#john doe oneshot

[astrok1dz]

Heyyy so I just found your account and I really like how you write John Doe so- could I request some head canons or a lil fic about Doe comforting their s/o who’s feeling down?? Something fluffy :]

John Doe comforting his S/O!

You had had an awful day at work. Customers being rude, annoying little kids making dozens of products fall over, all of which you had to clean up, no one willing to lend you a helping hand. You had been late as well, with nothing close to a neat aspect; messy hair, dark eye bags, and a terrible stench to your body. Besides, you could swear there was a dull ache in muscles you weren’t even aware existed.

You knew damn well when your shift ended and your coworker arrived and pointed out how awful you looked, it was about damn time to go home, and that’s what you did, biting your tongue and choking back tears.

You managed to unleash as soon as you closed the front door, sliding down to the floor next to it and curling up in a little ball, sobbing uncontrollably, yet quietly. What if your boyfriend heard y-

“My love! You’re home! Oh You! I missed you so so m- love? Oh no…”

You looked up, sniffling.

“What happened? Are you okay? Did anyone hurt you?”

You nodded.

“Shit Doe, today was- *sniff*- the worst day of my fucking life. Every customer was so fucking rude, one even called me a whore- and- and- *sniff*- and another one had this- this RUDE fucking kid that kept throwing products and- and no one picked it up and- shit! *Sniff*- and then my coworker said I looked like ass and-”

You broke down, now crying loudly. Between the blur that your tears created you managed to glance at John, who looked at you like a sad puppy, looking even more hurt than you did. Before you could check in on him and try to forget about your own pain, you had two arms wrapped around you softly.

“Oh my love… those people don’t deserve to even breathe next to someone like you. Do you know their names? Do you want me to have a little… chat with them?”

You shook your head, nuzzling his neck.

“I just want to- I-I don’t know… am I really so bad at my job? Am I really so fucking ugly?”

“Of course not-”

“Well what would you know? I’m the only person you ever look at! You will never tell me the truth!”

You knew you fucked up when you heard what sounded like a wince and the hug get a little looser.

“I-I’m s-sorry…”

“Love… before you came along, I had never seen such a lovely and pretty person. You’re great at your job! I know better than anyone, you charmed me!”, he chimed, cupping your face to make you look at him and smiling widely. You giggled, and his smile seemed to get impossibly bigger. You sniffled and dried some of your tears.

“And I don’t even know what you mean by ugly! You smell sooooo good, and-”

Well you couldn’t keep feeling bad with the way he kept praising you, your looks and personality. He clung to you the rest of the day, and by the end of it, you had forgotten what had upset you in the first place.

[pekoehoneyncream]

Gaz and Soap Learn to Cartwheel

Words: 1200~

TW: None (sfw)

Feat: Ghost, Gaz, & Soap

More prompt writing from randomly generated prompts. This time the prompt was 'Gymnastics'. Again written from a Ghost centric pov. I picture his internal monologue as being super sassy and I love writing all his acerbic little quips.

Ghost exited the rear base doors only to have his well-earned smoke break derailed by the sight of the impromptu circus auditions his teammates were apparently participating in. Gaz and Johnny had somehow been suckered into learning how to cartwheel by one of the base’s Privates. 

Taking another look at the cavalcade of failures that was happening on the base’s back lawn, Ghost reconsidered. Gaz and Johnny had somehow suckered a Private into teaching them how to cartwheel. 

There wasn’t much cartwheeling actually happening, other than when either of the two chuckle-fucks whinged and demanded that the Private showed them again. The Private, Ghost studied her hard for a moment, trying to dredge her name up from the mass of new recruits that were constantly revolving through the base. He was pretty sure it was Fallur, or something like that. It definitely started with a ‘Fal’... Or was it a Val, Vallur? Private Vallur? No, no, it was definitely Fallur. 

A particularly loud thump drew Ghost’s attention away from his thoughts. He focused up to see Johnny laying face down, making a noise that might have been a groan in another life. A life where Johnny hadn't just belly-flopped into the dirt and knocked all the air out of his lungs. Gaz was also having trouble breathing, bent double by the force of his laughter.

“I said to guide his feet, not try to push him through it.” Private Fallur’s voice was muffled by the hands she was rubbing over her face. 

Ghost took in the many grass stains and smears of dirt that covered his Sergeants’ clothes and deduced that they’d been attempting this for far longer than any sane adult would bother troubling themself with, especially for such a useless skill. If it had been just Johnny or just Gaz on their own, they probably would have called it quits by now, but both of his idiots were so goddamn competitive that they were just egging each other on. Both determined to be the first to do it right. 

“Once more, ah nearly have it noo, show us again woul’ ye, Falsvur?” Johnny had pulled himself to his feet, dusted himself off, and was now making his Puppydog eyes at the poor Private.

Falsvur! That was it! He’d been close, he knew it was ‘Fal’ something. 

Falsvur drew in a deep breath, letting it move her shoulders and expand her ribs, holding it for a long calming moment, then letting it out in a long resigned sigh. 

“Fine,” she agreed, “but only one more time, I’m not missing dinner.” She pointed a stern finger at the Sergeants, who were smiling and nodding at her like grateful bobbleheads. 

Falsvur straightened up, stared down the lawn for a moment, then took a quick step, threw her arms up, and tossed herself forward into a -from what Ghost could tell- impeccable cartwheel. Straight arms, straight legs, strong core, solid landing, no noodleish flopping or eating dirt. 

If Ghost was the judge he’d give her a ten. 

Gaz and Johnny had watched her maneuver like starving dogs, eyes intent, and faces serious. Ghost had seen them less solemn at funerals. 

Much nodding and ‘Okay’ing came from the 141’s corner of this impromptu cartwheel showdown. His Sergeants seemed determined to get it right this time. Ghost slid his phone from his pocket and started recording, feeling a bit mournful he hadn’t been around to watch what must have been some truly glorious first attempts. Completely forgetting his want for a cigarette. 

After a brief scuffle and a furious round of paper-scissors-stone, it was determined that Gaz would be going first. 

Gaz lined himself up, staring blankly ahead and shaking out his arms like he was going into a fight. After a long moment of nothing, Gaz ran a few steps then threw himself forward. His hands made contact, his feet left the ground, and Ghost watched him deliberately straighten out his spine as his feet passed over his head, but he must have overcorrected somehow. 

Gaz’s focused look took on a panicked hue as his legs started tipping backwards and he fell out of his cartwheel, landing on his hands and feet in a sort of table or crab-esque pose. Gaz stayed there for a moment, then went limp, dropping into the dirt with a loud groan of disappointment, “Fuckin' COME ON!” he shouted at the sky, slapping at the ground to work through his frustration. 

“ooo, an’ ya nearly had it there too.” Johnny cooed with mock sympathy, a shit-stirring grin splitting his cheeks. 

Gaz’s head snapped around, his ire finding a new focus, “Go on then,” he goaded “you do it, since it's so easy.”

Johnny’s smile fell off his face and he drew himself up, “Mebbe ah will,” he retorted, walking over a few paces so he had a clear runway and wouldn’t hit anyone. 

Johnny did the same nothing stare-down, that Ghost was coming to understand was integral to cartwheeling, then lunged forward. Forgoing any runup in favour of just pitching himself headfirst into his attempt. His hands hit the dirt and he threw his legs up with a grunt, keeping his spine straight as his feet passed over his head, but neglecting -Ghost noted- to fully unbend his knees. Johnny’s feet started to come down on his other side, but he had too much momentum and couldn’t stick the landing. His legs folded under him and he ended in an awkward crouch, all his weight sat uncomfortably on his tangled feet. Trying to stand failed and Johnny fell out of his newly invented yoga pose to land on his ass with an upset grunt and an upsetter pout. 

Gaz’s snickering reached him through his sulk, and Johnny whipped around to fervently defend his honor, “Ah still did better than ye!”

Gaz gasped with what seemed to be genuine offense, “You did not! Your legs were bent the whole time!” Gaz shouted as he stood -having not bothered to before- to properly lord over Johnny’s failings.

“Bu’ ah didnae tip o’er half way noo did ah, ya pishin dafty!” came what Ghost could only assume was Johnny's rebuttal, as he too stood up. Immediately getting in Gaz’s face. 

“That doesn't mean you did any better! It just means your fail was longer!” Gaz bit out, then suddenly remembered that they weren’t alone and turned on Falsvur, “Tell him, Private!” 

Johnny also turned to face down the poor woman, “Aye! Tell the bampot all his eggs are double-yoakit, as he cannae see it himsel’,” he planted a hand on his hip and pointed an accusing finger in Gaz’s direction without even deigning to actually look over at him. 

“Uhm!” Private Falsvur squeaked, holding up her hands to ward off the highly trained special forces military men, who were demanding she rank their cartwheels, “Uh, you both did better than you did before. You’re definitely improving!” She gave them a grin and a shaky thumbs up. 

Gaz and Johnny were stopped from making any kind of reply as Ghost finally lost the stangle-hold he’d been struggling to maintain over his composure and went down in hysterics. 

The Sergeants gawped with open mouths and horrified eyes as their Lieutenant slowly sank down the wall behind him, hugging his belly and heaving with laughter. Phone still clutched in one hand. 

Ghost was sure that the last part of the video was going to be nigh-on unwatchable with how hard he’d been shaking with silent giggles, but it was so worth it. 

Ghost felt his eyes start to sting as his tears made his eye-black run and tried to calm down, taking deep breaths and blowing them out slowly. When only one breath in three ended with a giggle, Ghost slid his phone securely back into his pocket and opened his eyes to find his Sergeants standing over him, one sheepishly, one impatiently, and Private Falsvur nowhere to be seen. 

“Well? Wasnae mah cartwheel better?” 

Tada! Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it! If you're wondering, the first thing Ghost did with that video is show it to Price.

If you have an idea or a prompt you want me to write, please tell me! My ask box is open.

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[gotham-witch]

15k word Justice poly (Batman, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, and Superman) fic just dropped. Slow-burn, fake dating, and “I would die for you” “Not if I die for you first” tropes! -Kam

[watermel0ns-dumb-cringe]

Whiteboard doodles ft. some friends

[skelezen]

Hibiscus spice gives the room a sense of warmth as he walked past the gently placed vases with withered roses in. A faded piano key rushed the room as it grows in volume to the step of his foot until all he could hear was a familiar tune; “Faroe get off that bloody thing!” He yelled with a seemingly angry tone as he slammed the once peacefully still door causing a disruption to the warm room.

The atmosphere turned cold with a stiff breeze as the mood drastically changed. “Faroe?” He yelled his voice quieter as he realized there was no one there - not a single soul played that tune he found familiar. It was just him and him alone.

Suddenly, the piano tune churned into an accurately rotting voice marinating the room in a sweet poison, “And now you call it madness…” the music drifted off its tone distorted to his ears. “But I call it love…”

The messy man woke up to an eerily silent surrounding realizing it was all a dream except he swore the song was still playing somewhere in the corner of his brain. “Good morning Arthur.”

[lizziesangel]

As someone that does NOT want kids, and seeing no oneshots about it…….I was thinking….Maybe Reader and Rafe have not yet had a discussion about it, as they are pretty early on in their dating (but in love) and her heart breaks when during a conversation (either with her/or her overhearing Rafe) it sounds like he wants them in the future with her. And she feels like she needs to break up with him so he can be happy and get what he wants. Loooooots of angst. But unknown to her, Rafe’s mindset is more ‘’I’ve never wanted kids, but if I was ever gonna have them, it would be with her, SHE makes me want them, but I would never want them with anyone else. It’s with her or no one’’

stop, this is such a beautiful request!! - 7.4k words

the sound of laughter echoed down the hall as you approached sarah’s room. you had stopped by tannyhill to check on her, bringing some homemade cookies since pregnancy had turned her into a snack connoisseur. but as you lifted your hand to knock on her bedroom door, sarah’s voice carried through the partially closed door, halting you in your tracks.

“so, rafe,” sarah’s voice rang out, teasing but curious, “what about you? would you ever want kids?”

you froze. her question caught you completely off guard, and before you could decide whether to knock or retreat, rafe’s voice answered.

“me? kids?” he chuckled, the sound light but contemplative. “i don’t know. i’ve never really thought about it seriously. i mean… the idea...”

“oh, come on,” sarah teased. “really?”

“yeah,” rafe admitted with a laugh. “but, i don’t know.”

“maybe it’s not as terrifying as i used to think.”

“that’s grossly sentimental for you, bro,” john b chimed in, his voice carrying a smirk.

“shut up,” rafe shot back, but there was no real venom in his tone. after a beat, he continued, “i mean, not now. God, no. we’ve still got plenty of time. we’re not that old yet.”

“so, you do think you’d want kids someday?” sarah pressed.

rafe nodded as his voice softened, thoughtful. “i think i might. someday, when things are right. i think i’d want that.”

your stomach twisted painfully at his words. it was the first time you’d ever heard him talk about wanting kids. and the fact that he sounded so… open to the idea? so sure, even if it was distant and vague? your chest tightened, your breath catching in your throat.

“huh,” sarah said after a pause, clearly surprised. “that’s not what i expected you to say.”

“yeah, well,” rafe let out a wry chuckle. “i just never gave it a real thought before.”

“either way, if it happens someday, i’d be okay with it.”

john b whistled low. “never thought i’d hear you say that, dude.”

“guess i’m full of surprises,” rafe quipped.

the three of them laughed, but you couldn’t move. his words were swirling in your mind, sinking in like stones into water, creating ripples of panic that spread through every part of you.

you backed away from the door, clutching the plate of cookies like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality. your thoughts blurred into a dizzying mess as you made your way down the hall, heart pounding in your chest.

rafe wanted kids.

not now, but someday. he wanted a future that included something you’d never imagined for yourself. the realization hit you like a wave, and for the first time since you’d fallen for him, you wondered if love would be enough to hold you both together.

the faint sound of footsteps descending the stairs broke through the quiet hum of the kitchen. you busied yourself with arranging the cookies on a plate, your movements deliberate, careful, as though focusing on the small task would keep your thoughts in check.

“hey, baby,” rafe’s voice came from the doorway, warm and casual. he stepped in, his hair slightly tousled, his expression relaxed. the sight of him sent a pang through your chest, but you forced a small smile and turned toward him.

“hi,” you replied softly, keeping your tone light. “these cookies are for sarah, but take one if you want one.”

he approached, his gaze flickering to you before landing on the plate. “you okay? you didn’t come up to sarah’s room.”

you shrugged, busying yourself with wiping imaginary crumbs off the counter. “i wasn’t feeling great. thought i’d just drop these off and head home.”

his brow furrowed, concern flickering in his eyes. “what’s wrong? anything i can do?”

“you look kinda pale.”

you waved a hand dismissively, stepping back from the counter and crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “i’m fine, just… not feeling great. probably something i ate.” the words felt hollow, but they were enough to deflect.

he frowned, his concern deepening. “anything i can do? want me to get you some water or—?”

“no,” you cut in, the word sharper than you intended. you softened immediately, forcing a small smile. “i’m fine. really. i think i just need to head home and rest.”

rafe stepped closer, his hand brushing your arm, a gentle tether to reality. “you sure?”

“yeah,” you said quickly, looking anywhere but at him. “i’ll be fine. don’t worry about me.”

rafe didn’t seem convinced. he stepped closer, his gaze searching your face. “you sure? i can drive you home if you want.”

you avoided his eyes, turning to rearrange the plate of cookies unnecessarily. “that’s sweet, but i’ll be okay. it’s not a big deal.”

his gaze lingered on you, uncertain, before he nodded. “alright. but if you need anything, just call me, okay?”

you nodded, your smile stretched too thin. “of course.”

rafe leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. the gesture was warm, tender, and it made the ache in your chest intensify. he pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you in that familiar way that always made you feel safe. but tonight, it felt different—like the embrace of someone standing on one side of an invisible divide while you stood on the other.

“get some rest, alright?” he murmured against your hair.

“yeah,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “i will.”

for a moment, the two of you stood there, the air between you heavy with unsaid words. then you stepped back, putting a little space between you and his earnest concern.

“well, enjoy the cookies,” you said, trying to inject some brightness into your tone. “sarah’s gonna love them, i think.”

rafe’s lips curved into a small smile, though his eyes lingered on you, still laced with worry. “she will. you’re amazing for making them.”

you waved him off with a faint laugh, already heading toward the door. “tell her i said hi.”

