#yandere captain price x reader

[mina-org]

Sooo…what about prof!Price being a little perv? 👀

dirty old man:( upset he didnt prioritise love and is so lonely, needs a tight little cunt to empty himself into and you really need a good grade

tw: cockwarming, breeding kink, blackmail implied

“sweetheart ya' won't be walking anywhere tomorrow,” he hums, kissing at the skin of your neck which is already littered in bite marks. Had to send a message, you dont need to be messing with uni boys, professor price looks after his girl

“ 'm gonna take good care of you, sweetheart, don't worry 'bout that assignment, I'll take care of it for ya.” he feels you clench around him, core throbbing. you feel his hands settle on your thigh, as your wetness mixes with his cum and starts to leak out of you dripping on to him.

that just won't do, "gotta take all of it, be a sweetheart for me." price is getting old, its like liquid gold and he knows you're desperate for it, your body calls for him, pump full of his. if price gets his way you're be calling him panicked, and than when your friends are graduating, you're plump with his baby, shiny ring on your finger.

"please.” it's little, pouty lips as you look at him with such pretty eyes, so innocent, like you're not currently being speared by him, stretching you out so perfectly.

"please what?” his voice is strong, steadfast, thats price.

"need more, please fill me up. can take it" your lips wobble, hes surprised you're still so coherent, he'll take care of that, fuck you until you're nice and dumb for him.

[lokidbadguy]

STALKER CODED!

[elysianightsss]

RUN FROM ME DARLIN, YOU BETTER RUN FOR YOUR LIFE | MASTERLIST

Pairing | Poly!141 x Black Widow Reader

Summary | You show up on base to give your sister, Kate Laswell, some information and then leave. That was your plan anyway, but you miss the helicopter ride home and weirdly there isn’t another one again for weeks. While you’re stuck there, your sister’s team gets a little too attached to you and suddenly they’re everywhere you look. Like they’re waiting for you. So you do the only thing you can; run and hide.

Tags | Dark themes, possessive 141, stalking, kidnapping, murder, smut, the guys being down right sickening on their level of want, special guest character, reader has a sad past, child neglect, reader becomes a killer as a child, fighting, blood, mentions of torture, mentions of a hysterectomy not reader, alcohol, drugs (chloroform).

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Fin

Divider credit - @cafekitsune

Tags | @fruitymoonbeams-blog @gazsluckyhat @daydreamsareallineed @riawritesstories @goatgoesmbe

[unlikelykidpost]

This is my first time posting here, but I really want to hear from my fellow POC. Is anyone else tired of reading stories where it’s all about the main character x reader? You dive in, expecting a really inclusive narrative, but then it hits you: “Their cheeks glowed pink!” Seriously? Where am I getting that rosy hue? Or when the character casually puts their hair into an easy ponytail—come on, it takes me forever just to get my hair in a ponytail! You know what I mean, right..??

It's frustrating when the story drops hints that suggest the 'reader' is white. It really grinds my gears, and I wish writers would stop doing that, or at least include a warning that the reader character is going to be white. I want stories to be genuinely inclusive and for writers to be more flexible in how they describe characters. It’s disappointing when you can tell that a writer based their characters on white experiences and WHITE PEOPLE. but thats all, thanks for listening to my ted talk!!

[gremlingottoosilly]

Kidnapper Price?

He has a system.

Wake you up an hour after his alarm - he is careful to slip out of bed without waking you, but he is also strict whenever you're trying to beg for another five minutes. He would bring you breakfast, waking you up with the prospect of eating on your own - you were a good girl the past month, ever since he threatened to cut your shins if you ever tried to live again - so you could eat without his hand wiping on your face and holding the spoon.

You munch on a French toast - it got better with every attempt. This man had to learn softness in order to stop scaring you. Had to watch those dumb reels and try to whip out a palatable dessert for you, hoping it would make you at least a tiny bit more interested in having him. He kisses you on the forehead and his beard scratches your skin - it's better this way, you think. Makes you remember you can still feel something other than the endless softness of the pillows. Makes you bury your face in the sheet and only let go when his nudges on your shoulder become stricter.

He is a captain, and it took a while for Price to remember that civilians aren't good at following orders. You would give him half-assed hugs and soft mumbles instead of clear and nice "love you, please come back safe" as he wanted, and he had to stop himself from lashing out. You don't deserve this, and he has to be patient, even if he thinks you would benefit from a strong hand. John reminds himself - that he is training a new soldier and he is trying to get himself a wife.

He has a strict timing for everything, his therapist would probably talk his ear off about being a control freak. Not his fault he has way too many enemies. It's not his fault that he needs a pretty girl next to him, his to mold and control. He would kiss your cheek before giving you a moment to yourself, and he would drag your body for a daily weather forecast. Never the news - you're fragile, he thinks, too fragile to even watch a show about some poor senior getting robbed. You would curl on the couch with a bowl of popcorn - he is microwaving it himself, sneering at your desire for snacks when he could order something actually filling. You'd let him absently pet your head as he speaks to his boys about something - missions, retirement, coming back to work. You don't want him to go on missions because it would mean spending your days in the bed again, with some of his friends to watch over you - and you don't like his friends.

Price would call you a little siren as you'd crawl on his lap and push your face under his stubby chin, kissing-biting the side of his neck. Sloppy kisses and puppy licks up his face, down his collarbone. Until he is finally had enough with being a chewing toy, and agrees to stay for another week. Starts talking about taking his leave and finally cashing on the pension. Maybe opening a car shop.

You drop your pussy all over his lap, forcing yourself to rub over his crotch and make him forget about the phone call. He knows what you're doing - and he knows it's still much better this way. He can fuck you stupid for trying to defy him later - he will indulge you for now, putting a firm hand on your ass and giving you a squeeze. You've done good as his captive wife, he is just trying to see whether you'll be as good as a regular one.

[obsessivelullabies]

— being mafia!tf141's assistant.

warnings : possessive, yandere behavior. fem reader.

a/n : i've never written mafia before? i hope this makes sense?? i plan to write four different parts for each of them individually!

— in all honesty, your relations with the mafia were completely accidental. you were a naive young woman in search of work. being some rich guy's assistant sounded easy enough. you did find it a little funny how there was no traditional interview process, just a bunch of slightly sketchy paperwork sent your way. luckily for you, you got the job!

— you were told an address, so you showed up. it turned out to be a massive house, which was even more shady. as you stood outside the door, a little too frightened to knock, you realized how sketchy it all was.

as you were lost in thought, the door swung open, revealing a muscular, shirtless man. he was only adorned in a pair of black boxers, he looked slightly peeved.

"who the fuck are you?" he acknowledged you after eyeing you up and down.

your eyes gazed on his firm chest due to how he nearly towered over you with his height. "i'm the new assistant.." you practically squeaked back at him.

the man grinned suddenly, his demeanor changing. "come in," he stepped aside, allowing you inside their home.

— the place was slightly cluttered as he showed you around, he introduced himself as soap. you assumed, or rather, hoped, it was a nickname. soap was immediately very touchy feely with you, slinging his arm around your waist or shoulder, running his large hand down the small of your back, stopping at your hips.

— soap showed you what your jobs were, things such as cleaning, cooking and basically whatever one of the men needed at the moment. he told you about the three other men, gaz, ghost and price. from what you gathered; they ran some kind of business. every mention of it was vague, yet you picked up that price was the 'boss' of sorts.

— after a lot of chatter, soap left your side and allowed you to work. the next man you met was just coming home, he was dressed fancily, seeming to be in a rush. he was quiet and polite, taking the time to introduce himself. gaz. soap hadn't said much about him.

— gaz was a sweetheart to you, asking you questions about yourself, apologizing for the slight mess in their home. you were excited to work for the two; both seemed pleasant to be around.

— the first two weeks of your job went by smoothly, soap and gaz would often lounge in whatever room you were in, chatting mindlessly to you. you would even say you bonded with the two.

— soap adored how good of an assistant you were. he loved eating your cooking, how you always made sure he liked your efforts. you were so obedient. so perfect for him.

— gaz had grown attached to your pretty little voice. you were so polite. he found it so cute how naive you were, how you never questioned what he did for work. he had a petname for you, ‘gorgeous’. with how much he called you it, you wondered if he even knew your real name.

— when price and ghost returned from their ‘business’, they were both relived to finally have some help. they showed it in different ways.

— at the start, ghost basically ignored you. his skull mask frightened you anyway. he only spoke to you to give you commands, yet over time, your charm grew on him. still, he wasn’t very talkative. he’d request your silent company. something to make him feel less alone.

— price, the boss, was very dominating. he appreciated your hard work, which soap and gaz had told him about. price thought you were adorable as a small animal. something to be protected and pet. every morning when you first got to work, you would make his tea for him. these slowly became his favorite moments.

— the longer you worked for them, the more mysterious they all became. they were vague whenever you hinted at your curiosity. you decided not to pry.

— you were unaware how possessive they’d all became. how they vied for you and yours affections. when price practically demanded you work longer hours, you just assumed you were a super good assistant.

— the four men became obsessive over you after only a few months. your life had gotten.. complicated ever since. especially when you learned what they really did.

masterlist.

[rodolfoparras]

not to be crazy but reader being crazy obsessed over dragon!price. maybe reader's a hybrid, or maybe he's just a human; but it doesn't matter, not when all he cares about is john, john, john, john. a reader who's so obsessed price, no matter what he does or say, cannot seem to get rid of you. in the peripherals of his vision he is haunted by you, whether you are actually there or not, you have infested his mind just as much as he's infested yours.

a reader who's so obsessed he'll go up against creatures much stronger and older than he is, against creatures with teeth and claws and magic that hums in their veins - but that magic and claws and teeth are all usually against a man who's sole purpose is to live for another man, for a man who you're so deeply and dearly enamored with. their size and strength and whatever mystical, non-human features are all useless against you, whose veins scream for violence and blood, who scream at you to get rid of anyone that so much as breathes your john's way.

and price isn't sure whether to be impressed or disturbed by the amount of heads that arrive packaged onto his desk, the dismembered limbs he throws out with distaste on his tongue. it boggles his mind whenever he finds out you've gotten rid of yet another hybrid, how someone like you - either a human man or a weaker hybrid of sorts - have managed to become the personification of death itself.

he's more exasperated when he somehow finds out you've been stalking him, finds the collection of polaroids of him stored away somewhere, finds a shrine just for him, than he is frightened. he's never had anyone be so obsessed with him the way you are in all his years of living, and despite himself, with every corpse or limb found, with every sickly love letter finding itself on his desk, with stolen clothes finding itself in your bedroom or laundry, with the little bloodied gifts you leave him, it has his draconic instincts purring at a potential mate.

Cw: 18+, dragon!Price, dragon! male reader obsessiveness, stalking, scent kink, masturbation, voyarism, exhibitionism, briefly Nikolai x Price, brief mention & depiction of dismemberment, yandere!reader, yandere!Price

It all started with a small act of kindness. You were getting scolded by a superior for something you’d done- had almost gotten kicked out of your squad because of that, when suddenly Price had swooped in and uttered a little white lie “he didn’t mean it, I’ll keep him in check don’t worry about it general” and got you out of trouble in a matter of seconds

Truth be told Price forgot all about you after that encounter but you couldn’t forget about him. You spent every waking moment learning about him who he was - a dragon hybrid and a captain- what he’d done- fought in wars and served everything from kings to generals - learned all about who he keeps in his inner circle - it had once been his mate now it’s mostly his squad and oh his mate -she was absolutely beautiful- a dragon hybrid just like him. They’d been together for years until she’d gotten killed.

That’s at least what you had read in one of the many journal he keeps in his room. You had snuck in one day when he left for a mission with the intentions to just look around but you had ended up with your clothes on the floor and fucking one of his pillows just because it smelled like him, - soap and cologne still embedded into the pristine white fabric, and still carrying the imprint from where his head once had been. So of course you folded the pillow right in the middle and slid your cock inside of it, losing yourself in its tight and warm grip, pretending it was the stand offish dragon captain you were fucking before spilling ropes of cum all over the sheets.

Then it came to the over protectiveness. You really wouldn’t call it that. You just wanted to make sure he was alright. So what if you watched him through the cracks of his office door while he held conversations with Nikolai? And what if you stayed as his lips crashed onto the Russians, while your hand slipped down your pants and what if you snuck into Price’s room the morning after and buried your face in his underwear just so you know that Nikolai didn’t take it any further?

But Price knew- could feel your eyes on him as he lined Nikolai’s cockhead up with his entrance. Price knew -could hear your growl and the way your hand stroked your cock as he bounced on Nikolai’s cock. Price knew- and he enjoyed it, tipped over the edge at the sheer thought of it, vision turning blurry and ears ringing as he slumped into the other man’s embrace.

