#johnny quid | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ceilidho · 24 days ago

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fig. 1. hand in dog mouth | Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Reader

MASTERLIST · AO3

The first time he smells her from inside the woman's locker room, it brings him to a halt. The human voice in his head grows dimmer and dimmer until it ceases to make a sound.

or: the forced mating omegaverse au

tags: Size Difference, Size Kink, Omegaverse, Explicit Sexual Content, AFAB Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping, Heavy Noncon/Dubcon Elements

“Fuckin’ gym isnae giei’ me a free month even though ah have tae drive tae practically the other side o’ the country tae get a decent pump in.”

“Mate, I can’t understand you when you get all worked up,” Gaz sighs on the other end of the phone, probably pinching the bridge of his nose. A lot of their conversations end up that way, one of them quickly losing patience with the other until the call abruptly ends.

Johnny drops his gym bag in the back and slams the car door shut, rounding to the other side to get in on the driver’s side.

“Ah said, they aren’y refunding me fer the month even though the other location is on the other side o’ town. That’s a half hour back ‘n forth,” he gripes. The call switches to bluetooth a couple seconds after starting the car, Gaz’s exasperated voice coming from the speaker instead of his cell.

“Don’t you already get a discount?”

“That’s jus’ fer bein’ a vet. This is completely different. It’s gonna be closed fer a month fer renovations. Ah cannae do this fer a whole month.”

“Hey, I know where you live. Aren’t there other gyms around that you could go to instead?”

“Are ye out o’ yer fuckin’ mind, Gaz? Ah’m no’ payin’ ten quid fer a fuckin’ day pass when ah already pay out the nose fer a membership.”

“No need to get mad at me, mate, I’m just giving you suggestions.”

“Well, keep them tae yerself if they’re all that bad.”

“Okay, this has been a great chat. I hope you blow a tire on the way there and try calling me for help so I can ignore it.”

The call ends with a loud beep and Johnny barks out a laugh as he reverses out of his spot, looping out of the lot and onto the main road.

He takes the highway because most of the slush and snow has long been cleaned off, though his wipers pump back and forth furiously to keep the snow flurries from sticking to the windshield. That already sets the tone for his evening. He nearly gets in an accident twice on the way there, everyone losing their ability to drive the second the weather is even slightly bad.

He should just be lucky his gym even has another branch. They could’ve left him high and dry for the month, forced him to go to one the other gyms in his neighborhood that don’t offer the same range of weights and veteran’s discount.

Worse, he could’ve been left with no choice but to use Gaz’s guest pass to his exorbitantly overpriced luxury gym downtown. Even the thought makes Johnny shudder. It could always be worse.

It’s so much more than just the drive that he hates about the other location. Like the first time he came here months ago when an appointment on the other side of town made him think it would be more convenient to pop in rather than heading back home for his workout, the parking lot is packed when he arrives, and he has to circle the lot twice before a spot frees up.

The gym is similarly packed when Johnny walks in, and his mood darkens as he scans the weight section for a free bench. None in sight. Just meathead after meathead lining the far wall, huffing and puffing with each rep, dumbbells scattered around.

Headphones slipped on and music loud enough to make his ears ring, he heads to the treadmills instead. Better to just start his workout like usual and hope for the best.

The air stinks of sweat and hormones, alpha pheromones wafting through the gym and leaving not a corner untouched. It’s one of the reasons he prefers the location closer to his place—convenience aside, his location is mainly frequented by betas and omegas, the odd alpha not having much of an impact on the overall vibe.

It’s not that he doesn’t have plenty of alpha friends (Gaz being just one of them), it’s just that sometimes he likes being the biggest, meanest thing in the room. Keeps him in line. Keeps him from being the stupid shit he is ninety-nine percent of the time, as Gaz would say. He likes to be the only one posturing.

So he doesn’t relish being forced to work out with a million carbon copies of himself. It’s nothing Johnny isn’t used to at least—a decade in the military and a lifetime of contact sport before that had been enough of an education in coexisting with other alphas—but it leaves him on edge, muscles bunching up until his shoulders are nearly up to his ears.

Running loosens him up. Distracts him from the urge to sink his teeth into something tender and shake until it bleeds.

A brisk walk to a light jog to a full on sprint. Tongue suctioned to the roof of his mouth, sharpened canines throbbing. The most natural state in the world—legs pumping under him faster and faster, the faint memory of bare feet on a cold forest floor turning over loose soil with every stride. The steady pound of his feet against the ground rumbling through him.

It’s a pale imitation of the real deal, but the taste of salt and rust on the back of his tongue keep him grounded. The beast in his chest rumbles its approval.

When a bench finally frees up, Johnny has to dash across the gym when he sees another alpha nearby eyeing his spot. He reaches the bench a few seconds before the other man though, slinging his sweat-drenched towel across the seat to claim it as his. The alpha hovers for a tense second, face screwed up in anger and nostrils flared like he might put up a fight for it.

Do it, Johnny almost growls, teeth itching. Try it and see what happens.

Lucky for both of them that the other alpha knows when to cut his losses. He shoulder checks another alpha as he stomps back to the leg press machine and nearly starts a whole other fight, but that’s none of Johnny’s business.

He cringes when he finally looks down at the bench only to find someone’s back outlined in sweat. Entitled shitheads at this gym can’t even be bothered to clean up after themselves.

The noxious miasma of alpha stench would make his eyes water if he weren’t so used to it. Pungent and sharp, like gargling brine.

A month can’t go by quick enough.

He leaves feeling worse than when he came in. Shoulders tight with tension and irritation crackling through him. Doesn’t even bother throwing a halfhearted see you later to the front desk workers on his way out. The height of rudeness. Not even rude so much as just not him; Johnny likes to talk, he likes to be friendly with the staff. It speaks to the anger riding high in his blood that he can’t even pretend.

To make it worse, his car is covered in snow when he makes it back, forcing him to spend an extra five minutes cleaning the shit off before he can finally leave.

It’s untenable. He can mind his ego for a paycheck, but on his own time his patience curls up into a ball in his chest and goes to sleep. It’s not a question of if he’ll lose his temper but when. Inevitable. His pugnacity has always been his downfall; his Achilles’ heel. Always cutting himself down on a sharp tooth.

The rosary beads dangling from the rearview window sway with the car when he takes a tight turn.

“Ah ken,” Johnny mumbles to himself, silver cross glinting under the stoplight. “Ah can do a month. Ah can keep it together.”

The next couple of times are just as bad. It’s always crowded during his preferred usual time and it always stinks, like the staff know they’re fighting a losing battle trying to keep the place clean so they don’t even try.

The sorry fuckin’ state of this place, Johnny thinks in revulsion, sneering down at yet another machine damp with sweat from the guy before him. It takes him a minute to wrestle down the impulse to chase after the other alpha and drag him back by his hair before shoving him face down into the puddle of sweat on the seat he left for someone else to clean up.

Only the threat of being permanently banned keeps his temper in check. That can only last for so long though.

It’s gotten to the point where he seriously considers taking Gaz up on his offer to come with him to the gym downtown. He’s a danger to himself and others here; a walking time bomb rapidly ticking down. Each day, something new tests the limits of his patience, like when he comes in one crowded afternoon only to find all of the lockers taken, the locker room stuffed to the brim with alphas and a few straggler betas.

He sits in his car with the heat on for an hour until the gym clears out, steaming enough to fog up the windows. Nearly turns right back around when he enters the locker room to find it absolutely demolished—damp towels strewn about, shower water all over the floor, and stinking to high heavens of sweat, body odour, and piss.

There’s still a dent in one of the lockers from the brief loss of his temper. He doesn’t cop to it, but he makes a point to only use the lockers on the other side of the room from then on.

He’s desperate enough to join Gaz at his fancy downtown gym all of one time, but the facilities there are so serene and sterile that his skin crawls the moment he walks in. Soothing spa music echoes through the three-story gym (no, wellness centre, the staff correct him at the check-in desk, and Gaz has to kick his bad knee to keep Johnny from howling) and verdant green plants grow from pots placed around the facility.

Like working out in the jungle, he thinks sardonically.

“How can ye even concentrate here?” he asks, aghast, staring at the group of limber, flexible bodies stretching and straining in a group yoga class behind a nearby glass wall. He licks his lips.

Gaz rolls his eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

“Ah’m no’ gonna get kicked out for breathing too loud, am ah?”

“If anything, you’re gonna get kicked out for public indecency,” Gaz sneers, looking down pointedly at Johnny’s open hand inching towards his crotch. “Can you chill out, mate?”

“It’s no’ my fault! They’re arching their backs ‘n pushing their tits out. Ah shouldnae have to look at that when ah’m tryin’ tae work out.”

“Would it kill you to not run your mouth off for five fucking minutes?”

Johnny mimes zipping his lips and then follows Gaz downstairs to the locker room, where the wall-length granite sink and infrared sauna make his eyes nearly bug out of his head.

To no one’s surprise, he doesn’t go back. Gaz doesn’t ask him again either.

An appointment one day pushes his schedule back a couple hours and he shows up later than usual, his teeth clenched tight the whole drive over because he expects the worst. Double the occupants, double the meatheads.

But when he pulls into a near empty lot, the knot of tension in his chest loosens. Only a handful of cars, and most of them are parked near the take-out place at the other end of the complex.

It’s practically a wasteland when Johnny walks in. A few people here and there, but otherwise deserted. Only a single person posted near the free weights.

Even the locker room is more palatable. Freshly cleaned and stocked with new towels. All of the showers have been scrubbed down and dried, the curtains tucked behind the holdbacks and waiting for someone to use them. It’s like walking into a brand new gym.

“Yeah, this is kind of the sweet spot,” a staff member tells him when he rocks up to the desk to ask about it. “We get a lot of alphas that come here right after five, so when it empties out around nine, we have the cleaning staff come in to sanitize everything.”

“Well shit,” he laughs, pushing back from the desk and lacing his hands behind his head. “Guess yer gonna see me more often.”

True to his word, he starts showing up later and later, the streetlights plump and gold when he swerves into the parking lot and parks in the middle of two spots purely because he can. There’s a new bounce to his gait, a pep in his step.

It fucks up Johnny’s schedule for a bit, but it’s well worth getting home well after midnight if it means that he gets the gym to himself. No one to complain when he groans and pants through each rep, sweat dripping from his face and body onto the floor, weights slammed against the mat with a loud thud every time he finishes a set.

(In truth, he’s no better than the alphas that plague the gym during the evening hours, but he’s long made peace with being a hypocrite.)

For a moment, it seems like life will at least be bearable until the month is over and he can go back to training at his regular gym. All he has to do is wait it out.

When it first catches his nose, he splinters down the middle.

It happens when Johnny’s on his way out for the night, muscles warm and only slightly sore, the kind of soreness that’ll dissipate by the time he flops into bed. It’s later than usual—closer to one than twelve, and he’ll feel it in the morning when he’s forced to get up at his usual hour—but there’s hardly anyone else in the gym and for that, it’s worth it.

The strap of his gym bag digs into his shoulder as he tosses a hand up on his way, saying goodbye to the beta manning the front desk on his own. A shame that he’s stuck on his own all night. It would drive Johnny crazy to be stuck at work with no one to talk to—it’s one of the reasons that he followed Gaz into private security when they both got out of the service.

He turns around, about to step out of the gym, when a peculiar smell tries to sneak past him. A slippery thing, silverfish quick and just as conspicuous.

He catches it though. Hunting dog with a purebred snout, he sniffs it the second it wafts under his nose and goes ramrod straight, egress forgotten.

