#soap fic

Who got married in the dead of winter? Scots, apparently.

And because your sister, Phoebe, was marrying a Scottish woman, you’d been stuffed into a satin dress in the middle of the Highlands, in winter, during an outdoor ceremony. You genuinely thought you were going to lose a finger to frostbite.

Apparently, it was tradition to get married outside. But God, you were convinced you might actually die from the cold.

At least the old farmhouse they’d rented for the reception was warm—almost too warm with the sheer number of people packed inside. Still, it was a beautiful wedding, full of love and respect. You’d cried your eyes out when your sister exchanged vows with her now wife, wishing you’d find something that pure one day.

Right now, though, all you felt was pure, inconvenient lust. A feeling you always seemed to get around your sister-in-law’s brother. Johnny fucking Mactavish.

He’d been the only best man at the wedding—being the only boy among the Mactavish children—and of course he was strolling around in a damn kilt in the middle of winter. He didn’t look the slightest bit bothered by the cold creeping under it, standing there proud and steady behind his sister.

You’d watched him through your own blurry eyes as he wiped away a few tears of his own. It was surprisingly refreshing, seeing a man who wasn’t afraid to show how he felt. Didn’t help that said man was also obscenely hot, with those slutty thighs peeking from beneath his kilt.

You’d been seated at the same table, and for the past few hours he’d been flirting with you. Hard. You’d had your fun rolling your eyes, pretending you didn’t want him, but you knew he saw right through your act.

He noticed every little side–glance you stole at his thick thighs, the way your brain seemed to short-circuit whenever he flexed his arms—totally not on purpose—and how your gaze tracked his fingers as he tossed bits of food into his mouth. Your thighs had pressed together pretty tightly when he’d licked them clean.

But you didn’t let him think for a second that he had the upper hand. You weren’t oblivious, and neither was he. You caught the way his eyes always dipped toward your boobs whenever you pressed your arms together or leaned down to talk to one of the kids. You saw how he struggled to stop staring at the slit running up the side of your dress, his gaze practically glued to your thighs. How he would bite his lips every time your nipples peaked against the fabric of your dress from a cold draft of winter wind. And he definitely had a staring problem with your stomach, the way it pressed softly against the satin of your lavender dress.

And of course, just like him, you were doing it all on purpose.

Now he was happily dancing with his sisters on the dance floor, clearly a bit intoxicated. It was getting fairly late—the cake had been cut, and everyone had split off into either chatting or dancing. You were sitting with your own sister as Phoebe excitedly rambled about how happy she was, how she couldn’t wait to start her married life.

Honestly, you couldn’t understand a single word your sister was saying. All you could see was Johnny moving around with his sisters, twirling a little too provocatively as his kilt kept riding up just enough to make your stomach twist.

“He’s cute, right?” Your sister’s words yanked you out of your lust-soaked daydream.

“Hm?” You turned toward her with a confused look.

“Johnny,” she said with a knowing smirk. She knew you like the back of her hand. “He’s cute.”

You rolled your eyes and brushed her off. “He’s alright.”

“You’re sharing a bedroom tonight,” Phoebe teased, her grin widening.

“Excuse me?” you shot back, staring at her like she’d grown two heads.

She glanced to her right at your other sister, Naomi—who clearly knew something. Had they been plotting behind your back? Before you could question her, Naomi’s husband pulled her onto the dance floor, and she winked at you over her shoulder.

“It’s two twin beds, don’t worry,” your sister said, though her lingering smirk didn’t help. “He was supposed to share with our cousin Liam, but Liam brought a plus one, so they're getting their own room. You’re stuck with Johnny.”

“You gave my king-size bedroom to Liam and his fucking booty call? What the fuck?” you retorted, already pissed off.

You had dreamed about that room, you’d picked it yourself when Phoebe made the reservation. And now it was being snatched away because your slutty cousin decided to bring someone he’d known for barely a month to a wedding? What sort of bad karma was that?

“What other choice did I have? You wanted Johnny to spend the night with Liam and his girl?” Phoebe deadpanned, taking a sip of her cocktail while very obviously eye-fucking her wife across the room.

“I heard he’s quite the manwhore himself,” you shot back. “Maybe he would’ve joined them.”

“Well, you’re no better yourself,” your sister replied, bursting into laughter at your words.

Taking a sip of champagne yourself, you laughed along with her. Maybe there was a reason you were the only single sister out of the three of you. You were the youngest, and you liked to think you were far too young to settle down anyway. You imagined Johnny was the same—especially considering he’d been in the army.

It wasn’t entirely clear what he used to do, your sister never explained it well, mostly because she didn’t really know herself. She’d only told you he’d had a major accident—something that had nearly sent him to an early grave. It left him with a nasty scar—obvious to anyone's eyes—on the side of his skull, a temperamental knee, and damaged hearing. Yet somehow, he still looked so full of life.

It had been a couple of years ago, but you doubted experiences like that ever truly left you—not when you’d come so close to death.

“Come on,” Phoebe said eventually, setting her glass down and grabbing your hand, tugging you toward the dance floor.

For the next few hours, you danced, laughed, and drank some more. It was a perfect night, your family, your friends, everyone glowing with happiness.

So you weren’t entirely sure how you ended up back pressed against Johnny's chest, your hips moving with his as you danced together, his hands softly lingering on your hips. All the tension that had been simmering during dinner finally tipped over, helped along by the champagne and sheer joy of the night. His body was warm and solid behind you, his stomach firm—and yet soft—against your back as his movements synced with yours.

Johnny was exactly how you’d imagined he’d be. Over dinner he’d been funny and charming, and now, with his body pressed close to yours, he was everything you expected and more: perfect. Strong thighs dusted with freckles, just like his arms and probably his torso. A trail of coarse hair ran along his arms and legs, and a hint of it peeked from the open collar of his shirt. His hair had grown into a soft, fluffy mullet that suited him far better than the severe cut he’d had when you first met him—back in his military days.

His fingers were long and steady, a light sprinkle of hair across the back of his hands making you bite your lip. It was unusual for someone to hit you this hard—sure, you’d admired people before, but the way Johnny made your mind go warm and your body react was almost overwhelming. You’d never felt anything quite like it.

Blaming the alcohol clouding your thoughts, you shook off the spiral—trying to focus on the moment instead. And just then, the music shifted, and Johnny gently turned you in his arms, pulling you in against his warm chest.

A slow, intimate song filled the dimly lit room, casting a softer atmosphere over the crowd—probably the venue’s subtle hint that the night was winding down. It was nearly 4 a.m., after all.

With your cheek resting on his shoulder and his arms draped securely around your waist, you felt like an old couple swaying through memories neither of you shared yet—moving together as though you’d always fit this way.

