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samandcolbyownme · 3 months

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Summary: I honestly can't think of a good summary for this, if I think of one by the end of the one shot, I'll change this, but if not, congrats, it's a surprise.

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, sister's boyfriend cheats with reader, CHEATING, snobby twin sister, mentions of alcohol, flirting, kissing, biting, hair pulling, scratching, oral (f rec), unprotected sex, creampie, filth

Going to give another warning, this story will contain mentions and actions of CHEATING - which I do NOT at all condone! Please be respectful with your people! This is just solely for the purpose of bringing spice to life of people who read this. This is all fake! There is nothing real about this. Enjoy.

Word count: 5.2K | not edited

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

You've always wanted to see your sister, Kelsie, happy.

But seeing her with Jake really gets under your skin. It bugs the hell right out of you because as soon as she got whiff that you liked him, she, being the younger twin of course, got what you wanted first, and of course played it off like she didn't know.

They've only been dating a few weeks, and within those few weeks, you found that there's just something about them that you can't exactly put your finger on.

It was almost, weird.

Kind of like they were putting on a show, or at least one of them was.

But ever since Jake started coming around as 'Kelsie's boyfriend', you've changed, put on a facade, acting like it's all normal and that it doesn't bother you as much as it really does.

But little do you know, Jake picked right up on that.

You've known Jake for years, so to joke around with him and tease him and such were all normal to you and him.

That was until the feelings started rolling in, and you thought it was best to just push them down, swallow them each time you caught glimpses of his beautiful face.

Kelsie and Jake got up from the table, walking towards the doors. It's quiet for a few minutes until your friend nudges your arm, "Do you like him?"

You shake your head, staring at the table before looking up at her, "I don't want to."

She tilts her head, giving you a soft smile, "But you do?"

You nod once, letting out a sigh, "I do."

"How long?" She takes a sip of her drink and you raise your brows as you ball up a straw wrapper, "Long before Kelsie, I can tell you that right now." You toss it onto the empty tray and look over at her, "I don't understand how she found out?"

"Wait, you think Kelsie is dating Jake because you liked him first?" She stares at you and you shrug, "She gets everything else that I like before me. What makes this situation any different?"

Your friend laughs slightly, " You make a good argument, y/n. I remember growing up.. you said you wanted a soccer ball, she got one almost the next day."

"It's that baby of the family bullshit." You laugh, "But I'm literally two minutes older than her. I don't-" you shake your head, looking down as Jake and Kelsie walk back in.

Your friend straightens up, "Find what you were looking for?"

Jake laughs, "yeah, I got it." He sits back down, "y/n, Johnnie wanted to know if you wanted to join us for the next video."

"What are you guys planning on doing?" You look up at him and he smirks, "Were going back to the Queen Mary."

You raise your brows, "Seriously, what. Are you fucking nuts?"

He shrugs, "Have you met me?"

You laugh slightly, "Yeah, I think so. What day?"

As Jake looks through his texts with Johnnie, Kelsie puts herself in the conversation, "What's the Queen Mary? Sounds fancy."

"It's scary." You and Jake say at the same time. You smirk slightly, "They want to do a paranormal investigation."

"You mean.. like.. ghosts?" She looks at Jake and he nods, "Yeah, ghosts."

Kelsie swallows, "I'll go."

You all look at her and she shrugs, "What?"

You laugh, "Kels, you won't go to a haunted house that's fake. What makes you think you can go somewhere that's real?"

She rolls her eyes, "I'll have Jake there to protect me." She leans over on him and he smiles slighting while nodding his head, "Thursday."

He looks up at you and you look away from Kelsie, giving Jake a small smile, "Okay."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

It was the day before the investigation and you get a text from Jake, did I piss you off?

You furrow your brows, bringing your phone closer so you can type, No?

You sit up, tilting your head as you try and think about who might have said something as you wait for a response back from Jake.

Your phone vibrates and you tap the screen, eyes scanning over the message from him, Kelsie said that you weren't coming now because you have to make a YouTube video and I don't know it just sounded like a shitty excuse.

You laugh to yourself, that's because it is. She doesn't like us being friends because-

You delete the message, retyping it, I don't have a YouTube video to film. If it did, I'd push it.

You toss your phone down, quickly grabbing it as Kelsie walks into your room, "Don't you know how to knock?"

She laughs, "I help pay the bills."

"So do I, and I pay for this, so-" you motion for her to get out, clutching your phone tight. You give in when you see she doesn't move, "Fine, what?"

"So Jake told me to tell you that they're not going to the Queen Mary anymore. Johnnie got sick and he bailed and Jake doesn't want to do it without him."

Hmm, that's funny, you think as you nod, "Oh okay. We'll I'll just text John-"

She shakes her head, giving you a quick, "No. he's asleep. I guess whatever he has is bad."

"Oh, well. Okay. I guess I'll just stay here and film a video or something." You look down at your phone, laying back as you read a text from Jake, I still want to go, but I don't want to go without you.

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea. You can do that new makeup routine one that you've been saying about."

"Well, if we're not going anymore, why don't we do that truth or drunk video? We have that new deck of cards from that PR package." You lay your phone face down on the bed and look at her.

"I scheduled an appointment to get my nails done since we weren't going, so that's what I'm going to do." She shrugs, "Maybe tomorrow?"

You nod, "That's fine."

She walks out, not saying another word and you let out a huff as you sit up. You go back into Jake's messages and you smirk as you read over his new text, I cancelled so no worries.

You laugh slightly and listen as you hear Kelsie on the phone with, who you assume is Jake, "I'll let her know. I know, I'm sad about it, too."

She walks quickly past your room and goes into hers, closing the door before you can hear anything else.

Later that day, as you're standing in the kitchen you hear the door open, "Hello?"

Jake walks around the corner and smiles, "Hey Kels."

You freeze, mind racing at a hundred miles an hour, He thinks I'm Kelsie? There's no way.

"I know I'm early." He says walking over to you.

This is your moment, you think, fucking take it.

"Hey, no it's okay." You smile and close your computer. You turn towards him but you're stopped from saying anything else by his lips crashing onto yours.

You can be Kelsie.

Your hands move to his neck, pulling yourself closer to him. He moves your laptop over, lifting you up to set you down on the counter.

He pushes his way between your knees and slides you closer to the edge as he kisses down your necks.

You tilt your head, breathing out, "Jake."

His phone ringing in his pocket, cutting whatever this is short. He steps back, eyes on you as he takes his phone out of his pocket.

You can't see the screen but he tells you that it's Johnnie.

"Hey." He walks away, "No, I'm not busy, what's up?"

You hear the front door shut and you're left sitting on the counter in complete confusion. You look around, trying to fathom what just happened, what you just did.

"Oh my god." You slide down off the counter, grabbing your laptop before running to your room. You click on your friend's contact, instantly calling them.

"Hello?"

"I need to talk to you." You say quickly, pacing back and forth in your room.

"Okay, do you want me to come over?"

"No." You say quickly, "I'll come to you. I fucked up."

"I'll leave the door unlocked."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

"You pretended to be Kelsie?!" Your friend laughs, "I mean, I don't blame you. You liked him first."

You groan, "Yes, but at the same time.. I broke a certain trust with Kelsie. Like, that's.." you sigh, "What if she finds out? What if Jake tells her? I can't just say sorry to her. When trust like that is broken, sorry means absolutely nothing."

You stand up, pacing around the room, "I'm also very confused. Like why would he just.. he has to know who we are? Right? Like after a while he just.."

"I don't know, Jake can be smart, but he can always be very stupid at times." Your friend laughs, "He couldn't have mixed you guys up. I can tell which one you are from behind."

You bite your lip, "I'm gonna call him."

Your friend sits up from their bed and shakes their head, "What if he's with Kelsie?"

"You're right." You sigh, sitting down as you stare at your phone, "Fuck it. If they're together I'll just see if they want to do that truth or drink video."

Your thumb hovers over the little phone icon before you tap it, taking a breath as you hear the line ring a few times on speaker.

"Yellow." Jake says, a cheery tone to his voice, "What can I do for you?"

"Are you with my sister?" You ask and he hums, "That depends. What are you calling for?"

Your eyes go wide as you look at your friend who covers their mouth.

"I'm, um. Calling to see if you guys want to do a video with me? A truth or drink video." You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"I'm on my way to go pick her up now, I can see if she wants to do it later?" He says and you nod to yourself, "Yeah, I mean. That's fine. Just le-"

"That's not why you called me."

His words cause a feeling of panic to rush through you, "Yes it was."

"Mm. Are you sure? The tone in your voice makes it sound li-"

You cut him off, "just let me know." You hang up and toss your phone away from you.

"What the fuck was that?!" Your friend asks pushing your arm, "We were literally about to figure out if he meant to do what he did or not."

Your phone vibrates and your friend holds it up with Jake's name and picture on the screen.

"Just.. I can't.. okay. I just.." you sigh, grabbing it from her hand and answering it.

"Hello?" You put the phone on speaker and Jake sighs, "What's going on with you?"

"What do you mean what's going on with me?" You snap, "Sorry that.. came out meaner than I intended."

Jake laughs, "You don't seem like.. you anymore? What's up with that?"

"What do you mean?" You chew on your nail and he groans a dramatic groan, "You're going to be the death of me, y/n. What do you mean what do I mean?"

"I don't.. know what to tell you, because I'm fine." You rest your fingers on your lips lightly, "I'm good. You're good. We're good."

"Mm." Jake hums, "Alright, if you say so. I'll see you tonight."

"Tonight?" You ask, slightly nervous and Jake laughs, "For truth or drink? I'm not giving Kelsie a choice. I want to hang out with you, too."

You mouth 'I want to hang out with you, too.. what?' to your friend and they shrug, "Okay. I'm not home right now, but I'll go home and get everything set up."

"Where are you?" He asks and you can hear the car go into park.

"I'm at y/f/n's house." You answer and he is quiet for a minute, "Okay. Kelsie is coming. I gotta go."

"Talk to you later." You sigh quietly and Jake laughs slightly, "Yeah, love ya."

You hear the three beeps and slowly look up from your phone to your friend. They're staring at you, "I need to to get my hearing checked because that sounded a lot like-"

"I know." You cut them off.

You stand up, tucking your phone into your back pocket, "Can you join the video with us?" Your friend nods, "Do I have time to get ready?"

"You can get ready while I set up." You grab your keys and take a deep breath, "What the fuck is going on?"

They rub your back, "I know it's hard, and it's going to be hard, but for now, just think of him as a dirty little secret."

"Yeah, my beautiful, dirty little secret that won't eat me alive." You roll your eyes, laughing slightly, "What the fuck did I get myself into?"

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

You walk into the house and it's quiet.

"Kels?" You call out, looking back at your friend as you walk in, "You home?" You close the door and shrug, "I guess they aren't here yet."

You walk to the room and set your stuff down. You sit in the chair and feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

"Can I use some of your makeup?" Your friend asks and you nod while you pull your phone out, "Yeah, whatever you want."

Your eyes scan over the text from Jake, I'm actually really exited to see you.

"He just said.. I'm actually really exited to see you. What the fuck does that mean?" You tell to your friend, looking up as they walk into the room, "It means he's excited to see you."

You groan, setting your phone down.

"Answer him back." They motion to your phone and you sigh, "What if it's a trap? Sometimes when he's with Kelsie I'm half afraid that it's her setting me up."

Your friend laughs, "I'm starting to think that there's really no mix up at all. He had to know that you were you."

"Fine." You grab your phone, "But if Kelsie is setting me up, I'm moving to a remote island. I can't take the humiliation she'll put me through."

Your thumbs tap the screen, I'm excited to film this video.

"What did you say?" Your friend walks around and looks over your shoulder, "Really?"

You shrug, "I didn't know what else to say?"

"About what?" Keslie asks as she walks into the room, hand in hand with Jake. You lock your phone, setting it down in your lap, "Nothing."

"Ooh." She smirks, "Got a little secret, hmm?"

Your eyes move to Jake, "No. no secret."

You watch as his eyebrow twitches and he fights back a smirk. You roll your eyes, "Let's just, get ready so we can make this video."

You get up and walk to your room, your friend close behind, "Hey." They whisper, "You like totally did a three sixty. What's up?"

You pull them into your room and close the door, "I'm just.. so confused by this whole thing. I don't even want to do this I don't know why I even said it."

"Well they're here now. Can't really back out of it now." They shrug and sit down to do their makeup, "We can make it a quick one, just try and get her to tap out first."

You sit down, "She'll pick right up on my games, y/f/n. I can't just-" you shake your head, "I'll talk to him when the time is right I guess."

An hour into filming, you've already had to take a few shots, mainly for dumb questions.

"Alright." You sigh, "my turn." You lean forward, slipping a card from the top of the deck, "If anyone in this room has had or has a secret crush, take a shot or reveal said crush to skip the drink."

"My secret crush is that barista down the road." Your friend says with a laugh and you look over at them, "The blonde one?"

They nod, "Oh yeah." They smirk and push their shot glass away, "I'm safe."

You look at Kelsie and Jake, "Spill or drink, you pick."

Jake smirks, filling his little glass, "Yeah, I'll just.." he takes his shot while Kelsie stares at him, "Um, okay?" She rolls her eyes, forcing out a laugh.

"Who's yours, Kels?" Your friend asks and she smirks, leaning into Jake, "Jake of course."

"Yeah that wasn't really a secret." You laugh and she looks at you, "What do you mean by that?"

"Okay." Jake says, "Next question, y/f/n, you can go." He motions to the cards and your friend takes one off the top, "Mm. Okay. Would you hook up with your high school crush?"

You immediately answer, "Oh yeah."

Jake was your high school crush.

"I would." Jake nods and looks at Kelsie, "Would you?"

She sighs, "I mean, if i wasn't dating you and had the change.." she nods, "Probably. Yeah."

Kelsie reaches up, taking a card. She giggles as she reads it, "what is the craziest thing you've ever done?"

Your eyes go wide as a flashback of Jake putting you up on the counter flashes in your mind. You blink it away, straightening up as you look around pretending to think, "mm."

"Craziest thing I've ever done was probably do that free fall thing, you know the thing that catches you by the net?" Your friend says and Kelsie gasps, "You really did that?"

Your friend nods, "Oh yeah. I'd totally do it again."

"I wanna do that." Kelsie looks at Jake, "We should go one of these days!"

Jake nods, "Yeah, we can all go. Y/f/n said she wants to go again."

You smirk slightly, covering it up with your fist, "I'm not adventurous enough to do anything crazy." You lie, "So I'll just.." you pour yourself a drink, knocking it back before setting down the glass.

"I've done way too many crazy things, so I'll just take one." Jake laughs as he pours a shot. He tilts his head back, giving you a wink as you look at him before setting down his empty glass, "My turn."

Another hour of question and you guys just drinking whenever you want later, you sigh, "I think this video is over." You laugh, "We have enough footage I think, who knows."

Kelsie laughs, clearly drunk, "It's fine, sis. We can make it work." She reaches across the table and pats your hand with hers.

She gets super lovey and nice when she's drunk, so that's how you know she's done for the night.

"I think it's bedtime for Kelsie." You pat her hand and she sighs, "Nooo. I want music." She stands up, "Alexa, play today's pop hits."

Greedy by Tate McRae comes on and she moves her chair, dancing and singing to the music.

You look at Jake, "How do you deal with this?" He shrugs, looking from Kelsie to you, "I just.. do." He laughs slightly and stands up, "Alright, lady. Bed time."

She lets out a whine as he pulls her towards the door.

You stand up, leaning over your friend to turn off the camera, "I'll edit this tomorrow, Alexa. Off."

The song stops playing and you sit back down, "What do I do?"

"I think, you should just talk to him." Your friend nudges you, "I'll keep watch in case Boozey McPlastered makes an appearance."

You sigh, "Thank you."

They nod, "Of course. You deserve the happy ended you wanted in the first place."

You and your friend walk to the kitchen, still drinking up courage to come clean to Jake about everything.

A little bit later you look from the hall to your friend, "I haven't heard anything in a while, maybe he fell asleep with her."

"No he didn't." Jake says walking around the corner with a laugh, "What's going on here?"

"Just.. having a casual conversation over some alcohol.. ya know girl talk." You laugh, completely loosened up from the shots and added drinks.

"Ah huh." He says slowly, "I see. Well can I join, I mean." He clicks his tongue, "I am one of americas favorite ladies."

You laugh, sliding your glass over, "You sure can."

"Would you look at that." Your friend checks their phone, "I'm going to go to bed, in the guest bedroom.. in case you needed to find me." They walk away and Jake looks from them to you, "They're not very slick, you know?"

"Yeah." You sigh, "I know."

There's a few minutes of silence before you both talk at the same time.

"So about-"

"So I ju-"

You point, "Go ahead."

Jake shakes his head laughing, "No, you go. Sorry."

You sigh, "I don't even, actually know how to, or even what to say." You laugh slightly and Jake brings a hand up, twirling a piece of your hair, "You know what to do."

Without thinking, you lean in, pressing your lips to his for a few seconds. You lean back, shock taking over, "I just.. I don't.." you stumble over your words and Jake starts to smile, "Do it again."

You freeze, looking from his eyes to his lips, "Why?"

He shrugs, licking his lips, "Because I want you to."

"What about-"

He cuts you off, "I want you, wanted you all along. You just didn't seem like you wanted me, but since your friend told me that Kelsie is only with me out of spite because you liked me first.." he reaches out, hooking his thumb into the belt loop of your jeans and pulling you towards him, "..things have changed."

A smirk grows on your lips as you move to him, placing your hand on his chest, "You know?"

He nods, "And just to confirm.." he smirks, looking into your eyes, "There's no mix up. I can tell you and her apart by your hands. I just wanted to test it, see if you'd kiss me back."

"Well, doesn't seem like I will?" You smile and he nods, tilting his head as he slides his hand around to grab your ass, "Seems like you'll do a lot more, babe."

Your heart feels like it's about to thump from your chest, "You have no idea." You move your head in, hands moving to tangle in his hair as you plant your lips on his.

He bends down, lifting you up. Your legs wrap around his waist, and it's like earlier all over again. But only this time, he walks you to your room.

He salutes your friend who's sitting on the floor by the guest bedroom, watching Kelsie's door. Your friend covers her mouth to not laugh and salutes him back.

Thank you, you mouth quietly to them and they wave you off.

Jake walks into your room, turning to quietly shut and lock the door. He walks you over to your bed, laying you down slowly as his body hovers over yours.

Your lips reconnect, quickly leading into a hot, passionate, well earned make out.

You moan quietly against his lips and he leans back slightly, "You gonna be quiet for me while I finally get a taste of you?"

You nod, "Anything you want."

"Well, I want you, but I think we've already been over that." He winks and brushes hair from your face, "Undress for me."

He moves to stand up, discarding his clothes as you quickly take yours off.

You lay back down, Jake moving up to peck your lips before kissing down your body.

His head dips between your legs and his tongue drags upward between your folds. You arch your back, biting down onto your lip as his tongue moves to thrust inside of you.

Your hands move to his hair, pushing down as your fingers tangle in his hair.

You feel him groan lowly against you, digging his fingers into your hips harder as he pulls you to him.

You knew it was wrong, but it feels so, so, so fucking nice.

Jake glances up at you before attaching his lips to your clit. Your eyes roll back as the pleasured sensation washes through you.

"Jake." You whimper out quietly, looking down at him. He slides a hand down around from your hip, dragging it under your thigh to slip two of his fingers into your wet cunt.

You gasp, bucking your hips slightly as you breathe out a quiet, "s-shit."

He curls his fingers, thrusting them in and out at a teasingly slow pace.

You spread your knees farther apart, biting hard on your lip as your eyes lock onto his. He turns his head, planting gentle kisses on the inside of your thigh.

He slowly pulls his fingers out, bringing them up to his lips. You watch in awe as he licks them clean, enjoying every drop he can get from them.

He moves back up, pushing his hips between your knees. His lips crash onto yours, his tongue sharing the flavor of your juices as it moves against yours.

He groans lowly as the tip of his cock rubs against your center, "I've never needed anything as much as I need you wrapped around my cock right now."

You roll your hips, voice quiet and slightly desperate, "Please, Jake."

He reaches down, guiding his cock steady as he pushes the head of his cock into you.

You gasp, "oh my-"

Jake lays his hand over your mouth, "Gotta be quiet babe." He watches as you nod before resting his forehead against yours, "Fuck."

He slowly pulls out, thrusting back in slowly. His voice is deep, quiet, "You feel so good."

Your arm slings around his neck, legs around his waist. His hand still over your mouth, muffling your moans as his thrusts build up to a quicker pace.

He moves his hand to replace it with his lips. Your lips move in sync as your nails drag up his back.

Nothing makes sense right now, but at the same time it feels so nice to finally get what you wanted for a change.

You lay a hand on his cheek, moaning quietly as you feel close, "D-don't stop." You whimper out, "I'm so close."

You squeeze his cock with your walls, earning a groan from him, "Fuck." He kisses down your neck, biting and sucking a hickey onto your skin.

You didn't care at this point.

If he was going to be your dirty little secret, you were going to have to lie anyway, right?

You pull him closer, digging your nails into his skin as you finally let go, biting down on your lip as you cum around his cock.

Jake places his hand over your mouth, muffling the moans you can't hold back.

"That's it." He whispers, planting a kiss to your forehead, "Do you feel good?"

You move your eyes to look up at him, nodding as much as you can.

"Good. Roll over for me." He pulls out, moving to rest back on his calves as he watching you roll over onto your stomach.

He leans down, one arm by your head to support himself as his cock is re-welcomed by your walls, "So fucking good." He moves down to his elbow, sliding his other hand over to lay it on your neck.

He gently squeezes as he whispers in your ear, "So who was your high school crush?"

He already knows the answer to that. You wouldn't have answered as fast as you did if it wasn't him.

"You." You breathe out, "Fuck, Jake it was you. Always you."

He groans lowly, nipping at your ear as he holds his cock still, "You're gonna make me cum." He laughs slightly, "I kind of don't want to do that yet."

You nod as he dips his head down to kiss your shoulder, "kind of don't wanna pull out either."

"So don't." You whisper, not even fully sure of what you said.

It was an in the moment kind of thing.

"You don't want me to?" He slowly starts to thrust again and you shake your head, "not really." You turn your head, looking at him from over your shoulder.

He kisses your cheek, "Now it's really tempting." He leans up, grabbing your hips as he thrusts in and out.

You lay your head down, biting down on the pillow so you don't sound too loud, "Fuck. Fuck."

Jake reaches down, grabbing a handful of your hair, tilting your head back slightly and you resume biting down on your lip as you fight to control your moans.

"You're so hot." Jake groans lowly, "Feels so. Fucking. Good."

You gasp, clenching around him as you cum once more, laying a hand over your own mouth as you allow the pleasure to consume you.

His thrusts grow sloppy and he pauses, allowing his cock to twitch and spill inside of you.

