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sam-out-of-energy · 1 month ago

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The angst, THE ANGST its consuming me

I had to write something based off this ask because oH MY GODD

This already became too long so its a cliffhanger sorry teehee

______

They'd been ambushed.

Upon trying to retrieve materials for Ratchet the entire base had suddenly sounded the alarm for intruders.

Prowl had quickly scooped Jazz from a pile of metal scrap into his servo and then inside his cockpit. They'd ran, making it to the very end of the hangar before mechas had walled them off.

It was a stand-off- well- emphasis on was, as it had taken about two nano-seconds of Prowl and the others standing there against mechas before Vortex had already began tearing robots apart.

Now chaos reigned as the crew, including Prowl, Jazz, Vortex and First aid, were in the ringer, fighting off an overwhelming amount of mechas.

"It's like they knew we were coming!" First aid comm'd Jazz while the two sat inside cockpits that were trembling from the punches, the mech's visors coated in an unhealthy layer of energon and oil.

"These ain't normal mechas either." Jazz replied.

"Explain?" Prowl's voice was eerily casual considering the situation at hand, wrenching an arm off an opposing mecha before kicking them back.

"They're faster! Stronger too-" First aid noted, watching intensely from Vortex's visor, admittedly a little curious.

"No doubt they used Prowl's parts to rebuild them."

"To hell with 'em! Let's be done with this and go-"

Jazz was caught mid-sentence when Prowl shook.

The inside of the cockpit pulsed, like something had struck him, which confused Jazz because for a short while they'd kept a good distance from the mechas.

Then Prowl just....stood. Very still. Very still.

"Prowl? Prowler?" Jazz scooted forwards and grabbed the controls, pushing them but they didn't budge. Nothing did.

"Prowl?! You're not obeyin' my controls-" Jazz questioned.

"I'm- not- obeying- my own controls either-" Prowl choked out, straining his joints with a loud creak.

["Hello Jazz."]

Both the pilot and mecha stiffened.

Jazz's eyes widened. He recognized the voice that suddenly rang out inside Prowl.

"Shockwave?! Where are you! What've you done t' Prowl?!" Jazz jumped up from the pilot seat (not having been strapped in to begin with)

["I am nowhere you need to concern yourself with. I am simply testing out my new technology."]

Jazz looked around. He could hear a muffled First Aid calling out for Vortex in the distance.

["So, Prowl, was it?. Good to know. Now, let's get well acquainted."]

Prowl shook again, sending Jazz tumbling around as the mech bent over, clutching his helm.

Something flashed. Prowl felt electricity buzzing inside of him, phantom pains in his joints. Like his wing was once again broken, like his optics were busted in and losing vision of reality arround him. His body wasn't his and it wouldn't listen to him.

He tried to keep his expression cool at the face of this new threat but his coolness came crashing down when he looked up.

Quintessons. So. Many. Quintessons. Fire, blazing high like a giant barrier.

The realization struck him like his processor's loud ERROR alarm.

He was on Praxus.

No, he was- no-

Prowl felt like hurling.

He felt something inside him twist and turn, something wicked. Something unnatural, something that was definetly not meant to be inside him.

Jazz could do nothing but watch his mech tremble and shake, straining and squirming like something was crawling under his plating.

"J- azz-" Prowl gasped.

"Prowl! I'm here!" Jazz called out, grabbing the controls tigthly despite the fact that they were moving.

"H- elp-"

The plea came out in a stuttered, glitching mess but it was all Prowl needed to say before Jazz began pushing. Pushing, pulling. Whenever the stick moved one way he'd move it back.

"Shockwave, stop! Let him go!" He yelled. He didn't know what sick game the mad scientist was playing but he was not about to let him take Prowl from him.

["It is futile, pilot. Give up."]

Jazz grit his teeth and kept pushing.

Prowl's fight was made easier, so he managed to break free of the illusion for long enough to push with Jazz, taking a step back on his own from the (imaginary) fire surrounding him. (It was all his in his head, surely). Coolant rushed down Prowl's backplates, his motors overexerting themselves to keep control to himself.

