⚠️⚠️this is an 18+ blog, so MDNI + please have an age in bio!! (basic DNI criteria applies too) I will not interact with blogs with no age in the bio!!⚠️⚠️
💙Ash|29|she/they
💙I write cod x reader (the MW reboot series), and some monsters x reader here and there
💙my favorite COD charas: TF141 (can't choose just one, love all of ‘em), Graves, Valeria, Nikto, and König
💙my bluesky
💙🧡🤍 I appreciate every single nice comment and tag, they genuinely make me so happy!!🤍🧡💙
💙follows and likes comments from ashgraves, it's my main sfw blog
!!DIVIDER CREDITS!!
Warning Banners by cafekitsune
Monsterfucker ones by tsunami-of-tears
MDNI Banners by omi-resources
MDNI Banners by cafekitsune
Neon MDNI Banners by cafekitsune
MDNI Banners by enjinsprettydoll
⬇️ masterlists under the cut ⬇️
Masterlists For All Of My Fics
🏷Price🏷
🧢Gaz🧢
🧼Soap🧼
💀Ghost💀
♠️Graves♠️
🤴König🤴
🚁Nikolai🚁
🩸Nikto🩸
👥Multiple👥
🌕Monsters🌕 (most of these are of my oc Milo)
Series Masterposts
On The Run- A Fugitive Price x General Shepherd's Daughter!Reader
foxes have been digging up your flowerbeds the entire time simon's been deployed. your carefully planted flowers dug up and pooped on by your local creatures of the night.
so as soon as simon comes home? you're asking him to pee in the garden - explaining that the testosterone scares them off.
you expect him to piss in a bottle, sprinkle it around - you know, like a normal bloke.
what you don't expect to see when you look out of the kitchen window at approximately seven in the evening is him standing with his cock swinging free in the garden, pissing over the grass like a dog marking it's territory, grumbling about fuckin' foxes ruinin' my petal's 'ard work. absolute cuntin' creatures.
well, if it gets the job done you won't complain.
(end edna next door isn't complaining either when she gets an eyeful from her bedroom window.)
in which your husband's team looks after you, and the one closest to him gets the surprise meant for the one that all of you lost
content(s): afab reader (reader is the wife/widow of Soap), grief/loss of a loved one, hurt/comfort, angst, pregnancy
word count: 1.6k+
MDNI! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked!
You had a surprise for Johnny when he got back, but it was not Johnny who showed up on your doorstep almost a month after he left. Instead, it was three men who didn't know that you existed until Laswell told them... And they made the decision to take care of you for as long as they could.
Losing your husband Johnny broke you, and his team refused to leave you alone. Maybe it was guilt, or something to honor Johnny... Who knows. For days after their arrival, you stayed holed up in your bedroom and only left to rush into the bathroom throughout the day. Meanwhile, the lads were not too far. John, Kyle, and Simon cooked for you, watered the flowers, and collected your mail. Price took the spare room, Kyle slept on the couch, and Simon took the recliner. All of them are fairly light sleepers... And Simon hadn't slept much at all since that night in the tunnel anyway. Most of his nights were spent either in the recliner, or on the back porch.
Due to staying in the bedroom, you never saw the way they looked at the photos on the walls, seeing the glimpses of the Johnny that you knew. Of a younger Johnny, one that Price met in 2014, but instead of being in uniform he was all bundled up with you in his arms, kissing and squishing your cheek while you laughed. Dates at football games and vacation photos of a very burnt Johnny, no pain evident as he gazed lovingly at you. A moonlit proposal placed next to wedding photos, what looked like a private little ceremony where he was in full regalia and you were in the most beautiful white dress. It pained them to know that they would never know this version of Johnny.
The guys stayed with you for a week until things changed. It was a fairly normal evening when it happened, Price and Kyle were going back and forth over what to make for dinner while Simon sat in the recliner, leg bouncing impatiently.
"Cap, I have everything we need for salmon bowls... The poor woman's probably tired of the chicken dinners by now."
"Kyle... She's been in and out of the bloody bathroom day and night. Something easier on the stomach is what she needs, so a simple chicken soup–"
"No, no, you made that the other night.... And everything in the salmon bowl is easy on the stomach. I made sure."
"Fucking hell, just make it tomorrow. I already have the chicken out... Sergeant, step away from the refrigerator!"
Simon had just about enough of it. Quietly, he removed himself from the kitchen before he lost his mind. He decided that maybe you could weigh in on the matter.
Your frequent trips to the restroom were not lost on Simon either. Grief could make one sick, he knew this. You were grieving, it was why they stayed in the first place. So by asking you what you'd prefer for dinner, you could be the judge of what would be easier.
Come to think of it, you didn't rush into the bathroom all day so far... A good sign, maybe? Simon hoped so.
None of them dared to go into the bedroom since they arrived, they respected your privacy... Respected the room that you once shared with Johnny. But Simon's curiosity got the better of him when he heard you talking to yourself from behind the door.
Simon didn't think it was odd for you to talk to your late husband. Especially since he found himself on the back porch some nights, talking to the moon as if his dear friend was still there. But it's what you were saying that caught his attention.
"It's tomorrow... Wish you could be with me for the appointment," said your muffled voice, gravel in your voice from days of crying. "I can't do this alone, Johnny. Never wanted to do it alone, I need you. Your team's here but... God, they don't know...."
Appointment... What don't we know? Simon pressed his ear to the door, trying to hear more. Alas, the door wasn't closed all the way and he gracelessly stumbled into the room.
You froze and stared at him, the decorative box sitting in your lap was quickly covered up with a blanket... Protectively? Simon straightened up and tried to form an apology, not wanting to spook you any more than he already had.
"Sorry, I... Uh..." Any confidence or authority he had as a lieutenant was gone, the mask was off and he missed his friend... He was tired, brain turned to fine pulp after losing so much sleep. Even worse, he was curious now. With a sigh, he asked, "you alright? Do you need to talk to someone...?"
Forget dinner, Price and Gaz will have to sort it out, he thought as his mind was set on something else now. Whatever was in the box, and this mysterious appointment.
"Yeah, I'm fine," you lied, and Simon just knew it was a bloody lie. "I just... I..." Your bottom lip quivered, Simon could just hear the words stalling in your throat as you swallowed them back down.
"Hey... Deep breaths, it's..." He couldn't say 'it's okay' when nothing was okay. "I've got you, just talk to me."
He sat beside you on the bed, the mattress dipped under his weight as you furiously rubbed your eyes with one hand. Your other hand stayed over the covered box, and his own hand moved to cover yours. When you flinched, he just gave your hand a gentle squeeze.
"What's this?" He asked softly, loosening his grip so you could reveal what was beneath the blanket.
A light brown box with a ribbon that kept the lid in place... And the ribbon's pattern was very similar to the tartan which Johnny wore in the wedding photos. Under the ribbon, there was a white card that read in a loopy script:
"To Johnny, my love:"
After you pulled the ribbon loose and set the card aside, Simon waited for permission... And when you gave a small nod, he removed the lid. The contents of the box almost made him put the lid back on, his heart dropped to his stomach. Written on the inside of the lid was the message meant for your husband's eyes.
"Someone wants to say hello 💙"
On top of a bed of brown shredded crinkle cut paper was a black and white photo. Undeniably a sonogram of something very small and precious. Not one but three positive pregnancy tests lined up on one side of the photo, and a soft brown bear lovey blanket on the other side. Simon reached in and carefully traced the fuzzy black and white lines of the photo.
"I wanted to surprise him," you whispered as Simon stared into the box. "I found out a week before he had to go, and I got the sonogram done just a few days before he... Well, before you three showed up."
"Fucking hell..." Simon slowly placed the lid over the box again and took it from your lap. He placed it behind you on the bed, getting it out of the way so he could drag you into his arms. Sitting with you on the edge of the bed, he just held you tight and let you cling onto him.
For almost a week, the lieutenant held off on touch of any sort. Price had given you a quick hug moments after they arrived, when you broke down initially. Kyle rubbed your back a bit and consoled you a few times in the bathroom, held your hair back if you needed it. Simon couldn't bring himself to do it before, but now he realized just how badly he needed this. By the way you were trembling, your breath hitching as you hiccuped and sobbed into his shoulder, it was clear you needed it too.
Just two strangers with something in common, clinging to the last of the one they lost. And you stayed there for a while, the smell of something savory being cooked in the kitchen making his reason for coming to the room obsolete. He still had a reason to stay, however.
"The appointment... It's for the baby, yeah?" He asked, though the answer felt obvious.
"Mmhm... Just because I want to be careful now."
Simon didn't press for an explanation, because he felt that he knew what you meant. "Right. I could go with you... Or any of the lads. They'd be more than willing, believe me."
"I don't know how long you three expect to stay here," you murmured as you pulled back to look at him. Simon could see his own weariness reflected in your bloodshot eyes. "You won't be here for every appointment."
"We'll be here until the end of the month... And whenever we can, we'll come and check in. Might just be one of us, or two of us, but we're not forgetting about you." Simon shifted you off of his lap, rubbing his eyes so you wouldn't see the tears that welled but never fell. "We should tell them... Kyle and Price. Only if you want to, that is."