Suddenly, you felt him lean down—just a little—to reach your ear, the one not pressed against him. “Heard we’re bunk buddies tonight.”

You scoffed. Of course he knew. And from the sound of it, he was enjoying the idea far too much. Honestly, so were you. It wouldn’t exactly hurt to see what he looked like in something as simple and intimate as a bedtime routine—hair mussed, face relaxed.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, pretty boy. Twin beds,” you shot back, teasing the very obvious thrill in his voice.

“Ye think I’m pretty?” he returned immediately, eyes finding yours with laser precision. “And dinnae worry, I’m behavin'. If I weren’t, trust me, ye’d ken.”

He grinned, leaning in just a touch closer. “Ye dae realize we dinnae wear much under these kilts… right?”

His tone was low, amused, and far too pleased with himself—just enough to make your stomach flip without saying anything he shouldn’t. He wore a smug grin on his lips, one of his hands gently rubbing along your back.

“Don’t think there’s much to feel,” you replied with a soft smile, stepping away from him before things got too charged.

You returned to your table, finished the last of your champagne, then switched to water. After a final bite of leftover cake, you decided to call it a night. When you glanced back toward the dance floor, Johnny was still standing there, watching you leave with a warm, lopsided smile.

After giving the newlyweds one last hug, you made your way toward the old farmhouse where all the rooms were, your overnight bag in your hand. Your sister had pressed your room key into your hand earlier, winking far too cheekily as she mentioned there was only one key and that you’d need to wait for Johnny. But you didn't care about that, it's not like you were going to sleep straight.

Stepping outside, even for a few seconds, was awful. Your dress was thin, and your coat barely helped against the brutal Highland wind. You hurried toward the entrance, too focused on surviving the cold to notice the fast, heavy footsteps catching up behind you.

“Leaving without me? I thought we were having fun,” Johnny called out, making you gasp from the sudden sound and the mild heart attack he gave you.

Rolling your eyes, you gave him only a teasing smile before stepping inside the building. It was huge, and apparently built like a maze, because you and Johnny got lost almost immediately in the winding hallways. You’d slipped off your heels, and he’d snatched them right out of your hands to carry them himself, holding them like you’d handed him a fragile, priceless artefact. You rolled your eyes again but your thighs definitely betrayed you, squeezing to release some pressure.

Traitors, the both of them.

Still, it was fun. The two of you stumbled around, bumping into the occasional piece of antique furniture, trying random doors that were very obviously not yours. It felt like being teenagers sneaking back home after slipping out past curfew.

Finally, you found your room, and were met with a very big surprise.

Inside, instead of the two twin beds your sister had promised, sat the bedroom you’d chosen originally. And right in the middle of it was a large king-size bed. If you were honest with yourself, the pictures hadn’t done the room justice. The bed looked even more comfortable in person, and you couldn’t wait to collapse into it.

The only issue was… it was the only bed.

When you turned back toward Johnny, he turned at the same moment and your eyes met. You’d never noticed just how blue his eyes were, but with the exhaustion, the leftover champagne, and the soft lighting, they looked like an endless stretch of sky.

Snapping yourself out of the little trance they’d put you in, you spoke—just as he did.

“It’s okay, we’re adults, right?” “I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

You both stared at each other in surprise. Why would he think you’d make him sleep on the floor? That was ridiculous. You were both grown adults, well over twenty-five. It was no big deal. Right?

“Why would you sleep on the floor?” you asked, cringing and looking at him like he was the irrational one.

“Well, there’s only one bed?” Johnny replied like you were the irrational one.

“What are we, twelve?” you shot back, heading straight toward the bathroom with your bag.

For the next twenty minutes, you let the hot shower melt the day off your skin. Then you sat at the fancy vanity, taking in just how luxurious everything was. The brides clearly hadn’t held back on spoiling their close family and friends—this was easily the nicest place you’d ever stayed.

After your skincare and a quick pass with the hairdryer, you looked down at your “pyjamas.” An oversized T-shirt. Panties.

In your defence, this was your year-round sleep uniform. Not even when you were dating someone did you bother with matching silky pyjama sets. Buying them always felt pointless, the T-shirt worked just fine.

Now, though, it felt a tiny bit more complicated. You didn’t have bottoms, and you weren’t about to sleep in the jeans you’d set aside for tomorrow.

Shaking your head, you put on what you had. You were adults. It was fine. You both had self-control.

“Your turn,” you said, not looking at him.

You went straight to the bed—the side farthest from the door—and dropped your things on the floor. You couldn’t care less where they landed. All you wanted was sleep, your body felt wrung out from the excitement, dancing, and hours spent in heels.

Faintly, you heard the shower turn on. Johnny hadn’t fully closed the bathroom door, and from where you lay, you could see the blurred silhouette of his shadow on the opposite wall. The steam and shifting shadows almost looked artistic, the outline moving like something from a painting.

You shook your head, shut your eyes, and let out a long sigh as you sank into the mattress. Every ache in your feet slowly melted away. You’d been standing far too long tonight.

The door slid open, and you peeked one eye open. He’d been much quicker than you.

The sight was… unfair. Steam trailed after him as he stepped inside, his chest still damp while he ran a towel through his hair. Baggy sweatpants hung low on his hips, and it was clear he had no intention of putting a shirt on.

When he finished, he tossed the towel onto the floor—right beside his shoes, which were already abandoned in the middle of the room. The place looked like a mess, and you’d only been here less than an hour. Normally that might have bothered you, but exhaustion had stripped away your usual need for order. You simply didn’t care.

Once he switched off the lights and you felt the mattress dip behind you, you shifted onto your side, facing away from him. The bed was big enough that you wouldn’t touch, but his warmth still spread across the space like a quiet presence settling in.

You tried to turn on the heater earlier, but it hadn’t worked. The room wasn’t warming up anytime soon.

It was nearly impossible to fall asleep with how cold it was. The sheets were icy, the air bit at your skin, and the wind rattling against the window only made it worse. What made it infuriating was hearing Johnny’s breathing slowly even out, apparently he wasn’t struggling at all.

Of course not. Men ran warm like it was some kind of built-in cheat code. Creatures of Satan, the lot of them.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You sat up slightly, lifting the blankets from your upper body. Johnny was lying on his side with his back to you, but you saw his head tilt just a fraction, like he was trying to figure out what you were doing.

“You have another pair of joggers?” you whispered into the quiet.

“No,” he answered simply.

“Fuck,” you whispered back, thinking hard.

Maybe you could sneak into the common room and hunt for extra blankets, or a heavy throw—anything to get warmer. Before you could commit to that plan, Johnny shifted, rolling onto his other side until he faced you. His eyelids were heavy, like he was fighting sleep just to pay attention.

