouncing your breasts and revelling in the way Kid’s eyes wander and linger. “Maybe I like to get burned.”

-*-

Shit. Where did that come from? Other than the bottomless pit of desire currently fueling your loins?

He takes a step back, raking his fingers through his hair as his hand reaches for the front of his breeches, making you bite your lower lip in anticipation. But instead of unfastening them and slamming his cock into your dripping self, he shuts his eyes and curses. “We’re leavin’. Get dressed.”

Turning to leave, he doesn’t even give you a chance to reply as he walks towards the edge of the forest, stopping and waiting for you with his back turned. You take deep, steadying breaths and will your heart to calm down, lest it jump right out of your mouth.

Does it still count as a victory if you feel like shit from being rejected?

-*-

This party had been planned for a year, back when the war had just started and the vaults were still full. Now, in your opinion, it was a waste of money, food, and time. But your father was adamant about hosting it, as it was meant to serve as a courtship of the lairds and their sons to you.

You had to choose a husband –a strategic alliance– so your father could secure more money and soldiers for the war effort. You knew where your father could shove the potential suitors, but you couldn’t find a way to get out of the party, so here you were, enduring yet another speech about the feats and achievements of another stuck-up man.

You wore crimson tonight. A dark, deep, lavish red gown that matched the intensity of your rage towards this event. A red that coincidentally matched the fiery hair of your guard.

Speaking of Kid, you had yet to lay eyes on him, but you knew he wasn’t far. Your father had given him the day off, but he had stayed true to his infuriating declaration of never leaving you alone again, even when he was blatantly dismissed. So, you were sure he was, or would be, around. The only time he was away from you was when you slept.

You manage to fight yet another urge to roll your eyes as another man approaches you out of nowhere, invading your personal space with what they all believe are charming words. Every one of them makes you want to gag.

“My lady, you look as beautiful as the loch outside.”

Now you can’t stop the eye roll, even if you wanted to. “Truly? Cold, stinking of fish, and green?” The man stammers, a hint of red spreading across his pale cheeks, and you sigh. “Excuse me, I’m needed… elsewhere.”

Anywhere else.

Two more steps, one more drink, and another idiot. “My lady, the skies must have lost a star, for your beauty is far too radiant for mere mortals.”

You raise your brow as the corner of your lips threatens to curve up. “Is that so, my lord? Are you implying that I’m the reason the sky looks so dim tonight?” This man stammers just like the one before and a chuckle escapes your lips before you excuse yourself and turn away, leaving him flabbergasted.

Gods, you just want this torture to end.

“Are you not tired of these fools, my lady? Perhaps a reprieve would do you good?”

Another one already? Is it too much to ask for a moment of peace?

“A reprieve? Are you offering sanctuary in my own home, my lord?” You look him in the eyes as the corner of your lips rises. He’s quite handsome: dark hair, tanned skin and a beautiful smile.

“I was merely suggesting an escape plan, away from all the lochs and stars.” You chuckle, and he seems encouraged to continue. “I assure you, my company comes without any celestial expectations.”

“Aye, I see that. Does it come with that charming wit, or was it a one-time event?” He offers his arm, and you take it, actually impressed by him.

“For your company, my lady? I will gladly put forth my best efforts.”

-*-

You didn’t even realise he was at the party, Kid is sure of it. He’s keeping to the fringes, a mug of ale in his hand, as his sharp eyes follow you everywhere. Just because your father gave him the night off doesn’t mean he’ll skip his duties. Especially when you’re his duty.

He’s been spending all of his time growling into the mug, clenching it so tightly he’s bound to break it before the night ends. These fools keep approaching you with their charming words and honeyed speeches.

He has to admit, though, you’re handling everything quite well, and he’s found himself rather entertained by the look on the face of each suitor you reject. Deep down, he’s hoping that he’s the reason you keep rejecting them, but he quickly dismisses that thought.

Especially because his entertainment suddenly turns sour.

A posh-looking laird approaches you –again with sweet and charming words, things Kid would never say to you– and you have the gall to laugh. To actually laugh at what the bastard said. And then you take his arm as he leads you to a more secluded part of the ballroom so you can speak.

The distinct burn of jealousy courses through Kid’s veins, and he doesn’t quite know what to do about it. It’s not his place to go over there and demand–... what? That the man leave you alone? He’s not even doing anything wrong, he’s just talking to you.