You hesitated for a moment before you took a deep, shuddering breath. Slowly, you stood from the bed that you laid in for days on end and took the box. Without another word, Simon led you to the kitchen and waited for the two other men to finish cooking... Which took twice as long. They never truly came to an agreement after all.
five times Neighbor!Simon helped without you asking + the one time you came to him for help
content(s): afab reader, creepy behavior (not from Simon or Reader)
word count: 2.9k+
MDNI! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked!
Neighbor!Simon, who helps you without being asked. You've always been pretty independent, but the big guy can't help himself when it comes to you, his stubborn neighbor.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
A snowstorm hit overnight and Simon was up early as usual, not by choice but rather out of habit. The sun was barely up and the snow had stopped, but there was a blanket over the neighborhood now. It almost seemed to glow a pale shade of blue from what little light there was outside. The path to his door was covered, so was his car... And looking over to the left, he could see the same was the case for you.
Knowing that you wouldn't be up for some time, Simon decided to help you out. He bundled up in a thick parka, a snow balaclava, and a pair of his best gloves. Once his boots were on, he headed outside and got right to work, starting with the path to your door.
About an hour later, your car was dug out from the snow and he just finished with his own side of the semi-detached house. He paused for a moment to catch his breath, looking skyward as a few flakes started to fall again... That's when he heard a familiar voice.
"Oi, Simon!" It was you, clad in your thick winter pajamas and a pair of fluffy slippers, waving at him. "You didn't have to...!"
"I wanted to," he called back as he leaned the snow shovel against the house. "I could come over and shovel it all back into place if it's that much of an issue, though."
You snorted softly and shook your head, and Simon didn't miss the smile that you tried to repress.
"Well, thank you, Si... Come here, I'll start us a pot of coffee," you offered, opening your door wider. "Hurry, I don't want a draft to come in."
Simon, knowing there was no point in saying no, made his way around the hedge that divided your doors and headed into your place.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
"Fuck me...!" Your muffled voice caught Simon's attention. He was just walking back from a trip to the store when he noticed you sitting in your car.
The problem became evident when he saw you try to start it... Only for it to not start after it sputtered pathetically a few times. He already knew your car had some issues, and he also knew that you kept putting off bringing it to the shop. After putting his shopping bags inside, he came back out with a jump starter and went to your car.
You were still out there, trying (and failing) to start the car. Your head rested against the steering wheel in defeat, and you didn't even notice Simon pulling his car around.
"Hey neighbor," Simon said when you seemed to have given up. "Need a jump?"
He got out of the car with the jump starter and finally got a good look at you. A cute blue dress that stopped just below the knee, black boots, and your hair and makeup were done up in a way he never saw before. You were wearing a gold chain with a small heart dangling from it, and his eyes lingered on it for a moment. You looked ready to go out and have fun, and yet you were stuck in your driveway. All dolled up with somewhere to go, but unable to actually go… It’s a tragedy of epic proportions.
"God, yes...Thank you." You sighed heavily and watched as Simon hooked your car up.
"You've gotta look into a jump starter," he said gruffly. "Better yet, actually make a bloody appointment for your car."
"Sorry, but with what money?" You asked half-jokingly. "You've seen the prices, what am I supposed to do if my car needs a little more than some light maintenance? Hell, even 'light maintenance' could get expensive..."
"I could pay." He suggested after your car finally started.
"Thank you... And no, Simon." You relaxed a bit and pulled out of your parking spot. "I couldn't ask you to do that."
"I'm offering, love." He said, and you could tell that he meant it. This man was more than ready to shell out whatever amount you needed, he had the paycheck to do it.
He muttered something about you being stubborn as you drove off.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Seemingly out of the blue, the worst heatwave your area had seen in years hit. Simon couldn't handle the heat well, but when he saw how almost all of your flowers withered up as a result of the heat... Well, that just made the heatwave even more unbearable. Not only was it an eyesore to see in your shared backyard, but your reaction to the devastation was worse.
"I spent all spring planting these!" You had complained to him, gesturing to the wilted flora. "All spring, hours of planting… For nothing!"
The flowers certainly looked dead, but some research told Simon that they could probably be saved. After a trip to the nearest garden center, he took to the backyard and busied himself in fixing what the heat ruined.
You found him back there, kneeling in the dirt without a shirt on. His pale, scarred skin was starting to take on a pinkish hue in the brutal summer sun. Sweat beaded on his brow and clung to his short, pale blonde hair. And for a while, you just stood there on the back porch... Watching as Simon worked tirelessly in the garden. He set up something to shield the flowers from the sun, and now he was carefully watering the dry soil.
When Simon finished up, you came outside with a glass of lemonade for him, condensation already formed on the glass. Your eyes were on every part of him but his face, but he ignored it as he drank the contents glass in one go. To be fair, the short sundress that you were wearing was just as distracting and his eyes felt like wandering a bit.
"Thank you, Simon... Really, you–"
"I didn't 'ave to, I know," he said before you could finish. "I got bored, and I wanted to."
"Fine, okay... Now come inside, you're gonna burn up out here." You insisted, waving him inside. "I made too much lemonade, you could help me finish it."
You ended up adding some vodka to the remainder of the lemonade and had a drunken movie marathon with Simon, cackling and pointing out the terrible acting until the wee hours of the morning. You sent him off to his side of the house with a kiss on the cheek.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
After a particularly annoying deployment and a mission that had him screaming orders until his voice was gone, Simon came home to find you bringing some groceries inside... A lot of groceries. You must've gone out and done enough shopping for the next two weeks, your back seats were down and your car was filled from front to back with bags and boxes.
After he decided that his muscles could stand to lift a bit more, Simon lumbered over and started unloading while you were inside. When you came back out, you yelped in surprise before realizing who was taking your stuff out. The masked man was not a thief, just your hulking six-foot-whatever neighbor being helpful again.
"Oh goddammit, Riley! You scared the shit out of me!" You said, a laugh escaping you. "Jesus, that mask... Did you seriously drive home in it?" You rarely saw him in the skull mask, he only showed it to you after he mentioned it offhandedly during one of your movie nights.
"One of my mates drove me back," he explained, taking two armfuls of groceries. "But yeah... Wore this the whole drive."
"I don't think I'd be able to focus if my passenger looked like the grim reaper... But that's just me," you joked as you followed him inside with a few more bags. "And your voice sounds... Pony."
Simon gave you a withering side-eye, but he was absolutely grinning under the balaclava. "... Pony?"
"Mmhm... You know... A little hoarse...?" You grinned at your own stupid joke, gently bumping your hip against Simon's as you passed him. "Sorry, I spent too much time with the couple down the road... Goddamn dad jokes. Speaking of which, some shit went down between them and the new neighbors while you were gone."
"Oh? Fill me in," Simon muttered as he helped put some things away. “I gotta hear this shite.”
"I will... But only if you help me with this soup recipe I've been dying to try."
Well... Soup is good for a sore throat... How could Simon say no?
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Flu season was a bitch, but thankfully Simon's immune system is stronger than anything that could attack it. You, on the other hand... You were suffering. You were holed up on your side of the semi-detached house, not coming outside for anything or anyone.
Simon only found out after texting you one night, having not seen you for two whole days... And the intense coughing fits that he could hear through the wall weren't comforting him.
si: You alive over there?
Not even a minute later, you texted back:
🖤: im fine, just running a fever... turns out that it wasn't allergies, just gotta wait it out and stay inside for a few days 💪
si: Did the doc give you a prescription?
🖤: yeah, but I don't think I need it, looked it up and it said I could probably heal naturally... tea with honey and lemon and some painkillers for the headaches are enough, i'll survive lol
si: Pick your prescription up.
You responded with some stupid gif that just said "nuh-uh" and Simon could hear you cackle through the wall... Which was followed by another coughing fit and a pathetic wheeze/whine.
She deserved that one, he thought as he put on his hoodie and gloves.
Simon didn't dignify you with another response. Instead, he drove to the pharmacy for your prescription and picked it up himself. Then, he stopped by your favorite deli to grab a quart of your favorite soup, some orange juice, and cough drops for your poor throat.
He banged on your door a couple of times when he got back and left the bags on the porch before going back over to his door. When you came out seconds later, a plush throw blanket draped around you like a cape, he waved his gloved fingers at you.
"Special delivery for a stubborn woman," he called over the hedge. "I don't know how you survived this long if this is how you handle being sick."
"Hey... I told you I have tea and painkillers," you protested, your voice raspier than usual. "But thanks, Si... Really, thank you."
"You can thank me by getting better soon... Got a deployment coming up, and we still have to finish watching that stupid baking show together."
"We could just watch it at the same time and stay on call–"
"No, it's not the same," Simon insisted impatiently before waving you off. "Now go on, get in there and get better. Take your fucking meds."
Miraculously, you did end up getting better a couple of days before he had to go. Together, you watched the last few episodes on his couch.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Simon looked out for you however he could. At first, it was just because you were a woman living alone, or just the woman he shared a wall with. Maybe it's because he's a little old-fashioned, or maybe it's because he mentally swore to protect any woman after he couldn't protect his own mother.
But after a while, he genuinely did want to help you because it’s you. You’re funny, too stubborn for your own good, quick as a whip, independent as hell... He had to back off a few times when you were truly adamant on doing something on your own. You never asked him for help, even if you needed it, and he took any opportunity to help you when you'd allow it. Truthfully, you were the one person outside of his job that he grew attached to like this... And probably the only person he felt anything deeper for.