He lets go of your hair, leaning down to kiss your shoulder, "You okay?"

You turn your head, nodding, "I'm okay." You smile as you lift yourself up. Jake moves, looking around before he grabs a towel off your chair.

You clean up, sitting up to slip your shirt back on, "I hate to be this girl, but what does this mean?"

"For us?" He asks getting dressed, "Well, I think it means that I want to be with you and I have to find an easy way to let your sister down."

You nod, running a hand through your hair, "Yeah."

Jake's moves to sit next to you, "What's up?"

"I just.. everything feels like it's a mess.." you lean into him, "But everything also feels so right when it comes to you."

Jake tilts your chin up, looking down at you, "It's going to be you and me, like it should have been from the start. Okay?"

You nod and he presses a kiss to your nose, "I promise."

"She's going to lose it, might even hate me when she finds out that you left her to be with me." You laugh slightly, "I just.. a part of me feels bad but at the same time.." you sit up and look at Jake, "It feels so fucking good."

He pulls you onto his lap, hands sliding down to your waist, "Which part feels so fucking good exactly." You smile as he lays back, "If you have time, I can just show you."

He raises his brows, "I like the sound of that."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

I genuinely feel like this one fucking sucked for some reason, I struggled to write it. But as always, let me know how you liked it, ilysm thanks for reading.

Like and reblogs are appreciated 🖤

Taglist: @fawned01 @theblackcatwitch @jaeyuns-world @littlec0ffeegirl @rosie-writings @nikkiwastaken @skyslondon @urmomsgirlfriend1 @this-is-not-eirini @666-gothic-bat-666 @udonknowmeh12 @inside--her--fantasy @btaekookies

#samandcolby-ownme #Jake Webber #Jake Webber one shots #Jake Webber smut #there’s no mix up #jake webber one shot #jake webber x reader smut #jake webber dirty #jake webber x reader #dirty one shots Jake Webber #smut one shot #smut one shots #one shot smut #smutty one shot #smut writer #dirty one shot #smut jake webber

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youronlydarlin · 4 months

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warning: wow. This one's lengthy, kinda dark! Johnny "Soap" Mactavish, implied older Soap, also implied age difference, he's in his forties while you're in your twenties, Soap being a pervert, Soap being the pettiest person on the whole planet, noncon/dubcon

Hmrmrmrmrm. Jus' thninkin bout' Pervert Johnny who you turn down at the bar. Rejecting the drink he's offered you, saying that you're not really looking for anything like that since your focusing on your studies at the moment.

Pervert Johnny who's just as stubborn as you are. He shouldn't have been shooting his shot in the first place, he's already got weird stares from the other patrons all cause his drunk ass was obviously hitting on someone that's probably young enough to be his kid.

Pervert Johnny who angrily beats his dick to the the thought of you after. He got rejected, that much was obvious. But s' not going to stop him. His pace is fast, and cruel all cause he thought he could get a cutie to spill into by the end of the night. Cums his brains out, and almost passes out. Wakes up the next mornin', and almost immediately does he have a plan on how to get back at you for bruising his ego.

Pervert Jonny who you thought you'll never hear from again, till all of a sudden theirs a cute guy your mom's been talking your ear off about. Saying about how, he's such a ladies man, the charming soldier that's aged like fine wine. You've always just laughed at it, happy that your ma's finally starting to get over your asshole of a dad who broke her heart. But you did find it oddly suspicious that they've already had plans about marriage, so soon, you thought. Too soon if you ask me.

Speaking of their wedding. You missed it. Total bummer. But it wasn't your fault when the date of it inconveniently clashed with your exam week. Everyone, not just you, were nose deep in books, spending the day away in the library. You apologized to your mom, and her boyfriend via letter. The guy must be extra shy or something because he refused to video call like you suggested to your mom. Anyways, the exam passes by like a breeze, and so does the wedding. You didn't really see both of them after. Your mom calling you and saying that they're already in their honeymoon. You don't worry too much, considering just how much the week's already taken out of you, so let's just say that this was a much needed rest.

Besides. You'll finally get to meet your mom's boyfriend, well, husband now, you guess. And what's the worst thing that could happen, right?

...

Never in your life did you expect to see him, again. Pervert Johnny, who turns into Pervert Step Dad Johnny. You just got back from your classes and there he is, rough hands on your mom's ass, and they have the audacity to act surprised. She excuses herself from him, giggling wildly like a school girl while she takes your face in her palms kissing it, and talking about how much she's missed you. While you can't help but look away from the man that's standing in your kitchen. But unlike you, he stares. And you don't miss the way he licks his lips at the helpless expression you have on.

Pervert Step Dad Johnny that likes to walk around shirtless. Always just in his gray sweatpants. You think he's doing it on purpose too, never wearing boxers so you could see the imprint of his cock. Doesn't even bother hiding the erections he get from you, always teasing, and saying "Eyes up here, lad/lass.." when you weren't even staring.

Pervert Step Dad Johnny who you hate with a passion. This has got to be the prettiest attempt at revenge you've ever seen, but you don't have it in your heart to tell your mom about her new husbands real intentions.

Pervert Step Dad Johnny who near pounces on you the moment your mom leaves for a business trip. Your bending over when all of a sudden he's behind you. Frothing his dick on your ass, and you don't even have the chance to scream or run away cause he's got one of his rough palms over your mouth. He pulls you close to his chest, and he pants like he's in heat, whispering the filthiest words to your ear.

Pervert Step Dad Johnny who magically convinced you to try his dick at least once. And that's how it starts :(.

Pervert Step Dad Johnny who gets you addicted to his dick. Knowing you'll come around in no time. He's always knew you'd be the prettiest whore. And he takes advantage of the fact that your mom, well, his wife, is out of the house. You learn so quickly too. Morning head from you's got to be his favorite part of starting the day.

Pervert Step Dad Johnny who dresses you up in the prettiest lingerie money can buy. Corsets, and laces. Stockings, and bows. You have a collection of all of them right now. Be careful though, tease him enough and your getting your cute little panties pulled to the side. His throbbing dick rearranging your guts, and you see it poke through your tummy. The perv definitely rubs at the bulge, talking about how happy he is, because his baby's giving him a baby too.

a/n: I don't know what possessed me to write this. I just wanted some older soap content, kinda, this is just my second post for the day so m' sorry if it's not enough to feed you guys 😞 but there's a project that's been needing some finalizing and because of that this might not be my finest work. But I'm hoping that your having a better day than I am, my loves! Remember to always take care of yourself!

Yours, truly,

–dolly

#cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x reader smut #cod imagine #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #x gn reader #x female reader #x male reader

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buryustogether · 1 year

Text

-> THE SHADOWS OF STARS

johnny silverhand x reader (not v)

word count: 8.5k

summary: despite being the newest groupie for samurai, you work hard to pull more than your weight and ensure gigs run smoothly. after a run in with a crazed fan goes awry, johnny silverhand offers you a bit of comfort.

warnings/tags: pre-relic johnny, reader is not v, violence, blood, age gap romance, non-penetrative sex, first kiss, first time, virgin!reader, mention of arranged marriage and running away, smut, swearing, alcohol consumption

author’s note: he may be a bit ooc but he’s my dreamboat so

If you’d have known how the night would have ended, you would have done things differently. You would have said more, said less, perhaps. Stepped further left, taken two more paces back. Anything and everything, you would have done differently.

Anything and everything would have been for nought - because the end of the night transported you to the stars invisible above your head, and beyond the crescent moon hanging from a weathered thread. You hadn’t known you could go that high - and you owed the jump to none other than Johnny fucking Silverhand.

It started with a woman - of course, that’s what all the old-world love stories say. But this woman wasn’t a princess waiting for a king to come down from his tower and save her and make her his; she was a plastered drunk with ugly-as-all-hell bangs on her forehead and a tank top so thin and skimpy her tits would have hung out even if she tried to keep them covered.

You had been watching her from the corner of your eye the entire show from your little perch beside the stage, headphones clasped over your ears and a tablet with the set list in hand. From the shadows, because that’s all you were, really in comparison to them, you had tracked her as she downed drink after drink and got closer and closer to the edge of the stage. Of course she was decked out in their merch - hell, everyone here was, but there were hearts inked onto the Samurai logo across her chest. Just what this gig needed - a crazy-ass fan hammered out of her mind.

It was when she’d disappeared to get herself another shot when you’d allowed yourself a glance up to the stage on your right. Christ above, they were so fucking cool. You didn’t care if that made you sound like an awestruck teenager; they were the only words you could conjure up at the moment. You’d never been one for poetics.

A band of rough and rowdy outcasts, torn at the edges in all the right places and ragged at the ends, they stuck out in a city like this. Especially the guitarist; god, you’d had a massive schoolgirl crush on Johnny Silverhand since you were sixteen and had first discovered their music. He was everything you found enticing; attractive, but without the superficial glamour Night City was held under; charismatic, charming, confident; maybe a bit full of himself, which you had discovered after being pulled into their crew as the newest groupie, but it didn’t phase you as much as you thought it would.

Your younger self would have fainted if she knew you were a groupie for Samurai these days. You were new - the youngest by far they’d ever taken on, but god above knew you pulled more weight than the older assistants who’d gotten used to the feeling of trailing in the shadows of stars. You stayed late into the night and early into the morning to clean up and pack after gigs, set up arrangements for desirable venues, arrived early to prepare so they only had to get up there and sing. Hell, you even cleaned their instruments when you had the time; you’d restrung Silverhand’s prized guitar enough times to have the same calluses on your fingers as his.

Of course, it had taken a snapped string, a sweat-inducing dash to the nearest music store, and an approaching meeting with a business partner for him to give it up to be repaired by someone else than him. Eurodyne had certainly had a hand in convincing him to part with the damned thing; he’d given you an appreciative nod and a charming wink when Silverhand had left his case at your little station.

Back in the present, you found your gaze pulled from your set list to watch as Silverhand kicked up a foot on a speaker to twist out a solo that left goosebumps trailing along your skin. Below him, fans hollered and screamed their approval; his lips quirked up in that Cheshire grin of his, the crinkle of his eyes hidden behind his aviators. You swallowed thick. Despite working for Samurai for nearly a month now, you’d never spoken to Silverhand once. He’d never even glanced in your direction, too caught up in his own business or too distracted by fans to pay you much mind.

You wondered what his voice would have sounded like feet from you, soft and gentle, instead of strained with his cries as he appeased his crowds.

Your spine straightening, your eyes at once flicked back to the woman you’d been watching as she reappeared at the front of the crowd. She was barely able to keep herself on her platform heels, eyelids drooped and movements sluggish. Your lips twisted themselves into a frown; some hangover she was going to have in the morning. You glanced back down at your tablet for a moment, then back to the chick. At once, your chest thundered.

She was leaning against the wall of the stage, hand outstretched in an attempt to touch Silverhand’s pant leg. He kept his cool - surprisingly - and continued the song as he took a step back so that he stood just out of her reach.

You cast a quick glance around the dim venue. Where the hell was security? The bodyguards you’d hired to keep a perimeter at the stage? You found them; they were both slumped at the bar. Perfect; this night was throwing in all kinds of elements that made for a perfect bomb. The question was - when was it all going to blow?

The rest of the gig, you kept your eye on the rowdy fan, never letting her stray too far from your vision. She paced back and forth about the stage, trying to touch even the boot or pants hem of one of the players. It raised the hair on your neck at end as a hot, lava-like sensation filled your stomach.

Were you… jealous?

God, no, you told yourself as the last song of the set came to a close. You didn’t get jealous of blackout drunks practically sobbing over a couple of rockstars who probably didn’t even know your name. And yet… every time she cried out Silverhand’s name, every time she blew him a kiss, that sensation worsened. It coiled like a serpent in your belly, forcing your jaw to clench and your blood to boil.

Shit. You needed to get a serious grip.

Slowly, as the bar began to clear out and final tabs were paid at the bar, you found yourself in conversation with the owner of the place. You sat at a table and watched as she did the math for the band’s share of the profits of the night, cradling an iced concoction you’d been dying for since you got here. Up on the stage, Silverhand and Eurodyne were speaking in hushed tones, motioning back and forth.

“You know,” said the owner as she tallied up her data, “you seem pretty young to be a manager for those fellas.”

You forced yourself to smile and chuckle softly. “Oh,” you said, “I’m not their manager. I’m actually a groupie. I just, you know, move their things back and forth and hook up their systems for them.”

“You seem to do a lot more than that.” With a flick of her hand, she deposited the eddies into your account; a moment later, they showed up on your vision screen. When you got the chance later tonight, you would divide up the earnings between the band, the hired muscle, and yourself. You didn’t think those meatheads had done anything to earn the scrap, but you were terrified to be the one to tell them so.

“I guess someone has to,” you murmured quietly.

“I mean it,” she said. She gave you a gentle, motherly smile, one that made your heart and ache and pang for home. “You’re playing practically every role in this little game of theirs. Movement, tech, cash flow. And I’d bet they don’t even know your name, do they?”

You felt yourself blanch a little. Casting a glance over toward the rockers, your stomach flipped slightly as Silverhand threw his head back and barked out an echoed laugh. “They do,” you lied.

“Sure, kid.” The woman patted your arm before hopping off her stool and taking your empty glass. “If you’re going to survive a life like that, at least make sure to claim the respect you deserve. You’re not a doormat, girl. Don’t act like one.”

With that she left you to your own clouded thoughts, mind a hell scape of troubles and conflicting wants and needs and desires. You pursed your lips and stared down at your lap. Maybe she was right; maybe you should talk to them. Ask for better pay. Throw in a couple set ideas you’d been saving for the past weeks. Yet as much as you wanted to, the queasy feeling in your belly kept you from advancing too far.

You’d always been an anxious kid; too scared to voice your opinions. Your parents said you were well-behaved. You thought ball of nerves was a better way to phrase it.

You had just begun to kick off your stool and begin the tedious task of packing up the equipment when a flash of movement caught your eye. That woman - the one who had tried to touch the band on the stage - was jittering across the floor toward Silverhand and Eurodyne as they made their way to the backstage entrance. Her tits swayed as she bounced in their direction, feet dragging in her drunken state.

Fuck - some people just didn’t know when to quit, did they?

Feeling that simmering boil arise in your chest again, you quickly stride across the floor to intercept her aim toward the men. She was just behind them when you reached her, her arm outstretched and palm open to grab a handful of Silverhand’s ass. The serpent in your belly flared.

“Hey.” You grabbed the woman’s wrist in an iron-fisted grip, stopping her fingers just inches from their prize. Her head drunkenly lolled over to glare daggers at you. “No touching, you got it?”

“Get the fuck off me, you fucking kid.” She ripped her hand from your grip, and the numerous rings slid along her fingers scratched along your skin. You refused to flinch at the pain, instead pulling yourself to your full height and clenching your fists. “What the hell’s your problem?”

Your eyes flickered to the door backstage. The men had disappeared, and you felt a short little something burst inside of you. Disappointment? Surely you weren’t thinking they would come to your aid? That Silverhand would tell this bitch to scram and then say, ‘Damn, kid, thanks a lot. Want to come backstage and sign to become our mascot?’ God, you were a fucking idiot.

“Go home before someone knocks you on your ass,” you said, trying to mimic some of things you’d heard street kids say in back alleys. “I’d hate for your lipgloss to smear any further.”

“And who the fuck do you think you are?” Now she was angry. Getting up in your face. And you were alone - the venue owner had vanished, and the band was backstage. You suddenly wished you knew how to mind your own business. “You know where you are? This is fucking Heywood. Lose an eye for saying something like that.” She sniffed and looked you up and down. God, those bangs were ugly as all hell. “What are you, sixteen? You better run home to mommy before you get smacked.”

To your dismay, and fury, and horrified embarrassment, you felt tears beginning to pool in your eyes. You could count on your fingers the number of times someone had yelled at you like this, and each and every one still made your heart thunder like a drum. You weren’t cut out for this kind of shit; you should have taken her advice and run home, begged your parents’ forgiveness.

But suddenly the owner’s words were resurfacing in your mind.

You’re not a doormat, girl. Don’t act like one.

Gathering what little courage hadn’t dwindled away, you squared your jaw and said, “Get out and don’t come back, or I’ll call the pol-“

You weren’t able to get anything else out before suddenly a fierce, solid fist connected with the side of your face. You went sprawling, sending a table a a stool clattering into their sides, your hands clutching at your nose. Hot, tangy copper flooded down from your nostril, dripping onto your shirt and staining your palms. Holy fuck - she’d just punched you. You’d never been struck before - is this what it actually felt like? Your nose throbbing, your eye aching in its socket, your lips open as you gasped for breath?

Vaguely, through the blood pumping in your ears, you felt the woman kick your foot and scoff before the door swung shut behind her. You were left in silence, still in place where you lay propped on your elbow on the floor, with nothing but the scarlet falling from your nose and a painful watering eye.

With a coarse gasp, you sat up. Your head pounded like someone had delivered a bullet to your temple and it had come out through your jaw. Now that they weren’t being held back, tears cascaded down your cheeks freely and fell from your chin. You touched your nose, the skin around your eye, and let out a small sob as the pain flared through your skull.

Your attention was pulled from your attack to the backstage door, where a peel of laughter reached your ears. The band - you could ask them for help. Explain what happened. They could clean you up, take you to a ripper doc to make sure everything was still intact.

“Fuck, no,” you whispered to yourself. You’d eat lead before you let them see you like this; before they realized that, shit, you may have had your nineteenth birthday a few months ago, but goddamit, you still were just a snotty-nosed kid who needed her hand held when things got rough on the playground. They couldn’t know that. No one could.

You felt yourself rising, using the bottom of your shirt to gingerly wipe off the excess blood on your face. You needed to pack up. Load the equipment into the truck. Call the venue for tomorrow’s gig and make sure the show was still on.

Then you would wander, see if any rippers were still open. And if there wasn’t, well… you’d just have to deal with it.

Your mother’s words rang in your ears, still as sharp as a razor as they were when you left home. “No one’s going to take care of you out there,” she had said. “No one will help you. No one will care about you. No one will love you. You’re going to be all by yourself.”

Fuck it - you didn’t need any help. You didn’t need anyone to take care of you, to love you. You’d do it all yourself.

The pain was too much to acknowledge that was a lie.

It wasn’t but a half hour later that you were winding up speaker cords and wrapping them in their protective cases, gritting your teeth against the panging ache blossoming from your face. You were nearly done with the front half of the stage, a small tower of equipment stacked behind you and waiting to be dragged to the truck out back. You were already sweating your ass off, not to mention that the scab in your nose kept breaking and bleeding. You were sure you weren’t looking like much of a model.

You exhaled a long, exhausted breath and took a seat on the edge of the stage. Your toes barely touched the ground. Head bowed, you fisted the material of your blood-stained shirt and bit your lip to keep a fresh wave of tears at bay. You failed; they escaped, trailing down your cheeks like twin rivers.

What the hell were you doing? You were miles from home, miles from anything you knew. You’d had a life, a future planned out for you. Money. Comfort. Everything you didn’t have now. And you’d run away from it all.

“Hey, kid,” said a voice from further down the stage. “You seen my pick around here? Dropped the fucker after the show.”

Oh, holy fuck. Johnny Silverhand was speaking to you - and you were sitting here crying about being smacked around once or twice.

You cleared your throat once, twice, that the same time turning away quickly and pawing away the tears clinging to your cheeks. “Uhm, yeah.” Keeping your face turned from him, because frankly, you couldn’t take one more thing going wrong tonight, you fished out the obsidian-colored guitar pick you’d found on the stage while packing up. You had planned on leaving it beside his case when he and the others went out for a drink like they always did; it had been burning a hole in your pocket since you’d stuck it there, knowing it was the very pick he often stuck between his teeth after songs.

You held it out in his direction, refusing to let him see your tear-streaked face. He took it from your outstretched palm with his cybernetic hand, the metal fingers clicking together as he accepted it. You began to pull your hand back before suddenly those metal fingers were wrapped around your wrist, keeping your palm turned upward.

“You cut yourself or something?” he asked. He was looking at the blood you’d wiped off with your hand; fuck. Couldn’t you do anything?

Sniffling again, you pulled your hand away a little more forcefully than you meant to and cradled it in your stomach. “Yeah,” you murmured quietly, but you knew he heard you. Your voice echoed here in the empty building. “I’m fine. Sorry for worrying you, Mister Silverhand.”

To your surprise, he released a mumble from the back of his throat as he came closer and settled himself on the edge of the stage beside you. You immediately stiffened, your wide eyes trained like a magnet to an empty spot in the corner. “Christ, kid, I’m not that old. Johnny’s fine, as long as my hair’s not grey and I can still piss on my own.”

You listened as he lit up a cigarette, the lip of his lighter clasping shut before he tucked it back into his pocket. Was this actually happening? Was Johnny fucking Silverhand actually sitting down with you? Maybe that chick had knocked you clean out after all.

“You’re the new one, aren’t you?” Johnny asked as he took a drag of his smoke. He said your name, and your heart sprang like a bird screaming to be free of its cage. He did know your name. “What do you think of this shitshow? Not exactly what you expected, right?”

You reached up to wipe your nose - and quickly hid your hand when you brushed off a fresh swatch of blood. “I don’t think it’s a shitshow,” you admitted in a shy voice. You sniffed. “I think it’s great. I think you all are.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his wrist - he was offering you a drag of his smoke. You stared at it for a moment before gingerly taking it and holding it like a joint; you felt his gaze on you, you could see the edge of his faint smirk. Obviously you weren’t holding it right. Nevertheless, you hesitantly brought it to your lips. How bad could one drag be?

As soon as the smoke tumbled down your throat and into your lungs, you pitched forward and hacked out a number of dry coughs. It felt like ash was steamrolling down your spine, tasted like a bad dream you couldn’t wake from. You felt like you were going to be sick.

Beside you, his feet crossed at the ankles, Johnny gave that deep, drawling laugh you’d heard time and time again - and had practically fallen for - and took back his cigarette. “First smoke, kid?” You heard the smile in his voice as he placed it back between his lips. “When you throw up, just don’t do it here.”

You raised your hand to cover your mouth, your bleeding nose, but you were too late. You bent your head and coughed into your lap - with enough force to send a spattering few droplets across the tops of your thighs. Your hands scrabbled to wipe them away, but the man beside you was quicker.

“Jesus,” he said, all traces of amusement wiped like a slate from his voice. “Didn’t think it’d kill you.”

“Sorry,” you gasped.

There came a short, yet stifling moment of stillness, of silence. It felt as if the world had gone still, had come to a stop on its axel or the spinner or whatever the hell it rotated on. If it even did anymore.

But then it all came back full force, like a slap to the face, like a bullet to the chest. Johnny reached his hand out and grabbed your chin - gently, but commanding; forcefully, but gingerly - and forced you to turn your head and look at him. It was the first time you’d met his eyes since he’d walked into the stage - his aviators were pushed up on his head, his smoke dangling from his lips, his oak-colored eyes hard and steely and rough to disguise the shock lying beneath them.