And you’re laughing again. Fuck.

He grips the mug tighter, the ale suddenly much more bitter than it should be. He needs to keep his shit together, though. You’re a noble lady, you’re going to marry, and he won’t have any say in it. Better to keep distancing himself like he was trying to do. Even if it kills him.

-*-

You excuse yourself from the laird’s company after a while. Sure, he’s handsome, witty, a sweet talker, and has the right kind of armies. But he’s not… it.

With a loud sigh, you reach for another mug of ale, willing the night to end quickly so you can tell your father it was a complete and utter disaster. Will he still force you to choose a husband, though? Or will he simply force one on you? That is the real question.

But your thoughts are soon diverted when you feel a prickling at the back of your neck, that tingling, warm sensation you’ve come to associate with Kid.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away long. Free ale and pretty ladies?” You smirk smugly as you turn around to meet the slightly disgruntled gaze of your guard. “I don’t know how you haven’t come down sooner.”

“Lass, I’ve been on yer tail since ye left yer room.” He snickers, but you can see it’s forced. “Havin’ fun?” The way he crosses his arms seems charged with tension, he’s angry at something.

“So much fun, Kid. Something you’re unfamiliar with, I guess. It’s when people laugh because they’re entertained. You know,” you reach and lift his cheeks upwards so his lips curve into a grimaced smile. “Kind of like that, but less scary and… constipated.”

“I laugh.” He grumbles, swatting your hands away.

“Do you?”

“When yer not pissin’ me off.”

Now you laugh. “Right, never then!” You’ve seen him amused, with that annoying smirk he uses and the way his eyes crease a little bit. But you haven’t heard a real, genuine laugh. “I doubt you’re even capable of such a thing.”

You both saunter into a corner of the room, where Kid leans against the wall and you sway on your feet, tired of sitting down.

“Maybe I dinnae have reasons tae smile.” Cryptic much? What’s he talking about? His scowl deepens as he locks eyes with someone and you follow. It’s the laird from before, the charming one. Is Kid jealous? “So, is he the chosen one?”

He is jealous.

“Maybe. He’s charming enough and knows the right things to say.”

“Never thought ya needed tae be sweet-talked.” He crosses his arms and averts his gaze from the laird with a scowl but doesn’t look back at you.

“Sometimes it’s nice to feel wanted.” You tease, but you mean it.

“Wanted? By him?” He pushes away from the wall, indignation written on his face, his intense energy turning the air around you heavier, stifling, and making your heart pound violently with anticipation.

“At least somebody wants me. That might be enough to make me want to marry him.”

“Ye cannae do that.” He growls, taking a towering step towards you and suddenly you don’t know if you should feel aroused by his behaviour or angered that he thinks he has a say in your life.

“I do whatever the hell I want, Kid. You don’t tell me what to do.” You step towards him too, the party fading into the background as if you’re the only people there. The space between you seems small and cramped, tight with tension and need. “You don’t own me.”

The hot puffs of breath coming in ragged feel warm against your face, and you can see just how sharp his canines are as he bares his teeth at you. He’s all growls and grunts, a litany of sounds that vibrate straight into your cunt. Fuck. You need him.

The clenching of his hand is a dead giveaway to how much he wants to touch you, but you can tell he’s holding back. You can count the passing of time by the way his jaw ticks, and the fire in his eyes burns straight into your soul. “Yer mine, lass.”

The words make you gasp, and he’s also startled by them as you both take a step back. The tension flutters and fades, and the noise from the party resumes all around you. What did he say?

“Tae protect. Mine tae protect.” He adds quickly, his voice hoarse as he averts his eyes.

The seconds stretch as you’re left speechless. You can see a war being waged somewhere deep inside him, there’s a fury in his eyes with an intensity that speaks volumes and only adds stiffness to his bulky frame.

“Aye.” You say, voice strained and a sarcastic quip at the tip of your tongue. “Just to protect. Got it.”

Kid grunts, his eyes searching yours again. “I’m yer guard.”

“I know.”

“That’s all.”

“I know.”

“It cannae be more.”

“I know!” You raise your voice as you turn your back on him, dropping the mug on the nearest table and storming out of the room, but not before adding with as much authority as you can muster. “Do not dare follow me!”