["...I see how it must be. Very well, Jazz."]

Prowl was jerked away from his mindscape, straggling, back into the frey, loud echoes of crashing and crumbling of metal plating and concrete. The mechas weren't focusing on him, focusing all their efforts into trying to stop Vortex from tearing down the entire hangar.

Prowl had managed to take two steps forward to go assist before he'd felt more electricity surge through him. Oddly enough, it didn't stop him this time.

What did stop him was the pained scream that carried into Prowl's audials.

Jazz.

"Jazz? Jazz!" Prowl called, stopping and looking down at his chest.

Jazz clutched his head, crying out. Something coursed through him like a painful needle and thread, connecting him to Prowl even more than before, but not in a good way. In a way that hurt, every muscle in his body clenching. It was like he was connecting to a mecha for the first time again, but the feeling of it amplified twicefold.

Then, it was like he saw his own body slump. No, he was slumped. Jazz couldn't move, couldn't speak or scream anymore (In reality he was still screaming).

No, no no no no-

He saw white. A bright light in his eyes. A smell of burning flesh, of ethanol, medical grade liquids in multitudes.

Eyes. He saw faceless masks and he saw so many eyes, shining like the headlights of a car, blinding him into submission, into staying silent despite the aching.

Make it stop, make it stop-

"Stop!! Don't hurt him!"

Prowl demanded, the cockpit echoing with his voice, layered over Jazz's screams.

["I will do what is necessary."]

Prowl called for Jazz's name again, opening the cockpit hatch, desperate to reach in and grab the other, until he realized he was still in the middle of a Vortex vs. Vortex's victims skirmish and pulling Jazz out could only risk him accidentally dropping the other or Jazz being hit by something.

Prowl stepped back from the fight, wracking his processor. He had to do something, something to help!

It was easier with him, Jazz could just use the controls to help him fight against this weird virus, but Jazz? Shockwave was most likely inside Jazz's head due to his connection with Prowl, what could Prowl even do to help?! He couldn't forcefully remove or disconnect Jazz. The other was wriggling and twisting in pain, Prowl's servos were way too big to do anything with him without causing further injury.

An anti-virus, a firewall. Something to block Shockwave out. Prowl had to reboot and rewire his systems for that and all of that had to begin with getting Shockwave to release Jazz.

"Please, stop-" Prowl half-blurted out amidst his panicking. He couldn't tell what was happening to Jazz, but he could feel the other. He felt Jazz clutching the arm rest of the pilot's seat, thrashing and kicking on the cold metal of the cockpit floor. He heard Jazz scream and wail, inaudibly begging for release.

["I will stop when you relinquish control to me."]

"So you can use me?" Prowl snapped, his engine revving from the anger, his optic ridge bent down so hard it almost covered his optics.

["As you wish."]

Jazz went silent.

Prowl heard the thump of a body hitting the floor.

#transformers #maccadam #jazzprowl #mecha pilot jazz au #a little twinge of #texaid

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starsofang · 8 months ago

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To Be Loved is to Be Seen

johnny mactavish x f!reader

word count: 5.2k

tw: NSFW content, abuse (from other partner), hurt/comfort, smut, oral, p in v, happy ending, bad scottish accent (i tried)

Johnny hated your boyfriend. In fact, if he could string him up on a pole and castrate the bloke himself, he’d do it with a damn smile — that was how much he loathed him.

To get you to realize how shitty your boyfriend was felt like a near impossible task. Alas, you didn’t know Johnny, but Johnny certainly knew you. How could he not, when he’d spent every morning and every night, hearing your shouts and pitiful whimpers of defeat through the thin walls of your neighboring apartments?

He knew your boyfriend had spouts of anger, could tell from the sounds of drywall cracking on occasion, or the sounds of things clattering in a messy heap on the floor, sometimes shattering, sometimes rolling around after a particularly loud thud.

Your boyfriend was a nuisance that didn’t know how to care for a woman, and he made a show of it every night when Johnny heard him.

Now, Johnny was a respectful man. He’d never hurt another person unless they were deserving — perks of being in the military, it made that excuse much easier to use.