Simon went for daily runs when the weather allowed, and sometimes you'd go for a run a little later in the morning. You'd be waiting at the semi with something light for him to eat and a cup of coffee when he got back, and he did the same for you when you returned. Normally, he got back at 7:30 am or so. You would always come back closer to noon.
So when it was going on 2 pm and you still hadn't returned, Simon was getting antsy. He texted you, but realized you rarely looked at your phone when you were on a run. Tired of peeking out of the window every few minutes, he took to pacing to and from his front door like a caged lion. The only other time you were late was when your mom was in town and you warned Simon beforehand. Hell, if you stopped to see someone you would've shot him a text or called. This was abnormal.
Simon started to consider phoning Price or Gaz to see if either was in the area, give them a description of you so they could keep their eyes peeled. Hell, he’d find a way to get Johnny in on it if he wasn’t in fucking Scotland. But then, your voice rang out from down the sidewalk.
"Babe...! Hey, babe!" You yelled out to him, waving a hand. "I'm back!"
Babe...? You had a lot of nicknames for each other, but 'babe' wasn't one of them. Simon looked at you, and there was a look on your face that he never saw before... And he decided that he never wanted to see it again. It was distress, and the reason for that look could be seen just over your shoulder.
A man who Simon had never seen before was following you, and it looked like he was about to say something but stopped when he saw Simon. When you sped the rest of the way over to Simon, he held his arms out to catch you. His eyes never left the man, even as you clung to him... He could feel you shaking like a leaf, heard the fear in your voice as you whispered to him... And he fucking hated it. Hated that you felt unsafe, hated the man that made you feel this way.
I should tear this bastard a new fucking asshole… If looks could kill, the creep would be vaporized on the spot.
"Si... I've been trying to lose him this whole time... He won't stop," you whispered into his ear before pulling back to look at him. You didn't ask him, not outright, but your eyes begged for help.
Simon gave the man one last glower before he smiled and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Hey, love... I was wondering where you were," he said, loud enough that the creep could hear. "How was the run?"
Your tight smile relaxed a bit as you looked up at him, a shaky exhale leaving you. Instead of answering right away, you tilted your head up to peck Simon on the lips. The simple gesture made his heart leap in his chest and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment... It's not like he hadn't thought of it before, and he wished it was under better circumstances.
"It was fine, but I'm kinda tired now..." You glanced back and saw that the man decided to cross to the other sidewalk. Simon could feel your muscles relax as you turned back to kiss him again, whispering against his lips, "Fuck... Thank you, Si."
"D'you need me to follow him? Report him? Did he–" His words were disrupted yet another kiss, and he almost kissed back but held off, convinced it was just because you thought the guy was still there. "Hey, he's gone..." Simon's face felt like it was on fire... A man like him, reduced to blushing like a schoolboy.
"S-shit, sorry... Uh, we could file a report, sure," you murmured as you leaned back a bit. "And sorry about... That..."
"It's alright. I didn't mind," he reassured you as he gently guided you to his door. "Hell, I think you should've gone harder with the kiss... Really sell it to that fucking weirdo."
A surprised chuckle bubbled out of you and Simon felt a stab of pride to be the one to comfort you. He felt pretty proud of you too, because even though you didn't ask for help verbally... You, the self-reliant woman that you were, still came to him for help.
"You think so?" You asked once you were both inside. "That might be the last I see of that guy, but just in case I have to deal with another... I don’t know, it’s been a while since I really kissed someone, so maybe you could help me…" You trailed off, and Simon pulled you against him again as soon as the door closed.
"Help you...? What're you asking me, love?"
You answered him by pulling him back into a kiss... One that was less chaste than the previous ones, and he kissed back like his life depended on it.
content(s): both the reader and Price are yearning for each other, little bit of hurt/comfort (or just some emotional comfort), Price feeling conflicted
Word Count: 5k+
Fugitive Price Masterpost
MDNI! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked!
"Ms. Shepherd."
John was already prepared to bolt when he recognized the all too familiar voice of Phillip Graves, he only stayed for as long as he did just because he trusted you to keep Graves at bay. But to hear the commander refer to you as that... He was going to be fucking sick. It was what made him yank the screen out of your bedroom window. The adrenaline fueled him as he climbed down the tree near your window and ran as far as he could.
He didn't even care that the rough bark of the pine tree snagged his stitches, all he cared about was getting as much distance between himself and the daughter of the man he murdered. Ever since that night nearly two months ago, something in his gut screamed that it was all too good to be true, and now it was confirmed. There was no way you were a perfect angel, his savior trapped in a cabin. You were a direct link to General Shepherd. His daughter.
The morning sun filtered through the trees and beat down on the hood of the jacket he grabbed before fleeing. Not a cloud in sight, it was as hot as it could be and he was sweating. Hours passed, his legs ached and his wounded hand stung, but John ignored all of it. There were very few places that he could go without being apprehended, and he didn't stop for a second until he arrived at one of those rare locations. The one he couldn’t access the night you helped him.
The white building stood out against the treeless area, the red letters on the front that spelled out "URGENT CARE" told anyone who passed it that it was a safe place. But for a man as wanted as John, he had to enter through the back. After glaring up at the security camera near the back door for a while, the door was opened by a wide-eyed nurse who quickly ushered him inside.
"What happened this time?" The dark haired man asked once they were in a rarely used room. He was already gathering some supplies, the usual items that he needed for John’s injuries. "Kate said you should lay low for a while, until your hand heals. And why're you here in broad daylight...?"
He looked John over with a critical eye, shaking his head as he no doubt noticed the new clothes. John was honestly lucky that Kate cared as much as she did, enough to plant a few nurses who were in the know at this location for whenever he needed medical attention.
"The stitches ripped," John said, his voice monotone and nearly robotic. "I just need them fixed, doc."
When John offered no further explanation, the already stressed nurse cursed under his breath and just fixed the stitches. The hushed scolding and reminder to not use his injured hand were muffled by John's own thoughts. Thoughts that you were the center of… And god, he should forget about you and the cabin now. He needed to, for his sanity and safety.
I'll get the bird out of my head, he promised himself as he watched the clock on the wall. By the time these stitches are out, I'll be back to thinking about what's important...
𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡
However, his mental promise was broken over and over again for the next two weeks. The stitches were out, and yet you stayed in his head. No matter if he was awake or asleep, there you were. On the rare occasion he could sleep, he would dream of you and the cabin. Some dreams were domestic and hazy memories of eating dinner with you, but others were carnal fantasies that made him wake with a racing heart. Especially when one ended with a certain commander breaking the door down.
Graves. That man knew you, and he was the only other person who knew where the cabin was. A man who may very well be after him... But it was never confirmed. If Graves was truly a problem, surely Laswell would've mentioned it... But he wanted confirmation. And that confirmation came during one of his brief communications with his longtime ally.
"Tell me," he said, voice low as he leaned against the brick wall behind some gas station in the middle of nowhere, one whose security cameras were just for show. "Have you heard anything regarding Graves and his shadows? I don't need any more surprises."
Like the surprise of Farah somehow finding out a way to contact him with coded messages, reminders that she would help him in any situation no matter how dire. Or the surprise of Nikolai not being able to get his helo over as soon as he wanted to.
"Nothing from the commander, John. He's actually been quiet... But I have men on the inside, so I could double check with them."
“No need… Thank you, Kate.”
That was enough for John, even without the double checking, even if it wasn't a complete confirmation... It had to be enough to justify what he wanted to do. John was not as alone as one would expect, he still had Laswell and he had a handful of nurses at the urgent care who would patch him up if need be. Hell, he even saw the barest glimpses of his former lieutenant and the sergeant who he was closest to... Even if the glimpses were not always visual, sometimes they were only voices that shouted for him to just come out and face them as he weaved between trees and blended in with the leaves.
But despite it all, John still found himself wanting to return to the cabin. Return to you, the one who showed him mercy time and time again. Mercy from the daughter of a man who had none. The only thing that kept him away now was what he would even say.
Part of him wanted to just tell you everything. He wanted to come out and confess that he was the one who took your father down. In his head, he didn't sugarcoat, his words were bitter and cruel as he recounted every detail to you. In every scenario, you'd end up with tears in your eyes. You would have a reason to turn him away for good, and he would finally have a reason to never return to the cabin.
Then I could leave with Nik, go to Russia to hunt Makarov with nothing to keep me here.
But then there was another scenario, a thought that plagued him even more so. Instead of confessing, John imagined himself taking you away from the cabin completely. He would stow you somewhere safe, a location that only he knew of... Then he would take off with Nikolai to take care of business. Afterwards, once Johnny was avenged and Makarov was put in the ground, he would change his name and go back to you. Both of you could hide together, take new names. The way he wanted to hoard you for himself was nothing short of possessive and far-fetched... But it was just another extreme.
In between the opposing scenarios, he knew there had to be a middle ground. It was a middle ground he desperately wanted to be on, he needed to see you again.
With his way to Russia being delayed, he ended those two weeks with a plan: go to the cabin.
𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡
The rain came down in sheets, the sound was reminiscent of TV static. Paired with the dark of the night, it was the perfect cover for John. Careful not to slip on the wet leaves or mud, he trekked up to the secluded cabin. Even with two weeks between his last visit and this moment, he knew the faint footpath like the back of his hand... That's what happens when someone follows the same path for nearly two months straight, and then follows it in his dreams for two weeks.