“hey,” he called after you, his voice stopping you just as your hand touched the doorknob. when you turned back, his expression was serious, almost hesitant. “take care of yourself, alright?”

your heart twisted, but you forced a steady nod. “i will. see you later, rafe.”

he lingered for a moment, as if sensing something was off, before letting you go. he watched you walk away.

as the door clicked shut behind you, the silence pressed down heavily, and you sank into your car, staring blankly at the street in front of you. the disconnect between your love for him and the path his words upstairs had revealed felt like an unbridgeable chasm.

you sat there for what felt like an eternity, detached from everything except the pounding in your chest and the weight of the questions you didn’t yet know how to answer.

the bathroom was quiet except for the soft hum of your phone speaker, playing a low, calming playlist. the pale light above the mirror cast a warm glow over your face as you leaned in, focusing on the small ritual of doing your makeup. the act was as soothing as it was deliberate—something to keep your hands busy and your mind steady.

you started with foundation, dotting the liquid across your face and blending it out with a damp beauty blender. the repetitive motion was grounding, the soft pat-pat-pat against your skin a reminder to breathe. you took your time, making sure everything looked even, though rafe had never seemed to notice the small imperfections you always fretted over. he’d tell you, you looked beautiful even if you showed up barefaced, hair messy, and wearing sweatpants.

but tonight wasn’t just any night. it was saturday, your night, and for the past five months, it had become a routine you both cherished. rafe would pick you up, dressed to perfection, and take you somewhere special. every week was different—a cozy little café one night, a moonlit stroll on the beach another. and tonight? he’d hinted at something fancy, something that made your chest flutter with excitement.

you reached for your concealer next, dabbing it under your eyes and along the sides of your nose. as you blended it out, your mind wandered. you hadn’t thought about that conversation in a few days, but as always, it came creeping back.

“i think i might. someday.”

rafe’s voice echoed in your mind, soft but resolute. the words had taken root, an unshakable presence that you couldn’t quite ignore. he had sounded so open to the idea of a future you’d never envisioned for yourself. and no matter how much you tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter, it lingered.

you shook your head, focusing on your reflection. not tonight. you weren’t going to let those thoughts ruin what should be a perfect evening.

your blush came next, a warm, rosy hue that you dusted lightly across your cheeks. it brightened your face, giving you a soft glow. you smiled faintly, testing it in the mirror, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. ‘fake it till you make it,’ you told yourself, setting the brush down.

moving on to your eyes, you picked up a neutral-toned palette and traced a soft brown into the crease of your lids, blending carefully. the act of applying eyeshadow always required precision, and for a while, it was all you could think about—whether the colors matched, if they blended smoothly.

when you finished, you reached for your eyeliner, hesitating for a moment. you didn’t always wear it, but tonight felt like an eyeliner kind of night. you traced a thin line along your upper lashes, flicking it out into a small wing at the corners. it wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

lashes were the final touch for your eyes, and you took your time applying it, brushing the wand through your lashes until they were looked full enough. the transformation was subtle but striking, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to feel satisfied.

the last step was your lips. you chose a specific shade, one that complemented your dress without drawing too much attention. as you swiped the color across your lips, you caught your own gaze in the mirror. you looked… good.

stepping back, you assessed the final result. the makeup was understated but elegant, a perfect match for the dress waiting for you on the hanger. you tilted your head, testing a smile. this one felt more real, though there was still a faint unease lurking beneath the surface.

it’s just another saturday. just another date with rafe. stop. overthinking.

grabbing a makeup wipe, you cleaned the edges of the sink and glanced at the time. he’d be here soon. the thought sent a rush of nervous energy through you, the kind that always came just before you saw him.

you leaned in one last time, making sure everything was just right before stepping back. “good enough,” you muttered to yourself, forcing another smile.

the sound of a car horn outside startled you, and you grabbed your purse, giving yourself a final once-over in the mirror. with a deep breath, you turned off the bathroom light and headed for the door, bracing yourself for the night ahead.

the soft hum of the car engine filled the air as rafe drove, one hand resting on the wheel, the other casually draped over the center console. the smell of his cologne—crisp and woodsy—lingered in the small space, grounding you in the moment. he looked over at you, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard lights, and smiled.

“still not going to tell me where we’re going?” you asked, your voice teasing as you glanced over at him.

“nope,” he replied with a smirk, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “you’ll find out soon enough. trust me, it’s worth the suspense.”

you rolled your eyes playfully, but you couldn’t help the small flutter of anticipation that stirred in your chest.

the drive was peaceful, the city lights stretching out around you as the car wove through the streets. you found yourself relaxing into the rhythm of the ride, the faint sound of music playing in the background as you chatted about your week. rafe had a way of making you forget about everything else, his steady presence filling the space with an easy warmth.

“okay, here we are,” he said, pulling into a sleek, modern building with a glowing sign that read le jardin. the valet was already stepping forward as rafe parked, opening your door with a flourish.

you stepped out, your heels clicking against the even pavement, taking in the restaurant’s elegant exterior. tall glass windows gave a glimpse into the softly lit interior, where tables were set with crisp white linens and flickering candles. it was the kind of place you’d never have thought to go on your own—too fancy, too refined. but with rafe beside you, it felt like you belonged.

“you really went all out tonight,” you said, slipping your hand into his as you approached the entrance.

he looked down at you, his grin softening into something warmer. “you deserve it.”

inside, the maître d’ greeted you with a smile, clearly recognizing rafe. he led you to a quiet table near the back, where a single candle flickered in the center of the table. the low hum of conversation filled the air, mingling with the soft strains of a piano playing somewhere in the distance.

rafe pulled out your chair for you before taking his own seat across the table. the intimacy of the setting, combined with the way he looked at you, sent a wave of warmth rushing through you.

“you’ve been here before?” you asked, glancing at the menu, which was printed in both french and english.

“once or twice,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair. “figured you’d like it. plus, i hear the chocolate soufflé is life-changing.”

“is that so?” you asked with a laugh, raising an eyebrow.

“oh, definitely,” he said, his expression serious in a way that was clearly exaggerated. “it’s basically the reason i brought you here.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. he had a way of making you feel at ease, of turning even the most sophisticated setting into something comfortable and fun.

the waiter appeared, taking your drink orders and explaining the evening’s specials. you let rafe order for both of you, trusting his judgment, and before long, the first course arrived—a beautifully plated dish that looked almost too good to eat.

as the evening went on, the conversation flowed effortlessly. you found yourself laughing at his jokes, your worries melting away with each passing moment. there was something intoxicating about the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room, his attention unwavering.

when the dessert arrived—a shared chocolate soufflé with a dollop of whipped cream on the side—he scooped up a bite and held it out to you.

“here,” he said, his eyes dancing with amusement. “you’ve gotta try this.”

you leaned forward, taking the offered bite, and your eyes widened as the rich, velvety chocolate melted on your tongue.

“okay, you weren’t kidding,” you said, savoring the taste. “this is amazing.”

“told you,” he said smugly, taking a bite for himself.

by the time the bill arrived, you felt lighter than you had in days, the tension you’d carried with you earlier almost forgotten. rafe reached across the table, his fingers brushing yours as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice quiet, his gaze searching.

“yeah,” you said softly, meeting his eyes. “i’m good.”

he smiled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “good.”

as you left the restaurant, his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close. the cool night air was a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

but as you climbed back into the car and the city lights blurred past the windows, the memory of his words from that day at tannyhill crept back into your mind. “i think i might. someday.”

you tried to push the thought away, focusing instead on the sound of his voice as he told you a story about something ridiculous sarah had done earlier that week. for now, you would hold onto this—the laughter, the warmth, the way he made you feel like nothing else mattered. even if the future still felt uncertain, tonight, you had him. and that was enough.

the hum of the engine and the gentle rhythm of the tires against the road filled the quiet as rafe drove, his hand resting comfortably on the wheel. the warm night air filtered through the cracked windows, carrying with it the faint scent of salt from the ocean.

it was late—later than you usually stayed out—but neither of you seemed eager for the night to end. you glanced over at him, watching the way the soft glow of the dashboard lights cast shadows across his face. he looked relaxed, one hand loosely gripping the wheel while the other rested on his thigh.

“where are we going?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the peaceful stillness.

“you’ll see,” he replied, glancing at you with a small smile. “just trust me.”

“i always do,” you said softly, and his smile widened.

the road stretched out before you, empty and quiet, lined with tall palm trees that swayed gently in the warm breeze. above, the sky was a vast expanse of deep indigo, dotted with countless stars that seemed to twinkle just for you. you leaned your head against the window, watching them blur and shimmer as the car rolled along.

rafe reached over and took your hand, his fingers threading through yours with an ease that made your heart flutter. his palm was warm against yours, grounding you in the moment.

“it’s so quiet,” you murmured, looking out at the horizon. the ocean was just barely visible now, a dark, endless expanse that mirrored the sky.

“yeah,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful. “figured we could use some quiet after tonight.”

you smiled, squeezing his hand. “it was perfect, by the way. the restaurant, the soufflé… all of it. thank you.”

he glanced at you briefly, his blue eyes soft. “you don’t have to thank me. i just like seeing you happy.”

your chest tightened at his words, and you looked away, focusing on the stars again. it wasn’t just what he said—it was the way he said it, so matter-of-fact, like your happiness was the most important thing in the world to him.

after a few more minutes, he turned down a narrow, unpaved road that wound through the dunes. the sound of the ocean grew louder, the rhythmic crash of waves filling the night air. he parked the car at the edge of a small clearing and turned off the engine, leaving only the soft chirping of crickets and the distant roar of the sea.

“come on,” he said, stepping out and coming around to open your door.

you took his hand as you stepped out, the sand cool beneath your feet as you took of your heels. the beach stretched out before you, illuminated by the pale light of the moon and stars. the water glittered in the distance, its surface shifting and shimmering with each wave.

“it’s beautiful,” you said, your voice barely audible over the sound of the ocean.

“not as beautiful as you,” rafe quipped, grinning when you rolled your eyes.

he slipped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you walked toward the shoreline. the warm breeze carried the scent of salt and seaweed, and the sand was soft and cool beneath your feet. you kicked off your shoes without a second thought, letting your toes sink into it.

rafe led you to a spot where the dunes gave way to a flat stretch of sand, and he sank down, tugging you gently to join him. you sat beside him, your shoulder brushing his, as you both looked up at the stars.

“they’re so bright out here,” you said, tilting your head back.

“yeah,” rafe agreed, his voice quiet. “hard to see them like this back in town.”

Fforr a while, neither of you spoke, content to sit in the stillness. his arm draped around your shoulders, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your arm. the simple touch sent shivers down your spine, but not from the cold—it was the kind of warmth that came from feeling completely safe, completely at ease.

“what are you thinking about?” he asked eventually, his voice breaking the silence.

you hesitated, unsure how to put it into words. “just… this,” you said finally, gesturing toward the sky. “how big it all is... and how small we are.”

rafe chuckled softly. “getting philosophical on me now?”

“maybe,” you said with a smile. “it’s just… nights like this make me feel like everything’s okay. like it doesn’t matter how messy life gets because this”—you gestured again, to the ocean, the stars, everything—“is always here.”

he was quiet for a moment, then said, “i get that. it’s kind of nice, isn’t it? knowing that some things don’t change.”

you turned to look at him, his face illuminated by the faint glow of the moon. he was already watching you, his expression soft and open in a way that made your heart ache.

“yeah,” you said quietly. “it is.”

without thinking, you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arm tightening around you.

“thanks for bringing me here,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“anytime,” he replied, his voice low and sincere. “i’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

you didn’t respond, but the way your fingers curled around his was answer enough. together, you sat beneath the stars, the waves crashing in the distance, the rest of the world fading away.

that was, until the sound of a sudden snuffling startled you, pulling you out of your thoughts. a dog—a big, floppy-eared golden retriever—trotted past, his nose buried in the sand as he sniffed around curiously. his tail wagged with enthusiasm, sending little puffs of sand into the air.

“charlie!” a woman’s voice called out, tinged with both amusement and exasperation. “get back here!”

you turned toward the sound, spotting a figure approaching in the distance. as the dog made his way over to you and rafe, his owner hurried closer, followed by a man holding the hand of a young child who couldn’t have been older than three.

“i’m so sorry!” the woman said as she reached you, her hand resting on the swell of her pregnant belly. she looked flustered, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “he gets too excited around people.”

“especially when he smells the ocean. i hope he didn’t bother you.”

“no, not at all,” rafe said, grinning as he crouched to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “charlie, huh? he’s a good boy.”

the dog wagged his tail even harder, clearly pleased with the attention.

the woman smiled, her relief evident. “he’s just a bit too enthusiastic sometimes.”

“it’s all good,” rafe said with a warm smile.

the woman laughed, her embarrassment giving way to gratitude. “thank you for being so understanding. it’s been chaos trying to wrangle him and the little one while…” she patted her belly, her voice trailing off.

“when’s the baby due?” rafe asked, his voice filled with genuine interest.

“oh, just a few weeks now,” she said, resting a hand on her belly. “it feels like forever, though. this one’s been much more active than our first.”

her husband laughed, shifting the toddler on his shoulders. “that’s an understatement. i keep telling her it’s because this one’s going to be a soccer player.”

“but, we’re so excited,” his wife replied, taking a hold of her toddler’s hanging hand.

“and you sound proud already,” rafe said with a chuckle.

“of course,” the man replied, beaming. “family’s everything.”

“she’s been amazing through everything. i don’t know how she does it.”

the woman rolled her eyes playfully at her husband but smiled, her expression softening as she looked at her family.

rafe chuckled, straightening up. “congratulations. that’s awesome. you’ve got a beautiful family.”

“thank you,” the man said, clearly glowing with pride. “and good luck to you two someday.”

rafe laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he replied, “yeah, thank you. i can’t wait.”

the words felt like a punch to your stomach. your eyes snapped to rafe, and for a second, the world seemed to stop spinning. time itself seemed to freeze as you watched him.

his face was glowing, his eyes wide and filled with an excitement you hadn’t seen before. they sparkled, brighter than the stars above, his expression open and so unguarded that it took your breath away.

full of something you could only describe as hope.

it was a look so pure, so unburdened, that for a moment, the world seemed to stop spinning. the waves went silent, the stars froze in their constellations, and the night held its breath.

but that feeling in your chest wasn’t warmth or joy—it was a cold, sinking dread.

you couldn’t move. you couldn’t breathe. the sight of him—so happy, so open—sent a sharp pang through your chest, twisting and knotting into something that felt almost unbearable.

the family waved as they turned to leave, the dog bounding along happily beside them. rafe sat beside you, watching them go with a soft smile on his face, his hand slipping into yours.

“that’s the dream, huh?” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. then he turned to you, his smile growing.

“i can’t wait for us to get to that point, you know? when we’re married and starting our own little family.”

his words shattered the fragile calm you’d been clinging to. your chest tightened, and your throat felt like it was closing up. the thought of his dream—the dream you couldn’t seem to picture for yourself.

your stomach flipped violently, a wave of nausea crashing over you as the words sank in. you couldn’t think, couldn’t process. the idyllic vision he painted—the future he clearly dreamed of—it wasn’t yours. And it was becoming painfully clear that it might never be.

suddenly, the stars seemed too bright, the air too thick, and the sand felt like it was swallowing you whole.

“i—” you cut yourself off, swallowing hard. “i think i want to go home.”

he blinked, his brow furrowing slightly. “what? are you okay? did something happen?”

you shook your head quickly, avoiding his eyes. “no, nothing. i just… i don’t feel great.”

“do you want to—”

“no,” you said, a little too sharply. “i just… i need to go home.”

rafe hesitated, clearly concerned, but he nodded. “okay. let’s go.”

the drive back was a quiet one, the kind of silence that wasn’t quite comfortable but wasn’t unbearable either. the hum of the engine and the soft murmur of your playlist from the car speakers filled the void. your phone had connected to rafe’s car the moment he started it, as it always did—a small, automatic reminder of how intertwined your lives had become without you even noticing.

the familiar melodies from your favorite songs drifted through the car, songs you’d once shared with him on a whim, now part of the soundtrack to every drive you took together.

it felt all bittersweet.

rafe glanced at you every so often, his fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel in time with the music. you kept your gaze fixed on the window, watching the streetlights blur as they passed. the warm glow of the night had given way to the cool, dim quiet of the late hour, and the stars still hung heavy above, visible even through the city lights.

when he pulled into your driveway, he put the car in park but didn’t make a move to turn it off. for a moment, the two of you just sat there, the last strains of a song fading into the next.

