#vrb writes

[vrb8im]

cw: dubcon

you’ve been asking john about getting a pet quite a lot lately.

he’s hesitant. selfish as he is, the idea of not being the one to receive the entirety of your attention every second he’s home on leave is borderline nauseating. now that you’ve got a part time, remote job though, he can’t think up any more excuses, and he also knows how lonely it can be without him.

john cracks a joke, asks if kyle isn’t enough for you (gaz often spends his leave with you and john when he’s between situationships, and has affectionately been dubbed the cat of the house, what with the way he lazes about in your bed, kneading at your tits and honest to god purring when you open your legs for him).

when you tell him you’re serious, he first suggests a fish, something that can’t paw at the bedroom door when he’s neck deep in the space between your thighs, can’t demand your attention before he gets a chance at relieving the aching hardness in his trousers. that suggestion is promptly met with a pouty glare, and suddenly his phone screen is lit up with photos of cute, fluffy animals on local adoption sites.

he browses, and after what must be hours of scrolling, none of the mischievous looking kittens or clueless seeming puppies feel good enough. john price can’t bear the thought of leaving his missus with a yappy little thing that can’t protect her.

he inquires about some of the military trained shepherds when he’s back on base, and when he returns home, he’s got a new twinkle in his eye.

“found out some of the service dogs need somewhere to stay while off duty,” he tells you, “can bring one of ‘em home for you to meet tomorrow.”

the grin you give him has him practically vibrating with his own anticipation, and the very next day, he loads everything up in the car and finds himself talking to the large dogs in the backseat on the way home, one nearly wagging himself right out of his seat, the other silent, but evidently curious.

“you’ll like ‘er. ‘m sure she’ll fall right in love with you too,” he says, meeting eyes with the quiet pup in the rearview.

you’re outside waiting when he pulls into the driveway, clearly excited and running up to the car as soon as he’s parked. your face is all lit up and you give him the biggest kiss before he pulls open the door to the back seat, and your brows furrow, head tilting in confusion.

and then you’re suddenly on the ground, wet tongue slobbering on your face, paws pressing at your chest.

“john, what is—“

“brought you your dogs, love. was jus’ gonna bring soap ‘round but he ‘nd ghost are a bonded pair, you see,” john cuts you off, though you weren’t in much position to continue speaking when johnny’s tongue is already halfway down your throat.

“can smell ‘er, captain,” simon chimes in, eyes pointedly locked onto where soap’s knee is nestled against your cunt, and the filthy mutt takes that as his cue to sniff his way down until his nose is nestled against the crotch of the tiny shorts you put on, clearly not expecting human company.

“what was that, simon?” john raises a brow at his lieutenant.

“sorry sir, meant to say woof.”

maybe they aren’t what you were expecting, but who would you be to turn away a couple of starving hounds?

[vrb8im]

first | previous

by october, it’s routine.

tea becomes a ritual of sorts. every tuesday, simon calls her to ask if she’s free, and every tuesday, she answers and tells him that she is. every wednesday, they see each other in the same place they did the first time, and they would regardless of his asking her there. they both know this. he calls her anyway.

they sit at the same booth in the corner of the tea shop. he chose the spot himself, lets him keep his back to the wall and offers a perfect view of the other tables and the entrance. close enough to the back door, too, should they need to use it. he hopes for her sake that they never will.

they don’t discuss their jobs, not past mentioning something a coworker said one time. sometimes they sit in silence, and it’s never uncomfortable. he’ll people-watch, she’ll sit on her phone, maybe read a book if she remembers to shove one into the bag she carries. simon finds an odd sense of satisfaction upon noticing that the canvas tote is printed with an illustration of a death’s-head hawkmoth. skull motifs are in no short supply between the two of them.

this week she tells him about the cat she rescued the day after they last met.

she shows him a picture, a chocolate point siamese kitten who looks like a wet rat. she tells him her name is coco.

“‘cause she’s a chocolate point?” he asks.

“nope.” she gives him a shake of her head and a proud smile. “short for ‘convicted felon.’”

he nearly chokes on his tea when he snorts.

“yeah? what’s ‘er crime?”

“extortion. found her in an alley on the way back from pickin’ up takeout, fed her a bit of my food, and she started following me home. one meow and a look at that little face is all it took for her to sucker me into lettin’ her live with me rent-free.” she pouts and sighs dramatically. “also i think probably tax evasion, but the jury’s still out.”

he’s never considered himself much of a cat person, nor does he generally associate with criminals unless the job demands, but he thinks he might be willing to make an exception, especially seeing the way his best girl lights up when talking about the little creature.

she texts him the next evening with a photo.

it’s of her. she’s not looking at the camera, or, rather, she can’t look at the camera. her face is obscured by what, upon first glance, he thinks is a fluffy sleeping mask. he quickly realizes that it isn’t when he notices the ears and tail.

little lawbreaker has made herself comfy right on top of a priceless work of art, though he can’t help but understand. if his mattress were as soft as those cheeks look to be, he’d probably never leave his bed.

he texts her back not even two minutes later, despite johnny’s voice creeping out from the seedy underbelly of his mind (where the things johnny says often like to frequent), telling him that he’ll make a lass think he’s desperate if he’s too quick to reply. simon thinks that johnny would be desperate, too, had he met a sweet thing with an ample body who smells like lemongrass and peppermint and sunlight.

he tells her that he hopes the convict is staying out of trouble. she says he can keep on hoping, but attaches another photo to contradict her words, this one showing coco curled up on her lap.

christ.

simon feels ridiculous for the jealousy that settles over him. maybe he sets his phone face down and bangs a fist against the surface of his desk, and maybe he makes a promise to a deity he doesn’t believe in that he’ll change his ways if only he gets to lay his head on the wide thighs where the wicked little ball of fur now sleeps.

when he manages to compose himself, he responds. says he’ll be happy to give her a stern talking to, should the need arise.

she tells him that he’s welcome to set her straight if he wants to drop by for dinner next week.

next

[vrb8im]

john doesn’t know that he’s ever felt eyes on him for so long before.

she’s been there since he walked in, sat in a corner booth with her friends, the most unique looking of them all, but also the easiest to disappear, what with the way her dark clothing blends into the deep tones of the decor in the dim lighting.

she reminds him of simon to a rather eerie degree. an observer, happy to sit amongst her chatty friends while hyperaware of each person who passes by their booth. her eyes have been stuck on him since he arrived, though.

she glares like she recognizes him, like he’s wronged her in the past and she’s trying to remember exactly how. despite his line of work, he’s nearly scared to make eye contact.

when he does finally glance back at her though, noting thick eyeliner and shiny piercings, he’s pleasantly surprised with her reaction.

intense eyes keep locked with his for about two seconds before they cast down toward the table, and her lips do their very best not to curve into a smile.

ah, that makes a lot more sense than her formulating some kind of revenge plan in her pretty head.

guess he’s gotta get her number, and not just to ask her for song recommendations.