But your boyfriend? He was more than deserving. He was practically asking for Johnny to bash his pathetic face in, cowering beneath Johnny as he pleaded and begged for him to stop.

Johnny just had to figure out a way to slowly slip into your life, befriend you as a friendly neighbor, so he could kick the damn reality into that pretty head of yours. After all, Johnny would never hit you. Johnny would never call you names. Johnny would never make you cry in anguish.

The opportunity arose when he went to collect his mail and saw you standing there, fumbling with your mail key in frustration. Faulty lock, he assumed, but that was perfect for him.

“Need some ‘elp?” Johnny asked you, and when you perked your head up in surprise, he was already plotting murder in his mind when he saw the ugly bruise being sported underneath your eye.

“Oh. Yeah, actually, stupid thing never wants to unlock,” you said, and your voice up close and not through a thin wall was like sweet nectar from a flower.

He smiled with a nod, politely stepping up to your mailbox. You handed him the key, and he eagerly placed it in the lock. Wiggling it around a bit, it took him a few moments and grunts of concentration before the mailbox popped open.

Your face lit up in delight and you profusely thanked him, taking the key from his hands. Your hands were soft and warm, he noted when the two of yours brushed during the exchange, and he felt his heart swell with affection.

Such pretty hands on such a pretty girl should be kissed and held with nothing less than care. They shouldn’t be the victim of a fighting match, where it was obvious you were the losing opponent every time.

“No’ a problem. Johnny,” he introduced with his hand outstretched, and when you flashed him that smile as you introduced yourself back, he made it his absolute mission to make sure this wouldn’t be your last interaction.

The next time you saw Johnny, it was when the two of you were leaving your respective apartments at the same time (really, Johnny had been listening on for signs of when you’d leave as an excuse to leave his own place).

You lit up when you saw him, once again thanking him for helping you with the mailbox. Your eyes fluttered over to his door that he was in the process of locking, and you realized dumbly that he was your neighbor.

“I didn’t know you lived next to us, Johnny!” Us. The word made his eye twitch. “You’ve never introduced yourself.”

“No’ around all tha’ much.” He shrugged, and you hummed in understanding.

“I see. I’ve got to get to work, but it was nice seeing you, Johnny. Don’t be a stranger!”

He watched you go, feet leading you down the hall and towards the elevator of the building. He stood frozen in place, the breath in his lungs caught when he noticed the bruising on the back of your exposed calves from the skirt you wore.

A knock on his door days later had Johnny grumbling to himself, and when he checked the time, it was nearing midnight. He’d normally be on guard, what with his whole military career, but the only people that ever visited his place were Simon, Kyle, or Price.

Opening the door, it was neither of the three and instead, you. Sporting comfortable pajamas that swallowed you whole and made him want to scoop you up and keep you safe.

“Hi, Johnny! Were you sleeping?”

He was, but that didn’t matter.

“Nah, wasn’t sleepin’. Ye need somethin’, love?”

You threw him a sheepish smile that could melt any man’s heart. It was a wonder how your own man couldn’t see that. “I, ah, ran out of sugar. Baking’s my hobby, y’know? Silly me, I forgot to buy some from the shop.”

“…S’midnight.”

“…Is that a no to the sugar?”

Johnny huffed out a laugh, a smile perking on his lips. You were cute, it was to die for.

“Nah. ‘Course ye can have sugar. Tha’ all you came ‘ere for?”

You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating something Johnny wasn’t aware of. Now that he thought about it, your shitty boyfriend wasn’t anywhere in sight, and he hadn’t heard any noise from your apartment earlier.

“Well,” you began, inhaling before slowly exhaling. “Okay, no, I don’t need the sugar. I have plenty of it, actually. It’s just, ah…”

“Go on.”

“My boyfriend went out with some friends tonight and I don’t really want to be alone. I get nervous when I’m by myself, y’know?”

Your boyfriend knew this, and didn’t even bother to bring you with? Wasn’t texting you throughout the night to give you sweet reassurances, telling you he’d be home soon? Was he even out with his friends?