-*-

Where the hell did you go? Kid’s heart races in his chest as he turns left and right. You disappeared on him after he blurted out the stupidest shit he’d ever said in his life –even if it was true. You were just there, and then… you weren’t.

Fuck.

He knows well enough that these big parties are the playground of assassins, and your father is a man many people want dead at the moment. For lack of that option, since he’s well-guarded, taking you is the next juicy prize. And now you’re nowhere to be seen. Or protected.

When Kid finds you, he’ll choke you with his bare hands for this stupid stunt.

He scans the gardens since you’re not inside the party, and he feels a mix of relief, anger, and indignation when he sees you at the edge of the forest near the gate. He’s definitely going to kill you if you’re sneaking outside for a midnight encounter with that prick.

Wedding match be damned to hell.

-*-

You just had to leave and get some air. It wasn’t even just the argument you had with Kid, or the sudden realisation that you and he were miles apart, even when you were so close. It was the stuffy ballroom, those insufferable suitors, the loudness of the music, and the expectations on you. It was all too much. You thought about retiring to your room, but there were sure to be guards on the stairs, and you doubted your father would let you leave so early. So you moved to the grounds where it was quiet.

You just want peace. Is it too much to ask for?

“Here you are, my lady. I’ve found you. And look, all alone, the possibilities are endless for our night.” You sigh at the lecherous suitor who followed you –the one who spewed the loch remark. You must have hurt his feelings, because he looks ready to snap your neck, or worse.

Is it wrong that you don’t fear him? Or that you don’t even feel the need to reach for your hidden daggers? You don’t quite know when this happened, but as insufferable as he is, you trust Kid fully, wholeheartedly, and you know, you just know, he’ll never fail you.

“Get the fuck away from her before I make ye piss yer pants, bastard.”

A smirk curves your lips upwards. You knew it. He’s always there. The man leaves with a shriek, and you face Kid, not really in the mood for more bickering, but of course, that’s all he wants to do.

“The hell were ye thinkin’, lass, leavin’ the party all alone and–” You don’t even let him finish the sentence. Fuck bickering, fuck fighting, fuck it all. Your fingers grasp his shirt as you pull him down towards you with all the strength you possess, lips crashing against each other with urgency and desire.

It took an entire evening of wrongs –wrong men, wrong words, wrong faces, wrong accent– just to make you realise that the right one was beside you all the time.

The kiss is unbridled, hungry, and desperate. A clash of not just tongues and lips, but of wills and stubbornness. It’s the culmination of all the little arguments, of all the bickering and of all the tension that enveloped both of you since you met.

You pull him closer, hands climbing his neck and tugging at his fiery hair. He’s so rigid that it’s as if he went into shock when you kissed him. The only thing that proves it wrong is the way he’s devouring your mouth. And then, with a soft thud as he releases his axe to the floor, he moves – desperately!

Kid’s hands grip your hips, and he pushes you against a tree, forcing the air out of your lungs with a wanton moan. His body presses against yours, clinging to you as if you’re about to run away from him again. It’s like he needs you with all his soul, and he’s showing you exactly that.

His kiss is, at the same time, everything you’ve imagined –consuming, heated, furious– and nothing like it. It sends lightning coursing through your veins, igniting them with pent-up energy that demands release. Kid’s hands roam, climbing up your body and cupping your face, deepening the kiss even more, making you feel as if you are drowning in him.

You’ve never been kissed like this before, as if you’re the only thing that matters and he’s afraid to let go. It’s daunting, but also comforting.

Kid pulls back after what feels like too little time, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands still cupping your cheeks as your panting breaths mingle, and you lose yourself in his fiery gaze.

“Ye drive me insane, lass. Ye’ll be the death of me.”

“I could say the same of you.” He doesn’t let you go and neither do you. Your hands press against his chest, nimble fingers untying the strings of his shirt as he smirks at you.

“Needy, are ya, lass?”

He’s not wrong.

“I am. Kiss me again.” And he obeys you. For once since he’s been stationed as your guard, he obeys you. His lips even more urgent than before, his hands groping and feeling every inch of you as you slither your fingers under his clothes, tracing his taut muscles and the roughness of his scars.