The door to the women's locker room is closed, but he can smell the faint traces of the omega’s scent clinging to it. She must have touched it on her way out. Must have placed her palm against the door and shoved. The alpha beneath his skin that wears his face stills as well, everything vanishing into the singular nature of the scent emanating from the locker room door.

In twenty-nine years, he’s never felt so—

(unmoored, untethered

sinking into it like a stone, not coming apart but unraveling altogether—)

He breathes in again and it’s fainter now, but he can still smell it. Candy pink frosting, so sweet that his teeth hurt and his dick throbs. Juicy like a ripe peach waiting for his teeth. It wafts from the women’s locker room, so subtle that it’s clear that whoever it belonged to is long gone. He must have just missed her, an hour separating them at most.

It’s like nothing he’s ever smelt before. No omega in heat has ever made his head spin like this, every inch of him attuned to a single scent. Even slick on his tongue has never made him feel like this, rut thundering through his bones and snapping him into a new shape.

The hunger shifts from his throat to his stomach, settling in deep. And the beast under his skin that wears his face opens its maw, ropey strands of spittle stringing between its teeth.

“Hey man, you good?”

Johnny blinks, looking over his shoulder to find the guy at the front desk frowning at him. It snaps him out of whatever spell he’d been under. His alpha recedes beneath his skin again, hungering but quieter.

“Uh…” he clears his throat, pulling the strap of his bag back up onto his shoulder from where it slipped down. Gives the guy a thumbs up. “Yeah. Sorry—lost my train o’ thought.”

The employee stares at him for a beat before mumbling, “Okay…” under his breath and looking back down at the computer.

Johnny stares at the door for another few seconds before finally leaving.

He sweats all the way home. Worries, wonder, and woes. Blinks and suddenly his exit is next, another car behind him honking when he changes lanes abruptly without signalling. Haud yer wheesht, he thinks and flips the other driver off for good measure.

At home, he paces the length of his house thinking about that omega’s scent until it’s time for bed. Then he tosses and turns until his sleep grows profound and swallows him whole like Jonah. Into the belly of the beast. Nothing to do but let it spit him back out like a peachstone.

Then morning comes and his jaw clicks when he yawns and his bad knee hurts.

But worse than the snow pelting his windshield on the drive to work and worse than the cold stinging his face when he parks and stops for his morning coffee is the memory of that smell.

It’s not as if he doesn’t have any experience with omegas. Despite growing up under the thumb of four alpha sisters, Johnny’s been popular with omegas his whole life. His history with them is an assortment of sordid trysts and quick flings, good enough to scratch an itch but not enough to make him want to bite and keep.

Sticky, messy, syrupy ruts spent buried between an omega’s soft thighs, gorging himself on slick and pussy; nudging his cock against pillowy lips and then thrusting down their throat, hand palming the base of their skull to hold them in place.

It’s always been like that though. One and done; a couple days at most to work through the worst of his rut and then out the door, a messy kiss for the road before whistling his way home. Johnny’s good for that. A romp in the hay, a roll in the sack. Generous with his fingers and mouth and cock.

He’s never craved an omega like this though, never fevered like he fevers now. Itched like his skin was turned inside out in his sleep.

Waking up in the middle of the night panting, the covers under him drenched with sweat and his knot throbbing in his hand, already swollen and aching. Fisting his cock until he has no choice but to roll over and bury his teeth into his pillow, humping the mattress frantically until he comes, eyes watering with the force of his orgasm.

No tonic for this ailment. It simmers in his blood, infatuation decocting into full blown obsession.

Brontide as leitmotif and it rumbles in his ears.

Wandering through the city punch-drunk, always waiting for it to catch his nose somewhere else. In line at a salad bar, always a head taller than everyone else (which he’s still getting used to, which is still a strange new fact of civilian life); at a local venue with Gaz for a concert, scenting the air for any sign of them; seated at the back of the coffee shop across the street from the gym, eyes trained on the door.

Waiting. Always waiting.

And, hungering like a starved dog.

Saliva pooling in his mouth when he thinks of what it’ll be like when he finally has them under him, desperate and cloying and wet.

Other omegas smell sickly to him now, off somehow. A facsimile of what he knows is out there waiting for him. He’s not down for a quick fuck anymore. A hand on his chest and doe eyes blinking up at him makes him shudder now, grimacing down at the omega trying to compete for his attention when out there there’s—

His omega.

Just for him. Made to take his knot and clench around it and squeal when he pumps them full—

Hishishishishishis.

So he shrugs her hand off and sends her on her way.

Johnny spends weeks trying to line up their schedules—his and that elusive omega’s whose scent still permeates the gym even though he never actually sees them in the flesh—to no avail. Even though he’s there waiting at the gym nearly every day, they must stagger their visits. Worse, they seem to come at irregular hours; some days, Johnny shows up and though he can smell the omega’s scent, it’s flat, stale. Like they’ve been gone for hours, ages. Only the oil from their hands still embedded in the dumbbells on the rack.

He doesn’t even care if anyone’s watching when he brings one up to his nose and breathes in.

Then abruptly, the scent disappears, and with it, his soundness of mind.

A week gasping for air, flopping belly up. Breathing in nothing, not even the old, stale scent of his omega because they’re gone suddenly without warning. The first couple of days are manageable only because he doesn’t notice it at first, used to his omega taking a couple days off at a time to rest and recover, but then two days stretch into three. And then into four.

Johnny’s long thought of himself as wild and self-reliant, not accountable to anyone or anything apart from himself. It takes four days to obliterate that notion.

On the fourth day, he wakes up and his agony crawls out of his mouth on spindly legs.

It follows him to work and back, an ache between his shoulder blades and a gnawing, wretched hunger for something he can’t have because it’s beyond his grasp. Smoke now, lost in the ether. He drives across town before and after work, hoping that they’ll suddenly reappear and set his mind at ease, but the gym only smells of alpha funk and his own souring mood.

Too long without it. He’s nothing but a shell of himself in its absence, without the scent of his omega to calm him down, and it makes Johnny realize that he wasn’t doing well on his own before but just barely surviving. Barely keeping his head above water.

Ghost hauls him out of a bar by the scruff of his neck on Saturday night when he almost starts a fight, and only sinking his canines into the other alpha’s forearm calms him down. He slumps forward in the bigger man’s hold and whines when Ghost strokes a hand down his back and murmurs something vaguely soothing in his ear, his words muffled by the mask. He even lets Ghost drag him back home and curls up on his couch until a balled sock hits his head and he slinks into Ghost’s bedroom, dragging his feet the whole way.

His longing is excruciating. Pathetic. Like a dog with its own empty bowl in its mouth begging for scraps.

Gaz still calls every day because they’ve been joined at the hip since they first met almost a decade ago and it’s not long before he picks up on the shaky note in Johnny’s voice, stilted conversations becoming wholly incomprehensible. Even Price calls him towards the end of the week to ask if he’s doing alright. No, sir. Yes, sir. Ah’m fine, sir.

“Was it Gaz who snitched?” Johnny gripes, cutting a side-eyed glare at the alpha on the bench next to him curling sixty pound weights and groaning like he’s getting sucked off at the same time. Still no sign of his omega.

“Well, it wasn’t Simon.”

That makes him snort. Last time he tells that traitor a goddamn thing about his life.

Absence does not make the heart grow fonder. It makes the world seem fetid and bland, and he looks out at it through dull eyes, anger kindling inside. Makes his stomach cramp like there’s nothing in it. It takes the sheen out of an oil spill, leaving only the mess and rot behind.

And then suddenly it’s back like nothing happened, stopping him in his tracks as he walks into the gym. They must have gone out of town for the week, on vacation or visiting family, something so trivial that he’d laugh if his innards weren’t char and ash. If his alpha weren’t half-feral, blotting out his thoughts for hours at a time, all instinct and anger and teeth taking over until he regains clarity and the sky is dark.

It nearly brings him to his knees when he walks into the gym and the smell of his omega blooms bright and nacreous. The gym staff eye him with growing uncertainty, but he’s hardly the most concerning customer at a big box gym (last week someone locked themselves in one of the bathroom stalls with a knife), so they leave him to his own devices when he’s finally able to move again.

His omega isn’t there, of course. Johnny can tell from a quick glance around the gym and a sniff of the air. But they were, and that’s all that matters.

Their reappearance sharpens his resolve. Runs it against a whetstone, his time of waiting coming to an end. He rolls his shoulders back and puffs his chest out in anticipation. It can’t come soon enough.

Nothing stays silent for long when a wolf is watching from the shadows. Eventually it has to make a sound.

It’s quiet in the gym at two a.m. (a far cry from his usual time, but the hunt demands sacrifice), only the sound of a single treadmill whirring and shoes hitting the belt disturbing the near silence.

Johnny smells you the second he walks in. It punches him right in the chest when he inhales and the ripe, sticky scent of his omega flows into his lungs. Mouth watering on instinct. Rutilant eyed, he tilts his head wolf-like and stares down towards the other side of the gym where a pretty thing fiddles with the settings on the treadmill, settling into a light jog.

He’s buried under an avalanche of want so powerful and so swift that it collapses him down to base instinct. Thoughts disconnected and hazy, blooming like a bruise in his head.

Shouldnae be here, he wants to croon in your ear while he holds you down, almost swaying on his feet at the thought. Should be back in my bed at home takin’ my dick so deep in yer gorgeous cunt that ye can taste my cum on the back of yer tongue—

The employee manning the front desk doesn’t even look up when Johnny scans his pass and pushes through the turnstile, flipping to the next page of the magazine open in front of him.

It’s better that way. Johnny doesn’t know what he’d do if someone tried to stop him or get in his way.

The gym is deserted at this time of night, only the single treadmill in use and someone that passes him on their way out, a gust of wind at Johnny’s back signalling their departure. Everything always works out in his favour. He suffers for it, but God rewards him for his patience.

He takes a seat on the closest available training machine and doesn’t even pretend to use it. Johnny’s never been much of a performer anyway. Instead, he drops his gym bag down on the floor beside the chest press machine and leans forward, elbows resting against his knees.

He’s lucky that you’re too concentrated on your workout to feel the heat of his stare. Your phone rests on its side in front of you, an episode of a show playing to distract you while you run. Earphones in to block out the noise. He knows Ghost would tell him to correct that. Can’t have his omega distracted while alphas lurk nearby waiting to dig their teeth into the supple lump of flesh sitting tantalizing just below the collar of your shirt—

A bead of sweat runs down his temple and his dick twitches in his sweats.

There are cuffs in his gym bag. Tools of the trade. It’s not as innocent as he lets himself think, but they’re there in case things go sideways. Sideways like if you take one look at him and run the other way when you notice the way his half-lidded eyes barely blink as he stares at you.

And he can’t have that. Not now that he’s found you.

His patience is unwavering when the circumstances call for it. It’s a skill he picked up in the service, learning to channel all of the frenetic energy coursing through him into a tight point at the back of his mind, compressing it all down to a singularity that later he’ll allow to expand and burn itself out like a dying star.

Not now though. Now he sits and he watches and he waits.

He stares at your ass while you run, crossfaded on his alpha’s slabbering hunger and his own need to wrench those leggings down your hips. When he has the luxury of time, he’ll tie you to his bed by your wrists and ankles, belly down to make it easier on him, and sink his teeth into the flesh of your ass until it’s tender to the touch, until even ghosting his hand over your ass makes you squirm and weep.

Even the thought has a growl rumbling at the back of his throat.

You’re not a very fast runner, but you’re quick enough. Like a rabbit, Johnny thinks and nearly laughs at his own joke. A distracted one at that, too concerned with what’s in front of you to notice what’s lurking right behind.