“We’re adults, right?” he murmured, throwing your own words gently back at you.

Frowning, you hummed at his question, too sleepy to try deciphering whatever he meant. You weren’t in the mood for a long conversation, you just wanted warmth and sleep. Who in their right mind got married in the Highlands in winter, right before Christmas?

“Lay down then,” Johnny said. He didn’t ask, he commanded.

Something in his tone flipped a switch in your brain, and you found yourself lying back down without a second thought.

Within seconds, his strong hand guided your shoulder, easing you onto your side before pulling you gently but firmly toward him. And you’d been right: he was unbelievably warm. His body heat spread across your back and shoulders, sinking through your cold skin like relief itself.

During the dance earlier, you’d felt hints of the firmness in his arms and the soft warmth and fat of his stomach—but now, with him pressed close behind you, every bit of that warmth doubled. One of his legs slid naturally between yours, sharing heat, and you instinctively tucked your icy toes against the edge of his lower leg where his sweatpants had ridden up.

Johnny hissed softly at the cold.

“Bloody fuck, ye’re freezing,” he murmured into your shoulder, pulling you even closer, wrapping you in his warmth like a blanket, his hand settling on the fat of your stomach, not caring one bit.

It worked almost immediately. Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing second, your body finally relaxing as the cold faded away. You placed your chilly hand against his bicep, giving it a small squeeze in silent thanks before sleep began tugging you under.

Soft groans and quiet whines were the first things you woke up to. Still foggy with sleep, your whole body reminded you just how little rest you’d gotten. From the heaviness in your limbs alone, you’d guess you’d slept maybe two or three hours. Which would make it… what? Seven? Eight in the morning? Far too early to be conscious.

The brides had planned a late brunch at 1 p.m. for all the guests staying in the house. You should have had plenty of time to sleep in.

You closed your eyes again, ready to sink back down, when the sound came again—behind you this time. The warm body pressed to your back was still whining softly, but now it was also moving. Slight, controlled, almost tentative rolls of his hips. Like he was trying not to wake himself.

Except you did feel it, the firm, unmistakable press of something hard against your ass.

“Johnny,” you murmured, hoping to calm him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled right into your neck, breath hot against your skin.

So he was awake. It wasn’t himself he was trying not to wake, it was you.

“Ye’re just so soft and warm,” the old military man whispered, a low, needy sound trailing after his words. “And ye smell so damn good.”

He actually whined, and it shouldn’t have made you throb the way it did. But the idea of a big, disciplined, battle-hardened man rubbing against you because he couldn’t help himself—because you were undoing him—was intensely erotic. Your brain went hazy with it. You’d dreamt of him being in your bed more times than you’d ever admit. Waking up like this felt like a small miracle.

“Put it in,” you breathed, voice thick with need. At this point, you weren’t falling back asleep until this ache was dealt with.

“What? Really?” Johnny whispered, barely audible, like speaking any louder might break the spell or change your mind.

“You scared, soldier?” you teased, pushing your hips back so your ass slid firmly against his hardened length.

You didn’t need to tell him twice, apparently. With messy, sleep-heavy movements, he shoved his joggers down—and you discovered he’d worn nothing beneath them—while his skilled but gentle fingers slid your panties aside. You expected him to push into you immediately, but he surprised you.

His fingers lingered first, brushing your entrance, already soaked, and he let out a soft, helpless whine at how wet you were for him. Then he circled your clit, slow and tender, drawing shivers from your still-waking body.

When you let out a needy whine of your own, you felt the curve of his smirk against your shoulder, right where your neck met skin he’d been kissing lazily for minutes now. He withdrew his fingers, shifted his leg between yours the same way you’d fallen asleep together, and eased forward.

The thick, warm head of his cock pressed into your wet heat.

Even with only the tip, you could feel how thick he was—girthier than anyone you’d ever had. But you wanted him. God, you wanted him so badly it bordered on irrational. Once he was fully inside you, his thick thighs pressed against the backs of yours, and both of you let out soft, breathy moans. Nothing loud, sleep still clung to your minds, but it felt good.

“I was dreaming about ye,” he murmured into your neck, his hips beginning a slow, lazy rhythm. “Had ye exactly like this in my dream.”

“Is it just as good?” you asked, voice catching on a little moan. The thought of him dreaming about you like that sent another warm pulse through you.

“My dream dinnae even compare,” he breathed, and the little Scottish rasp made you melt. “Ye’re so warm and wet, God.” He whined the words into your neck and pressed a firm, needy kiss against your skin.

His hips never sped up. The pace stayed steady, unhurried, each slow stroke angling perfectly against your G-spot. It wasn’t wild or overwhelming—it was soft, deep, intimate. Far too intimate for two people who barely knew each other. But you didn’t care. It felt right, like a warm, lazy build of pleasure that wrapped around both of you.

Little breathy moans and faint whines slipped out as your bodies rocked together under the blankets. The gentle motion, the pleasure, his lips brushing your neck, and his hand laced with yours… all of it began to lull you back toward sleep. And from how sloppy and slow his thrusts were getting, you could tell he was fighting the same pull.

“’M sleepy…” you whispered, sinking your head further into the pillow.

“Me too, bonnie,” Johnny murmured, still pushing his hips forward even as fatigue tugged at him. “Could fall asleep just like this.” His breath warmed the side of your neck, his voice thick with exhaustion and bliss.

The only answer you managed was a soft hum as you finally lost the fight against your heavy eyelids, letting them fall shut. His hips had slowed to a near-stop, but the warm weight of him inside you brought a comfort you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

You tightened your grip on his hand, pulling your intertwined fingers closer to your chest. He squeezed back weakly. The soft kiss he pressed to your neck was the last thing you felt before sleep pulled you under.

You pushed the salmon toast into your mouth—way more than you could reasonably handle—but you were starving.

Waking up with Johnny still inside you, already getting hard again, had led to… interesting events. Ones you were still feeling between your legs. Now he was sitting across from you at the long table, looking annoyingly handsome, his foot brushing yours under the table every so often like he couldn’t help himself.

Your sister, Phoebe, sat right beside you, and you could feel her eyes flicking toward you again and again. It was getting on your nerves. As soon as you swallowed the last of your toast, you turned toward her.

“What?” you said, still chewing a bit.

“Slept well?” she asked, wearing that knowing smirk you’d hated since childhood.

You narrowed your eyes. She knew something. She definitely knew something. That look of hers—like she saw straight through you—was unmistakable.

“Sure. Bed was comfortable,” you said, waving the question off and turning back to your plate.

“Oh, I bet it was,” she laughed, lightly mocking. “Liam was pissed this morning.”

