#john was a stronger man than me

[lucasoliko]

1911 javi i miss you......

#john was a stronger man than me #i would've done anything this man wanted sorry #don't mind me filling up the empty space with a watermark #might clean and color the big sketch....... will post later if i do #he's so sad and tragic but also so hot #red dead redemption #javier escuella #rdr1 #lucasolikos art #fanart #artists on tumblr

[ihaveanaversiontodecisions]

relistening to malevolent and why is John's voice so slutty in the first episode I do not remember this

#malevolent podcast #john doe #the entity #him calling arthur “friend”?? #if evil why nice #arthur lester #arthur is a much stronger man than me #i would have folded immediately #hes so bby girl

[walkwithursus]

The best three minutes in television history are the last three minutes of Season One Episode Four of ABC’s LOST. I will die on this hill.

#lost abc #john locke #like seriously if you can watch that scene without getting ASMR and sobbing you are a stronger man than me

[paulic]

I would not have made a very good beatle because I would have fallen in love with all of their wives and treated them soooo much better than the boys ever did

#to be fair george and mo did hook up and Richie didn’t care lmaooo #or at least stayed friends with George #they all deserved so much better like if Paul McCartney wrote honey pie about me while I was away working and being a girlboss #I would have snapped the neck of his guitar like #Jane Asher how you handled this man will forever be a mystery you’re stronger than anyone else #but this is about all of them #CYN #poor Cyn John was a huge dick towards her after and during the divorce like come on #i don’t want to do my work for uni can y’all tell

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Choke On The Sun

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You'd known John ever since the Academy, and even after losing touch, the love you had for one another was never gone. Like a snake, it had stayed hidden in unseen places. But it was always there.

WORDCOUNT: 13.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, torture, detailed descriptions of torture i.e. electrocution, loss of a finger, gunshot wounds, knife wounds, discussion of torture, canon-typical violence, death, near-death experiences, guns, weapons, abductions, betrayals, intended for mature audiences, happy ending, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You remember a story you’d been told when you were a rookie—fresh off the cut and eager-eyed with far fewer scars. A more of a glass-half-full type of outlook on life, unknowing of what you’d experience during your years with the SAS: what choices you would have to make.

It went something like this. 

There was a herd of deer that had jumped over the side of a bridge. On either end of that bridge, there were two trucks with their high beams on—not moving but sitting there; the deer got pressured. Spooked. One by one they just…hopped over and died on the rocks below—no noise above the breaking of bone and the clatter of antlers shattering to pieces. 

You have to wonder if it was the fault of the first one who had jumped over for leading the rest to a quick end, or the drivers of the cars just trying to get where they needed to go; ignorant of the way they’d been ogling to see the panic in wide, black eyes. Either way, a whole herd of ten met their fate and left their bodies to feed the larvae and the birds. 

The story had been told over drinks at a pub, at the time you’d taken an interest in it with no more than a slow comment of ‘poor things’ before you’d brought your glass to your lips. You don't know why you’re thinking about it now. 

The timing could have been more opportune.

You send a bullet into the man’s kneecap, hearing the bone disintegrate and the flesh open like a flower. His scream follows, loud and hoarse—sobbing trapped behind a bitten tongue that drips blood down his chin. 

Hand snapping up, you grasp the lower half of his face with a grunt, head shoving itself forward until you lock onto fluttering eyes and get consumed by a whining sob.

“I asked you a question,” you lick your lips, tasting sweat as it slithers down your skin. Your voice is slow and even, grip tight. With a shove, you push back the man’s face, wrist limp with the Basilisk as you wipe at your nose with it, unblinking, when you get to your full height. 

The room wasn’t anything different from a million other black sites you’d been to. A single chair where your mark sits tied up, a desk that had been pushed to the wall, and a single door placed into the cracking foundations of a concrete wall. No windows. No vents. 

Hotter than hell, too, and that place was something you were acutely in tune with. 

“Anthony,” you say, waving your free hand as the scent of blood gets stronger, pools of it already on the hard floor. “I’m gonna call you Tony, alright?” 

Tony yells, wrenching his arms against the zip-ties and screaming until his voice is hoarse. 

“Damn you! I told you I don’t know anything!” He sobs. “My leg—I can’t feel my leg, oh, God it hurts.”

You frown, glancing at the door. 

“Stop lying to me,” you look back, eyes unblinking in the low light. “You still have one left—tell me where your buyer is and I let you keep the ability to walk upright with a cane.” 

“I don’t know his name—!”

“I don’t need a name, Tony,” you growl, irritated. “I need a location.”

“Copenhagen!” He wails, body spasming and hair dancing atop his head. “The warehouse is in Copenhagen, please, that’s all I know!”

You blink. 

“Denmark?” You mutter, brows furrowing. 

“Fuck!” Tony screams long, his skull tilting forward as he releases his guts to the floor through quick gasps. Backing up a step to stay out of the spray, you watch him silently; thinking. The flood of the man’s crimson fluids ripples. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

“Denmark,” grumbling to yourself once more, you shake your head and sigh aggressively. “Of course.” 

Without another glance, you turn and exit the room, pushing your Basilisk into its holster as the gear on your chest clinks lightly like the sound of rain hitting a metal roof. The door closes behind you, voice calling to one of the guards as he looks up quickly. His face is pale. Tony’s wails still echo out; water filling a bucket. 

“Get a medic,” is what you settle with—slipping past on a fleet foot and new intel to pass on to Laswell. She’ll be intrigued, no doubt. 

One step closer, your mind hisses to you. Just a little bit longer.

It’s too late to gain a conscious now.

Emmett Kinsman had been dodging you for years—dodging the Task Force—but with one of his suppliers giving away a location you’d been unable to pin, there was hope for a swift resolution to this mess. 

The radio on your chest sizzles to life.

“Hart, sit-rep. How’s it lookin’ on the black site.” Kate’s American accent leaks into the earpiece attached to you, the cord looping the back of your neck and inserted into the shell; a device of black metal and plastic. 

“I have a location for Kinsman. Copenhagen,” you ease out, moving a finger to the earpiece and pressing. Glancing at the rows and rows of doors in this endless hallway of dark smoke and obsidian mirrors—you’re eager to get your boots to the ground. Your other hand snatches at the rag swinging from your belt, taking it out and rubbing at your face with it until the stain of oil and flecks of blood smear like frosting on a cake. “Where are the boys? I need to be wheels-up to meet them ASAP.”

“Coming to you.”  

“They’re here?” Your face twists as the words settle in, confused. “Why? Thought they were tracking another lead in Romania.” 

Kate’s voice is smooth in your ear, moving like water as you turn a corner, stuffing your rag back into your belt. 

“Are you surprised?” The woman jokes in a monotone; you’d only taken it as such because you knew her dry state of humor. “Really, Hart, you know he can’t stop until you’re back at his side. I was going to tell you sooner, but you were…occupied.” 

Your feet pause for a moment at the beginning of her sentence, instinctual heat moving the length of your neck until you clench your jaw and continue onward at a slightly slower pace—eyes narrowed on the floor ahead of you. 

“It isn’t like that, Kate,” you mutter. A low hum echoes the line and you fight a scowl as a group of soldiers walk past. Itching at your forearm, you shake your head. “John just likes having everyone together on missions like these. If it had been different, I’m sure he would have told me to fly back to them regardless of the intel. We’re tight on time.” 

“I’ve known you both for more years than I can remember,” Laswell sighs. “Don’t try that with me, Captain.” You frown, clicking your tongue. “They’ll be arriving on the tarmac—get ready for a quick exit. We need Kinsman by month’s end.” 

“Copy,” you utter, removing your hand from the earpiece and glaring ahead of you. A still-air silence envelopes the hallway, the only sound of your boots to the concrete and the reverberation that booms after. 

It was so quiet here. 

John Price—Captain Price—and yourself had a… complicated history. You’d joined up together; gotten through SAS selection neck-and-neck until time and its grubby fingers had forced your lives in different directions. Like two vines of reaching ivy, it had only been three years ago that you’d seen the other again, though you’d heard stories as you’re sure he had about you. 

Hart: not the kind that beats but the kind that bleats, you had to explain to most—you weren’t unknown to the darker side of the job and the people that specialized in it. Your file was stretched with so much black ink that when you’d gotten the call on your phone, an unknown number, you’d recognized the gruff voice behind it and the first question you’d asked was how the hell he’d gotten clearance to track you down. 

“No hello, then, Hart?”

“Not one for pleasantries, John. Explain. Quickly.”

“Business as always.” He’s wasted no time, voice going to a low grumble over the line that day. “Laswell took in a favor. You’ve been busy, Love…Room for one more joint-Op?”

It hadn’t panned out to only ‘one more joint-Op’. 

After the mission was over, it had been raining on base. The sky had shed tears from clouds deeper than the gray shades of your gear, splattering packed dirt and concrete. Above your head, the thin overhang off of the armory door had spared you some of it, but when the wind had shifted your clothes absorbed specks of water like spots on a fawn. Your eyes had been looking out—expression open. 

When the man exited the building and came up beside you, you both didn’t speak for a long time. You had been aware of his form, devoid of vest and gear, while yours was still layered with it to the utmost degree. You’d expected to leave that night—a good old-fashioned Irish Goodbye with a C-17 already waiting for you to board. To carry you off to another hellish deed done with ravaging cruelty for the sake of people who would never even know you existed.

The storm had stopped you…or, maybe something else had.

“Good to see you again, Hart,” John had stated, still not looking over at you as his arms had crossed, feet situating themselves. “Been too long.”

You had stayed silent—watching. The drain across the street was flooded. Sticks and leaves stuck at the drain as a whirlpool formed; only dangerous to bugs and the bits of garbage blown in by the wind. 

Only after the wind shifts again did you speak.

“And what has John Price been up to in that time?” Your eyes had slid to stare, piercing in the low illumination of the armory’s outside light. 

A huff of a chuckle, the one you’d remembered in the days of selection—coated in mud from crawling through man-made trenches and a sharp smirk of a snap when the barbed wire had grazed his back. 

There were too many stories here. Too many. So many it became impossible to wonder what could have been and what couldn’t—all that existed were the little moments of fondness.

The two of you were nothing else but souls long past redemption; stuck on that knife’s edge and waiting for the hand to shake and send you through it. 

You are made of memories. 

“That’s a story told over bourbon,” John’s lips had flickered, and you’d blinked slowly, head tilting. “Not anything worth reliving, yeah?” 

“Everything is relivable, Captain. You just need to find a reason as to why.” 

The man had nodded his head your way, conceding with his blank eyes ahead to the rain. A rumble of distant thunder had flown out, making your ears twitch. You couldn’t stop watching him now that you had the chance—the brunette strands; the fatigues, and that accent. The muscle you don’t remember him having in that specific place all those years ago. The wrinkles on his forehead from age and stress are shown in yours as a mirror. 

Tall; formidable. 

There was a tension in the air that you chose not to dwell on—the same that had been brewing for as long as you’d known him. 

“I want you to join up with me,” the sudden comment had made your body tense, eyes snapping away. In your pockets, your fingers twitch with surprise. 

“Join?”

“Thought I’d catch you before you disappeared again, yeah?” A sheen of slight embarrassment is over your skin. John chuckles again. “Extend a formal offer—Laswell was the one who suggested it.”

“Well,” you’d huffed, licking your lips. “Now I’m surely not accepting.” 

“Let me fuckin’ finish, Love,” John’s lips were pulled in a slight smirk—beard shifting. A pause as the wind whips again, shaking the trees before he grunts. “One-Four-One. My Task Force. Been thinking I’d need someone like you, but I knew you’d never agree to it.”

“Oh?” Your brow raises. 

“Not bloody stupid.” He sighs. “Thought I’d ask anyway. Give you a proper goodbye if you weren’t so keen on handing it out.”

“I don’t like goodbyes,” you mutter, hearing John’s feet shift—his boots scraping. 

“I know.” It’s low and even—not a prod or a dig. An observation. 

A hand is moved out to you, hovering. 

There isn’t any need for words when you glance down at it, and then up at him; staring into those blue eyes that so perfectly illustrate the hues of a roaring river, hidden away in the confines of a verdant forest.

A slow smile pulls at your lips, and you see the corner of the man’s eyes soften.

“Knew I’d get one out of you again,” he mutters as you slip your hand into his, a firm and all-encompassing heat of flesh and care. 

“Don’t get used to it, John.” Shaking his hand, you smirk, legs shifting. 

“Never,” he chuffs, squeezing your limb. 

You don’t know why you stayed under that overhang with him that night. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to explain it as you had looked up and seen the C-17 fly off without you in its cargo hold, hands resting on your vest collar and blue eyes watching you, slightly narrowed. 

You never even verbally told him you were sticking around…it had happened like a stray cat under the porch of your childhood home; taken in and cared for. Just the same, John never mentioned it beyond paperwork. 

Shaking your head, you blink back to the black site, turning that last corner and making it to one of the exits. Pushing the metal-reinforced door open, you shift outside and move a hand to cover the glare of the setting sun from your eyes, grunting. 

Laswell’s voice peaks back in as you jog toward the far-off body of a whirling plane, three figures just managing to walk down the ramp. 

“Hart? It’s Laswell.”

“Copy,” you say, knees taking the brunt of the heavy items you carry in pouches and have strapped to your form. “What is it?” 

“The Task Force is a go for Denmark—when you get there, I need everyone searching; we can’t lose him again.”

“Affirm. I’m on it, Kate.” You breathe. “John and I’ll get him. It’s personal for us, you know that.”

“That I do. Make sure to keep your heads on with this, Hart. Out.”

You lick your lips, nodding even if she can’t see you. 

Slowing as you near the plane, friendly smiles spark up from the two Sergeants. Gaz comes over, grasping at your shoulder and speaking above the engine behind him. 

“Ma’am! Good to have you back.” Soap chuckles, tilting his head your way as you grasp Kyle’s forearm—squeezing in greeting with a twinkle in your eye.

“Surprised to see us?” The Scot calls. 

You scoff. “Laswell gave you up.”

“Damn,” Kyle moves back, fixing the cap atop his head and glancing back at his fellow Sergeant. Simon nods from behind the two to which you respond in like. “She bloody betrayed us.” 

“Not as much as Kinsman,” the mood sours; lips thinning as you speak firmly. “Where’s John?” 

“Right here,” the man in question comes down the ramp, blue eyes meet yours. A second of inspection passes, eyes from both parties flickering up and down forms for any mistreatment—any ailments. “Kate already told me. We’re leaving now that we have you.”

Bumping Simon’s fist with yours as you pass him, you ascend the ramp, Soap muttering under his breath about the flight time from behind. 

Standing beside John, you pause like a bird, eyes half narrowed. “You didn’t have to pick me up, you know? I could have gotten another plane.”

The man the same rank as you hums, making sure the men are all inside and taking one last look out to the black site, eyes missing nothing down to the concrete structure to the lights that will soon illuminate the pure nothingness of the fields of this area.

“Wait time would have put us back.” Tiny eyes blink, a hand coming up to rest on his collar as his face shifts to you. “You good?”

“Always,” you mutter without hesitation. “Nothing from Romania, then?”

He grumbles, clenching his jaw and taking in your words. “Negative.”

A silence settles in which you quirk your brow—a small flicker of a smirk makes him turn away and stalk back into the hull, grunting in annoyance. You follow on silent feet. 

“That’s it? It must have been horrible, then. Care to explain?” 

“Get in your seat, Captain.” 

You hold back a low chuckle, walking beside him until you both come to the back of the plane—easing back into the hard plastic, you huff as you clip in your seatbelt. 

It’s all relative silence until the large metal beast is in the air; everyone's bodies shifting as the floor evens out. John and you take long breaths and, feeling the occasional jostle of the plane, you occupy yourself by picking at the dried blood all over your hands as the flight begins—Tony’s blood. 

Blue eyes blink down at you, watching from the side.

“He know anything important?” You stifle a yawn on your lips, one hand coming up to cover the open-jawed expression of tiredness. 

Glancing, you shrug with a slow response of, “Only a location. Even then I don’t know if it’ll pan out like we want it to, John.”

Everyone had been hoping for more, but they also knew that you were the best at interrogations and information retrieval. If you had called it that the man only knew a city and nothing else, John wasn’t one to question you. He knew better. 

A large hand shifts to grasp your right bloody one, picking it up and bringing it to his lap. You let him do it without protest, shoulders loosening at the roughness of his calluses moving across yours until the familiar ritual begins to take part like a black mass. 

Fingers twitching, you hear a hum as John takes out a rag from his pocket, opening it with a flick of his wrist. Moments later, the water bottle on the seat next to him is taken and the droplets that are left are scattered like rain over the fabric until they absorb. 

“All dirty, Love,” he grumbles as your eyes soften, watching him trace the lines of your palm with the wet rag—dabbing away the beads of red. Watching, you listen as he continues. “We’ll figure it out, eh?”

Blue locks with you, holding your gaze until the permanent set of his brows slowly loosens. “We will,” he reaffirms firmly.

“...I should have shot him when I had the chance,” you whisper to John, words low and tone nothing more than a mouse’s murmur; a small pebble hitting the ground. “Don’t lie and say it wasn’t my fault.”

“You’re going to fucking ruin yourself with that, Hart.” He advises, his cleaning of blood coming to a slow halt. “You did what you thought was best,” John leans in closer, not blinking as you try to move your head away with a half-hidden scoff. A damp hand grabs lightly at your chin, shifting it back as you blink in mild shock into John’s face. He doesn’t falter. “It’s all any of us can do, yeah?” 

As if it were nothing, he lets you go and shifts his focus back to cleaning your hand. You watch for a long moment, oblivious to the elbows hitting sides from farther down the hull, quick glances tossed between Sergeants and a Lieutenant who quirks a brow under his mask, huffing a sound in his throat.

“If I had,” you force back the stutter in your voice. “More people would still be alive.”

“Maybe,” John tilts his head, the rag brushing the length of your fingers. “Maybe not. We don’t know that, do we? No use wasting our breath talking about it then. What matters, Hart, is how we fix this.”

You sigh, repressing a shiver as his thumb brushes scars and blemishes, moving like moss over stone. 

“And we don’t leave our bloody problems for the next poor bastard, do we?” You puff air from your nose, shaking your head at the smirked comment. You watch John’s beard move with it—taking in the crinkling of his eyes and the way his knee hits yours. 

“Wonderful pep-talk, Captain.” You lean your head back against the netted sides of the aircraft, letting your eyes flutter shut; oblivious to the way he watches you. “The service is lost on you—therapist is right up your alley.”

“Fuck’s sake,” John scoffs. “I’d sooner go back to the academy than that.” 

“The food was utter shite, wasn’t it?” You agree.

“No need to bring it up,” John comments lowly, amusement thick in his words. 

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you do know that the pressure around your limb stayed there for a long while—the rag moving over every sliver of skin until only the base was left behind; like a painter creating an ocean scene, shrouded in mist, every bit of red was gone. 