“Ye dinnae have any girl friends to call?” Johnny asked carefully, not wanting to make you feel unwelcome, but also wanting to tread on a thin line. He couldn’t jump to the opportunity, or you might think he’s weird and eager.

When you shook your head with a defeated look on your face, his own heart shattering rang in his ears. The fact you had no friends to confide in, to go out and enjoy yourself with, it didn’t sit right with him.

Silently, he opened up his door a bit more to welcome you in, and you flashed him a pretty smile before eagerly prancing inside.

His apartment was a bit underwhelming, and there wasn’t much that showed he was even living in it besides the furniture to show as evidence. You didn’t seem to mind as you took it in, smile gracing your features when he gestured towards the couch.

“Ye wan’ a drink, lass?” Johnny asked you, and when you saw him standing in the kitchen, he helped up a bottle of alcohol and a bottle of juice. He was offering you a choice of either, but you didn’t see the harm in drinking a bit and letting loose.

“Why not?” You shrugged, pointing to the left hand that held the liquor. He beamed at you, satisfied by your answer and promptly began to pour you and him a drink.

“So yer boyfriend jus’ up and left ye for the night?” Johnny asked as he sat next to you on the couch, placing the glasses on the coffee table in front of you.

He watched as you eagerly took a sip of the liquor, unable to contain the amusement when your nose wrinkled up as you swallowed it down.

“Yeah, I guess so,” you sighed, lips pouting a bit in the form of a frown. He tried not to stare. “Said he needed a night off. And he deserves it, y’know?”

Johnny raised an eyebrow at you, slowly taking a gulp from his own glass before placing it back down. He definitely didn’t think your boyfriend deserved a night to himself, nor that he worked hard in the slightest.

Hell, Johnny could hear the two of you have sex on occasional nights through the shared walls, and that certainly didn’t sound like your boyfriend was working hard. If anything, it was pitiful and sad.

“Deserves it,” he hummed, and you whipped your head to look at him, causing him to snicker into his glass as he took another sip.

You looked conflicted, taking your bottom lip between your teeth again. It puffed up, causing it to turn a bright pink, and he willed himself to keep his gaze on your eyes rather than your mouth.

“He… works hard,” you defended.

“We all do,” Johnny retorted.

“Everybody deserves a night out.”

“Have ye had a night out then?”

Silence.

Johnny might’ve been pushing it too hard. After all, he knew more than you were aware of. He was sure you had no idea how thin the walls were and that he was practically a third person in your relationship issues.

“Consider this yer night out,” Johnny claimed with a warm smile, and it seemed to work because you smiled back, downing the rest of your drink.

“Thank you for keeping me company, Johnny. I know it’s late. You’re sure I’m not bothering you?”

Oh, you could never bother Johnny. He was practically head over heels just from seeing you for the first time and hearing your voice. Love at first sight, he thought, he was completely enamored with you.

“No’ a bother, dove. We’re neighbors. It’d be smart to be friends, aye?”

“Friends?” Your tone was excited and he wanted so badly to be more than that. “I’d love to be friends! Officially, now that we’re technically drinking together, right?”

You gave a playful nudge to his shoulders with yours and he felt his entire being soften with delight. He smiled at you, eyes crinkling into little crescents as he nodded in agreement.

Friends he could do. Being friends meant he would have more opportunity to try and shield you from harm, the harm being your boyfriend, and even if it took patience, he’d wait for it.

The two of you found yourselves in a flurry of conversation, the bottle of liquor dwindling down until there was nothing left. Time seemed to slip away between you, and when the clock hit 3:00 AM, a series of bangs came battering at Johnny’s door.

They were loud and angry, relentless and never ending until Johnny forced himself off of the couch to swing it open.

Your boyfriend’s face came into view and Johnny wished he could rearrange his teeth in that ugly scowl of his.

“Is she here? I heard her voice,” he demanded, and your head peeked out from behind Johnny. Guilt and shame shined in your irises, and it was as if all of the joy you felt when spending time in your newfound friendship with your neighbor had vanished into nothing.