“thanks for tonight,” you said softly, finally breaking the silence. “i had a lot of fun… while it lasted.”

his lips quirked into a small, hesitant smile. “i’m glad you did. you looked like you were having a good time.”

“i was,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.

he studied you for a moment, as though trying to decipher the meaning behind your words, before he leaned across the console. his hand reached for yours, his fingers brushing yours gently, and for the first time since leaving the beach, you looked at him.

“are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice filled with a concern that made your chest ache.

you nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “yeah. just tired.”

he didn’t look convinced, but he let it go, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. the gesture was so tender, so inherently rafe, that it made the knot in your chest tighten even further.

“let me walk you to your door,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle, leaving no room for argument.

you nodded silently, and the two of you stepped out of the car. the night air was cooler now, the faint sound of crickets filling the quiet as he fell into step beside you. he held your hand loosely as you walked up the path, the familiar warmth of his touch somehow both comforting and overwhelming.

when you reached your door, he turned to face you, his gaze searching yours for something you couldn’t bring yourself to offer.

“goodnight, baby,” he said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek, lingering just long enough for your breath to catch. “text me if you need anything, okay?”

“i will,” you lied, the words barely audible.

you stepped inside, offering him one last fleeting smile before closing the door. through the crack in the curtains, you watched as he stood there for a moment, his hands in his pockets, before finally turning and walking back to his car.

the sight of his taillights disappearing down the street left you standing in the quiet of your home, your heart heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

the days that followed your night at the beach were heavy and strange. you found yourself retreating into your thoughts, replaying almost every moment you had with rafe and analyzing it to exhaustion. you hadn’t returned his texts or calls right away, and when you finally did, your responses were clipped and neutral.

he noticed, of course. rafe always noticed. but he didn’t push, at least not at first.

it wasn’t that you didn’t care for him—you did, deeply. that was the problem. you cared too much, and the thought of a future you couldn’t share, one he so clearly dreamed of, felt like an anchor pulling you down. you didn’t want to hurt him, but you couldn’t see a way forward that wouldn’t.

so, after days of avoiding him and mulling over your options, you texted him, asking to meet at the frozen yogurt place you both liked. it was neutral ground, public, somewhere you could speak without the intimacy of his car or your home.

when you arrived, he was already there, sitting at a secluded table in the corner. his smile was warm as he waved you over, but you barely managed one in return.

the froyo place felt colder than usual, even though the warm pastel colors and hum of the machines usually made it inviting. he looked so at ease, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair, a smile spreading across his face the moment he saw you.

“hey,” he greeted, leaning back in his chair as you sat down. “i got here a little early, so i already ordered. figured you’d want your usual.”

“thanks,” you said softly, avoiding his gaze as you fiddled with your bag.

he frowned slightly, but his expression quickly shifted to something lighter as he started talking, filling the space with his voice.

“so, the other day, topper had this brilliant idea—well, okay, not brilliant—but he wanted to see if we could—”

you weren’t really listening. the words blurred together as your thoughts drowned them out. your chest tightened as you worked up the courage to say what you’d been rehearsing in your head for days.

“—but kelce, being kelce, is just standing there filming the whole thing instead of helping. and, of course, he—”

“i think we should break up.”

the words sliced through his story like a blade, abrupt and jagged.

it fell from your lips before you could stop them, your voice flat and abrupt. the sound of them seemed to hang in the air, sharp and irreversible.

rafe stopped mid-sentence, blinking at you like he hadn’t heard right. “what?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, his brows knitting together.

you couldn’t look at him. your gaze stayed fixed on the table, your fingers tracing the edge of your cup. “i think we should break up,” you repeated, quieter this time.

for a moment, he just stared at you, the confusion in his expression giving way to disbelief. “you’re kidding,” he said, a weak laugh escaping his lips. “this is a joke, right?”

his hand fell to the table, “where is this coming from? did i… did i do something wrong?”

you shook your head, your throat tightening as you forced the words out. “i’m serious, rafe.”

“serious?” he echoed, his voice dropping lower. “what are you talking about? where the hell is this coming from?”

“no,” you added quickly, “it’s not you, rafe. it’s just… i don’t think this is working.”

“not working?” he leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “since when? things were fine—great, even! we’ve been great!”

“please don’t make this harder,” you interrupted, your voice cracking.

“harder?” he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “i think i deserve an explanation at least. if i did something, just tell me, and we can—”

“it’s not you.”

but the words sounded hollow even to your own ears.

“not me?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly. “then what is it? is there someone else? did i do something—God, just tell me what’s going on!”

“it’s not about you!” you snapped, your tone sharper than you intended. the sting of your own words made you wince. “it’s not like that, rafe!” you snapped, your voice cracking as your composure began to slip.

“i just… i can’t do this right now, okay?”

“then what is it?” his voice broke, the raw emotion in it twisting the knife in your chest. “you can’t just say you want to end things without a reason. we’re not kids, and i deserve to know why the hell you’re doing this.”

you opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. every explanation you’d rehearsed felt inadequate, and the weight of his gaze pinned you to the spot.

when the silence stretched too long, his face fell, his blue eyes darkening with hurt. “you’re not even going to try to explain?” he asked, his voice trembling now.

“i can’t do this,” you said, your voice barely audible as you stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor.

“wait, just—” he reached out instinctively, his hand brushing yours, but you pulled away like his touch burned.

“i have to go,” you said, your voice breaking completely.

“don’t do this,” he said, his tone almost pleading now.

“just… don’t go. please.”

but you didn’t look back. you pushed through the door and into the cool evening air, your chest heaving as you tried to breathe past the lump in your throat. his voice called after you, raw and desperate, but you didn’t stop.

you took the long way home, winding through narrow paths and side streets where cars couldn’t follow. the ache in your legs was nothing compared to the hollow, gnawing pain in your chest.

when you finally reached your front door, you collapsed against it, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilling over. his face—confused, hurt, betrayed—was burned into your mind, and the sound of his voice pleading with you echoed in your ears.

you told yourself it was for the best. that someday, he’d understand.

two weeks had passed since that day at the frozen yogurt place. you'd kept to your routine, going to school, trying to pretend like everything was fine. it had never felt more unnatural, avoiding rafe in the halls, ignoring his messages, avoiding his eyes. but it was what you had to do, right? you had to push him away before he got any closer.

but tonight, as you sat in your room, the sound of rain pattering against your window, something felt different.

a knock on the door startled you, and you froze. who would be out there at this hour, especially with the storm raging outside?

when you opened the door, your heart skipped a beat. standing there, drenched from head to toe, was rafe.

his hair was plastered to his forehead, his shirt soaked through, his usual confident posture lost in the slumped shoulders that screamed exhaustion and heartbreak. his breath hitched as he saw you, eyes wide, his lips trembling.

“i couldn’t stay away,” he said, voice hoarse, barely audible over the storm.

you stood frozen for a moment, staring at him in shock. what was he doing here? why was he here? he had made it clear you were done. you’d made it clear.

but seeing him there, in front of you, eyes filled with a desperation you had never seen before, broke something inside you. without thinking, you stepped aside, pulling him in through the door.

“rafe, you’re soaked…” you mumbled, your heart pounding as you led him into the warmth of your living room. his wet clothes left puddles on the floor as you quickly grabbed a towel from the kitchen, your hands trembling slightly as you began to dry his hair.

“i don’t care,” he whispered, almost fiercely, his voice thick with emotion. he stood still, not meeting your gaze, just letting you work in silence.

the tension in the room was thick, but after a long moment, rafe finally spoke again, his voice cracking under the weight of the words.

“i’ve never been so sure of anything in my life… that i want a future with you. i can’t imagine it without you,” he said, his eyes meeting yours now.

“i don’t care what happens in the future, or how hard it gets, i want you. i need you, and i can’t lose you. please, don’t make me lose you.”

your heart ached at the rawness of his words, and you pulled the towel away from his head, your fingers brushing against his skin, still damp and cold.

“rafe,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you led him to the couch, sitting beside him. “i never wanted to hurt you. you mean everything to me.”

he looked at you, his eyes pleading, his voice barely a whisper as he finally broke down. “i thought i had everything figured out, but you… you changed me, for the better. i don’t care about anything else. i just want to be with you, now and forever. you make me see a future i never thought i wanted, and i’m terrified of losing it. losing you.”

you felt your chest tighten, the storm outside reflecting the storm inside you. he was so vulnerable, so open, and it was breaking you.

but the words you needed to say, the reason you broke up with him, had been eating away at you for days, and now, you knew it was time.

“rafe… i… i was—i am scared,” you began, your voice shaky. “i was scared of how much i cared about you, of how much i wanted things to work, but i didn’t think we could. i can’t give you what you want. and i don’t want to hold you back from whatever future you had in mind.”

he reached for your hand, his grip tight and desperate. “what are you talking about? i don’t need anything else. i just need you.”

you looked at him, your heart pounding as the words finally came, spilling out in a rush. “i’m talking about children. the one you were dreaming of. i don’t think i’m ready for that. i don’t think i’ll ever be ready. i don’t want kids.”

rafe blinked, the shock on his face growing as he processed your words, and for a moment, silence filled the room.

then, slowly, his lips parted, and he reached for your hand, pulling it gently toward his chest. his eyes burned with an intensity you couldn’t look away from.

“you’re everything i’ve ever wanted. i’d never want it with anyone else. i don’t care about the future without you,” he said, his voice raw and urgent. “if i can’t have it with you, i don’t want it at all.”

you stared at him, your heart racing. the weight of his words hung in the air, and despite all the doubts you’d had, the walls you’d built, you couldn’t help but feel them start to crumble.

the air between you and rafe hung heavy with unsaid words, the tension thick with the vulnerability you both shared. the storm outside had grown worse, but inside, everything felt still, almost suspended in time. rafe’s gaze never left yours, his grip on your hand firm yet gentle, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he loosened it even for a second.

you couldn’t speak at first, couldn’t find the right words to bridge the gap between what you both felt. the silence was unbearable, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was just… raw. vulnerable. everything that had been left unspoken, hanging in the space between you, was finally being acknowledged.

“i’m sorry,” rafe’s voice cracked, breaking the quiet, and you felt your chest tighten at the sincerity in his words. “i should’ve… i should’ve asked what you needed. i should’ve paid more attention to how you were feeling. i was too focused on what i wanted. on the idea of what we could be.”

you shook your head, your thumb brushing gently across the back of his hand. “no, rafe. it wasn’t you, it was me. i was scared of how much i needed you, how much i wanted things to work. i didn’t think i could give you what you wanted… the future you dreamed of.”

“but i don’t want a future without you,” he whispered urgently, his eyes pleading, as if the very idea of being without you was something unbearable. “i don’t care what it looks like. i just want it to be with you. i don’t care about anything else.”

“we could adopt a cat or ten, i don’t care, as long as you’re by my side.”

your breath caught in your throat at his words, and for a moment, it felt like everything inside you had come undone, like the walls you’d built were nothing more than fragile dust in the air. you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the rawness of everything he was feeling. and it was terrifying. terrifying because it mirrored exactly what you had been trying to avoid.

but you couldn’t avoid it anymore. you couldn’t keep pushing him away when all you wanted was to hold him close.

“baby,” you whispered.

“i’ll never want anyone else. it’s always been you, and it will always be you. i’m not going anywhere.” he said, his voice steady now, his gaze intense as he looked deep into your eyes.

you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a mix of relief and pain washing over you. the way he looked at you, with such certainty and devotion, made everything feel like it was falling back into place. the pieces of your heart that had shattered began to slowly piece together again.

he reached for you then, pulling you into his arms, and you let him, burying your face in the warmth of his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calm the chaos inside of you. his arms wrapped around you tightly, almost as if he was afraid to let go, and you clung to him just as desperately.

“i don’t know what to say,” you mumbled against his chest, voice muffled as you tried to hold back your tears. “i didn’t want to hurt you, rafe. i thought if i just ended things, i wouldn’t have to face how much i cared about you.”

“you don’t have to say or do anything,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “just let me hold you, please. let me be here for you. i don’t care about anything else.”

you felt the weight of everything finally start to lift, and in the warmth of his arms, it felt like you could finally breathe again. you pulled back slightly to look at him, his face soft and tired, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart flutter.

“i don’t want to be without you, either,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “i was just… scared. scared of what this could mean. scared of how much i needed you.”

“you don’t have to be scared,” rafe said softly, his thumb gently brushing away a tear that had escaped. “i’m not going anywhere. i’ll never leave you. i promise.”

you nodded, finally allowing yourself to relax, feeling his warmth envelop you in a way that made everything seem possible again. the storm outside had finally started to settle, and inside, it felt like the world was starting to right itself.

“i love you, i’m sorry,” you whispered, the words feeling both foreign and familiar as they slipped from your lips.

rafe’s eyes softened, and he smiled, that soft, genuine smile that you loved so much. “i love you too. more than you’ll ever know.”

you both stayed there for a long time, not saying anything, just holding each other, feeling the storm outside fade into the background as the warmth between you two grew.

and for the first time in what felt like forever, you knew that everything was going to be okay.

MASTERLIST

CURRENT TAGLIST⋆⭒˚｡⋆

@maybankslover ⟢ @honeyluvsatj ⟢ @zazidot ⟢ @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 ⟢ @lunaleah ⟢ @maybanksangel ⟢ @wtfdudesblog. ⟢ @niktwazny303. ⟢ @outerbanksloverp4l

[rosesofenvy]

Chapter 2 is up!

First Malevolent fic has been posted just in time to end Mermay!

John may or may not be a sea god and Arthur may or may not have gotten himself into trouble (no one is surprised)

[whirlpool-blogs]

whirlpool's personal MOTA fic recs!

I've actually been dying to put this together for a while now...today is as good an excuse as any! I might not know everyone's tumblrs vs ao3 names so I will NOT be offended if you tell me to correct something!! <3

the big list = going alphabetical order in my folder because YES I do download my favorites, it's like having your own little bookshelf!!

non-clegan fics:

nine mothers' sons by @reallylilyreally (truly beautiful, breathtaking, and **THE** John Brady bible for the fandom so make sure you pray to it every night)

at your heels by @reallylilyreally (this one is Ev Blakely, another really beautiful story that helps you understand just why Crosby's memoir speaks of Blakely with such love and affection)

clegan (or gale-centric, or john-centric) fics:

A Direct Solution by @sweaterkittensahoy (Gale & Marge proposition Bucky...so cute and so hot)

ain't it easy? by @stereobone (dom/sub with john as the dom but ohhh man it's so much more than just that!!!!! this fic is so full of FEELS. and it's also HOTTTT. and also the FEELSSSSS.)

all the rest of what I want with you by @london-cowboy (the level of care that went into writing this fic is insane and impeccable. down to its own internal timeline, little egan kiddos, and the ANGST. but it's all worth it, I promise!!)

back home where you're from, that's the measure of a man by wolfhalls (nice little oneshot of the bucks, I love the back-and-forth of their dialogue in this one, it really does feel like two people who know each other well)

bittersweet between my teeth by @blixabargelds (post-war adjustment...love when the two majors are a little messy and a little sad and also john calls gale the prettiest thing he ever saw so there's that <3)

bluebirds singing a song by ourdarkspirits (Marge jumps Bucky's bones. Then Gale joins. Super fun, super hot!)

Close and Yet Closer by Anonymous (LITERALLY THE MOST!!!!!! FIC OF ALL TIME!!!!!!! Gale is a little bit mean and John is a lot bit sweaty. Like all the time. it's amazing and you should read it and it WILL change your life.)

Corpse Song by birdwif (oof. john is miserable in the stalag he's scratching at the door he's gnawing his own leg off.)

deep breath baby by @defnotanarc (um FISTING. yeah. intense and delicious. side note sometimes the world isn't fair and people who are really talented and amazing at drawing are also really good WRITERS too LIKE WTF!!)

DOG DINNER by @wompire (super interesting writing style, extremely poetic and striking. hits you right in the gut.)

everything and the kitchen sink by @swifty-fox (YEAH THIS ONE WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE TOO. modern au where gale is a professional dom and john is a journalist who hornily consents to both (1) fucking around, and (2) finding out. in top ten fics of the decade in general tbh)

Freed From Desire by @feyd-meowtha (yoooooo such a fun and free and sexy fic!!! such a great writing style and such a cool remix of all the characters we know and love!)