Your dreams are plagued by Emmett Kinsman. His sharp face; his sly eyes and his knack for being undetected.

He’d been a part of your and John’s class in the Royal Military Academy—when all was done, he’d graduated and begun to serve in the 22nd SAS Regiment just as the both of you had. There was never much interaction there, beyond shared drinks and a few good words, a single operation, but the bonds of brotherhood run deep. If given the chance over any deployment or service, John or yourself would have given your lives for him—for the boy you’d bled and persevered with to a point of utter loyalty akin to beasts; unrestrained by any threat of violence, sharp attitude, or past faults.

And in the end, he’d thrown that all away to get into bed with terrorists. 

Location: London, England

Time: 1718

Operation: ‘Purple Cloth’

Your eyes rest behind the glass of the bookstore, gazing out over the street from the second floor with a level of new-found skill and a surety in yourself. Fresh off the cut, you aren’t overly eager for this, but you’re assured in your abilities. 

There can be no failure.

Emmett is down below, sitting at a café and sipping tea as John is stationed at a building farther down the street; waiting. Another man, directly relaying information to Emmett, is at the café as well, sitting in the corner reading a newspaper and facing the individual you’re supposed to follow. Only the four of you for this, and you’re not overly familiar with half of them. John was your only shining grace. 

“Target’s getting the bill,” you shift your head into the collar of your shirt, muttering. “He’ll move soon.”

“He carrying?” John’s voice slithers in, a soft murmur. 

You stare, expression lax at the large body that shifts and stands with a tight shirt on, waving off the barista when she tells him to have a good day. “If I had to guess? Negative. Nothing big—no bulge at his spine. At the very opposite end, I’d say an X13 could be concealed and accessed via a slit in the pant’s pocket and in a holster at his thigh. They’re baggy enough for it, but the draw time’ll be longer. Drug runners are sloppy.”

John grunts, and you address Emmett. “How are we doing, Mate?” 

A smooth, suave, tone moves into your ear. “Not too bad, Sweet Thing. Else, I'd be better if you were sharing a drink with me before I disappear.”

“Only in your imagination, Kinsman,” John interrupts, unimpressed drawl taking your attention. “Keep on it.” 

“I swear I rank the same as you, Price. Where do you get off ordering me around like your dog?” The comment is so easily dismissed as a joke between comrades that there’s no hostility there.

“Since I was given oversight,” the amusement is easily taken in John’s voice. “I’m the one keeping your arse alive, eh?” 

The other addition to your team speaks up, a voice that in the future you’ve already long forgotten. He says to cut the chatter, and you have to agree. 

Emmett and the target are nearing an alley. 

“I’m heading down,” you utter, already turning and heading to the stairs, swiftly moving down them and exiting the building. 

“Copy,” John’s voice fizzles the line. “I’ll head them off.”

“Emmett,” you move to link up with the fourth member of the team as he joins at your side, both of you sharking a glance and a jerk of your heads. “Keep him away from civilians. We can’t deal with casualties in this populated of an area.”

“He won’t have a chance to shoot them,” the comment makes your brows furrow, the tone not a cocky gloat but rather...quiet. A moment of silence wafts out. “What in the bloody hell is that supposed to mean, Kinsman?” You frown tightly, your gut swirling with something unidentifiable. The X12 in the back of your baggy sweatshirt is heavy—suddenly ten times more so. 

In the corner of your eye, you see John far across the way shift, leaning before on a trash can, now standing upright. You swear you lock eyes with him, both gifted in all sense when it comes to war. Perhaps it was ingrained into both of your DNA—a knowledge of all things deadly; of threats unseen. Some primal and horrible understanding spanning back to when man had first raised a fist to another. 

“Oi,” your voice pushes. “What does that mean?” Feet pivoting, you move closer to the alley where the light shade of hair disappears. 

The line is silent. 

Silent before a loud gunshot rings.

Birds scatter, and you instinctively duck down, hand snapping to your service weapon as your eyes go wide. Head snapping about, you dash to the alley opening above the screaming; pushing past fleeing people.

“Hart!” 

“He’s in the alley!” 

“Do not engage until I get there, do you hear me?!” You’re already at the entrance, X12 ahead of you, and the safety flicked off with a heavy finger. “Hart!”

The body of your mark is on the ground—a bullet in the back of his skull. 

“Fuck!” You shout, feet slapping the concrete as you zoom past. “Price—target’s down, Emmett shot him in the damn head, on his tail now.”

“Fucking hell.” The man is growling out at you, voice heated.

Your eyes snap this way and that, weapon at the ready as you take a sharp turn. At the very end of the opening, you see him. 

Kinsman slips his service weapon back into the base of his spine, pulling at his shirt to cover the grip as a mass of the crowd is just behind him. He rushes quickly on long legs. 

“Emmett!” Your voice makes him freeze. There’s a long pause before anything is spoken; you have your sights trained—a perfect line-up to the roundness of his skull. 

“I had hoped to be fast enough,” the man tells you, head tilting to the side, “but I should have known you’d move head-long into danger without backup.”

“Hart,” John’s voice nearly startles you from the line. “Sitrep, now!”

“Why would you do that, Emmett?”

“There’s more to this than being pawns, Hart,” Kinsman growls at you. “I play my game right, I always come on top. I needed to earn their trust; our target had a price on his head and no one else could get as close as me. Well,” he pauses, “us.”

“I’m taking you in,” you grit your teeth, hands tight on the gun. You don’t even want to think about what he means by ‘their’ or his ‘game’. It was always word puzzles with this man—one second you had the right piece, and the next the entire picture had changed like sand in the waves of a tide.

“Are you really that torn up about a drug runner?” A scoff makes you hold back a snarl, but your resolve is shaking. This was a man you had trusted—now fast can something that was forged with steel break?

“He was just some filthy nobody, Hart.” Emmett starts walking into the crowd ahead of him, and in your mind you know if you take that shot you run the risk of shooting an innocent civilian. “I’ll be more than a nobody. Or a grunt soldier. People are going to know me.” 

Bodies flee quickly—screams. Mothers, children, husbands.

Kinsman smirks, and as your finger tightens on the trigger, he’s already swallowed by the hoard. 

“I’ll be seeing you.”

John and you sit in the safehouse, for a moment, surrounded by quiet and the smell of hot tea. One week in Denmark, and you have no leads. The other three are away, sleeping in the rooms down the hallway. 

“You’re still thinking about him,” John speaks up, eyes on you. It’s blunt, but that was just how he was. 

You peek your eyes open slowly, your body slouching in the chair and feet outstretched under the table. Your boot lightly touches John’s own. A long sigh exits your nose, grumbling on your tired lips. 

“John,” you level, drawing the name out like the years of your life. A thin warning. 

The man clenches his jaw slightly, bringing up his cup and taking a slow slip. You see the flesh of his throat bob with the liquid as it goes down, the overhead light of the kitchen only a single bulb of warm glow. 

“Been chasing him for years, Hart,” he says when the item is back to the woodgrain. Voice a deep murmur—a scrape of vocal chords. “We both have.”

“He knows too much,” you reply. “I can’t let him get away again. Strategies, operators, everything.” Your eyes shift as your head raises, blinking away the sleep in your glinting orbs. “For years he’s been under our nose, getting away with who knows what—”

“Hart,” your rant is interrupted, and you stop with a snap of your teeth. Blue eyes lock a concerned sheen to them. “Breathe.” 

Your face moves away, arms loosely crossed over your chest tensing. 

John’s body shifts to you, leaning forward until his elbows are resting on his knees. He stares, brows a line on his flesh. You send a swift glance, lips pulling. 

“...Stop that,” your voice murmurs, echoing off the walls of the kitchen. John blinks, not speaking as you move in your seat. The man tilts his head, a slow something making his lips go back slightly. Gradually, your face goes hotter, blinking at him a few times; sucked in like a fox to a trap. “John, quit it.”

“M’not doing anything, Love.” 

“Bullshit,” you try and glare at the looseness of his expression, his smirk that makes your gut tighten. Goosebumps move up your arms. “You’re a horror.”

A low chuckle wafts out, John shrugging casually before he leans back. 

He takes up his cup again and takes down the last of the remnants. “Go to sleep,” hits your ears as your pounding heart takes a breather. It’s a grumble on the air—not as much an order as it is a suggestion. “It’s late.” 

You decide to sip at your own drink as well, eyes drooping at the steam that wafts around your face, nose twitching to the scents. 

“You?” John hums, looking you up and down; seeing the fatigue you carry. You’d been relentless for the week you’d all been here, holding the few strings of the lead you had to your chest—five-fingered grasping with a desperate prayer to all things unholy.  

“I’ll be here.” You tilt your head his way, eyes still half-closed in your seat. Your answer is easy, pushed out in a slow sentence. 

“Then so will I.”

John sighs under his breath. It’s a moment before an exasperated chuckle moves through your earbuds. You smile, eyes slipping closed fully. 

Yet, they startle back open as the cup is taken from your hands, your chair moved back firmly. 

“Up you get, then,” John grunts, and his arms snake around you. Blinking quickly, your jaw is slack as you get taken up into a tight carry; John’s chest firm and your nose brushing the side of his chin. 

Air getting sucked into your lungs, you stifle a hitch in your breath. 

It’s only after he starts walking forward, hiking you farther up into him, and his fingers gliding over your clothes, that you start to relax. His heat seeps like a warm fire.

Head sagging to the side, you grumble into his neck as you miss his eyes looking down at you, eyes soft in a way only you would have been able to see. “Can walk, y’know.”

He hums, head shifting back to the hallway as he carries you to the last door on the right, bumping into the wood with his shoulder and shifting to walk in sideways so you don’t let your legs on the frame. 

“Remember Preu? 05’?” John asks you, moving over to the bed and setting you down slowly, a tiny huff exiting his mouth. Your body sinks into the mattress, head to the pillow as your hand comes up to rub at your eyes. The man moves to grab the blanket at the end of the bed—knowing your trained habit of sleeping atop the comforter on operations; not tangled up in sheets just in case. He slips off your boots. “Carried you two miles.”

“I recall it,” you grunt, a tired flicker coming to your lips. “Bleeding out and all.”

“Well,” John hums, quirking a brow. “Wasn’t about to let my Hart die on me. Blood was the least of my worries.” 

Your pulse flutters at the title, even if it’s just your codename and not the beating muscular organ inside of your breast. 

My Heart.

But it’s never that simple. 

A hand moves up your cheek, a kiss pressed to your forehead. 

The both of you already know you love each other. It wasn’t a secret. You were smart; eyes sharper than a blade—you caught the way he watched you, saw the softness of his expression, and felt the drag of his hand. Just as he caught the way you stayed beside him, an ever-present pair of eyes watching his six. The content nature that only you showed him. 

With feet so eager to leave at any moment, it said much that you chose to exist near him simply because you wanted to. 

You loved each other. 

Boil it down, and you’d both known even back in the Academy that it would be the two of you at the end of all things. The rivers said your name. The valleys rustled with the breeze of your breath. You saw John in the bits of water that sloshed the rocks and in the earth beneath your palms. 

Over the years you’d been apart, the yearning hadn’t been any less sharp—any less potent. In every birdsong, the echoes of the other's voice flew and disappeared on wingbeats. In everything that existed, there was a fraction of what should be. 

What should be. 

“John,” your voice is a whisper, nothing more than a rustle of a cloth. He keeps his lips to your forehead, resting there for a moment against all sense and responsibility. John’s eyes droop down, lashes resting on the swell of his cheeks. “You know I love you.”

He takes a breath. Rain is in the air—the movement of a storm’s wind. A leaving C-17. 

It’s a low mutter into your flesh.

“I know.” 

You grasp at his wrist, pulling lightly. Without a noise, John slips in beside you, kicking off his boots with a single clop of the soles to the wood and the movement of your blanket. He grunts, pushing his nose into your scalp, arms going around your middle. Your head slots under his chin, lips to his Adam’s apple.

The house is silent beyond the murmur of the pipes—the buzz of awaiting electricity. 

So many memories. So many lost dreams. It was akin to two skeletons lying in a grave of their own making, forever holding the bones of the other. Duty and honor are etched into the fractures. 

But he still holds you, he still murmurs into your ear, “Sleep, Love.”

“And you?” You ask, mirroring the conversation in the kitchen.

John’s lips move along your flesh, moving into a soft smile as he glances down at you. His beard scrapes you delicately.

“I’ll be here.”

Then it is here you’ll stay, dreaming of deer and the way nothing could compare to how he held you in his arms.

—

“I have eyes on,” your head snaps up, blankly staring ahead as your fingers hover over the hanging beads of a wind chime. You stand outside of a restaurant in the heart of Copenhagen. 

Laswell had sent in more eyes for the Task Force to use—local soldiers that knew the layout of the city better and where would be a good place to look. For days you’d been moving through the streets; far-off storage units and hidden buildings providing fruitless harvests. Anthony had said a warehouse, but that was panning out as nothing as well.

False information? Possibly, but unlikely. The man had been genuine in his pain and pleading, and it only served to confuse you more.

You had Gaz with you and five others, taking over as the leader of this fireteam while John headed the other with Johnny and Ghost. They were on the opposite side of the city, and you can’t help but compare this to the moment Emmett had become an enemy. 

But divide and conquer was the only option in times like these.

Emmett had become someone, just as he said he would. The man was in charge of supplying arms to terrorist organizations all over the world, and with his knowledge of how the SAS operates as well as any number of special forces, he’d utterly disappeared off the radar.

A wraith of lies and murder.

He had locations all over the globe with his goods, shipped out for money and power. 

And now you have a positive ID.

“Where are you,” your voice is hard and stiff, the body already moving back from the chime and leaving its little bits and bobs swinging. 

“Café down the street,” feet nearly locking together, you continue down the street to where you know Gaz’s last position was. “He’s just…sitting there.” A pause. “You want to know what it’s called in English, Ma’am?”

“The café?” your brows furrow, jogging across the street. 

“‘The Warehouse.’” Growling under your breath, you shake your head and send a curse into the air after a pause.

“I think the man thought he was clever,” Kyle’s voice is smooth and teasing. 

“Should have shot his other leg,” you grunt. “You told Laswell? John?”

“Negative, I’ll get on it—”

“I’ll do it,” you interrupt. “Tell the others to group up at your position and spread out to create a choke point; we can’t let him get away.”

“Rog. Will do.” 

You patch into John’s frequency.

“We have him,” you instantly breathe out. “Down Holbergsgade—café called ‘The Warehouse’.”

It’s swiftly that an answer hits you. “Get him surrounded, we’re coming.” 

Your heart is moving rapidly, fast in your chest as you pass people and business quickly. You didn’t like this—didn’t like the similarities, the…nostalgic dread that builds. A café of all places? Sitting down? Waiting?

It was so ironic it made alarm bells go off.

“John,” you lick your lips, glancing at faces as they pass. “I think he knows we’re here.”

“Explain.”

“A café?” John’s low grunt lets you know he understands. “Just sitting there? He knows—he’s not dumb enough to throw away all of his secrecy just as we so happen to get here and begin looking for him.”

“How sure are you?” The man takes your words into account, and you hear his breath puffing as he runs to your location. 

“Ninety,” you breathe. 

“Then I’m callin’ it off.” Your eyes widen, feet skidding as you come to a stop. 

You have no clue as to how far John will go to keep you safe—even if it means potentially letting one of the SAS’s highest HVTs go. There wasn’t anything that could compare to the thought of you getting in harm's way. Not you. 

John had spent his whole life watching soldiers die in the worst ways possible; they haunted his dreams and he knew they’d follow him to his grave—men he’d led down paths that they never should have been on. 

Not you. 

Losing you would break what little was left of him, the remnants held on by tape and sheer stubbornness. One of the last old faces he could still look at anymore; could draw comfort from in the thin hours. To hold and to love. 

You both knew you wouldn’t stand for it.

“No,” your voice cuts across, monotone. “I’m not allowing that.”

“Bloody hell, Hart, listen to me—do not,” John growls, making your spine tingle, “go after him. If he knows we’re fuckin’ here, we need to pull back and close off the area.”

You’re walking forward, that same pressure of a gun at the back of your spine. It was almost poetic. 

A thought sparks. Years of knowledge and understanding lighting up. 

Emmett was a snake. 

A snake that liked to play games and prove points; greed stuck into his brain for reasons you can’t quite say for certain. Even if you did catch him, he would never tell the locations of his goods or the buyers.

But there was one way to find out. One way this might turn.

“There’s a tracker in my arm,” you speak, growing more sure of your actions with every fast movement of your body. The café is just up the street, and a head of blonde hair is a knife to your vision. “I asked Laswell to insert and monitor it years back when I had to infiltrate a cell before I joined up with you again. Cautionary procedure since I had to forgo my rig and gear.”

A sharp bark. He knew what you were insinuating. “Hart!” You were going to get yourself taken hostage.

“Get Kate to watch it, John.” You move off his frequency before he can comment again, half of a roaring refusal cut off. Speaking to Gaz with a restricted throat, you say, “Kyle?”

“Right here, Ma’am.”

“Good. Don’t engage—I’m moving in.”

A stiff breath is taken in. “W…what was that?”

You don’t reply, only saying, “Whatever happens, I order you and the others to stay back, yeah?”

Your hand pulls the earpiece out and shoves it into your pocket right as you slip into the chair directly across from Emmett Kinsman. 

“Emmett,” you say in greeting, moving up a few fingers to a barista with a low call of your order. The individual nods and moves off before you lock on green eyes; they nearly make you flinch. 

You can only imagine what Gaz is telling John right now. 

Kinsman blinks at you, but he isn’t surprised. You were right.

“Hart,” the man smiles. His voice is still the same, though he looks older. “Pleasure seeing you again. Enjoying the sights of the city?”

“Not particularly,” you stare at him.

He chuckles, tilting his head before he brings his drink to his lips. He swallows and continues. 

“You always were serious. No fun.” You take the insult without any emotion, blinking at him slowly. What was his play?

“Why?”

“You already know why,” he shrugs, dressed in a nice suit. “I’ve made a name for myself—my name will be remembered for ages.” A twinkle in his eye. “SAS soldier turned weapon supplier; isn’t it exciting.”

“It’s a disgrace,” you lean forward, only stopping your voice from rising as a cup is placed down in front of you by the barista. 

Your face plasters a fake smile and you nod, moving it in front of you. Emmett watches with a smirk.

“I call it a change of heart.” He sighs, smirk simmering to a casual smile. “But I am glad to see you, you’ve been creating a big mess of things and I took it upon myself to have a meeting between us as old friends.”

“I’m not your friend,” you growl. “You’ve killed innocent people for no more than a fucking paycheck.”

“Well,” he snorts. “I don’t kill anyone. I’m the middle man—there’s a difference.”

Rage makes your eyes go to slits.

“And innocents, Sweet Thing?” Emmett leans in closer, face so smug and open you want to pull your weapon on him and worry about the consequences later. “What do I call what you do then?”

“A necessary evil,” you huff. “One I carry on my shoulders just like every other soldier does. One that was far better than supplying terrorists.”