John, no matter how desperate he was to see you, was no fool. Cautiously, he circled the perimeter and kept an eye out for any cars. He watched for any sign of life outside of him and the faint light from the kitchen window, and when he found none he stalked closer to the front door. The old stairs creaked under his feet, and when he raised one hand to knock he stalled.
Fucking hell... The stupidity of this was not lost on him. Returning to this cabin could be the thing that gets him found out. But he came this far, so he forced himself to knock twice, loud enough so you could hear.
For a moment, he couldn't hear the rain over the blood roaring in his ears. John couldn't hear any signs of life in the cabin... But then there you were, opening the door. You... You, who looked ready for bed in an oversized tee shirt and too long pajama pants that covered your feet. Your eyes were stretched wide, lips parted in shock. One hand clenched the edge of the door while the other was delicately placed over your heart. John watched as your brow furrowed, blinking a few times, probably trying to figure out if he was truly there.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. Just stared... His blue eyes drank in your appearance, tracked every breath and how you opened the door wider. He licked his lips, unsure if his tight throat would allow him to speak.
“I’m so sorry, I…” John began, hands wringing one drenched sleeve.
“Oh my god… Come inside! You’ll catch a cold, come on,” You said at the same time. The door swung open completely and you tried to yank him inside by the arm.
John was stunned... But why should he be? After all, it was you, the same woman who let him in over and over again... Even after the realization that he was on the run. He followed you into the cabin that made an appearance in every dream for two weeks, and it looked and smelled just how he remembered it. The scent of wood and smoke from the fireplace was a welcomed change from the smell of sweat and gun smoke. Under the cozy scent was something smoky and savory, faint as if something was cooked hours ago. A meal that he missed, he realized. One of many.
"Phil was here last night, but he won't be a concern for a few days," you explained. "He brought over some Chinese food. Brought too much over actually... So if you're hungry, there's more than enough."
Right. Graves. As John followed you up the wooden stairs and to the bathroom across from your room, he tried not to think about what he did while he was here. The only concern of his should be if Graves is after him... Not if he's anything to you other than just a friend of your father. His skin crawled and something dangerously close to jealousy burned up his chest, and he knew that feeling had no right to exist for you.
"Here... Take a shower, warm up." You said after John didn't comment about the food. "I'll get some dry clothes for you, we’ll talk when you’re done."
"Right," he said, flashing you a tired but grateful look. "Thank you, love. God knows I need a bloody shower."
The way your eyes softened and the slight curve of your lips as you smiled warmed his heart, the burn of jealousy turned into something softer.
"Take your time, okay...?" You gave his forearm a squeeze before turning the light on for him.
No more words were exchanged as you left for the bedroom, and John closed the door behind him. He turned the hot water all the way on before he shed his soaked clothes and left them in a sopping pile on the floor. His gear was hung on a hook attached to the door, and he made sure nothing remained in his pants pockets or jacket pocket before getting into the shower. The steaming water felt like fire on his skin, but John welcomed the burn with a grateful moan.
John could have taken his time, but he kept the shower short. He washed away a few days worth of sweat and grime, rolling his shoulders and neck as the hot stream massaged his sore muscles. If there were any time for him to fall asleep standing up, now would be that time. But he knew that you were still out there, possibly downstairs... And there were clean, dry clothes waiting just across the hall.
With water still beaded on his skin and beard, John wrapped the black cotton towel around his hips and left the bathroom. Steam followed him out as he crossed the hallway and stepped into your room where he could see a dark green lounge set laid out for him on your bed. A pair of black boxers were laid beside the set.
He shuffled into the bedroom and loosened the towel from around his hips. It slipped a few inches, just shy of the base of his manhood when he finally lifted his eyes from the clothes on the bed... You were still in the room, and he was too distracted to even notice.
Oh, bollocks.
For a moment, neither of you moved or even breathed. John stopped the towel from sliding any further as a flush crept up his neck, his ears burned with sheer mortification. All the while, he could feel your eyes on him... They moved over every inch of exposed skin and traced every scar and muscle on display. Once your eyes traced down the coarse hairs that led to his crotch, they snapped back up.
You blurted out a quick apology and John moved so you could scurry around him to leave the room. He could practically feel heat radiating from your body as you passed, but it might've just been his own body reacting. Hell, he was half surprised that the droplets of water on his skin didn't sizzle away. He'd been nude in front of people before, of course, but the way you looked at him... He swore your pupils dilated.
"Sorry...! I'm... I'll start the kettle, okay?" You called once you were halfway down the stairs. "I'll make us something!"
"Alright!" John shouted back, peering down the hall to make sure you were gone. Still flushed and flustered from the encounter, he used the towel to dry himself properly... Ignoring how his cock was half-hard.
Fuckin' hell... At least these pants are loose enough to hide it.
𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡
After a few moments to compose himself, John came back downstairs and found you waiting in the kitchen. You were getting two glasses out of the cupboard when he made his presence known by clearing his throat.
"Hey, I'm..." John exhaled heavily and leaned against the counter beside you. "I'm sorry, really."
"Oh, no, no... I should've been out of the room, dunno what I was waiting around for." You said quickly, waving a hand dismissively.
John stifled a laugh with a cough before he said, "Not what I meant. I mean I'm sorry for disappearing for two bloody weeks..." He sobered slightly as he watched for any reaction. You were just listening though, watching him and nodding a bit... Your eyes clouded with something that he couldn't decipher. "But to update... I'm alright. I'm alive and well. Only got a little banged up while I was gone, but nothing terrible. It's been a lot, a lot that I can't go into... But..."
"You're alive, and that's enough for me," you said with a shrug.
"And I wasn't followed, okay? I wasn't followed... Not even my closest allies know about this place," he added. "I scoped out the area before knocking, I was thorough."
You smiled as he finished talking, but it didn't reach your eyes. It was a tight smile, a little awkward. He could see the way you chewed the inside of your cheek, and he sighed.
"Is something wrong...?"
"Yeah… I mean no, but…" You trailed off before your nose scrunched a bit. "Can I ask you something?"
"...Go on." John prompted, inclining his head slightly.
"You can't run or avoid the question, okay? I just need to know something." You added.
"You have my word, now ask away."
After you took a deep breath, it all spilled out like water through a busted dam.
“I just… Fuck. Do you know Phil? You had to’ve heard his voice, the cabin's soundproof but only for the outside. Inside, you can hear everything.” You emphasized the word 'everything', and John just nodded slightly. "I assumed that's why you left, but I just... I need to know for sure. Is Phil one of them? One of the people after you...?"
Ah, so we're crossing this bridge right now, John thought as he leaned back against the counter and listened to the kettle begin to bubble. He hesitated, formulating the best way to answer you. One half he could answer with certainty, but the second half...
"I won't tell... I wouldn’t rat you out," you promised in a soft voice. While John contemplated his answer, you left the counter to grab some more things. Lemon juice, honey, cinnamon, and whiskey... All of the ingredients for a hot toddy.
"I know Phillip," he finally said, and it took some effort to not call him 'Graves'. "I do know him, and... He's most likely after me."
Your nose scrunched slightly at his words. "Most likely...? Is he or isn't he?"
"Don't know for sure," John admitted just as the kettle began to whistle. "Last I heard his focus was on Russia... But who knows what'll happen if he sees me. We weren't on the best of terms for a while there."
"Phil's not in Russia right now," you pointed out as you poured the hot water into the tempered glasses. "He said he was hunting someone though... An asset who could help him, I think?"
"I heard that much, yeah..." John mused as he watched you add a healthy dose of whiskey to the glasses, a dollop of honey and some lemon juice followed. An asset, huh? "Did he ever drop a name?"
You stirred the drinks and dropped a stick of cinnamon into the glasses as you responded, a slight chuckle leaving you. "He didn't, but I wouldn't know that it was your name even if he did."
John chuckled softly as he recalled your little nickname for him. Bear. It slipped out the last time he was here, and he never forgot it. He took one of the hot toddies from you, your fingers brushed for a split second in the process. A soft 'thank you' left him before he took a sip. It warmed him from the inside, a content groan rumbled in his chest.
Side by side, you both nursed your drinks in a comfortable silence. The sound of the rain was muted but ever present outside of the cabin and the only light came from the light in the kitchen. The warm glow illuminated your profile when John looked over at you, his eyes followed the shadows on your face and studied the way your lips pursed slightly to take another sip from your own glass.
"Now, may I ask something?" He asked suddenly, the thought that brought on the jealous twinge earlier returning.
"You just did, but sure."
John scoffed softly, hiding his grin behind his glass as he took a sip. "Cheeky... It’s about you and the commander. What's the relationship there?"
"Oh, Phil? He was one of my father's closest... Friends... Or at least his closest ally." You answered with no hesitation. "I don't think my dad had friends, honestly. But he trusted Phil enough to introduce him to me."
Her father... John felt no remorse for his actions, even now. Maybe that made him a terrible man, to stand shoulder to shoulder with the daughter of the man he took out... Cozying up to her all while she's unaware of what he did. The idea of telling her everything right now crossed his mind, an intrusive thought that demanded him to ruin the moment… He shoved to the back of his mind.
"I met Phil when I was twenty-one, when Dad gave me the cabin," you continued, oblivious to John's thoughts. "And since then, Phil's been the best. There were a few others who checked in on me initially, but Phil kinda took over. There was a lull for a while, but he’s been here almost every other day for the past two weeks.”
