The side blog for reading cod shit

The front door opened and immediately the house collided with him, children shouting, a dog barking, Kyle’s sister hugging him before Kyle got a word out. The kids swarmed their uncle, tugging at his hands, shouting about games and toys and school. Kyle laughed through it, calling each by name, and Simon stood back, mask secure, gloves on, trying not to feel like a shadow in the bright room.

Then Kyle’s arm swooped down and picked up a little girl. “And this troublemaker,” he said with a grin, tickling her until she squealed, “this is my niece.”

She was five, maybe six, smile big and bright. Her white cane leaning by the door, her eyes not quite fixed on anything. She giggled and squirmed, clinging to Kyle’s neck, and when Kyle turned her towards Simon for an introduction, her little hands reached instinctively out.

Kyle’s grip on her wrists was gentle. “No, love,” he murmured, “Simon doesn’t like that.”

And Simon, God, Simon could’ve sunk to his knee then and there. That Kyle knew, that he held that for him without hesitation. He gave Kyle the smallest nod, and Kyle gave him one back, just as quiet.

The afternoon blurred with noise and laughter. Simon stayed on the edges, watching Kyle wrestle on the carpet with the boys, helping in the kitchen, chatting politely with Kyle's sister about her, her husband, and the kids. He didn’t notice the little gremlin barreling until she collided with his shin.

“Easy there,” he murmured.

He thought about untangled her, about calling for Kyle. But she made a gentle tug, bashfully asking if she could sit... So he shifted, easing her up into his lap with a surprising gentleness. She settled easily, as though she’d done it a hundred times.

Her fingers traced down his arm until they found his glove. Simon hesitated, then peeled it off for her, placing his bare hand into her little palms. She gasped softly, running her fingers across his calluses, nails, knuckles.

“Your hands are rough,” she said with a frown of curiosity.

“A bit.” He huffed.

“Like Uncle Kyle’s,” she declared proudly.

Simon’s gaze flicked up and caught Kyle watching in the doorway, already misty-eyed. Then the girl’s fingers crept higher, brushing the edge of his mask. She paused there, waiting.

Simon’s throat tightened. Slowly, he pulled the medical mask down and tucked it under his chin. He let her find his face.

Tiny fingers explored the lines of his jaw, the uneven ridges of scar tissue, the softened edges of burns long healed. He sat still, breath shallow, letting her map every part of him. When her hand brushed a sensitive line near his cheekbone, he flinched back before he could stop himself.

"Oh" she whispered, tilting her head, "does it hurt?"

Simon swallowed. "No, just..." His voice faltered, then shifted clumsily. "Your hands are small, you know that?"

She giggled, the kind of sound that rang clear and bright. "'Course they are. I'm little." He huffed out a laugh, and she beamed, continuing her quiet exploration, perfectly content.

Simon smiled for her, just a bit at the edge of his lips. Her fingers caught it, and she giggled.

"You're not scary" she decided at last, resting her head on his chest.

Chores are split even and so sometimes you’re stuck with tasks you’d rather not do. Even though your lovers refuse to let you take the trash out, they do let you clean the garbage disposal and bathrooms. Simon detests dusting and Johnny? Johnny fucking hates laundry.

He absolutely despises it and will do anything to get out of the chore. Washing, drying, even ironing and folding. Each and every step just drives the Scot insane. The monotony of the activity, or so he says when he tries to get free of it. “Repetition is bad for me growing brain, bon,” He always claims whenever you inform him it’s his turn.

The only way to get him to do the laundry without an abundance of bitching and moaning is to do it with him. If you sit with Johnny and help sort colors from blacks and whites or help fold and iron and hang, he’ll do it with (slightly) less whining. Simon has told you a million times to not indulge Johnny or he’ll only keep on being a brat, but you’re too soft.

If one of your boys throws a tantrum, you can’t help but soothe the tension. Even if said ‘tension’ is a soldier in his 30s acting as though matching socks is the worst thing he’s ever done.

“How does this nae itch?” Johnny asks, peering curiously at one of the lacy lingerie tops Simon bought you. The red see-through fabric looks so small in his hand and the accompanying thong even smaller, mere scraps of clothing. “Lace does nae seem comfortable, bonnie.”

“It’s not that bad,” You roll your eyes and swat at him when he tosses the bralette in your face with a grin. “The two of you hardly let me keep it on in the first place.”

That’s true. Simon’s the one with a true appreciation for the art of lingerie. Every deployment he brings you a new set, letting you dress up all pretty for him and Johnny and flounce around. Something about dainty lace and soft silk wrapping around your curves gets Simon off like no other.