Kinsman shrugs, moving back and picking up his drink, swirling it. “If you say so.” He hums. “You have to try the pastries here, you know. They’re very good.”

“I know you’re here because you expected us to find you, what I can’t figure out is why you broke your cover in the open instead of turning yourself in.” You look around at the faces in the outdoor seating, studying them trying to pinpoint if they’re civilians or in league with Kinsman. “Tell me before I decide to shoot you right here and now and end this regardless of hidden goods.”

“You already tried that, Hart,” Emmett laughs. “Pointing a gun at me didn’t work last time.”

“I’m not going to use a gun,” you ease out. “I’m going to take the butter knife on the table and slit your throat.”

“Uncivilized,” Emmet grumbles, frowning at the silver object near your hands. “It isn’t even sharp.”

“Good.” Green eyes narrow, unimpressed. He sighs, fingers moving in an outward gesture of exasperation. 

“If you must know before the main finale, I wanted to bring you here to say that I’m thoroughly impressed with your drive.” You try to stave off the shock in your stomach at the words coming out like a charmer’s flute. Raising a slow brow, you’re caught off guard. Emmett chuckles. “You nearly caught me at several instances throughout our game of cat and mouse. Many times I forget who the assigned roles were even given to; I’m telling you that I had fun.”

You stare, face tight. 

Emmett hums and his eyes go to slits. 

“But every game has to come to an end. I’m growing tired of it.”

The building across the street erupts into a great ball of fire.

—

John hears the explosion in the air, the shockwave that leaves his body halting to look into the sky in time to see black smoke.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “Fuck!” 

He rushes into the panicked crowd, memories stuck in his head and a bone-deep fear he’d been feeling since you cut the connection in your earpiece. Gaz had been relaying to him what was going on action for action—a football game, only the difference was that your life was on the line. 

“Kate,” John shouts. “Get the authorities down here now! We have an explosion on Holbergsgade.”

“Explosion?” The woman’s voice is sharp and disbelieving. “What’s going on—”

“Hart’s in the bloody crossfire, there’s no time!” John’s face is tight, wind whipping past his ears as screams fly on the wind; crying. “The fool is trying to get herself taken fucking hostage for intel!”

Whatever else was said was lost to the wind—Gaz comes over the line, calling to him in a panic as Johnny and Simon join in. 

“The entire building just went up in—”

“Fucking Christ—”

“Price, what is this?”

“All of you get down here!” John sprints past people on the ground, ripping his gun out of the back of his waistband. There’s no arguing. 

When the Captain turns the last corner, carnage greets him. 

The building across from the café was reduced to nothing but rubble and a still-burning flame. Eyes wide, John only looks at it for a few moments, too preoccupied with you.

Where were you? 

His jaw clenches, eyes burning with rage. Such a perfect soldier yet such a flawed sense of teamwork, he had a feeling you’d try something like this—had left Gaz with you for that very reason. Fuck he should have been at your side. He should have known. 

A low grumble moves through his lips, head snapping all around. There are bodies on the ground. Blood pooling under thick building material—fabric in the breeze. 

“Hart!” John yells, running to the café and seeing the remnants of a fast fight. 

The Captain’s heart drops to his feet, face burning with hellfire so much that a sheen comes to his cheek. His hand moves out to touch the handle of a butter knife that had been slammed into the table now half-fallen over, eyes stuck on only one thing on the ground under it.

Through the wails and the call of sirens, the man stares at the two long fingers sitting in the dust.

Never in his life had he felt a fear like this.

—

“I wanted to be kind about this,” Emmett fiddles with the wrappings of his bandaged left hand, only three fingers remaining. “I was going to make it quick.”

You’re locked in a cell-like room, head to the side and blood leaking out of a cut face. Burns travel up your arm, the sticky puss leaking out only serving to make you shiver. You don’t know where you are—don’t know what happened after you severed Kinsman’s fingers with that knife.

But you know the pain isn’t something that you haven’t already gone through before. 

Your voice is hoarse but firm as it leaks out of you, vision spotty. You’d been thrown in here after a ride in the trunk of a car. The ground is concrete. 

“...Don’t make me laugh.”

Emmett growls, eyes wide with hatred. 

“Pathetic!” He barks eyes looking you over with disgust. “Look at what you did to my hand!”

His other hand connects with the bars of the cage, producing a metal ringing sound as you push yourself up with one arm, eyelids flinching in pain. Sitting up, your body falls back to the wall behind it, and you grunt when the air in your lungs is expelled. You lick at your dust-coated lips, your head ringing and your focus failing. Concussion. 

“Least of your worries,” you roll your jaw, a wave of pain making your body seize up and your hands tense with quivering shakes. Your mouth opens with sharp pants. Bile pools in the base of your throat. 

It’s nothing. 

John will come soon. The tracker. If Laswell can get it working again, you’d be out of here and you would have whatever this location turns out to be and the intel that it can offer you—computer databases would be a one-and-done game. You would get names, coordinates, and buyers. It could all be over. 

Your clothes are melted into your skin, and when you move, they peel away with the remnant of your epidermis. The flesh of your left thigh and arm had taken the worst of it—and the cut from flying debris over your left cheek hasn’t stopped bleeding. 

Blood drips from it, and a loud ache makes your head pound all the worse. 

You’ve gone through worse.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Emmett snarls, the crimson bandages thick over his hand. “But it isn’t a problem,” he says, moving his other hand to slick back his hair. “It isn’t a problem,” the man utters again. “You’re going to help me. Yes…I’ve made up my mind. I need you to understand why I do the things I do.” 

Your brows furrow, but above this burning in your head, it’s hard to understand what’s being said to you. Shadows move and Emmett orders one of his men to open the cell door.

You fight the black dots at the sides of your vision, leaking until you’ve accepted the reality of yourself going unconscious. As your body slouches to the side, hands ruthlessly grasp under your arms and drag you to your feet. 

“Everyone has a breaking point.”

—

“What do you mean,” John glares at Laswell, his arms crossed over his chest; hands tightly grasping at his biceps. “You can’t find her?”

“The tracker was old, John,” the woman tries to explain, furiously typing at her computer that rests on the table in front of her—her spine bent over as the rest of the One-Four-One stay in a limbo of anxious looks. “To get it working again, it would need something to restart it. I don’t know if you can see,” Kate’s eyes are hard as they lock with his, “but I can’t do anything if she’s not here first.”

“Well of course she’d not bloody here Laswell, fucking Kinsman has her!” He shouts, hands moving out in a display of aggression. 

“Captain,” Kate rises to the challenge, hand moving flat to the table and glaring with the heat of a thousand missiles. “Do not take that tone with me.” 

John snarls and jerks his head away, feet on the ground trading weight. 

The man was borderline feral—all snapping teeth and sharp glances. Gaz had seen him like this only a handful of times, MacTavish even fewer. Ghost, of course, knew, but even his brown eyes wouldn’t leave his Captain, absorbed in the way he was unable to stay still for even a moment. He was in full gear, too. Had put it on directly after returning to a local base. 

John was ready to go to war, down to the rifle that swung from a strap at his side, the ammunition stuffed to his chest—sidearm at his thigh. A rabid dog with intelligence and the knowledge of where teeth needed to be applied to a neck for a clean kill. Simon doubted he wanted it to be clean.

John was ready to rip people to pieces. 

“Give me something,” the Captain says in a low growl, beard shifting. “Give me what I need.”

Kate splays her hands. “All we have is surveillance of a car leaving the area—the smoke covers all chances of the drone we had flying picking up a clear picture. John,” Laswell eases, standing up, “there’s only so much we can do. We need to wait—”

“We can’t bloody wait,” Gaz speaks up, “What’ll he do to her in the meantime?”

“Garrick’s right, we need to be on the ground with this.” Johnny nods, mohawk bobbing. “That’s one of our own—we’re not sitting around with our thumbs up our arses, Laswell. Not with Hart.”

Simon blinks, humming. Laswell’s eyes shift to him, near pleading for one to be on her side with this and see sense. Ghost shrugs. “I’m with them. Hart’s one of our own; we’ll do what needs to be done.”

John’s chest swells with pride while his eyes get stuck on your file on the table, your printed picture, and your black ink—he’d never loved an image more, but nothing could beat the real thing. He needed you back. He’d gone through hell with you for his entire life; you’d suffered with him and only locked your hands together and held on tighter. 

That was love—that was duty.

John Price wasn’t against skewing his morals for the sake of your safety. You would always be his most important mission. The man didn’t want to think about what might happen if he found you too late.

“Give me the video of the vehicle,” he grunts, jaw tight and his eyes beady. His body slightly leans forward to Kate, love going lower. “Or I’m going out there myself.” 

Laswell frowns tightly at him. 

“I just sent it into forensics—they’re trying to get a match. Go out if you want, but I won’t be able to stop the firestorm that comes out of it.”

She closes her laptop and moves past him, sending one last comment into the stone man as he towers ever taller.

“She’s strong, John. If you’re smart, you’ll keep yourself out of the crossfire until we have a definitive hit.” 

Her voice echoes from behind him as his hands slowly move to clench into knuckle-whitening fists.

“If Kinsman gets a tip we’re still onto him—you’ll never see Hart again.”

—

Day Three:

Your days start blending. One moment you hear the snapping of your bones, and then the next you’re wasting away in this cell—ears ringing and eyes buggy. So much blood. Blood on the walls—blood on the chair they strap you into in the other room; even stuck in the groves of your flesh. 

You don’t think you can stop closing your eyes and seeing a deer at the bottom of a bridge drop-off. It’s stuck in your head like a virus; those car lights in the back of your mind just waiting for you. 

There’s no sense as to what they do to you—all its purpose is, is to prove a point to Emmett. A sort of broken retribution for your interference and his fingers. 

Vain man, really. You’d told him as much when he was watching you get your own finger torn off my pliers; spit it at him as the blood from your bitten tongue stayed his suit. You remember the feeling of the knuckle popping first, and then the burning heat of the flesh being twisted to the side. Two firm yanks and the flesh had sprung like elastic, fissuring, the tendon snapping. 

You think you blacked out after that, but you can’t be sure. All you remember doing is screaming. 

You woke up with your left pinkie finger completely gone, resting outside in the hallway to mock you from past the bars. Your eyes could see the bone sticking out of it, and all that was left on you was a badly cauterized stump. 

When Emmett had come to gloat, you started slurring out laughter. 

“I’m going to rip you apart.” Your broken body had jerked back and forth like a marionette doll, only succeeding in spreading more red over the floors as green eyes widened and went dumbfounded. 

It sounded like a choking fish.

All he’d done was left, quickly passing the pinkie left limp on the ground.

Day five:

You can’t move your body as they dump you back into the chair—the drain below you flooded over with crimson and bits of hair; vomit and torn-off fingernails. You’re unable to open your eyelids fully. 

A hand grasps at your face, yanking it up into the overhead light until a bucket of water is dumped directly over your head. Your body jerks, coughing and darting forward until you’re shoved to the back of the chair and the rope is tied around the front of your shoulders, the second at your wrists.

Trying to suck down air, you shiver with the strength of an earthquake. Whoever said that they would never be afraid while being tortured was a liar; whoever thinks that they would be able to push through it—a fraud. Emmett was right, everyone had a breaking point.

But you admitted yours would only come after your death.

Your legs are seized, bent up as you hiss as well as you’re able, teeth snapping. 

They’re dumped back down into a bucket of ice-cold water as droplets drip from your nose—wet skin for the moment only holding streaks of gore. Even with your scattered mind, you know what this means. 

Heart tight and eyes widening, you try to push back in the chair; try to fight the rope and the way your body won’t respond. 

A battery is rolled up beside you on a metal cart. Jumper cables. 

There’s a low chuckle at the way your face goes fearful. 

—

John shoves open the door to Laswell’s temporary office, already talking before it hits the far wall. 

“Do we have her?” His hands move beside him, brushing the grip of his sidearm. He hadn’t been out of his full gear for more than five minutes in days. Waiting day and night for any word; sleeping in it, eating in it. The forensics team had been stumped, unable to get more than a model out of the picture. 

But this might finally give him something to act on. 

Kate is moving, grabbing documents and her laptop, speeding past him and out of the door. 

“Kate!” John shouts, following after. “Hey,” he calls, grabbing at her arm to stop her. 

The woman only halts to say, quickly, “We have a hit. Follow me.”

John’s heart is rampaging, pulse wild under his skin as his gloved hands twitch. Finally. He can only smoke so many cigars—only think of so many scenarios until he feels he needs to vomit. You’d been gone for too long. Every moment had been like trying to walk with a cloth over his head; lost. 

He’d grown stiff. Stiffer than normal. Everyone had seen it.

“Where is it, then?” John asks as Laswell pushes open the door to the meeting room, the other three already inside.

“A property outside of Copenhagen—bought through a proxy on a fund that was linked to blood money in South America; it all went directly back to Kinsman. It was found only ten minutes ago.” A pause. Electricity in the air. “But that’s not how we found it.”

“How,” Simon asks, moving closer. 

John gives the woman his full undivided attention, hands moving to rest at his collar in a soothing gesture. 

“Her tracker came back on.” Eyes go wide, all sharing rapid glances as Kate opens her laptop and opens a man, turning the device for them to see. “Same location.”

Johnny blinks, his eyes narrowing. “And what does that mean?”

“That can’t have just done that by itself,” Gaz mutters, brown eyes sliding over to John who’s stiller than a wolf. The Sergeant pauses. 

His eyes are dead set on that screen. His thighs were so tense it was nearly like the Captain was about to sprint out of the room. Kyle’s face goes blank at that, never quite seeing the extent that your disappearance had on the man. His superior had bags under his eyes; far more pale than usual. His apparel was ruffled, too. Even in the more serious of situations, the Sergeant had never seen John so…out of it. He was always the one with the even head, even if he had a short fuse with certain things. Nothing was ever done without thought, he should say. 

But this is something else. 

“Torture,” Simon gives his two cents and John’s cheek twitches at the word. “Electrocution. They jump-started it and didn’t even know.” 

“Bloody Jesus,” John breathes. Everyone had already had a hunch, but no one had wanted to name it. 

It’s a low rumble that makes the rest of them freeze, though. It was so dead in tone that it even made Kyle’s spine lock up; Johnny’s eyes went a smidgen upward. Simon, although his face was covered, felt his lips twitch.

John looks at nothing but that dot on the computer screen.

“Am I green, Laswell?”

Kate looks at John. It’s like setting a hellhound loose. 

“You’re green, Captain.”

—

You’re tossed into the cell and your body rolls along the floor, bouncing and flinching until your back slams into the wall. Air is forced from your lungs, coming out in a loud grunt before you land on your stomach in a heap. Staying there, your nerves are fried. 

Every moment you think the twitching of your fingers will stop—the dance of your muscles responding to the aftereffects of electrocution, it only starts back up again. Your eyes blink rapidly; your clothes have the scent of smoke to them. 

Gasping for breath, you feel like you’re drowning and being set on fire all at once. 

Yet the question in your head was a simple one, one you’d been asking for days.

Where was John?

Emmett enters the cell, clicking his tongue as the metal hinges squeak. 

“I’m not surprised it’s taking this long,” he explains. “But I am surprised you’re still alive, admittingly.” 

A boot comes out and places itself atop your shoulder, pressing down slowly until its full weight is on top of you. Your mouth opens in a shuddering sound of a dying animal, blood dripping from your ears and nose. 

“I know you’ve taken torture before—even taken a part of it,” Kinsman sighs. “But, shit Hart, you really do scare me when I know you’re strong enough to get through th—”

Your body jolts up, grappling Emmet’s leg and twisting it to the side. Regardless of pain—of agony—there’s such primal rage inside of you that what little adrenaline you can bring forth is all that more addictive. 

The man collapses in a heap, gasping, but you’re already on top of him, wrestling your hand to his neck, missing finger and all. Blood moves, staining his precious suit and dripping from your mouth into his hairline. You bare down your weight on him, teeth clenched and eyes wild—one orb holding nothing but red from burst veins and the other full of a vicious gleam of ferality. 

Hands snap up to your wrists, mouth opening in flapping panic. 

But Emmett has grown weak; he’s out of practice. All of those years out of the SAS, giving up on the training of the body to match the mind. The idiot wasn’t even carrying a gun when he walked into the cell of a charging stag, its antlers dripping gore, sharper than any knife. 

When the flaps of his eyes fall there’s no gloating speech—there’s no snort of a tall and proper victor. All you do is take the front of his face, grasp it, and start sending his skull back into the concrete floors. 

Crack.

…Crack.

….Crack.

Only when the sound of his head breaking open meets your ringing ears, do you force your wheezing lungs to take a large breath. 

Emmet Kinsman died as he lived. 

A fucking piece of shit.

“Fuck you,” you spit on his corpse, saliva bloody; his jaw is loose as you release the man’s face, eyes bulging. Falling to the side, you groan in pain, your body curling into itself until you resemble a sleeping fawn. You’re shaking more and more with every second, coughing with the force of an earthquake until your shredded vocal chores force you to stop. 

But the brain is a funny thing. 

In times of danger, survival is the only thing that takes priority. It was why, in a long shove of your hand to the floor, with your bones creaking and your vomit meeting the ground, you’re able to stand. It isn’t enough to help you heal the snapped bone of your right leg, however, and in a steadily failing stupor, you drag it behind you. In this state, nothing else matters to you besides a simple command: get out.

Your shoulder slaps the metal of the cell as you stumble out of it, careening into the far wall and letting out a loud shout. 

Eyes fluttering, you connect your temple to the cool concrete, trying to breathe. 

It hurts too much, your mind says. God, I can’t feel my limbs. 

A long trail of blood follows you down the hallway as you slide along the wall, using it as a brace. 

You want to see John, you whisper inside of your head. You want to be held by him—be taken into his chest; cared for away from all of this fighting. 

A trip back to Herefordshire with him, to go deep into the country together; rest in the green grass where no one can find you for just a few good hours. It didn’t have to be forever, you would say. Just a few hours. A few hours of sky and earth wrapped in a time loop of just your own. 

You want to kiss him there. In the open, out in the wild. You want to stay by his side, your mind thinks as you stumble over the three dead bodies in the left corridor, bullet wounds in their heads. You want to be by his side forever, no more gaps in years, not more longing. It’s so close you can nearly reach out and grasp it—

Your name is yelled on a heavy breath, and hands capture your shoulders as you fall straight into them with no more strength.

Blue eyes lock with yours as you’re hurriedly settled to the ground, body limp and eyes trying to stay open. 

Blue eyes on a grassy hill.

“Hart, fucking hell.” Hands move your body, pressing and sliding—finding every opening and spreading blood like water. “Fucking hell! Hey!”

You’re yelled at, and the ripping of pouches and the familiar sound of bandages being wrapped come to the back of your brain. A hand shakes your head, locked under your chin as you take slow, broken, breaths. 