So it wasn’t to any surprise when he discovered the Polaroids you kept of him, stashed under your mattress but poking out enough for him to get a glimpse. He had come to your room to talk about your recent behavior. Things had started to get out of hand. He didn’t really care that you watched his every step. What he did care about were the soldiers that had mysteriously gone missing, soldiers he’d gotten into minor arguments with prior to the incident, but eventually popped back up in his office or rather his desk- body completely dismembered and limbs neatly wrapped, reminding him of a Christmas Day in hell and Price was sure he knew who was behind it

There were plenty of Polaroids, so much so they made up an entire album.

Some were rather innocent in nature, snapshots of him while he was smoking a cigar or talking with Kate or any member of 141 . The photographs were blurry - unfocused almost as if you’d accidentally taken them but he knew that wasn’t the case. Some were a bit more suggestive: a close up shot of his ass while he was maneuvering the shooting range or a shot of his scantily clad lower half as he held a training session with the team. He could only imagine what you did with those,

But there were more polaroids, snapshots of him while he’s clearly asleep, blissfully unaware of what’s happening. Going by the murky surroundings, the pictures must’ve been taken whenever the two of you were out on a mission together and shared a tent.

Some were close up shots of his face, cheeks dusted in pink and hair in disarray, completely unaware of what’s happening. Other Polaroids were blurry shots of his body, silver of skin peaking through the clothes he’s wearing, probably a direct cause from all the tossing and turning he’d done in his sleep. Despite the nature of them, they were rather innocent, reminding you of causal snapshots someone would take of their lover.

But something about that had heat creeping up his cheek, blood pooling straight to his dick.

He could imagine you sprawled out on your bed, or seated in his office chair, one hand holding a Polaroid; probably a snapshot of him smoking a cigar, while the other hand was stroking your cock.

Disgusting he thinks as his hand shakily unbuckles his jeans, doesn’t even bother to take a seat.

How could he allow anyone as sick as you into his team? He thinks, hand grasping his dick, that’s already hard and weeping.

He should report you for misconduct and get you kicked out of the army, he thinks, thumb swiping over his tip, smearing around the pre that had been collecting there as grunts and groans escapes his lips

All thoughts escape his head as he sets a steady pace with his hand, stroking root to tip while his free hand fondles his ball sack.

“Fuck!” He grunts out, eyes fluttering shut, head tipping back as he fucks into his own hand.

“John?”

[smokeysweater]

Masterlist It had been a good arrangement so far. You and John I mean, it had been pretty comfortable since you originally applied for the ad, it still baffled you that nobody else wanted this, 250 pounds every two weeks, to live in a nice house in the gorgeous countryside, with a roommate who is barely here. Even when John is here, he’s civil and nice. Doesn’t talk to you unless needed, using the sweetest of nicknames when he does as well. ” hey sweetheart, I’m about to run to the grocery store, ya need anything?” ”let me just squeeze right past you, doll” ” Thanks for the dinner love, it's delicious as always.” His voice, that deep, smooth British tone mixed with the most knee-dropping nicknames, it’s a wonder how you’ve survived this long with him invading your mind every time you go to bed. so it was a good thing you two had going on, he left for months on end, leaving you with the house you barely paid rent for, you’ve seen the bill, you know it’s not 250 pounds, that barely scraps it. You’ve tried confronting him about it, but he just hit you right back with a “Don’t worry about it sweetheart, just let me handle it.” …yeah you didn’t fight back against that one. honestly, before you realise it, three years have passed, 3 nice years of having a giant, beautiful house in the countryside all by yourself with a sometimes roommate and only paying dirt for rent, and you might be the luckiest person you know. it had occurred to you one day however, since it had been three years since you’ve started living with John, or as you’ve heard some people call him, Captain Price, that you two were common law.So, you thought it was at least a little funny, so you brought it up one day. You had been waiting for a week when he was home, it had been a bit since he got back, you decided now would be the moment to tell him, with you two sitting at the dining table eating a dinner John had prepared for you two The utensil’s that clattered and Clinked against the plates filled the mostly silent room, there was no tension against you two, just happy to let the quiet fill the air, so you took this as an oppuritinty to tell the older man.  “Hey John,” you spoke, prompting him to look up, baby blue eyes peering up at you, threatening to still your very being. ��You know, since it’s been three years since we’ve lived together, we’re technically in a common law marriage now, funny right? I mean you're barely here but the kingdom decides we’re ‘married’” You chuckled, putting air quotations at the married part, you didn’t look Price in the eyes when you said this, focusing on the plate in front of you. so you were unable to see the way his eyes darkened, how his knuckles seemed to whiten with how tightly he gripped his knife and fork. His breathing silently froze for a moment, but the moment you looked back up again, he went back to normal, as if to hide what motions exactly ran through him like a fright train. ” that so?.. spouse we should do something to celebrate, huh doll?” Price asked, in the hushed velvety tone he always carried when talking to you. you shrugged, uncaring. “I mean, we don’t have to, I don’t think it matters, we’re not married.” You reminded Price casually, too preoccupied to see the way Price twitched at that.

”I suppose not.” He mumbled back.

That small moment set off a chain of events that would change your relationship for the better or worse.

the next morning, you felt stranger than usual, it felt.. weird, and wrong. But, naive ol’ you, shrugged it off, getting up for the day, but when you looked down at you beside the table to grab your phone, you noticed something. curiously, you picked up a ring, a pretty little thing, the red gem glinting bright in the Sun, the silver band attached to it feeling smooth and cool against your skin. next to it, was a small note. ’Hey sweetheart. Had to leave early, I’ll be back, I promise, I got you something for Our marriage, Hope you like it. Be back soon To Mx Price. Love, John Price’ what the fuck.

[zombieplaygrounds]

cw: slightly obsessive yandere! price, afab!f! reader, literally me rambling about a good price breeding. dumbification ??? smut MDNI

Price growls during sex. Not something he does intentionally to make you giggle or anything; but something deep and innate within him as his balls slap on to you. So fat with the desire, the need to breed you, trap you two together with a manifestation of your "love". He never saw himself as a man who wanted a family, hell, he doesn't want a family.

But he wants you. So it becomes all the more tempting to get you plump with his seed, to fuck you until you ooze his sperm and soon the product of your affair shows as a baby in your belly. Something to grab on when he lets you curl into him on sleepy mornings while you were still submissive and dumb from the night before. He'd probably post you up in a pretty little house in a remote location - god forbid you run away with miles of nothing but trees and bears that would kill you.

Oh, but you were too good to him. A total pup for his love, practically could see the hearts in your eyes when you stared up at him like he was a god; chin tucked into his sternum while he gave you his hello hugs.

"Miss me, gorgeous?"

Cheeky bastard, loved your devotion and loyalty. especially in bed, when you were all sweet and kittenish. Probably sat right up on his lap with his cock deep inside of you, kissing your womb while he taunted you with the probability of never pulling out. A thick, creamy ring of your arousal built up around his balls while your clit grinded against his pubic hair.

Your eyes rolled back, hair frazzled and sticky, clinging to your face and body. Your hips seemed to roll in endless waves of pleaded orgasms. And that cruel bastard of a man would do nothing but occasionally buck his hips to snap you out of your blurred greed and delirious loving whispers. Hands clawing down from his hairy pecs to the hairy belly of soft abs and muscles, grown spoilt from your warm meals.

Of course, every man had an end to his patience, Price was no perfect creature. If you took too long to reach your climax it was nothing but a quick flip to switch position. Forceful thrusts making you cry and drool out slurred profanities. He made you vulnerable in the ways he reminded you of your own weakness, so strong, slamming your arms above your head and making your eyes water as they stared into his own.

"Pretty." You would speak in a raspy, weakened voice, and Price would growl, a low guttural noise that came from somewhere much more animalistic than his sound conscious. He'd finally lean down to your level, hovering over you and caging in the cocoon of his own body, gripping onto the roots of your hair with gentle tugs as his lower half made sloppy and eager thrusts, a mind of its own. Couldn't even respond as he panted the sweet scent of your pheromones right from your neck. Even as you were already orgasms in, he had still only just cum. Easing to rest his face between your bare breasts with muffled praises.

"Good girl. M'pretty miss you are, ain't ya?"

[diejager]

We need more Dark!Captain Price please!!

Behave, Love

Pairing: Dark! Captain John Price x fem!reader

Cw: implied smut, DARK, IMPLIED NON-CON, possessive behaviour, kidnapping, kinda Stockholm syndrome, captive reader, mean Price, punishment, basement wife?, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 2.6k

“We have guests tonight, love,” he told you this morning before leaving.

That was a warning, the only one you needed to understand what you were told - ordered - to do. You spent the morning cleaning up, wiping off the nonexistent dust from the shelves, washing off the clean tables and surfaces around the house that you’d cleaned yesterday after he called to tell you that he was coming home. The following hours were spent vacuuming the wooden floor and mopping up any nano-spill of some kind. Only after the long hours you took to clean every speck of dust in your shared home, did you start cooking.

Price was a simple man in the things he liked, he might’ve been strategic in his plays and his decisions, down to the smallest aspects of each mission, or preferring his gun or knives maintained in a specific way that was his only, but anything at home, he liked simple. Perhaps it was a blessing for you, never spending time learning how to cook or bake, your training took up all your time and any free time you had was spent resting or on extra training. He liked well-rounded meals, having meat, vegetables and a bit of spice on his plate with rice or fries on the side.

You dread the moments he leaves as much as the giggle of the knob, leaving meant that he’d be watching you remotely, from the small screen of his phone with alarms and countermeasures against your escape - to which you’ve tried and failed many times, the severity of his punishment racking up from an hour in the dark basement to being tied up and tortured to overstimulation of a fake cock moulded to replicate Price’s cock - and his return would leave you at the mercy of his prying eyes and hungry mouth, letting his hands trace the scars that littered your skin. Any sign of disgust: shuddering, flinching or freezing would get you some time in the basement. 

He pulled you from years of training, the result of your blood sweat and tears gone with the flick of Price’s wrist. He had you discharged and had you move in with him - how fortunate you’ve been living on base without an apartment outside of the compound, you saw no use for it if you’d rarely be home - even though you fought against him, tooth and nail. Yet that only landed you in time out - or so he called it. 

“We’re going to get married, love,” he told you, a bright smile hidden under his beard, a wishful gleam in his eyes. 

You weren’t only getting married, you were signing off your body and soul to your captor to become a glorified housewife. From a private to a housewife, how saddening, you couldn’t help that self-deprecating attitude rather than the confidence and strength that were beaten into you during training. 

Any connection to the outside world was cut off, Price made sure that you wouldn’t have any way to contact your family without his supervision - he had you call them once a month to reassure them that you were safe and happy with your new life - or the authorities, not that they’d listen to you with The Captain John Price and his decorated background. Granted, you had a TV to entertain yourself in moments of boredom or the book-filled wall in the living room, even a few recreational activities he wanted you to practise: knitting, sewing, cooking and baking.

Naturally, you turned to cooking and baking as a way to pass the time, leaving the radio or the TV on as background noise to fill the depressing atmosphere. With time, you’d grown more comfortable in the kitchen and Price could trust you with more complicated dishes, even being excited to eat a homemade dinner when he came home. He liked meat, so you read about different meaty dishes - especially with the notion of the other coming over for the afternoon - with good portions of vegetables. 

You moved around the island, setting the table with plates and cups, knives, spoons and forks on the sides with a bowl of fries in the middle. The steaks were almost done, sizzling besides the warm sauce you were boiling after cracking the can. The beans and mashed potato were already set on each plate, waiting for the juicy meat and sauce you worked on, hoping that you’d be finished on time for Price to get home. You hoped Price would be nicer to you while the men ate, nothing too rash or possessive from him during their stay.

The lock clicked as you placed the final piece, the rattle of keys and the familiar steps of Price’s heeled shoes were - unless you missed his soft “I’m home, love.” - the usual sounds you’d hear when he came home, the only indications that you were never truly able to relax.

“Welcome home, John,” you returned, greeting him with a small kiss on the corner of his lips, his bushy beard irritating your cheeks. 

He leaned down, chasing you for a second, deeper kiss, his teeth catching your lower lip before he moved aside to let his coworkers enter. 

“Ma’am,” Gaz jumped in, lowering his cap in a mock bow to you.

Being called ma’am made you feel old and married. While you were married, you were a year or two younger than him with him having an authority over you on base. You didn’t necessarily know him before your discharge, only catching a few glances when either of you were passing through the gym or shooting range, or when you crossed paths in the halls or mess hall. Perhaps in another universe, you would’ve been friends or teammates by chance. You swallowed down a sigh that threatened to slip from your pursed lips.