“Fuck me.” He tilted your head slightly, his gaze traveling over your face. “Someone do this to you, kid?”

You felt as though you couldn’t speak. Even if you wanted to, you just couldn’t. His artificial fingers were cool against your flushed skin, his grip harsh but forgiving all at once. Fireworks were exploding across your face where he touched you, rendering you speechless. Did he… actually care? Give a shit you’d taken a clock to the skull?

When you didn’t answer, his fingers tightened slightly on your jaw. Your eyes found his again, lips parted and heart skipping beats. “Hey,” he said more firmly, then pulled his cigarette from his lips with his free hand. “Who did this shit to you, huh?”

Ignoring the thrumming and singing and screaming of your heart, you swallowed thick and averted your gaze. “No one,” you replied. When his grip didn’t let up, you finally caved. “Just… just a fan, a little bit ago. She was, uh…” You hesitated. “She was trying to catch a grope of you, so I stopped her. Guess I caught it instead.”

Your small, forceful chuckle wasn’t met with the kind of response you were hoping for; maybe a laugh, or at least a tug at the corner of the lips. But it did not happen. Instead, you were met with a stony glare. A hard gaze. A deeply-set frown that bordered on a scowl.

You became suddenly and deeply intimated of Johnny Silverhand, aware now of the tight grip he had on your jaw and how close he was to your face. You bowed your head to the side, and he at last let you go. “Sorry to ruin the after party,” you murmured, then swallowed thick and hopped off the stage. “I’m fine, really. I just need to finish packing up and I’ll get out of here.”

Attempting to hide the flush in your cheeks and the hammering of your heart in your chest, you bent over to gather up a speaker in your arms. When you stood straight again, you found Johnny standing just feet before you, his aviators clutched tight in his grip at his side.

“I’m not fuckin’ with you here, kid,” he said, bringing his face close again. You felt your knuckles paling around the speaker, clutching it tight to your chest. His hair framed his face in a darkened curtain, the stubble on his cheek pronounced in the dim lightning. “Nobody fucks with my band without feeling it later. You know what this bitch looks like?”

“There really isn’t a need for more violence.” Eyes down, head bowed, you shifted the speaker’s weight in your arms. You tried not to dwell on the sensation that arose in the pit of your belly over being included in his band. “I just want it to be over with.”

Johnny watched as you set down your load, reaching up to wipe at your bloody nostril. As he crossed his arms, his foot began to tap gently - a sign of agitation you’d come to recognize. “Fuck all, kid,” he rumbled, then pulled the bandanna from his back pocket and tossed it to you. Raising the cloth to you nose, you tried not to inhale deeply as his scent overpowered you. “If you’re not going down that road, you at least got liquor at your place to soften the blow that shiner’s going to give you tomorrow?”

You clenched your jaw, wrapped your free tightly over your chest. The blood from your nose was stained into the fabric of the bandana; your grip tightened around it. You murmured a soft reply.

Johnny cocked his head, hands planted on his hips. “Speak up, kid. Use that voice of yours like it’s meant to be used.”

“I live in my car,” you said again, louder, then immediately cleared your throat and began to drag a box toward the door. “Listen, uhm… Johnny, I appreciate it, but I really need to finish packing -“

“Fuck packing.” Johnny crossed the small distance you’d put between the pair of you, stopping so close you felt his breath fanning across your face. “Let those other dickwipes pull their weight for once.”

Your gaze tried to avert itself again, but something within the hallows of your chest forced your eyes to stay trained on his. Were those flecks of hazel in the brown of his irises? You blinked a few times; you’d never been this close to him before. Hell - you’d never been this close to a man before at all.

“I…” You hesitated, gripping the bandana so tightly you were sure you were about to tear it in two. “I didn’t think you cared so much.”

“I told you, kid,” he said, then reached up to grab your shoulder. Explosions; fireworks; detonations where he touched you. “I take care of my band.”

And that was how you found yourself holding an ice pack to your face in Johnny Silverhand’s apartment in Pacifica, with the night sky and the stars taking up the space between peering in on you from the windows across the room.

You brought a small glass of liquor to your lips as you took in the living space; it was quaint, but not a shitty little hole in the wall either. You knew he didn’t care for aesthetics or shows; he was a man of practicality. Whatever served him well - pretty or not - he kept around.

Maybe that was why you’d lasted this long so far tailing the band as their little runt groupie.

You shifted slightly in your seat on the couch, pulling the pack slowly from your face. A television was set against the far wall, where the news station spewed some commercial for the latest body mod people were just ‘dying for!’ Clothes lay discarded around the bed set in the alcove in the corner, and a trio of electric guitars stood by dutifully in the corner amongst a mountain of expensive speakers and stereoes. Mounted on the wall were half a dozen framed magazine covers that featured Samurai - and a few were only his face occupied the page. Photoshoots, interviews, covers… he had it all done and displayed.

The star himself stood at the miniature bar pouring himself a few fingers of vodka, hair tied up in a half knot at the crown of his head. He set the bottle down and crossed the room to take a seat on the opposite side of the couch, then kicked up his feet on the coffee table and crossed them at the ankle.

“So tell me,” said Johnny and sipped at his liquor. He extended an arm across the back of the couch, his fingers just a few inches from your head. “How’s a kid like you end up in this shit city? You certainly aren’t built to be a street kid, so you didn’t grow up here.”

Consciously, you reached up to touch the area around your eye. You’d used the bathroom when you first arrived here to clean the blood off your face, but the black eye steadily blossoming across your skin wasn’t going to wash away as easily. As if you didn’t already feel bad enough; you were sitting on fucking Johnny Silverhand’s couch in a bloodstained shirt and the confession off your lips that you lived in your damn car.

When he tilted his head to look at you expectantly, you felt your throat run dry. You knew how he - hell, how most of the street kids in Night City - felt about where you came from. Surely you didn’t have to tell him the entire truth. Besides - even if you lied, you were expecting him to come to his senses any time now and tell you, his month-new groupie, to get out of his house and scram.

“Well,” you said and gingerly placed the ice pack on the side table, “I guess you’re sort of right. My family was pretty… well-to-do. I grew up on the top floors of the snottiest buildings -“

“You used to be a corpo kid.”

Your blood ran cold in your veins. Fuck; this was it. Your run with Samurai was over. With any band, really. Surely word would spread you were a corpo brat trying to slum it as a street kid.

Johnny shrugged a shoulder and brought up his glass to take another sip. “You don’t hide it well, kid,” he told you bluntly. “The way you talk, walk, hold yourself. You reek of that high-brow lifestyle, no offense.” The corner of his lips quirked slightly. “But surely mom and dad didn’t drop their precious little darling on the street, now, did they?”

You couldn’t stop the zipping, electric sensation that pinged off the walls of your chest. “Not exactly.” You finished off your drink and set it aside, eyes focused on the corner of the television. You had no idea what the anchor was talking about; you didn’t really want to know. “My parents are oil investors. Old money types - they both came from countryside mansions and absent fathers - heh.” You smiled slightly to yourself. “They always told me I was a, as they called it, ‘soft soul.’ In their native tongue, that means weak. Not able to make those cutthroat decisions, you know? I don’t think they ever planned on including the stocks and the oil fields in their inheritance, so they went off and found the son of another tycoon who they could give it to.”

“Holy fuck,” said Johnny and lifted a stunned brow. “You’re telling me they arranged a marriage for you and this asshole?”

“They tried, I guess.” You hesitated, hand fidgeting with a stray loose end on your shirt. “I told them I’d rather splatter my brains on the wall - and they told me I could either do it their way, or leave and not come back at all.” You turned your head and gave him a wry, tight-lipped smile. “So I haven’t gone back.”

Johnny hissed out a breath through his teeth and tossed back the rest of his vodka. “You’ve got balls, kid, I’ll give you that,” he said and set aside his glass. “NC’s sure one hell of a place to hit the ground running.”

“Mm.” Maybe it was the liquor in your systems talking; or maybe it was the fact that slowly, as the evening went on, you were becoming more and more comfortable around him. “When I was younger, I heard your music for the first time and I just couldn’t get enough of it. My parents fucking hated it - tried to take away my vinyls, block the streaming websites, but I always found a way to keep listening. I guess… it was the only way I felt I could rebel.

“I got dragged to parties to be seen and not heard; I was given piano lessons at five, and when those didn’t stick, they put me in sports. They always wanted me to be some, I don’t know, incredible prodigy. Like I needed to be amazing to call myself their daughter. And I guess when they realized I wasn’t anything to be proud of, they just gave up.”

As soon as you shut your mouth, you regretted what you had said. When you’d left home, you had vowed to leave your past in the past. What the hell were you doing?

But then Johnny was barking out one of those laughs of his as he rolled his head back against the couch cushion. “Oh, come on,” he said and eyed you incredulously. “Nothing? You can handle your way around eddie negotiations - you sure they didn’t try to shape you into a corpo biz manager?”

“Believe me,” you said, finding yourself snickering along with him. “They tried everything. Nothing I ever did was good enough for them.” A loosened giggle escaped your lips as you gestured vaguely around the apartment. “Hell, I think they’d keel over and kick it if they knew I was at Johnny Silverhand’s place - the most infamous rockstar in Night City.”

He smirked coyly. “What?” he said and scratched at his throat. His eyes stayed trained on yours as you watched his tattoos move with his ministrations. “Your old man doesn’t like bad boys and tech fuckers?”

“Especially.”

There was another one of those still, silent moments between the pair of you, like the string attached to your fingers had pulled taunt. The television played quietly across the room. Car horns blared and wailed outside. Your gazes were locked together, unable to pull apart even if you wanted to.

Then he was moving. Pulling his feet off the table, standing to his full height. Stepping closer - resting a silver hand on the couch arm beside you and the other on the back near your head. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leaned over you, enveloping you against him and his ow shadow.

“Listen, kid,” he said, and you realized his voice had dropped a baritone. In the pit of your belly there came a fluttering, one that traveled further, lower, straight to your core. “I might be getting some off vibes here, but I’m not going to be a pussy and say I wouldn’t be disappointed if I was.” You felt your breath slam from your lungs as he leaned closer, closer, and dragged his tongue along the short expanse of your cheekbone; you swore your heart stopped. “Tell me if I’m wrong, but I think there’s a thanks in order for saving my ass earlier.”

Ice - your blood had frozen and turned to ice beneath your skin. Did he know you were holding your breath? Did he know you’d never been this close to anyone like this? Did he know you’d never kissed before, never fucked or gotten fucked or known what real, true devotion felt like?

After what seemed an eternity - a forever of him staring at you from inches away, awaiting your green light to advance - you at last found your voice. “I didn’t do it in exchange for this.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but let me spoil you, sweetheart.”

Then his lips were melded to yours, and your mind, your senses, your body - they all burst red and green and purple and every color across the spectrum you didn’t even know existed. His knees came to rest on either side of your legs and he bent down, so that he hovered over you and you stretched up in order to keep your mouths connected. His kiss was rough and demanding, the reins held tight in his hands, and he took up every last gasp of breath you had left in your lungs.

He pulled back for a quick inhale, leaving you shell shocked, but only for a moment before he was pushing his lips back against yours. “Fuck, honey,” he slurred between deep, passionate kisses, “you taste even fucking better than I thought.”

When his mouth moved down to the column of your throat, his touch anchoring your hips down beneath him, you realized this wasn’t supposed to be a one-man show. Your movements felt foreign, unknown, as you brought one hand to thread through his hair and the other to cradle the back of his neck. His tresses slipped through your fingers like feathers or silk or some other poetic shit - you didn’t care enough to think of the right metaphor.

Johnny found a spot on your skin where your neck met your shoulder, his hand moving your shirt collar out of the way, and attached his mouth to that area. He sucked and pulled at your vulnerable throat, using his sharp teeth to gently bite at the skin. You gasped aloud, your grip in his hair tightening, as he licked at the place he’d bitten, almost like apologizing or making up for the pleasurable pain.

And fuck, was it pleasurable. With every moment that ticked by with his mouth lavishing your neck, with his touch roaming across the planes of your body, you felt yourself growing wetter. Your belly was flip-flopping with nerves and excitement, your core suddenly aching from the attention you were receiving. And, if you shifted your hips just right, you felt the growing erection in his pants pressing against your thigh. You gave a hesitant, experimental buck of your hips against his - and your heart leaped when he pulled off your throat to groan low and gravelly into your collarbone.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” Johnny growled as he sat up. He peered down at you with blown pupils and an almost animalistic gaze, his hands working the clasps and buckles of his bulletproof vest. “Keep playing games like that and you might get your prize sooner than you expect it.” At last, he lifted the vest over his head - and you didn’t stop yourself from staring. His stomach was a flat plane of muscle, riddled near the hip and the pec with a few puckered scars. His dog tags clinked against his chest, hanging like ornaments over the line of hair that began at his belly button and became thicker as it disappeared beneath his waistband.

“Impressed?” he crooned, drawing your eyes back up to his.

You felt yourself smiling, albeit a bit nervously, and slowly reaching out to touch his abdomen. “Maybe,” you murmured. Your fingers trailed over his chest, his nipples, his belly. His muscles flexed under your touch, and every few moments he let his head fall back and released a low-throated moans. They sent shivers up your spine and an ache down to your core, clenching around nothing.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Johnny said, coming to his senses and hooking his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt. “I can’t exactly do this the right way if I’m the only one playing skins.”

Your nerves jumped wildly as he began to pull up your shirt; you partially lifted yourself to aid him, but as the fabric began to clear your breasts, you felt your blood spiking. “Wait!” You grabbed his wrist, halting him in place. “Wait, Johnny, wait.”

Obediently, he paused where he was. He peered down at you questioningly, searching for a sign of whatever he’d done wrong. “Don’t get cold feet on me now, kid,” he drawled gently.

“No,” you said quickly, and you panicked because he looked like he was going to pull away, so you surged forward and kissed him hungrily. He gave a muffled grunt of surprise, but returned it nonetheless. When you finally leaned back again, you knew your face was flushed; how attractive you must have looked, with a violent blush and a black eye coming in. “I want to, Johnny, I really do. More than…” You shook your head slightly. “More than I think I’ve ever wanted anything?”

“More than you want to tell those fucking parents of yours where to shove it?”

A nervous, wobbly smile wound over your lips. “Yeah,” you replied. “More than that. But…” You swallowed thick and averted your gaze, letting your eyes fixate instead on his dog tags. “I, uhm… I haven’t exactly… done this before. At all.”

“Hmm.” It was all he said for a long, quiet moment. You could tell he was staring at you, but you didn’t want to know if his gaze was full of reproach or unease - or the wild, suddenly feral look some men got around virgins. He shifted his weight atop you slightly. He spoke again. “You’ve at least cum before, haven’t you? Used one of those toys you women like so much?”

For a fraction of a second, you realized the gravity of it all - you were lying beneath Johnny Silverhand, talking about your previous use of sex toys. But before you could begin to register the situation, you said, “I mean, I’ve used vibrators before. I didn’t ever… didn’t ever orgasm on those. It just wasn’t enough. And my mom always said I didn’t want to lose my virginity to a piece of silicone. So…” You gently tightened the grip you had on his wrist. “No. I haven’t. I didn’t… I hadn’t even kissed anyone before this.”

“Fuck me, kid.”

You waited for him to roll off you, to tell you that you were a nice kid, but he suddenly wasn’t feeling well. It seemed forever. Then, that feeling - that sensation that was growing familiar - of his metal fingers on your chin drew your attention back up to his face. He was gazing down at you with a look so understanding, yet so teasing and coy it seemed as though the painter who had sculpted his features changed his mind half way through.

“If I’d known that was your first,” he rumbled to you, “I’d have made sure to bite.”

With that he dipped down to recapture your lips, his artificial hand coming up to cradle your cheek affectionately. A tidal wave of relief flooded through your systems as you reached up to tangle your hands in his hair again, your body beginning to act on its own accord. Your leg twisted around his to pull his hips closer to yours, and you felt his erection bump against the apex of your thighs. You both groaned into one another’s mouths, sharing breaths and panting into throats.

“Hang on,” he ordered you, and once you had locked your legs around his waist, he braced you against him and hauled you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. He continued to bite at your lips and shove his tongue into your mouth as he carried you toward the bed.

When your back hit the mattress, he pulled you further up toward the pillows and crawled over your form. “I’ve got an idea,” he drawled, nipping at your throat. When you made a noise of acknowledgement, he slowly began to undo the button of your trousers. “We’ll save the fucking for the next time. Tonight we’ll stick with basics - swear it’ll feel just as fucking good.”

You felt your heart rate pick up like a methodical tick. Your grip on his shoulders tightened, nails digging into his bare skin. “The next time?” you murmured, dammit, hopefully. You knew Johnny Silverhand was a womanizer, that a different girl fell into his arms every other night. A part of you felt stupid for hoping this would be different; now you weren’t feeling quite as foolish.

Johnny smirked down at you, his hair curtaining you both. “What?” he said. “Thinking this was going to be a one-time thing?”

“Well…”

“Let me tell you something, sweetheart.” He pressed his forehead to yours, his human hand trailing down to the space between your thighs. A small squeak escaped your lips, one that melted into a moan, when he pressed his thumb down on your trousers right above your clit. “I’d be fucking stupid to find a little thing like you and let you go.”

You hitched out a gasp. “Let me go?”

“Oh, yeah, baby.” He inched down until he was level with your exposed belly, then licked a stripe up to where your shirt was bunched just below your breasts. “You’re all mine now.”

Your world was flipped on its head, like you were watching the scene play out from above instead of from your own eyes. Johnny helped you pull off your shirt, and then your bra, and you finally let yourself moan unabashedly when he pulled the peaks of each breast into his mouth. Then he removed your pants, and your panties, and then he had practically picked you up and pulled you into a position that had your core aching like never before.

Johnny sat his back to the headboard with you seated between his legs so that your shoulder blades laid flat against his bare chest. He’d hooked his ankles around yours when your legs spread, keeping them apart and open for his touch that was slowly, torturously making its way down your body.

“Johnny,” you moaned as his metal hand cupped your breast, alternating between kneading and pinching the nipple. His warm, human hand was dragging his fingers over the tops of your naked thighs, occasionally dipping between them, but never where you needed him the most. “Johnny, please…”

“Ooh, my poor thing sounds so good when she cries for me,” he chuckled in your ear from behind. His voice was low and came from deep in his chest, sending goosebumps over your flesh. “I bet she’d sound even prettier singing.”

Without warning, his hand dipped toward your center and dragged a finger through your wet folds. In reply, as if obeying his command, you released a garbled cry and leaned your head back against his shoulder. Fuck, this was so goddamn good. You’d never known letting someone else touch you like this could feel so fucking amazing.

“That’s right,” growled Johnny, then found your clit and began to rub circles around it. “Cry for me, sweetheart.”

You squeezed your eyes shut in pleasure as he played with the bundle of nerves, your hands gripping onto his thighs for support. Your legs instinctively tried to snap closed, alleviate the heightened need for friction, but his ankles locked around yours kept you from doing so. Feeling your pull against his legs, he quickened the speed of his circles, increased the pressure ever so slightly.

“Oh, fuck!” you whimpered. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, your slick smearing across your thighs. “Oh, shit, Johnny. Oh, my god, please don’t stop.” Quickly becoming overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure and sensation, your body began to react on its own. You squirmed in his grasp, hips attempting to buck and feet kicking. There was a sort of coiling feeling building in your abdomen, like a pressure from within, and your body was chasing after it like it was the sun it had never seen.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” With every buck of your hips, his own chased yours, practically humping up into you from behind.

You couldn’t reply, only whimpered and whined and buried your face into the musky-smelling crook of his neck.

Johnny applied just the smallest bit of more pressure, his free arm wrapped securely around your middle to keep you anchored to him. “Come on, kid,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. “Give it to me. Give me this first one.”

Whatever kind of effect his words had on your systems, it was immediate. That coil in your belly snapped, wound too tight, and your vision tore white as you threw your head back against him. “Oh, god, Johnny! Johnny, fuck!” Your words melted into hoarse cries and moans and gasps. You felt a warmth pooling from your entrance and his fingers gingerly gathering it up; if you had been able to open your eyes, you would have seen him suck your release off his own fingers and smirk to himself in satisfaction.

For a long, quiet few minutes, you simply sat there between his legs, feeling your chest rise and cave as you tried to regain your breath. Behind you, Johnny craned his neck to press open-mouthed kisses to the back of your neck, your shoulders, the jut of your spine. He unhooked his legs from yours, allowing you to draw them together and to your chest as you gripped his thigh with a grip that refused to let go.

“You with me still, kid?” Johnny shifted his weight a bit, then wrangled you until you were sat sideways in his lap and he cradled you against his front.

Your head rested against his bare pec, fingers unconsciously gripping onto the dog tags around his neck. “Mm,” you hummed, because you felt as though you couldn’t form words anymore even if you wanted to. A sudden and powerful tide of exhaustion had washed over you, leaving you feeling hollow and full all at the same time.

“Use that pretty voice of yours,” he insisted and flicked a piece of stray hair from your sweaty forehead. “Tell me you’re alight. That I didn’t go too hard.”

So - because you would do anything for him, after he just did everything for you - you scraped together what was left of your vocal cords and said, “I’m alright.” You skimmed your fingers along his chest, and again, his muscles flexed beneath your touch. “Johnny.”

“Yeah, kid.”

“You won’t…” The next words caught in your throat. You thought of your parents, who had tried to sell you off because they believed you were nothing. You thought of that woman who had clicked you like it was a second nature to her. You thought of your own doubts and fears that taunted you like bad dreams that wouldn’t go away even after you woke up. “You won’t leave me… will you?”

Johnny’s grip around you tightened, and he pet your hair soothingly. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he said, and there was something about his tone that made you believe this wasn’t just a promise to you, but to himself, as well. As if he’d loved and lost before; as if he refused to let this crash and burn, even if it killed him in the end. “I’m never letting you go.”

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk x reader #cyberpunk 2077 smut #cyberpunk2077 #cyberpunk johnny #cyberpunk johnny x Reader #johnny silverhand #johnny silverhand x reader #silverhand x Reader #johnny silverhand smut

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siriusleee · 11 months

Text

a better year

a/n: i linked this one to ao3 a week or so ago, but i figured i'd do it now i'm procrastinating the next chapter to adamantine chains lmao this is my take on the bookstore au tags: mentions of sex but nothing explicit, cursing, signs of ptsd, , original female character, retirement from the military, bookstore au 6.7k words summary: He takes her shoes off of her while she insists she can do that herself. He slips the right one off when the fireworks go off outside; the entire town is bathed in their light. "Midnight," she says as Simon rises up on one knee in front of her, ready to tell her goodbye and good night. She kisses him over the mask. She doesn't mention it the next day.