Johnny, of course, isn’t allowed to touch until the lingerie’s been stripped from your body. The horn dog Johnny is would rip and shred at the gauzy materials until your tits spill free. “Unappreciative slag,” Simon would always mutter whenever Johnny whined to let you get naked already.

The bralette’s tossed back at Soap and he pretends to put the lingerie on, holding the cups to his large chest with a crooked grin. “What do ye think, love? Is red my color?”

Simon finds you and Johnny an hour later, emerging from the basement he’s in the process of renovating to an unprecedented but truly beautiful sight.

You’re dressed in a black babydoll set- one of Simon’s favourites and the first he ever gifted you- with your hair down, soft and supple. You’ve got your collar clasped around your throat and overall, just look like a vision sent from heaven. Instead of being barefoot, you’re wearing your work boots which becomes immediately apparent to him when his eyes pan down and widen.

Good God.

Johnny’s seated on his knees in front of you, collared and gagged while he ruts against your boot. Drool’s already escaping from around the ballgag and trailing down his throat, only aiding in the debauchery you’ve cultivated. And in place of his typical shorts and raggedy shirt for laundry day sits a skin-tight black teddy.

His muscle is nearly bursting from the lingerie, the material clinging for dear life to his sweat-slicked skin. There’s a small stain where his cock is straining to get free as you guide Johnny to ride your boot. “Good boy. Don’t you feel so pretty, all dressed up for me?”

Simon watches in stunned silence for several delightful seconds before you sense the shirt in the air and look up. Your eyes lock onto him and you give a grin that’s all too innocent and proud for the sinful scene you’ve painted in the middle of the living room. “Hi, Si. Johnny wanted to try something new today. Doesn’t he look so handsome?”

His brain feels short-circuited, overheated with the sight of both his lovers all dolled up so beautifully and collared for him. He’s so hard in his jeans that it aches, the denim constraining painfully on his dick.

Simon swallows before speaking up under the air of nonchalance, but you can hear and see just how affected he really is. “This isn’t laundry, love.”

You giggle and Johnny only moans, increasingly intent on chasing his high on his boot when you tug the O-ring of his collar. “Sure it is. We’re making dirty laundry, hm?”

Johnny seems incapable of speech or thought, even without the ballgag. His eyes are hazy and submissive in a way that although you sometimes try, only Simon’s ever managed to pull from the Sergeant.

It’s an anomaly, it’s intriguing and it’s hot enough to make Simon very nearly cum in his pants. Seeing his lover who normally takes a bottom role between the two hulking men driving Johnny to his knees- literally and turning him mindless is downright erotic. If he didn’t already love you the way you’re presenting Johnny for him would drive the emotions out.

Maybe it’s past time he takes those rings out of their safekeeping and gives them to their rightful owners.

Simon manages to patch his temporary insanity in less than 10 seconds, stepping to settle against your back. His large hands wander across your tits, giving gentle squeezes as he explores the familiar babydoll dress. “Aren’t you such a good girl, getting Johnny ready for me. How long’ve you had that tucked away in your filthy mind, pet?”

You’re so preoccupied by his touch and keeping your foot in place for Johnny, you don’t notice Simon’s hand finding your collar until he tugs the O-ring to make the slip chain taut against your skin.

A moan slips free unbidden as your core clenches. It’s the hardest thing in the world to not immediately cave and give the scene over to Simon. But you want to play dom for just a few more seconds. “Been saving it until we could surprise you,” You whisper to Simon. “Thought you’d like it.”

Simon hums in consideration, watching Johnny ride your boot and ruin the lace of his teddy while you watch Simon’s face. “It’s a damn good surprise, love. You did well.”

Your reward comes in the form of fingers bypassing the thong and a clink of a belt buckle behind you. A moan slips free while Simon gathers enough slick to start paying attention to your clit, drawing slow and practiced circles. “Y… yeah? Reward?”

Simon grins to himself as he looks down at his prizes, matching in black lace. Gotcha. “Yes, pet, a reward.”

That catches Johnny’s attention, hips slowing and wide thoughtless eyes catching Simon’s. It’s not hard to read what his partner wants, and Simon doesn’t hesitate to deny. “You’re going to keep riding her boot like a good mutt. Cum in that lace and I’ll make you suck it clean, do you understand?”

Johnny nods quickly, visibly rallying to try and fight a war he knows damn well he’ll lose.

It’s not like it was the first time he’d ever gotten worked up. Hell he was anything but a virgin, but with you he’d taken his time, with you he’d been… nervous.