Soap followed closely behind Gaz with a boisterous greeting of his own, his smile infectious and giddy. How couldn’t you smile back at him when he seemed so happy to be here, you couldn’t bear to break his heart, his puppy-like joy. You shook his hands, they were as firm as the last time, his fingers more calloused and harder on the tips from the many deployments between their last visit. Ghost was a step behind everyone, giving you a quick but welcoming nod, his eyes softening at the dark bags under your eyes. 

“Come in, I was just about finished.”

Without so much of a complaint, they sat down, watching you pour the brown sauce over their plate. Price - as always - sat at the head of the table, watching you and his team from his vantage point. Ghost sat to his left with Soap beside him and Gaz on the opposite from him, taking the seat to your right. The seat to Price’s right was always reserved to you whenever you were present, a rule he imposed himself. He could easily hold your hand while it rested on the table, he could sneakily place his firm hand on your thigh, or he could send you a quiet message through the corner of his eye, something so discreet that not even Ghost noticed.

Dinner with 141 was always animated, with Soap and Gaz throwing jabs at each other and Ghost jumping in with a few jokes of his own - though they were the usual dark and morbid humour that he thrived on - while Price watched over it all, a proud smile adorning his face as his thumb brushed your knuckles. You could see the fatherly joy in his eyes whenever everyone was at the table, this joy that almost made you happy that you were part of this small family - almost. You couldn’t forget the pain and harrowing sadness that clouded your mind every day, Price’s influence on your life becoming the looming shadow that kept you locked away from the freeing sun.

“It was tidy, bonnie!” Soap thanked you, collecting the plates while the rest helped around.

“Thank you, Johnny.”

While you washed the dishes, burly arms reached around your waist and locked fingers, pushing his chest to meet your back. He hummed a comforting tune, peppering your neck and shoulder with kisses, playing the loving and caring husband he was to the rest of the world. Laying his head on your shoulder, he was content with watching you work, ears listening to the chatter in the room and your beating heart, a calm and soft beat that soothed his nerves. 

“A right delight,” Price breathed out, hips swaying side to side in a drawl dance, rocking you along with him. 

He pressed his lips to your ear, mumbling praises for your behaviour and playing the husband he wanted to be - was. He was gentler with you, his strong arms holding you lovingly and expressing his devoted obsession with you with kisses and whispers. It was a side you saw often, Price being the ever-loving man he vowed to give you on the day of your marriage, the other one was the possessive and obsessive man who wanted your everything, your mind, body and soul. That side of him was given to you when you misbehaved, when you did something to displease him or when he deemed you worthy of punishment.

The other rarely saw their captain acting so soft and loving, even toward them, his little, ragtag of a team. Although it was something to be proud of, unendingly happy because at least one of them finally settled down, who were they if they couldn’t jab at Price, just a bit.

“Growing old, Cap’? You look like a romantic sap,” Gaz snickered, watching Price narrow his eyes in mocked anger through squinted eyes.

“Aye, I dinnae yer were a bodach,” Soap elbowed Gaz, failing to hold back his cackle, head tilted back and arms around his abdomen.

“English, Johnny.”

Price huffed, shoulders shaking with his own laughter.

“Oh, sod off,” he spat, lips stretched in a snarky smile. “Am I an old sap, love?” 

He clung to you, hands slipping under the hem of your shirt

“ ‘Course not, John. Maybe romantic, but not old.”

Calling him old wouldn’t do him or you any good, especially since you were married to him, a man over a decade older than you; and calling him romantic would be a lie thrown to the face, at least to you. Price would call himself a romantic man and preen about his rugged, yet gentlemanly character, his hands calloused and loving, his mouth praising and biting, his eyes ravaging and devoted, his acts protective and possessive. How Price would proclaim himself as the perfect husband - he said he was the day he dropped you the discharge letter - and how lucky you were to wound yourself with him rather than any boy your age. 

Price chuckled, his chest rumbling against your back as he tightened his hold around you. He liked your reply, that wide smile pressed to your throat with nipping kisses made you aware of his joy. You rocked back against him, dancing along the lazy sway of his hips, you were catering to his whims to stay safe and alive. His training wasn't for nothing, carved into the seams of your mind with every thrust of his cock or the silicone mimic of his cock. You learned quickly that if Jonathan Price was happy, you’d be safe and unharmed, so you aimed to please him and keep him happy.

If it meant playing the reciprocating and happily married wife to their captain, you’d do that. There wasn’t any loss of dignity and pride in wanting to feel safe, wanting to ignore how his hands gripped you too firmly or how your skin was littered with painful bruises after a rough night. To the Task Force, you were a willingly discharged soldier who became a housewife for their hardworking captain and your loving husband. The gold band carved with curved and intricate words added to the illusion of your perfect life. 

It made you want to scream and pull your hair out at how trusting they were of Price. All and any man had his darkness, that ugly need buried under the mass of duty and morality that made them who they were, but if let loose, they could be like Price, another monster wearing the skin of a man.

You couldn’t help squinting your eyes in a silent plea to the men, watching them drink and laugh merrily without a fault. Being a witness to their bountiful smile and full-bellied laughter when you were glued to your captor by the hip, his arm looped around your waist, pulling you to him. Laying your head on his shoulder as the bottle of whiskey grew lighter and lighter over time, the golden liquid rolling down their throat with a comforting burn after a long week at work. The little glances Price sent your way were reminders for you to behave until the end, his fingers curling over a healing bruise from when he held you too tightly, pussydrunk with his head between your thighs.

You smiled and nodded, going along with whatever they were chatting about, from meaningless affairs to slightly classified subjects. Nothing was off the table with you, they trusted Price enough to trust you with sensitive subjects and they all liked you, someone who could relate to their cause and understand their pains. Perhaps that played a part in his obsession with you.

Even when they stood on your doorstep with slurred speech and hooded eyes, they were always aware of their situation and minds sharp, but they were blind to your plight. Gaz and Soap shook hands with Price, the darker Brit bowing to lift his cap in a familiar salute: “‘Night, ma’am.”

“Thanks fer the meal, bonnie.”

“It’s always a pleasure having you over, Johnny.”

Ghost waved at you from the driving seat, he drank less comparatively to the other men, being designated as the driver between them. You send him a tired grin with a wave of your own, still within Price’s grasp. You looked on beside him as Ghost drove off, returning to base with two drunken sergeants in his custody. With them gone and the door shut and locked - bolted down with keys and codes only he had access to - he pulled you to his chest, rumbling out praises with his deep, soothing voice. 

 “You were so good today, love,” he pressed his lips against yours, hand cupping your nape with a slow lave of his tongue to deepen the kiss. “I’m so proud of you.”

He dragged you away, feet hanging on your toes to follow his movement while letting him press for more kisses, growing passionate and stealing your breath. You clung to him, fingers clawing at his form-fitting shirt as you walked backwards, stepping into your shared room. He blindly kicked the door shut, throwing you to the bed with a rough push. He stared at you through lidded eyes, bouncing on the bed as you scrambled to get your footing before he straddled your hips between his thick thighs, rutting his covered hardness against your stomach. 

His leaky head trapped under the tightness of his briefs and pants drenched his clothes, his chest rising with deep and laboured breaths. In the silence of your privacy, Price became handsy, wanting to grab and touch every part of you, cradling your face and wiping the drool on your lower lip with his thumb. He brought it to his mouth, sucking his thumb with lust-hazed eyes as he peered down at you. His brown hues were darker in the dim lighting, nearly black with lust and need as he grappled himself over you. He wore a crooked smile on his perfect lips.

“You deserve a reward for behaving so well, yeah?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs

[mina-org]

Now playing: how to disappear

୨୧ John price focus but poly implied

୨୧ yandere drabble

୨୧ warnings: kidnapping, drugging, yandere themes, dark romance

୨୧ word count: 943

"Price, we're closing in five." Your soft voice reminds him, sipping on the new overpriced water bottle Price picked up for you. He heard his pretty baby talking about not being able to afford it as your coworkers flaunted them around. Lucky for you, Price is a great listener and is eager to prove he’s a provider, anything you talk about wanting he somehow falls into having or ensuring  he got a discount for his service so you don't feel bad. He knows when he overstayed his welcome, usually, and he always does, if you're on the closing shift.

"lovie, the sun is setting sooner and sooner, so you be careful out there. Stay sharp now, never know what's lurking." His voice is gruff and his brow raised with a playfulness which masked a real concern, like a disapproving dad and the natural enemy; a 'too' short skirt. You nod and keep cleaning, emptying the mop bucket out back before returning.

Giving price plenty of material to imagine you as his house spouse. He knows you’d make the house a home for him and his boys, welcome him home with open arms, he’s happy to teach you to cook, he knows you're young and heard you complain about ramen and warm up meals. Price knows that feeling well, coming home after months away and coming home to nothing. A warm up meal that does nothing for his hunger and an empty house means Price’s mind is prone to daydream about a certain barista. Price spends his time off watching you, walking to work, during and walking home, what type of gentleman would let such a doll out alone. He’s seen war, so forgive him if he’s a little protective. 

You come back to  Price hovering over your water bottle, more importantly, the tip jar. He always takes a smoke, standing out front watching you finish your drink before getting a refill, raising the bottle to him as a cheer and another smile, still grateful for the gift. He wanders away from view,  his car leaving a few minutes after, or you assume it’s his anyway, the window tint too dark to see. Price wasn't a creepy or even bad customer, he was becoming part of the furniture at this point, able to spend 8 hours there at the cafe, with the occasional smoke break of course. He tipped well enough though and his comments were overprotective at times but he rarely overstepped, and he did have a little charm about him. He’s already slipped you twenty for such good service and an even better view, he had joked, ocean blue eyes staring into yours as he leaned in closer. He also slipped you a pain killer when you complained of a headache the last hour of the shift.

You hated winter, you'd go to work and the sun had yet to rise and you'd walk home in the same darkness. It’s bitter, chill biting through your jacket as you stuff your hands in your pockets. The street lights seemingly stretch sideways, disorienting you and turning the headache into a nauseating migraine as the same two vehicles seemingly circle like vultures, waiting for you to drop.

It felt like something was encroaching as your world seemingly started to go dark. Every walk to work and the return journey felt like you were being hunted. The sight of a white car started to haunt you and raise your heart beat when you saw it, along with its van counterpart. You saw one of them each day, originally it was the car, just parked outside your apartment and then driving past work, tinted windows, driving slowly, something out of a shitty horror movie where you can practically see what grizzly fate awaits the victims. 

You never noticed how many alleyways there were but now it felt like there was something ready to jump out. If you stare into the void it'll stare back and you swear you see a skull look back at you but you look again and it’s not there, great now your mind is playing tricks on you. Anxiety propelled you towards home, or you hoped it would have, instead it sent you crashing into someone. A familiar pair of mutton chops and a knowing smile looked down on you, you felt like honey on his fingers. Price kept you steady and kept hold, unwilling to let you go.

"Doll, what did I say about lurkers?" You know that tone all too well, ‘I told you so’ in his eyes. He lets out a chuckle before continuing, his eyes studying your features "You seemed stressed." his voice smooth, almost soothing as his hands travel up and down your arm, inching you closer, almost magnetizing, coaxing you into his space. You feel the haze taking over you. 

“Just tired.” You feel yourself leaning into his touch, breathing becoming more of a chore, eyelids feel like bricks,heavier and  harder to keep open after every blink.

“Let me help you, alright? Just let me drive ya home love.” Not so much an ask or a request but a command. He had already been guiding you to the van. You begin thrashing, struggling to escape his grip, which quickly becomes bruising.

“Oh, love, there’s no need for that, you know we'll look after you.” A chuckle leaves his throat as he feels you try to pull away, so weak against him, it's endearing really. Before you can gather the strength to stand on your own, you find yourself in the back of the van and Price standing above you, his voice ringing out, “secured the package.”.

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober 2024: Day 05

Kinktober Masterlist rara avis - "the rare bird" John Price x f!reader Kinks > yandere, NC voyeurism, stalking, rough sex Full tags on AO3 - MDNI

When you move to your new home, you are totally swept off your feet by the amenities. There are so many beautiful, wooded trails and a gorgeous creek for you to explore in your own backyard. Your neighbor, an avid bird watcher, mostly keeps to himself. However, you start feeling like you’re the bird being watched.

If you don't like what's in the kink list, don't fucking click on this story. You're not invited. Block me, and then.... Get. Fucking. Lost.

You had picked this place because of the view. Your backyard overlooked the most gorgeous, fairytale-perfect creek that you’d ever seen. In the morning, ducks and their ducklings played in the shallow bends and curves of the whispering brook, and at night, frogs and fireflies sang and danced to serenade you to sleep. It was heaven. 