The official order rolled in on plain white paper, an unceremonious carrier of his future. He was the first to go: a sign that the team was being unraveled slowly. After all, they're not young men anymore.

"You'll receive your pension; it's enough that you shouldn't have to work again. And we've made sure that you have an official background. It's not much, but it's what we can do."

Laswell doesn't move her eyes from his, her fingers clutching a pen so hard her knuckles are white.

"It's for the best Simon," she says, setting the pen down carefully on her desk, "and if it makes you feel better: everyone will be released soon. I'm sorry."

He's not dumb; he knows these things only last so long. Forced retirement is something to be celebrated - celebrated that he lived long enough to have one, celebrated that his body isn't rotting in some foreign country, a home for worms. Celebrated that the 141 made it out mostly intact. Mostly together.

Johnny claps him on the back and promises that when Laswell brings him that paper when Johnny gets his own forced retirement, he'll come to find Simon.

Simon doesn't stay in England - he doesn't like the way the gray settles around him. He leaves the apartment Laswell set up for him untouched, a note for Johnny for where to find him.

He finds a small house to rent somewhere in the American Southwest, spitting distance of Alejandro's territory. It crosses his mind more than once to make the trip across the border, to see how Alejandro's doing; to see if Rudy is still scared of fantasmas .

But he isn't a fantasma anymore; he's just Simon Riley.

And it's just Simon Riley who paces the aisles of her bookstore, trying to find something to take his mind off of the fact that he is utterly and completely bored.

"This is the third time you've been here this month. I'm not putting you into debt am I?"

Her accent is different from everyone else's in town - still decidedly American, just not from here American. Simon ignores her, his eyes focused on the row of books in front of him. She sighs heavily, but drops it, leaving him behind to stock the end cap. Last week's murder mysteries replaced by this week's contemporary romances.

"I need to lock up you know - I can't stay here all night." She speaks as if it's not odd that Simon only comes in on Thursday nights - the only night of the week she stays open late to rearrange the end cap displays, to vacuum the floors to perfection.

"You haven't even cleaned the windows yet," Simon replies, pulling a fantasy book from the shelf: something about a world full of malicious fairies and a secret world beneath New York. It's something new.

"For your information, I did that before you got here," she says, pushing herself up from the floor with a groan. "And I have a life. I can't sit here all night and wait for you to pick a random book off the shelf."

"I never said you didn't."

Simon places the book as she dips behind the counter, a lukewarm cup of coffee left beside the cash register. She drinks from it, wincing at the taste as she rings the book up.

"That'll be seventeen forty-five."

Simon gives her a twenty and she breaks the change, counting out how many pennies he's supposed to have on her fingers.

"You going to be back next week?"

"Why?"

"I want to close early next Thursday; I need to know if my best customer is going to be here or not."

Simon doesn't speak as he takes the plastic bag from her hands. She waits for him, eyes never leaving his as she sips her coffee, waiting on him to answer.

"I can come by Friday instead."

"I'm closed Fridays."

"What about Wednesday?"

"I can stay late Wednesday."

He leaves her with just a crinkle of the plastic bag and the chime above the door.

***

He spends too much time at the gym ignoring Johnny's text messages. Johnny tells him Price was next - swearing that he was going to retire to the countryside where he can smoke his cigars in peace. Maybe find himself a nice girl to cook him dinner every now and then.

His fingers hover over the buttons, almost messaging Price to tell him congratulations. But Simon's not sure it really is.

He's alone at night; no one's in the gym at two in the morning. No one's there to watch the way he slams the weights down when he's done or hear the way he gasps for breath after lifting too heavy - the tear in his chest that never quite healed right burning him from the inside.

The walk home is quick; the stars shine brighter than anything he'd ever seen in England. The closest he ever got to seeing them like this was in the Middle East, but he hardly noticed the stars then. He wasn't expecting to be left looking up.

He sits in the shower at home. He can't stand the way the water hits his skin, but can't stand the idea of sitting in the water either. So he stays huddled in the corner of the bathtub, the water barely touching him.

Simon Riley thinks about death.

He thinks about what would happen if he died right now.

He thinks about what it's like to die twice.

***

The door is locked when he comes by Wednesday; he feels foolish standing there with his hand still pulling on the door, knowing it won't open beneath his touch. Foolish to think that she would-

Foolish when his heart ticks a beat as she comes around the corner. Foolish when he steps inside just a second after she unlocks the door.

"Sorry, my last employee must have locked the door on their way out. So did you like last week's book?"

"It was alright."

The silence is almost awkward as she locks the door behind him.

"Let me know when you're ready. I just made coffee in that pot behind the counter; you can have some if you want. I shouldn't drink it all myself."

She leaves him behind to disappear into the store room. He paces the aisles aimlessly, waiting for something to jump out at him. It's quiet tonight; the music that's usually playing softly over the speakers is absent. Simon can hear her through the storeroom wall moving boxes around, the sound of a box cutter piercing the quiet every so often.

She reappears, a box in her arms that she drops heavily onto the counter. Simon watches her over the bookshelf of non-fiction works as she pulls each book out, scans it into the computer, and stacks them on the counter

When the box is empty, she breaks it down and leaves it on the counter. She looks up, almost catching Simon staring at her. He ducks away, taking a book on the Korean War with him. At the counter, she can barely see him over the stack of books in front of her.

"Last week was fantasy and this week is the Korean War? You certainly have varied tastes."

Simon hands over the fifteen twenty-two he owes her, her hands linger in the distance between them.

"Do you have a job?"

"What?"

Simon's taken aback at her candor. I used to have a job he thinks, as he pockets his change.

"No, I don't."

"Do you want one? I need a weekend worker. It's just me on Saturdays and Sundays now my other guy quit to go to college. I can't pay you a ton, but I kind of get the feeling you don't need it."

He falters for a moment; that's all it takes. If he's being honest with himself, he misses taking orders, missing feeling useful to someone.

"I can do that."

"Can you start this Saturday?"

"I can do that."

She's locked the door behind him before he realizes they don't even know each other's names.

***

Her name's Billy.

"What's your name; I probably should have asked that before I hired you."

Simon doesn't answer, placing the box down slowly before he answers. It's odd, telling someone his name. His real name.

"It's Simon. Simon Riley."

She looks him over, elbows resting on the counter.

"What?"' He asks, uncomfortable under her x-ray analysis of him.

"Just didn't peg you for a Simon. You know with your general countenance; the mask and all that."

She doesn't ask why he has the mask on. Simon gets the feeling that she never will.

She works him like a dog; he's moving some of the shelves around when he thinks that this is probably the reason her last employee quit. It's like being ordered around by Price again, but this time his enemy is the dust. He doesn't stop moving until well after noon; sweat gathering in the small of his back. In her office, Billy is on the phone, yelling indistinctly at the person on the other line.

He doesn't have to watch her to know she's angry when she slams the phone down. He expects her to storm out of her office, to slam the door shut behind her. But she doesn't. When she comes out she's calm.

On Sunday she shows him how the books are organized, and she has him switch around the genres.

"Romance sells best during the spring, and mystery best in the fall and winter. So we need to pull the mystery books up to this front aisle and move the romance towards the back. These shelves roll so they're easier to move."

She's meticulous; Simon moves the same shelf four times before it's lined up exactly where she wants it. His constellation prize: cash wages handed to him at the end of the day.

"No paycheck?"

Her nails tap against the counter, the white paint chipped.

"I haven't processed your paperwork yet. I can take the money back if you want."

Simon pockets it.

They lock up together. It's warm outside, but she still tugs a hoodie over herself whenever she finishes, tucking her keys into the pocket.

It's a complete coincidence that they set off in the same direction.

Simon wants a cigarette; his fingers itch for the pack in his pocket. But she'd said earlier in the day that the smell was disgusting and she couldn't breathe whenever someone with cigarette smoke on them passed her by.

They split up two blocks away from the bookstore. She motions up to the upstairs apartment of a shitty duplex. It's not the kind of place he expected her to be in.

"This is me. I'll see you next Saturday right?"

"I'll be there."

"Good night Simon."

She doesn't wait for him to say anything; not that he would have known what to say. She's up the stairs and inside (she didn't unlock the door; he has to restrain himself from going upstairs to tell her to lock it next time) before he can think of anything to say.

He smokes a cigarette at the bottom of her stairs; watches the outline of her against the curtains in her window. A fat black cat peers down at him, peers down at the cherry of Simon's cigarette in the darkness. The street lamp is burnt out, the shadows dark. He stubs the cigarette out on the sole of his boot and throws the cigarette butt out in the street.

He's almost certain she'd chide him for that - the same way she did a kid who had the audacity to throw a cigarette down in front of her shop.

His apartment is extra cold when he gets home.

***

"Maybe Price has it right: a life in the countryside. A pretty girl to cook you a few meals. Maybe a dog to curl up at your feet," Johnny drones on the other end of the line. Simon doesn't answer, his focus on cutting the potatoes in front of him into meticulous cubes. Johnny doesn't need him to speak.

"What about you L.T.? What have you been up to?"

"I'm not a lieutenant anymore Johnny."

"You'll always be L.T. to me. And don't ignore the question."

Simon drops the potatoes into a pot, waiting on the answer to unstick from the back of his throat.

"Not much. I go to the gym a lot."

He doesn't tell Johnny how he has to break his gun down and put it back together three times each night before he can sleep.

"That it?"

"I'm working at a bookstore."

"A bookstore! A few months out and you're domesticated."

"Watch it, Johnny."

A pause.

"I have to go L.T.. Gaz is yelling at me."

Their goodbye is the silence that follows.

***

Billy's arguing with a customer when he arrives Saturday morning.

"Listen, dude, I don't care what price you want to pay. This is my business and I set the prices. If you don't like it, you're not being forced to come here."

The customer drops it when Simon steps behind the counter.

"I hate that guy," Billy tells him as she hands him a box cutter. "He comes in every week and tries to get me to lower my prices. It's a bookstore; I'm not getting rich off of this. I can't afford that. Anyway-"

She sweeps her hair behind her shoulders. Simon catches a hint of a tattoo behind her right ear and a glint of cold chain disappearing beneath her shirt.

"Finals are coming up for the local community college so I had two different study groups book the tables in here today. They're usually pretty good, we just have to make sure to keep the coffee pot refilled for them because they'll drink it dry. It's $5 if they want coffee - per person don't let them try to swindle us - but they can refill it as much as they want."

Her fingers tap against the counter. Her nails are blue this week.

"If they ask about selling us their textbooks, tell them to come back next week. I have a shipment of children's books coming in - you can sign for it if I'm busy. Do I need to show you how to use the cash register or can you figure it out?"

"I can figure it out."

"Ok. The code is 4532. For now, do you mind breaking down the boxes in the back room and taking them to the dumpster? It's hard for me to reach to open up the dumpster lid."

She doesn't wait for him to answer before she disappears into the back room.

This Saturday is busy.

Simon's about to snap at a kid who won't shut up about how the comic section is too small when Billy appears beside him.

"I'll take over here Simon. There's lunch in the back room."

He's thankful for her in that moment.

He's more thankful when the storeroom shuts behind him and locks. The table has a small bag with his name written on it. A sandwich from the deli across the street and a bottle of water inside.

There are no tomatoes on the sandwich.

Just like he always orders it.

***

He smokes a cigarette again outside her apartment. But this time he tucks the butt back into the pack. He'll throw it away at home.

***

"I want to put a coffee shop in here," Billy tells him when the store is slow. She traces the right side of the store with her fingers.

"And I want to open the shop up earlier and stay open later."

"Why don't you?" Simon asks without looking up from his task of the day: putting 'half-priced' stickers on books that aren't selling well.

"I'm not making enough money. I have just enough to pay you and my weekday employee and the overhead cost of this place, plus pay myself. There's not any extra coming in. The bank-," she pauses, red nails scraping at a piece of tape on the counter, "the bank is willing to give me a loan on the coffee shop stuff - the machines and all that - but I don't have the money for the renovations. My contractor told me he'd have to build the cabinets, open up the drywall and put an extension on our water pipe. A water filter needs to be installed. It's just - it's just a lot."

She slides the stack of books he's already put stickers on off of the counter and into her arms.

"Maybe next year."

***

The next time Johnny calls, Simon can hear the strain in his voice.

"It's my turn L.T.. Laswell said I failed the psychological and I can't stay."

"You going to keep good on your promise to come to be my annoying neighbor Johnny."

"Not yet. I want to go home to my mom for a little bit. Maybe next year L.T.."

"Next year's going to be a big year I guess," Simon says more to himself.

"What's that L.T.?"

"Nothing Johnny. We should be happy we made it out."

Simon knows Johnny's not happy: not happy he never received the rank he wanted, not happy he has to go back home and take care of his mom again.

"You're right L.T.. I'll call you again when I'm home. How's the bookstore thing?"

"It's going alright. Bye, Johnny."

"Bye."

In the silence after the call, Simon thinks he should get a cat. Something to make the apartment less quiet; something to give him purpose when he's there.

Something that won't crawl all over him at the end of the day.

***

He needs something to do with his hands.

That's what he tells Billy when she arrives at the store on Saturday morning and Simon's ripping up a portion of the carpet, a stack of flooring waiting to be installed.

"So you have to do it when I'll have customers here?"

"Tell them it's a new addition; they'll be alright."

"I'm not paying you extra for this."

"I didn't ask you to."

Billy looks at him, one foot tapping a sharp staccato muffled by the carpet.

"Fine."

She pauses for a moment, Simon's knife running down the carpet to separate it from the floor beneath. She picks up one of the pieces of flooring, turning it over in her hand.

"What is this?"

"It's vinyl. It's waterproof in case you spill something."

Billy drops the plank back onto the stack and leaves to unlock the front door.

Simon revels in the way his shoulders burn at the work, the way the rough concrete scratches his knuckles once everything is pulled off the floor and he has to start laying down the underflooring. He revels in the way his back cramps as he's bent over.

In the way he feels useful.

It takes him all day to get half the flooring down.

Billy doesn't speak to him about it, doesn't ask where he got the money from, or why he's suddenly doing free renovations on the place.

Simon knows she appreciates it by the way she drops down his lunch - no tomatoes, just a water to drink- beside him without expecting a thank you. By the way, she chides the little kids who come over to ask him a million and one questions, he doesn't know how to answer and brushes them away from him.

She catches him smoking in the back alley on his break. She's polite enough to turn back when she realizes he has his mask down and keeps her back turned to him.

"That shit's going to kill you."

"It can only hope."

Simon can tell she's giving him a withering look at him from her position half inside the doorway.

"If you come in smelling like that cancerous poison I'm not going to talk to you for the rest of the day."

He must smell because she doesn't speak to him for the rest of the day, not even saying goodbye when they depart at her apartment.

Simon hides the cigarettes in a drawer when he gets home.

***

It's Price that reaches out to him first, a quick phone call, a holdover from their days in the field.

"Are you holding up?"

Not "how are you holding up?", but "are you holding up?" The difference between three letters is so vast Simon doesn't know how to cross it.

"I'm doing fine."

"Johnny told me you've got a job?"

"Just something to keep me occupied."

"Is that all you've got?"

"What more do I need?"

The receiver is filled with the sound of Price inhaling a cigar; Simon can almost smell him through the receiver.

"You're not Ghost anymore Simon. It takes more than that to survive this."

Survive this . As if this is the most dangerous mission Simon's ever been on as if being forcibly retired has some sort of great mortality rate.

"Understood."

He listens to Price's dial tone for five minutes before he hangs up.

Maybe it does.

***

He paces the town at night. Once the gym doesn't become enough to wear him out, doesn't help his brain relax, he walks the streets.

He thinks more than once that someone is going to call the cops on him and report him for being suspicious.

But Simon Riley isn't Ghost anymore. Simon Riley is someone not worth noticing.

It's almost surprising how well the little town sleeps with the remnants of Ghost stalking through it; how now one seems to have any idea of what he was once - and still is - capable of.

He steals a lot of time sitting on people's steps, on the stoops of little houses, picking the petals off of the flowers in big pots, and lining up the shoes and toys that were left disarrayed in the chaos of the daytime. He wonders if someone is going to catch him on their security camera and name him the town freak, but no one does.

He keeps up at it enough that he can feel the shift in the air, feel winter creeping in. He notices it in the way more and more boots are left outside, by the plants with plastic coverings over them, protecting them.

He finds himself, more often than not, taking the long way around to stop at the bottom stairs of Billy's apartment. Most nights the lights are off, and the window open. He wants to tell her to stop doing that, to lock the window, but he doesn't know how to say it without giving away his nights. So instead he keeps watch, hands buried in his pockets as he counts the moths in the streetlights.

Sometimes though the lights are on and he can hear the sound of her house through the open window. Sometimes the cat peers down at him as if prepared to leap through the window screen at him - sometimes she grabs the cat, never looking down at Simon; more often than not the cat curls up in the windowsill without budging.

A few times he could hear her talking to someone, the conversation muffled from above. He wondered about who she could be talking to so late at night. Why she was up in the middle of the night to talk to someone?

He makes his way home as the town starts to wake up.

***

He moves once - to a tiny house in the middle of town, just enough to have a yard big enough to cross in two strides.

He tells Johnny it's because he was tired of the noises of the neighbors.

He tells Johnny it's because he's taken up woodworking and needs a spot for the tools.

"What are you building you old bastard?"

"Some cabinets."

"For what?"

"Mind your own business, Johnny."

It takes weeks to get them perfect. Eventually, though, they're good enough to put in the back of a rented truck.

He does it on a Friday when no one is around. He tells himself that it's easier that way, no one walking underfoot.

That night he lets himself admit - just for a moment as he sits on the shower floor - that he didn't want to see her face if she's disappointed by it.

***

She refuses to open the door for him the next day, opting to yell at him through the glass instead.

"You cannot keep making renovations to my store without asking me!"

"It's no big deal; open the door."

"No big deal: you put a floor down, you handbuild cabinets, and you broke into my store to install them!"

"You gave me a key."

"Not for that!"

It's a stalemate: Simon poised with his hand on the door handle, her hands tucked into the pocket of her jacket.

"I still have to do the plumbing."

She massages her eyes before leaning forward to turn the lock. Simon steps inside with the biting wind.

"You're fucking irritating, Simon Riley."

I know .

She makes him put up the Christmas tree - a fucking monstrosity that takes up the entire front window. It takes him all day to get the decorations to her standard; her yelling through the store at him to move something incrementally to the left or right.

Billy leans on the counter, shuffling through official-looking papers and refusing to look at Simon when he's finished.

"Thanks to you," she says, never looking up at him, "I have to start getting the paperwork processed to be able to serve food and drinks here."

"Is it difficult?"

"It's not easy."

Their conversation pauses just long enough for her to check out a customer. She turns back to Simon as soon as the door shuts.

"Why are you doing all this Simon?"

He doesn't answer, and he realizes as he stands there, hands folded behind his back and spine rigid that he needs to tell her something, but all he notices is the black ink mark on her cheek. She doesn't pressure him to answer, but she doesn't let her eyes leave him.

Simon breaks first, eyes cast down to the floor.

"Ok," Billy whispers under her breath, "you don't have to answer, but just let me know when you're going to do something else. Can you text me next time before you start?"

"I don't have your number."

She doesn't ask for his phone, instead, she tears a corner of a piece of paper off and scribbles her number on it. Her hands don't shake when she holds the paper out to Simon, but his shake when he takes it. Simon can tell Billy notices. He stuffs the paper into his pocket, pushing it past his keys and his phone.

"Hey, Simon," Billy chews on her lip.

"What?"

"Are you busy tomorrow night?"

***

Johnny's chatting his ear off, Simon's barely paying attention to him as he stares at the shirts thrown out on his bed.

"- L.T.? Simon?"

"What? Johnny, what?"

"Are you even listening?"

"No, Johnny. I'm not."

The static of Johnny's disapproval.

"What could be distracting you from my wonderful conversation?"

"I'm busy Johnny."

"With what?"

"Nothing Johnny. I just have somewhere to be later - I'm trying to get ready for dinner."

"Dinner? Like with someone else?"

Simon hangs up on him.

***

Simon wants to pretend that he doesn't have the path to her house memorized; doesn't have each step calculated to know when exactly to stand on the bottom step at 6:59 so that he can knock on her door right at 7. But he does, so he hovers on the bottom step for an extra minute.

She doesn't answer when he knocks; she yells through the door for him to come in. In his pocket his phone buzzes every few seconds, Johnny sends another message insisting that Simon tell him who he's eating dinner with. Simon thinks for a moment about blocking his number for the night.

Billy smiles at him from behind the counter, elbow-deep in bread dough. All at once, Simon feels overdressed taking in the large shirt covered in flour Billy's wearing.

"Hey. Sorry, dinner's going to be like 30 minutes later than I said. I couldn't get this shit to rise properly for like an hour."

"It's alright."

Billy must sense his apprehension because she jerks her head at a chair pulled up to the counter.

"Come sit down."

Simon appreciates the order. Billy rolls the dough out on the counter, measuring the thickness with her knuckle with a precision Simon would expect out of her. He has to keep himself from staring at her; instead, he analyzes the rest of the apartment.

He can see everything but the bedroom from his one spot; that door is firmly shut. It's clean but the type of clean houses have whenever someone new is coming over and everything is thrown into a closet. After a few minutes, Simon thinks he needs to speak.

"What are you making?"

"Rolls. I made - uh - what is the fancy word for it - beef bourgine?"

"Beef bourguignon?"

Billy smiles down at the dough as she cuts squares out.

"I'm glad one of us can say it - I can cook, I just can't speak French."

"Do you always cook like this?"

"Only on special occasions."

Special occasions .

It's awkward at first for Simon to sit there while she moves about the kitchen, putting the rolls in the oven and cleaning the counter; Billy doesn't speak much and Simon knows she doesn't feel the need to fill the silence either.

His phone buzzes again - under the counter he checks it.

Johnny:

don't leave me hanging lt tell me whos it is

"Your girlfriend?" Billy teases without turning to look at Simon from the other side of the kitchen.

"Not exactly," Simon says, muting the phone and shoving it back in his pocket.

"Do you have one?" Her voice is prying, but she doesn't look at Simon as she pulls bowls down from the cabinet.

"A girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

It bubbles inside him - just once - the urge to tell her about himself . He swallows it down.

"No."

"Not even back home?"

"Back home?"

She grins at him slyly, setting two glasses of water down in front of the two of them.

"Why do you think I have to keep paying you in cash? Your um….paperwork didn't exactly list you as being an employable American. And you have - you know - an accent."

Simon doesn't realize he's leaning toward her until his elbows hit the counter.

"No, not back home."

She seems satisfied by that answer - or she doesn't have time to ask anything else. Behind her the oven timer beeps and she turns to pull the rolls out. They're barely out of the oven whenever she ladles the stew into the bowls and pulls two rolls off one for each of them.