When your boyfriend saw the sight of you, he put on a sickeningly sweet smile. If he was trying to play off his anger until he got back into your apartment, he was doing a poor job of doing so. Or it was because Johnny already knew about his true colors.

“I’m home. Let’s get you to bed, yeah? It’s late,” your boyfriend cooed, and Johnny had to stop himself from sneering at the venom that dripped beneath his tone.

You nodded silently, shuffling by Johnny and out of the threshold. Johnny and your boyfriend watched as you entered your own apartment, disappearing inside and leaving the door open.

Johnny knew what was going to come, and as much as he wanted to stop it from happening, he knew he couldn’t. Not yet.

“Thanks for, ah, taking care of her while I was out. Let’s not make it a habit,” your boyfriend practically spat, and Johnny gave him an unphased smile.

“Only if ye stop makin’ it a habit to hit ‘er every chance ye get,” Johnny replied back in the same tone, keeping his smile on his face. It was a threat, a warning, and Johnny wasn’t ashamed to make it clear. “I see another bruise on ‘er body, I’ll fuckin’ kill ye.”

Your boyfriend must not have had many people retort back to him. His face morphed into a stunned one before flashing in anger and annoyance, and when he went to snap back, Johnny shut the door in his face before he had a chance to.

He made sure to stay up the rest of the night, eyes staring at the ceiling from where he laid in bed. He kept his ears locked in to the shared wall, listening in for a single sound of fists connecting with bone or a broken wail out of your lips.

When he heard nothing, he knew he’d gotten through for now.

You’d visit his apartment when your boyfriend wasn’t around. You’d come to enjoy his company, and even went as far as going against your boyfriend’s wishes of never seeing Johnny again. You told him it was because he was your only friend, and he’d accept you with open arms every time you came knocking.

The back and forth went on for months. Johnny was even more smitten than before, and his patience for claiming you as his own was slowly slipping.

He hated seeing you sad when you’d come on nights after a bad argument. He hated seeing the tears flowing down your cheeks, smothering your delicate skin with dewy shine, reddening your pretty eyes and glossing them over with heartache.

The heartache you felt would transfer on to Johnny.

He didn’t understand why your boyfriend didn’t treat you like the lovely canvas you were. Didn’t cover you with love and affection, instead covering you with black and blue. He tainted you with colors that didn’t clash with the beauty of your skin, when you deserved to be painted with skies of pink.

Johnny knew you deserved better.

When you came on a particular night, face swollen with tears of sadness and blood, he nearly saw red. Such a delicate thing to be so cruelly used as a personal stress reliever should never have happened, and Johnny was at his wits end.

“Leave ‘im,” Johnny ordered when he brought you inside of his apartment. He stood in front of you in the vacancy of his bathroom, a warm washcloth nursing your wounds with tender hands, grimacing every time you winced from pain.

“I can’t,” you whispered, and he shook his head.

“Bullshit. Leave ‘im. A pretty bird like ye doesn’t deserve this.” When you said nothing and stared down at your hands in your lap, he pushed further. “So many men out there wouldn’t lay a finger on ye. They’d never hurt ye. They’d never hit ye. I’d never do that.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, and he allowed it, locking your gazes with one another as a heavy silence filled the room. Your eyes remained filled with unshed tears, glistening in the dim lighting of his bathroom. To you, you looked like broken mess. To him, you looked like you held the entire night sky in your eyes.

Everything happened so quickly, Johnny’s mind nearly didn’t comprehend it. One second, you were staring, the next, your lips had crashed into his without a second thought.

Even with a split lip that tasted faintly of metallic blood, he thought you tasted divine. It was as if sweetness exuded from all parts of you, painting him with a sugary high that he could never get enough of.

One hand strayed to your hair while the other rested along the bathroom counter where your hips rested. Your own hands fisted the front of his shirt, tugging him closer, as if scared he’d fade away.

He planned on going nowhere. This was all he ever wanted, from the moment he heard you for the first time as his neighbor from behind the walls of your apartments.

When he first heard you belting out a song he didn’t know the name of in the security of your own place, presumably when your boyfriend wasn’t around to quiet you down.