John scoffed and muttered, "The best, huh? He's nice to you, then...?" Does he treat you right, he added mentally... But didn't dare to say it out loud.
"He's nice, not clinical like the others were. He tells me how it is, doesn't coddle me... But he makes sure he's not a total asshole about it," you said as you adjusted your position against the counter, bringing you closer to John in the process. "Tells me how it is, even if I... Even if I hate it."
"A proper gentleman, is he?" John asked sarcastically, though he tried to keep his tone gentle for you.
A soft snort left you and you shook your head. "I'd never use that term to describe him. He's just the only person I really have a connection to." You paused before correcting yourself, adding on so softly that it was nearly a whisper, "or the only person I had until you came around."
You're so close to John... So close, and he didn't even notice how the two of you drifted closer during the conversation. Now you were hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, and he could smell your shampoo faintly. John downed the rest of his drink.
"Do you want more?" You asked, nodding to his cup. He could've swore your eyes were on his mouth as he licked away a drop of whiskey from his lips.
"No... No, thank you," he declined, letting you take the cups to the sink. John rubbed a hand down his face, closing his eyes for a moment. They felt heavy, but he refused to go to bed until you did. He wanted to see as much of you as he could before closing them again... Two weeks proved to be too much, and it made him feel pathetic.
"So... Uh..." You were talking again, and John wanted to hear you as much as he wanted to see you. He watched as you stepped in front of him, hands reaching for a moment before hesitating. "Can I see your hand? The bandage is gone, it's probably healed by now, but..."
"But you just want to be sure?" He asked, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. "Of course." John extended his right hand to you, palm up, ready to be inspected.
Eagerly, you took his hand with both of yours and got right to the inspection. The soft pads of your fingers glided across his calloused, work worn hands. He watched as your thumb traced the pale pink line that began between the webbing of his thumb and pointer and stretched across his palm. Your brow furrowed as you traced it again, shaking your head.
In a hushed tone you asked, "Christ... How did this even happen?"
The memory of grabbing the business end of Ghost's dagger flashed through his mind, images of his former lieutenant's rage filled eyes and his own bloodied hand behind his eyelids when he blinked.
"Just a run-in with some old friends," John murmured.
"Does it hurt...?" Your eyes lifted from his hand to meet his, and there was concern evident in your gaze.
"Not anymore." The last thing he wanted was for you to worry... Yet it felt good to be fussed over by you. His breath hitched when you turned his hand over, inspecting the back and tracing his knuckles and veins next.
This is the hand that pulled the trigger... The one that took her father's life, a cruel voice whispered in his head. He elected to ignore it as he flexed his hand and fingers a bit for you.
"Good, it seems to have healed nicely," you said before taking a deep breath. "These past two weeks have been kinda... Lonely. Even with Phil visiting more often, I always hoped you'd show up. Even with him here, I’d just stare out of the window so I could keep an eye on the woods."
That startled a laugh out of John. The thought of you having Graves in the house, yet waiting for him. "Bloody hell... Then you'd definitely know my name," he said with a grim smile as you turned his hand over again. Feeling bolder, he took one of your hands in his newly healed one, letting your fingers lace loosely. "I could just hear it... 'What the hell are you doing here, John'..."
"...Wait..." You were stunned for a moment, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Did you just... Is that your...?"
"Mmhm. John, the name's John." He admitted as he reveled in the feeling of your smaller hand tightening on his. "Pretty common name, but I was paranoid. Still am, just not here... Not anymore."
"John..." The sound of his name leaving your lips was exactly how he imagined it. It sounded right... Finally you were able to say his name, and finally he could actually hear how it sounded in your voice. "John, I won't say your name in front of Phil. It's common, like you said, but still..."
"I appreciate that, love." As he spoke, he gently brushed his thumb across your knuckles... Then his eyes flicked down to your lips.
His name sounded lovely coming from them... But for a moment he wondered what it would feel like to have you whisper it against his lips. Two weeks ago, he would have shut that thought down. He should still shut the thought out, especially knowing who you are and how wrong it would be... So fucking wrong.
This would be crossing a line, he thought as his eyes dragged back to yours, and he could see your pupils dilated slightly. Did I cross a line... Or is she ready to cross it? Your hand slipped out of his, and his heart thudded against his ribcage.
“John…”
You stepped closer suddenly and eliminated any space between the two of you as your arms wrapped around John's neck tightly. A breathless, shaky sigh left you... A relieved sound that was muffled slightly as your face pressed into his shoulder.
"I'm sorry John, but I missed you. When you left and didn’t come back, I thought the worst. I thought..." You trailed off into his shoulder, arms coiled even tighter around him. John responded with his own viselike grip. "Do me a favor... Please don't run off like that again."
"I won't..." John murmured against your head, unsure if he could keep the promise... But god, would he try.
"Don't abandon me for two weeks again, or even one week without saying something." You took another deep, shuddering breath before continuing. "I'm sorry. This is pathetic, but you're the one person outside of this bullshit cabin, I swear..." A humorless laugh escaped you, and it almost felt like you were going to let go. "Push me away, tell me to stop... This is getting embarrassing."
But John couldn't let you go. He squeezed you tighter, pressed you closer to his body as he leaned back against the counter more. He knew how you felt... He felt it too, stronger than you knew. A dog begging for a scrap of attention, of affection and companionship. Something outside of his life that he could hold close and keep safe.
"Don't, love. This is fine, you were on my mind constantly," John admitted as he gently rubbed your back. "You have my word. I might have to disappear for a long time at some point... But when that time comes, I will let you know. Or I’ll try to, there’s some things I have no control over."
Something began to soak through his shirt, something warm and wet pressed against his shoulder. Then you sniffled and... Oh. John couldn't bear it. He brought a hand up to cradle the back of your head and held it there against his shoulder. He shushed gently, hushed whispers of 'It's okay' and 'I've got you' spoken against the crown of your head.
"I'll stay the night... I won't leave in the morning, okay?" John promised as his lips grazed your hair.
"O-okay... Okay..." You took a deep breath, the tremor still present but less so. "You're just... You're here, really here, and you're okay. I'm good, just... God, wow..."
After staying locked in an embrace for a while longer, after your breathing synced up to John's, you both loosened your grips and let go. Seeing some tears still in your eyes, John reached up and brushed them away.
"Better?" He asked softly, smiling as you gave a watery laugh.
"Much... But your beard's long again."
"Well, maybe you could help me with it in the morning..." John laughed softly and dropped his hand from your face.
"I could do that," you said in a weakened, tired voice.
You stepped away from John finally, and he took that as his cue to move towards the couch. He stretched his arms over his head, his shoulders popped and crackled in protest. Before he could sink down onto the couch, you stopped him.
"Hey, wait... You could..." When John looked back at you, the words seemed to die in your throat. Flustered, you rushed the next words out. "My bed's big enough if the couch gets uncomfortable. Just saying..."
"I wouldn't want to take your bed, love." John said as he sat on the couch.
"You wouldn't be taking it, I’d still be…" You cleared your throat and hurried to the stairs before you could say anything else. "Goodnight, John...!"
Amused, John returned your 'goodnight' and watched as you retreated up the stairs. He laid down, head hitting the old pillow.
For the first time in two weeks, he didn't dream about you. Only nightmares awaited him, memories of the man he lost and the man he killed played out too clearly for comfort.
On The Run- A Fugitive Price x Shepherd's Daughter!Reader Masterpost
In which John forms a close bond with the daughter of General Shepherd.
He's a wanted man, and she's lonely enough to take him in.
Both are unaware of the other's origins, but no secret can stay hidden for long.
𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎡
general content(s): MDNI, afab reader, no use of y/n, reader is the adoptive daughter of General Shepherd (not revealed right away), reader is a bit sheltered, some chapters will have smut (specifics in each chapter's "contents" section), some hurt/comfort, NOT canon compliant for MW4 (this fic was made directly after the trailer for MW4 dropped), chapters will switch between focusing on John and the reader (and future special chapters will focus on other characters)
it started out of nowhere. you were at a pub one evening, a little tipsy from your previous drinks ; when a man came up to you and blalantly made you understand that he wanted a little company for the night. his name was john from what he told you. he was tall, arms tattoed and most importantly very handsome, he for sure knew how to talk to a woman.
you decided to give him a chance and bring him to your place that was closer. he was really not what you expected, he talked like a caring gentleman back at the pub, but the second you entered your apartment, he immediately pushed you on the couch and ripped off your underwear. he roughly manhandled you, and you let him do it.
after multiple orgasms on the sofa, he picked you up and proceeded in your bedroom. he took you harshly in doggy style, your cheek flat against your mattress. you were a babbling mess as his balls rapidly met your ass cheeks, his hands firmy gripping your hair to make you stay in place. you could hear his gruff voice behind you, however you were too far gone to decipher what he was saying to you.
when you woke up next morning he was gone, you found a scratch of paper on your bedside table, his number.
that's how your first night ended, it was the beginning of it.
it’s been a few months now, and you noticed a change in john’s attitude. he doesn’t leave immediately after you fall asleep anymore, you always find him sleeping soundly next to you in the morning, he even made you breakfast once.
he always pays for you when you meet at the pub, even when you order takeout, he never said anything about it ; you never questioned it either.
the most shocking one was how he acted in bed, the 'fuckin’ slut' turned into 'takin’ me so well, luv'. the way he couldn’t help but put his lips on your skin, lips as he fucked you. or how he gently brushed strands of hair off your sticky face when you were completely cock drunk.
but what really made you realize that everything changed was when you woke up at 3am, your phone buzzing. you grabbed it and got slightly stunned by the screen light 'Jonathan' proudly showing on it. you frowned, price was on a deployment since a few weeks now, was he okay ? you heard his gruff voice when you picked up, "i don’t know why i called you, luvie" a faint sight escaped his lips, "do you miss me?" it was his way to say that he did. you chuckled softly, and price felt his heart squeeze at the other end of the line.
you stayed on the phone quite a long time, before you heard someone call him.