So, that’s why you practically lived in your backyard. You were always outside gardening or weeding, laying by the stream with a spicy book, or swinging gently in your hammock, letting your toes skim the cold water of your very own oasis. 

Your swimming had started as a summer habit. After you finished your sweaty chores, you loved stripping down to your bra and panties to cool off in the little creek. The deepest part only came to your belly button, so it was more like a sit rather than a swim, but you didn’t mind. In fact, if you remained still long enough, little finches would sneak along the bank, keeping an eye on you while they hunted for bugs and seeds in the muddy shoal. 

Autumn brought cardinals and bluebird that roosted in the low branches of your trees, and a very vocal whippoorwill, all competing for their own spot in this obvious paradise. 

You weren’t much of a bird watcher, but your neighbor was. 

Captain John Price was some sort of legend. He had served in the special forces, or still did serve, but that was all classified. Your other neighbors had let you in on his intense background, yet no one had anything but the highest praise for his classy manners and charming smile. And while he did flash a beaming grin to the Smiths and the Broussards across the wide lane, he looked at you with a different sort of smile. 

The way he looked at you made you melt like a popsicle on a hot day. 

You’d gotten closer to the captain over the last year or so that you’d lived here. He had come over one evening because your pipes had burst in the freeze, and he knew just how to fix it. Over the course of the season, he’d sit outside and you would make excuses to chat with him. Once he had your attention, he’d point out all the different types of birds that flitted between his trees and yours, helping you recognize their calls. He’d bring his binoculars with him some evenings while he sat to watch the avian traffic, and he even let you peer through the lenses to see a nest of baby chicks in your own backyard. 

Then, he’d had to go away for “work”, so he asked you to keep an eye on the mail for him. He was only supposed to be gone for six weeks, but six more weeks passed before he showed up with ten stitches over his eye and his arm in a sling asking for his key back. 

When he saw your face fall in reaction to his wounds, he chuckled, the corners of his eyes creasing at their seams as he told his lies,

“Clumsy, me. Fell down the bloody stairs at Heathrow. Dunno what hurts worse, my arm or my pride.”

The wink that he tacked on at the end of his quip was Cupid’s thick-shafted arrow, striking you right in your heart. You were in trouble. This man was some sort of secret agent contract killer, and yet you found yourself replacing old boyfriends’ faces with his when you made yourself come at night, imagining him spreading you open instead of whoever had been your flavor of the month back then. Price might be the most dangerous man on Earth, but goddamnit, you didn’t care.

Over the following summer, your dark fantasies continued. He started working on his own backyard, putting up birdhouses and sharing facts with you about some of the local species he was hoping to host when you passed each other coming and going. Each day that you got to see him was a true gift, even if you didn’t really care about birding in the least. 

One particular afternoon was especially fruitful. The captain was out there all day trimming trees, cutting brush, and hacking back old growth… shirtless. His muscles gleamed like a hirsute Adonis, snapping and rolling under his skin like a symphony of strength. The way his tanned flesh gleamed in the sun made him look like he was carved out of bronze. 

So, you thought, two could play at that game. 

You bought a white bikini online and lounged in it the first day it came in, rocking back and forth in your hammock, hoping that you could catch a glimpse of him watching you with that savage look in his eyes. When you spotted him glance over at you from his garden, you knew your plan had worked. He would peek over his shoulder as he raked or shoveled, almost imperceptibly, but you were watching him like a hawk and you noticed every little breath and movement he was making. 

As the afternoon wore on, especially when you needed to apply more sunscreen, he fed you juicier and juicer morsels of his lustful longing. He would stare, when he thought you weren’t looking, at the way your heavy tits strained the lycra of your triangle top, and when you bent over, his eyes would scrape and claw for every curve of your plump ass before righting himself again before you caught him scavenging. 

At one point, you pretended to fall asleep, letting your book fall limply out of your hand and onto the grass, making your mouth soft and slack, just to see what he would do. To your shock, he pulled out his phone and began to take pictures of you, quick and efficient, pocketing his device before he even looked at the results. His audacity was shocking. Your mind raced with all of the thoughts of what he might do with your images, of how he might touch himself thinking about you, hungering for you and your tender body. 

A few minutes passed, and he continued to try and work, but it was futile. John started to walk over to you, moving through your shared backyard and making a steady advance on your position. As he got closer and closer, you tried to control your breathing, reminding yourself to be dead asleep, forcing your mind not to obsess over his enormous muscle-bound body or the dark fur that covered his skin, becoming denser and curling as it trailed below his belly button, pointing you to where you wanted to focus. 

He stood a short distance away for a while, and he seemed to be locked in a silent battle with himself. The captain wanted to attack and retreat at the same time. All the while, you noticed him shaking his leg ever so slightly, bending the knee and widening his stance. But, his shifting wasn’t working, and to your absolute joy, he finally relented and had to use his hand to readjust his growing cock. He pulled the body of it up and over his left hip, lovingly squeezing the tip just a bit before letting it go. You marveled at his girth, praying that the outline in his pants was truly representative of the absolute monster he kept inside of them.

Your neighbor allowed himself to step forward. And again. Slowly, step by step, he closed the gap, his eyes never leaving your face, worrying that you would wake up to find him leering. Yet, he didn’t care enough to return to his side of the yard. 

Shame, it seemed, was not a deterrent for his thirst. 

When he was close enough to touch you, he knelt down, studying your face. Then, his eyes began to drink you in, gazing at your breasts as they hung slightly to the side, their round shapes being pulled by gravity into smooth teardrops of sensitive flesh. His hands fidgeted with the wooden handle of his rake he was holding, wanting to touch the silk of your skin and test its fineness. 

Then, he trailed his vision along the midline of your belly, chewing on the inside of his lip as he studied your thickness. When he looked down at the join of your legs, staring at your fat pussy hidden under the thin fabric of your suit, his whole body sighed. You watched his bones sag and reset themselves, his jaw working through its hinge once and then twice as if he was chewing on cold mastic. 

Just when you thought he would reach out to touch you, or maybe snap another picture, he bent down a little further and picked up your fallen book. As he crouched there beside you, he flipped a few pages back and forth until he seemed to find what he was looking for. A twitch of a smile pulled at his full mouth, and he laid the book back on the grass, open to the scene he wanted you to discover. 

His eyes gave you one last look, wistful almost, and then he returned to his yard. Now, you just had to wait for him to look away for long enough that you could pretend to wake up from your nap. Luckily, he ducked into his shed for a moment, taking out new tools to use, and while he was busy organizing his equipment, you roused yourself from your farce. 

You were soaking wet. You could feel the slide of your desire between your soft lips, and your mind was buzzing with adrenaline.  

As casually as you could, you reached over and grabbed your book, tossing your bookmark into the page he’d kept for you, forcing yourself to wait until you were in the safety of your own home to see what he had wanted to show you.

You got up from your hammock and stretched, gathering up your belongings and making a slow but deliberate trek back indoors. When you noticed him looking over, you turned to wave, giving him what you hoped was a typical, neighborly smile. He smiled back but didn’t return the gesture, resting his hands on the handle of a long spade, watching you as you sealed yourself back indoors. 

The moment you shut the door, you opened the book, desperate to read the scene he wanted you to see. It was a raunchy moment for the main characters with the hero burying his face between his paramour’s thighs, eating his fill of her. Just the thought of John Price wanting to perform this scene with you was enough to make you clench your knees together with lurid want. You let your hand slip over the top of your swimsuit bottoms, and you teased yourself to a quick, vicious orgasm right in the middle of your kitchen, sinking down to the floor in a wet, inglorious puddle.

The next few days passed without incident. You weren’t even sure if he was home. But, one afternoon, you were both getting the mail, and he was carrying in a long box. It was about half as tall as he was, and it didn’t look lightweight. 

“Wow,” you raised your voice a bit to get his attention, “You’ve got quite the package.”

You hadn’t initially intended for the innuendo, but you weren’t mad about it. You even gave him a knowing smile, acknowledging the line. He chuckled, the sound of it creating a churning feeling deep in your core, 

“Telescope. Your creek had a kingfisher in it last week, and I’m hoping to see him again.”

“Oh, cool,” you walked a little closer, making your conversation more intimate, pretending to be interested in birds for once in your life, “Is that a rare bird?” 

His warm purr turned to a suggestive growl, soft and trapped in his throat, and the fire in his eyes made your blood run hot, but he wasn’t excited about birds. He was excited about you. 

“Aye, the rarest,” he nodded, pointing up to his main bedroom’s balcony on the second level, “I think I’ve got a decent view from there. This thing comes with a camera attachment, so I’ll try to catch him for you.”

“That’s really awesome,” you grinned, noticing that his balcony also had a pretty damn good view of your own bedroom window, “I bet you’ll get some great shots. Can’t wait to see them.”

“You bet,” he grinned knowingly, dragging his huge package back inside. 

That night, you watched him setting it all up, spying on him from your own bedroom window. He was fixing the telescope on your creek, making sure the angle was just right. So, you decided to make it worth his while. 

In the purple dusk, you found yourself walking out into your backyard in nothing but a thin mesh cover-up. It was barely enough to be publicly decent, but as soon as it got wet, you knew it would show everything. It took all your power not to glance over your shoulder at him as you stepped into the creek, but you kept your cool. Face forward, sinking slowly into the water for a quick dip. 

You settled into the stream, kneeling on the soft rocks, playing in the babbling waters, pretending to relax after a long day. You started skimming for pretty stones, leaning forward to wet the top of your cover-up, feeling the fabric cling to your peaked nipples, knowing they would be very much on display through the tissue-thin mesh. 

Unable to stand it any longer, you dared to glance up at the balcony. There, sitting behind his brand new scope, was your hot neighbor, staring through the lens trained right on you. A rush of desire hit you like a drug, and you made yourself bravely gaze into the lens, peering through the dark glass, knowing he would see you looking. 

Then, when he didn’t react, you pushed the envelope. You dropped the pretty rock you had in your palm and scooped up a handful of water between your hands, holding them together like a bowl. Then, you poured it on your neck, letting the cool liquid soak the rest of your top, making your garment entirely transparent and sticking to your body like latex. 

Every moment that passed made you more brazen. You began to trace the outline of your collarbone, rubbing the side of your neck, pretending to massage away the stress. 

Your eyes kept glancing to his spot, looking at him as he stared at you. This time, when you looked back, his body illuminated by his outdoor light, you saw something magical. His hand was stuck down his black, athletic shorts, and he was slowly jerking his cock back and forth, pleasuring himself as he watched you moonbathe in your stream. 

Now, you locked eyes with the scope, and you turned your body towards him, making sure he knew that this show was for him. You moved your hands to your hanging breasts, circling them and pressing them together, holding them through the wet mesh. It felt so nice to squeeze them and feel the pleasure you were crafting, so you began to play with your nipples, plucking them and pinching the tips, being gentle and cruel, letting your eyes and mouth soften as you teased your own body.

You wondered if he was taking pictures or not. Maybe a video? You didn’t care. You wanted him to take them. You wanted him to take you, if he would have you. 

When he saw evidence of your want, he pulled his cock free from his shorts, and now he was very clearly jerking off, using his precome to shine his shaft to a wet gleam. You wished you could taste it. You wanted to study the fullness of his head, suckling on the drooling tip, and you wanted to trace the veins of his shaft like rivers on a map, blue and full of his warm blood. 

Just the thought of how his fat dick would feel inside of you was sending you over the edge. So, you sank one of your hands between your legs to relieve some tension, massaging your clit in frantic circles under the water. You must have gotten lost in your own ministrations, because when you snapped back to reality and focused on the balcony again, he was gone. 

At first, your heart sank, disappointed that he was finished with your display. Then, you heard the slam of a door and looked down into his backyard. There he was, a tight white tee shirt stretching over his broad shoulders, his cockhead trapped in the elastic of his shorts, the outline of it visible as he walked, barefoot, straight towards you. 

You stared at him in shock, not knowing what to do. He looked like he was in a rage. His brow was set in a determined line, and a frightened thrill writhed its way along your spine. Was he angry with you for being so indecent? For teasing him with your lewdness? 

He said nothing as he approached, and you thought he would stop at the bank of the creek, but he didn’t. He came splashing right through the water, making his way right over to the spot where you were kneeling, reaching out and grabbing you tightly around your shoulders, lifting you out of the water in a wet, chaotic mess.

You were pressed against his body, getting his clothes all wet, gasping from the shock of his aggression. You started to protest, trying to get your footing, but his mouth silenced your words. John pressed his lips to yours in a ferocious kiss, invading you with his long tongue, and sucking on your bottom lip hard enough for it to sting. 

He pulled away and began to bite and lick his way down your neck, stealing your breath and stumbling through the creek as he devoured you, marching you backwards, awkward and halting, all the way to the shallow near the bank. Then, just when you could feel the pebbles give way to the sand and mud of the shoal, you felt him shove you to the ground. You landed hard on your rump, gasping from the violence of it, trapped somewhere between terror and ecstasy. 