He wears his love around his neck by kasugayamaisforlovers (Gale character study, he tries to run his little gay thoughts away which is always so fun to see)

hold me like a knife by storm_warning (tw: self-harm, this REALLY gets into John's self-destructive stalag spiral and it's super visceral and wet and heart-wrenching and written with such, such care and precision)

Hound Within the Heart by Anonymous (fairy-tale esque, gets super crazy and pushes the limits of reality but in the best ways possible)

I Don't Wanna Be Alone Tonight by @johnslittlespoon (cuddling for warmth <3 and then a little more <3 <3 so sweet and intimate!!)

I Like A Bad Boy by @nicijones (modern college AU and bucky is a fratty fuckboy type & in this fic he DOES punch a guy for Gale and it's all very hot and sweet and a delight to read)

i wish you wouldn't tell me (about your hawaiian party) by @whitetrashjj (when the fuckbuddies thing gets messyyyyyy because gale catches feelingsssssss, so delicious and meaty!!)

if that isn’t love, it’ll have to do by @irregularcollapse (ALWAYS such incredible character reads from this author, never misses. also facefucking. also FACEFUCKING <3)

i'll be seeing you by @puffanities (a quick 1.6k oneshot but still packed with some really great characterization and powerful language!! 'when the numbers of planes don’t match...')

i'll find you before the dust settles by butidontreallycare (a Westworld AU!! super cool)

in our bedroom after the war by @stereobone (one of those fics that's just like. a pillar of the community, y'know? iconic. classic. eternal.)

Into the Unknown by Melanie_Mikaelson (big win for john whump enjoyers. BIG win. like 20+ chapters of winning)

it ain't for meatball by @meyerlansky (Curt/Bucky. Curt puts the dog collar on Bucky....and it's HOTTTT arf arf i'm barking just like bucky is in this fic...)

It's Not Love, but It's Fun by @sweaterkittensahoy (Curt/Bucky, 500 words so it's short and sweet just like Curt ahahahaha, ANYWAY still such an interesting little read regardless!)

judgment by the hounds by @puffanities (PG, very visceral and tender apology after the stalag fight scene <3)

level-off maneuvers by wormringers (sweet little oneshot of the Bucks in London)

little fix by ForASecondThereWedWon (Algeria <3 <3 you just kNOW those two gay pilots were sniffing and huffing and licking each other's sweat.....this author GETS it)

love means nothing (in tennis) by @irregularcollapse (fics that make you go WEEEEEEEE!!!! every word, every physical action that these characters take is SO precise and well-written. truly like wrapping a soft bathrobe around yourself and also the bathrobe is incredibly sexy and also they're sucking each other off post-game but PRE-shower. also gale's dad!! also margie!! truly such a well crafted AU)

make you feel alive by @sig-nifier (really sweet little oneshot of gale being a little protective of john. and i am ALWAYS a sucker for the 'call off your dog' trope... and it's done perfectly here!)

meet me at the chapel by @swifty-fox (still in-progress and SUCH a creative, inventive universe!! outlaw john you will always be famous to me!!!!)

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder by @swifty-fox (swift can really weave a story like no one else. so many lines that pack a punch. and in the end, they make it <3)

my type by @spaceshipkat (this one is SOOOOO well-written, I always go so crazy for the dialogue!!! such a great push-pull dynamic in this fic)

night terror by @antiquitea (hot! and sweet! and HOT! and angsty!!!!! highlights include: gale gives john a literal countdown deadline to get off)

Obligate Mutualism by bowhuntress (Gale-centric story of trying to get John through the stalag, then returning the England without Bucky, a fic very obviously written with a lot of care and love)

obsessions, and other things by @sig-nifier (the Bucks cope. really great pacing and dialogue, and I always love when fics take the care to delve into john's struggle with alcoholism as well)

of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world (he walks into mine) by @whitetrashjj (really fun parallel universe where Buck owns a bar, just a great read all-around!)

Oh, I do, do I? by @defnotanarc (DIRTY TALK, like the most delicious, incredible dirty talk you can imagine, this fic nails it!!)

One of your Girls by @soliloquy-dawn (9k oneshot and it's great all the way through, Gale is jealousssss of John fucking around, don't worry they resolve it <3, definitely captures that innocence of pre-Bremen MOTA episodes)

peacetime like a liminal space by @spaceshipkat (this one is PHENOMENAL. post-war, John goes to New York City and turns out it doesn't fill the emptiness. luckily Gale shows up. <3)

Putting Words to It by @impalachick (YEAH THIS ONE IS REALLY HOT. John is a snoop and reads Gale's letters to Marge <3)

Reunited by Flowersandthings (PG, cute & funny oneshot of the Bucks being reunited after Gale makes it over from Greenland!)

Reverie by @avonne-writes (REALLY creative, well-crafted story. Gale and John are soulmates and can visit each other's dreams since adolescence. INCREDIBLE journey and arc in this story, the stalag part is just wow. truly such a gift to the fandom!!).

Rugire by Anonymous (umm omegaverse-ish but with deer dynamics. messy. and SO good.)

SHOTGUN. by pornogirl (YEAH this one is awesome, it's not safe it's not sane but oh boy it is consensual)

Song of Songs by @swifty-fox (sweaty sex sweaty sex sweaty sex)

Spin, Sit, Roll-Over by @glumbabie (Gale is a little mean to John and it's VERY sexy of him tbh. 'DOGS DON'T TALK'???? 'YOU CAN EAT'???????? yeah. read this.)

the chimneys hardly ever fall down by @redbelles (another Gale/Marge + John, and it's HOT. it's SEXY it's awesome!!)

the hand of a good man by @stereobone (John rewrites Gale's daddy history <3)

the jacket by @dogmetaphors (REALLY great sense of dialogue and characterization even in 1.6k words, also shamelessly horny and SO yummy)

The Major’s Wife by tryingmyhandatwriting (John/Original Female Character but like. give this one a chance, I'm telling you!! I'm always soooo compelled by sex scenes that like. are actually a little bit unhappy. and this one SERVESSSSS.)

this must be the place by @blixabargelds (BIG win for Gale whumpers. broken bone and LOTS of blood and super well-written)

To be alone with you by Damn_Illusive (THIS ONE IS SO, SO SPECIAL AND CREATIVE!! freaky army experimentation gives gale and john telepathic communication. incredible separation arc while gale is in the stalag. really, really unique story that is such a staple in my mind as one of the the most incredible clegan stories ever. I think about this one A LOT!!!)

To the Moon and Back by @rambleonwaywardson (iconic astronaut AU, written with SUCH care and love, it's so obvious!! and BIG win for john whumpers. who said that -)

Tough And Sweet (Like You And Me) by @johnslittlespoon (sooo fun and creative and inventive, Bikeriders-esque!Gale and a sweeter, more innocent John. really well crafted)

trading paper dolls by ForASecondThereWedWon (Alex draws Gale pinup girl style in the stalag.....John swipes it.... super great fic!)

two slow dancers by everywordnotsaid (unrequited love, John for Gale, through their journey. I genuinely, actually sobbed for a long time at the conclusion of this fic. I am always thinking about this fic. I think it really captures something about the experience of watching the show and realizing in that hopeless, lovesick kind of way that there's no way to go back in time and save all of them. I still get teary whenever I think about this story or hear the song. It's one of those fics that's not just good, not just great, but somehow also really fucking IMPORTANT. this story MATTERS. you should absolutely read it and save it and imprint it onto your heart. I know it's imprinted onto mine.)

Un Chant d’Amour by @counting0nit (really intriguing take on the interrogation center time frame!)

unicorns, and other extinct animals by @spaceshipkat (really, really incredible reading experience. something that actually touches other aspects of my life, even now. I see planes overhead and I think about this fic. I see letters on a table and I think about this fic. just. this author GETS IT, you know? just absolutely nails every aspect of this kind of fic: post-war adjustment, the pain, the LOVE. this fic will make you FEEL it. let it happen.)

Up In Our Bedroom by @steeseman (ICONIC. really one of those pillars of the community type fics, y'know? it's funny and it's sweet and it's painful and the hot parts are HOT. clearly written with SO much care, and SO much love, and SO much precision. every single word packs a punch. absolutely one of my top reads of all time, across time, across fandoms)

When the bones are good by @aramblingjay (a really incredible post-war fic, such a beautiful, rich writing style!! isn't afraid to dig at the hard parts - john's relationship with alcohol, their nightmares from the war. stunning visuals -- the author uses setting and place and motion in such a tangible, real way. I can still see the little hideout spot in my mind's eye, even now. one of those fics that's just. such a treasure to the fandom.)

your dreams, whatever they be by @drylite (this one is super new, and it's just SUCH solid writing!)

You're A Dog (I'm Your Man) by @johnslittlespoon (one of those fics that's a pillar of the fandom for SURE!!! definitely a classic)

[snailmail444]

Can I get a headcanon of the bachelors and how they'd be sexy with you when you're down? Like, if they're trying to cheer you up and be a little goofy with it but also tryna HIT. THAT. 🤣🤣🤣

Thanks Snail, ILU.

Bachelors Goofing Their way Into Your Pants

18+ 🌱 MDNI 🌱 NSFW (-ish)

This one was a tough ask Libby but I’ll do nothing if not stand and deliver 🫡 Honestly might be my favorite head cannon list for the bachelors I’ve ever done so THANK YOU for this prompt icon. NSFW? -ish under the cut (lewd?? Idk lol)

Harvey-

💚 Perhaps the goofiest about this

💚 He would not try to come onto you when you’re down unless he KNOWS it’s going to pick you up

💚 So once he’s confident let’s start there

💚 It’s a song and dance

💚 Dissappears, and when he’s back he’s got his med kit

💚 He gets out the stethoscope and all. The whole nine yards.

💚 That’s right folks. We’re paging Dr. Love

💚 Will NOT let you stop this routine. Dr. Love WILL be completing the full assessment. Listening to your heart rate, checking your throat and ears, somehow always having to complete a chest exam

💚 (M or F he will be groping your tits for this one)

💚 The diagnosis is in

💚 There’s Only One Cure for What Ails You

💚 You guessed it! You need a little lovin’ (Dr. Love’s catchphrase)

💚 Important note: Dr. Love is not a licensed medical practitioner

💚 This works a little too well perhaps. He’s so confident for no reason at all LMAO

💚 Lowkey want to write a Dr. Love oneshot now because this is really fun and cute

Elliott-

❤️ If you’re feeling down man will preform the absolute worst ad lib poetry

❤️ Silliest lymrics you’ve ever heard

❤️ Dumb dumb dummmmmb

❤️ Very dirty and stupid bad poems about you

❤️ Specifically about his favorite parts of your body

❤️ Or his favorite things you do during sex

❤️ The worse it is, the better as far as he is concerned

❤️ Raunchy dirty filthy

❤️ But like. In the most grade school mother goose style he can manage

❤️ No flowery language here

❤️ Takes off your clothes to expose the parts of you the he’s referring to

❤️ When you do x thing (then tries to make you do x thing)

❤️ Will be proving his point. Period!!!

Alex-

🤎 Physical touch legend

🤎 Wrestles

🤎 Winner gets whatever they want from the loser

🤎 Has a wrestling name and all

🤎 Does the John Cena theme

🤎 His hands end up in all sorts of places that they don’t need to be

🤎 Most wrestlers aren’t grabbing ass 🤨

🤎 Gets you in some really tight, close pins, but somehow you end up winning anyway

🤎 No I didn’t let you win don’t be ridiculous I respect the sport too much to ever—

🤎 He let you win

🤎 You can take your prize now 😌 Whatever you want 😌

🤎 And if his hard on is pressing against you? Well. Maybe he has some ideas about what your prize should be

Shane-

💙 Gets you through the hard stuff first, so once you’re on the mend he’s goofing to the max

💙 KING FLEXER!

💙 Aw babe come on? How can you be so sad when you have these guns to look at?

💙 Runs through a series of absurd poses to show off his muscly farm boy arms

💙 Lays it on really thick about being a stud

💙 “No matter what at the end of the day you have a trophy husband” (even if he’s not married to you. ESPECIALLY if he’s not married to you)

💙 STRIP! TEASE!!

💙 Showing off everything you’re so lucky to have with a big goofy grin on his face

💙 Throwing his clothes across the room and everything

💙 Making the music sounds with his mouth

💙 You HAVE to whistle or hoot at him or clap or something

💙 He demands applause from his audience if he’s not getting some singles at least

Sam-

🩷 Another song and dancer

🩷 This man was born for the stage I fear

🩷 Genuinely and truly putting on a SHOW about it all

🩷 The drama of it. Uh oh, he’s compromised!

🩷 Will end up ‘stuck’ under the couch or table or anywhere else

🩷 Uh oh! I hope nobody takes advantage of me 👀 When I’m so exposed 👀👀 and vulnerable 👀👀👀

🩷 The worst stage acting you’ve ever seen in your life

🩷 Starts stripping in the middle of the living room because he “didn’t see you there!”

🩷 Pretends to be scandalized when you finally succumb to his advances

🩷 What are you doing?! Huh? What do you MEAN I was coming on to you? I always take off all my clothes in the kitchen, that’s ritual

🩷 insists he’s been objectified and taken advantage of

🩷 That kind of turns him on though let’s be so fucking real

Sebastian-

🖤 Okay so we’re going blunt king here

🖤 Two possible options

🖤 Uses it as a way to hard reset the system mid breakdown

🖤 Full crying, upset, whatever, he’s been holding you and trying to calm you down but it’s not working

🖤 “Wanna have sex?”

🖤 DEADPANNNNNN delivery

🖤 It never fails. Tried and true

🖤 Option two?

🖤 This is ONLY if mans is super comfortable in your dynamic

🖤 A classic

🖤 Whips it out

🖤 Thinking about that one tweet of the boyfriend who was in the mood and just put his dick on her shoulder while she was watching tv

🖤 Like that but buried under sixteen levels of irony

🖤 “I know what’ll help” and then he pulls his dick out

🖤 Probably the least likely to actually hit with these methods

🖤 However, he’s maybe the most likely to help improve your mood substantially

🖤 Through sheer presentation if nothing else. Man can deliver, and knows when to hit with the absurd to make it the most impactful

[sylviathejester]

TIRED.

maybe it’s time to say goodbye, ‘cause i’m getting pretty fuckin’ tired.

PLATONIC!JOHN PRICE x TEENAGER!GN!Y/N

warnings: mentions of death, foster care (this is my first time writing about foster care, excuse me if there’s any imperfections), attempted suicide, slight swearing

author note: this is separate from the poll. please tell me if the spacing is a turn off, it’s for aesthetic purposes in this oneshot, slowing your reading like Y/N’s world momentarily stills at the thoughts.

word count: 859.

Death. You’ve been thinking about it for days on end, what does it feel like? Your foster father, Jonathan (or as everyone calls him, John), says it’s Cold. Chilling. Scary. But what if it isn’t? Some people die with a smile on their face, so perhaps it could be the same for you?

Foster family after foster family. Abusive, neglectful piece of shits who only foster for the money. You’re afraid John might be the same.

The poor man, however, actively tries to convince you he isn’t like them. He does movie nights every Saturday, he actually listens when you talk, every word you say doesn’t go unnoticed. And his efforts don’t go unnoticed by you, not at all. He’s gentle. He’s a gentle man.

But you’ve had enough.

You’re scared shitless, some families acted like they were “mental health advocates” until you showed signs of burnout, depression, and even a tinge of anger issues, that’s when they threw you away.

And you’re just at your limit with John. The mask is.. slowly.. cracking.

John’s been a sweet guy, and he does everything in his power to make you feel okay, safe, happy. But you don’t budge. But you don’t show that you’re not budging, you show him a happy person, someone you’re not. And you’re getting tired.

”Mama was a bit naïve, and her daddy was a blinded thief. He went and stole away what was left of the remains of a family. “ Another Empty Bottle by Katy McAllister plays, you forgot the last time you heard this song, but it was one of your favorites when you were younger, more innocent, unaware of the shit going on between biological Mom and Dad. Unaware of the abuse. Perhaps your soul always felt like something was wrong, and your brain caught up later.

You sit on the couch, the TV on. You briefly look at the movement, the show must be some silly romcom, how cute.

Your phone’s music and the TV served as background noise, initially done to shut away the thoughts, but they’re.. lingering..