"i need t'go now" he inhaled, "can’t wait to see ya, doll"
The bass line hit. It was a seismic thrum that vibrated through the floorboards, settling deep in your stomach. Dusk filtered through the half-drawn blinds of Simon’s sparse, military-neat quarters, casting long shadows that danced to the frantic guitar riff.
You stood before the full-length mirror, a trio of silhouettes. You wore a black sports bra and matching underwear; Johnny and Simon were in their standard-issue boxers. It was ridiculous. It was perfect.
Johnny moved first. Catching your eye in the glass, his grin flashed white in the dimness. "C'mon, bonnie," he shouted over the wail of the guitar, his accent thick with mischief. "Show us your moves!"
You laughed, a raw, freeing sound. Raising your hands, you swayed your hips to the relentless beat. It was a complete surrender to the music, and to the two men watching you.
Johnny met you in a whirlwind of motion, his body all lean muscle and fluid grace. He mimes playing a guitar, fingers flying over an invisible fretboard, head thrown back in a silent scream along with the music, his fiery hair a halo in the low light.
Beside him, Simon shifted his weight with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, hands clenched into fists at his sides. His dark eyes were intense in the mirror, his gaze hotter than the sticky summer air.
You turned your back to the glass, facing him. Your movements slowed, becoming sensual. You ran your hands down your own stomach and hips, eyes locked onto his.
"Look at our Ghost," Johnny cackled, bumping his hip against Simon’s hard enough to make the bigger man shift. "He's thinkin' pure filth. Aren't ye, LT?"
Simon didn't break eye contact with you. A slow smile curved the edge of his mouth. "Shut it, MacTavish," he rumbled, a low threat devoid of any real heat.
You closed the distance, drawn to him like a moth to a flame, pressing your body against the solid planes of his chest. You reached up, tracing the hard, stubbled line of his jaw.
"Tell me what you're thinking," you murmured against his ear.
He growled, the vibration thrumming directly into your chest. His hands came alive, gripping your hips with bruising force to pull you impossibly close. "I'm thinkin' I love you so damn much it hurts," he breathed against your neck, his voice dropping lower, thick with intent. "And I'm thinkin' I should bend you over right now and fuck you to the sound of this."
A cocky smirk played on your lips. Leaning back just enough to create a sliver of space, you flicked the clasp of your bra. The fabric fell away. You arched your back, presenting your bare breasts to him in the mirror, a blatant display.
Johnny let out a low whistle. "Well, that's one way to shut him up."
Simon’s pupils blew wide, his eyes turning black with lust. "You're playin' a dangerous game, love," he warned, though his voice vibrated with dark approval.
Turning back to the glass, you beckoned Johnny with a crooked finger. He was there in an instant, hands skimming up your sides, his chest flushing against your back. You could feel his hardness pressing against your ass, a perfect match to the one pressing against Simon's boxers.
"Dance with me," you commanded, watching both reflections.
What followed was a slow, sinuous grind, a three-person tangle of desire. You were the center, the axis they both orbit. Your hands tangled in Johnny’s hair as he kissed your neck, while Simon’s large palms roamed your body from behind, his touch possessive and worshipful. The rock anthem gave way to a heavier, slower track, pulsing like a heartbeat in the blue light.
"The things I want to do to you," Simon murmured against your shoulder. "How much I need you."
"Name one," you breathed, your head lolling back against his chest as Johnny’s hands found your breasts.
"I want to watch Johnny fuck you," he said, blunt and crude, the words hitting with the force of a physical blow.
Johnny groaned into your skin, the heavy vibration sending a shiver down your spine. "Fuck, Si. Always so direct. But he's right, hen. I need to be inside you. I'm losing my mind."
You reached back, pulling Simon down for a deep, hungry kiss, teeth and tongues. When you broke away, you looked at both of them, your gaze moving between their dark eyes. You saw the matching silver bands on their hands, the same simple ring that adorned your own finger. This was a bond far beyond the military.
"Then do it, my love" you whispered. "But first... dance with me."
They didn't need to be told twice. Simon’s arms became steel bands, lifting you clean off the floor with an ease that made your head spin. You were cradled against his broad, bare chest, your legs dangling helplessly. In the mirror, your body looked small and exposed against the giant of a man holding you. Johnny stood before you, his own shirt discarded, his blue eyes burning with an intensity that took your breath away.
"Look at her, Johnny," Simon rumbled in your ear, his voice tight with emotion. "Our beautiful girl. All ours."
Johnny groaned, a sound torn from deep in his chest. He stepped forward, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wide and sliding your panties to the side. You were completely open to him, your pussy slick and ready. He ran a slow finger through your folds, gathering your wetness before bringing it to his mouth, sucking his fingertips clean without ever breaking eye contact.
"Tastes like fuckin' heaven, hen," he whispered, his voice thick with his accent and lust. "God, I love you."
Simon shifted his hold, angling your hips perfectly. His mouth found the sensitive juncture of your neck, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. You whimpered.
"Shh, love," Simon soothed. "Just feel. Let us take care of you." He spit into his hand, the wet sound making you clench with anticipation, and then his slick fingers were rubbing your clit in slow, deliberate circles that had you seeing stars.
You cried out, your mouth seeking Simon's. He met you in a filthy, open kiss, his tongue dominating yours, swallowing your moans.
That was when Johnny lined himself up and pushed inside you in one long, powerful stroke.
"Oh, fuckin'... Christ," Johnny swore, his voice strained as he bottomed out, hips flush against your thighs. The feeling of being held by Simon and filled by Johnny was overwhelming.
"Mmph!" you whimpered into Simon’s mouth, your body arching involuntarily.
Simon broke the kiss, his eyes watching Johnny’s face in the mirror over your shoulder. "That's it, Johnny," he encouraged, his voice a low growl. "Fuck her. Give her what she needs." His free hand roughly palmed your breast, pinching your nipple to pull a sharp gasp from your lungs.
Johnny began to move, his pace hard and relentless from the start. Each thrust punched a desperate sound from your lips. "Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Your little cunt is grippin' my cock so fuckin' good."
Simon’s mouth found your ear again. "You hear that, love? Hear how much he loves you? How much we both worship you?" He lowered his head, his lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking hard.
The dual sensations were too much. Johnny’s thick cock pounding into you, Simon devouring your breast, and his fingers working your clit. You looked into the mirror, seeing Johnny’s face contorted with pleasure, his hair damp against his forehead. Over his shoulder, Simon’s eyes were dark and feral.
"Simon... Simon, please," you sobbed.
"I've got you, sweetheart," Simon murmured, his tone suddenly fierce with devotion. "We've got you."
Johnny’s rhythm became erratic, his thrusts losing precision. "Fuck, I'm not gonna last," he panted, his hands gripping you almost desperately. "Swear to God, you're gonna make me come."
Simon pulled away with a wet pop. "Then let's switch. My turn."
He lowered you to the soft rug with surprising gentleness. Johnny stepped back, chest heaving, his cock glistening with your arousal. You took a moment to look at them. Johnny was all lean muscle and fiery passion, his cock a beautiful, angry red with a thick thatch of coppery pubic hair at the base that you ached to feel against your skin.
Beside him stood Simon, a picture of masculine power. His broad shoulders and chest tapered down to a soft, strong stomach, a perfect daddy bod that made your mouth water and made you want to worship him. His cock, even thicker than Johnny's, jutted out from a dense thatch of dark, wiry pubes, a heavy, gorgeous thing that you knew you would never get enough of.
Johnny dropped to his knees beside you, stroking himself as Simon knelt between your spread legs. Simon ran a possessive hand from your collarbone to your knee. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice full of awe. "Absolutely perfect."
He pushed in slowly. The stretch was a deep, burning fullness that had you whimpering his name. He leaned over, caging you in, his hips establishing a slow, grinding rhythm, his hot belly pressing against yours with every deep thrust.
You reached up, lacing your fingers through his. It was an intimate, grounding gesture. Johnny saw it, a soft, incredibly loving smile transforming his face. He leaned down, pressing tender kisses to your forehead, your cheek, and the corner of your mouth.
"Y'look so beautiful moanin' for him, hen," Johnny whispered. Then he turned his head, and Simon met him halfway. The kiss they shared full of unspoken history and devotion.
Feeling Simon’s thick length moving inside you, the soft warmth of his heavy belly pressing against you, broke something open in your chest. This was a desperate, loving worship. You babbled a stream of praise, a messy mix of "yes, please, more, love you," all of it swallowed by their heavy breathing and the wet sounds of Simon's body meeting yours.
"Johnny," Simon’s voice strained, his control finally fraying. "Need your mouth."