“Really, why? Didn’t get his dick wet?” you muttered, rolling your eyes, not connecting anything at all.

If you and Johnny got the original bed, then your cousin Liam had ended up with the room with the twin beds. That made sense. You were just tired—and maybe still a little cock-drunk—to catch the implication behind Phoebe’s tone.

“Well, I know someone who did,” she teased, the smirk growing by the second.

You frowned, turning to her. “Phoebe, I don’t need to know what you did with—”

You stopped mid-sentence when you noticed her gaze wasn’t on your face. It was fixed on your neck. Specifically, the side Johnny had been sucking on for hours.

“Oh.”

Heat rushed up your cheeks. You yanked your sweater higher over your shoulder—where it should’ve been the whole time. It must’ve slipped down.

Across the table, you heard Johnny’s quiet chuckle. Phoebe let out a full, delighted laugh. You shot her a murderous look before scanning the table to make sure your parents hadn’t noticed. Thankfully, they were wrapped up in a conversation at the far end.

Just as you were about to tell your sister to shut up, she leaned in and placed a hand over yours.

“You’re welcome,” she said, giving your hand a little pat.

Motherfucker. You should’ve known.

©fromsil.

The overhead fluorescent lights were shut off, leaving only the amber safety-strip lighting along the baseboards to cut through the dark. It painted everything in warm, shadowy angles.

You were flat on your back, chest heaving, fabric of your grey t-shirt sticking to your collarbone, damp with your sweat. Johnny was hovering over you, knees pinning your thighs, a wide, smug grin splitting his face. He’d caught you with a sweep of his leg a second ago, and he wasn’t about to let you forget it. His hands were braced on either side of your head, mohawk damp and messy, blue eyes gleaming childishly in the dim light.

“That’s three-nil to me, luv,” Johnny panted. He was warm, impossibly so, like a furnace— and the weight of him pressing down on you sent a low, delicious shiver straight down your spine. “Givin’ up yet, or do ye fancy another round on yer back?”

“I was letting you win, MacTavish,” you gasped out, trying to shift your hips to no avail as he only leaned his weight heavier into you, grin widening.

“Aye, keep tellin’ yerself that—”

The heavy metal door of the gym clicked, sound echoing in the cavernous room.

The soles of heavy combat boots squeaked slowly against the polished floorboards just off the edge of the mats. Neither of you had to look up to know who it was. The imposing shadow that fell over you was enough of a clue.

Ghost stood at the edge of the mat, arms crossed over his chest. He’d ditched his tactical outfit for a tight black compression shirt that showed off the breadth of his shoulders, and his signature balaclava was pulled down tight, his dark eyes fixed on the two of you writhing on the floor.

He just stood there wordlessly, watching.

Johnny’s grin slowly faltered, breathing hitching just a fraction as he felt the Lieutenant’s gaze drop straight to where his knees were pinning you down. His gaze drifted slowly down the line of Johnny’s back before settling directly on you, pinned beneath, your chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow little breaths.

“LT,” Johnny muttered, and the teasing cadence in his voice was gone, now sounding raspy, tense. He didn’t let go of you. If anything, the heat of his thighs flanking yours seemed to double.

Ghost took a single, slow step forward, boots transitioning from the polished wood to the soft, giving rubber of the mat. He didn’t even look at Johnny when he spoke.

“Keep her there, Johnny.”

The command sent a physical jolt straight through you. You flared your nostrils with the rush of heat blooming in between your thighs, exactly where Johnny was keeping you parted. But you weren’t about to just lie there and be handled without a fight.

“Oh, is that how we’re playing?” you panted, tilting your chin up to look Johnny dead in the eyes. You bucked your hips beneath him, the sharp heave making Johnny gasp, his fingers tightening around your wrists on either side of you. “You going to let him call your plays for you, MacTavish? Or are you going to finish this yourself?”

Johnny’s eyes darkened at that, and you could almost see the flash of primal hunger replacing the last remnants of his playful grin. He leaned down, mouth hovering just inches from yours, his breath hot against your lips.

“I can finish it just fine, lass,” he whispered, his grip on your wrists bruisingly tight as he pulled them flat against the mat above your head this time. “But when LT gives an order, I like to be thorough.”

From above, the shadow of Ghost’s massive frame fell completely over both of you. He dropped to one knee at the edge of your head, fabric of his compression shirt straining against the muscles on his chest. Slowly, he reached down, fingers wrapping around the back of your neck, thumb tracing the frantic pulse leaping in your throat.

“She’s got too much fight left in her, Sergeant,” Ghost murmured, dark eyes locked onto yours behind the balaclava. The nonchalance in his tone made you want to just disappear into the ground. “Take her breath away.”

Johnny, the good little soldier he was, didn’t need to hear an order twice.

With a low growl, he dropped his chest against yours, crushing you beneath his weight while his mouth slammed down onto your lips. It wasn’t gentle by any means; the kiss was hot, demanding, almost bruising, and tasted faintly of salt and the iron-rich tang of adrenaline. He kissed you the way he fought— relentless, driving his tongue deep into your mouth, taking everything you were so fiercely trying to hold onto.

You let out a muffled gasp against his lips, fingers curling helplessly into your palm as he still had your wrists pinned. The friction of his body grinding against yours, the delicious drag of his hardening length, paired with the grip of the Lieutenant’s hand at the back of your neck, had your senses completely overloaded.

Ghost’s thumb firmly stroked over your pulse point, just enough to make you shiver as you tried to catch up to Johnny, his touch incredibly steady despite the raw size of him. He watched every detail of the kiss, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded behind the balaclava he wore, and you wondered if he’d fuck you tonight, or just leave you high and dry with the help of his Sergeant.

“Mmh, fuck, lass,” Johnny groaned out, breaking the kiss for a fraction of a second to get the words out and pant against your wet lips, blue eyes blown wide with desire. “Ye’re so fuckin’ warm under me.”

“Then don’t just… talk about it, Johnny,” you choked out, voice thick and breathless as you struggled against his hold, hips instinctively arching up, seeking the hard ridge of him through his sweatpants. “Show me.”

Above you, Ghost let out a low chuckle that seemed to vibrate right through the palm of his hand against the back of your throat.

“She’s begging, Sergeant,” Ghost murmured, free hand reaching down to grip your chin, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to look up at him. “And we don’t like to keep a lady waiting, do we, now?”

With an agonizing sort of slowness, Ghost let go of your pulse point, hooking his fingers into the hem of his balaclava and pulling it just past his lips, revealing his mouth set in a hard, hungry line. He leaned down a little more, then, and the scent of him— leather, cold rain, and a sharp touch of mint, crowded out the smell of the gym entirely.

