angel

you can’t deny how wet you got with how straightforward he was. so you entertained it, letting him keep a hand on your hip in the break room alone. a few quick kisses to your cheeks as he passes you in a hall. then it turns into soft, whispered begs by your ear. kissing your neck and telling you, “i’ve been starvin’ for you all week.”

“go on then. tell me tae stop. you won’t.”

“ye ken i’ll treat ye right, bonnie. let me touch ye the way ye’ve been wantin’.” 

after a while of his little praises and straight whines, you turn a corner to the break room and see him messing with the vending machine in the hallway. dirty white shirt untucked from his combat pants from his uniform. his boots messily unlaced. your heart skips a beat and your mind goes straight to the fact, although it's midday and simon had clearly asked you a simple task, you guys are together and alone. you swallow what’s been pooling in your mouth ever since you saw him, and just walk towards him, 

“johnny.”

he looks to his left at the sound of your almost trembling voice, “bonnie! this bloody thing ate my coins again. ahm losin’ a war tae a vending machine, ah swear—”

he walks up to you, rambling about whatever, you don’t even let him finish. you shove him back a step, grab a fistful of his shirt, and drag him into the break room. empty and fluorescent and perfect in that accidental, right-place-wrong-time way.

you shut the door behind, then you’re on him again, arms looped around his shoulders, pulling him down into your gravity. johnny blinks at you, confused and dazed. he only really comes back when you kiss the rough line of his jaw, grounding him.

he relaxes into it, grinning widely and finally holding your waist, a handful of your ass in his palm as you keep kissing him. 

“took ye long enough, aye?” 

you shut him up by kissing him, he’s frantic with it, just like his cheek kisses. 

“so sweet, lass. taste so sweet.” johnnys pants and licks a stripe on your neck. you shudder and squeeze his muscles right where his cuffed sleeves end. he smells like heaven; a subtle manly musk about him along with all war-pollution. to finally be so close to him, it gets your cunt throbbing like nothing else. you push him down to the close dirty, green couch, dust and grime bouncing back up as he lays on his back. your legs wobble at the sight and you would have most definitely fell back if you didn’t get your pants off in time and didn't sit atop his lap. 

he’s incredibly sexy, even sexier than you imagined when touching yourself to the thought of him. grown out mohawk, his eyes looking you up and down with an almost pained expression, probably because of the growing bulge behind his belt. his hands are aching to touch you some more, but they stay touchy by your bare thighs in anticipation of what you’ll do next. 

your breath hitches in adrenaline and you raise your long shirt to reveal your slick, needy pussy. johnny just falls apart, gasping low with praises, riding his hand up your naked lower body to graze his thumb on your mound, “so good, so damn good…sweetest thing i’ve ever laid mah eyes at. you’re makin’ me lose my mind, bonnie.” his hips buck up involuntarily. 

“couldn’t wait any longer, needed to feel you in me, johnny—i couldn’t—” 

“easy, bonnie…i’m right here. can take me for as long as ye need.” he’s breathy with his words, clearly loving this.

you feel slightly dizzy before working at his belt. biting your lip and feeling your mouth pool yet again, the sight of his flushed, uncut drooling cock. apparently you stare for quite some time because johnny’s hips shift and he’s clearly grinning, “what’s wrong, bird? got distracted? ahm really that pretty?” 

you scoff and shift a little to hover right on top of his tip. johnny licks and spits at his fingertips before rubbing your soppy cunt, teasing your clit a little. he says it's to ready you up, but it's definitely just so he can touch you. and lick his fingers after. 

you muffle a moan and watch him suck his wet fingers. you look down and sit a little to feel his hot tip throb and prod at your neglected hole. johnny holds your hips and guides you down carefully, moaning louder than he should be. feeling his cock pierce and stretch you open. when you sit all the way down, hearing your heartbeat in your ears and your face turn red, johnny groans and bucks up just to get a whine out from you. 