No matter. He sits and he waits.

Eventually, the treadmill starts to slow down, and with it, you. Panting to catch your breath. Fingers trembling when you pause the video on your phone and scrub a towel down your face to wipe off the sweat.

And for once the entire gym smells of nothing but a honeyed sweetness. Spun sugar and strawberry Angel Delight. Intoxicating and heady. It permeates the building, dragging him deeper into a drugged haze, dulling his senses, plugging his ears with cotton until the only thing he can hear is the sound of your rabbit-quick heartbeat going bump-bump-bump in your chest.

You must have been finishing your workout with a light jog because when the treadmill comes to a complete stop, you take another second to catch your breath and then step off to the side, draping your towel around the back of your neck and heading for the locker room.

Johnny feels himself rise to his feet but there’s no consciousness behind it. No intent beyond primordial reflex, prey drive kicking in when you try getting away. He forgets about everything else—the employee at the front desk, his gym bag next to him. His knees don’t even crack for once, the movement fluid, and when he follows you towards the locker room, his feet hardly make a sound.

It’s to his advantage that you haven’t noticed him yet, but he’ll deal with that soon enough. The locked room door swings shut behind you and there’s a second where he hesitates, better thoughts creeping past his alpha to whisper in his ear that he doesn’t have to do it this way. He’s never had trouble with an omega before��why use force now?

And then he hears a locker slam shut on the other side and instinct takes over.

You’re half-undressed in the middle of the locker room when he walks in, clad only in your panties and bra, and his world narrows down to that moment. Everything in his life has led him to this. Like a red sea parting; the universe suddenly giving him a sign, beckoning him forth.

The door swings shut behind him and your ears twitch at the noise.

He’s done this before in another life. Three strides and he slips right up behind you, arms winding around your front to pull you into his chest and covering your mouth with his hand. You freeze for a split second before going haywire, flailing in his hold, his hand muffling your screams.

“Shh, it’s just me, doe,” Johnny shushes you, arms constricting around you. Relishing the feeling of your body against his, warmer and softer than he imagined.

You shriek behind his hand, twisting in his hold and trying with all your might to break free. Simple thoughts for simple creatures. Even when you try to bite his hand, Johnny only coos, cock swelling at the feeling of your tongue on his skin. The little kittenish licks just rile him up. He likes it less when you try to headbutt him, narrowly missing his nose when you throw your head back.

When he dips his nose into the crook of your neck, he can’t help the growl that slips out of him.

“Enough o’ tha’,” Johnny growls, words reverberating with his annoyance.

The sound makes you still, prey instincts as sharp as his. Smart girl. You know when not to push your luck. He’s bigger and stronger, and his teeth are precariously close to your mating gland, which sits nestled in the crook of your neck.

He breathes in. Your scent is strongest there, at the base of your neck. A delicate layer of skin and then underneath it, your blood sings. Whispers praises high and sweet to him. A shuddering breath out.

You mumble something behind his hand. Tremble violently, your nails digging into his forearm with a biting sting.

He shushes you again. “No’ here, baby—gotta take ye somewhere more private.”

He pays no mind to the way you resume your screaming behind his hand as drags you deeper into the locker room and away from the door. Hardly needs to use any of his real strength, only a fraction of it. The fight you put up would almost be endearing, would almost make him go thatta girl and nip at the tip of your nose, if not for the way it triggers his instincts, an innate urge to dominate you into submission.

It isn’t hard to wrestle you to the floor in the showers. Like play fighting, all bark and whine and keen, teeth snapping an inch from his nose until he pins you under him, snarling right in your face until you submit. That gets you to stop making a fuss. The last thing he wants is to deal with a front desk employee trying to play the hero by pulling him off you. Not that anyone could. He’d rather this not end in bloodshed.

“Tha’s better,” Johnny growls. “Jus’ be nice, a’right?”

You shiver at his words, eyes wide and petrified, darting all over his face. Even tinged with your fear, how could he not preen under your gaze now that you’re getting a proper look at him? He knows what he looks like—rugged and strong, mohawk recently cleaned up and beard freshly trimmed. Not a behemoth like Ghost, but big for an alpha, broad shouldered and beefy.

Big for an alpha in a couple different ways, he leers.

“Don’t hurt me,” you whimper, and that breaks his heart. How could he ever? How could he ever look at something as perfect as you and want to ruin it? His chest aches at the thought.

“No, baby,” he whines, nuzzling his nose into the side of your face. “Ah would never, baby, never. Dinnae be scared. Ah’m no’ gonna hurt you, doe.”

He drags his nose down the length of your head, running his tongue over the rounded corner of your jaw. Your sweat tastes of wet roses and tart jam. Still intoxicating, but wrong, sour and sodden with fear. It makes his skin itch and his shoulders tense. You shouldn’t be scared of him; his omega should never be scared of him.

“Ye cannae smell it, doe?” he asks, pressing a soft kiss into your neck, lingering there so he can feel your pulse flutter against his lips. “Ah can… Cannae smell a damn thing else when yer around. S’all ah can think about.”

“What are you talking about?” you whisper, so frightened that you can barely squeeze the words out, fear choking you. He can’t stand it. The thought that you might find him dangerous makes his throat burn, agony ripping his chest open and yanking his insides out.

He braces himself up on his forearms and forces his hand under your head, lifting your head up off the tile floor.

“How do ah smell, doe?” Johnny rasps, shoving your face into his neck and holding you there until you have no choice but to inhale. He feels the way you shudder when you do, hands spasming against his chest. “Smells good, doesn’t it? Just breathe it in, doe.”

You do, shakily. Then a deeper inhale, filling your lungs with his scent.

“I—oh god—” you groan, your hands suddenly fisting in Johnny’s shirt and dragging him closer.

“Jesus,” he curses through clenched teeth, dizzy with lust. He goes with it, laying more of his body weight on top of you, hind brain taking over.

A long, deep inhale. Your nose digs into his neck. “What is that?” you whine.

“S’the best thing in the fuckin’ world.” An understatement. Johnny’s eyelids fall shut when your tongue pokes out to lightly graze his neck.

So much pent up emotion and anguish and want only for it suddenly—

stop.

Motion succumbing to instinct, to fate. Everything else is collateral damage when fate gets in the way.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, scent ripening, fear replaced with something else—still sharp, but charged. Hesitant because you shouldn’t want this—it shouldn’t even be a thought in your head to indulge the strange man who wrestled you to the floor and forced you to scent him, but then you get a good whiff of him and that thought shakes like television static, like a mirage, like a glass surface wobbling right before it breaks—

When he pulls back, the world is different.

You’re glassy eyed, so pliant now that he could do anything to you, anything at all. And then his eyes dip lower.

He cups your neck with a clammy hand and strokes a finger over the lovely gland at the crook of your neck. It’s warm to the touch.

“Look a’ this,” he breathes, awed. Your hand flies to his wrist, fingers barely able to wrap around it.

“D-don’t touch it,” you choke out, swallowing harshly. It has to be sensitive. Still, Johnny can’t keep from stroking his finger over it again, soaking up the way his touch makes you shiver. Poor thing, gone so long without your alpha’s touch.

“Ah cannae help it, doe,” Johnny whispers. He switches to his thumb, rubbing the pad of it over your gland until you whine and squirm, eyebrows drawn tight together. “Does it hurt, baby? Do ye need me tae make it better?”

You whine, trying to weakly bat his hand away. “N-no, that’s for my alpha—”

“Aye, tha’s right.” His eyes gleam fulgurite under the fluorescent lights. “Fer yer alpha.”

He digs his thumb in harder until your mouth opens on a silent cry.

His alpha drools a messy puddle beneath his skin, jowls sagging. It stares without blinking.

It’s different than lust or bloodthirst. Darker; deep-seated. He’s never felt this way before, and, if his gut feeling proves true, he never will again. It’s like looking down a vast, dark hall, and seeing only one way out.

A damp shower room floor in a locker room is no place for him to take his omega for the first time, but he couldn’t lift himself off you if he tried. His muscles feel far too heavy, like lead weights dragging him down, the gravity stronger here somehow.

“Let’s get this off,” he murmurs, sitting back on his haunches.

“Wait—wait, not here, alpha, please—”

Your protests fall on deaf ears. He wrenches your bra over your head, mindful not to let the back of your head smack against the tile floor. “Gentle, gentle—there we go. Tha’s a good girl.”

Your panties come next, stripped off and tossed elsewhere. His lips follow the path of his hands, sucking kisses into your hips and thighs until your fingers thread into his hair and yank. He yelps, scalp tingling with pain.

“Do tha’ again, doe,” Johnny purrs, shuddering when you do. Eyes rolling back in his head.

His world tilts on its axis when he forces your legs apart and stares at the perfect slice of heaven between your thighs.

“Doe.” Voice broken, shredded. Running his thumb up the seam of your lips and moaning when your hole clenches at his touch and a drop of slick leaks out. “Oh, doe…she’s so…”

Too awestruck for words. Language is beyond his grasp, too inadequate for the feelings coursing through him. Lacklustre, diaphanous thing. There’s no way to describe the feeling of leaning forward and touching his lips to yours, angling his head to give her a proper kiss, one with tongue and feeling. She kisses him back just as passionately.

The taste of you is incomparable. He can’t believe he ever thought there was a world where he could subsist on just the smell of you. Impossible now that he’s had you on his tongue. He runs it up the seam of your pussy, the flat of his tongue spread wide to catch every honeyed dewdrop clinging to your skin, sucking each fold into his mouth to be extra thorough. The pearl sitting nice and pretty at the top gets a wet kiss for waiting so long for his touch.

He pulls back for a second to catch his breath. “So pretty, baby,” Johnny whines, pulling the hood of your clit up with his thumb and sucking her into his mouth.

“Oh my god—”

He buries his face into your cunt, the bridge of his nose wedged against your clit and making you howl. He doesn’t budge even when you practically wrench his hair out by the roots, too committed to making your pussy squirt all over his face. Not an easy task with the way you keep trying to push him away from your cunt, but Johnny’s always risen to any challenge.

You howl when he wedges his tongue in as deep as it’ll go, thighs clamping around his head. Not a bad way to go, Johnny thinks in a daze, chin wet with your juices and nose nuzzling your sensitive little clit, making your whole body jolt. He can tell you’re close by the way your thighs spasm and your scent goes marzipan sweet, so lush and rich that his swollen cock leaks in his sweatpants.

It’s easy to get lost in your pleasure; Johnny feels it like it’s his own, his low back aching with the force of your impending orgasm. He misses your clit too much to let her get lonely though, so he lets go of your hip to push a couple fingers into your hole instead of his tongue.

“C’mon, doe, lemme see ye come,” he whines into your pussy, thrusting all three fingers into your hole, half-lidded eyes with blown out pupils watching the way your pussy gobbles them up. “Just like tha’—oh, there we go, baby, oh my god, come on, yes—lemme have it, doe—”

Your release is wet on his hand and all over his face. Little pussy still milking his fingers, the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

A hush falls over the room, the moment almost devotional. He thinks you might be crying, but it’s hard to tell because the blood in his ears is too loud and his hand is wet with your come and he wants nothing more than to do it all over again until you can’t even talk.

He rises to his feet in a daze, a deep red flush high on his cheekbones. His shirt comes off first, pulled over the back of his head and tossed behind him; his sweats are similarly discarded, tugged down and kicked away until you’re staring up at him in all his hairy, naked glory, cock flush with blood and heavy, drooping away from his stomach.

He laughs when he notices where your gaze has dropped. “Like what ye see?”

“I don’t know about this—” you start, but he pays your words no mind.