“Look at me,” he commanded, and you stared up into those dark, intense eyes, heart hammering wildly against your ribs. Underneath you, Johnny was already shifting. He released one of your wrists, hand sliding down your ribs to catch the hem of your grey t-shirt and drag it up over your sports bra clad breasts. The cool air of the gym hit your sweaty skin, making goosebumps rise along the way, only for Johnny’s hot palm to smooth over your stomach, his fingers digging into your waist.

“LT,” Johnny choked out, gaze fixed on Ghost’s exposed, stubbled jaw. “Let me taste her.”

“Take what you want, Johnny.” Ghost murmured then, his eyes still set on yours.

With a breathless sound, Johnny buried his face in the crook of your neck first, teeth scraping lightly over the sensitive skin right where your shoulder met your collarbone. You gasped, head arching off the mat, hips bucking instinctively into Johnny’s lap. He groaned at that and locked his thighs tighter around yours to pin you down, mouth tracing a wet trail up to your jaw.

At the same time, Ghost’s heavy hand slid from your chin down to your chest, palm spreading flat over your racing heart, pressing you firmly down into the mat.

“You’re shaking, love,” Ghost observed softly, thumb brushing against the swell of your breast through the fabric. “That impatient, hm?”

“You’re such an asshole,” you gasped out, twisting your wrists in Johnny’s remaining grip, wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around Ghost’s thick neck and pull him down. “Stop talking and kiss me.”

Ghost’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, dangerous amusement flashing in them.

“Feisty little thing, isn’t she?” Ghost murmured, tilting his head slightly as he looked down at Johnny, who was now nipping at your earlobe, his breath coming in desperate gasps.

“Aye,” the Scot muttered against your skin, his hand sliding lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “Thinks she runs the damn place. I reckon she needs to be reminded who she’s on the floor with.”

You watched as the last trace of amusement vanished from Ghost’s eyes. His hand slid from your chest up to your jaw again, fingers pressing firmly into the joint to force your mouth slightly open.

“Strip her, Johnny,” Ghost ordered, voice dropping to a low rumble that left absolutely no room for negotiation. “Take it all off.”

Johnny didn’t hesitate. An eager chuckle escaped him as he immediately back-pedaled off your thighs, hands moving with such speed it left you breathless. He hooked more fingers into the waistband of your shorts and underwear, dragging them both down your legs in one rough, sweeping motion, tossing them onto the dark floorboards off the edge of the mat.

Your t-shirt was bunched up around your collarbone, leaving you bare and shivering under the heavy gaze of both men.

Before you could even process the sudden rush of cool air, Ghost’s weight shifted. He crawled over you, frame eclipsing the ceiling lights with his thighs on both sides of your head. Slowly, he slid two thick fingers past your wet lips, pressing them flat onto your tongue.

“Take it,” Ghost murmured, eyes locked onto yours as he slowly drew his fingers out, only to push them back in, mimicking a slow, teasing rhythm against your tongue. “Quiet down for me now.”

Below you, Johnny was already moving. He settled between your thighs, broad hands gripping the undersides of your knees and pushing them back, opening you up completely to the dim amber light of the gym. He let out a ragged groan at the sight of you, chest heaving.

“Ye need to see her, LT,” Johnny whispered, voice trembling with sheer hunger. “Fucking beautiful.”

“Don’t just look, Sergeant,” Ghost commanded then, fingers swiping over your tongue to catch your saliva. “Eat.”

Johnny leaned down, messy mohawk brushing against your inner thighs as his hot breath hit your sensitive skin, making you spasm beneath him. When his warm, wet tongue finally made contact —lapping slick and broad strokes from the very bottom of your pussy all the way up to your tight, aching clit— your eyes blew wide.

You tried to scream, hips bucking wildly off the mat, but Ghost’s fingers locked behind your teeth, anchoring your head flat. His thumb pressed firmly against your chin, muffling your cries into a series of desperate whimpers against his hand.

“That’s it,” Ghost praised you in a soft tone, eyes tracing the frantic flush spreading down your neck and chest. “Take it all. Let your Sergeant hear how much you like his mouth on you.”

Johnny didn’t stop until you were entirely unraveled, thighs trembling violently against his shoulders as he drank the slick heat you poured out for him. Your fingers were clawed into the synthetic rubber of the mat, tongue lapping uselessly around Ghost’s thick fingers as you tried to ride out the waves of the shuddering orgasm they’d just forced from you.

But they weren’t anywhere near finished with you.

“Up,” Ghost commanded, finally drawing his slick fingers from your mouth. “Turn her around, Johnny.”

Johnny moved like a man possessed for each of his Lieutenant’s words. His hands, slick with your come, gripped your hips and hauled you upward. You were still dazed, limbs heavy and uncooperative, but Johnny guided you right where he knew Ghost wanted you, lifting your hips and pressing your knees into the mat until you were on all fours, head hanging low as you panted.

Your back arched instinctively as the cool air hit your wet core, leaving you exposed.

Ghost was already there. He was on his knees directly in front of you, thighs framing your head. He reached down and unbuckled his trousers then, and when he freed himself, his length was thick, heavy, and already leaking a bead of pre-cum that caught the amber light of the gym.

He reached down, fingers wrapping firmly in your hair, forcing your head up so you had to look at him.

“Like what you see?” the command sent a fresh spike of heat straight to your lower stomach. “Suck it, love. Wet it for me.”

Before you could even part your lips to comply, a massive weight pressed hard against your entrance from behind.

You let out a choked gasp as Johnny’s hands clamped onto your hip bones, fingers digging into your skin to anchor you. He didn’t wait. With a desperate heave of his hips, Johnny drove himself deep inside you in one thick push.

“Ah— f-fuck!” you cried out, back snapping straight, eyes wide as the fullness of him stretched you open.

Johnny let out a feral groan into the space between your shoulder blades, his chest slamming against your lower back as he immediately began to move, his pace fast, hard, and thoroughly desperate. The wet slapping sound of his skin hitting yours echoed in the otherwise quiet room.

“Keep your mouth on him,” Johnny gasped out, voice shaking with the effort of holding back as he drove into you again and again. “Suck… suck LT for me, please…”

Ghost’s grip on your hair tightened then, pulling your head forward until his thick tip was brushing against your wet lips.

“You heard the Sergeant,” Ghost whispered. “Open up.”

You opened your mouth, letting out a whimpering cry that was immediately cut off as Ghost guided his massive length past your lips.

The heat of him filled your mouth entirely, your jaw ticking to adjust to the size. You sucked him in as deep as your throat would allow, hands clawing desperately at his heavy thighs for balance as Johnny continued to slam into you from behind.

“Good girl,” the Lieutenant rumbled, as his hand remained firmly tangled in your hair, not to hurt, but to control the slow rhythm of your lips sliding up and down his shaft. “Just like that.”