“Please, fuck sake, please,” it’s a desperate growl, so familiar and yet a world away. Your body is moved and manipulated as every leaking wound is packed with so much gauze it hangs out of you like you’re a mummy. The burns along your flesh are crust and infected, open skin peeling back. 

But the pain is lesser now. Easier to manage. 

There’s such a ruckus that it’s hard to focus on John—the man on the hill. In the grass and the wind. Brown hair moves in the breeze as white clouds roll past. On the air, there’s the scent of rain, and in the far distance, you can see a group of ten deer grazing, ears twitching.

Maybe you’ll ask them if they blame their leader, or the two trucks on the end of a bridge.

“Keep your eyes on me!” You blink into John’s tiny blues, that mist rolling back. You stare for a moment as he frantically screams into his radio; night vision rig on his head and all-black gear covering him from you. His face is pale, his eyes glossy. “Look at me, hey,” he blinks as he notices you watching, surging forward. “Hey, keep 'em open, yeah? You keep them fucking open, Love.” 

Your chest is heavy. 

“John,” you push out a flicker coming to your lips as your vision slightly unblurs itself to the sight of a flood of blood on the man’s body—an unimaginable amount.

“I’m ‘ere,” his accent grows deeper with emotion, one hand holding your cheek and the other at your shoulder, keeping you still to stop any additional damage. “I’ve got you, you understand me? I’m not letting you go, so don’t you think that I will.” 

It’s a double-edged sword.

A smile peels back your chapped lips, red running from the corner of your mouth. You glance at his stained gear again. The abyss swirls at the corners of your eyes.

“Is that your blood, or mine, John Price?” 

You hear him scream for a medic, and then it all goes numb.

—

You dream of deer on a hill, but every time you search for John, he isn’t there. You go past rivers—

“She’s dropping!”

“Get me the defibrillator!”

—past copses. Your voice goes high and low, but all the while you look, there’s nothing but a nagging feeling in the back of your head that you shouldn’t be here.

“Again!”

It’s a strange nagging, truly. Like falling asleep in the middle of the day and waking up in the night without any remembrance of what had happened prior. A displacement of the mind. 

“We’ve got a pulse, Doctor, do we stop and—”

“No, I need to finish off the internal bleeding or else she won’t make it another day. Get me the cauterizer, now.”

You blink and grip your chest, a sudden pain sharp in your heart as the grass moves about your ankles. Coughing, you bend over, your eyes fluttering rapidly. In the deepest part of your eardrum, you hear a murmur of a voice you can’t place.

“The man came back, again. He’s been out there for days. He just…sits there, waiting until someone tells him something. He can’t come in, and I’m sorry about that. I’m sure hearing his voice would help more than mine, but you’re in too much of an unstable condition for that. If you get another infection, you won’t…hm, I shouldn’t talk about that. Everyone in school said only to talk positively to patients when they’re like this. I…I’m sure he’ll be able to come in soon. I think everyone calls him John if that rings a bell?”

“John?” Your eyes flutter open, sharp light above you making you snap them back closed. No one answers. 

It’s a long moment before you find the strength to breathe in the oxygen from the mask over your face, taking a long and deep inhale before a slight cough makes your abdomen tight. You flinch at the pull of stitches, all coming from so many places, that it’s unwise to move too much. 

Gradually, you open back up your eyes, pushing past the sting. Inside of your throat, the skin is so dried out you can feel it cracking at every articulation of your words. 

“Where's…John?” When you shift your head to the side, no one’s there. No one’s even in the room, either.

Blinking through the haze, your lips twitch on your face, skin tight. With a slap of your weak hand, you grasp the oxygen mask and pull it down to your neck, grunting in mild annoyance at the medicated numbness of your form. 

Your leg is in a cast—and your left side is tightly bound by wrappings to hide away the burns where skin grafts most likely live. With a glance, you see the missing pinky and the bandages that cover the strange remnants. 

The facial wound will scar, you know, but right now it’s patched over and healing. That’s all you can ask for. 

Sighing long, you blink slowly at the ceiling, licking your lips. You need water.

Outside, the murmurs are missed to you as your unmarred hand reaches for the nightstand table, where a half-drunk bottle of water sits next to a tray of food. Even if your stomach rumbles, water takes precedence. Your throat was like the Sahara desert.

“Forget something, John?”

“Bloody fork. The bastard gave me the slip. Dropped mine, needed to go back and grab another.”

“Oh, that’s alright—you could have asked one of us to get one for you. We’d hate for you to miss any time for visiting hours.”

“It’s fine; gets me moving, eh?”

“Just grab us if you need anything else!”

A low grunt is accented by the opening of the door; immediately you tense and pause, neck fighting itself to shift forward once more.

Wide blues lock with your own, and it’s like every pain fades away. 

John’s jaw is slack hidden under the layers of his beard bristles, brows going atop his head in an instant. The sound of a dropping metal utensil echoes through the room. 

You both stare at one another for a long time, and the murmur of nurses accumulates to some peaking through the crack; their expressions also going to shock. A few scurry off, probably to get a doctor. 

“What?” Your hoarse voice asks, unnerved by this. 

At the sound of your voice, John flinches forward on his boots. The nurses get shut out with beaming faces as the barrier closes with a small click of metal.

Walking to the side of your bed, John clears his throat, eyes looking you up and down in two glances. A million things are hidden in them. After an opening and closing of his mouth, which you watch closely while squinting, he speaks.

“How are we feeling, then?” You breathe slowly and in tiny puffs. John looks at the oxygen mask as if telling you to put it back on, but you refuse for a moment. 

“Like shit,” you utter, voice cracking.

With a huff, John pushes away your reaching hand and gets the water himself, unscrewing it. Bringing it to your lips, you take it down as he speaks.

“Easy, Love.” 

When you’d had your fill and the ache settled, you brought a hand to your head and rubbed at your injured cheek before John sighed and grabbed at it, intertwining his fingers with yours and lowering the limb back to your chest.

You stare at him, and he stares at you. 

“I don’t know what to ask,” you confess. 

“You don’t have to ask anything,” John mutters, and his face is tight with worry. “You’ve been in a coma for three weeks, all you need to do is ease back into it.”

Your eyes snap back.

“Tell me if it hurts,” He speaks slowly, moving on one word at a time so the realization doesn’t dwell in your brain. “I can get someone to come in, yeah?”

Your hand in his burns, and John pulls at the chair by the nightstand until he’s able to sit down in it fully with a tiny grunt.

“No,” you say, “no, it’s…I’m fine.”

Better now that you’re here, but your body is tense. Three weeks?

“Just need to take it easy,” the man states, thumb running up and down your knuckles. “You’ll be better soon.”

A dry look is sent his way, and he hides a soft quirk on his lips. “You’ll be better, Love.”

You hum, head moving back more heavily into the pillow. 

“When do I get to go back?”

“When you’re healed,” he grunts. “Not a fuckin’ moment sooner.”

“We get anything on the other locations of the—”

“Hart,” you’re interrupted. Blue eyes stare at you heavily, digging past every shield you’d put up and every fear. What happened was still heavy in your mind; it pained you to imagine it, even the way John had found you—even if it was all glimpses. “Slow down. That’s not an order coming from a soldier, it’s a caution from an old friend.” John says, squeezing your flesh. His other hand comes to your shoulder, sitting there heavily. 

“Breathe,” he orders, face gruff. “We always figure it out.” 

You close your eyes and sigh, frowning. 

A low chuckle moves along the air a second later. 

“Never sit down, do you?” A flicker dances over your lips like a butterfly. “Impossible, you are.”

“You’re one to talk,” you huff, eyes shifting back to him. 

He’s smiling at you, and you can’t help but mirror it right back at the sight. Your facial injury pulls and tightens, but you would welcome an ache like that for as long as it stayed. A scar born of the stretch of lips is one well-earned. Only John could ever make it a reality.

The man stares at your lips, his wide build eager to stay over you in this state. He can’t stop himself from caressing your skin; to feel you alive and breathing. Talking.

“Scared me,” John admits under his breath. 

You blink, your smile fading slowly until it was like it was never there. Your body builds with guilt; also something only he could bring. “I’m sorry, John.” 

A small thinning of his lips is what you get, accented by a hum. 

“Hart,” he grunts. “I…”

John’s eyes closed for a moment before opening back up—spearing you with their gaze. Your tired eyes crinkle in confusion.

“What is it?” Over the tingle of your flesh from where he touches you, it isn’t hard to forget the world is around you when he’s here like this. You’re nearly trapped by his eyes, yet you welcome it eagerly. His voice moves out, accent and natural gravel, all. 

“I love you.” 

Your nose lets a chuff exit. Was that all?

“I love you, too, John—”

“No, Hart,” he pushes slightly harder, moving closer and licking his lips as he glances away. “No,” John looks you dead in the eye as you lay here battered and broken within an inch of your life—a risk that you took willingly as if it had meant nothing. The both of you weren’t new to this; you both knew that on any day you or he would do it over and over again until it resulted in death. That was the way of this game; this trial. 

You had both always been content with that, but when had it changed? 

Why was the thought of losing you more fear-invoking than anything else he’d ever encountered?

You watch him as his lips utter the words, lips close to yours and your eyes locked. 

“I love you.” 

Your voice is caught in your throat, stuck in the throws of a quick gasp. Not blinking, the man waits for you—waits for an answer to the earth-shattering confession. But it all came far easier than you would ever admit to anybody besides him. It was already known, after all. 

All that remained was the pesky words.

“I love you, too.” You beam, words low with intimacy. “I think I always have.”

John chuckles, a large smile pushing at his reddening cheeks. “Good,” he nods, clearing his throat. “Good,” he says again. “Well, I—”

You softly connect your lips with his, and you feel him pause, breathing you down for a moment as hearts beat at the same tempo. He sighs, one hand coming up to capture your cheek, holding it there for you as you sag into it and live in this everlasting moment. 

It’s there you had a revelation.

It was never Hart to him. John had never been calling you that. 

He’d always just been saying Heart.

You breathe out a laugh, when you separate, beaming in a happiness you thought was long gone from you—stolen in the dark nights and sold through even darker deeds. Neither of you was worthy of this, of the love that breeds in broken things. Yet, here it is regardless. Here, among blood and the blue eyes of a man you’d known since knowing anything became important. You had always known it was John. And finally, finally, finally.

“I would marry you in an instant, John Price,” you breathe when you separate, not weak enough to stop the words from exiting from the deepest part of your soul.

His crinkled eyes watch, reverently gazing at every blemish and mark; everything he could learn new again. John’s eyes are as soft as you ever imagined them to be, and he gives them over freely to you.

He kisses you again and leaves the taste of his heavy, happy, chuckle tingling across your lips.

“Seems I’d better get on that, then.”

A/N: This fic is strangely nostalgic for me even if I just wrote it - I remember the first ever fic I posted on here was a rescue fic, as well as a John Price fic; it's amazing to see how far I've come in regards to overall content/story building and how my understanding of the character has evolved. This might not be the best work I've posted on my blog, but I'm glad to say I'm proud of myself and how far I've come. It's so wonderful that I can have this feeling for such a big moment and still feel so drawn back to the past at the same time. Totally not tearing up at the thought rn.

Thank you all very much for your support.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting , @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

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[gglitch1dd]

Well... aren't you a pretty doll?

Army soldier Midoriya Izuku x Secretary Reader

Context: You accidentally spill your soda on a man and he's smitten right away.

Note: Just a fluffy meet-cute. Set in the 1950s.

[PART 2]

“Well you know what they say, Midoriya, you can’t drop your eggs and cry about it too.” Iida commented as the group of men sat down in the diner. It was late in the evenings when the group of them had decided to sit down and share a meal before going back to their own barracks.

Bakugou shook his head with a tsk. “Yoshida had no right to tell me to do all those drills when I wasn’t even the one talkin’.” He stated with a clear dislike for their leading Colonel. He scowled as he sipped on his cola. “Next time I see the fucker, I’ll knock him right in the jaw.”

“Well I seriously doubt that, Kacchan.” Midoriya stated with a laugh as he leaned back in his seat. He had his jacket off, allowing him to lean back freely in the cushioned boof chair. He couldn’t deny that he enjoyed being off the clock, having time out with his friends made life all the more marrier.

Kirishima chuckled. “Not with the way Colonel was staring him down, he aint.” The large man motioned to the blond making him roll his eyes.

Midoriya shook his head as he stood up out of the boof. “Heading to the john, I’ll be right-”

Suddenly he was knocked right in the chest making him take a step back and grabbing whoever it was who fell into his arms. A glass of cola toppled on the tray and landed right on his shirt, trickling down his front. “Oh dear me! I’m so sorry, sir.” A hurried voice came out of the woman who stood in his arms. She shook her head furiously. “I tripped over someone’s foot and-”

Suddenly the most beautiful eyes were staring up at him. Your eyes. Midoriya paused as he looked down at you, his eyes wide at the sight of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. You were dressed in a pretty little pencil skirt and a button down short shirt. You looked so put together and pristine and it honestly almost made the man blush.

He stared down at you with wide stricken green eyes, the most beautiful you had ever seen in your life. His hair was slicked back and combed to perfection, typical of army regulation and he wore long pants and a button down as well. You could tell he was a soldier as were most men in the diner here in this army town.

“My, my, my…” His voice let out in disbelief as he stared down at you. “Aren’t you a pretty little doll?” He said more to himself than to you, his eyes looking over your form as you stood still against him.

You perked up at the compliment, feeling your face burn. You took a step back away from him. “I’m so sorry.” You bowed at the waist to him. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Midoriya smiled. “There’s no harm done. A little wet but my pride wasn’t bruised.” He assured you. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?” He asked you referencing to the diner.

You looked down with a blush letting out a soft laugh. “Well, sir I work here.”

“In the diner?” He asked shocked. He looked over your outfit once more, noticing your pretty heels. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a formal waitress.”

You laughed at the mistake. “No, I work in town. I’m a secretary. I am here with my friends.” You told him, motioning to a group of women nearby at a boof who were spying on you but quickly looked away at the sight of Midoriya’s eyes on them.

He scoffed before turning to look down at you. “You’re a secretary?”

You nodded your head dutifully, a customary bow of the head showing that you were trained well in your job especially when it came to interacting with army men. You tilted your head. “Why do you ask? Is it so surprising?  You wanted me to be something else?”

“Well no. On the contrary, I think a smart woman like yourself that can handle a job is stronger than you lead on.” His words surprised you, making your eyebrows raise. Of course you would likely never get a job like any of the men could but you were glad with what you had. He smiled down at you. “It’s an honour to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” He bowed at the waist. “I am Corporal Midoriya Izuku.” He introduced himself.

Your eyes widened at the ranking. You looked at him rather impressed before chuckling. “Well Corporal, thank you for your understanding. If there is any way I could repay you…”

Midoriya straightened up, putting his hands in his pockets. “How about you allow me to take you out dancing?” He asked with an eased smile. “On Friday. Me and the guys are heading to the pub.”

You glanced at his group of friends who all were quietly watching the exchange as well. You chuckled and turned around, “How could I say no to that?” You asked rhetorically as you took your semi-empty cup back to your table.

“Wait. What’s your name, doll?” He asked

You turned back to look at him and he was sure you had captured his heart right then and there. With your body perfectly highlighted by your uniform and your eyes locked on him, he could have drowned in your eyes. “L/N Y/N.” You revealed to him.

“Well I’ll see you on Friday, Miss L/N.” He nodded his head to you. You nodded your head with a barely contained smile as you scurried away from him.

He watched you for a moment, wondering why he had never seen you at headquarters before and which lucky man had you working for him. He of course, was not yet paid enough to know everything about everyone, but he made sure that he did. If he wanted to rise up the ranks he had to impress people, but he had never been so spun before.

He turned to look at the guys with a surprised look.

Sato let out a laugh as he leaned back, a toothpick in his mouth. “Look at you, Casanova.” He motioned to Izuku. “You got yourself a little miss.”

He shook his head with a chuckle. “Oh no… not yet.”

-Glitch1d

#izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #deku #deku x reader #izuku fluff #izuku midoriya fluff #mha izuku #mha x y/n #bnha #midoriya x reader #midoriya x reader fluff #deku fluff #deku x reader fluff

[soullessdianthus]

Could we get some pervy soap or ghost 👀👀

You got me hooked on pervy Konig 🥵

A/N: Your wish has been granted. (≖⌣≖)

Warnings: cocky, playboy MacTavish who is possessive af (he has no shame), nsfw (choking?, ass slapping, exhibitionism, shower sex, masturbation, creampie, rough sex as punishment)

My requests are open for I don’t know how long (as I have a lot of work lately)! ٩(^ᗜ^)و Just please read the disclaimer (pinned post)! Send requests HERE ✉︎

✧°. John was a pretty popular guy in his school years. And he knew he was quite handsome too, so he never really complained about the lack of girl’s attention. Things got a little different when he enrolled in the British military. 

✧°. As he reached his twenties, Johnny wasn’t satisfied with teasing all these other recruits in a hall or a canteen. Especially, because it rarely ended with sex, almost never. He was a busy man with loads of obligations around the base. It could be certainly said that he changed a little and grew out of the playboy phase. 

✧°. For a while at least.

✧°. But the lack of previously mentioned intimacy almost drove him nuts. Perv!Soap was a simple man, he just needed to blow off some steam, you know?

✧°. Then one lucky day, a group of new recruits came into the training grounds and you certainly got his attention. A pretty thing that smiled to him as you walked by Sergeant MacTavish. 

✧°. Johnny felt like his veins were flooding with testosterone again, the mere sight of your curves, made his cock throb. None of the other women soldiers intrigued him so much. it had to be that innocent smile of yours.

✧°. So naturally, Perv!Soap offered you a little tour around the base, while keeping his hand on your lower back. He was just trying to be nice and give you a warm welcome, right? He seemed like a spark of joy!

✧°. He would find himself daydreaming about you, about what position he would put you in or what would he do to pull the sweetest screams out of your tight throat. 

✧°. His imagination was wild – you were just sweeping the dust to the tray while kneeling? John already was imagining you on your knees in front of him, begging for his cock, drool dripping from the corners of your mouth. 

✧°. Perv!Soap would be a bold type of man, whose intentions were crystal clear. He wanted to mark you as his as soon as possible. MacTavish couldn't bear the thought of other men laying their disgusting hands on you. He had to claim you first.

✧°. The perfect opportunity happened, when you came into the gym for a sparring session. Of course your good friend was there to train with you! Johnny invited you into a ring, before giving some advice. 

✧°. Being bigger and stronger than you, Soap made you stumble and fall more times than a fingers hand has. Yet, you kept standing up, willing to continue the sparring session. Perv!Soap enjoyed each minute he had your body within his firm grip, your front or back rubbing against him. It really riled him up.

✧°. So when he had you on the ground, laying atop of him and between his thighs in a tight chokehold, Johnny threw a couple of inappropriate jokes towards his friends who were watching the ring. They laughed and you tried to wiggle away once again.