“C’mere,” he growls, suppressing the urge to wince when he drops to his knees again.

Johnny hooks an arm under your low back, hoisting your hips up until your ass rests against his thighs, making your back arch. It thrusts your tits up towards his face and he nearly goes cross-eyed staring down at your cute little nipples. They look lonely too.

He gets distracted again, forgetting about sinking his cock in your cunt in favour of hunching over to get his mouth on your tits. Sucks one until it's hard and pebbled against his tongue and circles his tongue over the soft areola skin, completely forgetting about your other breast. It’s hard to pull himself off.

You yelp when he bites down, not hard enough to hurt, but deliberate enough to tick you off.

“That’s too rough!” you hiss, grabbing him by the hair again.

“Sorry,” Johnny gasps. He nuzzles between your breasts, practically purring. “Ah’m so sorry, doe, ah couldnae help myself…”

Puppyish, he leans up to bunt his head under your chin, shuddering when your fingers loosen and hesitantly scratch his head.

“…Okay…” you murmur, overwhelmed. He ignores you, too content with nuzzling into your neck while you run your nails over his scalp.

Being this close to you after weeks of nothing is almost enough. The air reeks with your scent. If it weren’t for the ugly, festering ache in his belly, he’d be tempted to skip straight to this. Roll onto his back and pull you onto his chest, press his nose to the crown of your head and breathe in until it lulls him right to sleep. Maybe get a good belly scratch at the same time.

Then he inhales and the scent of your come on his chin makes his spine go stiff. Drool leaks from the corner of his mouth.

It can’t wait anymore. The thing under his skin shakes with hunger, its greed a ravenous, frothing appetite that goes mindless when it waits for its food. Do it. Do it now.

He braces a hand against the tile floor to lift himself up and pets your cheek with his free hand. “Ah’m gonna put it in now, okay, doe?”

And he means it too, stomach cramping with eager anticipation, knot already filling up at the base of his dick—still small enough to pop it into your hole, but not for much longer—because it’s everything he’s dreamt of since he first caught your scent in the air.

That must not be the case for you.

When you twist onto your belly and try to scramble away, he stares dumbly for a second before seeing red. Johnny crawls after you, dragging you back by your ankle when you get a bit too far away and flipping you over again. You hiss when the back of your head smashes against the floor, hands reaching up to cradle it instinctively.

You get it snarled right in your face, his anger erupting out of him like a geyser, like a dense fog rolling down from the mountains and spreading to everything below. “Ye dinnae fuckin’ move.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you breathe.

Even consumed by rage, he can smell your terror. Putrid, not the soft sweetness of your usual scent. There’s pain there too, and it makes his muscles tense like he’s ready to spring. It’s what brings his alpha to the surface, the scorch of anger cooling slowly as you lie there trembling.

It doesn’t feel good, but he can’t—he can’t let you go.

His hands flutter over your face, squeezing your cheeks and leaning down to plant kiss after soft kiss on your lips. “Doe, please, ye cannae do tha’…ah wanna be gentle, but ah cannae control myself if ye—” Johnny can’t bring himself to say it, the image too painful to contemplate. There’s no reason on Earth that his omega should be trying to run away from him.

“O-okay, alpha…I…I’ll be good.”

His self-control is hairstring thin. “Yer just nervous, right? Tha’ why ye tried tae run?”

“I-I’m just nervous, alpha.” It’s a neat trick, repeating his words back to him in order to calm him down. It works.

His chest deflates as he kneels there over you. Johnny stares into your eyes a few seconds longer, a subtle reminder not to fucking move, before he sits up again, rolling his shoulders back and tugging your lower half in again.

This time when he notches the head of his cock against your entrance, you whisper oh god oh god oh god to yourself but you don’t try to run. It must seem inevitable—no way to fight him off or talk him out of it because there’s a film over his eyes that reflects nothing back.

And then he slowly sinks his cock into you, your hole stretching around the mushroomed head. His jaw rolls on a shaky exhale.

Something in him cracks wide open and—

something ugly slithers out.

“Oh fuck,” he moans, voice cracking. His cock sinks in another inch, warm, wet heat sucking him in. “Jesus, doe, ah cannae fuckin’ breathe—”

You flex your hips at his words, ankles digging into the divots above his arse and pulling him in until he suddenly bottoms out, cock stuffed to the root in the warmest, snuggest cunt he’s ever felt. It nearly makes him go mad; he gets so close to it that his face goes numb, the blood pounding in his ears. He curls over you, a string of curses slipping out of his mouth.

You’re there when Johnny opens his eyes again, damp hair haloing you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, a tear slipping past your waterline and dribbling down your face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me—”

“It’s okay, doe.” His hands run up and down your sides, soothing you. “S’just instinct. Ye cannae help it any more than ah can.”

Your walls squeeze around his shaft, nerves making you tense up, and Johnny groans, his hand curling into a fist by your head. It takes every iota of his being not to come right then, buried to the hilt in your pussy with your ankles digging into his low back. He nearly does when you whine at him to move.

“Okay, baby,” he breathes.

Johnny tries to be gentle at first. Makes a conscious effort to rock into you with slow, smooth strokes, distracting you with a deep, wet kiss. Lips gliding together, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth only to graze it with his teeth, heat rushing through him when you tremble. Coaxing your tongue into his mouth and then sucking on it.

His control starts to slip when he tries to pull out and your ankles dig into his back, pulling him back in. The force of his next thrust makes your body shift, sliding up the wet floor. Too much. Be gentle. But he can’t—the pressure in his core gets worse the longer he fucks you, an eagerness to reach his end building and building. All he can do is chase it. Bite at its heels.

“Yer so pretty,” he rasps, petting your face with shaky hands and bucking his hips into yours until you can’t hold back your pretty little moans. “Pretty, pretty doe. Ah’ve got ye, love.”

A few more like that, pounding into you until you squeak like a toy and he laughs, breathless and full of mirth. Buoyant. Revelling in the sound of you coming apart under him, all fractured pleas and kiss-swollen lips.

Perfect angel, all sweetness and moans and cream coating his cock, gleaming under the fluorescent lights every time he pulls out.

There’s a white ring at the base of his dick from the mess of your combined fluids. Johnny nearly passes out when he notices.

His bad knee aches from digging into the tile floor. He’ll feel it in the morning when he wakes up with bruises on his elbows and shins, muscles stiff and twinging when he moves, but it’s a price he’ll happily pay to keep his pretty doe on her back with her legs spread.

Any lingering guilt about fucking you on the gross shower room floor evaporates the more you pant and the wetter you get because, he rationalizes, on some level you must want him just as bad. Not with the same fervour, not a bone bright ache that sucks you dry and spits you out like a peach pit, but close enough that you aren’t pushing him away anymore.

He ignores the weak pressure on his shoulders. Pries your hands off so he can pin your wrists together over your head.

“Been lookin’ fer ye fer so long,” Johnny croons. He ruts into you clumsily, losing any semblance of finesse. “Smelt ye weeks ago ‘n knew…knew ah had tae have ye.”

Your eyes fly open, stunned. “Weeks?” you gasp.

“Thought ah’d lose my fuckin’ mind lookin’ fer ye.” His breath comes out ragged. “Couldnae sleep or eat or do anythin’ except jerk my cock raw. Should’ve saved it all up fer ye, but…” his laughter is a deep, brassy thing. “…ye’ll still get a fair share.”

“You’re disgusting,” you moan, and that makes him laugh even more, rutting into you like a beast.

“Christ, doe, keep runnin’ that mouth.”

“You’re a—”

dumb, nasty dog

sick in the head, fucking me with that big, fat dick—

He grunts and his lip pulls back in a mean, crooked grin.

It’s never been like this before. Like someone drilled a hole in the side of his head and filled it up with you. You’re in every crevice of his mind and body, mycorrhizal tendril spreading through him.

“Ah’m gonna ruin yer pretty cunt, doe,” Johnny rasps, neck soaked with sweat and eyes burning hot, pupils blown so wide only a glimmer of blue remains. “Get her nice ‘n soaked with my come.”

“Alpha—” you keen, for lack of anything else to call him and it makes his vision go blank.

That’s the only truth that matters to him. Like a divine calling—his omega begging for him, asking for more more more. It’s as close to love as he’s ever gotten; as close to heaven as he ever will.

Diving headfirst into oblivion. He clamps his hands around your waist to hold you in place and fucks into you with renewed vigour, losing himself in the pleasure. Any coherent thought evaporates, reduced to mindless instinct. His beast and him are indistinguishable; two sides of the same coin; he looms over you Janus-faced, a god of beginnings and endings.

He breathes out heavily through his nose, teeth gritting together and lips pulled into a flat line. So close to it, knot catching more with every thrust, almost too big to pull out.

The smack of his hips against yours fill his ears, drowning out your pleading and keening. Seismic motions churning beneath the tile floor keep a steady pulse. The lewd squelch of your pussy nearly drives him mad—slick running down your thighs, pooling onto the floor beneath you, this place irrevocably changed because of your mating—

If only you’d squirt on his dick too, he could die happy. Scream out alpha, alpha, alpha until you shudder and come.

And you do eventually—milk his dick filthy sweet and cling onto him for dear life, nails scoring red lines into the flesh of his back. His muscles bunching under your touch.

“Fuck, doe,” Johnny chokes, near tears himself. His perfect girl coming all over his cock, eyes rolling back in your head like it’s never been like this for you before. “Tha’s right, tha’s right—such a good fuckin’ girl—oh, baby—”

You need him. No other alpha can take care of you he would. It’s not enough that he fuck you, not enough that he make you come, not enough that he see you through your next heat, he has to—

Take it all for himself, every last fuckin’ inch of you his.

He bears down on you, scooping his arms under your back until there’s no space between you, chests pressed together.

His eyes zero in on it. The nodule of flesh at the crook of your neck. And his teeth itch like they’ve never itched before, too large for his mouth.

“Alpha—” you sob, squirming in his hold. “Alpha—too tight—”

He can’t respond. Mouth full of drool and teeth, fucking you harder than you should be fucked, cockhead trying to kiss your cervix with every thrust. He’d crawl inside of you if he could. His thrusts only slow when his knot finally catches, the pressure making you sob when he tries to pull out and he can’t, stuck inside you. Lazy grinds of his hips now, getting as deep as possible.

It’s a shock to his system so profound that he can’t stop shaking. His first knot—better than a ring, more binding than a marriage contract. The most basic, ancient covenant. Irrevocable.

And—it feels—

Indescribable. His thoughts leak from his ears like tar. Eager, fevered. Eyes fixed on your mating gland, dropping his head to get a better view. Better up close, so close that his teeth graze it every time he pants, so sharp that one wrong move and they’ll slice right through, one twitch and it’s game over—

You mewl and arch your chest, inadvertently thrusting your neck up too, so his canine drags across your gland—

mine mine mine mine mine mine

The beast under his skin has a name and it’s—

mine mine mine mine mine mine

(and his teeth just slipped, he’ll say when you ask)

Ah dinnae mean tae, doe, honest—

But ah’ll take care of ye—

You’ll never understand it, but there’s a beast that lives under his skin and it—

—yearns, craves, hungers, howls like its belly is still empty even after all this time, constantly aching no matter how much it’s fed—

Sometimes Johnny wonders if it’s like this for other alphas. Whether they crave their mates with the same intensity, the same burning need smoldering in their veins. He asks Price once and gets an answer that neither confirms nor denies.

All Johnny knows is that your legs shake when you follow him out of the gym, the employee behind the front desk not meeting his eyes. Better that he not. There’s still blood and come on his chin, his grey sweats stained at the crotch. You’re no better, shirtless under your puffy jacket, hat jammed on a bit too low on your head because he had to be the one to put you back together after taking you apart.