When he ran into you at the mailboxes and finally learned your name. When he heard your speaking voice that wasn’t filled with anguish, trembling with shaky tears.

Johnny pressed into you further, consuming every part of the kiss with an eager passion. When he heard the faintest whimper melt from your mouth into his own mouth, he would’ve killed the entire world to hear it again.

“Dinnae be quiet,” he breathed into your lips, smile curling against them. “No need for tha’. Can be as loud as ye want here.”

Your eyes blinked prettily at him from where your foreheads connected. His thumb grazed along your cheek in such a tender manner, it pained your heart in the best way.

Your boyfriend never touched you that way. Never treated you that way. Never loved you that way.

Johnny returned his mouth to yours and you fell back into the clumsy dance of lips and tongue, like a waltz the two of you were learning with one another.

It was intense and fierce, yet gentle and passionate at the same time. You felt dizzy, your mind clouding with nothing but want and desire.

It was wrong of you to do this. Johnny was your friend and neighbor, and you had a boyfriend.

But then you thought back on everything Johnny had been making you realize — a man who loved you would never treat you how your boyfriend treated you. He’d treat you how Johnny was treating you now, soft and caring, pouring his heart and soul into every delicate touch.

On late nights when you stayed up, Johnny was there with the door already unlocked for you. He’d make you laugh, make you smile, he’d heal the inner child you desperately needed to seek. You’d lost her along the way, and Johnny was there to remind her.

“Johnny,” you breathed out, and his smile returned.

“Wha’ is it, dove?”

“I—“ You inhaled sharply, trying to collect your scrambled mind and piece together the words. “I want you. Please.”

Johnny sucked in his own breath, eyes piercing into yours. They flickered along the features of your battered face, and even in this state, he graveled in your beauty.

“I can make tha’ happen.”

Johnny laid you on his bed as if you were the most precious thing to cushion it. His hands roamed your body like mapping out every roll and curve, keeping it noted in his head for future endeavors.

He took his time with you, placing gentle kisses along every bruise, bump, and scar that your sorry excuse of a boyfriend had left embedded in you to remember forever. Johnny didn’t look at them in disgust like you expected, no — he ravished them like fine china, careful and precise, spending as much time needed to ensure each and every one was cherished.

His hands were eager yet patient as he stripped you of your clothes, making sure to take his off in the process so you didn’t feel uncomfortably exposed.

He only thought of your best interests, and it made you feel desired.

“Look at ye,” he breathed, hands slowly gliding down the plains of your stomach and to your thighs. He carefully parted them, eyes dropping down to the glisten of your cunt, taking it in. He sucked in a breath, thumbs stroking along your knees.

Your hands lifted to cover your face, embarrassment filling you to the core. He tsked, lifting a hand to grasp your arm and pull it from your face. He pinned it lightly to the side of your head, peering down at you.

“None of tha’,” he pleaded. “Wanna see ye, bonnie.”

You nodded your head, silently agreeing with him. He took his hand off your arm, flashing you a pleased smile.

He returned to caressing, cascading rough hands down your sides, to your hips, to your thighs, until they traveled back up. The touch of his fingers was light against your core, testing the waters.

“Oh,” you gasped, air getting caught in your lungs. He smiled again, all teeth and all crinkly eyes, before delving his venture further.

His index found your clit and he began a slow and antagonizing pace, circling and stroking, eyes focused on your face to piece together your reaction.

Your eyes were fluttering at the ceiling, breasts rising and falling with every staggered breath.

It was a sight to see. Johnny felt his chest swell with pride that finally, after pining after you for months, feelings hidden away in the dark, he was the one making you this way.

His finger slipped down, seeking the wetness that seeped shamelessly. He scooped his finger in the mess, lifting it to his mouth to wrap his lips around it.

You watched, eyes dazed and hazy. You shouldn’t have enjoyed the sight, but it burned a fire in you.

His smile turned into a bashful grin when he popped his finger out of his mouth, and before you had a chance to breathe, he slipped that same finger inside, prodding you open.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered pathetically.

“Yeah?” he breathed. You nodded dumbly. He huffed out a laugh, curling his finger in a way that had you squirming. “Look bonnie like this. Ye my pretty girl, aye?”