“John, I wa–”

He fell to his knees and kissed your words away again, tasting you over and over, committing your flavor to memory, fisting your hair to control the way you kissed him back, stealing you from yourself like a thief. 

You were being covered, inch by inch, with his heavy body, and he leaned over you, kissing and sucking and licking and biting whatever his mouth could reach. He moved to your nipple, suckling on you through the thin mesh of your cover-up, the warmth of his tongue a stark contrast to the chill of the wet fabric. He stayed there for as long as he wanted, groping and pinching your other breast as he sucked on you, making you whimper from the overstimulation. Then, he sat back on his heels, his knees still stuck in the shallow water of the creek, your bodies half-in and half-out of the span. 

He was peering down at you and panting. You were both breathing hard, your chests heaving, staring at each other like a predator with its prey, not knowing which one you were but dying to be the latter. 

John seemed like he was waiting for something, and when you saw his eyes move down your body to stare at your pussy, you knew what he wanted. So, very slowly, you opened yourself up to him, unfolding your legs from your center, blooming for him like a dew-soaked flower, ready to present your sticky nectar to him. The sigh of relief that rattled through his body made you want to come. 

He fell to his chest, clutching your hips in his huge, strong hands, lifting you to his mouth as he began to eat you from the inside. His tongue prodded and curled, searching for your favorite spots, finding them with a suspicious ease. Licking across your clit, his mouth created wet, pornographic noises, and he groaned as he ate, unable to hold back his expression of pleasure with every brain-breaking suck and lick. 

When you cried out from the immediate response your body sent slashing through your belly, he looked up from his work, but he didn’t stop. His eyes, pale blue and feral, caught yours and something inside of them forced you to stay on him, unable to look away, trapped like a rabbit in a snapping snare.

His steady, forceful suckling dragged you to an orgasm, making you tremble and wriggle against his jaws, your body sliding in the muddy bank of the stream. You felt him pull away, and you thought he was done, the spell broken by your keening completion. But, he stripped off his shirt and raked the band of his shorts under his enormous sack, presenting his engorged prick to you like a present. 

Looking down at you, his eyes hooded, the pupils blown, you knew he was waiting again. Waiting for you to let him in. You were already spread open for him like a wanton whore, barely clothed and filthy from the ground. So, you reached between your thighs to cradle the underside of his shaft, petting him gently, tugging him forward in invitation. 

His nonverbal viciousness was making you feel like you were under his spell, so you dared not speak lest it could be broken. Wordlessly, you pulled him toward your dripping hole, coaxing him in, letting him know he was more than welcome in your body’s sacral embrace. 

A deep, demonic moan fell from his lips as he let his heavy cockhead slot itself between your lips. You took your hand away, returning to your breasts, playing with yourself just as you had in his telescope, letting him see you bring yourself pleasure at your delicate peaks. 

Hungry, he thrust himself forward through your folds, slipping in your wetness, the weeping slit of his tip bullying your clit with every forward motion. Back and forth, he slid through you, slicking himself in your flesh, using himself like a toy in your sensitive petals. 

You couldn’t help but whine for him. It felt mind-numbingly delicious to be played with in this way, and his rocking undulations drove you to the point of madness. You began to hump his shaft like a naughty dog, eager for everything he was giving you and more. His cock was big enough to be a challenge, but you were up for it. You didn’t care if it hurt. You wanted to feel him invading you, claiming you like an animal out here in the stream. 

Finally, when John couldn’t wait any longer, he allowed his head to slip down and notch in the pliant sling of your quim, moaning just as desperately as you had been as he felt you swallow his tip inside of your hole.

“Nhgh,” he clenched his teeth as he pressed his hips forward, his hand grabbing your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place so you couldn’t escape him, as if you wanted to, “Bloody hell, you’re so wet for me.”

You cried out as he pried you open, his heavy shaft too thick for your unpracticed slit,

“John… it’s so big… oh, God…”  

His grimace morphed into a smile, and he slid himself out before pumping forward again, trying to fit his thick rod into your cunt,

“Thought you could just give me a fuckin’ show. Thought I’d just watch, that I’d let you get away with it.”

He shoved himself forward, forcing a shrill scream from your lips, laying himself over you and trapping you between his arms. As he began to thrust himself into you, dragging himself out and punching himself back in, you felt hot tears sting your eyes with their salt, overwhelmed by the blinding pleasure you were experiencing. 

“Fuckkkkk,” you watched as his eyes rolled back in his head as he cursed at the feeling of your body clenching around him, stuck in the feeding-bleeding cycle of your shared bliss, “Rub that pussy for me, love.”

You obeyed, following his eyes as he watched your fingers make their little ovals in the plushness of your flesh. He groaned, pleased, and set himself to his task. As he fucked you, he began in steady, pumping thrusts. You could have kept time with his momentum, shocked by his consistency. He never faltered, he never weakened; he simply fed himself to you, in and out, stuffing you full of his hard length and rubbing at your softest, deepest places. 

Between his steady sex and your familiar touch, you were falling over yourself in an embarrassingly short time, your pussy already primed for pleasure, horny beyond belief, tingling and eager to throb around his shaft in celebration. He bent to kiss you on your sensitive neck, sucking against your skin, mean enough to leave a mark, whispering a chaotic mess of messages to you as he was lost in the thrall of fucking you into the dirt,

“Feel you wantin’ to come, pretty bird. Sing for me, yeah? Let me hear you scream for me.”

This couldn’t be real. His filthy talk was pulling you deeper and deeper into your mounting orgasm, and you felt the line snap. Your body began to tense up, your muscles tight and shaking, and you could felt the rush of your come coating you both from the inside. You were feeling completely unbound, and you had to stop touching your clit. It was too much, but he wasn’t having it,

“Don’t stop. Don’t… C’mere.”

He shoved your hand away and took over for you, fucking you and rubbing you, refusing to let you escape from his efforts. His touch flung you back into an orgasmic whirlpool, making you dizzy, tricking you into thinking you had finally stopped coming and then proving you wrong. He was dragging them out of you, ragged and nasty, moaning from your screams and from the gripping, pulsating tightness of your pussy. 

“That’s it. Such a pretty song. Keep singin’ for me, love. Makes me wanna fuckin’ fill you up with my come.”

“I’m… John, please… Mmngh!” You fell apart, your orgasm turning you into a brainless little fucktoy for him, your body betraying you, defecting to his side, willing to listen to his every command. 

He took his hand away, and you sighed in relief until you realized he had new plans for you. He pulled away, sitting back and flipping you over with frightening ease, helping you to your knees before feeding himself back inside of you from behind. Your chest was pressed down into the mud, the cold ground stinging your swollen nipples, the smell of the wet dirt heady in your nose. 

“Pretty bird. Look at this fat fuckin’ arse,” he grunted, slapping you hard on your right cheek. 

“Angh!” You cried out. 

“Perfect,” he smiled, showing you his sharp teeth as you stared at him over your shoulder. 

He hunched himself over your body, humping his fat prick into you like a dog, grinding himself into your hole with wet, milking noises filling the night air as he fucked you in the dark. John was pumping himself hard enough in you that you thought you might bruise. You knew your pussy was helpless to his invasion, and it trembled with every thrust, trying its best to flood you with your own lubrication, doing everything it could to help you cope. 

Frantic, John wrapped his hand around the base of your neck, holding you beneath him, pressing his hips even closer so he could reach his crown to new depths. The angle forced you to arch your back and he rewarded you for it, rubbing his hand along your ribs before reaching under your cover-up to hold your breast in his palm, gripping you fiercely. 

“Holy hell, this tight little cunt’s gonna make me come, baby,” he purred into your ear, bending himself over you, increasing his pace and his power, watching the pleasure-packed tears roll down your cheeks, “You want it? You want my fuckin’ come? Want me to put it right here?”

You felt his hand reach around your leg so that he could press his fist against your womb, making your body feel every inch of him even tighter inside of you, allowing you to know exactly just how deep he was rutting into you. 

“Please, John… I need…” You tried to answer, but you were fuck-drunk and dumb. You were nothing more than his cocksleeve. You were made for him to pump his load into you. That was all you wanted. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else even existed. Your whole world fell away, replaced by your neighbor’s pounding rod. 

“Tha’s it, pretty bird,” he rolled his fist against your lower belly in deep, massaging circles, flinging you into a rolling orgasm, “The louder you scream, the harder I’ll fuckin’ come.”

His groaning turned into animalistic grunting, shouting, growling despair, and he sank himself down into you, flush with his girthy base, fully sheathed in your hot core. You could feel him filling you with his creamy orgasm, letting rope after rope shoot into your body, trapped inside by his thick root. 

John’s breath was hot against your cheek, and he kissed his way down your body as he pulled himself away. The long retreat of his shaft made you feel like your soul was being ripped from your chest, and the wet, gooey noise of his spend sliding out of you turning your heart inside out. You collapsed to the ground, not caring in the least about the mud, nor its cold, clinging, filth; you just breathed and trembled, used and spent. 

You thought he would leave you where he found you, his cruel love shaming him into fleeing such a scene of terrible waste. But, he didn’t. He shucked off his shorts and pulled your cover-up off of you, letting it slap down into the shoal. Then, he scooped you up in his arms and waded with you back into the creek, laying you in the running water, black with the night’s dark sky above you, cold against your sensitive flesh. 

You shivered, curling into him, and you felt his hands using the clear water to wash you clean. He was clearing the sand out of your hair and off of your skin, gently as he could, caring for you like a precious pet, baptizing you in his own praises. Telling you how good you were for him, how you were his pretty bird, how he would take care of everything. 

When he was done, he lifted you out of the stream and carried you to the yard, heading for his backdoor. He nudged it open and lifted you all the way up the stairs, single-minded on his mission. You were in and out of consciousness, too weak to protest, and when he finally lay you in his own bed, he wrapped you in a towel he pulled from his bathroom, using another to dry himself off as well. 

You groaned, trying to get up, but he lay himself on top of you, fidgeting with the covers under you were under him and the sheet, locked against his naked body.

“I should go… “ You whispered, trying to fight the sleep that was seeping into your mind. 

You felt the prod of his cock, hard once more, and you whined from the absurdity of your sore hole being asked to stretch again for him.

He pushed himself inside with little resistance this time, and started the process again, taking your primed body like you were made for it. Like it was your one, true purpose. 

“I can’t,” you whimpered, panting and curling against him, “Don’t make me come again.”

“Shh,” John said, kissing you quiet, “Hush, love. I’m not fuckin’ finished.”

 You couldn’t remember how many orgasms he had pulled from you, but when you woke the next morning, his arm wrapped tight around your breasts, you felt like you had transcended. You were on a whole new plane of existence, and although you were bruised, used, and soaking in his milky seed, you were well and truly satisfied. 

As your eyes adjusted to the light, you saw a picture of yourself come into view. You were on his nightstand, dressed in your white bikini, pretending to sleep with your book by your side. It was trapped beneath a pane of glass, gleaming in the dawn, surrounded by a proud frame. 

That’s weird, you thought. Framing it was a little odd. But, then, you saw the rest. All over his wall, the one that faced your bedroom, pictures of you covered the sheetrock like wallpaper. You stopped breathing. All you could see were pictures of you from every different angle and position. Some were of you getting dressed in your bedroom, and some were of you shopping at the store. Some were close portraits, and some were taken in places you didn’t even remember. They were everywhere, floor to ceiling, pasted very meticulously to the plaster. And you were in every one. 

You hadn’t realized he was awake yet, but you knew he had been watching you examine his gallery when his palm covered your mouth stopping you in the middle of your scream.

[nina-renmen]

I really like your Yandere team 141. Would it be too much to ask for headcannons of what type of Yandere Simon, Price, Soap and Alejandro would be? (separate) And how they would react to the reader reciprocating their feelings?

That’s not too much at all! I hope this is what you’re looking for.

The Stalker:

•Ghost likes to lay low when it comes to these types of things.

•You definitely wouldn’t see it coming, especially if you don’t pick up signals easily.

•Ghost is the type of Yandere to rummage through your belongings while you’re out and about. He wants to get to know you without directly asking.

•If you were to subtly flirt with him or show any kind of interest in him your chances of getting kidnapped have drastically decreased.

•If ghost was drunk enough he would confess. That being said, I think he has a high tolerance for alcohol. It’ll take him a while to actually get drunk enough to tell you.

•On the event that he does somehow confess his feelings, don’t expect it to be a big thing. He might just look at you and say something along the lines of “Let me take you out to dinner.”