You weren’t like his previous partners, weren’t military, weren’t some equally hardened street rat, no. He hesitated because you were like a lamb, soft, gentle, fragile. A part of him felt guilty over the comparison, you’d had your hardships, strong in your own ways, but he was still right. You were no soldier. He was the stronger of the two of you.

He had to be.

So yes, while he’s made out with you, letting you feel the ever desperate need pressing against your cunt through your sleep shorts as you grind against him on the couch, he’s never gone further. You respected it though, knowing he was… well why wasn’t quite the right word, but insecure didn’t feel right either. Either way you weren’t surprised he hasn’t taken things further, it took him three years to show you his face in full after all. A part of you likes to think it wouldn’t have been nearly so long if not for his lengthy deployments but… you know better than to assume anything of Simon by now.

Here he was though, mask on, hiding that vulnerability, as he stared at your exposed chest like you’d just shown him the pearly gates.

“Fuck lovie… y’like a paintin’…” His touch is reverent, fingertips gliding so lightly against your side, his broad frame trapping you beneath him with great care not to crush your body. He’s always so surprisingly gentle, something you’d never guess at a glance, or at his reputation according to what he’s told you about his work as Ghost.

This isn’t Ghost though, this is just your Simon.

It takes far longer than your impatient pussy would like for him to finally grab at your chest, thumbing over your nipple as his breathing shakes for just a moment. With a little noise and a wiggle of your hips beneath him you urge him to explore. He’s more than happy to comply.

In an instant his hand is gone, pushing the mask up over his nose and revealing the heavy scarring he’d once hidden from you for so long. It makes you reflect on just how much work it took to get here. With a soft smile you thread your arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss before he slips further down with a hum. Pressing kisses, licks, and nips all down your throat he finally reaches his goal and sucks your chest hard. The sound you make has him grinding against the mattress between your thighs, just shy of where you need it.

You’d always been a little insecure of your chest, it had outgrown your peers quickly once puberty hit and you continued to be the largest in the room most of the time. He never made you insecure about it though, he loved it. You could tell now especially he loved it. His hands were large, not enough to make your chest seem small, but enough to get a damn good grip as he nurses for milk that isn’t there. A keening little whine slips out as he suddenly stops, sitting up and pressing his bulge to your panties.

“Tell me you trust me.” It sounds more uncertain than you’d expect, but you slide a hand down his arm to grab his anyway.

“I trust you.” There’s not an ounce of doubt, it’s the plain simple truth. You love him, you trust him.

He lets out a breath, you’d miss it if you didn’t know him well enough to listen for it. Then his lips trail down your body, down to your core, breathing in your scent through soaked fabric and groaning in response. He sits back up, much to your disappointment, but slips your underwear down your legs with one hand, pushing your knees back with the other. Soon enough you’re bare before him.

You let your hands fall to his waist, tugging softly at the last bit of cloth keeping you separated, other than the mask of course, but you’d never force that off of him. He feels you linger, hesitate, and simply nods to give his consent. With quick motions he’s bared in turn to you, and you blush deeply at the reasons for his clear reasons to take this slow.

“Fuck Si…”

“I know love.” His grip is steady, lining his unfairly large cock up to just slide between your folds, tip nudging your clit just right. There’s a tremble to your body as you moan in response.

“Breathe for me. Just breathe.”

When he slips in there’s an arch to your back and a sob. It takes you longer than it should have for you to realize that it didn’t come from you.

“Si-?” Your breath shakes as you look to him. Tears roll down his cheeks with hesitance and he can’t help another sob as he grinds into you a little deeper.

“I’m- fuck- I’m sorry love-“ you try to sit up, to pull away, to stop and care for him. He digs his hands into your hips and holds you against his own.

“No! No… don’t stop… please…” he tries to pull himself together as he starts to move, you can’t deny how good he feels, especially not when he kisses you hard enough to make you forget the wetness from his cheeks to yours. One, two, then he stuttered and stops and sobs again as he floods your body with his desire. Quickshot. You didn’t anticipate that in the slightest. You didn’t anticipate any of this.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry- please- don’t stop…” he kept crying, burying his face against your throat as he starts to move again. You reach a hand up and cup his face, pulling it up to look at your own.

“Simon… what’s going on..?”

There’s a pause, he just stares, trying to find the words.

“I… I want it… and that’s new…” you’d forgotten about Roba. His words have you joining him in tears.

—

@total-killer-brainrot okay I will post it because you said I should… I hope it is not as bad as I fear it is