You nodded again, hands fisting his bedsheets beneath you.

“Won’t ever hurt ye,” he continued, and before you knew it, his second finger joined in. “Won’t ever make ye cry. Too pretty to cry, aren’t ye?”

“Johnny,” you pleaded. He pumped his fingers slowly at first, but the sound of his name on your lips urged him to increase the pace.

It was heaven hearing it come from you, and combined with your sweet moans? He was hearing church bells in his mind.

You squirmed beneath him, panting and writhing like the pretty thing you were. He wanted more, he wanted to hear you.

Johnny dove his head down, fingers still buried to the knuckle. His tongue poked out to press flat against your clit, lathing you in bliss and making you see stars.

Your boyfriend never made you feel this way. You were on a cloud, floating peacefully in the skies above.

He could never pull the desperate moans out of you, he could never make your thighs tremble like you’d just run a marathon around the world.

Johnny’s mohawk was soft on your fingertips when you grasped them. You held back, only gripping softly.

“Pretty girl, ye can grip harder than tha’,” he assured when he came up for air. You stared down at him with wet eyes, filled with hazy pleasure. He wouldn’t return to using his mouth until you followed his order, so you did, grabbing a fistful of hair and lightly pushing him against your cunt.

He groaned in approval, burying his face between your legs and eagering fucking his fingers in you.

The stimulation caused your back to arch, a moan bursting out of you. The sound surprised you. You’d never heard yourself sound so wrecked, especially before the main event.

This was how sex was supposed to feel. Cherished, adored, and downright sinful.

The knot in your stomach seemed to tighten, and your thighs clumsily squirmed around, encasing his head between them. You panted breathlessly, the sounds filling the room with an unforgivable act of immorality.

“Johnny, Johnny, I—“ Your words were cut off by your own broken sob, and he feasted harder, urging you to your breaking point more and more.

It was too much. You wouldn’t be able to hold back, nor did you want to. This feeling was too blissful to pull away from, so you allowed yourself the moment of selfishness.

When it hit you, your entire body convulsed. Your stomach tightened and clenched, thighs gripping tight around Johnny’s head, quivering with every movement.

“Tha’s it, dove. Good girl,” he praised. You keened, eyes squeezing shut as your climax came over you.

His fingers slowed their pace but didn’t dare leave your body as he pulled you through the last drops of your orgasm. When he felt you had enough, he swiftly pulled them out, staring up at you with eyes pouring with admiration.

“Look at ye,” he whispered, reaching a hand out to stroke over your cheek. You hadn’t realized they were wet with tears until he stroked them away with a thumb. “Gorgeous girl. Tha’ okay?”

“Absolutely,” you breathed, voice broken.

You regained your breath, chest no longer heaving like a panting dog, and you came out of your clouded haze.

“Let me make ye feel even better, aye? Can fill ye up, wanna feel ye, please, bonnie—“

You nodded before even making up your mind, but really, you didn’t need to. It was already made up the moment he let you into his home and offered friendship.

Johnny climbed over you, careful not to crush you. He hovered, face aligned with yours and a smile on his face. You stared at him in awe.

That smile of his could light up the whole world if he allowed it. It lit up yours, after all.

His hand dove between your bodies, and when you felt the head of him slowly press to your entrance, you sucked in a breath.

He took his time, slowly easing into you, filling you and leaving you with greedily wanting more and more.

“Oh god,” you groaned, and he followed after. His eyes were squeezed shut as you took him in fully, and when he bottomed out, he forced them open to gaze down at you.

“Look at me the ‘ole time, aye? Wanna see ye,” he said, and who were you to deny it?

Johnny began to move and you had to force your eyes open every time they threatened to flutter closed. He filled you from an emptiness you weren’t aware you had until now, and you never wanted it to leave.

Just like with his fingers, he started off slow. He didn’t want to hurt you, but the more he stared at the pleasured, fucked-out look on your face, his resolve broke and he found himself losing control.

One particularly hard thrust had you gasping, hands scrabbling for purchase on his biceps, and that was all he needed to snap.