•If you agree to be his without any pushback then great! You now have an overprotective guard dog that will scare off any man that tries to approach you. •Ghost dosn’t like to share, he’ll keep tabs on you with the help of soap or implanting trackers on your phone. He tells himself it’s for your safety but in reality he wants to know where you are at all times.

The clingy/touchy one:

•Soap likes to have his hands on you at all times.

•It dosn’t necessarily have to be sexual. Sometimes he’ll wrap an arm around you or place his hand on the small of your back. •He’s the type to get annoyed if you don’t pay him any attention. He’ll hide your phone from you so you have to come to him for help. •If you reject his advances towards you he’ll disappear for a while and make you drop your guard. When you’re finally settled his appear in the middle of the night and forcefully take you away. •But that scenario is for another time.

•Johnny is the type to buy you flowers, a stuffed animal (that has a camera in it) and chocolates before he asks you out. He’s visibly nervous when he hands you the ‘offerings’ and confesses his feelings to you. •If you accept his shoulder visibly loosen. A stupid grin will cross his face and for the rest of that night he’ll subtly touch you. Maybe he brushes past you and places his hands on your hips to get by. Or he’ll place a hand on your shoulder or thigh.

•Soap is a little more lenient than ghost when it comes to you going out without him. He won’t involve Ghost unless you’ve run away. He’ll probably install a tracker on your phone and send you on your way.

The gift giver:

•This one isn’t as sweet as it sounds

•Price likes to woo you with little gifts and trinkets. He’s the type to implant trackers and cameras into gifts like stuff animals or jewelry. He’ll even get you a phone that he secretly has access to.

•Price can be a bit manipulative at times. Especially if you have daddy issues. •Before he confessed to you Price was the first person to tell you that your new boy toy isn’t good for you. Price will dig up dirt on your recent date and completely trash your perception on them. Afterwards he’ll give you a gift to ‘make you feel better.’

•It you reciprocate his feelings Price is a bit taken by surprise. He had all of the necessities to kidnap you in his car. He was ready to take you by force, and he was expecting to. •With price, he’s the type to give you items that symbolize that you’re taken. For example a necklace that has a locket with his initials on it. Or a ring.

•Price wants you taken care of. Literally and figuratively. Do you want to go shopping? No worries he’ll give you his card. Are you sad that your friends ditched you? No worries, the next day their faces are in the news as ‘missing’. Are you hungry and don’t have the energy to cook? Lay down, he’ll run you a bath and order take out.

•It’s an absolute dream to be with price willingly and be naive to what he’s doing around you. But if you find out about his doings and don’t respond in the way he likes he’ll just have to resort back to plan A.

The manipulator:

• Alejandro can be sneaky sometimes

•He’s usually somewhat similar to price. Whatever you want he’ll buy for you.

•But on the off chance one of your friends notices the way he’s unhealthily protective of you or making you miss out on friendly gatherings this man will gaslight you

• If you go up to him complaining about his over protectiveness he’ll just blow you off

•”You know I’m doing this for you right?”

•After an argument that may or may not leave you in tears he’ll always say ‘I love you’. Not as a gesture to show how much he really love you. But as a manipulation tactic.

•If your gullible or naive you might have a tough time getting away from him

•Especially since he has his men stalk look after you when he can’t be there.

•If you reciprocate his feelings it’ll still be a toxic relationship

•He has more control over you now. He’ll slowly make you disconnect with family and friends so your life only revolves around your relationship with him

•If you notice early on you might be able to get out of it with the help of someone from the 141 team. But that’ll just land you in their arms instead

[gremlingottoosilly]

Poor reader 😭 her cubs don’t recognize her and only recognize Price as their father. But I wonder if reader also asked or begged Monster Gaz and Monster Soap to see their children!! Will they recognize her as their mother??!

Price never thought that being a parent would be so important to his dumb little pet...he has plenty of cubs and, honestly, he couldn't care less about most of them - they are good as soldier resources, as a means to enhance the monster society...and yet you look so sad over them not recognizing you, our papa bear really considers just...stealing some human kids from the pet shop, so you could have something nice to dot on. Something helpless and weak, like all human kids are - this, or allowing you to keep weird, weak hybrids with you instead of getting rid of them Roman style. Gaz would be more lenient with allowing you to see little birdies! He wouldn't really care about them, but he loves to make you laugh, and he likes your smile, so he would drag you over to the heights where little harpies are getting trained. Baby birds already sprawled their wings - and he would point at your kids to make you see that they, in fact, don't need you as their doting mommy...it's really an asshole move from his side, but he wants you to just see this once and understand that, no, monster babies don't need their mommies constantly. You're still heartbroken over this, so Gaz could make you feel better with filling you with new eggs! Soap is...well, he means well and this is what counts, right? He is excited to allow you to meet the wolves, his pack instincts are way more coddling with babies - he believes in true love and that the kids should fight with crocodiles for the right to live, but he also likes to play with his pups and usually visits them often in the training sector, establishing himself as their leader. Your fragile human self would probably be horrified at the games that involve maiming a dead human and dragging them across the training area - but Soap and the pups are so excited to bring you things they got from the human, you're forcing the bile down your throat and smile. You wanted to see how puppies are doing, after all.

[msilwrites]

Trouble - ( Johnny 'Soap' Fic)

Hot, whatever size/colour/ethnicity you are, you are hot in Johnny's Eyes! Reader, Soap is smitten with you! Reader, Agent! Reader, Reboot! Johnny, Reboot! Soap, but he is Captain! Soap (Now!!), Captain! Johnny, Captain! Soap, Fuckboi! Soap, Manwhore! Soap, Judgemental! Johnny, Judgemental! Soap, Shameless! Soap, Cocky! Soap

Soap x Reader , Soap x Y/N ,

Edit: This is Part 1 | Click here for Part 2 | Part 3 ( In Progress)

Summary: Captain Johnny Soap MacTavish never believed in love at first sight—until he saw you at the pub. A vision of confidence, beauty, and allure, you had his attention from the moment you walked in. But Johnny, ever the impulsive Scotsman, couldn’t help jumping to the wrong conclusion. He misjudged you, mistaking your grace and poise for the airs of a spoiled rich princess or, worse, the temptations of a high-end escort.

Yet, even as he wrestled with his assumptions, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting you—craving you. His fascination with you became a stubborn obsession, and Johnny MacTavish was never one to back down from a challenge. No matter how many mistakes he made or how far you tried to run, he was determined to prove one thing: you were meant to be his, no matter what it took.

A/N:

FIRST—

This story is part of the Midnight Snack Mystery and Papa Bear Material universe. (If you’re Ghost or Price’s wife, feel free to identify as whichever one you are—this is your world too!)

The character in this story is still You (Y/N), but that is only if you identify as Soap’s “birdie,”!!

Soap’s already been promoted to Captain here, so feel free to enjoy that new title. Actually, everyone’s been promoted. Yep, Soap survived Makarov’s shot to the head—deal with it, that’s our canon now! (In this universe!! Lol!!)

Enjoy Soap’s audacity and the smutty goodness ahead!

Genre: Comedy / Smut

Warning : SMUT, MDNI! and Soap's audacity

----------

Soap leaned against the pool table, cue stick in hand, half-heartedly watching the game. The pub was lively as always, but his attention kept wandering. Roach lined up his shot, muttering something about taking his time, while Gaz leaned on the wall, spinning a cue in his hand like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Soap’s eyes drifted to the booth in the corner, where Price sat with Mrs. Price, sharing a crawfish boil with Ghost and Mrs. Riley. The sight would’ve been unthinkable a few years ago. Ghost—Ghost—was married now, cracking shells and laughing softly at something his missus said. And Price? The man who’d had nothing but the job his entire career was now semi-retired, director of SpecGru, and properly tied down.

Gaz was engaged, for goodness’s sake. And even bloody Roach, who swore he’d “die a free man,” had found a girl.

Soap huffed, lining up his shot but not really seeing it. “Look at ‘em,” he muttered, his accent thick with irritation. “Big, scary bastards all soft now ‘cause they’ve got a lass at home. Gaz, Ghost, Price—bloody hell, even Roach. What’s the world comin’ to?”

Gaz chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Maybe the problem isn’t them, mate. Maybe it’s you.”

Soap snorted. “Aye, right. Next thing I know, you’ll be tellin’ me tae go pick out curtains.”

Roach laughed, sinking his shot. “Don’t worry, Johnny. You’ll catch up. Eventually.”

Soap grumbled, shaking his head. He couldn’t help but grimace, thinking about the path that got him here. “Catch up,” he muttered. “More like they bloody dragged me up.”

When Price stepped back, and Ghost finally accepted promotions to Captain, then Major, and eventually Lieutenant Colonel—shocker of the century—the entire team dynamic shifted. Ghost, the man who’d spent his whole career avoiding a desk, settled down and took on a higher rank just before getting married. Meanwhile, Price transitioned from Captain to Director of SpecGru, semi-retired and making it look effortless.

And then there was Soap. They wouldn’t leave him alone, dragging the whole squad up to higher posts and hauling Johnny along with them, whether he liked it or not. Price and Ghost had pushed him—no, threatened him—into Sandhurst. His Lt. Col had personally shoved him into the officer training program, with Price backing it up and General MacMillan himself throwing in his weight.

The memory made him scowl. He could still hear Ghost’s dry tone, clear as day: “Get yer act together, Johnny. We’re not leavin’ you behind.”

Soap sighed. He didn’t mind being Captain, not really, but the way they’d strong-armed him into it still stung. Especially now, watching the lot of them with their missuses, their lives looking settled and... content.

They’d gone from being his squadmates to practically running the show—Price as Director, Ghost as a Lieutenant Colonel—and it was like they’d made it their mission to drag their Sergeant up the ranks with them. Now here he was: Captain MacTavish, earning more money than ever and still too stingy to spend it on anything but his motorbike, cheap pints, and the occasional takeaway.

Not that he couldn’t afford a girlfriend now—hell, he could’ve afforded one when he was a Sergeant—but back then, he’d been more about quick flings and less about commitment. Now? Now he didn’t even have that. Just the ghost of his own damn jealousy watching his mates turn into family men.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but damn it, he envied them. Even Ghost, who’d been the least likely candidate for settling down, had found someone who could see past the mask—literally and figuratively. Price, Roach, Gaz—they all had someone. And Soap? He was still here, drinking cheap beer and pretending it didn’t bother him.

Then the pub door opened, and all thoughts scattered.

She walked in like she owned the place. Her wavy hair caught the dim light, and the way she moved—confident, smooth—drew his eye immediately. The corset top she wore hugged her figure in ways that made his pulse hitch, the sweetheart neckline daring him to look too long. Flare jeans accentuated her curves, her slingback heels clicking softly on the floor.

Soap froze, his cue stick forgotten. She looked expensive. The gold earrings glinted as she turned her head, catching the light like they had something to say, and that bracelet—that bracelet—he’d seen it before on women who liked their champagne vintage and their shoes handmade. Even her hair, styled but not fussy, screamed class. She didn’t just walk into the room; she owned it, every measured step deliberate, every soft click of her heels loud enough to turn heads.

“Christ,” Soap muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Roach, quick to notice, smirked. “What’s the matter, Johnny? You look like you’ve seen a goddess”

Soap flicked him a sharp look. “Shut it.”

But Roach wasn’t one to let it go. “Lost yer nerve, have ye? Go on, Captain. Talk to her.”

Soap’s eyes drifted back to her. The corset top, the jeans, the way she held herself—confident, but not in a way that begged for attention. No, she was the kind who knew she didn’t have to. He tried to peg her. A spoiled rich girl slumming it? Or maybe... Christ, was she an escort? High-class, no doubt, but still... The bracelet gave him pause. Women with money wore those; women who liked to make sure you knew they had money.

Gaz straightened from his lean, his sharp eyes cutting toward the woman. Something flickered across his face—a flash of recognition that vanished almost as quickly as it came. He didn’t speak, but Soap noticed the subtle shift in his demeanour. Gaz wasn’t just watching her; he was clocking her, analysing.

“Forget it,” Gaz said at last, his tone even.

Soap frowned. “Forget what?”

Gaz rolled his shoulders, leaning on his cue stick. “She’s not your type, Johnny. Way outta your league.”

Soap’s brow furrowed. “What d’ye mean by that?”

Gaz shrugged, giving him a knowing smirk. “Look at her. Probably costs more than you’d ever spend on a date.”

Roach barked out a laugh, slapping the table. “He’s right, you know. You’re tight as a drum, Johnny. You’d ask her to split the bill on a pint!”

Soap turned, his glare sharp enough to cut. “Oh, aye? Tight, am I? And who’s the one always payin’ for your rounds, eh?”

Roach’s grin only widened. “Doesn’t mean you’re takin’ her home, mate.”