Pushing the bowl towards Simon she opens her mouth - Simon thinks she's going to ask something else but she just shakes her head.

"I'm going to eat over there, so you can eat too," she says passing him a fork.

"No cameras?"

"None you can see."

She retreats to the other side of the room and drops down on the couch so that she's facing away from him. Muffled behind a door to the right, Simon can hear her cat meow once.

They eat in silence; Simon knows she's only eating slowly to give him time to finish without her accidentally turning to see his face. He doesn't need it: he realizes he hasn't had a meal that hasn't consisted of a sandwich or some form of potatoes in weeks; he eats fast, slowing down just as he finishes to keep from embarrassing himself.

He sets the bowl down with enough dramatics that she can tell he's done without having to turn around. It's quiet again when she comes into the kitchen and takes his bowl to rinse it out in the sink. The sound of the water makes his skin crawl; it clashes with the domestic feeling of being taken care of.

She laughs quietly to herself as she dries her hands on her shirt, lifting it up just enough to expose the little shorts she has on underneath.

"Something funny?"

"Not really funny," she says, hands stilling in her shirt, "I don't know - it just - I - well it's about this time of dinner that guys usually try to take me to the bedroom. I was just thinking about how different this night would be with anyone else."

With anyone else .

That bothers him some.

"I don't suppose that's what you came here for," she grins at him as she speaks, resting her elbows on the counter. "Besides we don't even know each other."

"We work with each other every weekend," Simon retorts, not sure why he feels the need to prove her wrong.

"And we barely speak the entire time."

She points at him, her bright yellow nails glinting in the light.

"I've never seen you in anything other than long sleeves, even on the hottest day. You could have like fucking tentacles under there and I wouldn't know. And you don't even know anything about me."

For once, Simon doesn't think - he does.

He pushes his sleeves up slowly, each one nearly to his elbow. Billy leans forward, just enough to see the tattoo ink and scars that mar his forearms. Her fingers twitch against the countertop like she wants to reach out and touch him, but they stay still.

"Do you - do you only have tattoos on your arms?"

Simon reaches up to hook one finger in his collar and pulls it down just a half inch - just enough to show her the ink there.

"Your turn," Simon says, dropping his hand down. Under the counter, it lies fisted on his thigh.

"My turn?" Billy asks eyebrow cocked at him.

"Do you have any tattoos?"

She licks her lips once; Simon can see her thinking. After a pause she reaches down to grab the edge of her shirt - Simon's heart clenches. She lifts the hem up, just enough to show him the edge of a tattoo on her side, disappearing beneath her shorts and rising above where she lifted. She laughs a little as she drops the shirt.

"Is that all we need to know about each other?"

"It's a start."

***

He finally tells her he was in the military four Sundays after the first one. She'd told him at work she was too tired to cook and apologized, promising to make it up to him. So when he showed up at her door with a pizza and a promise that he was just dropping it off on his way home, he was surprised when she asked him to come in.

Each week they coaxed something new out of each other: a snippet about their families, about their travels. He loves Kentucky; she's from the East Coast. Her father died young. He's from England.

She's curled up in the recliner the cat on her stomach - they're watching something on television but they're both not really paying attention to it. So he blurts it out - a new confession in this weekly therapy.

"I was in the military."

"I guessed. The British Armed Forces?"

"The SAS."

She frowns and Simon stiffens.

"Is that like a unit or something?"

"Yeah."

This time she grins.

"Is that why you always lock my door behind you when you come in?"

"No. I do it because you never know who could come in when you're alone."

"You mean when you're not here."

Yes.

"No."

She rolls over, clutching the cat to her chest so as to not dump him on the floor until her feet hang over the arm and she can eyeball Simon across the room.

"I can shoot straight."

"Can you?"

***

She can. She takes him through the desert on Friday afternoon, bundled up against the cold. Out where they can target practice without anyone bothering them.

She hits every target.

***

"Christmas is this weekend."

"Yeah."

"So you know we're closed right? I'm not paying you time and a half."

A pause longer than he's used to.

"Are you doing anything for Christmas?"

"No."

"Do you want to come over?"

***

She makes Chinese on Christmas. A tradition she says because when she was younger the only places open were Chinese restaurants and her dad couldn't cook. They didn't have real dinners until she learned to cook herself, but it was always Chinese on Christmas.

The cat has a bell around its neck for the holiday and it latches onto Simon for the night. She wrinkles her nose at the cat and calls him a traitor. The cat doesn't seem to care.

"I didn't get you a present," she says, putting her bowl on the coffee table. From his spot in the kitchen, Simon speaks.

"I didn't get you one either."

"Well, you're slowly building me an entire coffee shop."

"That's not present."

"Well, it's not exactly in your job description either."

He leaves his half-eaten bowl on the counter to drop down on the couch. She's sideways in the armchair, shirt riding up and a bruise on her shin. She's back to white nails.

"I can make out with you for Christmas; other guys have liked that present."

Simon's heart nearly stops.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just kidding Si."

Just kidding .

***

She begs and pleads with him to please go out to the bar with her for the new year. He doesn't have to drink, she says, she can drink enough for the both of them.

She does. She doesn't even make it until eleven.

He carries her home on his back. Her door is unlocked and wants to think about how dangerous that is, but all he can think about is her warm breath on his neck.

He drops her unceremoniously onto the couch - he thinks about carrying her to the bedroom, but that's one place the door has always been shut to.

He does take her shoes off of her while she insists she can do that herself. He slips the right one off when the fireworks go off outside; the entire town is bathed in their light.

"Midnight," she says as Simon rises up on one knee in front of her, ready to tell her goodbye and good night.

She kisses him over the mask.

She doesn't mention it the next day.

***

By summer, Simon has the entire cafe portion of the store finished. He's embarrassed when she hangs a sign over the area: 'Simon's Spot'.

"What?" She asks, peering down at him from the top of the ladder. "You built it."

***

He breaks during the summer. Billy calls him on a Tuesday, asking if he knows anything about air conditioning systems.

"You built the cafe, so I know you're handy."

He doesn't. But he can figure it out.

After hours the bookstore is sweltering. Billy has the blinds pulled down in a futile attempt to keep out some of the heat and the setting sun. Her shirt, already cropped short, clings to her with sweat when she unlocks the front door for Simon.

It takes him two hours but he figures it out. When it kicks on she looks up at him, one arm resting on his shoulder, and tells him he's her hero.

He makes it all the way to her apartment - the promise of something for dinner and a cold drink as for payment the ruse - before he does it.

It's dark inside, dark enough that when he locks the door behind him, he slips his mask off. She turns to ask him something - he doesn't hear it; he's too busy kissing her, pushing her back against the kitchen cabinet.

It's messy - the kissing - he can't remember the last time he kissed somebody like this - all teeth and tongue and need.

When they stumble into her room, he doesn't take his shirt off, and she doesn't ask why.

***

"Come visit me L.T.. Scotlands beautiful this time of year."

"I'll have to book two tickets Johnny; that's not cheap."

"Alright, you cheap bastard you can afford it."

#my fics #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost cod x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #ghost cod

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alwaysshallow · 6 months

Text

coffee at midnight, part 7

John "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader

You try the whole "dating" thing. Soap doesn't quite like that, and it shows. (4,4k)

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

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If you'd known how much of a fuss it would be, you wouldn't even tell him. Hell, you wouldn't even think about telling him, you'd just describe it as a simple meeting with an old friend, and he'd know everything afterwards.

Now, you felt like you were seventeen again, trying to explain yourself right in front of your mom when you did something that she didn't like.

The only difference was, Soap acted like your mom, proudly taking her place in scolding you.

"'s like a free invitation for an axe murderer to come and get ya. Bonnie, thought yer gonna be smarter than this." He looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed. You didn't have to be a rocket scientist to see how conflicted he was with you going out without him.

Well, maybe it was also the fact that you were going on a date; an unexpected one, but you couldn't really say no, when your best friend played as your wingman.

And, what could shock the most, the wingman wasn't Soap, but Gaz that got into the conclusion you needed something like this; after your injury, but also in general since he hasn't seen you in ages on date with someone. Truth, harsh but still truth, got into you, so you've decided he's completely right. You needed this, a fresh air in the whole situation.

Which was funnier, that date was with Cody. Cody, who got your fake number from Johnny just because he didn't like him and he gave off weird vibes and you deserved better. You felt bad for a moment considering it was a fucking helpline, but it was too late to do anything with it. What's more to it, you really didn't want to tell him that your idiotic best friend decided to joke, thinking it would be funny.

That guilt was until Garrick proudly admitted that he gave him your number because it felt right. Because Cody asked about you since he saw you with them, and after a quick "interrogation", he felt like a proud wingman to allow him to take a shot on you.

Pretty funny choice of words, but all in all, you knew what Gaz was thinking about. You've babbled with him about it for almost two hours straight, drinking wine, while Soap just listened, throwing his snarky remarks from time to time. He looked like a kid that got his candy stolen from him, and while you didn't really like that kind of behavior, it was kind of funny to see him like this.

Such a contrast to his usually playful nature, especially in something stupid; you were just getting ready for the date. Nothing too scandalous, nothing too fancy, and nothing too deep, but the last thing you kept to yourself, just to get him riled up.

"Axe murderer that I know, Soap," you groaned, when he stood in your way, clearly not wanting you to go any further. Or to at least think what you were doing, which was funny enough, given you were a grown up woman. Not his sister that he needed to protect because she's not mature enough to think for herself, his best friend that knew exactly what she's doing.

At least, she pretended like she knew it. He was so stern that even when you gave him a look, full of politeness, he wasn't impressed.

"You just met him after years," he emphasized the last word. "He could be so much different than the last time you've seen him, 'st sayin'. Yer too good to people, always been."

You sighed, a little defeated; there was nothing you could say that would convince him enough to Cody. "Yet, Kyle thinks he's pretty good for going out."

Soap laughed at your words, shaking his head with disbelief. His previously royal, blue eyes, were nothing like before; they were a bit... colder, if it was even possible. "And since when Kyle is your love advisor?" He raised his eyebrow, his arms crossed at his chest. It felt pretty defensive, even for him.

And, you would lie if you'd tell that you didn't like that, even if it was weird for you, to see him care about something like this. It was heartwarming; like he didn't actually want you to see that guy, to see him adding his statement.

But, of course, you couldn't admit that. It would only make his ego burst, and it was the last thing that he needed to know.

Besides, it would only make things more complicated.

"And like, it's..."

"Why do you care anyway?" you interrupted him; he opened his mouth for a moment, to close it right away, like your words actually hit him. "Genuinely. It's just a date."

Soap rolled his eyes, playing with his fingers – when you only glanced at them, he swiftly hid them behind his back. Like he wanted to keep them away from you, like you would say something about it. It was weird, but you didn't pay much attention to it back then.

"Carin' about you. 's all." He shrugged, looking carefully at you, when you put your shoes on. "'st... be careful, aye? 'm gonna kill this lad if he's..."

"...Johnny." You sent him a look; your hand instinctively covered his for a moment. "It's all gonna be alright. I'm not like, going to a mission where I'm gonna get another injury" you joked. He didn't take it quite well, considering that he gave you a scolding look.

"Mhm." Soap grumbled, helping you as you moved on to your coat. "Text me if you'll need anythin', bonnie. I mean it. Yer arm good?"

"Good, thank you. I'm gonna remember." You smiled softly, nudging him for goodbye, indicating that he could step down from his protective role. Cody was supposed to pick you up, so there was absolutely nothing for him left to do.

Well, at least you thought this way. His thoughts were a little different, as you saw the moment he escorted you to the exit of your apartment building, leaning against the door, as you were getting into your date's car. Cody even waved to him, but all Johnny did was a slight nod, like he was acknowledging him.

Small win, but a win anyway, you thought.

"Hope he's not your hidden boyfriend or something?" Your old friend looked at you for a second, before taking a turn to the left. "Like, he seems pretty... tense, when he sees me. Like he's protecting something."

You needed a few seconds to process what Cody was implying; and when you understood, you couldn't help but laugh and with disbelief. "No, he's completely harmless. Seriously, it's just... maybe he doesn't take strangers well, you know."

"Does he give strangers a distress hotline number instead of yours, or is it just me?" he grinned, and even then, you could hear the question in his tone, which made you gulp a little.

Well, if you’d think this way...

"Well. Johnny is... he's..."

Best friend. He's your best friend.

Why couldn't it leave your mouth?

"He's my... Johnny." You eventually said, looking at him. "He's like that, you'd understand after some time. But he's not my hidden boyfriend or something."

"Note taken. Would be awkward, if I'd taken you on a date and didn't know that." He laughed, shaking his head. "He'd probably kill me, huh?"

You laughed at this too, instead of telling him how Soap was already not pleased with you going out with him, and he was only your... best friend, technically. Heaven only knew what would happen if you'd want to meet Cody if you were in a relationship with him.

It was the possessiveness speaking. If anyone wanted to know something about MacTavish, he was possessive about his things. Obsessively so; it was cute when he clutched the Subway's sandwich to his chest from Ghost, when his friend wanted to take a bite. You, of course, had permission to take it (just a little bite since you were a girl), but no one else could. He cared about his things, he didn't let anyone touch his stuff if it had a sentimental matter to him.

The funny thing about it, he was possessive about people too, which sometimes irritated you to the core; he could have multiple friends and all, but you? Oh, he was interrogating the shit out of them, giving you the side eye if they managed to plan something with you before he did. He felt like he came before anyone, no matter what.

Not to mention, he was only like this about guy friends. Like a dog with a bone that's too precious to give to others. Funny thing is, they didn't even flirt with you, and he was acting like they were stealing you from him.

So, it wasn't really surprising when he didn't want to let you go out with Cody, especially that he somehow knew that you two had a history. You were thankful enough he didn't make a scene right in front of him because that would be humiliating.

Especially when your date seemed to be so nice. Not only did he open the car door for you, but also the restaurant's one, and you couldn't help but smile at that little gesture, nodding to him as a silent thank you. What was even better, you loved the place he chose for tonight.

Your old friend had to remember your taste, considering that the Italian restaurant was probably the prettiest building you've seen in a while. A lot of warm lamps around, climatic music that got your attention right when you walked into the room, greeted by an older waiter with a mustache; everything screamed Italy here, and you were taking in the view with pleasure.

"You like it so far?" Cody looked up at you from the menu; his bright, green eyes sparkled with curiosity in dim light. You suddenly felt bad, since you appreciated the effort more than you've probably let him know.

So, you nodded quickly, your painted nails clicking against the table. "Reminds me of this one restaurant back at home. You know, where we went with Stacy and others?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember." He laughed, shaking his head "I remember how Stacy spilled expensive wine on your shirt. Before meeting with your moms, you were pretty pissed back then."

You opened your eyes a little wider at this memory, suddenly remembering it; yeah, Stacy did something like that. What was also important to mention, you were right before an important dinner with your moms and their friends (Price involved), and the tragedy was huge back then. "So, you do remember things, huh?"

"Most of them," he admitted, tilting his head to the side with that boyish charm that he always had. It was something you couldn't really take away from him. "If something is worth remembering, I remember. Mostly situations with you."

It would be a lie if you'd say that dinner didn't go smoothly – because it did. Perfectly, even, knowing how much of a gentleman Cody was, how swiftly he balanced between topics, trying to entertain you. Trying to at least get a glimpse of your life that he didn't get to know since you left your hometown after being deployed and you cut ties with most of your friends. It was something that you liked, something that you adored, knowing he once was interested in you, and you were in him, when you were at high school.

Key words: high school.

As much as you liked him now, you knew it wouldn't work the moment waiter brought your food, and you awkwardly smiled to him, when he bon apetite'd you. Even if he tried to be smug, conversation wasn't effortless like you wanted it to be, you didn't like the way he asked you about your work, implying how it was men's work. Maybe it wasn't evident at first sight, but comments about you ruining your nails and your struggle as the only woman, and everything like that, irritated you.

Maybe it was you being hypersensitive, but you didn't really enjoy comments like this, no matter who it would be.

The chemistry between you two wasn't sparkling as well, and as much as you kept yourself from admitting it, you couldn't brush off a feeling that you would enjoy time with Johnny better. Hell, you were sure that your Scot would make those few hours a lot better. Movies, cooking together, even visiting the gym together... anything.

You felt bad for the thought, when Cody was so nice overall – yet, not nice in a way that would interest you.

"Is that your friend?" You heard him, which brought you back to Earth; he frowned, as he looked behind you. You were sitting right by the window, so he had a pretty clear view on the street.

"Friend?" You raised your eyebrow, amused.

"From earlier on."

You turned around, to see if your date was right; you doubted, really doubted that Cody would see Soap. Your friend was anything but someone that would disturb your date. "I really don't think Johnny..."

Well, Johnny indeed was here, and the thought of him not interrupting your date was completely crushed. You had to give him credit, though; he wasn't that recognizable, you didn't catch him right in the moment. He was in his dark sunglasses and brown cap; if the situation would've been different, you could laugh at how ridiculously similar he looked to all the Marvel characters when they had to hide.

Back then, you balanced on the line between being amused and furious that he didn't respect your time enough with someone else.

Having fun, Johnny?

As you observed him, you saw how quickly he looked around; for a brief moment, you felt like his gaze was on you, and it only confirmed itself when he started typing in his phone again.

dinnae ken what yer talkin about.

"I guess he's just here." You shrugged, lying to him swiftly. "It's the center of the town, yeah? Things... happens."

Cody chuckled, playing with his fork. "Yeah. Yeah. Maybe he is. As long as he doesn't disturb our date, right? It's too nice."

You're a menace to the society, MacTavish; you swiftly typed out under the table. "Yeah. It's too nice." you agreed, even if you thought how interesting it got only because your best friend was outside.

and yer mean: (

You had to hold back a laugh when you've read it; so, you put your phone down and came back to talking with Cody, eating and drinking that delicious wine; you knew you had to buy a bottle after this little adventure. Maybe they didn't sell it, but you were willing to try as soon as the waiter would come with the bill.

It was a personal win for you to come out twenty minutes later out of this restaurant with a bottle in your hand, laughing to your date about something convincing enough to sell it to you. You had to speak with two managers, but it was yours after all, ready to go home with you.

Soap was ready too, even if he acted like he wasn't here; you turned down Cody's proposition of taking you home just to call your best friend to ask where he is exactly, since he disappeared from that bench before you knew it.

"Over the date already? Had to suck, eh?" His eyebrow arched, as he wrapped his arm around your waist. "Sad. But yer sure that lad ain't for you."

"You know," you started, as you grabbed his glasses, just to wear it yourself "if you wouldn't be such a stalker, I'd let you drink wine with me at home. But, now, I have doubts about it."

"Stalker? C'mon. A simple coincidence, that is," he chuckled, as you two walked into his car. "Not my fault you'd rather have me on this date, not him. Can't really blame ya, hen."

You could feel how your face heated up in the moment; maybe if his statement wasn't true, you'd react differently, maybe you would think of a snarky comment. Back then, when you felt exactly like he said, well... It was hard enough.

He seemed to catch the hesitant look at your face, considering how smiley he got. "Oh? Got ye real good, if yer blushin'—"

"—you imagine too much, Johnny, " you mumbled out, as you got more comfortable in your seat, ready to go. "Let's go home, yeah?"

"'st sayin', bonnie. I could have a better date, even at home."

You didn't say anything about his reply. Not because it wasn't true (because it was), not because you were at a loss of words, but because you were conflicted about him and you having a date, when you two were friends. Was he honest, or playing like he always did?

It was just easier to think of it as just banter, ignore it, than actually take him seriously; because if you did and he would have to explain it to you it was just a joke... You were pretty sure that death of embarrassment was gonna happen, honestly. John was too important to you, friendship with him was too important to you to experiment with things like that.

Besides, it wasn't like you two would fit, right? There was a difference between being friends and someone that you could date. Your best friend was great, but as a lover? You didn't know this side of him, you could only guess.

When you finally arrived, you automatically left the car with your head in the clouds. Maybe that's why you haven't even noticed that your best friend was on the other side, trying to open the door for you; and that end up badly, considering that you've hit him with the door.

Low "fuck" snapped you from your thoughts, as well as him holding his nose; you immediately approached him, your expression bashful.

"I'm so sorry, Soap, I—"

"—S'alright." He shook his head, smiling at you like it was nothing. "I've been worse, you know. 'Suppose I deserved that." He nudged you, laughing when you rolled your eyes.

"It wasn't intentional," you groaned, grabbing his arm to start walking with him. "Come on, I'm gonna check it. Just in case."

"Apartment first, ma'am."

So, as soon as you were in the apartment with him, you had to check if nothing was broken – and even if it sounded like a wild thought, breaking a nose in close contact with the car's door, literally everything was possible with Soap, so it was better to be safe than sorry. Wouldn't be the first time that you did something to him without intention of doing it.

Once, when he pretended to be a burglar (he thought it would be funny this way) and he grabbed you from behind in your apartment, you hit him with a flower pot. You laughed afterwards, but you were pretty mad at him in the first ten minutes, trying to find something with ice that would help his headache.

After you checked everything, he seemed to be good. At least, excluding the moment where he thought it would be funny to whine and make you worry, which you smacked him for, but that was just his idiotic side speaking.

This incident though was definitely a lighter one. You've found yourself cleaning his shirt with soap and cold water, since he had a few drops of blood on it, and somehow you felt responsible there wouldn't be any stain left. Soap kept you company even then, shirtless, leaning against the doorframe to have a joke or two about how well you are cleaning blood, suggesting that you have "close connections" with underground fighters.

A simple answer would be period, but you didn't feel like going into that kind of conversation, so you just agreed, telling him he has to book you for the next cleaning. His laugh was everything.

Quickly after this, you were off to sleep, tired with the events of the day; you really needed a good rest, where you'd wrap yourself in the sheets, a warm nest around you. Calm environment, nothing to worry about since you were on leave, and your best friend was in your apartment too, it was the sense of safety here.

Except, your nightmares had a bit different plans than you had.

Ruthless, like they needed to remind themselves, and the worst thing about it was: you lived through every one of them. It wasn't something of your imagination, monsters and creatures that had no place in the real world, no – the realness of it all was scary. The memories you had from missions blended perfectly with events that didn't happen, causing you to have a heart-attack experience.

Nightmares about your team were the worst; where everyone was killed. Where you couldn't do anything but scream; this time, you watched their execution, as every one of your boys were killed right in front of you. Gun wounds, humiliation, where killers wanted them to beg for their life, when they cut the fingers of your comrades just to shoot them afterwards.

And you had to watch all of it, teary-eyed, just begging to stop all this madness.

The worst moment was when royal blue eyes looked right into yours, terrified, with a silent plea in them, hoping that you're gonna be the one to save his life; and the worst thing was, you knew you're gonna fail him. You knew there was nothing you could do to prevent the bloodshed, not when your body refused to move, not when you couldn't even move your finger, nor legs to defend them.