Hips thrust erratically into you, plunging deeper and deeper every single hit. The noises were nothing but dirty, a mix of sinful slaps and shaky moans filling the atmosphere.

“Takin’ me so good, bonnie,” he sighed, hand cradling your cheek as he continued his relentless torture. “Made for me, yeah?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, fingernails dipping into his skin and marking him with crescent shaped indents. “All for you, Johnny, nobody else.”

“Tha’s right, sweet girl.” His head tilted down to graze his lips along your jaw, peppering loving kisses up to your ear. “Dinnae need tha’ bloke of yours anymore. ‘M gonna take care of ye.”

That sounded divine. You wanted all of that and more.

“Please,” you begged, though unsure what for.

Johnny smiled against your skin before pulling himself back up. He grabbed hold of your legs, gently pressing them up so your knees were level with your chest.

His eyes never strayed from your face, not even when he went back to giving you everything he had in the way he fucked you.

He was proudly marking his territory, taking everything you had while giving you everything in return.

You couldn’t compress the moans that escaped you with every brutal thrust in your cervix. He was hitting every damn spot in you, as if he had your entire body already mapped out.

“Gonna take ye away from ‘im,” he grunted, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your thighs where they pressed against your chest. “Never gonna let another man hurt ye again.”

You cried, tears pouring down your cheeks in rivers. Your body was so overwhelmed with the pleasure he brought you, but god, you wanted all of it. You were going to make sure you took it all.

Johnny continued his string of praises as he glided in and out of you, your cunt molding around him like the perfect fit. He was fast and hard with his actions, yet his words were sweet and tender, only ever showering you with things you needed to hear.

“Ye gonna give me another one, pretty girl?” he asked, his own voice nearly failing on him from his own pleasure.

You nodded quickly, eyes locked on to his. He grinned in approval, cocking his head to the side.

“C’mon, bonnie. Ken ye can do it f’me.”

Those words of encouragement were enough to have you clenching around him, body succumbing to your second orgasm. You felt absolutely divine, head completely spacing out and relieving itself of any worries or stress.

“There ye go,” he cooed, unstopping of his thrusts. He chased his own release, sweat beading along his forehead and dripping down his temple. “Such a good girl, bonnie.”

You whimpered, body spent and exhausted. You didn’t stop that from allowing him to seek out his pleasure. The thought of him filling you, of fully claiming you as his stirred a wild thought in your mind, and you needed it.

“Please, Johnny,” you whined, and he let out a breathless chuckle. It vibrated you to the core.

“Dinnae worry, dove, I’ll give ye what ye want.”

It didn’t take him long to find himself. His movements became less precise and more sloppy, hands slipping from your thighs when his grip became unfocused.

Warmth filled you from the inside and you reveled in its comfort, sighing shakily. He pumped himself in you a few more times, making sure to get out every drop, before stopping to catch his breath.

Johnny looked gorgeous like this. Glistening in sweat, lips parted to suck in air, cheeks flushed pink from the warmth that took over the room.

You couldn’t stop your hand from lifting off of his arm to gently caress his cheek. When he felt your touch, he smiled, leaning into it.

Your heart nearly burst in fondness.

Johnny cleaned you up and let you change into his clothes, which you happily put on.

The two of you laid in the comfort of his bed, his arm tucking you into his side, your eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“I meant everythin’ I said, dove. ‘M gonna take ye away from ‘im, ye won’t ever have to deal with ‘im again,” Johnny said softly.

The thought of leaving your boyfriend was scary, but the thought of leaving behind Johnny after this was scarier. You knew what the obvious choice was.

You had to trust him. And trust him you did.

“Okay,” you whispered in return, and when he turned his head to smile down at you, you’d happily go along this journey into the unknown with him.

finally got around to writing smut like i’ve been planning on and what better choice than mr mactavish himself 🙏🏻 hes so yummy i wanna eat him

#cod #call of duty #soap cod #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #john mactavish #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #smut #cod smut #soap smut #hurt/comfort #call of duty smut #cod mw3 #cod mw2 #cod x reader

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