“Fuck, ye want me dead. That’s what this is.” But he doesn’t stop. He bites your lower lip and kisses your jawline, moving lower to your neck, his teeth grazing against the sensitive spot there. His mouth parts as he murmurs more words against your skin in his low, rough Scottish brogue that makes you weak in the knees.

You grip his hair, pulling him closer as your head falls back in abandon, and a soft moan escapes your lips when he sucks particularly harshly against the hollow of your throat.

“Do that again.” His tongue licks from your neck up to your ear, and the involuntary whimper leaves your lips again. “Fuck.” Raising his hands, he pulls the neckline of your dress down, baring you to him as he keeps muttering low, a litany of words you can’t make sense of and could very well be prayers or curses. Then he cups your breast, his thumb grazing against your nipple as you arch into his touch, seeking his touch, begging for more.

“More.” You whisper as he leans to roll your nipple against his teeth, making you shiver, a combination of hot and cold, pain and pleasure, that leaves you breathless and dizzy. “More, Kid.” Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and your nails bite into his skin in a desperate attempt to have more of him, like you’re requesting.

“Gods, lass. Tell me ye want this.” He groans, his hands already tugging at your skirts, lifting them up. “Tell me ye want me.”

“Aye, Kid, aye! I want you.” Your words are a mere whisper. They’re as hot and desperate as you feel. You need him now.

It’s all the confirmation he needs because, in the next moment, your skirts are pulled all the way up against your hips, and his rough, big fingers find you wet and wanting, ready for his touch. He parts your lips, inserting one finger with a low, hot groan against your ear, and you arch your body to his touch, a small gasp of pleasure cutting through the silent night. “So tight for me, lass.”

He inserts another finger into your slit and then slides them in and out with slow, languid strokes as you cry out his name. You’ve wanted to feel him touch you for so long, but, somehow, you never imagined it would feel this amazing. “Mine.” He bites into your throat as you arch your head, riding his fingers and feeling heat pooling in your belly. “All mine.”

You can’t even argue with him, all your brattiness and fight lost at the tips of his fingers.

“Gods, Kid, please!” Your head falls forward as you pant into his ear. His fingers feel amazing, but you need more, so much more. “Please!”

Kid uses his weak arm to free his pants and take out his cock, pumping it twice and groaning as he keeps fingering you, his thumb pressing against your clit and sending wave after wave of heat down your legs.

When he removes his fingers, you whine softly, but as his hands grip your thighs and he lifts you up as if you weighed nothing, you gaze into his eyes in anticipation. “Lass–”

“Yours.” It’s all you say before he even asks if you’re sure about this. His eyes darken, and he thrusts forward, inserting himself inside you, stretching you, filling you up completely to the point where you don’t even know how you’ve gone all these years without him to make you whole.

A loud cry of his name leaves your lips as he bottoms out and stands still, waiting for you to accommodate his size. His lips brush against your neck as he feels the way your pulse flutters against his tongue and your cunt throbs around his sheathed cock.

“Easy, lass. Breathe for me, aye?” As you relax in his grip, he pulls back, only to thrust harder, making you cry again. You’re right at the edge, feeling your legs tingling, your coil ready to snap and send you into bliss. “All mine.” He keeps repeating, maybe trying to prove it to you, to stake his claim, but he’s right. You’re his, all his. And you never want to be anyone else’s.

He thrusts harder again, hitting you just right, and you lose yourself in his hold, bare back scraping against the harsh bark of the tree as you cry your release into the night in the form of his name and broken moans. “Fuck, ye feel so good, lass. So good. Scream my name again!” He says, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to do it sooner than you thought, because the warm waves of pleasure are still making you shiver and tingle, and you’re already feeling the build-up of another wave ready to crash over you.

Kid never stops.

“Again, aye? One more?” You nod, your breaths increasing as his thrusts become faster, sloppier and needier.

“Gods, Kid, just like that, I’m–”

“Aye, lass, let it out for me.” He grunts against the curve of your neck as he steadies his arm against your back to hold you with his strong arm, using the other hand to circle and pinch your clit.

Another cry leaves you, the intensity of the bliss much greater than the one before, as your mewls and moans sing into the night. Kid follows you over the abyss right after with a few sloppy thrusts, and you’re both left heaving harsh breaths, tangled in sweaty limbs and bliss.

Why the fuck didn’t you do this sooner?

Tag list: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @takamimami

|Part 3|

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