To defend him.

You remembered screaming, when the hope died in his eyes; silent, maybe meaningless words from your side that you're gonna fix all of this, no matter what. How you were the only one alive, and it felt worse than being dead with all of them.

And then, you woke up.

Your breath rapid, shuddery, you had no control over it, as well as you had no control over tears streaming down your face, without you acknowledging the fact of them. The only element that you saw? A pair of blues, looking at you with horror.

Owner of them shook you gently, trying to get you out of the trance you were in; after a minute you were pretty sure that he was talking, but you couldn't really recall what.

You had other things in mind.

"You're alive," you said, breathing out; he seemed shocked at least with your statement, but as he held your hands in his, he nodded quickly.

"Yeah. Yeah, 'm alive. Always will," he whispered. For a moment, the two of you were just looking at each other in silence and breathing. He took as it personal job to ease your nerves, and you could say that he really succeeded at it – the feeling like someone ripped your heart from your chest, slowly but surely vanished. "Better?"

"A bit," you murmured, sighing. You felt kind of bad, even if it wasn't your fault entirely. "I woke you up. I'm so sorry Johnny, I don't even—"

"—sssh. None of that right now, lassie, 'salright." He shook his head, leaning even more in your direction. "Come on. Give me a bosie."

"A bosie?" you chuckled, wiping away your tears. "It's a... hug, or...?"

"It's a hug, aye," he laughed too, wrapping his arms around you tightly – he knew how you liked to be hugged, he knew what you needed back then.

Soap hid his face in your hair, as he caressed your spine softly. He whispered a lot of words back then; soothing ones, encouraging, sweet nothings that made your heart go. How you weren't alone in all of this, how you could always count on him, how he was always gonna be here, no matter what was gonna happen.

All of this, in his arms, slightly rocked back and forth by him, seemed like the sweetest promise ever made, when you listened to his heart, slowly coming back to normal, just like your breath did not long ago. You two had magical influence on each other, you knew, but seeing it in action had you on a chokehold.

If this would be possible, you'd never leave this hug. You were more than happy to stay there with your eyes closed, your arms tightly around him, chin on top of his arm, where you could just smell his scent that somehow calmed you even more.

"'m gonna bring you a glass of water. Then, you're gonna go to sleep, all right?"

You couldn't care less about a glass of water, when you had all you needed in one person.

“Can you... stay?" you asked, slowly, when he started getting out of your bed. Somehow, you felt out of place asking that, but you needed to do this, even if it could seem outward weird to him.

You saw how he froze for a moment, before sitting in your bed again. "Of course."

This wasn't the first time; you once comforted him in bed, you slept next to him on missions just to keep both of you warm, but that was definitely the first time when both of you felt... more intimate. Like it was a change in the air, and after all it was your bed, in your apartment, and you wanted him to be next to you because he brought you comfort.

And because, somehow, it felt like he belonged here.

He spooned you from behind – one of his arms going under your head, so you could easily use it as a pillow if you'd only want, the other around your waist, like he was personally protecting you from anything that could happen to you. His body heat hit you the moment you snuggled more under the sheets. Soap was like a personal heater, ready to do anything to keep you warm.

You were in heaven.

"This will do?" he asked, his voice low. "Is it good for you, lassie?"

"...yeah." You smiled under your nose, when he ruffled your hair with the tips of his fingers, when you laid your head on his arm. "Good."

"Mhm. Sleep now, I'm gonna be here, if you need me." He kissed the back of your head, and from that gesture alone, you just knew for a fact that he was smiling too. "You know I love you, right?"

"I know. Love you too."

And for the first time, it felt a bit different from "I love you" than usual.

#soap x reader #soap x you #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x you #x reader #cod x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap fluff #soap fanfic #friends to lovers #soap cod #soap call of duty #john mactavish

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ghosty-writes-23 · 1 year

Text

Incorrect COD Quotes Part. 2

!WARNING!: Suggestive (Slightly spicy) & dark humored content.

Ghosty's Notes: Some of these might be a little suggestive or contain dark humor, so you have been warned, V is my own female OC but can be read as x reader if you prefer that, also thank you so much for the recent support, I was a little hesitant to post these, but seeing how people have been liking them, I promise to make more in the future :)

Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty❤️

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V: *is watching Ghost workout with König* “They are so big and so dumb, and one day I'm gonna top them.”

Soap: “you and me both Lass.”

*both V and Soap highfive*

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Gaz: “I pull women”

Soap: “I pull men.”

V: “i’m gonna pull the fucking trigger in a second.”

Price: *is looking at V horrified*

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*V is in Price’s office after a successful mission*

Price: *pats V on the shoulder* “I'm proud of you kid.”

*Alexia play daddy issues by the neighbourhood*

V: *holds back tears and voices cracks slightly* “T-Thanks sir.”

Price: *processed to give her a papa bear hug gently patting her back*

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Task Force 141 men: *sees V covered in blood, laughing with an almost psychotic grin on her face*

Ghost: *looks at V with almost hearts in his eyes* “I'm gonna marry that woman one day.

Soap: *chuckles* “Not if I do it first.”

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V: *is being help captive by Valeria*

Valeria: *is standing inches away from her face* "tell me everything you know."

V: *giggles like a school girl and would be twirling her fingers in her hair, if her hands weren't tied to the chair* "your eyes are really pretty."

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*Task force 141 + V are at their local pub after a mission well done*

Soap + V: *are sitting at the bar slightly intoxicated*

Ghost + Price: *are playing a game of pool, but are keeping an eye on the two at the bar*

Soap: *finishes his drink* “I bet you can’t do a wheelie on your motorbike right now.”

V: *gasps and looked at him offended* “I will have you know sergeant, I bet I can, watch me.”

Gaz: *who is the most sober out of the three* “Guys, I don’t think that is a good idea.”

V: *is already pulling out her keys and is slightly stumbling to the door* “Oh please Kyle, what could go wrong.”

Gaz: *is slightly worried she is going to try and actually do it* “maybe you killing yourself for one.”

*Before she makes it out the front door V’s keys are suddenly pulled out of her hand*

Price: “I'm taking these until you are sober.”

V: *pouts but nods*

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*Both V and König are in his room, V has her legs resting comfortably on his broad shoulders as she brushes her fingers through his hair and König is cleaning his knife from his previous mission*

V: “How is your hair so soft?” *keeps running her fingers through it, pouting slightly*

König: *is thankful she can’t see his face at the moment as it would be the same colour as a tomato* “I don’t know.”

V: *smirks slightly to herself, deciding to tease him slightly and gives his hair a soft tug*

König: *lets out a groan like moan before looking up at her his eyes wide*

V: *is smirking widely before placing a kiss on his forehead* “Cute.”

König:

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Price: *takes the task force 141 men + V out on a camping trip*

Gaz: “how much further.” *is close behind Price*

Price: “not that far.” *steps over a fallen log*

V: *rests her head on Ghost shoulder as she is getting a piggyback, because she sprained her ankle standing in a rabbit hole, not even 20 minutes into the camping trip*

Soap: *decides to tease Ghost* “Do you want to switch there L.T, your looking a little tired.”

Ghost: *scoffs quietly under his mask before tightening his grip on V’s thighs slightly* “I’m fine.”

V: *starting humming a tune* “Toss a coin to your witcher, oh valley of plenty”

Ghost: “You watched that TV show with Johnny didn’t you.”

V: *smiles wide and nods* “The song is catchy.”

*By the time they got to the campsite, the whole group was sing toss a coin to your witcher*

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❌Please don't repost, translate or copy any of my work without permission.❌

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mlmxreader · 8 months

Text

The Accidental Husband | Johnny Cage x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ okay but here me out...when johnny and all of them are chilling in that bar,,,Skarlet introduces his younger brother (m!reader) Johnny immediately starts flirting with him and m!reader admits that he’s a huge fan of his movies and they both get too drunk and wake up in a random hotel room with wedding rings on bc they got married while blackout drunk 😩 ❞

: ̗̀➛ your sister introduces you to a... friend of hers, although things go a little too well.

: ̗̀➛ heavy drinking/alcohol consumption, swearing, reader is adopted/not a blood relative to Skarlet

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

A long, long time ago, Skarlet had taken pity on a young boy who had no family; he was younger than she was, starving and scared. She wasn't sure what else to do with him, so she took the boy as her own brother; she helped raise him, and although he was never any good at Blood Magik, he showed promise elsewhere.

For years, it was just you and your sister, and when you were a little older, she allowed Liu Kang to introduce you to Kuai Liang; you showed promise within the Lin Kuei where you stayed. Skarlet visited as often as she could, despite the protests of the Grandmaster. It was there that you discovered Johnny Cage's films, and although some of them were absolutely awful, you would watch anything with him in it.

You were a huge fan, but you figured that it would be embarrassing to admit such a thing, especially to your own sister; she would never stop teasing you about it if she ever knew. So you kept it quiet.

You told Kuai Liang, only because he caught you skipping duties to watch one of Cage's new films; he just smiled and shook his head, telling you to crack on as soon as the film ended. Kuai Liang was always good to you like that; calm, reassuring, strong and patient. Gentle.

You looked up to him, and when you accidentally called him Uncle, he never held it against you or told your sister; but Kuai Liang was the closest thing you ever had to a father, and although he never treated you any differently to the other Lin Kuei, he was always kind.

He even allowed you to have "extra training" with his brother Tomas, which merely meant an excuse to watch Johnny Cage's films for a few hours together.

When you were trained enough to go out on your own, nearly halfway through your twenties, Skarlet picked you up. She took you to the nearest city, and as she was walking with you, she couldn't help but to laugh smugly to herself.

You were a little apprehensive, and couldn't understand why she wore a long, flowing red and black dress instead of her usual armour. It seemed a bit impractical, even if you were wearing a black hoodie and pale grey jogging bottoms that had been given to you by Tomas.

"I've got someone to introduce you to," she told you with a sly smile.

You looked at her with a raised brow. "Please tell me it's not Erron. You know I told him I wasn't interested."

"No," Skarlet shook her head. "It's someone you've never met before, and- in here."

You followed her into a nice restaurant, a little apprehensive; your sister could scheme and could be sly. She taught you how to do so yourself, but you knew that you could always trust her and that, if she had someone who she wanted you to meet, then you could probably trust them.

So you shrugged, and when she brought you to a quieter table, you didn't really question much. She ordered a glass of red wine while you got yourself an energy drink with a shot of vodka. Idle conversation with your sister followed until the drinks arrived, but just as you were about to take your first swig, you nearly choked on nothing.

"Is that-"

"Johnny Cage," Skarlet smiled, standing up and shaking his head. "You showed up."

Johnny nodded. "Well, yeah, Kuai Liang told me it was important - might be useful for my next film and-"

"Holy. Shit."

He looked at you, taking note of your appearance, and grinned. "Hello, handsome."

"Hi," you said quietly, feeling all too nervous. "I, uhm… hi."

Johnny pushed past your sister to sit next to you, his arm stretched out across the back of your chair. "I'm Johnny."

"I, I'm- I know," you said softly, hoping you didn't look too much like a deer in the headlights. He was even more handsome up close.

"He's a big fan," Skarlet told him. "Johnny, meet my brother."

Johnny laughed softly, not taking his attention from you. "Big fan?"

You nodded. Words had left you, and you weren't sure if you wanted them back or not. He was so pretty with his big brown eyes and his silly grin. You swallowed thickly, laughing nervously. "Sorry…"

"Oh, don't be," he shook his head. "If I knew all my fans were this good looking, I think I'd have it written into my contract that my press tours should be longer."

You laughed softly. "Thank you…"

Skarlet rolled her eyes, knowing her job had been done; she finished her glass of wine, and walked away, making sure to give the staff a tip before she left properly.

Johnny looked you up and down shamelessly. "Y'know, you've got leading man looks - have you ever thought about acting?"

You shook your head, stuttering nervously. "Uh, no…"

"You should," he mused. "You could really make it big, looking like that… Kuai Liang trained you, right?"

You nodded. "And Tomas."

"So he's handsome and he can fight," Johnny grinned. "Let me guess, you can cook and clean, too?"

"Yu-yeah."

"The full package," he put his hand on your shoulder. "How are you not married?"

You shrugged. "Just not something I ever, uhm… it's just not, uhm…"

"Don't be nervous," Johnny said quietly, moving to sit a little closer. "I know I'm a big time, handsome, movie star - but you're in safe hands with me… although… it's probably me who's in safe hands with you, right?"

You laughed softly, and Johnny felt his head spin a little at the sound; you knocked back your shot of vodka, hoping it would give you some confidence. "I, uhm…I need a drink."

"It's on me," Johnny told you, flagging down the waiter and getting six shots. The first round. "Handsome guy like you… it's only right I should buy your drinks."

You felt like your heart was going to pop out of your chest; Johnny Cage, a man you had been a fan of for who knew how many years, thought you were handsome. Fuck. You knew that the night would end somewhere wonderful. You didn't really want it to end.

There was one round, then another, and another, and you lost track after you started kissing Johnny in the alleyway after you had gone out for a cigarette; you weren't really sure what happened after that, but when you woke up, you were confused.

It was clearly a hotel room given the pristine painted walls and the lack of dust, the duvet around your waist was white and soft, yet a little stale. There was someone in the bed next to you, and when you gently pulled back the duvet, you wanted to scream.

Johnny Cage was in your bed. Or you were in his. Either way.

He turned over, opening one eye as he grinned.

"Hello, handsome."

"Johnny Cage is in my bed," you breathed out, staring at him.

"Mild correction, sweetheart," he groaned, sitting upright and stretching a little. "You're in my bed."

He still had his trousers on from the previous night. You were still fully clothed. You sighed a little with relief. "I'm… I'm in your bed?"

"Oh, yeah," he chuckled. "To be honest, I'm not really sure how we got here, I can't remember anything after kissing you but… y'know, I'm not one to kick a guy so handsome out."

You laughed softly, flopping down onto your back and covering your face with your hands as you grinned; but that's when you noticed it. The gold band on your ring finger. "Johnny?"

"Uh-huh?"

"I think something did happen last night," you murmured. "I'm wearing a ring…"

Johnny looked at his own ring finger, and barked out a laugh when he saw. "So am I."

"Well, fuck."

"Hey, this might not be all that bad," he told you, pulling your hands away from your face and straddling your waist. "At least it gives me a chance to know my biggest fan."

Your hands went to his waist by instinct as you bit down on the inside of your bottom lip. "You… you mean that?"

"Oh, yeah," he nodded, leaning over and letting his arms rest on the mattress either side of your head. "What?"

"Nothing, I… just…" you shrugged. "I dunno…"

"C'mere," Johnny whispered, gently and softly kissing you. He smiled when you buried your hands in his soft brown hair, getting his legs between yours as he nipped at your bottom lip softly. "What'd you say, huh? Me and you, husbands, and if it doesn't work out, I'll make sure you're taken care of - money, a house, whatever you want, baby."

You nodded. "Like dating?"

"With extra steps."

"Alright," you agreed with a soft laugh. "I… it's not what Kuai Liang would've wanted for me, but… fuck it. Uncle Liang can fuck himself."

"Perfect," Johnny grinned, trailing his hand down to your waist. "Do you want any breakfast, baby?"

"Yeah, I could eat," you nodded. "Thank you."

"I'm your husband," he teased softly. "It's my job to look after you."

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dragonnarrative-writes · 2 months

Note

im gonna be honest, I keep rereading pt 3 and 4 of the slasher handler and fantasising about how incredibly sexy it would be if kyle acquired a handler of his own by accident or on purpose and he finally understands simon's obsession now 😵‍💫

Slasher Handler Masterlist

Kyle and Simon aren't friends, per se. They only met through Johnny, because Johnny is sloppy and impulsive and never knows how to clean up his own messes. It's offensive to Kyle's meticulous nature and, apparently, appeals to Simon's need for a pet.

Since Johnny's been serving time for the last nine months, with nine months to go (sloppy work, he's lucky Kyle was able to clean things up), Simon's gone to ground. Every now and then, news of his work pops up. Once, one of the victims had ended up at the hospital Kyle works at.

"The Ghost Killer strikes again! Ah...! Run...!" Kyle had muttered to himself, taking the unconscious young man's rapidly fading vitals. They'd found him in an abandoned building, an old hospital well outside of Simon's usual territory. Which means something has changed.

That evening, sipping a beer, he'd called Price on his burner.

"What can I do for you, Kyle?"

"Just letting you know that your dog is out of the yard. The big one, not the terrier," Kyle answers with a smile. "He left behind a bit of a mess, but there was only one little rabbit left suffering. I handled it."

Price had hummed on the other end. "I saw the news. 'S not like him. I'll check in." And then he'd hung up.

Months later, and Kyle finally has an answer when he catches Simon trailing behind a woman not once but three times. He's surprised to see her face, an old classmate and the justification for his second ever human kill. He's almost sad to know that she's been marked for death. When he hears about the Ski Lodge massacre and the Ghost copycat, he has a drink in her honor.

So it's a surprise when she reaches out to him online and asks to meet.

She's frazzled and wild-eyed when she sits in the chair across from him. She's also wearing one of Simon's beanies. And when she reveals what Simon's been up to, he can't help but laugh.

Simon - the weird, off-putting, murderous Ghost - has somehow managed to find the one person in the world who devotes herself to a project more than him. The Final Girl Girlfriend.

They're both doomed.

Kyle begins the painstaking process of reviewing his daily journals for mentions of Simon and their shared connections. It's very unlikely that Simon would be caught alive, and even more unlikely that he'd say anything about Kyle or Johnny or Price. But unlikely isn't impossible, so it's important to start getting his stories straight now.

Reviewing, flagging, and annotating his journals from his initial meeting with Johnny to now takes a month and three days. It's always an interesting process, looking at his life with the advantage of hindsight. There's always a new fascinating pattern to examine. For example, that first summer, he'd meet with Johnny every other week, and two and six days later, he'd gradually step up a patient's blood thinners.

Another pattern that's emerged is that he hasn't dated anyone for more than 35 days in the last three years. That's about as long as it takes for his exacting nature to become... a conflict. It's not much of a problem. He's a nurse, he works long hours. He's got a gym routine and volunteers at the local pet rescue once a week. He's a part of the community, so he doesn't stick out as a loner. But he's also solidly at a point in his life where someone would expect him to have a partner.

He makes an online dating profile. It takes a week for him to delete the app.

"Darlene," he greets the head nurse with a smile and her favorite coffee at the beginning of his next shift. "How are you today?"

"Kyle." As always, she barely glances at him, just holds out her hand for her drink. "You're early. What do you want?"

She's right, he's thirty minutes early. He grins. "You wound me. Can't I just want to know how a beautiful woman is doing?"

Darlene gives him a blank look over the top of her bifocals. "Save it for the maternity ward, Garrick. What do you want?"

"Just wanna know the lay of the land," he says, coming around the desk and taking the seat next to her. He likes Darlene because she only expects him to be coy for a short time. "Been on the apps, trying to date. But my hours make things difficult. You know everybody's business. How is anyone in a relationship around here?"

"The surgeons are all on meth, the rest of the doctors are on coke, and the nurses are either fucking each other or their high school sweethearts," Darlene says, dry as a desert. "You know this already. What do you actually want?"

"That's it," he says with a shrug. "Just want to know who's not seeing anyone, or if you know of someone at another campus with the time."

She takes a sip of her coffee and thinks for a moment. "Stay off the psych and plastics floors. Maternity floor's about to get a whole new batch since all of those idiots got pregnant within three months of each other. But there's something in the water up there, so unless you also want a baby, I'd say leave them alone."

"James is on the maternity floor," Kyle points out.

"James cheated on his boyfriend and his side piece with another nurse," Darlene points out, settling into her coffee and gossip. "Which is another reason to stay away from plastics, but also trauma and rads. I didn't know you were bisexual."

"Doesn't come up much," Kyle dismisses, sipping his own coffee.

By the time Kyle has to clock in, they've explored the pros and cons of almost every department. The prospects are pretty grim. Maybe being single isn't the worst thing in the world.

He makes a point of spending time with the other nurses for the next month. He goes out for drinks and karaoke, attends a couple of baby showers. Lets on to a couple of gossips that he's looking, tells another that he's not sure he has time to date. Enjoys the conclusion of a project when a racist old bastard finally has the heart attack he can't bounce back from.

And then the nurse coroner flags the death for investigation.

Kyle doesn't panic because technically all deaths in the hospital are investigated. But he is intrigued. His own notes show that the patient's condition was well within the expected parameters of recovery and relapse. His medications were administered appropriately while Kyle was on shift, and the hydrogen peroxide added to his IV would have been nigh undetectable.

In the end, the hospital is not determined to be at fault for the death, and that's all that administration cares about. But the cause of death is changed from heart attack to embolism in the record, and that is intriguing.

"Knock knock," Kyle says, poking his head into the office area of the morgue. He expects to see Dennis, the older gentleman running the morgue unit, who waves back at him. He doesn't expect the new face, sitting across the desk from him.

"Good morning, Kyle," Dennis greets, waving him in. "Been a bit since you've come to see us. Care for some tea?"

"Can't," Kyle says, apologetically. "Just dropping someone off."

"Well, at least let me introduce our new nurse!"

The new nurse gives him a no-nonsense handshake and a nod. They don't say much beyond their name, and Kyle is pleased to put a face to the name on the investigation into his last project. He wasn't exaggerating when he said he couldn't stay long, so he says his goodbyes.

But when his next completed project is flagged for investigation again, he decides that maybe it's time to take an interest.

#cod #fanfiction #dark fic #slasher handler #kyle gaz garrick #gaz appreciation nation #dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #coffeeshop chats #thank you so much for this ask #this really helped me push through the writers block!

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precious-little-scoundrel · 2 months

Note

i was thinking about what late night talks with bucky would be like (call me crazy), and it got me thinking:

other than dying (though arguably some are not afraid of dying), what do you think some of the mota men’s greatest fears are? i could write a hundred essays on each of them, they all are so different!

Gosh, this is an incredible ask and it got me thinkin. Too hard, probably. And while I didn’t summarize thoughts for everyone I did think of them for Bucky.

So much so I wrote a little blurb on it. Sorry Nonnie if you’re not even into this universe, I totally get it but I found fic to be a more enlightening method for exploring this. I wanna hear those thoughts of yours! Send them, I beg!

Greatest Fear

They got a bit existential as the weeks went on and their nights got more conscious. Ida and Bucky’s minds grew restless in the cold now that their bodies were healing. Huddled in their bunk they had debated baseball vs football endlessly, and argued regarding the accuracy of each other’s training anecdotes, the morality of mobsters and who was the better boxer: Braddock or Baer.

They’d ended up talking of the war, and both being sick of the dead end that the question of the future brought, they circled back around more concrete -if troublesome- thoughts. Most hairy landings, worst sounds either heard from their crew over the radio and what flashed across their minds when they had to finally press that abandon ship control.