And though he’s sheepish on the drive home—because what’s his is yours now, and what’s yours is his—your car still back in the parking lot until he can get someone to pick it up in the morning, he wears guilt like sheep’s clothing. It doesn’t fit quite right.

“We’ll get ye a nice wedding gift tomorrow,” he placates when you huff, thumbing your swollen bottom lip at the next stoplight. It’s tempting to lean in and suck it into his mouth, even now.

“I’m gonna max out your fucking credit cards,” you mumble, scowling at him. Still, you wrap your lips around his thumb when he slips it into your mouth.

You cup your hand over your punctured mating gland in lieu of a bandage.

Johnny cackles. Man plans and God laughs.

In the distance, thunder rumbles and your head turns towards the sound that only you and he can hear.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #soap x reader #soap/reader #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #john soap mactavish x reader

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apixellife · 2 years ago

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Group Gifts @ Cosmopolitan

Lempika – Sandals Fatpack #007Johnny Quid (rocknrollas)http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Guzel%20Ada/151/68/802https://marketplace.secondlife.com/stores/234574https://marketplace.secondlife.com/es-ES/stores/212031.https://www.flickr.com/photos/170788489@N03 [Din] Isla 6 colors For Legacy – Perky -Maitreya – Kupra – Reborn/Juicy/Rolls – Erika – GenX- Peach bodies nina…

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#7 Deadly s{K}ins #Cosmopolitan #Glow Ups by Colleen #Johnny Quid (rocknrollas)#Lempika #nina Belavidorico #REBORN by eBODY #Second Life Fashion #TRUTH HAIR #[CAROL G]#[Din]#[LeLutka]

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quarterlifekitty · 1 month ago

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Expanding on your nasty Soap.

His birthday week he makes you wear the same pair of underwear the entire week saying some stupid shit like "Its a gift" to coax you into agreeing with such, and even makes you wear them till the end of the day on his birthday to make sure he really gets the full week experience.

follow up, i think abt like if soap was an incel he'd 1000% be like that guy on youtube who buys used panties and then reviews them, not like he'd make videos like that (Soap would) but like he'd for buy used panties if he was an incel. (Shoot might write for this one on my blog)

If you write that…. Tell me 👀

Also, I forgot where I originally saw this concept— but I love the idea that Soap is terminally not get fucked and terrible with women because he’s just too intense. Doesn’t know how to turn the freak off. He tries to sink his teeth in straight away— doesn’t realize that you’re supposed to raise the temperature slowly so the frog doesn’t jump out, etc.

Like, you could meet him for the first time and he’d open with “Give ye twenty quid fer the panties yer wearin’ right now. Name’s Johnny, by the way. Anyone ever tell ye tha’ ye smell like pure heaven? Be willin’ tae bet yer pussy smells even better. ” And he’s already half hard.

#writing #cod fanfic #cod #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish

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stellewriites · 6 months ago

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Hii! Can you do ghoap x reader fluff? Like cuddles with mild flirting (from soap, obviously) and like soap is the little spoon, because in return he gets head scratches in return, reader in the middle, and Simon as the big spoon just pressing his face into the crook of readers neck?

Would rlly apreciate it <3

-🌑

i loved this idea when i read it and then proceeded to take far too long to actually answer it lmao BUT!! here it is,, ghoap x fem!reader fluff - ty for the request 💓

you picked up the cheap jar of pasta sauce and compared it to the branded version stacked next to it. as far as you could tell, the ingredients were the same and the little veg chunks included weren’t any smaller.

you nodded to yourself. it was decided, you weren’t paying two quid extra just for a name, fuck dolmio.

you looked higher to the top shelf and frowned when you saw the pasta had been pushed away from the edge and you’d be unable to reach it on your own.

“need a hand, dove?”

you turned to see a handsome man with a mohawk beelining towards you, his eyes tracing your frame with hot familiarity. without waiting for your response, he bullied his way into your space to reach over you for the pasta. barely stepping back, he handed you the pack and looked you up and down.

“thanks, stranger,” you said, holding back a laugh at his amused smile. you saw the moment he decided to play along.

“pretty skirt,” he said and nodded down to your bare legs peeking out beneath the denim.

“hm, my boyfriend got me it,” you said, a little teasingly.

“oh? and this boyfriend, he’s left ye all alone to do the shoppin’ has he?”

“no, he’ll be back soon. and he’s kinda protective, won’t be happy seeing me talking to other guys,” you said trying not to smile.

“ah’m no’ scared,” he scoffed, his own smile breaking out as he looked around the aisle eagerly for the aforementioned boyfriend.

“i don’t know, he’s pretty big and strong, wears a scary mask,” you said.

“aye? reminds me o’ my boyfriend,” he said and you finally giggled, leaning in to kiss him and giving up playing pretend.

“dove, they got their tiger bread in stock again,” simon said as he rounded the corner of the aisle and interrupting your kiss. “i ha’n’t ‘ad this in ages.” simon barely paused at the unexpected appearance of johnny, his eyes turning up in the corners as he smiled under his mask. “johnny, look, tiger bread.”

“yeah, i seen, si,” johnny said fondly, crowding you back against the trolley. “only getting the one loaf?”

simon paused. “hm. you’re right.”

you snorted as he dropped the bread into the trolley before heading back to the bakery section and leaving the pair of you alone again.

“work was a fookin’ drag, dove, cannae stand all this paperwork they’re keepin’ me busy with,” johnny groaned into your temple. you petted his arm consolingly before turning back to your list and shopping trolley.

“you were injured less than a month back, john, you can’t have been expecting to be back in the field so soon?” you hummed as you continued shopping with johnny leant over your back.

his silence spoke volumes.

you shook your head as you made your way through the store and waved simon over as you passed him by, hoping he hadn’t harassed the bakery staff into making more tiger loaves last minute for him. the absolute fiend.

“wha’s wrong with him?” simon asked as he got back, hands full as he nodded to johnny’s slumped frame. you refrained from asking simon if you really needed three tiger breads and instead nudged your other boyfriend up from your shoulder.

“he’s bored,” you said easily, grinning when johnny pulled back properly to send you a betrayed look.

“fuck’s sake. c’mere,” simon huffed before dipping down to kiss him, chuffing a laugh as johnny sputtered at the woollen texture of the mask in between them. “you’ll be back in no time. just behave or it’ll be longer.”

“ye sound like cap,” johnny grimaced. he wiped a hand down his tired face. “when are we goin’ home, hm? fuckin’ knackered, could do with a nap before dinner.”

“y’drive ‘ere?” ghost asked while you grabbed a box of eggs, checking for any cracked inside.

“aye.”

“then you can leave whenever,” ghost said flatly, though the glint of his eyes in the overhead lights betrayed his amusement at johnny’s plight.

johnny pouted.

“yer cruel, si. tell him, dove, he’s heartless,” johnny bemoaned dramatically.

“you’re cruel and heartless, simon, would you prefer strawberry jam or raspberry for a change?”

“could be a treat,” ghost conceded.

johnny groaned at the both of you, pinching your hip when you laughed.

“you both know i cannae sleep without someone’s arms around me,” he huffed, turning his big puppy eyes on you both.

you caved immediately.

“aw poor baby,” you cooed, biting your lip when you saw simon roll his eyes. “let’s get this done quick then, yeah? go grab the burgers we like from the frozen section and that ice cream we got a couple weeks back.”

“yes, ma’am.” johnny jogged off.

“si, can i trust you not to make your way back to the bakery if i give you a list of items to grab?”

“no,” he admitted without shame. “i saw the lad in the back prepping more for tomorrow, think i could convince ‘im to cook ‘em now for me if given the time.”

“right. hand holding it is as we find the toiletries then. ‘s like herding cats with you two.”

simon hummed, his eyes trained on the section you knew the bakery to be hidden in.

—

once home, johnny packed away the majority of your shopping in record time, snatching the jam from simon’s hands and almost throwing it onto the work top before plying his mask up one handed and dragging him down into a rough kiss with the other. you watched, amused, with raised eyebrows as johnny dragged him back towards the bedroom desperately, waving a hand at you and gasping out a needy, “dove, c’mon, stop fucking around,” in between wet kisses.

you didn’t need to be told twice before attaching your hands onto simon’s thick waist from behind, guiding them from bumping into any furniture or walls as they stumbled blind to the bedroom.

johnny pulled back with a dopey smile and pushed simon none too gently onto the bed. you took advantage of his lowered height and pulled off his mask completely, rubbing a gentle hand over his buzz cut hair and down to his jaw. you leant in for a soft peck before feeling johnny’s hands and arms wrap around your soft stomach.

he clung to you, nuzzling at your cheek over your shoulder until you turned in his arms to share your attention.

you heard the bed creak as simon settled further up the bed as johnny kissed you. you shuffled back, parting from johnny just long enough to get your bearings and climb onto the bed, simon’s hands moving to guide you back as johnny hummed against your lips.

you flopped back into simon’s arms, got comfortable as he wrapped you up and held you tight against him.

johnny sighed in relief at the sight and shuffled down so he could rest his head on your chest.

you gathered him close and laughed when he started whining when your hands stayed on his shoulders.

“so needy johnny, have you ever heard the phrase ‘patience is a virtue’?” you teased as you started to run your nails through his hair, lightly scratching until he sighed and dropped his body weight against you and simon.

“too t’red,” he mumbled.

simon lifted his warm hand from your hip and draped it heavily over the back of johnny’s neck, keeping him close. soon enough, the scot was snoring.

you tried not to laugh, your chest bouncing johnny with your muffled chuckles. “i think that might be a record.”

“tired lamb,” simon said condescendingly, but he rubbed his thumb lovingly over the soft skin behind johnny’s ear.

“don’t be mean.” you grinned back at him.

simon hummed and rested his head into the crook of your neck, tucking you in closer with the arm still wrapped underneath your waist. “not bein’ mean.”

he nipped at your neck, a soft nibble that had you gasping and clenching your thick thighs around the one johnny had slipped inbetween.

“prick,” you huffed without malice when he stopped and let out a long tired breath in your ear. he hummed with closed eyes, clearly not listening.

you chuffed a laugh into johnny’s hair. the low thrum of arousal simon had brought on was easy enough to ignore but you’d have rather he’d finished what he started. instead, you tucked your cold toes between his large calves behind you in penance and tugged johnny even closer, enough to smother him. with your arse perched perfectly in simon’s lap and johnny nestled close to his second favourite place on your body, you were sure they’d give you what you were after once their nap is over. you closed your eyes with a smile; you could wait for them to get their energy up, and you loved your puppy piles just as much as they did.