Johnny pulled away with a wicked gleam in his eye. Moving behind Simon, he leaned down, his hands spreading Simon's ass. Simon groaned, his rhythm faltering as Johnny’s tongue found him. The sight of Johnny eating Simon out while Simon buried himself inside you was so intensely hot that your orgasm ripped through you unexpectedly, a silent, full-body wave that left you trembling.
Simon pulled out, his cock slick and throbbing. "On your knees, love," he ordered roughly.
You scrambled to obey, desperate for what came next. On your knees in front of them, you grabbed both shafts, marveling at the contrast of Johnny’s smooth heat and Simon’s thick, veined length.
You took Simon into your mouth first, swirling your tongue around the head, moaning at his salty taste. Simon’s hand rested on the top of your head, fingers threading through your hair, gently holding on.
"Fuck, that's it," he hisses. "Take it deep, sweetheart."
You relaxed your throat, taking him as far as you could, before switching to Johnny. You licked a long stripe up his shaft and swallowed him down, greedy for their sounds and the feel of their hands in your hair.
The sight of you eagerly worshipping them pushed them over the edge. Johnny went first with a strangled groan. "Fuck, I'm comin'!" You worked his shaft, feeling the hot, thick ropes splatter across your cheek and into your open mouth.
The sight broke Simon. He fisted his own cock, his strokes short and sharp. "Open up," he snarled softly. You extended your tongue, and he groaned your name as he exploded, painting your lips, your tongue, and your chin with his release.
You sat back on your heels, a mess of their combined cum, yet you had never felt more beautiful or more cherished. They breathed heavily, looking down at you with pure adoration.
Gently, their fingers wiped your face, feeding you their combined warmth before their lips descended on yours. Johnny kissed you first, sweet and dirty, and then Simon, his kiss deep and claiming.
"You're fuckin' perfect," Johnny murmured against your lips.
"Our perfect girl," Simon agreed. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest as Johnny cuddled in from the side.
You were all sticky, sweaty and tangled on the floor, the last notes of the music fading into the quiet room. In the dim blue light, surrounded by their steady heartbeats, you felt a profound contentment. This was your sanctuary. This was your love.
Somewhat of a sequel to this, just blurbs for each member of the task force and how Assistant!Reader takes care of them (and vice versa). They're all nasty in their own ways 💕
this is honestly still more Gaz/Reader than anything bc of his section, it's longer than the other guys whoops
contents: afab reader, free use, piv, riding, oral (fem receiving), fingering, threesome (mentioned), lil bit of yearning at the end
Word Count: 1,553
MDNI! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked!
As it turns out, you and Kyle getting caught by Price was only the beginning.
Your job got a lot more interesting after that day in the captain's office, where it became obvious that you were no longer just Kyle's. Not that you two had a name for what you were, you were never exclusive to begin with. But now you help the rest of the team just a little bit more... Helping them in the same way that you've been helping Kyle, and everyone loves this new development.
Every member is a bit different, but you've gotten used to how they handle you. Understanding the individual needs of the guys is important when it comes to being an assistant, right?
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Thanks to Price, the smell of cigar smoke started to act like an aphrodisiac to you. Whenever you smelled it, you'd suddenly start squirming and pressing your thighs together under your pencil skirt. It was probably because Price always had one between his lips whenever you stayed under his desk to help with his paperwork. Or whenever he had you bouncing on his cock in his lap, smoke curling around you as you tried answering calls and making out emails.
Price purposefully turned off your auto correct, just so he could pound up into you even harder and growl against your ear, "Fix that right now... Can't send it with a fuckin' typo, love."
And if you were able to fix it without whining? Then the captain would coo gentle words of praise and fuck into you at the pace that you loved, making you cum until you were boneless in his arms.
"Good girl," he murmured against your ear while he rubbed your clit, still being buried to the hilt inside of you. He'll keep you stuffed full of his cum for as long as he can. "Take all of it, every drop..."
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
But no matter how hard Price would fuck you, Soap was always rougher. As soon as you gave him the okay to use you the way that Kyle and Price did, he didn't waste any time. It was later that same day that he had you bend over a table, your head being held down against the wood as he pounded into you with brutal thrusts.
Now, no matter what you're doing or where you are, Soap's hands are on you. More often than not, he'll grope your chest and rip your white blouse open until the buttons pop. He pinches and rolls your nipples between his fingers in between massaging your soft breasts. If he's not using his hands to grab your tits, then he'll grab your ass and thighs, kneading the plush flesh there. Just let him manhandle you for a while and he'll be content.
"You should stop wearin' these," the sergeant suggested as he yanked the dark blue skirt you wore that day. "They just get in the way."
"Well then... What do you suggest I wear, then?" You asked, deciding to humor him as you guided his hand to the waistband of the skirt.
"Around the base? Nothing. Nothing at all, it wouldn't faze us." And with that, he yanked your skirt and lace panties off in one swift move.
But besides the sergeant's wandering hands and filthy words, he prefers fucking you on any surface he can get you onto. Tables, benches, counters, couches and beds... The floor. But no matter where he's fucking you, he wants you bent over or on your knees. The sight of your ass jiggling with every thrust and seeing how it reddens whenever he spanks you... It gets him off faster. And if your hair's long enough (and if you're okay with it), he'll pull it as he fucks you. Kisses your head so gently afterwards too.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
And then there's Ghost. Big, bad Lieutenant Riley, who switches between wanting you to call him "sir", "Lieutenant", and "Ghost". He never takes his mask off when he fucks you, dark brown eyes staring at you through the holes of the pale skull. You may not see how his lips part as he climaxes, but you can see how his pale lashes flutter when he goes over the edge.
And to say he doesn't take the mask off at all might be an over exaggeration. You saw his scarred lips for a split second before he dove between your thighs and ate you out until you saw stars.
"I don't wanna overstep," you murmured after a long few hours of riding him, head laid on his chest. "But do you think you'll ever take the mask off when we do this...?"
"Negative," he responded just as the question left your lips. "The mask stays on. Otherwise, you'd drop the others in a heartbeat."
"Such a big ego that's not even compensating for anything..." You teased before he had to rush out for an emergency meeting.
Other than grunting here and there and the brief pillow talk that always came after, Ghost stayed silent for the most part during your encounters. But he loves to hear you. The more vocal you are the better, and he'll speak up if you dare to hold back any moans or gasps.
The only other time he's more vocal is when Soap is involved... Because of course they share you. Of course they do, and the few times they fucked you together you ended up falling asleep crushed between them. You slipped in and out of sleep while they did all the pillow talk. Or mission talk? It blended together after a while.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Last but certainly not least, Gaz... Or Kyle, as he still insists you call him by his real name. He never wants to hear you call him anything else... Not "sir", "sergeant", or "Gaz". Just Kyle.
Out of all of the men, he's the most passionate. He is the only one to kiss you slowly and hold you, he takes his time and makes sure every part of you is loved kissed and praised. Any marks left behind by the others are kissed and fussed over.
"Who the hell bit you here?" He asked one time as he carefully ran his fingers over a sensitive mark on your inner thigh. "Wait... Let me guess. Soap?"
Despite how tender the area was, you still squirmed and giggled softly when he kissed the bruise. "Nope... Ghost left that one."
And he was gentle with you, kissing the mark before trailing kisses over your thighs and stomach.
It's odd... He wasn't so gentle before you two were found out. Perhaps he just wants to give you a break from the rough fucking in between paperwork, trying not to moan while on phone calls, and needing to rewrite emails after getting tempted by one of the others after they finished working out.
Or perhaps it was something more. One night, before you had to go home, Kyle messaged you.
"my quarters, its urgent 😫 im dying"
Obviously, he was fine... But after a heated make out session and making you cum on his fingers twice, he had you in his lap. Neither of you bothered to strip, all he had to do was pull his aching cock from his sweatpants so you could sink down to take him.
It was all normal, the usual praise and moans paired with slick sounds filled the room... And as you rode him, driving both of you closer to the edge, he said it.
"Say you’re mine," Kyle pleaded against your ear, his voice rougher than usual. "Say you’re mine, f-fucking say it… Please…"
"I'm yours, Kyle," you gasped, clenching around him as your third orgasm approached. "I'm yours...!"
Kyle shuddered and thrust up into you, holding you tighter as you came. You were moaning and twitching in his lap, and he let you ride it out.
"Please, fuck, say it again, love… Say it again, that you’re mine." He had to hear it one last time... And when you managed to say it again for him in a hoarse voice, he came hard.
You two stayed like that for a while, he filled you and just let you stay in his lap as he softened. Carefully, he lifted you off of his lap and laid you down, spooning you. Your breathing slowly returned to normal as one of his hands stroked down your stomach and dipped between your legs... Just gentle, slow touches meant to soothe you.
"You were amazing, love..." Kyle murmured against your shoulder, kissing it gently before trailing kisses up to your ear. "I... I want to take you out sometime. Away from the base, just us."
"Mmh, that sounds like a date to me, Ky," you pointed out, a quiet chuckle leaving you. "But dating the assistant? Sounds a bit... Unprofessional, no?"
Kyle couldn't help but laugh, trying to stifle it as he nipped your earlobe.
"Yeah, because we're all paragons of professionalism with our sweet assistant..." He teased as his arms tightened around you. "But I mean it. Give it some thought, yeah? Just want you to myself... For a while, at least."
he'd probably keep you to himself entirely if he could
Thinking about Ghost as a children's swim instructor- Mr Riley, or just Mr Simon to the littles.