John was out of the house, buying groceries. He tried to persuade you to tag along; “You haven’t been out the house for a couple of weeks now, Y/N. you better go out!” He said, in that sickly sweet and kind voice of his. But you insisted on staying. Being tired from staying up was your excuse, and he let you off.

You paused the music and turned off the TV, and laid down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. It wouldn’t hurt to.. at least try. If he comes back before you actually do it, you can act like you never even tried, it’d be fine.

And if you succeeded?

But wouldn’t he be upset? Sad? He’d feel like he failed you. He never did, he never will.

He’d understand, surely he will.

Suddenly, you find yourself in the kitchen, in front of the knives John kept hanging on a shelf. For some reason he leaves them out in the open.

You grab the sharpest one, or rather, the newest knife. You look at it, and your reflection stares right back, as if to plead with you to not do it, think about it.

You ignore its pleas.

You slowly place the knife right under your wrist. Your breathing’s heavy, your heartbeat’s accelerated.

Should I do it? Should I do it?

Should I-

Warmth, but not from your wrist.

Your shoulder? Is it the grim reaper paying a visit?

You look over slowly, and your stomach drops. It’s John.

You look behind him, the grocery bags are on the floor, the different things he bought scattered across the floor.

“Hey.” He speaks a little louder, which causes you to look at him. He puts two fingers under your chin, keeping it in place.

He slowly takes the knife from your hand, sliding it across the counter; away from your hands.

“Are you okay?” Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Warmth, but not from your wrist.

Your eyes? You must be going blind.

Warmth, but not from your wrist.

Throughout your body, are you in Heaven?

No, you’re in John’s arms. Maybe that’s your own, twisted little version of Heaven. Isn’t Heaven the place where you feel eternal peace? John gives you peace, albeit not as eternal as Heaven, but he’s your Heaven on Earth.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ You sob into his chest. He merely shushes you, running his hand up and down your back.

It’s 11PM. You and John are on the couch, you’re holding onto him like a koala hugging a tree. It’s been silent.

“What made you want to do it?” He breaks the silence as he whispers the dreaded question.

“John, do you- will you still want me here?” You look at him.

Silence.

“Pardon?” He raises a brow.

“Will you still want me here? You won’t- give me back, right?” You look at him: expectant, hopeful.

“Of course not, Y/N.” He hugged you a little tighter. “You’re stuck with me.”

Maybe he won’t leave like the others did.

At the realization, the world felt a little brighter.

[astrok1dz]

Was sneaking through the John doe tag n found your account 👀 I really like your writing! Hope you don't mind me spam liking a bit!

I don't see anywhere if requests are open, unless I'm dumb lmao, so feel free to just toss this if they're closed

Could I request John Doe with an affectionate reader, who likes to rant to him about their interests, but always feels like they're annoying him after cause growing up they never had anyone listen to them ramble

Thank you, regardless if you do this or not, and have a great day! ❤

A/n: OMG YES I FORGOT TO SAY THAT REQUESTS ARE OPEN- also ur request is personally so relatable omfg. that being said.

Doe with an affectionate S/O!

cws: mentions of insecurities(?, pure fluff, not proofread, may be OOC(??

Doe will listen to you talk about anything.

I mean. ANYTHING.

You could talk about cockroaches for an hour for all he cares. The fact that it’s YOU talking and that you chose to talk to him? He’s melting.

But, you’re insecure, and John is too im love to not be oblivious.

He’s a little dense when it comes to this.

Sometimes he’ll listen to you talk too much and he’ll look like he’s not paying attention

But it’s the opposite!! He’s registering everything!! He’s just quiet cuz he doesn’t want to interrupt! He’ll burst into words and affection as soon as you finish ranting

You talk to him about this and how it makes you feel. You feel like you’re a chore or burden to listen to, and that you don’t want that to be the case. Especially not with him.

He will reassure you oh so desperately

“You just- stay so quiet… I don’t wanna bother you with all my ranting. I-I- I do all of the talking and maybe you’re fed up with it and-”

He stares at you in SHOCK. Pure, raw, SHOCK. Is this what he caused? A slight pain hits right through him, to have caused you this stress.

“Oh no no no my love! I love listening to you, your voice is so lovely and everything you say is so interesting, I swear swear swear swear swear!”

He will proceed to recite everything you said back to him. Even if you tell him you believe him. From then on he started commenting and getting more and more involved in the rants you had rather than just nodding quietly.

“I’m so sorry I caused you this stress, I’m so so sorry!”

You hug him, almost tearing up, because he’s just so worried about your well-being and he actually loves listening to you? He starts showing it much better and much more often too, and you just have to stop yourself from crying when he makes little additions to your rants.

“… and then she said the exact same thing I did! So why was it all wrong when I said it? I mean- the fuck is her deal?!”

“Right? She doesn’t own the truth. She sounds so annoying, love. You want me to do something about it…?!”

Your mouth hangs open for a little bit, before gaining back your composure, heart swelling in your chest.

“Just take me out to eat, will you, Doe?”

“Of course!”

I think a lot of people jump right to the gory and killing part when they learn that Doe will do anything for You, when it can also be something as simple as learning how to be a better partner for you.

TYSM FOR THE REQUEST!!! I LOVED WRITING (and projecting onto) THIS!! <3

Tags:

[finaidestinationz]

Something came over me and i wrote a 2.2k word oneshot about my john doe misha concept. not beta read and i wrote it tired so there is bound to be errors but um yeah i did do research for ir so pls read it

[nrdmssgs]

Sharing one bed with your friend from 141

Masterlist Little oneshots. Sharing a bed, because there is only one left free.

TW: Please note, that in every situation, a reader is an old friend of one of the four and there is a bit of sympathy beyond friendship between them!! So I wasn't trying to make TF 141 a bunch of awkward scary guys, that hug you without any reason and consent!! Don't worry, none of them would ever harm you, guys!!!

Simon Ghost Riley

"I warn you, I'm used to sleeping alone, so I may hog the blankets. If it happens so - don't hesitate to wake me up, ok?"

Ghost glares at you and chuckles briefly. "I get to sleep in a normal bed only once every few months. Don't think you can steal anything from me."

You sigh and turn away: well, at least you warned him. He may be some kind of super-soldier, but he is yet to discover, how fury an inveterate solo-sleeper can be. "Nighty." But he doesn't answer you - must have fallen asleep immediately.

You wake up in a tight, warm cocoon of blankets: obviously yours and his. But when you try to move - it appears harder than it seemed at first. Something, or rather someone, presses all these blankets down to you. So you turn your head only to meet Simons menacing, unblinking gaze.

"You saw nothing." His hand guides you by your chin to lay back down on a pillow, facing away from him. Then he goes back to wrapping you in a tight embrace. "I got cold, and you refused to give my blanket back."

Captain John Price

"Lemme know if it gets too warm. I got feedback about being a human furnace for a couple of times." Despite the fact, that he just laid down beside you - Johns voice is already sleepy.

"I believe, you have to hug another person to get such a comment." You answer and laugh at Johns immediate 'oh, shi... sorry' and a friendly pat on your back, covered with blanket.

"Sleep well," wishes you Price. And that was... exactly, what you planned, if the man hadn't start snoring in ten minutes.

At first, you tried to be gentle, touching lightly his shoulder to make him go quiet. But when he woke you up for the fifth time in a row - you punched him so hard - you must have left a bruise on his back. But John Price could sleep on a military base. He could sleep in a flying helli between the missions, being surrounded by shouting soldiers. Even your punches feel like a tender caresses in comparison to the chaos, in which he sometimes has to fall asleep.

He wakes up only when you almost throw him off the bed. "John! You snore like a freakin bear!" You are out of energy and already consider going to sleep on a floor in another room, only to get away from this nightmare.

He blinks a couple of times, obviously not waking up fully, then scoops you up, nuzzles your neck and whispers in a sleepy ruffle voice "M`sorry, love. You should let me know right away, if I wake you up again."

Perfect: now he's mistaken you for someone in his sleep! Well, at least, he really stays quiet, as he is hugging you. So you decide to let him do it, as long as it grants you sound sleep.

On the next morning, Price inspects his back in the mirror, when you walk past him. "Never considered enlisting in the military? I could use a furious little beast like you..."

Johnny Soap Mactavish

"Soap, for f sake, you are a grown man, what are you doing?" You grunt, as yet another decorative pillow hits your back.

"Building a wall, lass. Otherwise, you'll end up on my side of bed as usual!" He isn't even thinking of stopping, so the next pillow hits your head.

"Johnny, Hadrians Wall took less time to be built up! And I repeat for the hundredth time: I don't have a single idea, how does it happen, but I swear, it's not me! I don't tend to move in my sleep. When I'm alone - I always wake up in the exact same pose, I've fallen asleep!" You try to grab a pillow to throw it away, but he doesn't let you.

"Well, then it's my natural charm, that just drawn you to my side every time." Soap finally places the last pillow up on his 'wall' between yours and his sides of the bed.

You wake up in the same place you've fallen asleep. Only this time you are buried under the remains of Johnnys 'masterpiece' from yesterday. Grunting, you try to get out from under a pile of pillows, but you feel Johnny's whole body pressing against you from behind with a displeased rumbling. And only then it hits you.

You turn to him and whisper in his sleeping face. "It was you all this time. You grabbed me and pulled to your side of the bed, you sneaky bastard..." Johnny mumbles something incoherent in his sleep and only presses you closer to him.

Kyle Gaz Garrick

"Ok, good night." Kyle turns the light down and goes silent.

You lie awake for some time, listening to the sounds outside the window, but gradually you fall asleep. However, very soon, you startle and open your eyes: there is someone in the room, you two are no more alone. You hear the wooden floor crackling closer. Someone's shadow falls on the wall. You are frightened, but you lie quietly, blaming it all on your imagination. And then you feel the mattress sag under someone's weight at your feet.

At that moment you understand, you had enough and in one swift motion dart to Kyle, ending up on top of him. It wakes him up and for a few moments, he looks confused as his eyes adjust to the darkness. But when he understands, it's you, he relaxes. "Ahem, hi?"

"There is someone in this bed. Someone besides us!" You whisper, shifting your weight to the side, so that Kyle is left to defend you from the mysterious threat.

He turns the bedside lamp on and starts laughing almost immediately. Your friends dog, that apparently freaked you out so badly, now curled up all cozy on your side of the bed.

"Hi buddy! You were feeling lonely, so you came to us, yeah?" Kyle scratches the dog behind the ear, and it happily beats the blanket with its tail. You breathe a sigh of relief, a little embarrassed at being so scared. However, you don't give Kyle a chance to start joking about this and push him closer to the center of the bed, settling in where he just slept.

"Okay, congratulations, now that buddy is your problem. I'm going to sleep!" You try to ignore Kyle's soft laugh.

"You're going to fall out of bed at night and scare the poor dog." He pulls you closer to him. "That's better. Sleep. And I'll protect you from this 'dire wolf'."

[blingblong55]

Under the moon -John "Soap" MacTavish NSFW

Based on a requests: -Your local Johnny slut requests thee a oneshot or longfic (however you choose) for 23 + 5 for Kinktober: Monster AU and Breeding because we all know and love that Johnny's a fucking werewolf. You can sprinkle a bit of pet play and praise here and there. Please and thank you for your consideration 😘 -Idk how to request for the kinktober, but I would like to request Fem Reader x Soap for no.15 & no.23, please? Tq!! --- F!reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, P-in-V, unprotected!sex, praise, pet play, breeding, monster au, werewolf au, established!relationship, doggy style ----

Ever since he told you that he is a werewolf, he has been loving to fuck your tight pussy when he knows it's time to rub his scent on you again. He knows so much about your body with just one sniff, he can feel when you are about to start ovulating, which makes him feral, and he turns into his werewolf self for it. You are cooking in the kitchen? He walks behind you and dry humps you until you turn around and that's when he tears your clothes apart, revealing your perfect pussy lips to him.

His cock is already hard from just watching you whimper. "Johnny-" You want to stop it but it is too good to be stopped. His hand travel all over your thighs, he sits you on the countertop and fucks his fingers into you. Wants to open your pretty cunt up for his massive cock. The veiny and throbbing length is already eager to fill you with his seed. He spreads your legs open and kisses your neck, you're wet and aching cunt fucking yourself into his fingers. He growls, "Don't move," he demands. You pout and he grins, cupping your chin and bringing your lips closer to his. His spit well into your mouth.

When the moon is full, he can't resist, all day he stays home and tries to fuck you atlas a few times. He is so horny he begins to whimper and get needy when you don't touch him or don't acknowledge him. "My love, I've been a good boy, why can't you just touch me?" His hand caressing your thighs and ass. "I promise to make you come more," he pouts and kisses your lips, trying to convince you with his big blue eyes. "All I want is to fuck you," he kisses your neck.

And once you finally give in, he has you bending over the sofa, panties to the side as he licks his slick-coated fingers. "You are the sweetest little thing ever, my love," he pulls his trousers down and tubs the tip of his cock on your entrance. He lets out a moan. He wanted to tease you until you begged for it but he, himself needed to be buried deep inside your pussy. Making you into the perfect toy for him. His beast-like hands gripping your hips, you squirm and he growls. This was the perfect position to have you in. His fat cock barely fits inside your small cunt.

He growls anytime you whimper and does care for your pleasure but his. Your back arches and he grins, your hands holding onto the edges as he pounds himself deep inside of you. You let out a gasp when he bites your shoulder from behind, he grunts and chuckles deeply. "fuck, fuck...J-...shit," you say between moans. "J-johnny!....fuck," he leaves trails of bite marks on your back. "You're my good girl, such a pretty good girl," he whispers and kisses the bite marks. "I love you," he says and rubs his hands on your bare ass and thighs, his cock still being thrust into you.

He stops, "can I fill you up? Please, Bonnie, I want to fuck my pups into your pussy. Fill you to the brim." His thrusts are rare but slow, and he caresses your back. "Fill me, Johnny," you answer and he smirks. His veiny cock reaches orgasm as your tight pussy milks him for all he's worth. He moans, head thrown back, his mohawk brushed back as he grows excited. You roll your eyes back, and loud moans escape your lips. His drool-soaked fingers fucking your tight ass. "Tell me, darling, who's my good girl," he kisses your back. His cum soon leaks inside of you. His seed filling you full, your body taking a good reaction to this.

You pull on the leash that held his collar, "I'm your good girl~" you whimper. His cum falls down so gracefully and then he turns you over. "That's right, you're my good girl, no one else's." He looks at his leash and smirks. "If my mam saw me like this, her little boy leashed like the animal he is," he chuckles, "oh she'd be disappointed." he kisses your neck. "But so as long as I'm your good pup, huh, my love," he kisses your lips so carefully. His big arms embrace you warmly, and he rubs his scent on you again this way. You know it and he does too.

"Say you love me, R/N," he whispers as his head is buried in your breasts. "I love you, Johnny," you whisper back and scratch the back of his head. He smiles, "I love you too," he kisses your chest and takes in your intoxicating scent.

Tags :@anonymuslydumb @liyanahelena @vampsquerade @sevvygirl1995 @sleepydang @amygaster004 @alxexhearts

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

WAIT I HAVE A THOUGHT! ok i have two i think it could turn into more but price using his military rank to either a) get someone to back off of sunshine!reader and marissa OR b) sunshine calls him captain during sex OR c) HE USES IT IN BOTH OF THOSE SITUATIONS IN THE SAME FIC 👀👀 …are those weird? idk but if you feel up to it this is a request for you to work your magic on this please and thank you

A/N: uhm, don't look at me nonnie, I got too carried away🫣

Rank me

Summary; As a Captain, Price has an air of authority not everyone does. One day when he returns from base, he finally makes you admit why you find that trait of his particular attractive 

Pairing: Cpt. John Price x reader (sunshine!universe)

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Onehsot 

Word count; 9.3k

Warnings; smut (18+, no minors please), captain!kink, vaginal fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, slight edging, d/s themes,

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing​

SUNSHINE UNIVERSE MASTERLIST

You sit opposite John, elbow resting against the armrest, head propped up by your fingers. He's seated in one of the two armchairs on the other side of your coffee table while you're sitting on your couch. A folder rests partly on the armrest of his seat and the unoccupied armchair beside him. A few more maps, although closed, were placed on the table. 

You're not nosy with John's work, so the seemingly inconspicuous folders aren't what's gotten your attention. The man reading through them does.

John's elbow relaxes on the armrest while his lower back is curved, sunken into his seat, legs spread with feet planted firmly on the ground. 