#idk if you wanted fem or gn reader but i went fem in the end bc it was easier to write :p #sorry if you wanted gn!! feel free to put in another request for it and ill get started lmao #i hope you like it!!#i know this is a little bit of a toe dip into smut and not just 100% soft pg fluff but i couldn’t help it #stellewrites asks #sorry but i had tiger bread for the first time in 2 years the other day and it changed my life #forgot how much i love that stuff #AND cheesy jalepeno bread OOO i need to get that again too #so basically put that into ghost here lmao ahdkajdjajsj #ghoap x reader #ghoap #ghost x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader x johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #i’ve got a petty hatred for branded stuff vs aldi’s own like the price difference is crazy but they’re exactly the same!!!#so that also jumped out at the start of this lmao

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oceantornadoo · 6 months ago

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the realistic aftermath of ghost catching the handy in the back alley with best friend!johnny…a few weeks later

“ugh johnny, get off.” you tried pushing against him but he was deadweight, 200+ pounds of muscle at the mercy of many, many alcoholic drinks. “fhehnihernr.” you rolled your eyes. “i don’t know what you’re saying.” instead of answering, he wrapped his arms tighter around your waist, pulling you into him by your stomach. “miss? did you need some help? or another drink?” you laid your hand on top of johnny’s and he growled in approval. “two waters, please.” the bartender nodded and turned around to grab the cups. “wanna be closer t’ ye, leannen.” you chuckled in spite of yourself. “can’t get much closer than you are now.” to save him from responding, the bartender placed down your waters and you took them, nodding your thanks. “drink up, come on.” you pushed the water cup toward him, ignoring his messy mohawk and gleaming blue eyes. how even shitfaced, your best friend was too handsome and flirtatious for his own good. “let’s go back to gaz.”

johnny slid into the booth first, wrapping an arm around gaz’s shoulder. “gazzy!” you snorted, attempting to slide in after johnny. he halted your plans by dragging you into his lap, losing no strength even with his lack of sobriety. instead of protesting, you laid back on johnny’s chest, mouthing “sorry”to gaz. gaz shook his head, opting to answer with a sip of his beer. “you’re lucky cap isn’t here.” johnny had finished the water cup, slamming it down on the table. you leaned forward, ignoring his growl at the movement, and placed the second cup in his waiting hands. he chugged it, muscled throat pumping at the exertion. you overted your eyes, wisely placing your gaze on the football game on the tv. “why’s that?” thankfully, johnny sounded more sober now, the slurring at a minimum. “‘cause you two are disgusting.” you shot him an affronted look. “i’m not doing anything!” gaz pushed at your shoulder, causing you to tilt, until johnny righted you in his lap, grip growing tighter. “soap’s annoyin’ but he knows how to take a woman’s no for an answer. you jus’ never tell him no.” hmph. he did have you there. instead of forcing you to answer, johnny rested his chin your shoulder, drawing the blame back on him. “think yer jealous ‘cause i hav’ a new favorite sergeant. she’s a wee more bonnie than you, gazzy.” he placed down the second water cup, sounding s bit more sober now. “well ‘ve got 100 quid on you tossers so don’t fuck it up.” instead of letting you answer, johnny pushed you off his lap and out of the booth, murmuring something about going to the dance floor.

and now you were here, arms wrapped around johnny as you danced way too slowly to the 80s rock crooning out of the pub speakers. the tension was calmer now, the drinks in your system finally hitting, putting you at an equal level with johnny’s slowly sobering brain. he rocks you gently, strong arms keeping you steady as your fingers skim his triceps, defined even under his shirt. his fingers splay against your waist, brushing the top of your ass as you sway off beat. gaz’s words swam through your mind, coupled with the looks ghost had been giving you since he caught you two in the alley. he hadn’t told anyone, hence the bet gaz mentioned, but youve felt the silent questions coming off of him every time you entered the room. johnny feels you tense in his arms, too intuned with all your movements. “ask me, lass.” you swallowed at the low gravel of his voice, accent deeper in your ear. “are- are we doing something wrong? i dunno, johnny, it was all fine before anyone said anything and now-“ he stops you with a pinch to your hip. “‘s a pile of shite, bon. unless,” he pulls back slightly, grasping your chin to force you to meet his eyes. “tell me to stop.” you shake your head immediately, noting the smile on his face. “don’t stop. i like being close to you, anyway i can. even with the blurry lines.” he tucks you back against his chest, grip finally relaxing. “no lines, jus’ us.”

#soap calls gaz gazzy when he’s drunk i don’t make the rules #tornadothoughts #fluff #john soap mactavish #soap #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x f!reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #soap x reader #soap call of duty #soap cod

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redeyerhaenyra · 1 year ago

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What sex toys would T141 use?

Summary: title :) headcanons of what sex toys I think t141 would use

Warnings: heavy smut! various elaborate sex toys, bit of electric shock play in Johnny's, phone sex, brief mention of anal beads, Simon being too hard on himself, Simon being touched starved, Simon being.. Simon, let me know if I've missed anything!

Notes: Getting this out to feed you all as I'm STILL working on that Simon smut I promised and it's only at 2k words 😭

Kyle Garrick

Kyle is a confident man

He knows what he likes, he isn't afraid to buy and try new toys

He has some anal beads for himself, doesn't use them all the time

Only when he's having an extra special night to himself✨️

He has one of those clear fleshlights

Kyle's a bit of a voyeur he likes watching himself 😏

Also has an extensive lube collection

Like, different kinds

Flavoured, tingly, aphrodisiac, ect

He'll change what lube he uses depending on his mood :P

Johnny Mactavish

Oh Johnny

Johnny Johnny Johnny

Look up the word "horny" in the dictionary a picture of this man's face comes up

He spends his hard earned military paycheck on those vibrating, self thrusting fleshlights with fucking handles on the outside

Also has a vibrating cock ring that will occasionally send little electric shocks through his cock :D

Like to think he also has just a plain dildo

Sometimes to use on himself, sometimes to suck on whilst he's fucking the fleshlight

Again, look up the phrase "oral fixation" there's a picture of his goddamn face

He also has one of those fake pussies and some fake silicone boobies for the same reason

He wants to suckle a clit or a boob in his mouth can you blame him?

He also will push the fake tits together and fuck them :P

The only reason THE ONLY REASON he doesn't take all these on deployment with him is that they wouldn't fit in his bag

Simon Riley

Poor Simon

He half thinks he doesn't deserve self pleasure

And half is kinda clueless when it comes to it other than the classic fist with a bit of spit as lube

He has fantasies about getting a generic fleshlight but he's also like

"Who would I need that I have my hands"

Like cmon Simon treat yourself 😭

Has thought about full on 300 quid sex dolls

The ones that are literally just. A silicone person

He'd never actually get one but occasionally he's so touched starved and needing to hold someone close he thinks about genuinely purchasing one 😭

John Price

I like to think John's taste in sex toys is... refined

Posh, even

I know it's so cliche to say John is old-fashioned but I truly believe he wouldn't ever dream of using modern male sex toys

They are "barbaric", he says, "teaches young men to only value a woman's body for sex".

No no, John won't be partaking in anything like that

He, a gentleman, uses phone-sex lines

To physically get off he'll use his fist, but he'll almost never do it without calling a.. "woman of the night".. and seducing her with his dulcet tones

He considers it a failure if the fine lady he's speaking with isn't also enjoying herself just as much as he

Really gets him going to be the source of someone else's, a professional pleasurers, pleasure

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sheepispink · 28 days ago

Note

So… would it be too much to ask for something about Simon’s reaction when finds out about the dreams of him???

what you ask, you shall recieve, anon 🙂‍↕️ but dont tell ghost i told you, otherwise i’m sleeping in the closet tonight 😶

(original idea)

Johnny had sauntered into the empty gym that evening, when most were in the mess hall or happy to finally have some free time. It left the area free for Ghost to roam, aiding a peaceful and quiet workout as the sun began to set outside. He looked mischievous, his lips quirked up as he walks over to where Ghost pushed the bar full of weights up.

“Spit it out already.”He huffs out, lowering the bar down to his chest, causing Soap to snicker at how he saw through him so fast. Leaning back against the wall he hummed, arms crossed over his chest.

“Finally found out why the bird’s been runnin away from ye.”

“And that is?”

“You’ve been starring in her dreams.” (Un)surprisingly, that doesn't startle Ghost in the slightest, pushing the bar back up with ease again before lowering it faster this time. “Yeah, I bet they’re nightmares.” He scoffs, all too aware of the reputation that precedes him.

“Only you would consider a good cuddle as a nightmare, Lt.”

Soap chuckles at his own words but Ghost freezes, suddenly unable to push the weight up again. He manages slightly but only enough to cause the pole to slide to the side, one of the weights sliding off and denting the floor with an echoing clang. “What did you just say?”

“Ye heard me. You an’ her were having a cuddle on the couch.”

He blinks at his inferior, the smug sergeant grinning him like an idiot. Sure, maybe Ghost was the one who told Price to add you to the team that time. Maybe he was the one who got you all on board with the taskforce and he was the one who decided you were on the last op with him. He respected you, respected your work ethic and demeanour. Polite, kind and loyal— it was a breath of fresh air from these stuck up mommy’s boys that seemed to contaminate this place. And so, he may’ve gotten a little ahead of himself in the mission. Might’ve intentionally made sure you were put on less dangerous tasks and when the team was almost ambushed, you were the one he dashed to call out to first.

Had you noticed? That was his first thought, when you initially avoided him that first day. Did you know all he’s being doing for your sake? He was sure you believed him to be a freak, a coward who couldnt even bare to show his face for a few seconds. You were close to everyone else on the team apart from him, because from the very beginning he made sure not to enter your vicinity. Not to bother and crush his own faltering expectations. There’s no way you’d extend that polite smile towards him.

But here you were, not even disgusted at the thought of his guest appearance in your dreams, no you were flustered; he had noticed the flush on your cheeks, the averted gaze and the squeak in your voice. But dammit, you’ve been dreaming of him. Like he’s something unreachable from you. He is—he wanted to be, and he should be like he’s been for everyone else— but if you want him, how can he deny himself any longer?

“Dont you dare go in the common room tonight.” He says suddenly, leaving the weights there on the floor before he gets up, grabbing his small duffel bag from the floor. He’ll have to clean up before he finds you. Before he leaves though, Soap gives him a knowing look, hand extended. Scoffing, Ghost slaps twenty quid in his hand. “Fine, you won.”

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost fluff #!pinksheepasks #simon riley x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #cod fanfic

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call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes · 1 year ago

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The 141 is auctioning dates with the guys to raise money. It's Johnny's turn.

Randomperson01: I give 50 quid!

Randomperson02: I give 100!

Ghost: I give 500 quid and if someone offers more I’ll see you in hell!

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty #soap mactavish #ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #johnny mactavish #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mwiii #cod mw3 #cod modern warfare #incorrect cod quotes #incorrect call of duty quotes

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shadow4-1 · 8 months ago

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(Part 2 of this post.)

After letting Soap set everything up, on his next leave of absence, Ghost finally gets to meet the plus size escort he's been having fantasies about.

However, she's only interested in laying down some ground rules.

To show he was serious, for their first meeting she made Ghost rent out the smoking section of a privately owned Café. It's a quaint little joint; part bookstore, part coffee shop. Cost him less than two hundred quid for the whole hour. Ghost likes the privacy and the better service - his coffee cup hasn't gone unfilled. He wonders why he's never thought of doing it before. Plus, he can have a fag without someone bothering him about the smell. The booth is in the back of the store, so leaving his face completely uncovered doesn't feel nearly as uncomfortable either.

For anyone else the mask stays on. Well, at least some form of mask. Nowadays, when deep in public territory, he sticks to a surgical mask. Still attracts some curious gazes, but after the new-age plague passed he's been left well enough alone.

Besides, the bird's a civilian through and through. She's probably used to white collar Johns with soft hands and faces. He's decidedly the opposite and doesn't want to scare her off. At a time like this he knows hiding his face would make him seem less trustworthy. She should at least be allowed to see what she's working with. He knows he's not wholly unattractive, but if compared to Soap, well he wouldn't blame her for sticking up her nose. Hell, it'd be no skin off his back.

He's early as per usual. Doesn't want to keep her waiting on him. Time is money and all that. The coffee shop staff seemed relieved at the lack of customers. Behind him, he can hear one of the servers taking an order from a customer. That's when he hears a sound that makes his ears prick up.

The sound of heels against the tile.