Johnny, behind you, seemed to be completely lost to the sensation. His breath came in ragged bursts against your bare shoulder blades, fingers digging deep into your hips to keep you against his relentless pace. Every thrust was deep, bottoming out with a wet, slapping force that had your head bobbing deeper into Ghost’s length with every hit.

“Fuck, ye’re so tight, lass,” Johnny choked out, pulling back almost entirely before driving back in, hitting your sweet spot so perfectly that your eyes rolled back, a muffled moan vibrating against Ghost’s cock. “LT, she’s…. She’s squeezing the life out of me…”

Ghost’s fingers stroked your scalp, hips twitching slightly as he pushed himself just a little deeper into your throat. His eyes were fixed on the way your body trembled under the dual assault, on how hard Johnny was fucking you, flashing that sleazy grin of his at his Lieutenant shamelessly. “Hold it, Sergeant. Don’t you dare come yet.”

“LT, please,” Johnny panted. He was shuddering, entire body vibrating with the effort to obey. “I’m right on the edge, sir. Fuck, she’s too good.”

Ghost set his gaze on how glazed your eyes were, how your lips stretched wide around his length, saliva dripping down your chin as you took him as deep as you could.

“Told you to hold it, Sergeant.” Ghost growled, hand tightening in your hair. “Make yourself useful. Open her up some more.”

Johnny let out a ragged laugh against the skin of your back. “Aye, sir.”

With one hand still clamped onto your hip bone, keeping you pinned to his rhythmic thrusts, Johnny reached his free hand down between your thighs. He smeared the moisture backward, broad thumb finding the tight, puckered rim of your ass.

You let out a sharp cry around Ghost’s cock, body going rigid as Johnny’s thumb pressed firmly against the entrance, testing the give.

“Relax for me, lass,” Johnny whispered behind you. “Let me in. Just a little bit.”

With a sudden push, Johnny slid the tip of his index finger inside.

The sensation was overwhelming— the fullness of Johnny stretching you open from behind, combined with his finger sliding deep into your tightest recess. You thrashed, hands clawing desperately at Ghost’s thighs, trying to escape the double penetration, but Ghost’s grip on your hair seemed tight. He leaned forward, free hand pushing your shoulders down, forcing you to take him even deeper into your throat to muffle your sobbing gasps.

“Take it,” Ghost growled, his own hips finally beginning to roll, driving into your mouth to draw out every single gag and sputter. “Suck me through it, love. Feel how good Johnny’s making you. Look how hard he’s fucking you to please me, hm?”

Johnny groaned, adding another finger to the mix, curling them to mimic the hard rhythm of his cock. The dual friction was dizzying, sending sparks straight to your lower stomach. You were completely caught between them— stretched to your absolute limit, crying silently around Ghost’s thick length as Johnny worked you raw from behind.

Johnny was just as undone as you, forehead pressed against the space between your shoulder blades as his chest heaved. His thrusts had grown frantic, losing their cadence and turning into deep, desperate plunges that bottomed out against you. His fingers were working tirelessly inside your tightest hole, driving you absolutely mad.

“LT, please…” Johnny sobbed out, the raw desperation in his voice echoing off the blank walls. “Please, sir, I cannae hold it. I’m gonna break. Let me cum. Please let me cum in her.”

Ghost’s breathing had grown heavier now, fingers remaining firmly tangled in your hair, holding you close as his eyes locked onto Johnny’s. He felt the clenching of your throat, the way your body was vibrating on the precipice of another shattering release.

Slowly, reluctantly, Ghost pulled his thick length out from between your wet lips. A long strand of saliva connected you to him as you did your best to cough and catch your breath, letting out broken gasps, jaw aching.

He gripped his own shaft then, hand wrapping around his thick, slick length, and began to stroke himself with vicious downstrokes.

“Do it, Johnny,” Ghost growled. “Fill her up. Cum for me, Sergeant.”

“Ah, fuck!”

With a loud cry, Johnny slammed his hips forward one last time, burying himself to the absolute root. His entire body went rigid, muscles locking up as he began to release, his seed pumping deep and hot inside you, and at the same time, he was twitching his fingers inside you desperately to drive you over the edge with him.

Your own climax hit again, this time harder, rougher. You screamed, sound muffled against the mat you collapsed onto, walls clamping down incredibly tight around Johnny, milking him dry.

Right as you broke, Ghost leaned forward, his grip on your hair tightening once more to tilt your head back. His strokes had reached a frantic, desperate speed.

“Open,” he commanded, completely out of breath.

You parted your lips instinctively, staring up at him through a haze of tears and sweat. With two last strokes, Ghost groaned, jaw clenching tightly as he came, sending thick, hot ropes of white semen shooting directly onto your tongue. The heat of it filled your mouth, heavy and sweet, and you swallowed greedily under his burning gaze.

The heavy silence of the gym was broken only by the sound of ragged breathing.

Johnny laid dead weight against your back. He was completely spent, his chest heaving in slow shudders. Inside you, his length was still thick and pulsing slowly as his climax ebbed away, keeping you stretched and wonderfully full.

Above you, Ghost remained on his knees, broad shoulders rising and falling with jagged breaths. His jaw was still exposed, slick with a light sheen of sweat, and his dark eyes were fixed on your face, watching the way you slowly swallowed the last of his come.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice incredibly soft, almost tender, despite the intensity of the last few minutes. Slowly, he slid his hand from your hair down to your jaw. His thumb gently wiped away a stray smear of his seed and saliva mixed together from the corner of your lips, and he stared at his wet thumb for a second before rubbing it against his thigh, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Look at you,” Johnny whispered against your skin, leaving a soft kiss there, voice cracked and breathless. He squeezed your hips gently. “Absolutely ruined ye, didn’t we, lovie?”

“Shut up, MacTavish,” you groaned out with a soft grin on your lips. Your legs were shaking so much that you could barely keep your knees on the rubber mat. Every muscle in your body felt like warm wax.

Johnny let out a chuckle against you then as he slowly began to pull out of you, the wet sound of his exit incredibly loud in the empty room. You let out a quiet whimper at the sudden loss of his heat inside you, hips twitching instinctively to follow him.

“Don’t move yet.” Ghost commanded quietly, and reached down, his massive hands sliding under your armpits. With effortless strength, he hauled your limp body up and backward, pulling you flush against his chest. He settled you right between his thighs, wrapping his thick arms around your stomach to keep you steady while Johnny slowly crawled up beside you, his blue eyes soft and devoted as he looked at you.

You melted back against the solid wall of Ghost’s chest. Johnny reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead whilst Ghost’s hands tightened around you a little, grip firm as he looked over you at his Sergeant. His eyes dropped Johnny’s gaze, which was down on your thighs, wet and glistening in the dim light.