You'd tried to remind him of his posture, knowing he probably would complain about his back if he sat like that for too long. When you had, those blue eyes had flickered to yours with an appreciative look as he repositioned himself straight. However, he didn't last like that for long before slowly melting downwards again, retaking his 'I have a bad back but won't do anything about it pose'.

Although, as you now watch him working, it isn't a chide resting on your tongue.

John has returned to active duty, the past week being his first one back since he extended his issued downtime by a week after his most recent deployment, the one during late summer. You learned there's a big difference between active duty and deployed, never even coming close to either despite that martial course you took a few years back. The former meant you often were stationed on your home base, able to go back and forth home if you desired, much like ordinary work. The latter entailed 'a little field trip' as John worded it.

Today, John came to your place as soon as he got off from base, much like he'd done a few times during the week. 

You didn't fuss about spending less time with him than when he was on leave. Not only was it John's job, but there were no regulations for contacting him, so he called the days you didn't meet. Often, the description of his day was brief, only defined somewhat if anything varied from his typical routine. John was usually more interested in how you were and whether you'd done something interesting. If your day had been equally bland, he enjoyed just listening to whatever was on your mind. Today, however, no phone call replaced his absence.

You and John planned to spend the weekend together at your place, and much like he'd promised, he called you once on his way. But, rather than a simple heads-up, he also informed you he would bring some paperwork, his superiors pushing a last-minute request upon him as he was about to leave. You suspected he was permitted to leave base with the documents through his involvement in the 141, not solely because his response ideally -another word for required- would be reported back tonight. 

You've learned a great deal about how John likes to work, even if you've been fortunate to develop your relationship with him in a particularly deployment-free time window of his. 

He prefers keeping work and home separate, not wanting the two words to bleed together in favour of your relationship. John explained why when you didn't understand his frustration about bringing some work with him back home during your earlier call.

Deployments cut into your shared time as it fits, the two of you having to work around it rather than the other way around. Therefore, he intends to limit work to base to savour your time while on active duty or ahead of a leave. If that meant staying a day or so longer after returning from a mission where logistics needed to be taken care of, as he'd done during the summer and your first extended period apart, he said he would make that choice. And if there's an increased load of executive planning and paperwork due to an upcoming operation, his approach is the same.

He explained that, in the past, he'd very much blurred the lines, seeing how being alone and doing nothing for long periods left him restless. But with you in the picture, John tried to balance it. And just like that, you understood his dilemma tonight. He didn't want to make it a habit: filling the time he spent with you working.

You'd tried to compromise, not that you technically could, as he needed to finish his report no matter what. But, you tried to ease John's mind, telling him that sometimes it happened, just like it probably would for you. That was why you also proposed spending time in each other's company by working on your separate stuff, so he didn't feel like he took time away from you. 

For you, that was just fine. It had already been an informal workday for you, meaning no meetings and no contact with clients, simply organising stuff and getting ahead on projects for the upcoming week. Continuing with that for a bit longer was no problem.

Your sluggish day of labour was apparent, as you hadn't even changed out of your sleeping shirt. Neither had you scampered to get a pair of pants when John knocked on your door, favouring to simply greeting him as you were.

He'd been surprised at seeing your state of undressed, rather bare-legged with only underwear beneath his black t-shirt, one of those he left behind earlier during the week. 

Though not surprised like him, you were as delighted as all the other days he'd stopped by, spoiled rotten with seeing him dressed like this.

Like most days this week, that implied some getup per military standard. Today, John wore fitted cargo pants and an army sweater that got the quarter-zip open, offering a view of the tight-fitted shirt beneath it.

He'd greeted you in his same old fashion, a 'hello, love' as he stepped forward and over the threshold to meet you with a kiss. What followed, however, was a hummed 'can get used to bein' greeted like this' against your lips as he parted from you. 

He'd ushered you backwards to let him enter and hide you from any potential neighbours passing by your entrance to see your scantily clad figure.

You didn't object as he closed the door behind him and put down his bag before kneeling to unlace his heavy boots. Instead, your eyes had flittered over his haunched form as he rucked loose his laces before standing straight again, hooking the back of his shoes beneath his toes and stepping out of them. 

He'd followed you into your living room then, deciding to sit opposite you to avoid disturbing the corner you'd set up on the couch, where your computer and blue-light glasses waited. 

Currently, your laptop rests on a pillow in your lap. The glasses you'd invested in, purely because of the copious amount of time you spent before a screen through work, resting on the bridge of your nose. Yet, you're currently using neither as you should. 

The same black standby screen stares at you now as when you'd gone to greet John when he arrived two hours ago. And, your glasses don't serve their purpose of shielding your vision from electronic lights, concerning your attention is directed towards the burly figure of a man sitting so leisurely opposite you.

You hadn't seen John in his work clothes many times. Technically, you'd never seen him geared up and probably never would. So, the closest thing you would get was the standard dressing code he needed to adhere to on base. Up until this week, you'd barely even seen that.

Whereas now and for a few months ahead, the military would cling to him whenever he came around straight from work and spent the night, leaving in a similar-styled fashion in the morning concerning active duty often meant early mornings on base for John, either for a workout regime, meetings or supervising cadets. Between those instances, while unwinding with you, he changed into something more comfortable.

That was why your time of admiring John in these clothes was brief. And yet today, you got to indulge in one of the considerably fewer instances when he didn't immediately change after greeting you and borrowing your shower. In fact, this night was a total break in the routine.

Your eyes drop to the bag beside the armchair John occupies. 

He'd said he would take his usual post-work-freshening-up shower after finishing the most pressing report. But, he'd gotten stuck in the typical workflow that was difficult to break, reaching for another map of documents rather than the bag resting by his feet. Maybe you should've reminded him, but you didn't. 

The honourable reason? You didn't want to disturb John when noting the pile of documents to read had staggered to a measly two compared to the stack he'd brought. The selfish reason making your attention stray considerably more than his laser-focused one? You wanted to savour his appearance a bit longer. 

You knew the visible neckline of the shirt beneath his sweater teased about what was underneath, namely a compression shirt fitted to accentuate John's muscled torso rather than hide it, a sight drool-worthy by itself. But the jumper wasn't a villain for hiding it. In your opinion, it added to it, making the blue-eyed man appear even broader than he already was, as if he could envelop you simply with his frame, tucking you within the expanse of his shoulders. 

Despite how John managed to look so good in clothes produced for durability rather than fashion, it wasn't necessarily the clothes making you unable to rip your eyes off of him.

As always, your eyes drag over John's body until your gaze latches onto the embroiders littered over the sweater. 

On the upper part of his chest, in an easily read, nothing fancy, standard military font, the precise writing of Price is visible. The lettering, placed square in sight on his right pectoral, stands out in a lighter blue text rather than the dark navy composing the sweater. On the opposite side, in the same-letter style, SAS. Sewn onto the right arm of his jumper is a badge-like British flag, so his unit's emblem. Symbols stating his rank also adorn his clothing, marks that your civilian eye probably wouldn't be able to interpret if you didn't already know he was a Captain.

That is why you like seeing John in his work attire. 

The air around him changes. His typical calm stoicism tenfolds, acting as a reminder that his presence demands respect. 

It wasn't a shift that screamed for attention, not hollered as a command to notice. You believe it's because it simply blends with John's personality at home so well. Either his work-life had engrained it into his DNA, so it always was a part of him no matter where he went. Or those traits had always been his fortes, even before serving in the military. You didn't know for sure which was correct. 

Nonetheless, John's calm, secure and disciplined persona reached new heights. He looked like a man in charge. 

It was almost mortifying how affected you got when he dressed like this. And yet, it was just something about John in dark blue or army green attires, with his rank so underwhelmingly stated but so evidently sensed, that made a part of you quiver in excitement.

Yeah, that Captain John Price was a weakness of yours was clear as fucking day.

"You doing good over there, Captain?" Blue eyes shift from the papers he held over his lap to meet your gaze. 

You always revel in how swiftly his attention shifts to you when you use his rank. You didn't do it often. After all, at home, he wasn't Captain. But sometimes, even you used the alias. 

"Mm, all good, love". John's answer was slow, eyes flickering over you before nodding, his eyes falling to the paper before him again.

"The Captain fancying a cup of tea?" 

This time, John didn't move his head. He only glanced up, almost watching you through his eyebrows. "Wouldn't mind". The reply was short, his voice rough. Not grumpy, annoyed or anything like that. Simply profound.

You flash him a smile, pushing your computer aside and setting your glasses on the keyboard. As you stand from the couch, you stretch your legs. 

You catch John's eyes lowering and you bet he didn't abstain from trailing them down your bare legs as you jostle the tingles out of them. Smiling to yourself, you head into the kitchen.

Fine, sometimes you may use his rank solely for his reaction. 

You argue he shouldn't react like that. It's understandable he barely reacts to it when the boys of 141 use it just as much as his government name when addressing him. He must be used to it. So sure, surprise could be the reason in your instance. At the same time, it shouldn't, regarding it holds no value, no substance, when you use his rank.

Still, you've noticed it seemingly carries some weight.

The most common reaction you'd gathered was how swiftly you earned his attention. Nearly every time, you suppressed a grin at how it worked like clockwork. A sharp flicker of his eyes, gaze intense. You've also noticed how his head cock, eyes seemingly searching yours before they often slipped down your figure as he returned to whatever had his attention previously. And then it was how John eventually answered you. Sometimes, he cleared his throat before speaking, others not. Both choices provide a reply of comparable nature. Without exceptions, his voice was deep. 

John's smokey, baritone voice was always pleasant to listen to. There were no edges, even though he wasn't afraid to remain silent between his sentences. And when he filled those with the occasional hum, a purr threatened to spill from your lips to how the low cord melted like liquid gold into your ears. And yet, his voice usually became gruffer when he spoke as a Captain in a professional setting. 

You'd registered it when he once had taken a phone-call to book a time for a meeting with someone named Laswell or when he reprimanded one of the guys in a borderline-serious manner when you met them at a pub during one of their parallel leaves. The firmness in those deeply spoken sentences wasn't present when you dropped a 'Captain' while talking to him. 

But there was something else. Something under your skin just begging you to consider it's awfully close to a particular lustful drawl of John's. The one you regard as utterly and painfully arousing. If not for the truth, then for your lustful desires.

You lean against the counter as you wait for the water to boil, arms crossed over your chest. 

Facing the living room, you watch the only fascinating thing there. 

John just about placed the stack of papers he'd been reading back into its corresponding map, leaning forward to position it on top of the rest. Leaning back again, you notice how he sighs from the quick movement of his chest while opening the last lacklustre folder beside him. Leaving it open, John takes out the reports by gripping its stapled corner, swiftly picking up the reading again. As he does, he notches his thumb beneath his jaw, index finger swiping back and forth over his lower lip, brows pulling together. 

If not for the kettle signalling it's ready, you would've gotten stuck there, rooted in place as you take in the sight of the incredibly handsome man, your handsome man, so engrossed in his work. 

Preparing your respective beverages is easy. The task is something you've done countless times by now. So, within minutes, you're heading towards the seating arrangement with your respective mugs.

John notices your presence before his attention shifts to you, noticeable from how he pulls his stretched-out leg back towards him so you can step between his seat and the coffee table. Yet those blues flicker to you with an appreciative look right before you turn to settle his cup of tea on the tabletop. 

You set the mug down momentarily, reaching for a protective coaster. Placing the circular piece of wood close to the cup, you rearrange it to rest atop it instead. 

That could've been it. You could've just wandered back to your seat, either in an attempt to work or admire the view again. But no.

"There you go, Captain". You shift to face John with an innocent smile, gesturing to the cup from where steam curls upwards, filling the closest proximity of air with a spicy but soft scent of herbs. His hand has fallen from his jaw. Now, it rests on top of the folder at the armrest as he gazes at you, blues-eyes truly observing you. 

You don't know why the seemingly innocent eye contact makes you squirm. But from how John watches you, a feverish sensation rushes through your body, heating you from the inside under the scrutiny of his gaze.

The concoction of having John dressed like he is, watching you as he does and your lecherous imagination does wonders to lighten your belly on fire. You bite your lip, about to return to your seat, when John sits up, abruptly halting your attempt.

The swift thought of 'he's reaching for his mug' is wiped away immediately as he instead reaches for you. 

He circles the back of your neck with his big hand and tugs you down enough to meet him in a kiss. A soft, surprised noise vibrates against his lips, your eyes widening in reaction to his unexpected action, as opposed to his, which slips close.

"Such a darlin' to me, you know that?" John hums the word against your lips. And even if you like doing these small things for him because you see how much he enjoys them, your breath hitches, making John's eyes flutter open. 

When meeting your still wide-eyed expression, his lips bow upwards beneath his beard before his hand falls from your neck. This time, he reaches for the mug. 

As you straighten, your cup clutched against your stomach, John slouches backwards again.

"It's nothing", you reply to the man who looks too fucking indecent for still being fully dressed from the way his thighs fall outwards.

"It's everythin'", John insists. Your heart makes a dangerous leap as his baritone voice travels straight down. 

The way he's watching you doesn't help at fucking all as you feel a surging need to squeeze your legs together, something that would be embarrassingly noticeable from John's position. 

Rather than answering, mouth incredibly dry all of a sudden, you only return his appreciation with a small smile.

That his eyes follow you when you head back to your seat is apparent, your heart continuing its elevated rhythm with each step you take and his attention on your back. But when you sit down, facing him again, he's back to reading, the mug resting against his thigh.

Much like John, you should go back to work. But you don't need to look at your computer to know your last sliver of motivation has disappeared. Your attention undividedly on something else entirely.

You shuffle in your seat, one leg bent and resting on the cushioned seat beneath you, the other pulled close to your body with your foot planted on the couch. It makes you lean slightly to the side and the pillows you'd stacked for a makeshift edge towards the couch's middle.

Unable not to, your eyes flitter over John's form as you nurse your drink. 

His legs spread wide, trapping your gaze to glide over his crotch more than once, especially as he readjusts his position, hips doing that slight upwards jut as he makes himself more comfortable. You also follow his action of occasionally raising the mug to his mouth, his eyes never leaving the paper as he does. 

You watch as he sets down the documents on his leg to switch to the next side with the same hand, not desiring to go through the action of leaning forward, putting down the cup of tea, only to retrieve it to situate himself again.

Eyes remaining on the cup, you remark how John's big hand wraps around it, having no trouble encasing more than half of it. You compare it to how you hold your cup. One hand grabs the ear while your other hand curves along the opposing side.

When he raises the mug to his mouth, you follow the move, gaze lingering on his face even though he lowers it not soon after. 

You map the line of his beard, the purse of his lips, and how his eyes move from the left to the right as he follows the sentences on the paper.

And then, John's eyes flicker upwards, catching your blatant staring. Amusement flickers to life in those blues when you don't even try to play it off before he adverts his gaze down to the paper. 

"You're starin', love". John remarks. The cup of tea is brought to his lips as his attention remains on the document.

"Just enjoying the view", you shrug. Not untrue. 

John's brows arch. Not much later, as if wanting to finish a sentence, his head tilts upwards to look at you. "That so?"

"Mhm", you flash him a brief smile before you raise your mug to your lips, sipping its contents. His eyes narrow briefly. 

Even though you can't think of anything odd in your reaction, John apparently does. 

"Is there somethin' more?"

Your heart jumps. "No, you're free to continue working", you try deflecting John's attempt at making you explain what's on your mind. Apparently, you only succeeded in catching his attention more.

"I'm done". John states, making your brows jump and eyes flicker downwards, not having noticed he was on the last page of a considerably thinner stack of papers, unlike the previous ones. 

"Weren't you instructed to report back?" Your gaze shifts back to his face.

"Taken some notes. I'll send a mail later before goin' to bed". John replies promptly, meanwhile restoring the papers in their proper order. As he places the stack back in its map and drops it on top of the other finished ones on the table, he speaks. "Now I want to hear about what you're tip-toein' around 'cause it doesn't seem like nothin'". 

"No, really, it's nothing important". 

John cocks his head, brows raising in a silent inquiry.

You refuse to believe it's the 'men in uniform' curse amongst civilians. You know that's not the case, seeing how you don't find all soldiers good-looking just because, only John. Even so, you detest the thought of seeming disrespectful, fearing you reduced his career path to a mere point of attraction. It was one thing allowing it to fuel your imagination. But to admit it aloud? To John? Yeah, no.