Subconsciously, he straightens himself. Consciously, he makes no move to attempt to preen or better his appearance in any way. What she sees is what she gets and vice versa. That's what this meeting is for anyway. It's a time to lay it all on the table.

"Hello."

Her voice is soft and sweet. He releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. When he looks up he's taken off guard by the quality of her facial features. In Johnny's pictures she looked average. But now, he realizes that perhaps the flash really dulled down her beautiful features - mainly her delicious looking lips. He swallows hard at the thought of his cock maybe getting inside that blowjob perfect mouth.

"You must be Simon."

She places down a mid-size purse on the booth seat across from him. She's dressed in business casual - a white button up and some form fitting slacks. Her makeup is subdued, her hair lightly styled. She looks completely natural. Ghost finds she's checking off all the boxes he didn't even realize he had.

She offers her hand and he shakes it. Her nails aren't painted but have a natural sheen and length. And while her palms are soft, her grip is sturdy. It's obvious that she knows how to uphold herself professionally. He already starts to feel good about this impending arrangement.

She introduces herself as a "Miss Care". It's a fake name designed to give her a simple, yet recognizable trait. He supposes her self-chosen moniker isn't far off from a callsign. Not that she'd have any idea what that even is.

"S' a pleasure." He bows his head at her in respect.

He doesn't miss the way she blushes for a second before taking the seat across from him. She opens her mouth to say something, but is rudely interrupted by a server placing a menu down in front of her. At least, he finds it quite rude. She just beams at the server and politely declines the menu. She orders a hot Chai latte with a slice of banana bread. She's obviously a regular at this place. It makes sense she'd chose it as a meeting spot.

The server scurries off, and for a second both he and her take each other in. He admires the softness of her upper body, the curvature of her breasts that are cradled lovingly by her brassiere. She seems to be reading his face, for what he can't say. Whatever she finds she seems to like based on her more confident smile.

"Johnny wasn't lying when he said you're built like a brick shithouse." She giggles.

Despite himself, Ghost can't help the flood of heat to his face. He could throttle that boy. He likes her laugh more than enough to quell that urge though. He finds himself already admiring her confidence to even speak to him like that. He knows he's intimidating.

"If you don't mind me asking," She offers before pausing. He looks at her expectanly, silently urging her to go on. "What are you looking for exactly? Not to be rude but, I'm a little shocked someone as handsome as you would be interested in my services."

A long beat of silence fills the air. It's a bit awkward but Ghost needs a second to think of his response. Not only is he caught off guard by her admonition, but how could he tell this girl he can't find it within himself to build relationship anymore, much less with a woman? Another beat of silence passes and she offers him a sheepish smile.

"Sorry. I-"

"Don't have time for a bird. Jus' looking fer a distraction." He admits, cutting her off. "Johnny talked a big game 'bout ya. Figured I'd give you a shot."

She stutters out a chuckle. His words have caught her off guard. He knows he sounds full of himself. He is full of himself. Her admitting she thinks he's attractive helps alot with his ego.

"Well, has he told you anything about my services other than I'm good at what I do?"

"No."

She goes into her purse and pulls out a semi-thick docket of paper. The headline on top let's him know exactly what it is.

"A rental agreement?" He muses.

"Mhm. I'm sure you're aware my services aren't exactly...legal on their own. So, just to stay on the right side of the law, I make sure my contract states you're renting my villa for the weekends you decide to visit." She says, flipping through the papers. "Besides, you are renting out my villa. It'll be just me and you."

He admires her business plan. A contract like that keeps her from getting scammed, and it has the added benefit of running off losers. Normally, if a John decided not to pay her for her "services" she'd be shit out of luck. This way, she'd be legally able to receive his funds under the guise of being just a landlord.

"Smart."

"Thank you."

She pulls out a pen, uncaps it, then marks on certain lines throughout the packet. She then offers him the pen.

"Wait, sorry."

He places the pen down.

"What experience are you interested in having?"

Ghost just stares at her. He doesn't really understand her question.

"Are you looking for the full girlfriend experience? Or something else?" She asks.

The server comes back with her tea and snack. She thanks them with a bright, beautiful smile Ghost wishes was directed his way. She tries to go for a sip of her hot drink but it's too hot. She licks the foam off her lips with a crinkled nose. Ghost can't help the way his lips quirk up in the corners at the sight.

"Thought that's all you offered." He admits.

"Oh, no, not at all. I offer quite a few services. All vanilla of course." She says as she goes for a piece of banana bread. "The girlfriend experience is the most popular but I can also play the part of a wife, step-sister, or mommy. Most of my clients like to start off our first session with the best friend experience. Just so we can to get used to each other without any weird tension."

Ghost is a bit taken by her straightforwardness. He knew she'd be open and honest, but hearing her talk about what role she'd be willing to play in his sex life makes him swallow hard. He doesn't know what character he wants her to play either. Every fantasy but "mommy" sounds terribly appealing. The "bestfriend" approach does sound like a good place to start. He wants sex, needs sex, but he also knows he himself might not feel the most comfortable to start with it right away.

"Friends first."

She finally gives him that stunning smile. It falters after a moment and she gives him a bit of an apologetic look.

"One last thing before we sign. We've got to go over our boundaries." She says. This time she's finally able to drink her tea. She swallows down the liquid and places it on the table. "What are some of the things you aren't comfortable with me doing."

There's another long beat of silence as Ghost thinks. He really can't think of a damn thing he wouldn't want this fuckable, pretty girl to do for him. He keeps thinking before realizing maybe he's wrong.

"Nothin' anal. N' no kissin'."

She seems confused.

"No kissing? On the mouth or all over?"

He was only thinking about the mouth. Not that he doesn't want to tongue fuck her mouth, but he thinks a degree of separation would be good to start with. The idea that she'd be willing to kiss him other places, well...the it excites him more than it should.

"Just the mouth."

"Okay." She nods. "No anal play and no kissing on the mouth."

She snacks for another moment.

"And you, Love?" He asks.

"Ooh, I like it when you call me that." She blushes again, wiping crumbs off her bottom lip with a napkin.

Ghosts lips quirk up again. He's starting to really like her attitude and sense of humor. And but of course he would. Johnny recommended her.

"Well, my boundaries are as follows:" She begins, her voice even and measured as if she's given this spiel more than enough times. "No choking, no leaving bruises - that includes hickies, no anal without lube or having told me beforehand, and no slurs or degrading names."

Ghost finds her list a little long but he understands it. He feels a bit of righteous fire in his belly at the thought of her Johns pushing her to the point of even having to make those discretions.

"Understood." He nods.

She smiles up at him and then opens the packet again. She points to the already marked lines and has him sign. As he goes along she tells him about each page of the docket. Once everything is signed she hands him a small business card.

"That's the amount for our first session. Please wire the funds to the account listed on the bottom before Friday night at the latest." She says. "If you don't, I won't be able to get everything ready for Saturday."

He nods, taking in the information on the card. Her prices would be exorbitant for a normal man, but Ghost is no normal man. He makes more than enough money to see her every weekend if he wanted to.

"Please don't be late." She taps the section of the card with the time listed. "And make sure you bring a copy of your up to date physical."

Ghost reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out two sheets of paper stapled together. She mulls over the document before grinning at him.

"Well, well, look at you. Already prepared. I think you and I are going to get along just fine." She flirts. She bats her lashes at him and it takes every fiber of his being not to reach over the table and shove his tongue down her throat.

With that she continues to snack on her drink and bread. She offers no more conversation until she's done. Ghost is more than okay with that. He's content to watch her body. He finds he really likes the way her breasts shift with her every breath.

"I'm sure you don't like surprises, so I'll give you an idea on how I schedule my visits. If you want to change anything up let me know." She says. "I'm flexible."

The flirt is not lost on Ghost. He shifts in his seat, feeling heat trickle into his cock. This girl wants to play with him, test his resolve. He hates that it's already cracking.

"When you arrive I'll greet you at the door and bring you inside. I always like to have a meal waiting for you. Afterwards, we can watch TV on the couch together or play some video games? Or I can read to you, if you'd like." She offers. "If you want, I can give you a massage. Or we can always call it a night if you get sleepy. I'll show you my room."

Her excitement is palpable, almost conspiratorial. She sounds like a girl going over her plans for her first sleepover. He supposes she's not far off. It would be their first sleepover. It would also be his first sleepover. He's never had one.

Her excitement is replaced with a nervous smile. It takes Ghost a second to realize why. He didn't realize his facial expression had changed into something a bit more pointed. He curses himself internally, tries to soften his gaze, but the damage has been done.

"If you want to have sex at any time, just say so. The first time around, I usually like for us to get a shower together." She hums. "It'll give me a chance to give you a little onceover before we start. Also, it's just really great foreplay."

While he adores the idea of a sudsy fuck in the shower he also feels like a fool. He's so used to his face being covered he's unused to controlling his facial features. He's used to letting his emotions show because no one can see. He realizes that he needs to be more careful from now on.

"We'll play it by ear." He mutters, his own mood soured. For her credit she doesn't seem to take it to heart.

"Well, no matter what we get into on Saturday I just want to let you know I'm excited." She smiles. "It's been so nice to meet you, Simon."

She tucks the paper docket and the pen back into her purse. She then cleans up her plates and napkins. Just before she readies herself to stand she looks up at him with her pretty little eyes.

"Can I kiss you goodbye on the cheek?"

Her request takes him off guard. He hasn't paid for anything yet. His heart thumps.

"Yeah."

She then stands and leans over the table. Her blouse isn't lowcut but she has enough tits to fill it out. When she leans over he has to stop himself from trying to grope them.

She kisses him sweetly. It's barely a brush of her lips against the rough skin of his cheek. His cock twitches to its full length in his trousers. If he was any farther gone he'd fuck her right there over the dishes.

She smiles down at him, lashes fluttering, purse in hand. She gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"See you Saturday."

#call of duty #cod imagines #mw2 #mw2 headcanons #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader

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mclennonlgbt · 10 months ago

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Paris in John and Paul’s life

30th September 1961:

“John and I went on a trip for his twenty-first birthday. John was from a very middle-class family, which really impressed me because everyone else was from working-class families. To us John was upper class. His relatives were teachers, dentists, even someone up in Edinburgh in the BBC. It’s ironic, he was always very ‘fuck you!’ and he wrote the song ‘Working Class Hero’ – in fact, he wasn’t at all working class. Anyway, one of John’s relatives gave him £100 for his birthday. A hundred smackers in your hand! That was a real windfall. None of us could believe it. To this day if you gave me £100 I would be impressed. And I was his mate, enough said? ‘Let’s go on holiday.’ – ‘You mean me too? With the hundred quid? Great! I’m part of this windfall.’” - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“We planned to hitchhike to Spain. I had done a spot of hitchhiking with George and we knew you had to have a gimmick; we had been turned down so often and we’d seen that guys that had a gimmick (like a Union Jack round them) had always got the lifts. So I said to John, ‘Let’s get a couple of bowler hats.’ It was showbiz creeping in. We still had our leather jackets and drainpipes – we were too proud of them not to wear them, in case we met a girl; and if we did meet a girl, off would come the bowlers. But for lifts we would put the bowlers on. Two guys in bowler hats – a lorry would stop! Sense of Humour. This, and the train, is how we got to Paris." - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“And Paul and I also did the same thing, once. We just cancelled. We’d made it, in Liverpool. We were making good money, for those days. I can’t remember what it was – maybe a couple of hundred dollars a week – but enough that you’d have a little extra. You’d have it in your back pocket. And Paul and I just— A relative of mine gave me a hundred pounds, for my birthday, which I’d never seen that much money in me life. Paul and I just canceled all the engagements, and left for Paris… And George was furious, because he needed the money – to work, you know. But that was another time when the group was in debate as whether it would exist or not.” - John Lennon, 1976, an interview with Elliot Mintz

“Last night I heard that John and Paul have gone to Paris to play together – in other words, the band has broken up! It sounds mad to me, I don’t believe it…” - Stuart Sutcliffe, Anthology

"They were brothers. They were the Nerk Twins, and now they were taking a break from the Beatles and going off to Spain. En route, they’d stop a day or two in Paris, to size up the Brigittes, check out the kind of clothes Jurgen Vollmer wore, and perhaps see Jurgen himself, if he was around. [Johnny] Gustafson happened to bump into them the day they left, Saturday 30 September. “They both had bowler hats on, with the usual leather jackets and jeans. They said they were off to Paris, so I walked down to Lime Street station with them and watched them go. They were an incredible pair: always great fun, irreverent, and so close.” - Mark Lewisohn, All These Years: Volume One

“We’d never been there before. We were a bit tired so we checked into a little hotel for the night, intending to go off hitchhiking the next morning. Of course, it was too nice a bed after having hitched so we said, ‘We’ll stay a little longer,’ then we thought, ‘God, Spain is a long way, and we’d have to work to get down there.’ We ended up staying the week in Paris – John was funding it all with his hundred quid.