And finally, Bucky ended up asking her what her worst fear was. And when Ida didn’t have it readily to hand -too used to suppressing any such thoughts even to her own self- he clarified: “Besides dying, I mean. If you’re even scared of that. Knowin’ you, maybe you aren’t.”

“I’d rather not.” she admitted.

“So? So what gets you scared?”

“This your way of fishing for another ghost story?” Ida teased.

“No. Just feels like sometimes you gotta remind yourself what it’s all about. Scared of dyin’ means you like livin’ enough to rather not stop. That sorta thing.”

“You’re saying love for one thing drives fear for another.” She summarized.

“Dunno. Just mullin’ it over.”

“I’d go through anything not to lose John.” she conceded, “Funny enough I’m positive he feels the same, so what a snarl.”

“I know he does.”

“Yeah.”

“If they put a gun to Buck’s head I’d tell ‘em Roosevelt's address and his favorite drink order, too.” Bucky expounded, tongue loosened by her tiny admission of frailty. “And he’d hate me for it.”

“All different kinds of loves out there.” Ida murmured consolingly, thinking hard on how her brother had been in a rage at her condition when he first saw her, and yet one of his first questions was whether she’d given anything up. Her Johnny knew she couldn’t live with herself if she had and he wouldn't've wanted her to. And nothing about that struck her as cold. Just as Bucky’s dangerous devotion to Gale didn’t strike her as weak. Just different.

“I saw a train.” Bucky began a thought but his voice died out with such finality Ida wondered if he’d ever pick the subject up again. But after a long moment he did, with some far away quality present in his voice that she’d never heard before, “On the way here. We were on one set of tracks and it was comin’ up the other.”

Ida had memories of trains, a lot of them. Going south all alone, first trip down to the uncle and aunts during the worst year of the depression. Old enough to know her own folks couldn’t support her, old enough to question how a ticket could be arranged but not supper. There had been trains that took her to training in Texas, then on to Iowa and Nebraska. Trains that took her deeper into Germany. One entire train car just for herself and too many German soldiers. Then the train that took them away from Ravensbruck. Ida felt an unsettled anticipation around trains that the peaceful rightness of flight had never caused her.

When Bucky mentioned trains and didn’t go on, Ida folded her hand into his huge one and squeezed it tightly. “What about those trains, John?”

“Heard ‘em before we saw ‘em.” he clarified, nodding his head conversationally as he was want to do, like he was gaining momentum towards a hard saying. Ida braced herself, squeezed just a little harder. “Not the engines, the screams. Car after car, and nothin’ but arms and faces reachin’ out. Screaming.”

Bucky’s bruised eyes were fixed, downcast gaze somewhere in the vicinity of her throat, but Ida knew he was seeing something far away. “I think I saw where they take them.” she muttered before she even had time to weigh her contribution to this horrid tale.

His eyes focused again and he looked at her with silent inquiry. “They took us to a labor camp first. Before here. Apparently one of the nicer ones, they had intentions of treating us as civilians.” Ida had been preoccupied with her aching body and her sharp terror of failure while at Ravensbruck, but not so much as to not notice the haunting vestiges of humanity answering roll beside her. “I felt like I was in Hades, the cold hell. Where the living damned can peruse each special misery waiting for them when they die. Called it a labor camp but I don’t know how skeletons like that could produce anything. Last bits of human resilience used to put together some industry to keep their oppressors fed, equipped. What an end.”

“Scares me shitless.” Bucky replied vehemently, and Ida realized they’d gotten full circle in their talk, that he’d dragged more out of her than she ever intended. Somehow neither his statement of fear nor her own felt weak in the moment. “That folks could get so hard they could do that to each other -I don’t know what to do with that, Ida. How’s it get to that point. Why’ve you got Fritz and then you’ve got…that? Same country, same sauerkraut, same uniforms. Scares me shitless.”

MOTA taglist, I only have one so ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for:

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

@xxanaduwrites

@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

@waitedforlove743

@elvismylove04

@blikebarbie92

@luminouslywriting

@euryno-j47

@justheretoreadthhx

@bookotter01

@mads-weasley

@ka-ski

@darkestbeforethedawn16

@slowsweetlove

@richardslady121

@barbeygirl

@prfctplcsreads

@vaf24

@harrys-housewife

@claireelizabeth85

@pearlparty

@piastrinho

#Ida and Bucky snuggling and having some seriously angsty chats #but also- I’ve been long pondering what may have fucked Bucky up most about his time before the Stalag and I don’t think it was the lynchin #masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #integrated au #those who can

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ofoceansandtombsanew · 3 months

Text

I Cherish You, Halcyon Days: i.

“You’re gonna die, kid. In the worst way possible.”

tags: afab!reader (she/her), angst, slow burn

pairing: gojou x reader + onesided!getou x reader

summary: You’re 15 years old when you’re told you’re going to die. You’re 17 years old when you realize who your killer will be. And you’re 17 years old when you make peace with the fact you wouldn’t want it any other way.

index | previous chapter | next chapter

"[First]... [First]. Hey wake up!"

You blink blearily, just barely catching your chin with your palm. "Sorry," you mumble, closing your eyes once more. You open them once more when Shoko raps her knuckles against your desk again. "'m still kinda out of it."

Yours was the start to a very trying day.

First and foremost, you overslept and missed breakfast.

You were still tired.

And most irritating of all, you had a headache ー you forgot to drink water before and after going to bed, sue you.

While you're still cognizant, you whip out your phone to text your friends. What a waste, you sigh. There aren't any missions to go on today either. Originally your plan was to head out once classes were over for the day and meet up with your non-sorcerer friends in the city. Eat at Johnny's, maybe go to an arcade and watch a movie with the money you had leftover. With how you're feeling presently though, you much preferred laying down and immediately going to sleep. "This sucks," you fail to fight back on a yawn. "I wanted to see what's been going on with everybody from my old school too." You yawn again.

Me: I'm not gonna be able to make it, sorry. Can we meet up another time instead? Have fun without me (T^T)

Chinatsu: aww that sucks. Do you think you'll be free next weekend? We can do something for your birthday!

Your smile is small yet doubtful as you text back an 'I promised my aunt that I'd visit her next weekend to celebrate so it might be a while til then.'

If there's one simultaneous benefit and drawback to attending Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College, it's that your schedule is sporadic enough that you it's never consistent what you might be doing on a day-to-day basis let alone week-to-week. Some mornings you'll find out classes are canceled for the next few days and other times you think you're home free to bullshit for the weekend only for Fujioka-sensei to pop up and say you and Shoko have a mission that'll take up the entirety of your free time. As far as your old friends from Tsubame High were concerned though, you somehow got yourself a scholarship for a bigshot religious school with a limited number of students and hellish expectations for said students.

"Look at [First] getting herself into some fancy rich kid private school," Tooru said when you broke the news to your friends you'd known since middle school that you'd be transferring to Tokyo Jujutsu Tech.

Chinatsu: Look at [First], not having too much time for the little people!

"It's pretty unusual for you to sleep in," Shoko's comment brings you out of your nostalgic stupor.

Me: Yeah who are you again?

"Yeah, I know," once you quickly type in your reply, you finally shove your phone back into your pants pocket. If there's a definitive benefit to attending Tokyo Tech, it's the customizable uniforms. You went for the boys uniform at this particular school. It felt like it would be the most practical decision when you'd be running around fighting cursed spirits. And with it being fall, the winter solstice being a couple weeks away, wearing pants felt like the best long term investment you could have come up with. Not to mention, you looked good in it. "It's not like I had any trouble getting to sleep though."

"Bad dream?"

"I don't know I can't remember it," you shrugged trying to recall whatever it was you were dreaming about. It's all hazy, not even the most significant parts scratching at your brain coming through the fog. "I don't think it was bad though. Maybe it was about my husband. I'm still mad they killed off his character in Anaconda 2 last year, can you believe that shit? He was the finest dude in the movie!" When you hear a snicker coming from your right, you shoot a glare towards the culprit with snowy white hair. "Like Inoue Waka even knows who you are, please shut up."

"At least my celebrity crush lives in my country," Gojou snickers back with a shit-eating grin. "Running into Morris Chestnut in Japan? Doesn't seem all that likely. Ah the delusions of young children."

"You are literally only two days older than me, you are making this way too big a deal."

Although Suguru releases a breath of exasperation, there's a smile gracing his features. "Well you can't be that tired if the two of you can bicker like this. Just try not to tear each other apart next week when the party hits. It's your special day after all."

Ah yes, the party. The brilliant idea that the first and second year teachers, Fujioka and Yaga, came up with on the fly yesterday on December 1st.

When you were told that there was a small number of students at this school, you didn't realize how little there would be going in. Among the first year students, you're quite literally only one of four. The previous second year student, Okita, died two months ago leaving the current number of second year students at 0. There's quite literally only two third year students in Utahime and Mei Mei. And as for 4th year students, there is only one ー Yamada.

The ratio of non-jujutsu sorcerer to sorcerer was shockingly out of balanced if there were only seven students at your school. Because of that, the teachers made sure to celebrate every student's birthday. A party, cake, presents, the whole shebang. No class, no missions. Just a day of setting up the dorms for a party while the one turning a year older had to either leave campus and wander around until it was time for their party, or sit around doing nothing around campus until someone came to get them.

It wasn't too long ago when you were all celebrating Shoko's birthday on the 27th of last month.

It was her party with her cake and her presents.

But you? The teachers had a special idea in mind for you. Because in a school of seven students where two of them were born within days of each other, why have two separate parties when you could make it one and cheapen the cost?

One party with one cake and a mixture of presents for you both to tear open at the same time.

Gojou is December 7th.

You're December 9th.

They'll just celebrate both on the 8th and call it a day.

When it came down to it, you understood the principle behind the plan. You could even get behind it. It's just that if somewhere to ask if you liked Gojou Satoru, your answer would be an irrevocable 'no'.

Hell, you'd answer 'no' even if no one did ask.

Gojou Satoru is impossible for you to like from his stupid sunglasses to his shit-eating grins. Even worse is his arrogance. Because apparently, there's no one in the world of jujutsu you were scouted into that didn't know who Gojou Satoru is. Born merely two days before you, Gojou Satoru's birth changed the state of the jujutsu world. "He's basically like the jujutsu sorcerer version of Jesus," Shoko explained when you asked why everyone seemingly made a big deal over him.

I don't like him at all.

You're the odd man out in your class, though, you begrudgingly force yourself to accept all over again during lunch. Despite your less than stellar review of the boy, Suguru and Shoko got along just fine with him.

Gojou had always been obnoxious about the fact you were born a couple days after him when you found out you shared a month of birth. It is just that with your birthdays being right around the corner of next week, he is being especially intolerable. He even came to wake you up this morning when you overslept, forcing Gojou Satoru and his blue eyes that were partially obscured by his sunglasses to be the first thing you saw that morning. Clearly a premonition that today was going to be a mess when he all but sang "morning, junior, you're gonna be late to class at this rate!"

By the gods, I wanna punch him so much. I don't care if he's Jujutsu Jesus, he just thinks he's hot shit because he has blue eyes.

At the very least, you can rest easy in knowing the fact that the feelings of dislike are mutual.

Gojou Satoru is strong, it's an irrefutable fact no matter how much you'd like to deny it. He's strong and in turn, the strong are the only ones Gojou respects. You apparently don't make the cut.

And that's fine. Strength came in all sorts of ways. (An argument the two of you have already had with one another where Suguru said you both would just have to agree to disagree.) You disliked Gojou Satoru but you could live with the fact that, at the very least, you were going to be stuck together for four years. Because even if he was strong, life sometimes paid you back with small moments of grace where someone put the golden boy of the Gojou Clan in his place.

"Just so you know, Takamatsu Akira is visiting again," Shoko's voice pulls you back into the present.

You raise an eyebrow at the unfamiliar name, "never heard of 'em."

"He's a sorcerer that can see glimpses of a person's future when he looks at them," Suguru answers in her stead over a sip of his oi ocha. "He's apparently at the school today for some sort of meeting."

"Hands off the goods," your eyes widen in amazement as you quickly smack away Gojou's hand from your lunch. "Really? And it's all accurate too?"

"He's a major asshole, though," the white-haired boy hisses with a pout. You roll your eyes. I'm not sure how reliable your words are if you of all people are calling someone an asshole. Your incredulousness must show on your face because Gojou's next words are, "seriously! He only tells people he thinks have interesting futures anything about it."

"And?"

"Satoru's just mad because apparently his future isn't interesting," Suguru smirks, smugly welcoming his best friend's unamused side eye. "He told me about mine though."

You bite back a snort when your curiosity to know Suguru's fortune wins. "What did he say about it?"

Suguru touched his chin thoughtfully, recalling back the day he met the seer. "He said that one day I'll be stuck at a crossroads between two paths and make a life changing decision," he pauses dramatically and you lean forward in anticipation. "That's all he told me though."

Damn it.

The brown-eyed boy chuckles but he shoots you a look of amused sympathy, "he never really tells you too much about it apparently. I was disappointed too."

"Did he ever tell you anything about your future, Shoko?" You ask your class' resident slacker.

Shoko shook her head, bob gently moving with her. "I'm one of the boring ones too," she says with a lazy wave of her hand. "Like Gojou."

"Don't worry, my friends," Suguru places a hand over his chest and bows with far too much grace and humility. "I alone will shoulder the burden of having an interesting future. Unlike Satoru."

You choke, unable to stop yourself from chortling this time. Whatever Gojou sputters in his self-defense, you don't hear it over the sound of your own laughter. "Maybe he'll tell me about my future too," you sigh when your giggles subside. You sincerely doubt it, but it's fun to think about the possibilities. I want an interesting life plot twist, like the reveal I'm actually a long-lost member of some royal family he just won't tell me which one.

"He'll probably stop by because you're here," Shoko rests her chin on her palm. You were the newest in your class, starting a month later than the rest. "He likes seeing if new students will have interesting futures ahead of them."

"Don't get too excited, [First]," Gojou quickly rains on your parade with a lot of arrogance for someone whose future is apparently so boring a seer won't even talk to him about it. "I'm the most interesting person in this place and he won't even talk to me. So who knows what sort of reaction you'll get."

"Oh quit being bitter that your future is gonna be boring, asshole," before any other quips and gripes can be exchanged, the class door slides open abruptly. You look over with a start, wondering if it's your teacher when you see it isn't. The man is a bit younger than Yaga but his hair is already graying and his eyes are a deep green reminiscent of pine trees. You have a feeling you already know who it is and grin. "You wouldn't happen to be Takamatsu Akira, would you? Gojou here was telling me about his boring future soー" you stop yourself with a shudder when you blinked and realized that man was in front of your face and much too close for comfort.

"Now that is something," the man blinks owlishly, eyes almost glowing in his amazement.

Your discomfort flies away faster than a seagull with someone else's lunch, "really?"

The man leans back with a grin and a snap of his fingers, "really, really."

With that you look at Gojou and stick out your tongue and he sticks his tongue in return.

[First] 1, Gojou 0.

Suguru chuckles and Shoko grins and all the while, Gojou flicks your forehead too quickly for you to react. "Look, hater, it isn't my fault that your future's boring, quit trying to rain on my parade," you snicker, batting your eyelashes. "Mr. Takamatsu, I'd really appreciate it if you could tell me about my future if you don't mind. Before the naysayers get more butthurt than they already are."

"You're gonna die, kid."

With four words, your blood freezes and you find yourself blinking once, twice slowly. It's the matching looks of shock and surprise on your classmates' faces that tells you you heard Takamatsu correctly. Stiffly, you look back at the seer hoping for that revelation to be nothing but a joke, but instead you find yourself looking at a maniacal grin. That grin feels more like a knife in your gut. "In the worst way possible."

The knife sinks deeper into your flesh, twisting.

"Hey," out of the four of you, Gojou is the one who finds his voice first.

Takamatsu ignores the boy with snow white hair as if he's nothing but a minor breeze, "But," he beams like he's only told you that he found a discount at the convenience store. "Because I like you so much, I'll let you ask three questions about it."

"O-okay," you stammer almost instinctively. Like a zombie, you find yourself stumbling onto your feet and Takamatsu nods at the door. These answers will be for you and you alone. You aren't sure what expression you wear on your face as you exit, nor the expressions of your peers. You can't bring yourself to look at them as you follow the future-seeing sorcerer into the halls of your school.

I'm going to die.

In the worst way possible.

It's only once you're relatively alone that the seer halts his walking in the middle of the hall to look at you. "Feel free to ask your questions," he tells you. "Your classmates shouldn't be able to hear, even if they keep looking out the door. So ask away," he reassures you, waving his hand nonchalantly.

You glance to your left and sure enough there are three heads leaning out of the door, staring straight at you both. You can't bring yourself to smile reassuringly before you return your gaze to the sorcerer in front of you.

Three questions.

Your first question can only be so obvious. "Howー how do I die?"

Takamatsu's amusement is sapped from his face at that question. "Really?" He yawns with a shake of his head. "That's what you're going to ask? That's quite boring."

Boring? Boring?! It's my life! "Yeah but-"

"You know what, fine," Takamatsu sighs, crossing his arms. He recalls his vision in his mind for a moment before he opens his lips. "You're going to be killed by someone precious to you. Ask me something more… riveting this time."

You blink slowly.

You're going to be killed by someone you care about.

When do I die?

Was it an accident?

On purpose?

Why would they want to kill me?

You don't think those are questions Takamatsu will find intriguing in the slightest. In a panic, you ask the most original question that enters your brain. "Do I die… angry at them?" No. Fucking. Shit, me. "Wait, that was dumb don't answer th-"

"Nope, it counts," Takamatsu clicks his tongue. Maybe it's payback for your first question being so predictable and unoriginal. "And my answer for that is no. Your heart will surprisingly bear no anger towards the person who kills you." A revelation that shakes you to the core. "Well, one question left to go, kid. No more mess ups, I'll take it even if it's something as a dumb as a repeat question."

"Okay, okay," you exhale nervously, biting your lip. I need to think.

You know yourself.

You're selfish at times, who isn't? If it really came down to it though, you know you'd always put someone else's life over your own. You can talk big, you can snort when you watch a movie and say 'yeah sorry, they'd be stuck on their own. I'm not dying in a situation like that, I'd wanna go home'. But you know yourself enough to know that despite thinking it, your feet would inevitably turn towards the other person. Maybe you'd die in the end but you know you'd try your damnedest to get them out.

Why else would you put yourself on the line fighting curses?

Curses were scary.

You'd seen them you're entire life, unable to explain why or what they are to the people around you. Some were tall, some were small and some were so grotesquely horrifying that it made Sadako and Freddy Kreuger look like kittens. Being able to literally shield yourself from them were a saving grace when Rejection came in. Those curses didn't attack often, no they mostly just hung about before choosing some random poor soul to haunt. You just didn't want one touching you or your parents.

Things got a bit better when they sent you to Japan for the summer with your aunt. Apparently that's what happens when you live in a country with a more stable and organized force of jujutsu sorcery. Or maybe it was, begrudgingly, because living in the home court of Jujutsu Jesus kept some curses from wilding out the way they did in your home country.

Either way, your parents relented when you begged for them to let you continue living in Japan with your aunt.

That's how you were prepared for the night your class' test of courage went to shit when a curse showed up and miraculously kept the list of mortal casualties at zero.

But I'd like to think that in a life or death fight where it's me or them, I'd choose me. You shake your head pushing the thought to the side. You almost forgot the most important detail. Your killer will be someone who matters to you. But I won't be mad about it. If it was life or death, I'd choose me. I know that. Stranger on the street or a lifelong sworn enemy. And I know if I was killed by someone I apparently care about, I'd definitely be bitter about it. I'm not that forgiving.

Future you isn't in agreement. Your eyes turn to the ground.

Is it a life or death fight situation or an accident? You open your mouth briefly before closing it again.

They're precious to me.

They're someone I care about.

But I won't be angry.

I mustn't have been trying that hard then, you wet your lips as a light bulb flickers deeply in the recesses of your mind. You couldn't have been. How else could your future self's lack of anger be justified? One day, there will be someone you care for so greatly that even in a life or death battle, you'd still choose them.

You raise your head to look into dark green eyes dancing with amusement, a grin accompanying them. The grin morphs from clear to distorted at the welling of tears in your eyes. I wasn't trying. "I must really love this person, don't I?"

Takamatsu's grin grows even wider, eyes flashing in pleasant surprise. "Yeah," he leans against the wall, crossing his arms. "It seems like you do."

Tears roll down your cheeks like streams into a river yet your arms hang loosely at your side. "That's three questions then," you murmur, throat constricting. You inhale slowly, hold your breath and release before wiping your eyes. "Thank you for answering my questions, Mr. Takamatsu. Lunch is gonna be over soon, so I'm gonna go finish eating now."

You bow before turning on your heel back to your class, your classmates are still there. You don't really care to receive their pity or empathy.

"I'm gonna die, it's gonna suck and that's all he really told me," you say before anyone can ask.

It's hours after classes have ended for the day and you're cooking in the communal kitchen when you see Gojou again.

"Hey," Gojou says and his tone is so serious it startles you. You set your knife down on the cutting board before looking at him. His face doesn't seem right to you and it dawns on you a second later it's because he's frowning and it's not the usual childish frown you're used to seeing. "Don't take what that guy said seriously. Like I said, he's an asshole. He was probably saying all of that to freak you out." There's a pause and Gojou scratches the back of his head, looking uncomfortable in his skin. "So don't, like, cry about it. Takamatsu's a prick."

"Are you," you squint, looking Gojou over suspiciously. "Trying to make me feel better or something in your own weird Gojou way?"

"Someone has to make sure you aren't drowning in their sorrows," Gojou returns to his usual brand of cocky, with a grin. His sunglasses slide down, revealing playful eyes.

"I don't want the comfort then," you roll your eyes and return to chopping your vegetables. "Besides, I don't need it anyways, I'm strong."

"Eeeeh."

Asshole.

"We had this argument before that there's different kinds of strong, you jackass," you argue for argument's sake knowing it's a moot point to argue with someone who vehemently believes otherwise. Apparently he thinks belief in philosophical kinds of strongs is how the weak comfort themselves.

You vaguely notice that in spite of your annoyance, your shoulders aren't stiff and your jaw is loose. Apparently Gojou is good for something, after all. "Strong looks different for different people. A kid is strong when they act tough after tripping. A grown man crying and being open with his emotions is strong," you recount some of the ways you've seen people be strong in your life. You've witnessed strength in various ways in your 15 years of living. "… Even just living despite how hard it can be is strong. But it's whatever, I already know you think that's a load of self-comforting weak crap, don't feel like arguing about it."

Save for the sound of you cutting green celery and the light simmer of the pan, silence falls over the two of you.

"What did you guys talk about when he said you could ask him questions?" Gojou finally asks.

"… nothing important," you mutter back.