You reach for the case of your glasses, popping it open with ease and inserting the specs. Placing them on top of your now closed laptop, you scoop them up and stand, about to discard the items in your bedroom.

The action was not impulsive. You always put your device on charge once John arrives. Today, it understandably changed to when he finished the reports he'd brought. Yet you didn't get that far, stopped unexpectedly by his voice.

"Sit". Your body stalls, brows raising. When you don't do as John says, his head cocks, fingers rapping against the armrest as he motions to the seat you just stood from with a nod. This time, you follow his request. "Talk to me, love. What's on your mind?"

Your fingers clutch your computer briefly before you reluctantly set it down on your coffee table. You sip your tea, searching for your words.

Upon your silence, stalling, an urging 'hm?' stems from John.

"I just, you know, think you look good today".

"Do I look any different today than otherwise?" He inquires. You don't think he means to interrogate you, but it feels just like that from how he watches you closely from his seat. It makes you squirm, raising your mug to your lips again before you answer.

"Well, you got those on".

John hums softly, a sound of acknowledgement. And, ever as keen, he figures out what your haphazard motions to his attire imply. "You like the clothes". It's more of a statement than a question, but you give him a nod anyway.

"They look good on you".

"That's what got you so worked up?"

"I'm not-"

"You are", he muses, cutting off your sentence as he leans forward, forearms resting on his knees as he places his mug on the coaster. "Those glasses you're religiously stubborn about using have been more off your face than not despite that laptop of yours being right in front of your face", he points out. 

Your brows pull together, lips parting as a protest isn't far away. But John beats you to it.

"No need denyin', I've noticed you starin' at me more than that screen of yours. Then we can't forge 'bout your teasin'".

This time, your brows genuinely furrow. "I haven't teased you?".

His head tilts to the side. "No? Could think I never left base with how much you've used my rank tonight, love". 

Oh, oh. John thinks your use of his rank is teasing. So it must mean something different when you use it. Not just in your imagination, then. Regardless of discovering this, you don't know how to react to John's admittance. You still feel like a mouse being toyed with by a cat.

He watches you expectantly as if waiting for you to speak up. Instead, your fingers only rap against your mug before raising it again.

You tip your cup, yet no liquid reaches your lips. Your eyes flicker downwards as you lower it, noticing its emptiness. 

The nervous sips you'd taken off your tea have apparently drained it quicker than you anticipated. 

Much like a mouse making a break for it each time the cat releases it, you don't hesitate to stand and head into the kitchen to discard your mug, seizing the chance to escape John's heavy gaze and probing for enough time you don't fumble for an answer.

What you don't expect is the footsteps following you into the kitchen. But you should've. The cat never lets its prey get too far away.

Naturally, you look over your shoulder.

John moves so assuredly. There's a slight sway to his hips, strides not hurried despite covering the same distance as you in a much more rapid fashion. Confidence, he oozes it from the very way he carries himself.

There's no denying that such a mass moving with such practised ease is on the verge of terrifying. But the thrill harbours an indisputable excitement, especially as your eyes briefly meet John's blue ones, calm but bright with intrigue.

You turn forward as you reach the kitchen counter, putting your mug in the sink, attempting to hide how he affects you. But believing you could hide from an elite soldier in plain sight is foolish. 

The hairs on your neck stand when John steps up behind you.

He sets his mug beside yours before his hands settle on the counter. With one hand at either side of you, his shoulders haunch to eclipse yours, making your heart thump in your chest.

"Indulge me. What about the clothes you like so much it got you behavin' like this?" 

"Uhm-". Your thoughts screech to a halt as you flail for something to say. Admitting just how much John in these clothes affects you brushes on mortifying. "The way it fits you, I guess", you settle on in the end.

"You guess?". John repeats close to your ear.

Pride and a certain level of amusement roll off of him in waves, seeping right through your back, worming itself to your front only to nestle in your chest. Rather than installing the same emotions in you, they fuel your desire and jittery nerves.

"Love?" He gently encourages you to detail your answer, causing you to bite your inner cheek, rolling the meat between your molars. You may be tentative to admit your inner thoughts. But, it's still John with his incredibly calm and soothing self that puts you at ease and finally makes you relent.

"They just make you feel stronger, more authoritative-"

"Authoritative?" If you would've faced John, his inquisitive look would've met you. And yet, you don't even need to, feeling it burn into the side of your head as his ducked head angles towards you. You see it out of your peripheral, how he gazes at you, but you persistently stare directly forward as you give him a slight nod.

You swallow, worrying that you overstepped as you tried explaining the indecent thoughts wrecking your brain without spewing their true nature as blatantly as they arise. 

Assuming that's the reason for John's momentary silence, he surprises you when he finally speaks.

"You know, love", he hums, airy and amused. Your eyes drop, following his hands as they trail up the stone counter until they settle on top of yours. His fingers worms in between your slender ones. "I have noticed how remarkably much you've been staring, how handsy you've been when I come home like this". 

Body lightening on fire, a warm rush sweeps through you, the sound of blood suddenly pounding noticeably in your ears as you duck your head. Had you? You hadn't even thought so.

"Nothing to fluster about".

"Well, I do", you bite back, but there's no venom to your words, only embarrassment that you hadn't hidden your desire well enough, even if it was to an elite soldier you'd lost to. The mouse would forever lose to the cat.

"Why?"

"Because it's wrong, John. Just because you fit too bloody good dressed like a Captain, it shouldn't turn me on this fucking much". Thank god you're not looking at him. You would've sunken through the floor.

"I remember you mentioned somethin' like that the night we met". 

"I said that you suit being a Captain, not that it turns me on". John's exhale borders on a groan and your brows knit together when you catch it.

"Remember you called me that as well". John brushes past the admittance in your sentence as if it's nothing. "Caught me off-guard the first time". He nudges your head from the side, hands tightening over yours. 

"Why?" You breathe, realising his voice has dropped into a husky depth. It only did that when his arousal stirred, which sparked your curiosity enough to repress your humiliation.

"Sounded so wrong from you, a civvie callin' me by rank. But I couldn't deny I liked it". John's face falls into your neck, placing a kiss beneath your ear as he drops a fraction of his weight against your back. Still, it's enough to cage you to the counter and feel his hardening cock against your rear. Your eyes widen. "And then you said it while I was stuffin' that cunt of yours. Bloody hell, I almost lost my head when you called me Captain all stunningly dishevelled beneath me". A surprised gasp rips from your throat at John's words curl along the shell of your ear while he shoves his growing erection against you.

"What are you saying?" Your chest heaves at the end of your sentence as John rubs himself against the plush swell of your ass from behind. 

"I'm tellin' you, despite how wrong it is, that I like when you call me Captain". He husks into your ear, using your wording from earlier. 

John steadily grinds against you, pressing you further into the counter's edge. Instinctually, you arch against him, but one of his hands swiftly grabs your hip, forcing you down. 

"Love, I wanna try somethin' out", he hums. "Tell me if it gets too much. Understood?" There's no hesitancy in John's voice, only an alluring reassurance and passion that pikes your interest.

"Yeah, alright". 

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, John, I understand". You whine, curiosity eating you from the inside, yet he only tsks at you.

"You know what to call me". You inhale sharply. Fuck, could he be talking about? He is. You swallow, mind reeling as you realise John's alluding to something you've only entertained as fantasy. And yet, his rank solely remains a heavy, dirty thought. "Come on, love, know you want to". 

You swallow, eyes wide and staring forward. John must sense your hesitancy as his hand rucks the shirt you're wearing upwards, baring your ass. Attempting to coax you, he shoves his bulge straight into your scantily covered pussy.

"I want you to say it, m'not goin' any further until you do. Both of us must want this". That does the trick. You wouldn't pass up on this chance.

"C-Captain".

"Whole sentence, love".

"I understand, Captain".

"Good girl". He praises you. "Now, you'll take what I give".

"Oh", you breathe out as a violent shiver runs down your spine and the muscles attaching to the back of your head quiver. 

John's not only igniting something so perfectly inside your body. He also flips a switch in your head with his commanding voice, precisely the one that made his authoritative nature as a Captain so attractive. 

"From your reaction, it seems you don't mind bein' ordered around". John breathes into your ear. "Is that correct?"

"Don't mind". 

The man behind you releases a hum as he tests your reply by nudging his foot against your right ankle. You can feel him smirk at how you react, widening your stance one foot at a time without any resistance. Even when John presses himself against your back and continues forward by bending over you until you're flat against the kitchen counter, you don't resist him.  

"So pliant, aren't you?" One of his hands releases yours, yet you continue pressing it against the stone. His fingers trail up your now bent arm, over your shoulder and along the curve of your body until his fingers curl around your waist.

You nod swiftly, only catching the faintest reflection of the movement even though your cheek rests against the polished stone surface. He chuckles at your hasty reply, the sound cracking up the length of your spine.

"Mhm, stay like that now". John instructs, standing straight with a squeeze to your hand that, up until now, remained intertwined with his.  

His fingers run along your clothed spine until it reaches your bared lower vertebral, then your ass until it dips between your legs from behind, pressing into the seam of your underwear.

"Fuckin' hell, you've gotten this wet already? So desperate for your Captain, eh?" You whimper as he pushes against the damp fabric, the material pressing into your folds. 

"Yes, John-Captain!" You correct yourself as he slaps your pussy upon the slip-up. The tap of his palm doesn't hurt but acts as a reminder. Nevertheless, it sends a jolt of pleasure up your spine, making you squirm.

"Two rules, love", he remarks. "One, for now, it's Captain. Two, if you don't keep still, I'll stop touchin' you, leavin' you all pent up, just like this, right here", he makes clear. As if daring you to obey, a gentle test calculating how much you really want this, his thumb shallowly probes against your core. Your eyes snap shut, teeth digging into your bottom lip, a forced exhale escaping your lungs as you concentrate on not rocking backwards while fabricating a reply.

"Y-yes, Captain".

As if content with your words and actions, John steps away. Despite the loss of contact, you remain in your position. 

Your pulse thrums as you listen to John, picking up on the shift of clothes and the sound of a zipper. Your anticipation skyrockets as he doesn't hurry his movements, taking his sweet time before he touches you again. When he does, he pulls down your panties until the elastic band digs into the middle of your thighs.

A shuddering breath escapes your lungs when nothing separates John's fingers from your exposed wetness. He runs two fingers up and down almost leisurely until one digit firmly pushes against your clit in a circular sweep. The sudden attention to your throbbing bundle of nerves sends neurons flying.

You don't even know on what scientific level it's possible to stop an involuntary reaction, but just as you feel your lower back muscles tightening, you slam the flatness of your palm against the counter with a 'shit' as you try.

You wouldn't count it as moving, but you did twitch upon the surprising pressure against your clit. And as John pulls away, placing his hand on the small of your back, you whine in defeat, knowing he caught it too.

"What was that?". 

"Nothing, nothing, please, Captain, I'll be good". You don't even realise what you say yourself as you plead with John. He couldn't leave you there. You would possibly explode.

He only tuts, hand pressing firmer against your spine. Your heart drops for a second until he speaks. "I'll let you of this once".

"Thank you". John groans behind you, curse breathed beneath his breath as his character breaks for a moment, caught off guard by your rushed response. It's not long, but it's a reminder that it's still John behind you.

A swift pressure change against your spine indicates he's gathered himself again before he picks up where he left off.

His finger starts trailing up and down your folds again, but you remain in your position in spite of how your legs quiver in want, a desire for more. 

Your wet, sopping, John's digit coated swiftly in your slick as he teases you.

He toys back and forth before his finger slips down. This time you've already braced yourself when he circles your clit. You force yourself to hold still as you whine at the contact, wanting nothing more than to rock backwards.

Noticing your struggle and stubbornness, John's free hand grabs your hip, kneading the flash with gentle squeezes. "Mhm, just like that, love, doin' so good for me".

His baritone rolls over your back, making you shudder, skin knotting with goosebumps. He never once stops the slow movement of his finger, causing you to clench around nothing continuously, especially as he starts flicking the tip of his finger.

You press your forehead against the counter upon the small, sharp jolts of electricity firing pleasure through your nervous system. But it's so fleeting it doesn't have an opportunity to build into anything damning as John pulls away from your clit, falling back to running his digit along your folds.

John stays clear from your throbbing bundle of nerves, rotating his hand as he teasingly concentrates more and more attention on your entrance. You release an anticipated breath as he brushes over it repeatedly until you bite your lip. You want to tilt your hips to make him slip inside. But you withhold the urge, thankfully reaping the rewards before you get desperate enough that your body acts on instinct.

John puts the slightest pressure behind the dragging motion. At first, only the tip of his finger enters you before he pulls it back, doing the same thing a few times until he pushes its entirety inside. 

You moan even though it's not nearly enough to stretch you so deliciously you feel full. But it just feels good having something sliding in and out of you. Though one soon turns to two when John pulls out, a second finger prodding your pussy before both slip inside.

Squelching noises fill the air as he fingers you, his other digits pressing against your ass. You pant, unable to keep your noises at bay as he finally relents somewhat in his fleeting touches and indulges you with some relief. But it's not nearly enough. 

The pace remains slow, his fingers imitating a stroking motion even inside you rather than plunging deep and fast or wriggling forcefully to spur an orgasm. Now, you only feel your high building oh so slowly that it's frustrating how flat the exponential curve is.

And yet, as if projected from your body, you can see the scene you're a part of and find it unbelievably arousing. 

John, with his cock freed from his pants and occasionally brushing against your rear, otherwise fully clothed, almost lazily pumping his fingers in and out of your hole as you bend over the counter, panties around your legs, doing your damnedest to keep fucking still.

You moan at the image, hands pressing flat against the counter before curling into fists. It's so fucking erotic that you feel John's fingers suddenly sliding more easily in and out despite the way you clench around them.

"You're practically drippin', love", he teases you, fingers leaving your entrance for a few seconds, not hovering far from your pussy, until they return with a press against your clit, a new chillier slickness coating them. The acknowledgement that you're wet enough it nearly dribbles from you wears your patience to the breaking point.

"Captain, I can't take it, fuck me already". John doesn't reprimand you for your demand, only chuckles as he steps close, cock pressing against your asscheek. 

His fingers have dropped from your clit, but his touch is soon replaced with the head of his cock as he guides it to your folds, running it up and down to coat himself in your slick. 

You let out a shuddering moan as John pushes slightly against your entrance, tip breaching your hole, only to slip out and repeat the movement. Regardless that he's in charge, your frustrated cry is all it takes for him to push into you properly with an amused huff that sharply pivots into a grunt.

"Yeah, just like that- arch for me… good girl…". John groans, and you take his urge to meet his thrust that you're finally free to move as you wish. 

You gape as he bottoms out in one slow press, hips pressed flush against your ass. You feel his legs tremble, his hands flexing on your hips, but he stays still for your sake of accustoming to his girth.

"So good for your Captain". You whimper at his words, making him chuckle breathily. "Oh, you like that, eh?" He feigns ignorance of what he'd learnt: that you absolutely do. He grabs a fistful of your ass. "Dirty girl…". You gasp as he spanks your rear, the smacking sound making you clench around him.

"Need you to move". You whine as you wriggle your hips. But John bends over you, burly frame forcing your upper body flush to the cool tabletop.

"Come on, love". He scolds huskily against the shell of your ear, warm breath cascading past your cheek. Parts of his hands grip your ass while the rest cover your hips, the meat spilling between his fingers. But he remains still, deep inside you, not moving until the proper phrase falls from your lips. 

It's easier to give in this time, having been shoved over the edge previously, ignoring the immorality of using his rank in this setting and whatever pride left in your body. Mentally, at least. 

Physically, it takes you a few seconds, preoccupied with basking in what's happening. Bent over the counter with the biting kiss from the cold stone dulled from the shirt you borrowed from John. Yet the harshness from the unmoving material doesn't fail to make itself reminded against your soft body despite the shielding material. Effortlessly sandwiching you is the similarly firm body of John, considerably warmer but still effective in immobilising you.

"Captain, please". His rank is honey, saccharine and dripping effortlessly from your tongue once you find your voice through the arousal. "Please move".

"Mm, that's it", he croons, granting you the movement you want as he straightens, not before kissing your clothed shoulder. Exegrated to make up for the fabric separating you.

It starts with calculated thrusts that make you keen and almost roll back and forth on your feet from the steady and slow pace. Then John picks up the speed, rutting against you with powerful snaps of his hips. Your fingers scramble, finding purchase on the counter's edge, curling over the side to have some semblance of grounding force.