Gaz chuckled, still leaning on his cue stick. “Don’t get yourself into trouble, Captain.” His tone was light, but there was an edge to it, almost a warning.

Soap huffed, his gaze drawn back to the bar where she now stood, her fingers brushing the counter as she ordered a drink. Trouble, eh? Maybe they were right. She probably was trouble—the kind you couldn’t walk away from. But something about her made it hard to care.

His grip tightened on the cue stick. He tilted his head, gaze fixed on her like he was sizing up an opponent. “Aye, maybe I do like trouble,” he muttered, the corners of his mouth pulling into a grin.

With that, Soap set the cue stick down, adjusted his jacket, and strode toward the bar.

Kyle groaned under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as Soap walked away, clearly on a mission. “Ah, shite,” he muttered, his accent laced with frustration.

Roach, still grinning like a man who’d just lit a fuse, turned to him. “What? He’ll thank me for it later. Might loosen him up, y’know? Johnny’s been too wound up lately. Could do with a lass to set him straight.”

Kyle jabbed a finger in the direction of the bar, where the woman stood, her poised demeanor giving nothing away. He leaned in closer to Roach, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “She’s workin’, mate.”

Roach furrowed his brows, confused. “Workin’? Like, you mean…?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, a sly grin creeping back onto his face. “Well, that’s perfect, then. Johnny gets his fun, spends a bit of that paycheck, and maybe he won’t be so bloody tight. Win-win, aye?”

Kyle slapped a hand to his forehead, exhaling like a man dealing with a hopeless case. “No, you idiot! Not that kind of workin’. She’s an informant. Undercover. Probably collectin’ intel, and if Johnny gets involved, he could blow her cover.”

Roach blinked, processing. “Wait. Hang on a sec.” He glanced back at the woman, squinting as he gave her a proper look. “She does look a bit familiar... Is she a regular here or somethin’?”

Kyle tilted his head toward her, his voice dropping even lower. “No, mate. We’ve worked with her info before. Think about it. The reports on that arms deal a few months back? That was hers. She’s good at what she does, but Johnny swaggerin’ over there like it’s a bloody Tinder date isn’t gonna help.”

Roach’s eyes widened, realization dawning. “Ohhh.” He glanced at Soap, who was now halfway to the bar, his confident stride making it clear he wasn’t about to change course. “Should we, uh… I dunno, drag him back here before he makes a right fool of himself?”

Kyle folded his arms, his expression a mix of resignation and exasperation. “At the right moment,” he said, his tone heavy with experience. His eyes tracked Soap’s progress as the Captain closed in on the woman. “Knowing Johnny, he’ll need to stick his foot in it first.”

----------

Soap reached the bar with his signature swagger, his broad grin in place as he sidled up next to her. “Evenin’, lass. What’s a woman like you doin’ in a place like this? Slummin’ it, are we?”

She glanced at him, then raised an eyebrow with a sly smile. “Slummin’ it? Bold of you to say that. Even bolder to approach me.”

Soap chuckled, clearly unbothered. “I’ve got plenty of boldness to spare, love.”

Soap leaned in, still wearing that cocky grin. “Johnny MacTavish, by the way. And you are...?”

She shot him a look, the smile still playing on her lips. “Name’s not your business,” she said, voice light but teasing. “But you may call me whatever you like.”

Soap couldn’t help but chuckle at her tone. “Oh, I’ll keep that in mind, love.”

He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes with mock curiosity. “So, what’s a lass like you doin’ in a place like this? Surely this isn’t your usual haunt?”

She arched a brow, meeting his gaze with a challenge in her eyes. “Why can’t I be here? Have a pint like the rest of ‘em?”

Soap smirked, giving her the once-over. “You look a little too posh for this joint. I’m guessin’... rich spoiled brat, or a high-class escort?”

Her smile didn’t fade. Instead, she leaned in, her voice smooth and cutting. “Bold of you to say. Maybe I am, but if I am, either way... you can’t afford me.”

----------

Back at the pool table, Gaz and Roach were barely holding it together. They exchanged amused looks, stifling their laughter, as they whispered among themselves, not wanting Johnny to catch on.

Roach shot a smirk at Gaz. “Bloody hell, Johnny’s got no shame.”

Gaz snickered quietly. “Aye, but she’s givin’ him a run for his money, isn’t she?”

----------

Soap’s grin only grew wider, his voice low and teasing. “Well, if you’re that expensive, love, I reckon I could afford you for a night, but you’ll be getting more than just a view. How about I show you how wild a Highlander can get? I promise you, it’ll be... less polished, but a whole lot more memorable.”

She glanced up at him, and despite the heels, she was still dwarfed by his towering figure. His broad shoulders, the way his muscles moved under his shirt—it was all there, every inch of him commanding attention. And those blue eyes. Electric. Like they could strip her bare with just one look. He wasn’t just good-looking; he was the type of man you wouldn’t say no to if you were brave enough.

Her lips curled into a smile, and she leaned in just enough to make sure he caught her next words. “Bold of you to think I’d be interested in that... But go on, keep talking. I’m listening.”

Soap chuckled, loving the fire in her eyes. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more where that came from, love. Just say the word, and we’ll see if I can’t show you a wild side you’ve never even dreamed of.”

She arched a brow, her smile teasing, but the way her eyes held his made it clear she wasn’t backing down. “You really think you can handle someone like me?”

“Love,” he said with a smirk, his voice thick with the accent of his roots, “I’ve handled far worse. And I don’t back down from a challenge.”

She met his gaze, her own confidence matching his as she spoke again. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that... after you buy me a drink first.”

Soap leaned in, ordering her drink with a wink. “Whatever you like, love. It’s on me.”

The bartender returned shortly with two drinks, placing them on the bar with a polite nod. Soap slid one toward her with a confident grin, his eyes never leaving hers.

She took the glass, her fingers brushing against his. “Cheers,” she said smoothly, her voice almost a purr. Soap raised his glass in response, clinking it lightly with hers before taking a long sip.

----------

Meanwhile, not far from the bar, at the booth where Ghost and Price sat with their wives, the scene was unfolding just as expected.

Mrs. Riley, ever the character, popped a piece of fresh crawdad meat into her mouth, chewing with evident enjoyment as if she were snacking on popcorn. Mrs. Price took a slow, thoughtful sip from her pint, clearly entertained by the situation unfolding before them.

Price, leaning back slightly, gave Ghost a sideways glance. “What do you reckon, Simon? Is Johnny gonna manage to take this lass home, or is he gonna make a right fool of himself?”

Ghost raised an eyebrow, watching the exchange intently. “Aye, he’s got the charm for it, but we all know how Johnny is. He either gets what he wants, or he trips over his own feet trying.”

Price chuckled softly, eyeing Soap with a knowing look. “I’d say he’s got no chance of walking away from this without a few bruises to his ego. But, then again, she’s holding her own pretty well, eh?”

Mrs. Riley looked up from her seafood, her eyes twinkling as she smirked. “You both bettin’ on Johnny? I reckon she’ll either take him for a ride... or leave him in the dust.”

Ghost gave a small nod, glancing at Soap as he chatted up the lady. “Looks like the lady’s a tough one.” He turned to Price. “Should we step in? Drag Johnny back to the table before he makes a fool of himself—or worse, ruins her night?”

Mrs. Price, always one to watch the drama unfold, leaned in a little closer, eyes fixed on Soap and the woman at the bar. “Let ‘em be. It’s too entertaining watchin’ Johnny try and work his so-called 'charm.'”

Price chuckled quietly, raising his pint in a small toast. “Aye, you’re right. If she’s handling him this well, she’s got him wrapped around her finger already.”

----------

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “And if I am a spoiled rich princess, what would you say then?”

Johnny’s grin spread even wider. He leaned in a little, his voice low and mischievous. “Well, if that’s the case... I’d say I’m the wildest adventure you’ll ever have. The kind you’ll never forget.”

She giggled, shaking her head, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You might just be all talk, though.”

Johnny sighed dramatically, then chuckled, leaning back in his seat with a playful challenge in his tone. “Ah, well then, lass... you could always come with me and find out for yourself.”

She leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing his ear. “And what if you disappoint me?” she asked, voice dripping with playful skepticism. “What do I get? I’m not doing the walk of shame in the morning, am I?”

Johnny gave a theatrical sigh, his grin never fading. “Well, if I disappoint you, I’ll make it up to you with breakfast in bed. But either way—disappointed or not—I’ll pamper you in the morning, love. You’ll be spoiled.”

She smiled, the thought of a leisurely morning in bed tempting her. Truth be told, it had been a while since she'd gotten laid, and this handsome MacTavish stranger seemed like just the thing she needed. A little adventure, some fun, and maybe a good night to get her back into the swing of things.

Single? Definitely. Needed to mingle? Absolutely. And well, if she was going to enjoy herself tonight, why not with a bloke who could keep up with her banter? A laugh, a good time, and possibly more? She could certainly get on board with that.

“I like the sound of that,” she said, her smile growing as she slid her fingers around her drink. “Might just take you up on that offer...”

She raised an eyebrow, a sly grin playing on her lips. “What if you’re a serial killer, though? I mean, with that mohawk and your good looks, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Johnny chuckled, his usual confidence not faltering. “Serial killer, huh? Well, I promise you, love, I’m no murderer.”

But she didn’t let up. “I don’t know... that mohawk's a bit suspicious. Still, I gotta admit, it suits you. You’re still handsome despite it.”

Johnny blinked in surprise, then a sheepish grin tugged at the corners of his lips. Did she just—? No one had ever dared to compliment him like that before, especially after the whole “wild man” routine.

"Well... thanks," he muttered, a little flustered now.

She grinned wickedly. “You're welcome, handsome. But seriously, how can I be sure you're not one bad night away from chopping me up and turning me into stew?”

Johnny let out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to shake off the awkwardness. “Alright, alright, what can I do to prove I’m not some serial killer, then? You wanna see my ID or something?”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully for a moment, before smirking. “Yeah, actually, that sounds good. Hand it over.”

Johnny dug into his pocket, pulling out his driver’s license. He handed it to her, and in a quick motion, she snatched it from his hand, raised her phone, and snapped a photo.

Johnny’s brows furrowed. “What are you doing?”

She smirked, showing him the screen. “Sending this to a trusted friend. You know, in case something happens to me tonight. They’ll know exactly who to look for.”

Johnny’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s... smart,” he said, nodding appreciatively.

She then snapped another photo, this time of him, and he raised an eyebrow. “What’s that for? Sending it too?”

She shook her head with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Nah, not sending this one. I’m keeping it for myself.”

Johnny blinked, his heart skipping a beat as he realized she was serious. “For yourself, eh?”

She winked at him, the playful spark in her gaze undeniable. “Oh, yeah. It’s not every day I get to keep a picture of a handsome guy like you.”

Now, Johnny was definitely blushing. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, but the warmth creeping into his cheeks betrayed him. “Well, I suppose that’s fair enough.”

She took a sip of her drink, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Seems like you’re finally caught off guard, MacTavish.”

He let out a chuckle, shrugging. “You’re not making it easy, love.”

After a brief pause, they both finished off their pints, the air between them charged with flirtation. She set her empty glass down first, a playful glint in her eyes. “Well, looks like we’ve both had our fun for tonight.”

Johnny followed suit, his own glass hitting the counter with a soft clink. “Aye, reckon so. What do you say, we call it a night? I’ve had enough of this place... might be time for something... less crowded.”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smile. “Sounds like a plan, MacTavish. Lead the way.”

They both stood, an unspoken agreement between them. Johnny offered her a confident smile as they headed toward the door, ready to take the night wherever it would lead.

As Johnny and the woman stood up to leave, Gaz and Roach exchanged glances. They made half-hearted moves as if they were about to stand up and stop him—an awkward, wordless attempt to intervene. But as Johnny turned around and caught their gaze, his usual cocky grin faltered just a fraction.

His eyes narrowed, and he shot them a look that could melt stone. The boys, momentarily caught off guard by the intensity of his glare, quickly backed down. They sat back down in their booth, giving him a silent, almost apologetic shrug, their faces filled with that familiar "we tried" expression.

Price and Ghost shared a similar moment of hesitation, both standing up as if to offer some sort of assistance, but seeing the look on Johnny’s face made them rethink. They sat back down, shaking their heads with a knowing chuckle.

Without another word, Johnny placed his hand possessively around her small, curvy waist, guiding her out the door. She glanced up at him with a smirk, enjoying the rush of walking out with him, feeling his confidence radiate off him like an aura.

They stepped into the cool night air, the warmth of the pub already fading as they made their way down the street. Johnny’s hand never left her waist, his grip firm, and she couldn’t help but feel a thrill from how he held her close.

Gaz glanced at Roach, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief. “I’m kinda worried for Johnny…”

Roach snorted, rolling his eyes. “Aye, worried he might actually get lucky tonight?”