We would walk miles from our hotel; you do in Paris. We’d go to a place near the Avenue des Anglais and we’d sit in the bars, looking good. I still have some classic photos from there. Linda loves one where I am sitting in a gendarme’s mac as a cape and John has got his glasses on askew and his trousers down revealing a bit of Y-front. The photographs are so beautiful, we’re really hamming it up. We’re looking at the camera like, ‘Hey, we are artsy guys, in a café: this is us in Paris,’ and we felt like that.

We went up to Montmartre because of all the artists, and the Folies Bergères, and we saw guys walking around in short leather jackets and very wide pantaloons. Talk about fashion! This was going to kill them when we got back. This was totally happening. They were tight to the knee and then they flared out; they must have been about fifty inches around the bottom and our drainpipe trousers were something like fifteen or sixteen inches. We saw these trousers and said, ‘Excusez-moi, Monsieur, où did you get them?’ It was a cheap little rack down the street so we bought a pair each, went back to the hotel, put them on, went out on the street – and we couldn’t handle it: ‘Do your feet feel like they are flapping? Feel more comfortable in me drainies, don’t you?’ So it was back to the hotel at a run, needle and cotton out and we took them in to a nice sixteen with which we were quite happy. And then we met Jürgen Vollmer on the street. He was still taking pictures." - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“Jürgen had a flattened-down hairstyle with a fringe in the front, which we rather took to. We went over to his place and there and then he cut – hacked would be a better word – our hair into the same style.” - John Lennon, 1963

Interviewer: I heard you took a trip to Spain before once, didn’t you? On Holiday? Paul: I didn’t go to Spain, no. I tried once to make Spain but… and John and I were gonna hitchhike. We hitchhiked down from Liverpool… We didn’t hitchhike. No, we got the train down from Liverpool ‘cause we thought we won’t hitchhike down the first bit. And we got the boat over to Paris. Then we got the train into Paris ‘cause we thought: “Well, it’ll be too hard to get a hitch here”. And we just stayed in Paris all week. And eventually… I mean, all the time trying to get out of Paris and make Spain! We never made it, we just flew home at the end. What a lazy hitchhiking Holiday!

“The thing was all the kissing and holding that was going on in Paris. And it was so romantic just to be there and see them even though I was 21 and sort of not romantic. But I really loved it, the way the people would just stand under a tree kissing. And they weren’t not mauling at each other, they were just kissing.” - John Lennon

"John’s 21st birthday was a month away, and he knew he was getting money — 100 pounds cash, more than he or Paul had ever seen in their lives. (…) Bob Wooler was party to their planning, and fought with them:

They were bored, and decided they would go away for a month. I thought this was disastrous because they would be away from the scene too long and lose their fans, Fans were very capricious: they moved from one group to another. And anyway, what about the other two members, George Harrison and Pete Best?. What about them, what do they do? We argued a lot about this — we argued in the back room of the grapes pub to a large extent —- and they said ‘Well, we’ll go away for a fortnight only’

(…) Equally, the promoters who paid the Beatles over-the-odds to present them every week had to “lump it” (….). To a man, and woman, they were incensed by it - but John and Paul hadn’t a care. They didn’t mean to be rude about it but basically it was tough shit.

it was tough too on Dot and Cyn, Dot simply had to accept the situation, but Cyn had a greater case of grievance. John was heading off without her when he could so easily gave waited for the art school holidays. (…).

That John was taking Paul, no one else, accentuates the renewed closeness since Stu quit The Beatles. They were the Beatles force, an unstoppable and authentically powerful pair. “Lennon had the attitude”, Wooler said, “and taking his lead from Lennon, McCartney could be similar. At times they reminded me of those well-to-do Chicago lads Leopold and Loeb, who killed someone because they felt superior to him. Lennon and McCartney were superior human beings”

"You’d always see them together, in the pub or walking along the street", says Johnny Gustafson of the Big Tree. "They were a duo, and seemed each other’s equal". Bernie Boyle, the young lad hanging around with them at every opportunity, says, "They were like brothers, with John as the elder and Paul’s mentor. They were so tight it was like there was a telepathy between them: on stage, they’d look at each other and know instinctively what the other was thinking"

They were brothers. They were the Nerk Twins, and now they were taking a break from The Beatles and gofin off to Spain.

Gustafson happened to bump into them the day they left, Saturday, September 30. “They both had bowler hats on, with the usual leather jackets and jeans. They said they were off to Paris, so I walked down to Lime Street station and watched them go. They were an incredible pair: always great fun, irreverent and so close. - Mark Lewisohn, Tune In: The Beatles: All These Years (2013)

As was written in this post: That last picture is one Paul took of John sleeping in Paris. From what I remember of a performance he did of ‘Here Today’, and earlier comments, this picture hangs framed on a wall in Paul’s house.

Unconfirmed quote (may or may not be true):

"He must have been fond of me to spend that money. He let me have all the banana milkshakes I wanted.” - Paul McCartney

In January 1964, only a few scant weeks before the Beatles took America by storm, the band mates settled in for an extended stay in Paris. For the group, the Parisian visit proved to be a magical experience, with the Beatles playing 18 shows at the Olympia Theatre between Jan. 16 and Feb. 4 (source).

The Beatles were staying at the George V Hotel at the time. John and Paul composed "Can't Buy Me Love", "I Should Have Known Better" and "If I Fell" on the piano.

The photo Paul took of John (in the "Eyes Of The Storm" book):

1966: Paul, his girlfriend Maggie McGivern, John and Brian Epstein spend 5 days in Paris. "All of them flew into France separately — Lennon had been filming abroad and Epstein had been away on business. Maggie and Paul, she says, traveled apart ‘as part of keeping the relationship secret’. During the five-day trip the foursome stayed at the same Paris hotel where she and Paul shared a luxury suite. ‘It was a marvelous holiday,’ she says. ‘. . . just walking around the streets of Paris.‘My abiding memory is of me, John and Paul lying under the Eiffel Tower, gazing up at it. We couldn’t go up because we would have been recognised, and we were masters at the art of avoiding people." [x]

1969:

Hoping to get married in France, John Lennon and Yoko Ono flew to Paris on this day [16th March].

The couple had decided to marry on 14 March 1969, two days after the wedding of Paul McCartney to Linda Eastman; whether it was in response to this event on some level is open to conjecture.

On McCartney’s wedding day Lennon and Ono were travelling to Poole in Dorset, where he introduced her to his Aunt Mimi. During the journey he asked his chauffeur Les Anthony to go to Southampton to enquire about the possibility of the wedding being held at sea, on the cross-channel ferry to France.

(source)

“On March 12, Paul married Linda Eastman at Marylebone Register Office in London, amid scenes of hysterical grief from his female fans. None of the other Beatles was present. The news reached John as he and Yoko were driving down to visit Aunt Mimi in Poole. Yoko’s divorce decree had become final a few weeks earlier, and, in a resurgence of Beatle copycat, John told her they, too, must get married as soon as possible” - Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life (2008)

"We chose Gibraltar because it is quiet, British and friendly. We tried everywhere else first. I set out to get married on the car ferry and we would have arrived in France married, but they wouldn’t do it. We were no more successful with cruise ships. We tried embassies, but three weeks’ residence in Germany or two weeks’ in France were required." - John Lennon

1974:

“After a late lunch, Linda launched into a long paean to the joys of living in England. When she was finished, she turned to John and said, “Don’t you miss England?”

“Frankly,” John replied, “I miss Paris.””

— May Pang, Loving John (1983)

1978:

Wings album "London Town" is released. It includes the song "Cafe on the Left Bank", the lyrics of which clearly refer to John and Paul's trip to Paris.

Late 1970s (maybe 1978?): John is singing to Paul about Paris in a home recording. Longer version

1970s: John writes "Skywriting by Word of Mouth", a book that would be released in 1986. One story is about sex he had with a woman in Paris. Here it is. As anon noticed here: "...the woman is called Amie L'Nitrate and Amyl Nitrate is a reference to poppers. He talks about grabbing her 'pomme de frites.' Her potatoes? He uses the term 'tread lightly on some loafers' which is an old euphenism for being gay. Amie says they should have sex to God Only Knows. Then John says their relationship ended in a seething rage but he still thinks of 'her.'" @sgtsaltsband concluded in the same post: "so he writes a story about PARIS ( where he and paul went on a trip for his 21st bday and never stopped talking about it ) , in the HOTEL where the Beatles stayed later on [Hotel V in 1964] , names the girl after POPPERS ( a drug commonly used by gay men during sex ) , the girl wants to have sex to PAULS fave song and he uses this PHRASE." Also: this is an excerpt of the story:

"Boogie" is a slang word for sex or dance (also, "Born to Boogie" is a 1972 movie starring Marc Bolan, Elton John and Ringo Starr). "Band on the Run" is a Paul McCartney and Wings' album which John loved. "Sue you sue me" can be a reference to to the Beatles' legal and business disputes and the fact that Paul sued John, George and Ringo in December 1970, and to "Sue Me, Sue You Blues", a song by George.

(thank you @menlove for uploading the story and pointing out interesting words!)

1994 - Paul inducting John to Rock and Roll Hall of Fame:

“And then on your 21st birthday you got £100 off one of your rich relatives up in Edinburgh, so we decided we’d go to Spain. So we hitch-hiked out of Liverpool. And we got as far as Paris, and decided to stop there for a week. And eventually got our haircut, by a fellow named Jürgen, and that ended up being the ‘Beatle haircut’.”

I also remember watching an interview with Paul about his album "Memory Almost Full" (2007). Thank you for adding, @ringompreg!

youtube

(it's like 7 minutes in) Interviewer: There is a very beautiful song called "The End Of The End", the way you talk about your whole ending, and the lyric goes: "It's a start of a journey to a much better place." You mean, better than England? Paul: It's basically a start of a journey to France. Or Spain through France. Yeah, that's what it is. It's a much better place, Paris.

Also worth mentoning:

"All You Need Is Love" begins with La Marseillaise.

"Picasso's Last Words (Drink To Me)" contains French-language speech by BBC broadcaster Pierre Le Sève.

Bonus

#mclennon #mclennon is real #mclennon anthology #paris #frankly i miss paris #may pang #yoko ono #linda eastman #the beatles #gay #bisexual #france #insane #compilation #master post #Youtube

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