Big, scarred hands gently cradling their little fat bellies, lifting the babies up to splash and wriggle, bouncing them as they squeal. The older ones get the same careful handling, showing them how to float, how to grasp the side wall of the pool- "very good," he tells them in the deep, serious voice children love, as firm as if he was speaking to an adult.
The older children are in a separate class, and crowd Simon at every lesson, bursting all over to tell him about something new they learned, as he sections them out and starts moving down the line, prompting backstrokers and doggy paddlers alike.
The first time he yelled- used his dad voice, one boy whispered delightedly- it was not to the kids but a parent, more occupied with fluttering her lashes at him than keeping an eye on her kid, too far into the deep end and spluttering.
It's why you bring your kids to his classes specifically- he doesn't mess around, doesn't play favorites or let the kids break rules, sets them up for success instead of failure, and if the soaked, long-sleeve black shirt and matching swim pants cling deliciously when he finishes and climbs out, well, what's the harm in looking?
(only once the lesson is done and your kids are safely in your arms, of course. You don't want to get yelled at either- even if that dad voice had haunted a few of your dreams)
Thinking about soap with ace!reader who isn't sex repulsed but certainly isn't interested in being touched down there.
You love johnny, your roomate and maybe–boyfriend, and you love watching him enjoy himself. Mostly that means him spending four hours straight soldering...something, or watching a show with him on the couch.
Sometimes it also means this.
"Fuck— fuck, thank you—" soap whines into your neck, desperately grinding against your thigh on the couch. Absently, you play with the remote for the vibe in his ass, splitting your attention with the movie on screen.
"You're cute like this," you tell him, turning the vibe to the highest setting to watch him gasp and jerk. "Yknow, I saw someone strap a wand to a boot online yesterday. Seems like your kind of thing."
"Mmmhhh!! Please, please– I'd make it if you let me—" soap tries to bargain, fucked out and dizzy at the thought of it. Despite what others may assume, soap is embarrassingly easy to please without taking your clothes off.
He never once pressured you to do anything with him, and it took him months to make the connection between you not wanting "proper" sex to you being ace. Maybe that's why you feel so comfortable now, doing these things with him knowing it's never a precursor for more.
"Yes–! Mhhh yes, thank you, love you–!" Ah. He came.
You leave the vibe on until he starts squirming uncomfortably, only turning it off to laugh "were you serious about the boot? I think you'd look nice on your knees for me."
You laugh again, louder, when soaps hips give an involuntary grind into your thigh.
the worst writing crime you can ever commit in my opinion is watering down the dirty talk because you’re self-conscious that it sounds like it’s from a bad porno…..i cannot stress this enough……leave it alone. the moment you tell yourself he would not fucking say that you’re doomed. people will say almost anything if their dick is hard enough
You can say with certainty that you've never seen Simon this drunk before.
The drunk text you got from Soap was a step away from being complete gibberish, but you were able to understand that he was telling you it was probably a good idea to come pick up your boyfriend.
You had no idea what to expect, but when you show up at the pub, Simon is slumped in the booth and the smell of booze is so strong you worry about any open flame sparking up around him. The moment he sees you he nearly tumbles out of his seat altogether from how violently he reaches out to you.
"Oi, lovie," he says, his accent thick with the alcohol. His big, clumsy hands land on you far heavier than they ever would sober. "There's my bird, my fu-" his voice catches in his throat for a moment from either a hiccup, burp, or nausea, "fuckin' baby."
"Yes, Simon, hello. I think it's time to go home." You glance over at Soap who's barely any better off than the giant man actively trying to crawl into your lap while you still stand. The sergeant just smothers a poorly hidden laugh behind his hands.
"'m drunk," Simon says like he's telling you a secret.
"I can tell."
"Don't divorce me, luv," he mumbles with such a hangdog look on his face it takes you a moment to realize what he said.
"Well, we'd first have to be married to do that."
"Wo'?"
"What do you mean 'what?'"
"We're no' married?" he says, looking genuinely distraught.
"No, baby." The dawning look of horror has you biting back a smile, not wanting to laugh directly in his face.
"But you're my wife."
You splutter. "Since when?"
"Fuckin' always."
"That's news to me. You want me to be your wife?"
"Yeah!" he hollers before immediately catching himself and looking up at you with those big, watery, brown eyes of his. "Sorry fer yellin'. I love you."
You lose the battle and can't help the laugh that punches out of your chest. Your hands cup his scarred, flushed face.
"I love you too, you silly, silly man. Come on, time to go home. You're not going to feel very good tomorrow."
Through a precarious balancing act you manage to get him more or less upright and on his feet all while your sweet boy mumbles to himself, "Wha', i's just yer my bloody wife, yeah? 'S my girl."
its smut, just smut of Ghost making the reader cum, that's it
and for once, the mask stays on
contents: afab reader, PWP, fingering
word count: 967
MDNI! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked!
Another high stakes mission for 141, nothing new... Except for Ghost being more keyed up than usual. His adrenaline was high, still mentally recovering from too many near misses for his liking.
After an agonizingly long drive home, Ghost burst into the house like he was still on a mission.
Ghost, who had only ever been Simon to you, couldn't even be bothered to take the mask when he got home. Not this time, the black balaclava was still in place (the skull part was hastily shoved into his duffel as soon as he boarded the plane home). It was uncharacteristic, he always took the mask off before stepping foot into your house.
But this time, he found you in the kitchen, idly scrolling on your phone. Simon shoved the lower half of his balaclava up hastily and dragged you into the sloppiest, most aggressive kiss.
"Si, what--" Your question was cut short by a nip to your bottom lip. You were backed up against the kitchen counter.
"Fuckin' missed ya," he panted between messy kisses. "Missed you s'much, you've no idea..."
The hard skull part of his mask bumped against your forehead and nose a few times before his head lowered to your jawline. There, he trailed kisses up to your ear. You were getting into it, just from how fucking ravenous he was for you... Until one of his gloved hands started pushing past the waistband of your shorts.
"Ah- Ah, no, Simon." You found your voice and gripped his wrist. "I love you, but that glove is... I don't know where it's been, you're not touching me with it." As you spoke, you pulled the hand away completely, seeing it was still covered by a black glove with a skeleton hand design. This man and his skeleton aesthetic...
Simon responded with a frustrated grunt against your neck before pulling back just a bit. He kept one hand planted on the counter behind you, and the hand that tried to slip past your waistband was now at his mouth. As he held your gaze, Simon fastened his teeth into the cuff of the glove. In one swift motion, he pulled the glove off and whipped his head to the side to toss it to the floor.
"Fuckin' thing would've gotten in th' way anyway," he grumbled before he unceremoniously shoved his hand past your waistband again. "Need t'feel this greedy cunt drenching my hand."
Simon wasted no time as he plunged one thick digit into you. A surprised yelp left you as your back arched slightly, jumping as he let your arousal coat his finger. Your walls clenched and relaxed as he worked you open, a second finger joining the first as he got into a steady rhythm. You had to lean against the counter and grip his shoulders to anchor yourself as your legs were no longer reliable. No, your legs were jelly and he wasn't stopping.
"One more," he rasped against your ear, his voice sounding almost as wrecked as you felt. "One more finger, can you handle that?"
After a breathless "yes", Simon added a third finger while the heel of his hand rubbed against your clit just right. You could see stars behind your eyes when you closed them, a familiar tension building in your lower half, but he commanded (begged) you to keep them open.
Upon opening your eyes again, you're reminded that he's still in the damn balaclava. Deep brown, nearly swallowed up by the pupil as he gazed into your eyes. The dark fabric of his balaclava felt hot, as if the skin underneath was feverish and flushed. From his scarred lips came heavy breaths that ghosted over your own mouth.
No words were needed, not that you'd be able to form any through the gasps and moans. Simon just knew, he could feel the way your walls fluttered and clenched as you got closer. He didn't change the pace, just hooked his fingers just right against that gummy spot inside of you.
As he stimulated it, your toes curled and a cry left your lips "S-Si-- Simon, fuck, oh my god!" Your vision blurred as you came, and you came hard. His fingers didn't slow down, just worked you through the orgasm while he swallowed your moans with another messy kiss.
"That's it... Fuck, you're so perfect," he murmured against your lips between kisses. "Missed you, love... Just had to... Feel you."
As your vision cleared up, minus the blur from some tears, you looked back into his eyes through the eye hole in his mask. There in his eyes you could see pure adoration, it might as well be a reflection of your feelings, the sheer relief of seeing Simon in the flesh again.
You almost protested as he removed his fingers, taking his hand out of your shorts. Your release glistened on his fingers... You soaked his hand just like he wanted you to.
"That... Th-that's one hell of a way to tell me you're home..." You said as he cleaned his fingers with his mouth.
"Couldn't ask for a better 'welcome home'..." He paused before a smirk came to his lips, the scars on his lips and cheeks became more pronounced. "Well, I could think of a few things, but we'd need a change in scenery. Let's go."
A surprised laugh left you as Simon hefted you up into his arms and carried you out of the kitchen and straight to the bedroom.
"Simon...! Are you at least going to take the mask off!?"
"Absolutely not."
"You could suffocate, couldn't you?" You asked before he dropped you onto the bed.
Simon looked you in the eyes before he dragged his gaze down to your thighs.
"...Could think of a better way to suffocate, love."