It doesn't take long before you moan unabashedly at each stroke, fluttering around his cock as he works his length in and out of you, driving his hips forward and back in a steady beat. Along the erotic sound of skin slapping and wet noises is the filth spewing from his lips.

"This what you wanted, eh?" He gruffs. "With all those looks?" He gets a moan in response as you turn your head so your cheeks rest against the counter, watching him through the corner of your eye. 

John's jaw hangs slack, hair falling along his forehead as he must be staring at where the two of you connect. He looks raptured, almost dazed. He said he wanted this as well and by the looks of it... yeah, he really did. You don't know how you haven't noticed. But, fortunately, John sets your knack of reading people to shame compared to his skill. 

You're snapped out of your thoughts as one of his hands leaves your hips and you see him raise it at an angle. You whine, arching towards it as much as possible with the unbudging surface beneath you. It drags his eyes upwards, noticing how you're watching him. 

His lips tug upwards, eyes never leaving you as his palm swats your ass. A reactionary moan spills from your lip as your legs press against the outer side of his thighs at the sensation, brows knitting together from the stinging pleasure.

It spurs John to rut harder, causing your body to fucking sing as your head gets steadily dizzier.

He releases a breathless chuckle at your inability to conjure anything apart from keening sounds and guttural moans as your body goes lax, eyes fluttering close, body jolting at the new pace he sets.

But he doesn't appear much more put together as he witnesses how you allow yourself to let go, giving the reins entirely to him. 

You catch how John's sentence breaks into fractions, groans and heady sounds spilling from his lips between sentences to rile you up even further. In the end he can't release much more than growling sounds as he folds, resting his chest against your back, using his weight to forcefully push his hips against yours, making his balls tap against your clit each time.

John barely pulls himself back enough to push forwards again, but it's enough to repeatedly batter the head of his cock against the spot making your legs tingly and toes flex before curling. 

Once again, your hands search for something to grasp upon the pleasure coursing through your body. One manages to bend backwards over your shoulder, catching the lapel of John's jumper, and the other slides feebly across the smooth countertop. 

Your orgasm is building, breaths turning stunted, muscles seizing.

You feel John's rhythm stutter as you clench more frequently and reactionary in response to his ruts as you near your release. His head ducks to rest between your shoulder-blades, warm puffs of air seeping through the oversized shirt you're wearing. His teeth bite down on the excess fabric, grunts vibrating against you. 

John's getting close, throbbing violently inside you, hands digging into your hips even further. When he angles his thrusts downwards, a dirty grind at the end of each penetration, he hits so many pleasurable spots that you release an unprompted cry.

You don't need much, so close to your edge that your head thrash that you wedge your hand beneath your forehead to not knock yourself out cold. So when John grits a heady sentence through his teeth and the fabric trapped between them, that's it. 

"Come on, love, be a good girl to your Captain. Wanna feel you squeeze 'round me".

Your eyes snap close as you jerk against him, ass pressing upwards before involuntarily trying to escape his persistent thrusts as the pleasure explodes. But your hipbones are already aching from the counter and you can't flee how John continues to cram his girthy cock into your twitching hole, so you just let him extend your orgasm until he reaches his with a growl. 

John curls around you, hips pressing snuggly against your rear as he spurts his release deep. You feel his warm spend inside you, releasing a shattered moan as your eyelids flutter but, in the end, remain closed.

The stone isn't as cold against your forehead anymore, the surface likely warming from your panting exhales.

John's chest rises and falls against your back. He massages your hips almost unconsciously, small flexes of his fingers. Your hand, previously fisting his jumper, falls to your left hip, squeezing his wrist before your fingers graze over his knuckles and card between digits, easing his grip. It seems to bring him out of his post-orgasmic rouse as he softens the action until he stills completely, now cradling the likely-to-be-discoloured area.

"Fuck", he exhales as he releases your shirt from his teeth. The wet spot where his saliva has sept into the fabric is significant as it falls back against your skin. 

You reply with a soft confirming sound, craning your neck to glance at John. 

His face has risen and is now close to yours. However, what catches you off-guard isn't the proximity but his gaze. It's dark and glittering, a spent smile noticeable through his facial hair.

He kisses you despite the awkward angle. The hair that's

fallen out of place and endearingly covers his forehead brushes yours. 

The interaction is brief before he rises, bringing you with him from the forwards-bent position that's not as comfortable for either of you when the lust-driven haze fades. In the movement, John slips out of you before stepping back. Not soon after, he pulls your underwear into place. 

The hem of his shirt drops around your thighs once you stand again and it doesn't catch on John's hand. You run a hand through your hair, letting it fall to the kitchen counters, noticing your balance is still wobbly. Your other hand assist your balance by resting on the kitchen counter as you take a moment to collect yourself. 

You take a moment to collect yourself before you turn to face John with a sigh. He's just popped the button on his cargos back in place but doesn't care about tucking his t-shirt into the waistband of his pants again.

As John runs a hand through his hair, the other naturally falls to your hip to steady you as his gaze locks with yours.

"All good?" His voice is gritty, pleasure still intertwined with the soft check-in.

"Mm, yeah", you smile sluggishly, your voice breathy. "You?" 

"All good. I wasn't too much?" There's a glimmer of concern in his eyes, one you shoo away immediately.

"No, god, you were not too much, John, you were... really good". You reach out to touch John, hands slipping between the layers of fabric on his torso. He melts under your touch, relaxing the arm that had raised so he could tame his hair, letting it curve around your neck. With the back of your head nestled perfectly in the crook of his arm, he tugs you closer to him.

"Didn't know you had such a thing for men in uniform, love". He chuckles, lightening the mood as he looks down at you. 

"You in uniform". 

"Compliments your take on a gallantry medal?" 

"Mhm", you hum against his lips. "My Captain deserves them". You cheekily use the nickname you'd moaned shamelessly only minutes prior, making him huff an amused laugh that puffs against your mouth.

"Not gonna hear the end of that, eh?"

"At ease, soldier, I'm only gonna use it when I wanna get a rile out of you". You press a kiss against John's lips and he reciprocates it. In the end, a smile splits yours open, one you greet him with as you lean away, creating a bit of space between you. "But what would they think of that? Esteemed Captain Price with a captain kink". He pinches your rear, and you squeal, a sound that fades into a giggle as the hand previously on the counter settles on your hip. 

"Watch it". The edges of John's eyes are still creased in the corners as he says it, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Just curious", you defend yourself with a shrug. "But I can't say I'm surprised you like the power-trip". You give the blue-eyed man a playful purse of your lips. 

He cock his head, brows arching. "Why?"

"Being a good Captain must come from somewhere. You like ordering people around", you muse.

"Delighted to be your entertainment". John exhales through his nose.

You try to lean up to kiss his furrowed expression away, but by tightening his arm around your head and leaning backwards, he avoids your attempt.

"Don't be pouty. You seemed to enjoy it just as much as I did. Admitted you do". You chide John lightly and he drops the faux offence, delight and piked interest present in his eyes.

"Mm, 'bout that. Didn't know you liked bein' ordered around that much". You smile shyly, head notching forwards, not far from resting against his chest from your closeness.

"We all have our moments of something, don't we?" You look up at John through your lashes. 

His arms slide down until his hand envelops your neck. A hum fills the air before he leans down, pressing his lips against yours briefly, soothing any possible apprehension in your answer framed as a question rather than a statement.

"Would you like me to do it more?" You crack into a smile at his question, eyes fluttering open to meet his blue eyes.

"Yeah, I would like to. I-I adore when you're sweet on me, John, but I also like when you're rough. Just, you know, take what you want sometimes, do as you please". You shrug, catching how John releases the air from his lungs in something akin to wonder and desire.

"You trust me enough?"

"If your men trust you on the field, I think I can trust you in this situation". 

John lets out a long groan, head tipping backwards as his eyes shut tightly. "Don't bring the lads into this, don't want that association".

You chuckle in earnest. "What? You're their Captain first and foremost".

"Not this type", he huffs, head falling forward. Looking at you again, the hand on the side of your neck slides to your hip, both hands now anchored there.

"Alright, alright. Only want you to myself anyways". You lean up, planting a series of kisses against John's lips until he reciprocates, the frown disappearing from his brows.

"Already got me, love". His voice softens, making you smile in return. 

Just as you're about to reply, the sensation of fluids flowing out of you makes you reactively twitch and clamp your legs together, hands flexing on his stomach. John notices, suppressing a smirk as he fishes your hands from beneath his jumper.

"Let's get you cleaned up." John enlaces his hand with one of yours, tugging you along as he heads towards your bathroom. "Still need to have that shower".

"You like seeing me wet, don't you?"

"Never said we would shower". John sends you a humoured look over his shoulder, making you roll your eyes. "Watch that attitude of yours. Things like that get you a lesson in discipline in the army". 

"Because that would be my biggest problem and not sleeping with a Captain, who I much rather get disciplined by." You quip with an amused look.

"Careful with what you wish for, love". John returns, the reply accompanied by a wink. As you chuckle with a shake of your head, John pulls you forward and into his side, planting a kiss on the side of your head, effectively ending the conversation as you step into the bathroom.

[endless-ineffabilities]

le marquis et le moineau - first dance

Marquis de Gramont x f!reader

synopsis: one of several short stories, set up as a prequel to this oneshot of le marquis et le moineau. This is set in the early days, depicting the beginning of what would turn into a dangerous mutual infatuation.

more of moineau: le marquis et le moineau ▪︎ (ill)fated ▪︎ other works

themes/warnings: slow burn, mentions of violence (it's the John Wick universe ofc), language, the Marquis is a manipulative asshole (to be fair, so is the reader) so don't expect a gooey romance!

The dinner was not what you expected.

First of all, you are surprised that you are actually enjoying yourself. Of all things to find pleasure in, you did not think it would be this - sitting across the man regarded as the most stupidly imperious beanpole in your profession.

Well, no one has ever called him a beanpole, but you think it appropriate. So pompous beanpole it is. He towered over everything- the fucking giant - blocking your line of sight when you had followed him into the dining room.

Why did you follow him? It might have been fear for your head, deferrence to who is currently the most important guest in the Continental. But with how it's going now, you think that you would have agreed regardless.

Maybe it's the way simply being there feels like there's a hundred mini electric shocks going through your body, like you're on high alert the whole time. His eyes would rake over you as the two of you converse, scrutinizing, and you would return the favour.

It's strange, for someone already living in a highly demanding and dangerous world, to take particular notice of any thrill. It is constant, akin to breathing.

But this... why does this feel different?

"Do I have something on my face?" you hear him ask, the ego practically jumping out of his voice. Connard. He smirks at how you seem to have been staring at him for quite a while.

"Well, I noticed this little wrinkle you have between your eyebrows," you make a little gesture, and his expression sours a bit, but he doesn't look convinced. "It's a lot similar to what Winston has, which is strange since he is ahead in his years."

I spaced out, asshole, you wanted to say instead. Why the hell would I be looking at your face?

That's a lie. He's a sight, and he knows it. You know it. The thing, he never has to know that you know.

Or, something like that.

He prattles on, yet another probing question bubbling from his lips. "From everything you've said, it does not look to me as if you are satisfied with your position. Am I correct?"

"Not satisfied? Marquis, I am exactly where I want to be, doing what I want to do - "

"And what is that, hmm? Being an apprentice? Waiting on the guests of this fine establishment? Always at their beck and call like some... " He pauses, although he's well aware of what he means.

"Some what?" you say, keeping your tone civil through gritted teeth.

He appraises you, wondering why he is hesitant in dealing the final blow, and simply hurling the insult as he usually does. You are nothing to him, after all, are you not?

But no. If he is to use you - and this option is growing on him - he must stay on your good side. It would help in making you more pliable to his demands.

You straighten, after you're sure that he would go no further, taking a sip of your wine, "Why, Marquis, I didn't think you would be so... considerate."

He sneers, "I can be all kinds of nice to you, ma belle, if you please me well enough."

Ma belle. From any normal, warm-blooded admirer, the words can invoke amusement or gratitude. Maybe embarrassment at the other person's audacity, in your perspective. But from him? The coil in your stomach that unfurled brought forth a weird sensation of warmth, despite your job-mandated emotional regulation training.

More understandably, it raised your suspicion. What does he want? Is he just being... well, French?

"On behalf of the Continental, consider it our mission to ensure that you remain pleased throughout your stay," you recite like an AI automation, in an attempt to appear unaffected.

He titters, shaking his head, "Be that as it may, I only require you."

"M-me?" Smooth. Real smooth, super spy.

"Your services," he elucidates, basking in your surprise. "I would like to take you into my employ. I think you have immense potential."

"I don't think I understand."

He rolls his eyes, frustrated at how slow he thinks you're being. "You may just be a baby receptionist - "

You scowl at that, "Assistant to the Concierge, actually."

The prat ignores you, " - but you're a baby receptionist at the Continental New York. You have considerable training, and from your background, it is clear that you're plenty accustomed to this life."

"What do you need me for? I'm sure you have an array of specialists at your disposal. I happen to know of someone who can do anything you require. John Wick is - "

He scoffs, his eyes glinting in amusement, "I am not too inclined to assign John Wick as my date to the most important gala in Paris."

"Pardon me? Date?" you blanch.

Again, he makes his trademark insolent expression. Are you deaf, his face practically screams.

"Oui, my date," he gingerly wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin, and you imagine stuffing his mouth with it so he stops speaking entirely. "You've heard of the Paris ball, have you not?"

"The one held in your honour, every year."

"In my honour," he repeats, disdain lacing his voice. "Around three hundred little ants who claim to respect and admire me. But the thing about ants is... they have the tendency to destroy their queen."

"I see," you exhale, understanding his implication. "So I won't be there to simply be your date."

He tilts his head, "Were you expecting any different?"

Yes.

"No."

He smirks, having pushed you into a corner as planned. "Instead of having some dolt of an heiress or model with me like I normally do, I am choosing to bring you. I thought you would be able to weave your way into the crowd, sort out which ones are the little rats and report back to me. No one would suspect you because they would think you're just there to look pretty."

He sure has a way of being flattering and demeaning at the same time.

"Why can't your men do that job?" you challenge him. Your answer is nearly fully formed in your mind, for various reasons, but if there is a way out of this, you'll take it as a sign to bow out for your own good. "I'm sure you don't need to go through all this subtlety. Pick out the bad weeds and crush them underneath your polished boot, as you do."

"My dear, we are not animals. I prefer to move with a bit more finesse than my lowly counterparts."

Finesse? Or is he just unwilling to get his hands dirty? To wade into the murky waters among the sharks?

"Besides," he stands, walking slowly until he reaches you. He casts a shadow over the table as he stops behind your chair. When he speaks again, he has stooped so low you can feel his breath on the nape of your neck. "You need me. I am offerring you an opportunity to advance quickly in our world. Do me this favour and there is no one who will dare doubt your potential."

When you twist around to look at him, he is close. Too close. There is an almost sadistic glint in his blue eyes, a mark of someone who is used to getting what he wants.

You nod, once, expecting him to back away after that. Instead, he leans even closer, his eyes never leaving yours. You clock him raising a hand to your face in your peripheral vision, "What are you doing?"

He sighs in annoyance, and his fingers graze your jaw. He makes a condescending tsk noise, before saying, "If you're going to be my date, you have to be comfortable with being close to me. I will have to touch you, you know."

Prick.

Why are his eyes so goddamn blue?

Asshole.

"Of course," is all you mumble after a while.

It is as if he decides that he's done with you after that, stepping back, and gesturing to the hall with a noncommittal "Off you go."

"Thank you for dinner," you say, but he does not even care to look at you. "Do let us know if you need anything else."

You confidently walk to the entrance of his penthouse suite, head held high as you pass by his lackeys and associates. Thinking that the Marquis stayed behind in the dining room, goosebumps erupt on your skin when he says your name, and he is right behind you.

Before you can wonder why on earth he would see you out himself, he rubs his thumb momentarily in the space between your eyebrows, smirking.

"Oh would you look at that," he teases, "you have that little wrinkle too."

You notice how his accent is more pronounced when he is relaxed, in this case when he is making fun of you.

"Mmm," you smile sarcastically, and the glee on his face deepens.

"À bientôt, petit moineau," he says in finality.

There it is again, and you're resolved to find out what that means.

"Be seeing you."

Here I thought I ran out of juice for this story, but then...