“Won’t you look at that, Johnny,” Ghost murmured gently. “You left a proper mess of her.”

Johnny’s jaw slackened slightly at that. “Aye, LT. She’s soaked in it.”

“Clean it up,” you heard Ghost say, but you weren’t sure if you were dreaming it up until the point you saw the glint come back to Johnny’s eyes. “Every drop. I want her spotless.”

“Yes, sir.”

Johnny dropped to his elbows on the mat then, shuffling down between your trembling legs. He gripped your knees, spreading your thighs wide once more as you sat cradled in Ghost’s lap. His hot breath brushed your sensitized, properly fucked out pussy a second before his warm tongue made contact, greedily lapping up the slick of your shared release.

Your head snapped back against Ghost’s shoulder as you moaned. “Ah— Johnny…”

“Stay still,” Ghost whispered softly in your ear. His arm remained anchored against your stomach, keeping you flush against him, but his other hand slid down. Slowly, his thick fingers parted your folds against Johnny’s tongue to grant him better access, then, his middle and ring fingers pressed right against your clit.

He didn’t use a light touch. He rubbed his fingers against your sensitive bud in firm, circular motions.

“Mmh— Simon!” you cried out, fingers clawing helplessly at the thick muscles of his thighs. Your hips bucked instinctively, trying to escape the pressure on your clit mixing up with the slick torture of Johnny’s tongue, but you were locked tight.

“I’ve got you,” Ghost whispered darkly against your hair, fingers never stopping their relentless rhythm as Johnny looked up at you two, eyes almost rolling back when he caught Ghost’s dark gaze fixed right at him like he wanted to eat him alive. “Just let him clean you, love.”

Johnny let out a muffled groan of appreciation against your center when one of your hands found its way to his mohawk, pulling him down harder onto your core, his tongue working in skilled strokes. He drank you down as Ghost’s fingers drove you higher and higher, pushing you right back over the edge of a helpless climax.

"Please—please, I can't," you sobbed out, your fingers clawing desperately into Ghost’s thick thighs, trying to find some sort of anchor as the world spun. "It’s too much… Ghost, stop—"

"No," Ghost rumbled, his voice pressing right against your ear. His chest was a solid brick wall behind you, refusing to let you retreat even an inch. "Keep your eyes open. Watch him."

You forced your glazed eyes down. Through a haze of tears, you watched Johnny’s dark head bobbing between your thighs. He was relentless, his hands locked like iron clamps around the backs of your knees to hold you wide, his jaw working frantically as he drank in the fresh, hot gush of slick your body was desperately producing. He was humming against your clit, the deep, vibrating sound sending sharp, electric jolts straight to your chest.

"Finish it, Johnny," Ghost ordered, his own breathing finally catching, his chest hitching as he felt the tremors starting to seize your thighs. "Take her over."

A high, broken scream was torn from your throat. Your body went completely rigid, your spine arching off Ghost’s chest as a massive, shuddering orgasm tore through you. You clamped down so hard on Johnny's tongue that he let out a muffled whimper, his hands squeezing your hips bruisingly tight as he held you through the waves.

Ghost’s hand stayed firmly in place, riding out the tremors with you, his heavy fingers pressing down until the very last twitch of your thighs subsided.

You collapsed back against him, completely spent as your eyes rolled back, jaw hanging slightly open. You stared blankly at the dark ceiling until Johnny came back into view from below, and you watched him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at you and Ghost with a dazed, utterly blissed-out grin.

“Spotless, LT.” you could barely hear his hoarse voice.

"She's done, Johnny," Ghost said quietly, his grip on your waist loosening just enough to let you breathe a little easier, though he kept you anchored securely against him. "Go get some towels from the locker. And a bottle of water."

"Aye, L.T.," Johnny murmured, but he didn't move immediately. He leaned down first, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, and finally a quick, tender press of his lips to yours. "Don't go anywhere without me."

"Can't move if I wanted to," you croaked out, your voice a tiny, raspy whisper.

A low, genuine chuckle shook Ghost's chest behind you. "Good little soldiers, both of you."

This morning had been different. They had argued before he left. Not about lunches, not about anything important, really. Just a misunderstanding, words said too sharply, tension lingering in the air long after they both had wanted it to end. He had left the apartment with his shoulders tight, chest heavy, and a small part of him worrying she was still upset.

Now he sat at his work table, lifting the lid of his lunchbox, expecting the usual careful spread. Instead, he froze. A single slice of bread lay neatly on a plate, unadorned and flat. Beside it sat a cucumber, whole, unpeeled, staring up at him like it had a purpose he could not understand. In the corner of the container was a juice box, perfectly upright, a sticky note folded over it that read, “Enjoy.” The handwriting was precise and neat, familiar and mocking at the same time.

Soap stared for a long moment and then let out a low, incredulous laugh. He held the slice of bread in his fingers and examined it as if it were a rare artifact. The cucumber felt cold and stiff, entirely inappropriate for lunch. The juice box seemed absurdly cheerful in the corner. And yet, he could almost picture her in the kitchen, biting back a laugh, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief, enjoying the moment she knew would make him react like this.

He shook his head, a grin spreading slowly across his face. Even angry she had thought about him. Even upset she had still made lunch. It was ridiculous and infuriating and completely her. He tucked the sticky note into his pocket and leaned back in his chair, trying not to laugh too loudly and draw the attention of the others around him.

Soap imagined how she would react when he got home. He would tease her relentlessly, but he knew it would be met with her rolling her eyes and a smirk, that subtle pride in what she had done. The argument from that morning already seemed lighter, almost trivial, washed away by her humor and the careful thought she always put into the little things she did for him.

He took a small bite of the bread, sipped the juice, and smiled to himself. She had made him laugh even when she was angry. She had reminded him, as she always did, why he loved her so much.