✧°. “Hope yer gonna keep the spirit, bonnie. I like ‘em feisty.” He whispered into your ear, when your throat was being suffocated with his bicep. You struggled again, letting out a whine and a huff. Such an innocent sound, however it got John’s cock almost hard. You felt it digging into your lower back. 

✧°. Perv!Soap would make clear that you already belong to him. If some unfortunate soul dared to look at you in the wrong way, MacTavish would pin them to the wall and threaten them. Or, in a worse case scenario, he would just punch the wretch’s jaw or nose. Hard. 

✧°. Furthermore, when crossing him in the hallway, Soap wouldn’t bother with decency. If he had a desire to smack your plump ass, he wouldn’t hesitate. John would smile to himself, if he managed to pull a loud gasp out of you, when his strong palm struck your bum.

✧°. Perv!Soap’s confidence would only boost if he ever made you flustered. Which was often. With previously mentioned slaps or dirty words whispered into your ear. 

✧°. “Oh, bonnie. Let me fuck yer pretty tits, eh?”

✧°. “Good lass, learnin’ fast, aren’t we? Got me wonderin’, what else can I teach ya?” 

✧°. When it came to drinking outside the base, after a successful mission let’s say, Soap would rather sooner than later pull you into his lap. His thighs were more comfortable than a cheap chair and this way he could watch over you. 

✧°. Because he was a good friend and didn’t want anybody to throw a pill into your drink, right? Johnny called it a “scary dog privilege” when you sat at his thighs. But to be honest, for him it was a power move. Everyone else from your group acknowledged how protective Soap was over his girl.

✧°. Perv!Soap would sneak into your shower cabin and shush your loud gasp, before anyone could hear. He placed his big palm against your lower jaw and placed a finger over his lips. You were so cute, when you tried to cover your modesty, even now when both of you were completely naked. 

✧°. “Ya gotta help me, bonnie. I’ve got a problem.” John said to you, pointing at his painfully hard cock. Your face turned bright red.

✧°. “Now? Someone might hear us!” You yelled at him, keeping the whispering tone. Slowly your hand that was covering your breasts, loosened up and rested at the side of your body. Fuck it, he already seen enough. 

✧°. “Sh, sh, sh. Don’t ya worry, I’ll be quiet, eh?” 

✧°. Petrified or willingly, you allowed him to guide your smaller hand over his throbbing length. Soap stood close to you, his chest brushing against your perky nipples as the stream of warm water ran down your curves and his toned muscles. 

✧°. Perv!Soap showed you how to stroke him and where to squeeze him. As he predicted you were in fact a fast learner. Quickly you understood how he wanted to receive a handjob and you complied, encouraged by his hand sneaking to the side of your face. The other one was playing with your nipples. 

✧°. Sergeant was breathing heavily, huffing into your face just below his. He was getting closer, faster than ever before. You made him this soft, it was your hand that drove him into sweet like honey delirium. 

✧°. When he came, his cum spurted onto your palm and some landed on your stomach. Soap moaned, holding onto the shower stall on his left. 

✧°. However, the warm and thick liquid was washed away by the trickle of water. 

✧°. “That’s a good girl.” Johnny would be so cute and sweet on you, when you did whatever he asked you to.

✧°. But when you misbehaved or even unwittingly flirted with another soldier, Perv!Soap would be rather rough and tough with you, shoving you into the closest, empty storage in the base.

✧°. Johnny would push your face against the wall, tightly gripping your wrists behind your back. He didn’t care when you scowled and whined at him. Soap kicked your feet further apart, before he started to grind against your ass. 

✧°. “You belong to me, remember? Only I can fuck your tight cunny, lass.” 

✧°. Perv!Soap didn’t care that you mumbled out an apology, he wanted to make a point here – to show you were his little fucktoy. 

✧°. So he pushed his way between your puffy folds without any preparations, John knew you would take him anyways. He wasn’t so sweet and gentle about the intercourse, not at all.

✧°. Soap set a fast and rough pace that made each of his powerful thrust borderline painful. Balancing between the soreness and pleasure. One of his hands kept your wrists restrained, while the other hand grabbed a fist full of your hair, forcing you to arch your back for him.

✧°. Your slightly suppressed moans and whines were music to his ears, only encouraging him to keep thrusting into your tight cunt.

✧°. And just before his actions made you and him orgasm, he pulled out of you and nestled his cock between your puffy folds. Ropes of thick cum covered your pussy and instantly began dripping onto your underwear.

✧°. Perv!Soap would pull your panties back up to their place, clinging tightly against your wet sex. Somehow you were conflicted and couldn’t decide if you were disgusted by the feeling of his semen smearing across your labia or were you aroused. 

✧°. “Go on, now.” Johnny told you, slapping your clothed ass in a gentler manner. 

✧°. “But–”

✧°. “If any bastard would try to sneak their hand into your panties, they’ll know, who this cunny belongs to, yes? I marked it.”

#✧°. marie answears #request #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish #perv!soap

[epinebleue]

love me now (m) | 09

in which Johnny gets into a fight.

pairing: johnny suh x reader (female)

genre: established relationship!au, mature.

warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (reader’s on the pill), kitchen sex, violence (Johnny punches a guy).

chapter index

“For the love of God, just ignore him...”

Johnny chuckles at your words, visibly irritated. Over your shoulder, he scans the group behind you, looking at the man who has been pushing you almost since you got to the club.

Johnny’s a rational man. He knows that the place is packed and there isn’t much space to move or even dance, so bumping into people is fairly understandable.

“I’m trying.”

Precisely because he’s a rational man, Johnny’s sure that the man is doing it on purpose. Pushing you once is an accident; twice is a coincidence; but by the third time, Johnny's straightening his back, ready to fight.

The man's friends step in, apologizing, stating that he’s drunk out of his mind. The smile on his face, Johnny thinks, says otherwise.

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Try harder.”

You tell Johnny about your sister’s plans for your niece’s birthday party, trying to divert the attention from the guy.

For a moment you succeed, as Johnny nods and starts smiling again at your stupid jokes.

Then, you feel a cold liquid sliding down your arm.

You barely have time to register what's happening before Johnny pushes you aside, grabbing the man behind you by the collar. Once he has him against the wall, Johnny delivers the first punch.

The pieces of the broken glass crunch under your shoes as you rush towards Johnny, your heart in your throat. You’re afraid of Johnny getting hurt, but you’re more afraid of Johnny getting in trouble for hurting somebody else. He’s taller and stronger than the guy he’s holding; he could absolutely destroy him if he wanted.

And he wants to, which makes him dangerous. 

The guy’s friends surround Johnny and try to drag him away but your boyfriend, far from being stopped, slams him against the wall, screaming something you aren’t able to hear due to the blasting music.

A security guard makes his way through the crowd and grabs Johnny from behind, by the shoulders, to push him back. Johnny, whose grip tightens, drags the guy with him.

And right when you think Johnny will never let him go, he does.

You don’t even acknowledge the man, all your attention being on Johnny. Not a single scratch on his face, just pure anger.

He doesn’t answer when you ask if he’s okay, simply nodding. You quickly abandon the club after explaining the situation to security, using your soaked dress as proof.

The cold midnight air hits you as soon as you step into the street, reminding you that a crazy man just poured his drink on you. But you’re still too shaken to be bothered. Instead, you turn to Johnny, who's looking at the cars passing by, waiting for a taxi to appear.

“That was stupid.” You state after a minute, putting on your coat. Johnny turns around, an eyebrow raised.

“I beg your pardon?”

“What if he had been dangerous?” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to stop yourself from shivering. Your dress is too thin, so, now that it’s wet, you’re freezing to death even with your jacket on. “What if he had had a knife?”

“He didn’t look like the type to carry a knife around.” He argues back, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his coat.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Superman. I totally forgot about your X-ray vision.”

“He spilled his drink on you on purpose.” Johnny snaps, raising his voice. “Why am I the one getting scolded?”

“I’m not scolding you.” You raise your voice too. “But you must admit that was incredibly stupid.”

“Well, he’s fine, isn’t he?”

Johnny’s the love of your life, your future children’s father, the person you will grow old with. But, sometimes, he can be stubborn to the point of making you want to pull your hair off.

This is one of those times.

“For fuck’s sake, John.” You stamp your foot against the pavement, the click of your high heel swallowed by a car passing by. “I don’t care about his safety, I care about yours! How can you not understand that?”

“Whatever.”

Johnny turns around again and manages to stop a taxi. He holds the door for you and you get in without a single word.

You spend the thirty-minute ride home looking through the window, cursing Johnny in your mind. Nevertheless, you can’t be mad for long. The city lights of New York flickering in the distance, similar to stars, relax you.

You get Johnny’s actions. The man had, in a way, assaulted you; it was only normal to react as Johnny did. However, you wish he understood you, too. Of course the man didn’t look dangerous at all, but what if he had hurt him?

It’s the disregard for his well-being that irritates you.

Once you get home, you make a bee-line to the bathroom. You deserve a shower and something warm before going to bed.

The hot water washes away the stickiness on your skin and gives you a clearer vision of the situation: you’ll address the topic in the morning over some coffee.

Johnny’s in the room when you go back. He doesn’t talk to you as he undresses and gets ready to hop in the shower now that it’s free. Him walking past you as if you were some invisible being is enough to ignite the spark of anger once again, but you don’t blow up.

Instead, you walk to the kitchen and start preparing a delicious cup of chamomile tea, which has always helped you in times of stress. It also makes you sleep better; exactly what you'll need tonight.

Johnny comes out of the bathroom right when you’re pouring the brewed tea into a cup, and it’s not long before he steps into the kitchen, looking at you like a sad puppy would, and you know he’s about to ask for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry.” He says, then waits.

There’s a few seconds of silence where you finish filling your cup and put the teapot away.

“What are you sorry for?”

Johnny has been here before. He knows you aren’t that mad at him anymore; you just want him to fight for your pardon a little harder.

“For hitting a man without thinking of the consequences.” He sighs, joining you beside the counter. “You were right, it was stupid on my part.”

You smile behind the cup, taking a sip before answering.

“Thank you.” You say, sincerely. “I’m sorry for the scolding, too. It’s just that I was afraid. I’ve never seen you that angry.”

“Oh, babe.” Johnny circles your waist with his arms from behind, kissing the top of your head. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You rest your head on his chest as a mischievous smile starts to grow on your face.

“You looked hot, by the way.”

The next thing you hear is Johnny snorting.

“What?” He softly pats the front of your thigh. “Is that all you could think of while I fought for your honor?”

“I’m being honest!” You turn around, leaning on the kitchen counter. “In my defense, you always look hot.”

You tiptoe to peck his lips.

You swear there's no intention to make something bigger out of the kiss, at least not until Johnny places his hand on the back of your neck to prevent you from moving away.

With his teeth, he captures your lower lip and releases it slowly. You open your eyes to find his brown orbs looking right back at you, so intense and dark.

Johnny presses his palms against your cheeks.

“How can someone be so beautiful?”

If he wasn't holding your face, you’d try to hide it in his neck

He wouldn’t let you, anyway.

As Johnny devours your mouth once again, he grabs a handful of your ass as his hands make their way to the small of your back, pressing you against his warm chest. 

You throw your arms around his neck, noticing the already hard bulge in between your bodies.

There’s a brief moment in which Johnny breaks the kiss to get rid of your panties, the soft fabric of your nightgown caressing the skin of your bare butt for a few seconds before he’s helping you to sit on the kitchen counter. You shiver at the sudden contact with the cold surface, but the discomfort doesn’t last long, because your stomach tingles in excitement when you see him kneel in front of you.

You spread your legs and Johnny buries his face in your sex.

He lets out a sigh when his tongue finally tastes your wetness as if he hadn’t eaten you out in years.

You rest a hand on top of Johnny’s head, suddenly remembering that confession he made months ago. Hesitating, your fingers lace into his brown hair and pull softly, testing the waters.

Johnny hums in pleasure against your entrance at the action, making you melt on the spot. Your lover closes his lips around your clit, playing with it until you’re a moaning mess on the counter.

His fingers ghosting your entrance makes you hitch, sighing as Johnny slides one finger in, up to the knuckle, but doesn’t move, too focused on your clit.

Your moans grow louder, rip apart your throat. You don’t know how to be patient when it comes to sex with Johnny, so you buckle your hips, desperate for contact. 

He looks up at you, and you swear you feel him smirking against your pussy. He knows you way too well, but you know him, too. You’re able to decipher the message hidden behind his gaze in a matter of seconds.

“Move.” You whisper, struggling with the words. You repeat it, louder this time. “Move, please…”

As if you had pressed a button, Johnny pulls his finger out completely, slowly, making you hiss. The emptiness is unbearable and you’re ready to beg again, but Johnny shoves two fingers this time, pumping them quickly, the noise of your juices only swallowed by his slurping.

Your legs close around his head, but Johnny doesn’t complain. Quite the opposite, he seems to enjoy it, judging by the way he starts eating you out like a madman, folding his fingers to reach that specific spot.

With eyes closed shut, you take it all in. There’s a tight knot in your stomach about to snap.

You curse.

“Cum for me, baby.” Johnny whispers, your sounds like music for his ears, keeping the rhythm of his fingers. “Cum all over my fucking fingers and mouth.”

The orgasm clouds your mind, the only thing spilling out of your mouth as your pussy clenches around his fingers being his name, over and over.

Johnny keeps pumping his fingers, slowing down as he rises to his feet. He captures your open mouth, your moans dying in his throat. He kisses your cheeks, making a trail to your neck, which he bites. You clench around his digits, now still.

“Open.”

He orders. You obey. He pulls out his fingers to shove them in your mouth. You lick them clean under his gaze, enjoying how hard he’s trying to hold himself back. It barely lasts a second.

Johnny removes his fingers from your mouth, both hands flying to the elastic of his sweatpants. You notice a big stain in the fabric before watching them fall to the floor, along with his underwear. Precum leaks from his tip, and although it’s enough to lubricate him whole, Johnny places his hand in front of your mouth, palm facing up.

“Spit.”

You blink twice, slightly taken aback, but spit on his palm anyway. He then closes his hand around his cock, a sigh of relief leaving his lips.

Johnny pumps his dick with your spit twice before aligning it with your entrance. His head falls back as your warm walls engulf him, and all he can think of is fucking you fast and rough. The low moan you let out doesn’t help him at all. Johnny kisses you in an attempt to control himself. But you’ve been waiting for this ever since he laid his hands on you.

You grind against Johnny, gasping at his tip reaching deeper, but the feeling doesn’t last long. Johnny moans, grabbing your waist to pin you down. It takes him great effort to collect himself before looking down at you. He raises an eyebrow at your smirk.

“I really can’t trust you.” He says, his tone an octave lower. It makes you shake in anticipation. “Don’t pull shit like this, I was trying to take it slow.”

“I don’t want slow.”

“How do you want it?” Johnny whispers, allowing your hands to roam his chest.

You reach his waist and push him forward, sighing when you feel his dick making its way into you once again. “I want rough.”

Johnny allows you to grind on him, giving you a deep kiss before rocking his hips in sync. He goes slow, reaching down to grab your arms and settling them behind your back, holding them there. His pace grows gradually, reaching a point when he starts thrusting, mercilessly.

You rest your forehead against Johnny’s shoulder, gasping for air, your throat so dry that it hurts. The kitchen is filled with the slapping of skin on skin. You feel Johnny’s teeth on your shoulder, biting so hard that it brings tears to your eyes.

Panting heavily, you warn Johnny that you won’t last long.

Your arms circle his strong shoulders as soon as he releases them, scratching the skin of his back. His breath hits your ear when he hisses. He hugs you by the waist, growling, looking for your high as much as his.

You hold your breath as your orgasm slams you, clamping Johnny’s length tightly as he cums inside you. He gradually slows down, trying to drag your orgasms a little longer.

You pant, resting your forehead on his sweaty chest as he eventually ceases all movement.

“I can’t believe we just fucked in the kitchen.” Johnny lets out a laugh that makes your head bob. “We eat in here.”

“Well, I ate.”

“Aren’t you charming?”

No reposting or translations allowed.

© epinebleue 2023

#johnny smut #nct johnny #nct johnny smut #nct smut #nct fic #johnny suh smut #johnny suh fic #nct johnny fic #johnny imagine #johnny suh #nct fic smut

[cherryredstars]

First off, I love you.

Second off, I love you A LOT.

Okay so I’m losing my mind over a brain vomit where younger reader’s been harboring and hiding feelings for Miguel for the sake of being appropriate and it’s starting to make her frustrated like “fuck I’m gonna get actually fucking sick and vomit” because how much she’s crushing on him is CRAZY, so reader basically goes up to Miguel like “I can’t take this anymore.” Like reject me so I can move on type of thing. “ Do me a favor, and break my nose or something. Tell me to fucking go away” or something like that. My brain is burning.

Pairing(s): Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader, John Price x civil!reader

Warnings: Fluff

A/N: For my baby, I LOVE YOUUUUUUU!!!

Edited (just for you boo)

| Miguel O'Hara

If you look at him, you will actually throw up.

Like projectile 'make yourself a laughing stock' throw up. It's just the way your body- your stomach- reacts when you see him. It gets twisted, fluttery with a fix of butterflies and disgust. It's down right disgusting, inappropriate at the least. He's almost a decade older than you, yet here you are pining after him as if you're some teenage girl. You feel physically sick when you think about it for too long: throat contracting and your stomach hurting. You aren't sure which of your delusions are the cause of such a horrendous crush, but you promise you'll strangle it when you find out. There is simply no way this could have ever worked out in your favor. It's simply impossible.

Miguel O'Hara would never go for someone like you. Young and naive, haven't even reached the appropriate age to have a mid-life crisis (but you're sure this is the closest fucking thing to it). You know this, hammer it into your thick skull every day before you have to face him. Yet, it all comes crumbling down when you lay eyes on him. It takes less than a second for you to skip after him, a stupid, lovesick look flickering across your face as you help him with whatever he needs. You simply can't stay away, even if you tried. You always fall back into his orbit, gravity pushing you towards him until you're practically glued to him.

You're sure he must find it annoying. Probably relates it to something like babysitting. It's well known Miguel doesn't like to be bothered when he's working. But there you are without fail, sitting around on his platform entertaining yourself by playing with LYLA when you aren't out saving universes. You don't miss the way his eyes flick to you every now and then with some emotion you can't quite place. But if you had to guess, it's probably something close to exasperation.

In all honesty, you're tired of it.

Tired of the false hope you delude yourself into believing after every minor interaction. Tired of trying to justify your affection for the older man. Tired of feeling a bit of resentment towards yourself. You're just... tired. He must sense it when you walk onto the platform, judging by the look he shoots you.

LYLA is muted mid-sentence as he angles his body slightly away from his monitors and towards you, watching as you plop yourself in your usual spot. He waits expectantly for your usual greeting, brows furrowing with confusion when you do nothing but play with the elastic quality of your suit. You haven't even looked at him since you got in.

"Everything alright?" His all so familiar voice asks, making your stomach ache and the urge to punch yourself stronger.