“fuckin finally, baby, been wantin’ this eva since i laid eyes on ya. wonderin’ and stayin’ up so late jus’ thinkin’ about how tight an’ soft y’er little cunt would feel like. christ al’mighty—‘ts betta than wonderin’. might hafta make ye mine, bonnie.” 

your lower stomach aches and your clit twitches, the thought of him keeping you on top just so he can finish load after load in you gives you the need to bounce up and down to milk his cock. 

however, outside of the clumsy closed door of the break room, simon’s come to investigate where the hell the papers he asked for are. he notices the folder of important docs tossed on the heavy brown boxes in the hallway before hearing slight hurt sounds? in the room to the right, swear to god he’s gonna have to cuss whichever lazy sergeant it was that started this distraction. 

he takes a hand and rubs it down his angered expression, walks up to the door and just before touching the gold handle, he hears a soft moan,

“awh, oh—-yes, johnny—“

hm. right, okay then. gonna have to have a conversation about that. 

on days he’s at home, away from all the troubles that come with the 141 and military and stupid warm ups—-he still strains himself from the awful habit of waking up before sunrise. but instead of cold barracks or the hum of transport, he at least wakes up to the sight of your drooling face. he just yawns and grins, petting a few stray hairs away from your face as you shift a little with a cranky whine. he loves that sound, loves the way you wrinkle your nose and furrow your brows. he loves the way you burrow your head deeper into the pillows he insists to fluff up, like you’re trying to escape consciousness itself. still asleep, he just admires your resting face. 

hours go by and he’s whispering to himself about your sleepyhead. “aye, go on. drool on my pillow. i’ll let ye.” he kisses your forehead gently, “christ, bonnie… ye’ve no idea what ye do tae me.”

and you wake up by that probably 20th kiss, groggy yet well-rested, you instantly warm up and grin back at johnny’s clear admiration. it’s his one of his days off, can you blame him for laying there so peacefully—even if he’s been clearly staring at you. you wanna greet home with a good morning, handsome but notice the clock on his bedside table says fucking 12:30 p.m. instead, you bolt up to sit up, curse him out for not waking you up for the morning farmer’s market on weekends. 

“aye, well… maybe if ye didnae look so bloody sweet sleepin’, i’d remember what day it was.”

“johnny, that’s not fair. you can’t just say that everytime!”

“sit down, lass. too distractin’ for yer own good. market’s closed, my arms aren’t.” 

and you throw that same pillow in his inviting arms.

and it just keeps happening. you ask him for help in the kitchen, his arms go for your waist instead of the knives or dirty dishes. kissing your neck and smelling your hair, telling you how perfect you felt in his hands, how sweet you are. you can’t help but lean into it! god forbid you also think he’s even more distracting.

he treats you to dinner, late and with a reservation. you get all ready, so dolled up and in his favorite everything—favorite dress, heels, bag, perfect makeup. you say it’s all for you when he gets cocky to a certain extent, really it’s all for him (both can be true). he stays seated at the edge of your bed, waiting, as you finish up some final touches. you go to him to grab your bag and he just stops you, palms clinging to your waist again. stupid eyes looking you up and down, that dumb expression that’s just so love-drunk. he looks even sexier and clumsier with his attempt to look good for you, it gets your heart skipping beats anyway. 

god, and he just never shuts up. 

“lovely, bonnie… just lovely. could never replace ye. my girl, through an’ through. no one even comes close tae touchin’ ye. c’mere a minute—just a few more, aye? wanna take ye in proper—you’ve got a hair outta place right here—” he brushes it back, fingers lingering, “—drivin’ me mad.” he takes your hand and kisses it, a bunch. you almost melt, combing through his messy hair with your other hand. 

he spreads his legs a little wider, his thighs in those slacks, the kind of sight that makes your teeth ache with the urge to leave a mark. he guides you to sit on his lap. he doesn’t even have to say anything; his hands are already on your waist, guiding you down onto him like you belong there. just to admire you for a little more, he says. 

“ye look good enough tae ruin a man’s self‑control. mmm, lass, d’ya taste as good as ya look?” he’s careful enough to caress your face without ruining anything, even more gentle as to holding your face to kiss your sweet lips. a little lipstick transfer never hurt anyone, he’s man enough to handle it. he concludes, “mmyeah, seems ye are.” he rubs his palm up your thigh, you can’t help but spread your legs just a little for him.

the only time it really gets on your nerves is after. but he swears it’s not you’re being distracting, no, that would imply you’re doing something. he simply just means you exist, therefore he can’t get anything done. 

a/n :: so so sorry for the random hiatus guys! ive been craving to get back into writing and specifically posting. i hope everyone's doing good esp in this climate. i HOPE U ENJOY THIS I CANT GET SOAP OUT OF MY HEAD!!1