Fat!reader that hates gyms (not exercising), hates the judging face staring back at her from the floor to ceiling mirror.  Fat!reader that pushes out of her comfort zone to fulfill the needs of her body, and her New Year's resolutions (even if the first trimester of the year is already over).  Fat!reader who finds the perfect female instructor, a personal trainer that knows what it feels like to be inside a big body and understands her goals.  Fat!reader that after a few weeks forces herself to get used to the 10am crowd, and to not feel as self-conscious about wearing tight sportswear out in public.  Fat!reader who's so skilled in avoiding people's eyes on her, accustomed to expecting the worst, that doesn't notice the lustful gaze of a gymrat.  Fat!reader who's had the help of a handsome Scottish man spotting her when her coach was called to the front desk. Felt his groin subtly brush against her ass, but dismissed it as an accident because she takes up more space than most people are used to.  Fat!reader that's completely oblivious to the fact the buff highlander with the ridiculous Mohawk, and icy blue eyes has synced his routine to match hers strategically.  Like when she does her cardio (jogging on the treadmill or climbing the stairmaster), he is always by the weights, dead-lifting her exact body weight while looking at her jiggling and bouncing, making him salivate.  Or when she's stretching at the end of a session, doing all kinds of poses that make her groan and moan because of the ache in her muscles. He's close by the benches, hip thrusting several heavy disks, sweating and cursing under his breath. Fat!reader who is unaware of the warnings the staff have issued to him, for public indecency. Making him switch from using his usual gray sweatpants to black loose workout shorts.  Fat!reader that didn't think a guy as jacked as Johnny could be so friendly, and sweet to a girl like her. After speaking a few times, they became spotting buddies, and they do cardio together. Just not the one that he wants… yet.   She has no clue that he's now obsessed with the sound of her labored breathing, along with the rhythmic thud of her feet hitting the mat of the treadmill, and the choked groans she sometimes lets out while lifting. He can't stay away. Fat!reader who hits the 8-week mark of consistent attendance, and is frustrated to see the scale stay practically the same, her measurements are not different either. Even with the help of the dieting shakes Johnny recommended.  The silver lining is her new-found stamina, she feels stronger and with more confidence all while looking the same, she's content with the routine. But that doesn't last.  Her trainer is no longer available to work with her, and the gym assigns her someone else while they find a substitute. And he is not friendly at all. 

But despite the content, happiness blooming within you, your mind is racing with thoughts you can hardly contain. A life altering revelation you’ve kept for weeks, a hidden truth that has grown heavier with each passing day. You can almost feel it pulsing beneath the surface, begging for release.

You have spent countless nights these past weeks imagining what it would be like to share the news with him, but now that the moment is finally here, your heart races. You can hardly believe that just two weeks ago, you had taken that little white stick from the chemist, waited under anxious breaths for it to change, and when those two lines appeared—joy flooded through you like a tidal wave. You are pregnant.

As you listen to Johnny’s rhythmic breathing, you bite your lip, torn between letting him sleep peacefully and the burning desire to spill your secret, to share this monumental news that will forever change both of your lives. You know how much he wants this, and the thought of his reaction fills you with excitement and nerves in equal measure. In this moment you regret not having told him last night, but you didn’t want to overwhelm him right after he’d come back home, to give him a chance to reacclimate and enjoy the sweetness of being back home, yet the weight of the truth feels unbearable under the tenderness of this moment.

You carefully push yourself up onto one elbow, leaning in closer to him. You brush a strand of hair from his forehead and plant a gentle kiss there, hoping to rouse him from his dreams. His eyes flutter open, their deep blue locking onto yours. There’s a short moment of groggy confusion, followed by blissful clarity, a slow smile breaking across his face as he takes in your tender gaze. He pulls you closer in his embrace, almost instinctive, as if anchoring both of you in this fleeting moment.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his deep voice thick with sleep. There’s an undeniable warmth in his gaze, the way the blue of his eyes brightens as they sweep over your face.

“Hey,” you reply, your heart racing as you lean in to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. “Welcome home,” you whisper into his mouth before pulling back. 

“God, I missed you,” Johnny breathes, his voice still husky with sleep. He pulls away just enough to look into your eyes. You can see him trying to read the emotions swirling in your gaze, and it makes the weight of your secret even heavier.

“I missed you too,” you say softly, brushing your fingers along his jawline again, wanting to memorise every minute detail of his face after being apart. 

“Did I really sleep through the night with you next to me?”

You chuckle softly, nodding. “Yeah, you did. I think you were pretty tired.”

Johnny stretches, his muscles taut under your fingertips. He sighs contentedly and shifts his weight, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you more closely. You can see in his eyes that he has noticed the tension beneath your calm demeanour. The way he studies you makes your heartbeat quicken; his gaze is unwavering, filled with a mix of love and curiosity. “What’s going on in that bonnie head of yours?” he asks, his brow slightly furrowing with a mix of curiosity and concern as he studies your expression.

You chew your lip, the moment of truth dawning on you like the sunlight spilling into the room. “I have something important to tell you,” you say, your voice steady despite the thud of your heart.

He tilts his head, eyes glinting with curiosity and apprehension. “You’re scaring me a little now,” he admits, a playful smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “You know I’d take on the world to protect you, right?”

The sincerity in his tone makes your resolve strengthen, and you smile softly back at him. “I know, and that’s why I’m so excited to tell you.” You take a deep breath, steeling yourself, and let your hand cradle the side of his face for assurance. “I’m pregnant.”

The words hang in the air, swirling around you like a gentle breeze, and for a moment, silence envelops you both. You watch as his expression shifts from surprise to a grin that splits his face wide open, his eyes sparkling with an emotion you can barely decipher.

“Are you serious?” he breathes, almost as though he’s afraid to believe it.

You nod, biting your lip to suppress your own excitement. “I took a test two weeks ago… and then a few more after that to be sure. I wanted to wait to tell you in person.”

He sits up fully now, something electric weaving through his features. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirm, your voice steady and filled with warmth as you find your grounding in the gravity of the moment.

In an instant, the surprise morphs into pure elation. Johnny’s smile widens, his eyes shimmering with light, and he lets out a breathy laugh that resonates through the space between you, bright and rich, a sound filled with joy and disbelief all at once. “Love, you’re really serious?!” His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as he inspects your face for any sign of jest. The sincerity in your eyes reassures him that this is no joke. “I cannae believe it! This is—this is pure brilliant! He wraps his strong arms around you, lifting you off the bed, making you squeal with a mix of surprise and joy, and spins you around in a joyous whirl, as you laugh along with him, both of you lost in the sheer magic of the moment.

When he finally sets you back down, he holds you tightly, his face buried in your neck, and you can feel the tremor of his excitement in the way he hugs you. 

“We’re having a wean,” he breathes, and there’s an awe in his voice that sends shivers down your spine. You can hear how much this means to him, to you both, and it ignites a fire of hope and dreams that you carefully begin to weave together with him.

“We are,” you reply softly, a smile breaking across your face as his words wash over you like a soothing balm. You can feel the warmth radiating off him, and everything beyond your embrace fades into oblivion. “I know we have talked about it, but I never imagined it would happen so soon,” you admit.

Johnny pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes alight with wonder. “Do you know how far along you are?” he asks, a mix of concern and excitement lacing his tone.

“About seven or eight weeks,” you reply, the reality of the timeline settling in, although it feels strangely surreal. “I was going to schedule an appointment for that first ultrasound, but I wanted to wait till you got home.”