"Yeah," you respond simply, silence lapping over the two of you.

Miguel waits patiently, expecting something more. But, you don't continue. Miguel hesitates for a moment before turning back around. His eyes study the screens once more, his finger hovering over the button to unmute LYLA before you speak up again.

"Can you like... degrade me or something?"

Miguel almost chokes on his spit when he turns around, not expecting you to say...that. You're still playing with your suit and staring at the floor, face painted with frustration. You look up when he doesn't answer, brows furrowed when your eyes meet his shocked face. You quickly divert your attention to his muscular shoulder, not really having the courage to face him head-on.

"Not like the... sexy kind. More like the heart wrenching kind." You clarify, not that it's any better for Miguel.

He turns to full face you this time, arms crossed over his chest as he studies you. The request doesn't really make sense to him. Why would you want him to do that? Is it some universe-exclusive culture he isn't aware of?

"Why?" Miguel asks, trying to recall your past interactions to see if they have something to do with your strange request.

"I dunno, just thought it might make it easier?" You shrug, your eyes flicking to his again and then looking towards the ceiling.

"Make what easier, exactly?"

Miguel isn't a fan of cryptic answers, but he tries to be patient with you. He watches as your face twists, unsure how to word what you're feeling. You let out a heavy sigh eventually, actually meeting his eyes and holding his gaze for once.

"To get over you."

The words cause Miguel to freeze, his body going rigid. You groan, hiding your embarrassed face in your hands and scrubbing ferociously. This is absolutely embarrassing. You wished a random portal would just appear under you, throwing you into another universe and far away from this particular moment in time.

You're so caught up in your embarrassment that you don't realize Miguel is walking over to you until he's crouched down in front of you. He pries your hands gently from your face, giving you the softest smile you have ever seen on him. His thumbs caress your wrists absentmindedly, doing nothing to calm your raging heart. It practically explodes when he leans closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. Your eyes are wide and dazed as you look up at him, trying to commit the curve of his mouth to memory.

"Now, why would I want you to do that?"

_____________

| John Price

You aren't exactly sure when it started.

But the moment you realized you liked John, you've started hating yourself. It feels wrong. Almost disrespectful in a way. You aren't particularly sure why, it just does. John Price is a nice man, a good man. A man that could be easily mistaken as your father if someone didn't look close enough. The man you had happened to meet and befriended one day after he had been so kind and gentle with you.

Not the man you should be liking and forcing your feelings on.

You're someone John goes to for comfort, someone he seeks out after coming home from a battlefield. Someone that's supposed to help him distress. The idea of taking advantage of that gently placed trust, of expecting something from John just because he goes to you for help, makes you want to throw up until you're nothing but a useless husk. It's shameful, eating you up on the inside until you feel like your organs are on the verge of failure.

So your solution: Avoid Johnathan Price like the plague.

Does it hurt seeing his texts flash across your phone screen, asking you if you're free throughout the week so he can spend time with you before he deploys again? Hell fucking yes. It makes you feel guilty as hell. But you try to justify it to yourself, reassuring that it's only temporary. That everything will go back to normal once these stupid feelings leave you alone and John Price goes back to being the sweet man you grab lunch with every now and then when he's home so you can catch up.

But of course, your plans never go accordingly.

You startle on your couch when there is a firm knocking on your door, your hands rushing to pause the telly to see if it was just a hallucination. But sure enough, that same steady knocking sounds again. You get up hesitantly, brows furrowed as you try to remember if you ordered take away or something. You peak through the peep-hole, hand planted on the cool wood of the door as you squint.

The alertness in your body dies away when the familiar frame of John greets you, only to tense up again. John Price is at your door. The same John price you've been avoiding for a week. The same exact John fucking Price you're practically in love with. Your hand slides down to the knob, gulping nervously as you unlock it and yank your door open.

John is standing there with his hand raised again to knock, decked out in his military gear. His hands drop to grip the strap of his vest, his mutton chops quivering as his face lifts into his soft smile. You blink up at him, feeling the knob warm under your hand and your heart slamming against your chest. Why did he have to be so handsome, goddamnit?

You step out of the doorway, silently inviting him inside. He accepts it, stepping in and examining the area out of habit. You close the door quietly after him, turning to face him as he turns to face you.

"Missed ya, love? Been busy lately?" He asks in that comfortingly rough voice of his.

You don't trust yourself to not choke on your words, scared he'll see through your lies. Instead you nod, letting out a weak hum that he returns in a more confident note. Your eyes drop down to his military gear, a frown slipping onto your face. Is he being deployed again?

As if sensing the underlying question, John's hands let go of his military vest and he stuffs them into the pockets of his tactical pants.

"Heading out tonight, just wanted to say goodbye before I go since I didn't get to see you this time around."

You feel a stab to your chest at his words, resisting the urge to lift your hand and smooth the pain.

"John..." You start hesitantly, your mouth going dry when he hums again. "Can you tell me you hate me? Or... or that you think I'm stupid or something?"

John tilts his head in confusion, brows furrowing as his lips thin. There is a silent question in your eyes, an aura of demand wafting from him that orders you to explain further. Your hand comes to rub your arm, socked heel digging into your ankle as you debate how much to tell him.

"It's just... I like you and I don't..." You sigh in frustration, turning your head away to glare at the wall. "I don't want you to think I'm trying to take advantage of how nice you've been to me or that I expect you to reciprocate how I feel."

It's quiet for a moment before John's chuckling fills the room. Your head turns away from the wall, meeting the sparkling amusement in John's eyes as he looks at you. There is a fondness there that makes your knees feel weak, your breath getting trapped in your lungs. John takes steady, reassured steps towards you, stopping when he's centimeters away. Your heart is practically lurching in your chest as you look up at him, watching as he slowly takes off his boonie hat.

Your eyes are wide as he places it over your head, chuckling when it slips down over your face before he readjusts it. He admires the sight for a second before he leans down, his facial hair tickling your cheeks as his lips press against the corner of your mouth. Your heart officially stops, your body dangerously close to swaying as he pulls away. You're in a daze as he pinches your cheek lightly, trying to call your attention away from the sparks lingering across your skin.

"We'll take about this when I get back, silly girl." He rumbles, his heavy paw landing on the top of his hat before he slips past you, closing and locking the door behind him as he disappears out of your flat. You're left in a daze as your shaky hands reach up and grasp the rim of his hat, the smell of him instantly invading your senses.

And when John reaches base and the lads pester him about where his usual hat is, he just shakes his head and replies that he left it at home for safe keeping.

#cherry's requests🍒 #cherry's specials!🍒 #miguel 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x you #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel o hara #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o hara x y/n #miguel o hara x you #cod john price #john price #captain john price #john price cod #john price x reader #captain john price x reader

[fluentmoviequoter]

Crushes Aren't Just for Kids

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!JL!reader (Justice League Unlimited!Bruce)

Summary: When all adults are banished from earth, you join Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and Green Lantern in a unique fight to save the world. Along the way, some hidden feelings are revealed.

Warnings: spoilers/rewrite for Justice League Unlimited 1x3 "Kid's Stuff", fluff, mention of beheading, canon-level violence and action

Word Count: 3.1k+ words

A/N: I can't tell you how many times I've watched this show because Kevin Conroy's Batman in the DCAU tv shows is unmatched (and the kids who did the voice acting in this episode did phenomenally). I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍

Part 2: Butterflies Aren't Just for Kids >

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist | DC Masterlist | Request Info

You are in a unique position for several reasons. Being one of the only human members of the Justice League, you find yourself pushing yourself to be the best you can and ensuring that you can keep up with your superpowered teammates. Plus, you are one of the only people who knew Bruce Wayne before you knew Batman, and no matter how much he denies it, you knew after one look that the man under the cowl was none other than your favorite billionaire. When you first arrived on the Watchtower with your fellow vigilante, you wondered if any of the superheroes (especially those who had unique mind powers) could tell that you wanted to be more than fellow crime fighters with Batman. If they did, no one said anything, so your secret crush has remained secret as it grows stronger.

“Bats,” you warn as you duck away from Cheetah’s claws.

Bruce flips away from Deadshot’s line of fire before rushing up beside him. He punches under his jaw, and you watch as Deadshot lifts Bruce off the ground. Bruce throws a batarang, and you slide away from them as Deadshot falls to the floor.

“Guess that’s a wrap,” Green Lantern says. At Bruce’s look, he adds, “Sorry. Been hanging out with Flash too much.”

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing,” you tease.

You look away from John and see three police officers entering the vault. A pink wave follows them inside, and your eyes widen when the officers disappear. Bruce pulls you to his side as John creates a forcefield with his ring, but it fails nearly as quickly as it appears.

When you open your eyes on a floating rock, you’re still tucked against Bruce’s side. You step back quickly and look around. Dozens of rocks surround you and each holds numerous people; adults only, you notice.

“It was judgment day,” Copper exclaims, “and- and we got sent to the bad place. The bad place!”

“Where else were you expecting to go?” you ask sarcastically.

“Snap out of it, Copper!” Cheetah demands as she slaps him.

“Yeah, calm down,” John calls. “We’re probably just in another dimension.”

“I don’t see any children,” Bruce says.

“You would be the one to notice,” you murmur. “It’s not a bad thing,” you add when he directs his bat glare at you.

“That’s because a child is responsible,” a woman wearing a mask interjects as she hovers above you.

“Morgaine Le Fay,” Bruce greets, though he’s prepared to fight rather than exchange niceties and introductions.

“Great, magic,” you mutter as you fall in line between Bruce and Diana.

“I mean you no harm,” Morgaine assures. “My son Mordred has wrought this treachery. Banishing all adults to this shadow realm.”

“Do you think Flash is here?” you whisper to John.

“50/50,” he answers.

“After I spent millennia feeding him, bathing him, preparing him to be a king,” Morgaine continues. “Where did I go wrong?”

“You’re a sorceress. Can’t you just undo his spell?” Diana asks.

“No. He’s got the amulet of first magic. He’s too powerful. But if we all work together…”

“You want us to defeat your own son?” Bruce clarifies.

“So don’t trust me. Let him rule the world and all your children. Here we will stay. Forever.”

“But what can we do? We’re stuck here, aren’t we?” Diana says.

“Please don’t say-“ you begin.

“Not exactly,” Morgaine answers.

“That,” you finish as your shoulders slump.

“The spell only banishes adults.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” you and John say together.

“It’s the only way,” Morgaine says.

“We have to do it,” Clark announces.

John exhales deeply, and you step back to be at Bruce’s side again. Magic has never been your preferred battle, and as Morgaine directs her spell at you and everything turns green, you clutch Bruce’s cape in your hand.

When you arrive in Mordred’s amusement park-turned-kingdom, you’re ready to leave. Being turned into a kid again wasn’t exactly on your superhero bingo card, and as a human, you don’t bring much to the fight anyway.

“I hope this is temporary,” Bruce complains.

You look over at him and feel butterflies in your stomach. Despite de-aging, you still have a crush on Bruce, but it hits harder and faster. You tear your eyes away from him and try to calm your racing heart. Each moment you live as a kid, you’ll start acting more like one.

“You sound weird,” Clark says. “Whoa. So do I.”

Diana looks between Clark and John before straightening her shoulders. She towers over them and smiles. “I kind of like this.”

“Why are you squinting?” you ask John.

Bruce, Clark, and Diana look over after you ask, and you drop your eyes to avoid looking at Bruce again.

“I wore glasses as a kid. Guess I need ‘em again,” John answers.

A pair of oversized green glasses appear on his face, and he jumps in surprise. They’re nothing like what adult John would create, and you stifle a laugh at the sight of them.

“I didn’t even try to make these!” he exclaims.

Clark laughs as Bruce says, “I hope not.”

You pat John’s back as he focuses on making nicer glasses. Once he’s ready and Clark compliments his new look, Diana reminds you that you’re supposed to be looking for Mordred.

“Bet the little punk’s in there,” Bruce says.

He points to the castle looming in the distance and begins running. You run behind him and watch as Diana, Clark, and John fly past you.

“It’s not a race,” Bruce grumbles.

He speeds up, but you keep your pace and make it to the castle all the same. Despite the earlier teasing about John’s glasses, none of you have mentioned any differences between the kid and adult versions of one another. You’re thankful, though, because reliving your childhood is not your favorite pastime. When you enter the castle, you stay behind Bruce as he stands beside Diana.

“The Justice Babies!” Mordred calls before laughing.

“What are you laughing at, precious?” Bruce asks.

“Precious?” you repeat.

“You,” Mordred answers. “Mother sent you, didn’t she?”

“Maybe she wanted a chance to have a normal kid,” you taunt.

“She shouldn’t send a boy to do a man’s job,” Mordred tells Bruce.

He grabs the amulet, and you watch as a young boy’s toys come to life. They grow until they’re giant, and you stumble backward before running for cover. When Clark flies into one of them and is knocked to the floor, you begin questioning if it was truly a good idea to become kids to fight a boy with powerful magic.

“Bruce, batarang,” you request.

He hands you one before running toward Mordred. You wait for one of the toys to run toward you before sliding between its legs.

“I’ll make a laser cannon. No, a missile launcher,” John says above you. “Oh! Oh, I know.”

“Just pick something!” you and Bruce yell together.

You dig the batarang into the back of the toy’s leg and roll to the side as it collapses to the ground before disappearing. Bruce and John take one out, while Clark disables the other with his laser vision.

When you hear Bruce grunting and see him dangling from his cape in the grip of the last toy, you gasp and run toward him. Diana beats you there and catches him.

“You okay, tough guy?” she asks.

“Let go. I’m fine,” Bruce demands as he struggles to get out of her hold.

His shoulders drop and his cape surrounds him as he sulks. You don’t ask the same question Diana had but thank him for the batarang as he passes.

“That’s not fair,” Mordred complains.

“Get him!” Bruce calls.

You run behind Diana and aren’t surprised when you’re all encased in ice. Mordred is powerful, and you and your fellow “Justice Babies” seem to be forgetting that. When you fall into a dungeon and are freed from the ice, you scoot toward Bruce. One of the cells opens, and red eyes glow within. You clutch Bruce’s cape and watch as a small demon walks out.

“Etrigan?” Bruce asks.

He steps away from you, and his cape slips through your fingers. You stay behind John’s forcefield as Diana lifts Bruce out of the way of Etrigan’s flame. Diana has been closer to Bruce during this mission than usual, and the butterflies in your stomach start causing more pain than happiness as you wonder if they’ve been hiding feelings for one another in the Watchtower, too.

“Don’t hurt him!” Bruce yells as Clark pulls Etrigan away from you and John.

Etrigan bites Clark’s arm, and he calls, “Tell him that!”

“C’mere,” you tell Etrigan. You crouch to the floor and pull him into your arms. “Stop!”

He calms down, and Diana helps Bruce up as Etrigan cries. You look at Bruce and shrug.

“He’s just a baby,” Diana says.

“And he needs more than a hug,” John adds, waving his hand in front of his nose.

“Now, that is a job for Superman,” Bruce says.

Bruce takes Etrigan from your arms and passes him to Clark. When Bruce takes your hand to lead you out of the dungeon, you nearly trip over your own feet. You’ve never been more ready to grow up before, you think.

Mordred’s new kingdom is comprised mostly of children doing what they were never allowed to do before. When you walk through the paths surrounding what used to be the center of the park, you are surrounded by children doing dangerous stunts and breaking rules.

“You two, knock that off!” Clark demands when he sees two boys playing with wooden swords.

“What are you gonna do? You’re just a kid,” they taunt.

Clark shoots a laser between them and answers, “I’m the kid with laser beams coming out of his eyes.”

“That’s just gonna scare them,” you interject before they run away screaming. “You can’t threaten kids the same way you threaten criminals.”

“Then what do we do?” John asks.

“Tattle,” Diana answers. She flies to an elevated area and yells, “That’s enough!”

Everyone freezes, and you find yourself reaching for Bruce.

“You can’t tell us what to do! You’re not our mom!” someone replies.

“No, but I promise you we will find all of your moms and I’m gonna tell!” Diana answers.

“Well, what should we do?”

“Go outside and wait for your parents. Now!” Diana demands with a hand on her hip.

“Man, your girlfriend sure is bossy,” John tells Bruce.

“Shut up,” he replies before leaving John’s side.

Those butterflies in your stomach become dead weight. You stall behind John, but he turns to look at you.

“You like Bruce,” he accuses.

“What? No!” you answer too quickly. “We’re friends.”

“Mmhmm.”

John gestures for you to come with him, and you follow Bruce together. You know that John knows more than he ever lets on, and if anyone found out about your crush, you suppose you should be glad that it’s the one who can keep a secret. Better him than Wally.

“He’s almost asleep,” Diana whispers as you look into Mordred’s hideout. “We can take him.”

“I’ll make a lawnmower and chew him up,” John suggests.

“A lawnmower?” you repeat incredulously. “Why?”

“I say we get that amulet away from him first,” Bruce says. “We’ll split up and sneak behind him. Then Lantern can do his thing. But no mowers.”

“Why?” John questions.

“Because it’s stupid,” Clark answers.

“He’ll hear it, too,” you whisper with much more kindness than Clark.

“I guess I’ll go with Clark,” Diana says. “Unless I should go with you,” she tells Bruce.

“Whatever,” Bruce answers.

John sees your eyes drop and says, “Clark can go alone. I’ll go with Diana.”

You appreciate it but shake your head because you don’t want to be left alone with Bruce.

“Whatever,” Bruce repeats.

“Go,” John whispers.

You lead Bruce around the side of the cave, and John shakes his head as he watches you go.

“What’s with them?” Clark asks.

“Really?” Diana questions.

“Man, for somebody with fifty different kinds of vision you are so blind,” John responds.

“What?”

“Is that a claw?” you ask Bruce as John tries to get the amulet.

“Unfortunately,” he answers.

He may be young, but his sarcasm hasn’t changed a bit. You lean against him when John’s claw wavers before disappearing. The amulet falls to Mordred’s chest, and Bruce moves you carefully as he calls, “Get the amulet!”

You join Bruce, Diana, Clark, and John in a failing attempt to hold Mordred down and take the amulet. He uses his magic to grow and throws Bruce and Diana off of him before standing. A young girl is standing nearby, and you take her hand to lead her to safety as the others fight Mordred.

“Bats!” you yell, just as you had as an adult this morning.

Bruce looks back and sees the living gargoyle chasing him and John and directs John toward a small bridge.

“Close the door!” you yell as Bruce enters the castle.

Diana closes and locks the door behind him, and you listen to John come up with complicated plans to stop Mordred as Bruce thinks.

“Forget it!” Bruce calls after John mentions giant handcuffs. “We’ve got to focus on…” Bruce’s eyes lock with yours and he says, “Never mind what I just said. We’ll take care of everything else. Lantern, you go crazy.”

“What are you going to do?” you ask.

“It’s time for all of us to grow up,” Bruce answers.

He takes your hand before running toward another area of the kingdom. Your butterflies begin reviving, and you wonder if anything will be the same after this.