ー

When you wake up at 4:30 in the morning the next day, knowing full well there was going to be physical education that day, you decide to ditch class.

index | previous chapter | next chapter

Extra

In the oneshot I somehow fucked up the timeline by one year. In reality, Gojou was a 1st year in 2005 not 2004.

Also, in the oneshot I said the reader was the baby of the class. I was wrong again. Suguru was actually born in '90, not '89, like I originally assumed. Thus, he's actually the baby of the class. So I removed all mentions of the reader being the class baby. Still, you're younger than Gojou by two days so he is still rather insufferable about that, much to your chagrin.

Compared to the oneshot, now that there is more extended time to look into such things, there will be dives into the reader's non-sorcerer origins, family and friends. I would like to note that the reader isn't from Japan originally in terms of her nationality, but that will be covered in future chapters. Regardless, the reader is ethnically ambiguous for the self-insert convenience!

#look she's writing #jjk x reader #gojou x reader #gojo x reader #getou x reader #geto x reader #i cherish you halcyon days

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small-sinclair · 4 months

Note

Hiii🌙🌙Wanted to ask if you can write headcanons of Johnny Slaughter😖 🙏 of course you don't have to do it🤗⭐ it was just a question.. ☺️😶

I can do that. I don't mind!

Headcanons of Johnny Slaughter

tw: mentions of killings, blood

He is the biggest goofball you'll meet if he doesn't want to kill you. He has a lot of bad puns and jokes.

Just for the heck of it, he says something so out there and watches his family argue/fight. He'll stay quite for a moment with a shit eating grin and leave the madness.

Banned from touching the radio.

Banned from Cook's kitchen.

Banned from Sissy's room (don't ask what happened).

VERY knowledgeable about flowers and butterflies. He has a lot of books over butterflies.

Johnny does like to go to a certain house in town to visit an old woman that reminds him of his grandmother when she was alive. He'll sit with her on the front porch in the summers and listen to her stories even if she already told it. She lives by herself and her family doesn't visit her often, which makes both her and Johnny a bit sad.

I have an hc of him having a long scar on his back that stretches from his upper back and curves to the left side of his bode like a 'J'. He got it when he fell out of a tree.

This man knows how to play the fiddle.

Ask him about his bottle cap collection.

I think he is a bit overprotective of Bubba. If a victim is making fun of him or taunting him, Johnny would not show mercy as they kill them.

HATES milk. He will never drink it.

He enjoys reading (tell no one).

Can't cook, but knows how to bake! Loves making muffins and cookies!

Johnny has a soft spot for dogs and cats. There's an orange cat that lives in the barn named Froggie; she's Johnny's cat.

He has another cat named Lucky; she's a turtle cat.

Johnny has a dog, too. A German Shepard named Cain.

I actually think he was once in love, but not with the girl he kidnapped (can't remember her name for the life of me). She and Johnny used to play by the watering hole before it dried out. When she got older, she had to move away. Before she did, she kissed Johnny goodbye, giving him his first kiss. He thinks about her from time to time, but shakes it away. If she really loved him, she would've came back and visited, but she hasn't.

Has kissed a guy before when he was drunk. May or may not had a make-out session behind the bar. (He enjoyed it?)

When he's not killing, he's working part time at the town's car shop. He's really good at it, too!

He actually loves kids and wants kids of his own one day, but he won't be able to stay around because of his way of life.

There's a family photo folded in his back pocket he keeps.

Whenever he as a dumb idea, he says it out loud, gets a look from Sissy and Nubbins, and they do it. All three of them share 1 brain cell when it comes to doing something dumb together.

He knows he's adopted, but he's okay with it... sometimes. He does think about what could've been from time to time, but he shakes it off. Nothing tastes sweeter than blood on his lips and Nancy's apple pie.

Johnny is touch starved.

There was this one kill that he remembers and thinks about a lot. It was with a girl about his age. Instead of running with her friends, she went to Johnny. He knew it was an easy kill, but he didn't expect that her last moments was giving him a hug and promising that everything will be okay. He didn't know why he held her close for a while and stayed with her until her last breath. His family ended up having her for dinner, but Johnny made sure he took her bones and charm necklace. He put her bones in a shoe box and buried her in the family grave. Sometimes, he wears the charm necklace and thinks of her, remembering her promise that everything was going to be okay.

#johnny slaughter headcanons #johnny slaughter #johnny sawyer #johnny tcm #tcm headcanons #texas chainsaw game #texas chainsaw massacre game #texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw massacre headcanons #slasher headcanons #slasher community #slasher

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lostloveletters · 15 days

Text

Sunday Eve (John Brady x OC)

Summary: On a freezing night blanketed with snow, John and Woody know how to keep each other warm.

Note: It’s been in the 80s here, so naturally I wrote a soft, smutty, post-war winter fic for them. I’m sorry if the formatting is weird, I’m posting this on mobile. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Period typical attitudes. Sexually explicit content involving vaginal sex (light breeding kink elements, but I wanted to mention it just in case). Do not interact if you’re under 18.

John privately wondered if his Californian sweetheart regretted moving to Upstate New York for him when he found her sitting next to the radio in their small living room, bundled up in not one, but two of his sweaters, with a quilt from his grandmother on her lap. Woody’s eyebrows furrowed as the newscaster announced more snow overnight. He figured she would be used to it by then. England was no stranger to snow.

But the way she reacted to their first snow day together brought the magic back into it. She threw her arms around him and pulled him back into bed when he told her the schools were closed, which meant he had the day off of work. They spent half the day in bed, the other half dancing around the apartment and drinking whiskey they’d gotten as an engagement present, all hopeful attempts to mitigate the heating bill while money was still a little tight.

After two days of scattered snowfall, she appeared baffled that it wasn't coming to an end for the foreseeable future. She knew to expect it. Saw firsthand the rush of people bringing their cars into the shop for snow tires and chains. She got the hang of it quickly. ‘You’d hardly know she was from Los Angeles,’ her boss, an old friend of his father’s, had told John after mass one particularly chilly October morning. ‘San Francisco,’ John reminded him, to which he received a shrug in response.

“Ready to head to bed?” John asked. “We’re meeting my mom for lunch after mass tomorrow morning.”

His family adored Woody, especially when she shared her intent to convert to Catholicism. He didn’t know how to feel when she confided later on she was doing it for him, rather than out of spiritual conviction, which he suspected, anyway. He never wanted her to feel as though he were forcing her to do anything. ‘It’ll make things easier for us,’ she assured him.

The part that bothered him just as much was that it did. His family suddenly weren’t making as much of a fuss about them living together. Probably assumed they wouldn’t push their beds together or keep condoms in the nightstand. The monsignor promised them a wedding mass in the spring, the most coveted time of year to celebrate the sacrament of holy matrimony—provided she completed catechism by then. She was on track to, so long as she kept showing up to mass.

“Will the roads even be cleared?” she asked.

He smiled. “We’re used to it here, sweetheart. You’d be surprised.”

She turned off the radio, getting up from the armchair and throwing the quilt over the back of it. He reached for her hand, taking it in his and pressing a kiss to her calloused palm.

Their bedroom was chilly when they slipped beneath the covers together after rushing through their respective nighttime routines, brushing teeth and changing into pajamas. In Woody’s case, taking off one of his two sweaters she’d requisitioned for herself, not having much of a winter wardrobe of her own.

Compared to the Stalags and freezing night marches, though, their drafty old apartment felt like heaven with the radiator buzzing and Woody in his arms. John dreamed about such a moment so many times, he needed to remind himself it was real. Pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, her hair soft and smooth against his lips. She trembled against him, breathing out a soft sigh.

“Sweetheart?”

“Keep me warm,” she whispered, nuzzling her nose against his cheek. “Please, Johnny?”

“We have to get up to go to mass tomorrow,” he gently reminded her.

Woody wanted him morning and night, and in between too, if he could manage it. Far from a complaint, but he was certain he was the only man in the world with such a dilemma as making sure to wake up early enough to sate his love’s desire before getting along with the day. When the topic came up among his coworkers or old college buddies, they grumbled with foreign tales of fiances and wives who feigned headaches or went to sleep early.

As soon as she shifted, better positioning herself to give him a kiss, he gave in. With little more than a glance his way or brush of their lips, she could silently transform her desires into his own, making him ache for it, too.

“Turn on a lamp,” she said, her voice low and husky. “I wanna see you, honey.”

And who was he to deny her? Nighttime could be formidable, but far less so with Woody around, ready to take on whatever haunted him with the determination that earned her the admiration of so many at Thorpe Abbotts. Didn’t care if it meant forgoing sleep or engaging in odd rituals when he needed a hand to reach out and bring him back from the depths. She dove in without hesitation.

So, within seconds of her request, the amber glow of his bedside lamp washed over them. She smiled, fondness and adoration in the gold-tinged forest of her eyes as she caressed his cheek, drawing him in for another heated kiss as he moved on top of her, straddling her hips, plusher and wider since they arrived stateside and received regular helpings of family cooking. Made it hard for him to keep his hands off of her even outside of their bedroom.

He reached down, slipping his hand down the waistband of her pajama pants and between her thighs—warm and wet, he easily slid two fingers inside her. He knew it wasn’t a sin. Not anymore. Not with her. It couldn’t be.

She moaned against his mouth when he rubbed her clit with his thumb. Rocked her hips for more friction.

“I want you inside me,” she said breathlessly, grabbing for his cock, tugging his pants down and croaking out a desperate, “please.”

He buried his length inside her, swallowing the groan that caught in his throat when he felt her pussy squeeze around his cock. Found a steady pace as she pulled him closer, pressing his body against hers, like she was trying to make him part of her.

She cried out for more as her eyelids fluttered shut. “John—oh my god—harder.”

“Look at me,” he demanded, echoing her earlier sentiments, “I wanna see you, sweetheart.”

She opened her eyes, bright and wild in a way that sent a delicious shiver down his spine. His fingers played with her clit, could feel how close she was. He thrust harder, rougher as her moans filled his ears, her voice hoarse as she came loudly, her pussy pulsing around his cock.

His hips shuddered. His brain felt fuzzy, almost lost himself before asking, “Where should I—“

“On my stomach.” She hastily bunched up her sweater just below her breasts, exposing it to him.

His blunt nails scratched gently against her bare stomach, soft and inviting. Tried not to think about it round and full with child, his child, one day when she wasn't so afraid. He recognized the uncertainty that flashed in her eyes whenever someone brought it up. ‘Not until you’re ready,’ he had promised with all the understanding he could manage despite the animal part of him trying to claw its way through. She’d look so pretty, so perfect. She’d be his wife soon, after all.

But it’d be worth the wait. She waited two years for him and didn’t waver. He’d do the same for her the world over. They belonged to each other.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling out just before he came, his seed spilling onto her stomach as his orgasm rocked through him. Buried his face in the crook of her neck, her skin warm with a sheen of sweat. Made his mind hazy with the feel, the smell of her intertwining with pleasure until he was spent.

With a shaky breath and equally shaky hand, he reached over to his nightstand, grabbing a handkerchief to wipe his cum off of her stomach. Didn’t need to look at her face to know she was eyeing him like a bird of prey. He threw the soiled fabric aside and pulled down her sweater to cover her again.

She grabbed him by the collar before he could move back to his side of the bed, pressing soft kisses to his neck, the prelude to gentle bites on his collarbones and then lower, and even lower. He took a deep breath, mustering up all of the resolve he could to pull away from her.

“We have to get up early tomorrow,” he said, as sternly as he could manage.

A small pout made its way onto her lips before she relented with a slight smile. “Alright, honey.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you.”

He turned off the bedside lamp. “I love you too.”

Heat radiated off of her as she curled up against him. He stroked her hair, tongue between his teeth as he tried to fight off the urge to indulge her—and himself. She always took a while to fall asleep, even when he was convinced he tired her out.

Slowly, his hand drifted lower until he found the thick, cuffed hem of her sweater and slid his hand up it, playing with her breasts, rolling one of her nipples between his fingers.

A pleased hum came from her throat before she gently taunted him. “You just said—“

“You’ll make me extra coffee in the morning to make up for it.”

Her laughter tore through the darkness as he pulled her on top of him with a wicked grin.

——

John woke up before Woody. He almost always did. She could sleep until nearly noon if he let her, which he did sometimes. Usually, though, around ten in the morning, after already being up for a few hours on his own, he’d find himself missing her and coax her awake.

He rolled out of bed, pulling on his old flannel robe before the frigid morning air could bite him too hard. He nearly winced at the loss of body heat, sparing a longing glance to Woody, still curled up under the covers.

Shuffled over to the bedroom window and pulled back the thick curtain, something he had to put up when they realized how much of a draft it let in otherwise. All he could see outside was white. The whole block was covered in a thick blanket of fresh snow—including the roads. He sighed in relief, something he’d surely have to confess the following week.

John hurried back to Woody’s side, eager to relay the good news to her. “Hey,” he whispered, stroking her cheek. “The roads haven’t been cleared yet.”

She smiled, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him back into bed. “Thank god.”

#john brady x oc #john brady x ofc #john brady #masters of the air #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air x ofc #masters of the air oc #mota #mota x oc #mota oc #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #hbo war x oc #ch: woody

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the-froschamethyst4 · 7 months

Text

Let me use you

➤Day 13

𖤐Pairing: Cowboy! Price x City girl! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: Smut, NSFW, groping, a bit of an age gap, language, eating out, ass slapping, nipple play, P in V, eating out, slight harassment, perverted behavior, some smoking

𖤐Summary: Y/n is a new girl in town and needs some help getting to know everyone and the town, so she goes to a local bar where she ends up meeting the "Sheriff" of the town, John Price.

——————

Y/n, she moved to a small town just outside the city she grew up in. Since she was new, she barely knew anyone is the town, so she decided to go to a local bar that was mentioned to her by a lady she met in the grocery store. So, Y/n decided to go, she dressed up and headed out to this bar.

She opened the door, and it was packed, people must come here a lot to have drinks, talk and play games. She went to the bar and picked an empty bar stool and sat down.

The bartender came up to her and leaned on the bar and tossed a small towel on his shoulder. "What can I get ya?"

"Some friends," both the Bartender and Y/n laughed. "I'm kidding, I'll have an old fashioned."

"Coming right up," he said, getting her drink ready.

She looked around seeing everyone get along, since she was new to town, she felt very out-of-place here because of everyone knowing each other.

"Here's that old fashioned..." he said. "You must be new in town?"

"Was it obvious?"

"Just a bit, that whole 'some friends' type of stuff kind of gave it away and...you just don't seem like you belong here."

"Gee thanks."

"No, no, that's not what I meant...I'm Johnny, my friends call me Soap."

"Soap?"

"I was in the Military, so, it's a codename. Some people here are from the Military, there's Ghost the one with the mask on his face playing pool with Alejandro, Gaz and Roach. Then there's König and Horangi playing darts. Then Graves, Lara and Mace they're the ones arm wrestling and next...hmmm~ he must not be here but there's another one named Price," Soap said, cleaning a glass.

"Oh okay, thanks, Soap."

"Sure, anytime," Soap said, walking away to serve another person.

Y/n looked around as she sipped on her drink.

"So...you're not from around here?" She heard a thick accent and turned to her left seeing a man. He wore a red plaid shirt and black jeans.

"Yeah, I'm from the city..."

"Why'd you move here?"

"I needed some peace and quiet..." Y/n felt a bit awkward talking to this guy.

"I'm Tony," he said with a smile.

"I'm Y/n," she shook his hand and looked down at her drink. "Soap, could I get another one?" She asked.

"Coming right up," he said.

"You already know, Soap?"

"Yeah?"

Well, now you know me."

"I'm glad, I guess."

"Since you're new here, why don't I show you around sometime? Maybe...you could also come stay with the night with me, tonight?"

"I'm good, I'm not interested in going home with anyone tonight, I just want to make friends," she said.

"Oh~ come on now," he moves closer to her, he looked down her dresses top seeing her breasts. She moved the top of her dress to cover herself.

"I'm not interested," she got up from her seat and went on the other side of the bar, but he followed her.

"Come on, no one tells me no."

"Well, I just did," she said, moving again pushing passed a lot of the people in the bar. Tony grabbed her wrist and pulled her to his body. "Hey! l-let go." She said, trying to yank her wrist back from him grasp.

"Just fucking listen to me you dumb bitch-"

"HEY!" Tony was quickly picked up and slammed against the brick wall of the building. "Don't fucking speak to a lady like that you fucking prick!" Y/n turned seeing a guy dressed like a cowboy yelled at Tony.

"HEY PRICE, YOU KNOW THE RULES NO FIGHTING IN THE BAR TAKE IT OUTSIDE!" Soap yelled from behind the bar.

Price looked at Soap and smirked. "Will do," Price said, dragging Tony outside the bar. Y/n watched as Price took Tony outside and with the door shut, she didn't see what happened to Tony.

"Y/n, I have your old fashioned ready."

"Thanks, Soap."

----------

Price came back into the bar with bloody knuckles and sat at the bar next to Y/n.

"A negroni, Soap."

"Right away, Price."

"So, you're Price? Soap told me I should meet you," Y/n said. Price just looked at her and smiled but turned back to Soap with a serious look on his face.

"Sorry is I'm bothering you."

"Please...don't worry about it..." he said as Soap gave him, he drink and he walked over to Ghost and them playing pool.

"Is he usually like that?" Y/n asked, Soap.

"Not really...must be a rough farming season for him," Soap said. Y/n looked at Price who laughed with Ghost, Gaz and Alejandro.

---------

Y/n was getting ready to leave the bar, grabbing her phone and called for a Taxi to take her back home in the home she was renovating so she could call it home once she's done with it.

"Where are you going?" She just and turned to see Price, lighting up a cigarette and putting it between his lips.

"Home..." she said, looking down.

"I'll take you home, come on," he said, grabbing his keys from his back pocket and opened his passenger side door for Y/n.

"First you didn't want to talk to me after fighting some guy that could have done who knows what to me and you want me to get in the car with you? Are you nuts? I don't know you." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Come on, lovely...I'll take you home, and you'll never have to see me again."

"I rather not," she said, turning away from him.

"Get in, Y/n." She shuttered at the fact he knew her name.

"How'd you know my name?"

"Soap, has said it a couple of times, tonight, so?"

She walks to his car and got in, he shut the door and got into the driver side.

"Alright where am I going?"

"My home, xxxx Fincher Rd."

"Fincher? I live on that road...and that address...you're the one who bought my neighbor's house, what will you do with all that property? You're just one girl, I don't see you do much with almost 10 acres of land."

"I was going to make it a venue for like Weddings, Proms, anything really, I bought the house for myself and I'm already on building a couple of barns for venues and putting a canopy next to the pond in the back for good photo opportunities." She said, sounding proud of her plan.

"Ahh~ now I get it..." he said, rolling his eyes.

"Why'd you roll your eyes at me? Do you not think I can do it?"

"I didn't say that."

"But your action says otherwise...forget it, just get me home and you're right I don't want to see you again," she crossed her arms and legs looking out her window.

Price thinks it's kind of funny getting under Y/n's skin, he thought it was funny then he placed his hand on her thigh, she jumped and looked at him and tried to push his hand off her.

"H-Hey, let go!"

"I will...but...could you do a favor for me?"

"L-Like what? And w-will you leave me alone?"

"Sure...come on."

"What?"

"Let me use you, tonight and we won't see each other ever again." Price said.

"U-Use me? For s-sex?"

"Duh! Come on, let me use you." He said, looking at her and squeezing her thigh earning a soft moan from her lips.

"Oh, that moan was sexy...I want to hear those moans all night long, just one time, lovely."

"F-Fine," she stutters out as her face was red.

Price pulled into his driveway and grabbed Y/n out of his car, picking her up and kicking the door in and taking her to his bedroom, placing her on the bed. Her thighs squeezed together as he started to strip out of his clothes.

He was only in his black boxers but still kept his cowboy hat on his head. He smirked when he saw her legs being squeezed tightly together.

"Aww, love, am I making you wet? After you just bitched at me?"

"I-I was just mad that's all," he pushed her legs open, and he could see a wet spot on her panties.

He smirks and grabs her moving her closer to the edge of the bed. He moved his hat and placed it next to her on the bed and he started to push up the bottom of her dress and then pulled off her panties.

He licked between her wet folds and sucked on her wet clit. She moaned and grabbed a handful of his hair; she covered her mouth and muffled her moans, but Price smacked her thigh just close to her butt. She moaned and let go of his hair and removed her hand from her mouth.

"Don't muffle those moans," Price threatens.

"I-I'm sorry," she apologized.

"God, you begging is even more sexy. Beg for me to fuck you," he says.

"Please...please fuck me Price, I want to feel you inside of me, I want to feel you cum inside of me," she begs.

"Ahh~ hell yes." He started to remove his boxers and pushed himself inside of her. She moans and arches her back at the feeling of him immediately hitting her spot.

She looked up at Price's face seeing him concentrate on trying to please her then have some fun. She cups his face to make him stare into her eyes.

"Take your time, Price, no need to rush anything..." she said. He kissed her palm and cupped her face.

"I'm just a bit rusty," he said.

"I understand...j-just...take your time, Price," she moans. Price then looked down at her dress top using his pointer finger to pull down the top staring at her breasts and hardened nipples. He pulled her straps off her shoulders and got a perfect view of her boobs.

She moved her hands off his face and started to pull the dress over her head now being completely naked under him. He smirks and kisses her neck with kisses and purple hickies on her neck, collarbone and chest.

She moans and wraps her arms around his neck. He kissed her neck and thrusted into her a bit roughly inside of her.

The room was filled with loud slapping sounds, and moaning. She let go of his neck and he sat up grabbing her leg moving it to his shoulder.

"Ahh~ holy shit," he moans, he felt her clench around his dick letting him know that she was close.

"Mmmm~" She muffled her moans and ended up coming on his dick. He smirks and cums inside of her. They both moan out loud, Y/n and Price were catching their breathes like they ran a marathon together.

She looked at the time, it was 10:30 and now it's close to midnight. She grabs her dress out the floor and puts it back on. Price watched her change back into her dress.

"Hey...where are you going?"

"Home...I said, we can do it, but I don't want to see your face anymore..."

"Wow, what if I need a cup of sugar, I can't come to you?"

"Nope, now, I'm going home." She said.

"Fine, then have fun doing your walk of shame," Price said as Y/n scoffed and headed out the door and walked down the street to her house.

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A Week Later

Well, Price and Y/n have kept their promises, they haven't seen each other in a week. Price was busy doing his harvest and Y/n was hiring builders to build the canopy and other barns on her property.

They came to her to show the plans on what everything will look like, and she loved it all.

Price could see trucks bring piles of wood and concrete to Y/n's property, kind of makes him mad that he wasn't even asked to help, but they both made a promise.

Y/n was looked at the canopy's structure and smiled at how big it will be, she looked at her pond and then behind the distance the barns being really to be set up.

"This will look amazing."

"Price!"

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