Gaz shrugged. “More like worried he’ll be too embarrassed to show his face tomorrow.”

Roach chuckled, shaking his head. “Either way, it’s gonna be bloody entertaining.”

----------

SMUT here....

They decide to go to Johnny's flat instead, entering the front door laughing and kissing. The kissing turns passionate, clothes start flying off in every direction, and before she knows it, she's swung over his broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Johnny, put me down!" she laughs, playfully smacking his back as he carries her to his room.

"Not a chance, love," he grins, giving her a light smack on the bum. "You're mine now."

As they tumble onto the bed, she can't help but appreciate the view. Johnny MacTavish might be a cocky bastard, but he's got the body to back it up. And as for his... equipment... well, let's just say she's impressed.

"Bloody hell, Johnny," she murmurs, her eyes widening as she gets a glimpse of what's to come. "That's... that's not going to fit."

Johnny chuckles, a wicked glint in his eye. "Don't worry, love. I’ll try to be gentle.”

And true to his word, he doesn't rush things. He takes his time, worshipping every inch of her body. He's surprisingly patient, which she wouldn't have guessed from his usual demeanour. He starts by kissing her deeply, his hands exploring her curves with a gentle but firm touch.

He moves down to her neck, planting soft kisses that make her shiver. His hands find her large, soft breasts, squeezing and caressing them until she's gasping with pleasure. He takes his time, sucking and nipping at her nipples, making her arch her back in response.

"Johnny..." she moans, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Aye, love?" he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

He continues his descent, his lips trailing down her stomach, his fingers expertly rubbing her clitoris. She gasps and writhes beneath him, the sensation almost too much to bear. He takes his time, building her up, his touch both fierce and gentle.

When he finally reaches her most sensitive spot, he doesn't hesitate. He dives in, his tongue licking and teasing her until she's on the brink of ecstasy. He sucks and nips, his fingers working in tandem with his mouth, driving her wild with pleasure.

"Johnny... you're... you're actually quite good at this," she admits, a laugh escaping her lips.

Johnny grins, looking up at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, I do aim to please, Birdie."

He intensifies his efforts, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers moving in rhythm. She can't take it anymore. Her body convulses, her hips bucking against his mouth as she cums hard, a wave of pleasure crashing over her. She tries to push him away, the sensation too intense, but he holds her firmly, riding out her orgasm with her.

Her body arches, her breath coming in heavy pants. She shakes and squeaks, the sounds escaping her lips a mix of pleasure and desperation. Johnny finds it hot and cute, his grip on her tightening as he continues to lick and suck, drawing out every last tremor of her climax.

"Johnny... oh gosh, Johnny..." she gasps, her body finally relaxing as the waves of pleasure subside.

Johnny looks up at her, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That's just the beginning, Bonnie," he says, his voice husky with desire.

The room fills with the sounds of their passion—laughter, moans, and the occasional playful smack. Johnny might be a "wild Highlander"(what he claimed), but he's also surprisingly tender, his touch both fierce and gentle.

"Johnny, please..." she whispers, her voice desperate.

He grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Alright, Bonnie. Let's give it another go."

He moves down her body again, his tongue and lips tracing a path of fire. He licks and sucks at her clitoris, his fingers teasing her entrance until she's soaking wet and begging for more.

She looks at him, her eyes filled with desire. "Johnny, let me please you too," she says, her voice husky. "I want to reward you."

Johnny's eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn't hesitate. He flips them over, positioning himself so that they're in a sixty-nine, his mouth hovering over her pussy, her lips inches from his cock.

He dives back in, his tongue licking and sucking at her clitoris, his fingers working their magic. She takes him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around his length, her hands gripping his shaft. They move in sync, each trying to outdo the other, their moans and gasps filling the room.

What shocks him is how she takes his full length, deep throating him despite the struggle. She's so into him, her enthusiasm driving him wild. He doesn't want to disappoint, so he gives as good as he gets, his tongue and fingers working feverishly to bring her to the brink again.

The competition is unspoken but intense. They're both determined to make the other cum first, their bodies writhing and bucking against each other. The room is filled with the sounds of their pleasure, their moans and gasps echoing off the walls.

Johnny can feel his own orgasm building, his body tensing as she sucks and tugs at him. He redoubles his efforts, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers moving in rhythm with her mouth.

She's close too, her body trembling, her moans growing more desperate. They're both on the edge, their bodies coiling tighter and tighter.

With a final, intense suck, she sends him over the edge. He cums hard, his body convulsing as she swallows every last drop. At the same time, he sends her crashing over the edge, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm.

They collapse together, breathless and satisfied, their bodies still entwined. Johnny looks up at her, a grin spreading across his face.

"Well, Bonnie," he says, his voice husky. "That was... incredible."

She smiles back at him, her eyes shining with satisfaction. "You're not so bad yourself, Johnny."

He pulls her close, his arms wrapping around her. "And I promise, Birdie, that was just the beginning."

----------

Seeing that she was already prepped and soaking wet, Soap kisses her passionately, pinning her down on the bed. He leans back, admiring his handiwork. She's sweaty, her skin glistening beautifully, her petite but voluptuous frame a sight to behold. Her beautiful face, framed by messy hair, makes her look even sexier. He couldn't help but want her more.

Slowly, he enters her, and she gasps, sighing at how large he is and how tight it feels. Soap holds her waist, his thumb reaching across her swollen clit, rubbing it gently as he moves deeper inside her.

"Oh gosh, Johnny..." she moans, her fingers digging into his shoulders. The sensation of him filling her is almost too much to bear, but she wants more. She wraps her legs around him, pulling him deeper.

Johnny groans, his eyes locked on hers as he begins to move. He starts slowly, giving her time to adjust, his thumb circling her clit in rhythm with his movements. Her moans grow louder, her body arching to meet his every thrust.

"You feel so good, Bonnie," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

She can feel the tension building again, her body coiling tighter with each thrust. Johnny's movements become more urgent, his hips driving into her with a fierce intensity. He leans down, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue mirroring the movements of his body.

The room fills with the sounds of their passion—moans, gasps, and the occasional playful smack. Johnny's relentless, his body moving in perfect harmony with hers. She can feel every inch of him, every powerful thrust driving her closer to the edge.

"Johnny... I'm close..." she gasps, her voice breathless.

He increases his pace, his thrusts becoming more powerful. "Come for me, Birdie," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "Let me feel you."

With a final, deep thrust, she shatters, her body convulsing with pleasure. He follows soon after, his own release washing over him. They collapse together, breathless and satisfied, their bodies still entwined.

Johnny looks down at her, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That was... incredible," he says, his voice husky with desire.

She smiles back at him, her eyes shining with satisfaction. "You're not so bad yourself, Johnny."

He pulls her close, his arms wrapping around her. "And I promise, Bonnie, that was just the beginning."

----------

Johnny wasn't done yet. He guided her through a night of endless pleasure, each position driving her to new heights of ecstasy. She came hard, shaking and even squirting, which he found incredibly hot. By the end, they were both overstimulated, but it was worth every moment.

First, he positioned her on all fours, her head buried in the pillow. He mounted her from behind, his body pressing down on hers, just the way she liked it. He rubbed against her, his nose nuzzling her neck, inhaling her scent. He grabbed her chin, turning her face to kiss her deeply as he moved in and out of her. The sensation was intense, her moans muffled by the pillow.

Next, he lay behind her, his pelvis moving in a fast, pistoning motion. His hard length drove in and out of her, his fingers expertly rubbing her clitoris. She could only gasp and whine, her body trembling as his strong arms held her waist. Soon, her legs began to shake, her toes curling as she came hard, squirting. Johnny continued to rub her clit and piston into her, drawing out every last tremor of her orgasm.

They moved to the floor, the chair, against the wall—each position more intense than the last. She came hard every time, her body convulsing with pleasure. When it was finally time for him to cum, she begged for them to do it together. She asked him to cum inside her, assuring him she was on contraceptives. Johnny liked the idea, feeling her so deeply.

And so they did. They came together, gasping, shaking, and panting. Her body writhed beneath him, and he let out a primal growl, shuddering and releasing inside her. They collapsed onto the bed, breathless, her smiling weakly, and him smiling back at her, cupping her face.

"Bonnie," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You're incredible."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with contentment. "You're not so bad yourself, Johnny."

They lay there, entwined, their bodies still tingling with the aftermath of their passionate night. Johnny pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her, feeling a connection he hadn't expected.

"That was... something else," she whispered, her voice soft.

Johnny chuckled, his chest rumbling against her. "Aye, it was. And Bonnie, there's more where that came from."

She smiled, her eyes fluttering closed as she drifted off to sleep, safe and content in his arms. Johnny held her tightly, a sense of peace washing over him.

----------

Johnny woke up the next morning, his eyes fluttering open to catch his Birdie trying to slip out from under his large arms. He playfully tightened his grip, pulling her back to him with a low chuckle.

"Where do you think you're going, Bonnie?" he murmured, his voice still husky from sleep.

She giggled, turning to face him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Nowhere, it seems."

They shared a passionate kiss, their bodies already responding to each other's touch. Johnny couldn't get enough of her. He rolled her onto her back, his hands exploring her curves as he moved inside her once again. Their lovemaking was slow and intense, each touch and kiss building the tension between them.

After another round in bed, Johnny scooped her up and carried her to the shower. The hot water cascaded over their bodies as he pressed her against the tiles, his hands roaming over her slick skin. He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he entered her again. The steam filled the room, their moans echoing off the walls as they lost themselves in each other.

Johnny couldn't believe how much this girl was driving him crazy. She was sexy, beautiful, cute, petite, and voluptuous—everything he could want. They eventually stepped out of the shower, their bodies still tingling with pleasure. Johnny dried her off gently, his touch lingering on her skin.

They slowly got dressed, Johnny unable to keep his hands off her. He found himself forgetting that they weren't a couple, his actions more intimate than he'd ever been with a one-night stand. He carried her back to the bed, asking her to wait while he made breakfast.

Humming quietly to himself, Johnny headed to the kitchen. He cooked with a sense of contentment, the scent of bacon and eggs filling the air. When he returned upstairs with a tray of food, he found the bedroom empty, the window leading to the outdoor fire escape wide open.

He stood there for a moment, his brows furrowing in confusion. For a moment, he thought everything had been a hallucination. Had the head injury from Makarov's shot, years ago, affected him more than he thought? He had survived it and gone through therapy, and meds, but this felt too real to be a hallucination.

His eyes fell on the bracelet she had left behind, a tangible reminder that she had been there. Johnny picked up the bracelet, a mix of relief and determination washing over him. He felt a possessive urge, slightly offended that she had run away after such an incredible night. He swore he'd find his Birdie, but then he remembered—he had forgotten to ask her name or any information about her.

Well, he'd find a way. Johnny was never one to back down from a challenge, and this was no exception. He'd find her, no matter what it took.

A/N:

Oh no, Y/N, looks like Johnny’s offended you ran off after everything that went down. But don't worry—he’s not the type to let things slide. He swears to find you, and he’s not going to rest until he does. So, you might have left in a hurry, but Johnny's on your trail now, and he’s determined to get answers… and maybe a little more. 😏

What will happen when he catches up with you? Well, let’s just say, the chase is about to get real interesting. Stick around to see how Johnny handles getting his Birdie back.

Edit: On to the next chapter!! -------->

[phantomglass]

self aware cod au

There it is again. Their sweet laugh. He could hear it echoing around the empty aircraft after another round of victory. He looks at weapon in his hand, turning it around a few times before staring hard at it.

His thoughts ran wild, thoughts of you. How you controlled him to use this same weapon to execute your enemies. How you were able to quickly gain your focus back even after getting off guard several times by the enemy, Your great aim, Your swift moves in clicking and guiding him, Your compliments for him each time for getting a kill... Oh, you sure are generous with your compliments. Even when he feels shit about himself and even after knowing and loathing the reality that he's just codes put together for other people's entertaiment and fun,

but even then, he loves all the compliments and attention you gave him. He loves your voice, your laugh, the way you say his name. He hates the fact he couldn't see you. He often wondered what you look like. Especially after he somehow was able to get a small peak of your hologram face. It lasted for only a few seconds, but it felt like years passed. He was flabbergasted and became a stone for moment. You thought it was a glitch but really, it was just his encoded heart beating really fast. Then after awhile, came the thoughts of wanting to see you. To stare at you, to touch you, to hold you, to make you flustered just like how he did with just his voicelines. He wonders what you would do if he's right infront you, right now.

Suddenly the aircraft's ramp door began to open, making him look at it and your voice chiming in.

"Alright, you ready for another round?"

─

Reblogs & comments are highly appreciated!

@phantomglass