“Go!” he yells to Clark.

Clark pulls the amulet from Mordred’s neck while he’s distracted by John before tossing it to Bruce.

“This is the most dangerous game of keep away I’ve ever played,” you yell as you take the amulet from Bruce and run it to Diana. Diana throws it to Etrigan, and you flinch when he bites into it. The wave of purple magic that escapes it is unsettling, but you don’t take your eyes off Mordred.

“I already absorbed too much of the amulet’s power,” Mordred says as he stands.

He uses his magic to suspend all of you, and Etrigan, upside down in the air. He pulls a sword from a nearby stone, and it turns purple before reappearing as a curved blade.

“I’ll take care of my kingly duty myself,” he declares.

“Is he really going to behead us in an amusement park?” you ask with your arms crossed over your chest.

“I’m scared,” the girl you helped earlier says. “I want my mommy.”

Mordred lowers his blade to say, “You don’t need a mommy. You’re better off without one. Trust me.”

“Ooh, mommy issues,” John muses. “Those ain’t easy.”

The girl begins crying and Clark taunts, “Some king.”

“I’m not impressed,” Diana agrees.

“What’d you expect? He’s a boy doing a man’s job,” Bruce finishes.

“You don’t know what it’s like being stuck as a kid,” Mordred says.

“Since you’ve had all that power, you could have been a man anytime you wanted. I think you’re too chicken to grow up.”

“Yep, big chicken. That’s what you are,” John agrees, flapping his arms like wings. “Bock, bock.”

“Face it, precious,” Bruce continues. “You like being a little mama’s boy.”

“I’ll show you!” Mordred yells. “I’ll show you all.”

“Sure, you will,” you agree with an eye roll.

“And when I am a true king, I’ll start with the human!” Mordred adds, pointing to you.

Bruce looks at you, but you keep your eyes on Mordred as he spreads his arms and is surrounded by purple ribbons of magic. Etrigan claps as Mordred’s spell spreads, and he reappears as a man.

“I’m older than you now,” Mordred says as he turns to face you.

The magic released his spell, and you catch yourself as you fall from the air.

“You sure are,” Bruce says.

Mordred disappears, banished by his own spell. As an adult, he couldn’t stay, and now you can only wait until Morgaine does her part. Bruce steps to your side and you turn your face toward him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” you answer just before Morgaine appears.

“A bargain is a bargain,” she says as she waves her hand before you.

The spell is lifted, and you are an adult again in only a second. You hadn’t prepared for the change in size however and are pressed against Bruce’s chest with the sudden growth. He makes no move to get space from you, though.

“Mommy,” Etrigan coos at Diana.

She drops him and steps back. You chuckle at the scene and Diana looks at you with furrowed brows before smiling and rolling her eyes.

Morgaine opens a portal, and Bruce places a hand on your hip as he steps around you.

“Wait,” he calls. “What happened to Mordred?”

“My spell gave him eternal youth but now that he’s broken it all he has is eternal life,” she answers.

“Circumstances aside, it was kind of enjoyable to be a kid again,” Diana says.

You walk to Bruce’s side and watch the happy reunions of children with their parents.

“I’m sorry,” you offer softly.

“For what?” he asks.

“You just- you didn’t get to be a kid like the rest of us.”

“Perhaps Diana was right. It wasn’t completely unenjoyable.”

He turns toward you, and his arm is pressed to your shoulder.

“You’re telling me the big, bad bat had a little bit of fun?” you tease.

“You never talk about your childhood,” he deflects. “So, I’m sorry if this brought up bad memories.”

“Just dead butterflies,” you answer.

Bruce glares at you, but it’s the one unique to when he’s reading you.

“Is that why Lantern sent us off alone together?”

You look down as you nod.

“My butterflies are alive and well, and happy to wait for you,” Bruce murmurs.

“Butterflies or bats?” you ask.

“Should we be having this conversation in an amusement park?”

“You’re right. Let’s go to Metropolis and make the cover of the Daily Planet so Clark has to write all about it.”

Bruce sighs, but he takes your hand as he leads you outside the amusement park. He presses a button on his utility belt and the Batmobile pulls up a moment later.

“Bruce,” you say once you’re inside. “You were a really cute kid.”

“You were really bad at eye contact,” Bruce counters. “Or was that just with me?”

“I guess crushes aren’t just for kids,” you muse.

“Maybe Diana will stop pestering me to ask you out now.”

You nod as you watch the road before you. It takes a moment, but you finally understand what Bruce just said.

“What?”

#hanna writes✯ #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x reader #jlu!bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne imagine #dc comics x reader #fem!reader

[loveharlow]

my unpopular obx opinions that no one asked for (unfiltered and in detail)...

Sarah cheating on John B was not unexpected. She ran into the arms of Topper Thornton whenever the opportunity presented itself which bring me to my next point...

Sarah does not like being a pogue. I believed she liked the initial freedom and adventure but when shit gets tough, she runs back to what reminds her of her old life (*cough cough* Topper). She has the luxury of being on the fence of Kook and Pogue sometimes.

Pope is technically the real main character of the show. On paper, yes, the show is about John B finishing the treasure hunt that his father started. BUT, after season 2, it was clear that the entire treasure itself revolved around Pope, a direct descendant of the man the treasure belonged to and I don't think we got enough of that.

Pope is a stronger character than he is presented to be. I think the show highlighted his self-defense capability in seasons 2 and 3 but it's widely ignored that this man has gone up against Rafe on multiple occassions and lowkey beat his ass. (Rafe beat his ass too but still).

Kiara will forever be wrong for how she did Pope. She treated him like SHIT. Like, if I was Pope, I genuinely could not be friends with her after like. P4L my ass. And then there are people who call him butthurt but if the roles were reversed...Hardcore Kie fans can defend her all they'd like but after a certain point, there was no excuse for her to be leading him on the way she did. She knew she didn't like him in that way and that's very clear from the start of season 2, but she proceeds to sleep with him and then tell him off.

Ward is a better father than Big John. Y'know, I pondered on this for a bit. And I am standing by it. Big John would break both of John B's legs and throw him onto a set of train tracks if it got him closer to finding the gold and excuse it by saying some shit like "But you didn't die, did ya, Bird?". Like that man was ALIVE for almost an entire year and made no attempt to contact his son. Ward is a criminal by all means but most of the time, at least what we saw as viewers, he was doing it for Rafe.

Cleo deserves more screen time and a better backstory. I know she's a new character and all but like WHAT'S HER LAST NAME?? Like does she not have one? Is she not real??

(edit) Kiara is very insensitive to the feelings of her friends and overall generally self-centered. She literally acts like her parents are the worst in the world. I get it, they don't like her friends and they are indeed hypocritical towards the pogues considering her father was one. But in season 2, she gets in the car and says "this shit would be so much easier without parents" next to JJ, aka the one with an abusive father. Not to mention, she's seen how John B fell apart after his father disappeared and how hard it's been for Sarah to go against her father.

CLEOPOPE BEST SHIP.

Anyway, I did this out of boredom. I had to take a break from actual writing for a moment.

#harlowstfu🤫 #jj maybank x reader #rafe cameron x reader #obx opinions #anti jiara #obx cleopope #jarah #obx jarah #rafe cameron #jj maybank #kiara carerra #john b routledge #sarah cameron #pope heyward #cleo obx #obx

[adnauseum11]

Misfire (John Price x Reader)

A little snippet of a scene came to me and made me laugh. John Price having a crush on a long time friend and finally working up the nerve to ask her out. Kinda.

less than 1k words

John Price x fem! reader

SFW

feedback welcome

I know almost nothing of CoD other than fanfic so go easy on me

I wouldn't know how to write shy and retiring if my life depended on it.

You’ve known John forever. Like, forever, forever. The friend group he originated from disintegrated years ago, but the two of you remained thick as thieves. He’s moved in and out of the country, and you’ve changed careers a few times, but through it all he’s been a reliable shoulder to lean on. He’s the first person you call when you need help moving for the millionth time, and he, good man that he is, turns up with beer and willing hands as soon as he’s available. If he grumbles about your proclivity for changing apartments so often you know it comes from a place of concerned affection. If anything, he’s pleased you’re closer to his bachelor pad now, negating the need to drive across town twice on game nights. God forbid you ride a bus for twenty-five minutes when he could deliver you to your doorstep in fifteen. He's retired from the Army, and still takes safety a little too seriously for your tastes. You indulge him though, because who actively chooses the bus when other, more pleasant options are available?

When he asks you to dinner, you agree without even blinking. You reason there must be a rugby game on or something he wants to see. You don’t even ask where to meet him, assuming, correctly, that he will pick you up. So, you are caught off guard when he turns up in your entrance way wearing a button-down shirt, suit jacket and dress pants. He too, is caught off guard. You look down at your outfit in unison. Bootcut jeans, well-worn Blundstone boots and a ratty but beloved faded t-shirt that cheerfully proclaims “IDAHO? No, you da ho” across the chest in cursive script. 

“Uh… what are you wearing?” He asks, cautiously.

“Me? What are YOU wearing?” Totally confused now, you can’t help but feel a little saucy about being put on your back foot.

“I asked you to dinner, didn’t I?”

John’s accent gets stronger when he’s caught up in strong emotions. That really should have been your first clue. But this is John. John. 

“Yeah, why are you all dressed up for beers? What game is on tonight anyways?” 

You throw him a look like he’s gone slow on the uptake as you reach for your coat. When you turn to look at him with your purse strap slung over your shoulder, he’s looking as confused as you feel. 

“Game? Love, who said anything about beers?”

“Wait, we aren’t going for beers?” Disappointment creeps into your voice and you can see you have managed to flummox the normally unflappable John. 

“Bleedin’ Jesus, I mean, we can have beers if ye want, sure. I just uh…” 

He lets the sentence hang, clearly uncertain.  

“You what?” You prompt, vaguely concerned at his out of character behaviour. 

“I made reservations at Stella del Mare.” He admits in a rush.

“You did what? This isn’t… beers? Is this… are we on a date?” The slow realization finally takes hold and a spiral of panic begins to descend through your body. “They won’t let me in like this!”

“Uh, no. No. They sure won’t.”

He agrees easily with the second half of your statement while staring at your chest and dodging the first. You narrow your eyes at him. This isn’t your first rodeo with John’s evasiveness. 

“How much time do I have?”

“Including travel time, or…?”

“John. If this is how you start all your first dates, I can see why you don’t have many second ones.”

“’Bout 15 minutes love.”

He answers seriously, properly chastised. 

You whip your purse over your head and slap it against his wide chest, catching him off guard. He holds it in place while you sling your coat off and dash upstairs again. 

He’s still in the same position when you return back down the steps, having swapped jeans for a black skirt and your (hilarious but wildly) inappropriate t-shirt for a silk, V-neck emerald blouse with cap sleeves. You’ve pulled your hair back into a simple bun and slicked on a light layer of neutral makeup and a deep red lip. John’s eyebrows climb as he catches a glimpse of you but he waits until you’re picking up your coat again before he speaks. 

“Listen, you look beautiful. I – “

“Can it, I’m still annoyed at you for the moment.” 

You take the purse out of his hands and slide the strap over your shoulder, smacking his big bicep playfully as you push him out the door and into the night. You resolve to question him thoroughly about his poor communication skills at dinner as you lock up. Wasn’t he in charge of people in the army? Christ. 

#john price #john price x reader #john price x you #call of duty #long time lurker first time poster #captain john price #john price cod #fanfic

[letmesniffurdaddysfeet]

Weekend Lessons with daddy John PART 1

John, my mysterious neighbor, was a man shrouded in age and secrets. Though I never dared to inquire about his past, I estimated him to be around 65 years old. From the moment I moved in next door, he welcomed me with open arms and a warm smile. Despite our significant age difference - I was only 21 at the time - I found myself eagerly seeking out his company. John was a skilled handyman, passing on his knowledge of electricity, plumbing, and DIY projects to me with infinite patience. It may seem odd for a young adult like myself, but each week I looked forward more to spending an evening with John than going out for after-work drinks with my colleagues.

There was something about John that fascinated me - he wasn't particularly muscular or physically imposing, but there was a ruggedness to him that exuded masculinity. He embodied the classic image of a man's man - simple yet capable, full of practical knowledge that I had never learned before. But what captivated me most were his feet. Every Friday night, as we sat together watching a replay of a baseball game and sipping on cold beers, John would kick off his slippers and rest his large, mature feet on the coffee table in front of us.

It started innocently enough - just admiring the feet of a strong, masculine man. But as the weeks went by, my fascination turned into something else entirely. With each passing Friday night, it became harder and harder for me to resist the forbidden desires stirring inside of me. I tried to push them away, telling myself that it was wrong and dirty to feel this way towards someone much older than me.

But one fateful night, as I lay in bed alone with my thoughts, I gave in to my sinful desires and indulged in a forbidden act of self-pleasure while thinking about John's feet. The pleasure that consumed me was unlike anything I had ever experienced before, a heady mix of taboo and desire that left me both intoxicated and guilty.

From that night on, John's feet became an obsession for me. I couldn't resist stealing glances at them whenever we were together, imagining the feel of them against my lips and tongue. And each time I succumbed to these thoughts, the intensity of pleasure only grew stronger, driving me towards a dangerous edge that I could not escape from.

Despite my attempts to distance myself from these thoughts, they consumed me. I tried to distract myself with work, hobbies, and even dating other people, but nothing seemed to quell the burning desire I had for John's feet.

But one evening, I couldn't resist my insatiable desire… As we sat on the sofa, John's relaxed form radiating a familiar comfort, I chugged back another beer to calm my racing heart. Suddenly, his shoes were off and his toes were wriggling in front of me as he talked about the game. I couldn't help but feign interest in a coin that supposedly fell on the other side of the table. My hand brushed against his foot and I knelt down, pretending to search for the nonexistent coin in the thick carpet fibers as my face stealthily drew closer to his feet. The overpowering scent of masculinity hit me like a wave and my body reacted immediately, my pants stretching with the growing hardness between my legs. Every touch from his toes sent shivers through my body, pushing me deeper into a forbidden pleasure that consumed me completely.

My mind raced with a torrent of emotions and desires as I lingered there, my breath hot against John's coarse, calloused skin. I had never felt anything like this before - a mixture of exhilaration, shame, and unbridled lust coursing through my veins. I knew I was playing with fire, but I couldn't help myself.

A surge of shame and self-loathing washes over me as I realize the gravity of my actions. I pray that my arousal is not too obvious , ready to feign ignorance and confess to not finding the coin. But when I meet John's gaze, a new expression crosses his face - an excited smile, his hand resting on his visibly erect penis. Did he understand the true intention behind my gesture? And did the sight of my face so close to his feet elicit the same response in him as it did in me? My mind spins with confusion and desire, rendering me speechless and creating a tense silence that begs to be broken… I struggle to find the right words, while secretly yearning to ask him if he desires to see me throw myself at his feet as well…

It was finally John who broke the silence, saying these words: ''Are you sure you looked carefully? It would be a shame not to reject a glance." He looked me straight in the eyes, without leaving his mischievous smile, wiggling his toes… my eyes rested on those feet and the spark of excitement in the John's eyes twinkled brighter. It was at that moment that I realized that this was a formal invitation, and I was not going to wait another second to respond.

John's voice cut through the tense silence like a knife, his words dripping with challenge and mischievous thrill ''Did you even bother to look closely? Don't tell me you missed it." His gaze locked onto mine, a sly grin playing on his lips as he wiggled his toes in anticipation…my eyes couldn't help but trail down to those feet, and I saw the unmistakable glimmer of mischief in John's eyes. It hit me like a bolt of lightning - this wasn't just an invitation, it was a dare. And I refused to waste another second before responding, the fire of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

#daddyfeet #malefeet #gayfeet

[sky-is-the-limit]

Smut writers feel free to write this! (Feminine pronouns used but feel free to change it!) (+18/MDNI)

FYI: I'm not a writer nor good at this! Just thirsty:)

I had a filthy thought of being railed by Price in the common area outside the bathrooms and Gaz accidentally walks in 👀 (gifs below inspired me).

////

You were being bratty/needy as fuck even though you knew it was a hectic day, especially for him. At first you felt a little hurt that he brushed you off the first time when you started kissing his neck while he was signing some paperwork for the next mission. "Not now, doll. Can't you see I'm busy?" He murmured the last words almost as a whisper so you know that it's the work that's annoying him and not you.

"Come on, Captain, can't you take a little break for your girl?" You purred in his ear, hands slowly trailing down his chest over the tight military shirt he knows drives you crazy when he wears it (he was about to throw it away because it was too tight on him until he saw you practically drooling and being the lil shit he is, he started wearing it more often)

"Don't you have anything more productive to do, private, than bother your Captain?" Oh now it's on. His tone was serious as if he was scolding a child, making you stand up straight, rolling your eyes at his typical way of treating you when you're 'overstepping'.

"You weren't complaining this morning about my productivity, Captain." You reply to his dismissive comment, full of sarcasm, crossing your arms over your chest as you make your way in front of his desk. "In fact, you were quite content with my mouth on your c-" a knock on the door makes you take 3 steps back, a playful smirk on your face as you watch Price take a deep breath trying to process both your boldness and someone almost walking in on you, talking about your forbidden affair with him.

"Uh, is this a bad time?" Kyle awkwardly says, holding the door open not daring to walk inside, obviously uncomfortable from the staring contest you and Price share, neither backing down.

"No, Sergeant, private Y/L/N was just leaving." Price mumbles with a raised eyebrow, only turning his gaze towards the door for a second then back at you, indicating that you have to leave before he actually gets mad.

On your way out, you briefly touch Kyle's arm, give him a small smile before exiting Price's office. You know John is a confident man. In his skills, his work, the way he carries himself with authority in every room he steps in. The only thing that makes him feel uneasy is when younger men try to steal your attention. Not because he doesn't trust you, he knows that the second he asks for you to get on your knees, you comply better than any soldier he ever had to command to follow an order and he always praises you for it.

"Look at my eager girl, so desperate to please her Captain huh?"

"Eyes up when you take me in, I want to stare into those pretty eyes, soldier."

"You can't be disrespectful with your mouth full, now can you?"

The insecurity that you could fall for a younger, charming man always creeps in his mind yet he pushes the thought away, cursing himself at the possibility he might have stronger feelings for you than just the physical pleasure you two share almost every night.

/

10:30pm. You've been staring at the clock on the wall an hour now, waiting for the right time to come. You know Price always goes into the showers at this exact time, every single night before he goes to sleep as the showers are always empty. Exhausted soldiers and staff always in bed by then, leaving the luxury of a quiet, warm shower to himself.

You step into the common area timidly, checking if anyone's around but as expected, you find it empty and cold like it always is this late at night. No sound but the water running inside the nearest shower and the fast beating of your anxious heart as you slowly strip naked. It scares you how bad you want him, how he's your first thought in the morning and the last before you fall asleep. How you, a strong, independent and confident woman can feel so fragile, so desperate to please his every desire, how the second he asks you to go to his room, you waste no time, trailing behind him like a lost puppy. It's pathetic really, but for him? You'd do far worse.

With nothing but a towel wrapped around your naked body, you slowly push the curtain of the shower back, taking in the full sight in front of you. Yeah, you'd do anything for him and he knows it. He doesn't even flinch or turn around, he knows it's you. It's always you. You can see the smirk playing on his lips before he speaks with that husky, deep voice that makes your knees go weak, every fucking time.

"I don't fuck you one day and you come running to me, hm?" Price turns around slowly, eyeing you up and down before his fingers touch the top of the towel, softly caressing your skin. "Desperation looks so fucking good on you sweetheart" He leans closer to whisper in your ear before his fingers make the towel drop on the wet floor, the cold air sending a shiver down your spine as he pushes you gently out of the shower, to the nearest wall.

"I left my girl all needy and now I have to make up for it, don't I?" He whispers on your neck as his lips leave wet, sloppy kisses on your burning skin. Before you can lean back onto the wall to enjoy his attention, he places his hand on your back and with a swift move, pushes you in the common area. The look of surprise on your face as you turn to look at him must be the best entertainment he has had the last couple of days.

"What if someone walks in? Can't we go back into the shower?" You grab the nearest towel but before you can wrap it around yourself, he backs you up against the cold table in the middle of the room, both his hands placed on each side of you so you can't move.

"You wanted to sneak up on me and couldn't wait until I finished my shower." You open your mouth to answer with a pathetic excuse you know damn well wouldn't work on him but his hands cut you off before you even try, lifting you up from your thighs onto the cold steeled table. "You know it is the only time I get to have some peace and quiet but you being the greedy little slut that you are, couldn't wait a few more minutes huh?" He raises his voice, tone changed into the one he always uses when you're being a brat and fuck, you wouldn't want it any other way. The smirk forming on your lips and the intentional roll of your eyes must have pressed a button as he pushes your shoulders down so now you're laying on the table, feeling his hands trail down from your waist to your thighs, pushing them open.

"Now you're gonna get fucked like you want so bad, out in the open. If you behaved nicely, you'd be laying down on a soft bed but you decided to be a brat tonight" His grip tightens around your thighs, certain to leave bruises, as he lowers himself so his head is inches away from your soaked entrance, his eyes piercing yours, not breaking eye contact like his life depends on it.

"And you're gonna get treated like one." With one quick move he puts both of your legs on his shoulders, dragging you across the table, the cold metal and unexpected action letting a loud moan leave your mouth before you cover it with your palm in an attempt to stay quiet, unsuccessfully so.

"What the-" Oh fuck. You freeze in your tracks as a second voice comes from behind the lockers, making you jump up immediately. Your terrified gaze slowly meets Kyle's equally frightened eyes as his mouth hangs open to the sight in front of him, frozen in place with only a towel wrapped around his waist. You knew it was risky, just because the showers were always empty around that time, didn't mean that an exception was out of the question. It just happened to be tonight.

"I'm just gonna- fuck, I- bye" Gaz mumbles quickly, the confusion of this unfortunate, awkward encounter visibly written on his face but before he can walk out, so you can die comfortably in shame, the next sentence makes your blood run cold.

"Not so fast, Sergeant." Price commands, his expression unbothered if not unsurprising, like he wanted this to happen. He wanted someone to walk in.

"You're gonna sit on that chair and you're gonna watch how brats like her deserve to be treated."

#I'M NOT A WRITER #i just had this thirsty vision and had to post it #someone please write the smut part 🙏 #price #john price #captain john price #captain price #john price smut #captain john price smut #cod #cod x reader #call of duty #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #kyle garrick #ghost #ghost smut #könig #könig smut #john soap mactavish #soap #philip graves

[bunnyreaper]

a highland warrior of the mactavish clan is there when you need him most.

(18+/MDNI, attempted noncon)

one minute, everything was fine, just a part of your normal routine foraging in the woods--the next, your world was turned upside down. 

you should've known better than to wander further than usual, beyond the glade which the alderman had warned you several times not to go past. 

you're leaning over, inspecting the pretty little flowers on the ground, when your face is pushed into the dirt, your arse forced into the air as your skirts are forced up and over your mound. 

"and what do we have here but the finest flower of spring?" 

you scream as you kick and squirm, desperately scrambling to find purchase on the ground in a way that will allow you to wiggle free--but the man above you, his accent familiar, is so much stronger. your shift is up as you scream yourself hoarse, fat tears ripping from your eyes in anticipation of what's to come. 

"it'll be much easier if you don't fight me, sweetness." 

time freezes as you hear a metallic clink--what your fear-addled mind assumes to be a belt buckle, until a strong, scottish accent cuts through the forest. 

"this'd be much easier if i cut ye wee english prick right awf." "off 'er, did nae one teach ye manners? and ye say we're the savages." 

"don't kill me." 

you dare to glance over your shoulder, slowly turning until you see your assailant, head tilted back with a sword right to the column of his throat--and behind him, a crazed scotsman, baring his teeth just as he bares his sword. 

the man atop of you slowly pulls off of you, moving so slowly as to not catch his throat on the sharp blade. the highlander pulls him to his full height, almost dangling by his feet as he balances in the brawny arms of the much bigger, stronger warrior. 

the sword slides along the rogue's throat, enough to draw a trickle of blood but not much more, before it falls to the side of both men's bodies.

"now, i suggest ye run before i cut ye down proper." he growls, kicking the man away as his scrambling figure almost collapses into the dirt, much like you had. the highlander lurches forward, swiping the tip of his sword expertly to lash down the other man's back--a precision strike just to wound, not enough to stop his mad dash away and out of the clearing.

you try everything within you to steady your breathing as you lay, exposed, watching your saviour watch the other man's retreating figure.  

"i willnae turn round until ye decent, lassie." he announces, his gaze unwavering from the faraway treeline. 

your limbs move shakily as you reach behind you, desperate to pull your skirts back over your rear and regain some sense of your dignity. when you're covered, you cough softly, trying to indicate that you're decent enough for the man to turn back around. 

his first order of business is helping you to your feet, brushing off as much dirt as he can from your dress, and trying to offer you his most reassuring smile.  

you gaze upon him--admiring his fine, strong arms, inked with celtic knots, and surely thick thighs hidden beneath the drape of his tartan. what most strikes you is the kindness in his deep blue eyes, despite being obscured by a jet black warpaint. 

the sense of safety that washes over you is... strange.

"name's mavtavish, john mactavish. yer safe now, bonnie girl."

#soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty fanfiction #soap x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #cw rape #bunny writes #highlander au

[fadedncity]

wc: 2.5k

pairing: hades!johnny x persephone!reader

cw: smut, greek gods!au, husband!johnny, fem!reader, pet names, teasing, use of titles (king, queen, your majesty), oral sex (receiving), fingering, body worship, finger sucking, riding, mating press, lil bit of praising, creampie, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, lowkey dumbification

song rec: won’t by tanerélle | aphrodite by rini | in a week by hozier | 7th heaven by quin

"Where is she?"

"Where she always is."

Johnny's long legs carried him in long strides through the palace, bursting through the doors at the end of the corridor.

The moment he stepped outside, he could already feel your warmth radiating through the entire garden, looking much more lively than in the past six months.

Johnny found himself out here more often than not with the wilting flowers and dying trees, longing for your return just as he had. Now, life was coursing through the entire garden, the tall standing trees rustling in the breeze, flowers blossoming all around his feet. He could feel your presence growing stronger the further he walked. 

When he finally spotted you, you had your back to him. And Johnny could already feel his heart hammering against his chest.

Just laying eyes on you, it seemed his lungs were finally able to intake the oxygen around him a little easier.

Without even looking away from the plants you were bringing back to life, you spoke,

"What did I tell you about those boots in my garden, John?" 

Johnny looked down at his feet and then at the trail of scorched earth behind him. 

"Sorry," he mumbled. He kicked off his shoes and continued toward you. 

You finally turned around, and Johnny felt like it was the first time again. You stood from the dirt, your long dress flowing around you and slightly waving in the wind.

Johnny's arms were immediately around you, pulling you to him.

Your heart had ached for this man for half the year, and it almost felt like your chest would explode, finally being in his arms again.

You ran your hands up his arms to his shoulders, one of them cupping his face. 

"Hi." Johnny's heart melts at the way your eyes sparkle at him. 

Johnny sighs, nuzzling his face into your touch, "Hi." 

"Six months have felt like an eternity away from you, my love." 

"I know. It's been hell here without you."

You laughed, "That joke doesn't get any better, babe." 

"It made you laugh, though," Johnny grinned. 

"Because it was terrible. Leave them to Mark," you patted his chest. 

"Fine." 

. . . 

Anything he needed to do today was quickly pushed back to tomorrow at least, Johnny not wanting anything other than to be with you right now. 

Your feet mindlessly swayed in the air as you lay on your stomach face to face with your lover. You rest your chin on Johnny's chest, studying the details of his face as if they would have changed much in the past few thousand years you've been married. 

"Have you been sleeping? You look tired," you frown, noticing the dark circles around his eyes. 

"I'm fine," he told you. The look in your eyes was enough for him to know you don't believe him. "I've just been working a lot, that's it. And it's kinda hard to sleep when you're not here."

You sat up on your knees before swinging one of your legs over his waist to straddle him. 

"I'm sorry about that, baby," you pout, caressing his face. 

"You should be," Johnny teased, pecking your lips, "But now you can make it up to me," he whispered. 

"Anything for you, my King," you teasingly whispered back. 

Johnny's hands on your waist moved down to cup your ass. You slide one of your hands over the silky material of his shirt, grab the back of his neck, and deepen the kiss. 

Johnny's hands fell to your thighs, slowly pushing the skirt of your dress up. A shiver ran down your spine, your stomach coiling from excitement. Johnny slipped his tongue into your mouth when you dragged your hips against his, trying to relieve built-up pressure between your thighs.

Your back met the mattress, your head lying against the pillows as Johnny's body occupied the space between your legs. 

His hands wandered all over your body, cupping your breast, squeezing your thigh; it was all too much but not enough.

Johnny's lips traveled down to your neck, softly kissing you there. He bunched up the fabric of your dress in his hands, pushing it up to your hips. He bit and sucked your skin, making his way down your body. 

"So, so beautiful," he mutters between kisses down your stomach.

Johnny touches you like he doesn't have every inch of your body memorized already; as if it were his first time with you.

He pushes your knees apart, settling between your legs. He slowly kisses his way up your inner thighs, digging his nails into your skin when he hears the faintest whimper or whines fall from your lips.

With a subtle wave of his fingers, your panties are discarded to ashes. Any other time you would've chastised his use of his powers, but you couldn't care in the slightest.

Johnny's predatory gaze falls to your pussy, only a few inches away from his face. 

"You gonna let me taste you, sweetness?" 

You eagerly nodded, "Please, Johnny," you said so faintly it was almost a whisper. 

Johnny smirked, lowering his head and flattening his tongue against your lips. You moaned, rolling your hips into his mouth. He teasingly circled your slit with the tip of his tongue before bringing his attention to your clit. You lifted your hips off the bed, raising them against his face before Johnny held your hips, keeping them pinned to the bed.

"Patience, baby. 186 days, I've waited for this. To have you again," he placed both your legs over his shoulders, giving your thighs more kisses, "So, I will take my time if I please."

He ran his tongue through your folds, your juices reminding him of sweet nectar on his tastebuds. Your eyes rolled back, bliss written all over your face as you lost yourself in the pleasure he was giving you. Johnny wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking on the bundle of nerves, resulting in your back arching away from the bed. 

You brought one of your hands to his head, fingernails lightly scratching his scalp.  

"Gods, John, please don't stop."

Johnny moans into your pussy in response. Your legs threaten to close around his head, but he doesn't give them a chance to, hooking his arms under your thighs and keeping them apart to allow him to continue to eat you out like a starved man.

The one thing Johnny wishes he could do for the rest of his immortal life, it's to give you pleasure. The sounds you make, the look on your face, the way your body trembles, all of it; Johnny wishes to be the source of it all for the rest of time. 

"Johnny—fuck. Always make me feel so good," you whine. 

"You wanna cum for me, baby?" 

"Yes, m'so close," you mumble, nodding. 

You could feel yourself nearing the edge before finally falling over. A loud cry of Johnny's name bounced off the walls, surely heard by the palace staff everywhere. 

Even after already cumming, you couldn't help the thoughts running rampant in your head, feeling your skin burn under his touch as he lapped at your folds. It aroused you, even more, having him use his strength against you, knowing he can't hurt you even if he tried.

He left you with one last kiss on your knee before he sat up. You lazily watched your husband begin to undress. He noticed your eyes on him and teasingly undid the buttons of his black silk shirt slowly. You sat up, the fatigue from your first orgasm no longer existent. A smirk was planted on your face as your eyes drank in the man before you. 

Johnny could see from his spot at the foot of the bed the lust swirling around your irises and practically smell your arousal seeping onto the bed sheets. 

Getting impatient, you slide off the bed and stand in front of Johnny, hooking a finger in the belt loop of his pants, tugging him closer. Your lips meet in a messy, desperate kiss, your teeth and tongue clashing. 

You slide his shirt off his shoulders before running your hands down his chest, letting yourself get refamiliarized with his body, having missed feeling his skin against yours these past two seasons. Without breaking the kiss, your fingers blindly undo his pants until they end up on the floor along with his shirt. 

Johnny's hand snaked around your back, pulling you flush against him, untying the laces until the front of your dress fell. He kisses your shoulders as he slips the material off your body, leaving you naked before him.

Johnny wastes no time touching and kissing your body, worshipping you as the goddess you are. 

You push him back onto the bed, Johnny's eyes practically turning black as you get on top of him. You sink your teeth into your bottom lips, feeling his cock between your folds. You couldn't resist the urge to drag your hips against his once again.

"I need you so bad," you whimper, your slick dripping onto his cock.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Please, Johnny."

"Whatever my Queen wants, she gets," he tells you before lifting you out of his lap and lining his cock up with your entrance. 

Lowering yourself onto Johnny's cock, you're refamiliarized with the feeling of him splitting you apart in the best ways.

"You feel so fucking good," you utter. 

"Gods, you're so wet, sweetheart," Johnny groans, fingernails digging into your skin. 

You grin, lifting your hips before sinking back down onto his cock. 

"It's all for you, baby," you slowly start to ride him, unable to resist how good it feels to be so full. 

Johnny can't tear his eyes away from your face. Loving the way you lose yourself in ecstasy. 

He lifts his hips to meet yours, and your eyes roll back into your skull. Too focused on how good it feels, you wrap your arm around his shoulder to balance yourself as you bounce in his lap.

Johnny's hands were all over you while his mouth traveled over your chest, biting, kissing, and licking your skin.  

You tangle your fingers in his hair, bringing his lips back to yours. When you broke the kiss, Johnny's thumb softly edged your bottom lip, silently asking for entry. 

You enthusiastically suck on his thumb, coating the digit in your saliva before he slips his hand between your bodies and starts rubbing your clit. 

"Johnny," you gasp, "Fuck, I can't. John, I'm gonna-" Johnny slamming up into you, cut off your words.

The room seemed to grow warmer, the fires lit around the room burning brighter. 

"Come on, baby. I know you wanna cum," Johnny rubbed coordinated circles on your clit with his thumb, "Be a good girl and cum for me," the vibrations of his voice shot straight to your core.

Your cries and moans were music to his ears, mixing with the sound of skin hitting skin. The knot inside you snapped, and Johnny felt your pussy choking his cock, sucking him deeper into your warm wet heat. 

"Fucking hell," Johnny clenches his jaw. 

You bury your face into Johnny's neck, allowing yourself to catch your breath. 

You lift your head from his neck and rest your forehead against his. 

"I love you," you whisper against his skin, kissing his face. 

"I love you," he groans as you start rolling your hips again.

"Please, fuck me, John," you begged, "Remind me who I belong to."

Johnny threw you onto your back and pushed his cock back into you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, unable to get enough of him. 

"It would be my pleasure, your majesty," he leaned down and met your lips in a kiss, slowly drawing his hips back before easing back in. 

You feel every inch of him, stretching you open, fucking you nice and deep.

"More, more, more, Johnny, please!" you lift your hips to meet his. 

Your husband grabbed your legs, placing them over his shoulders, folding you in half as he plowed into you. 

The tip of his cock reached so deep inside, you could feel him in your stomach, rightfully rearranging your guts.

You found yourself gripping onto the sheets, pillows—anything you could get a hold of, all the pent-up longing you've held onto all this time being released after finally being reunited with your love. 

You felt yourself losing more and more control as you drowned in pleasure. Vines wrapped themselves around the headboard, flowers miraculously blossoming across the room. 

Johnny's chest blooms with pride, knowing he's the only one with the ability to make you feel good enough you lose control of your powers like this. Your whimpers and whines were as sweet as a prayer on his ears. It makes him slam into you harder, faster. 

If you were mortal, your muscles would've screamed in relief when he lowered your legs from his shoulders but kept your knees close to your chest. His thrusts never falter, continuing to pound into you. 

Your pussy clenches around his cock, feeling even tighter than before. The way he messily snaps his hips into yours, pistoning his cock in and out of your sopping hole, you knew that knot inside of him would break sooner rather than later. 

Johnny watches your pussy and swallows his cock, taking him so well.

"Gods, I've missed you," he muffles your moans with his lips on yours, "And this pussy. You were fucking meant for me," he growls, his cock twitching against your gummy walls. 

"Johnny," you whine. 

"What is it, my love?" he slows down but continues his deep strokes. 

"Please, baby, I wanna feel you," you plead.

"Cum with me," he tells you before bringing his thumb back to your clit, sloppily circling the bundle of nerves. 

Your toes curled, and your fingernails dragged across Johnny's skin, hard enough to leave red streaks on his arms. 

You could barely keep your eyes open, slowly blinking up at the man above you as your body approached another climax.

"That's my girl," he hums, "Cum for your King," his eyes glimmer red.

His last words toppled you over the edge, euphoria flooding your entire body. Your orgasm sent Johnny into his own, warm ropes of his cum spilling into your messy cunt. 

You whimper against Johnny's lips, feeling empty as he pulls out of you. He lays beside you, grabbing one of your legs and placing it over himself to keep you close. Neither of you caring about the mess of bodily fluids and flower petals all over the bed. 

"Fuck, I've missed you," you crash your lips into his. 

You pull yourself up into Johnny's lap, his hands holding your waist. You grab onto his hair, making him crane his neck up at you as you slip your tongue into his mouth, your lover sucking on the wet muscles. 

You both pull away, catching your breath but staying close enough you're sharing the same oxygen. 

"You really aren't trying to waste any time, huh," he asked, nudging your nose with his. 

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around him.

"186 days. I've wasted enough." 

a/n: I know it's been a minute but seriously life has been fucking crazy and exhausting so, sorry about that. but thank you for reading and feedback is appreciated <33

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