:)

Chapter one. The first round.

Simon “Ghost” Riley X Reader X Johnny “Soap” McTavish.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: none.

Summary: Just an ordinary Wednesday, that is until you catch the attention of two ex-military men.

Chapter one. The first round.

The thin metal is cold between your fingers as you narrow your eyes on the dartboard across the bar.

You steady your aim, wrist angling carefully before the dart leaves your hand.

Bullseye.

A grin pulls at your lips as you lift your drink for another sip.

“Think ye’ might be cheatin’ there.”

A deep Scottish accent pulls your attention from the board.

A tall man stands behind you, mohawk messy and streaked with gold under the warm bar light. Bright blue eyes flick to the watered down drink in your hand.

“Let me buy you another, seems it a wee bit weak.”

You shift back on your feet, a matching smile pulling on your lips.

This man smells good, smiles bright. You feel your heart do a little kick in your chest.

It comes out as a chuckle.

“Guess another won’t hurt.”

The Scottish man beams.

His smile toothy and cheeks lined with dimples.

“Good. I’m Johnny by the wei.”

“Y/N.”

You introduce, holding out your free hand.

His takes yours in a warm, firm but not painful shake.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful lass.”

Your smile tugs a little harder.

“Where you sittin’?”

You ask as your hand falls back to your side. Colder now.

“Ov’a here, got a friend yu’ should meet.”

With a thumb pointed back over his shoulder, your gaze follows and it lands on a booth near the back of the bar.

The only person sitting there is a massive man with his arms crossed over his chest.

A black surgical mask covering half of his face, broad shoulders stretching the black fabric of his shirt. Even sitting down, he looks intimidating.

…

Johnny notices your gaze and chuckles.

“Don’t be intimidated, or well maybe do.”

Before you’re able to reply you’re sliding into the booth across from this stranger.

He’s big like you’ve never seen. His shirt thinning over his sculpted form like it might rip if he moves too quickly.

“Be right back with that drink. Simon play nice.”

He shoots the blonde brute across from you a playful glare. He gets no response.

Huh, Simon.

Dark eyes slowly move from the place they were stuck, onto to you.

His arms crossed tight over his chest.

He doesn’t speak.

His mask is strange, part of you wonders if he is sick. Though you don’t ask. The only part of his face you can see are his eyes. The dark dots that peer at you over the thin fabric.

You smile under his gaze.

Your head tilting to the side like a curious feline.

“Why hello there, handsome.”

You smoothly chime, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

Thinking you’ll be brushed off.

Simon makes a low noise in his throat.

Not exactly a grunt.

Definitely not a response.

His shoulders tense as he shifts, looking at anything but you.

Suddenly Johnny returns, your drink being placed down with enough excitement that a bit spills from the side.

“There we go, one drink for the pretty lass.”

Simon looks to Johnny, then his attention focuses somewhere on a spot across the bar.

You smile taking your drink, batting your lashes as you hum.

“Thank you, Johnny.”

He slides in beside you, trapping you to the inside of the booth while Simon sits alone.

“Seems you two are having great time.”

Johnny sarcastically jokes at the silence between you two.

You smile nodding to Simon as you take a slow sip of your drink.

“Seems he likes me enough.”

You tease.

Johnny looks up at Simon.

He shrugs.

The movement almost reflex.

“Eh.”

You laugh, the sound light and airy.

Your shoulders shake as you tip your head back.

It wasn’t that funny.

Yet both men stop talking.

Johnnys attention splits as he glances at Simon, watching the way his arms drop away from his chest, his eyes glued to you.

Johnny smiles softly to himself, nudging you in the arm.

“Careful you might break the poor man.”

Confused but delighted your attention turns to Simon, who again looks away to his untouched glass of beer, his grip tightening around the bottle.

“Maybe I want to.”

You reply, never missing a beat as you wink at the Scott.

Your eyes flick down to the untouched beer collecting condensation near Simon.

“You gonna drink that?”

Johnny answers from the side with something like a laugh, a huff of sorts. Shaking his head side to side.

“Barely touches tha’ stuff.”

“You’re a shy one.”

You comment.

Johnny chuckles beside you.

“Only when he’s nervous.”

He teases with a grin, Simon shoots him a look from across the table, his heavy boot starting an anxious pace under the table.

“M’ not.”

Simon barks but the sound comes out wobbly.

You smile, slowly.

“Sure, I wouldn’t see why you would be. Bet you deal with prettier people all the time.”

You challenge with a raised brow.

Johnny smiles wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“I like yer spirit lass.”

Simon doesn’t respond but you swear his pale cheeks have grown a hint pinker as you chuckle.

The night continues and you stay in the booth talking about small things. Where you’re from, what they do for work.

You find out both Simon and Johnny are ex-military.

“What do you do now?”

You ask, genuinely curious. The two aren’t exactly open books but you’ve learned enough to understand they don’t talk about what they did for a reason.

As Johnny is right about to answer Simon speaks up from the side.

Quiet, but firm.

“Rescue strays.”

Your eyes light up, the idea of these two scary, ex-military men taking care of animals just turns your heart into goo.

“Dogs?”

You quiz, a growing smile on your lips.

“Mostly.”

Simon answers.

They learn you frequent this bar every Wednesday.

Whether it be a game of pool, darts or just for a drink, you always manage to make one stop at your favorite bar.

You end up laughing at your own joke, later on in the night at something stupid you said.

Johnny laughs with you, leaning into your shoulder absentmindedly.

The tapping from under the table stops, just for a moment.

You look up at Simon, a warm smile on your lips when you hear it.

A single huff of a chuckle.

You see his eyes crinkle above his mask, only for a moment before they return to stoic expression and his restless foot begins tapping once again.

A small score in your book.

Your attention slowly returns to Simon who’s looking at two of you. Fingers tapping on the table like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You lean in.

“Simon?”

You offer again hoping to hear that rumble of a voice that he teased you with.

His eyes slowly travel to yours.

Masked face tilting to the side, waiting for you to continue.

“Why hangout at bars if you don’t drink?”

Johnny watches Simon’s expression shift, his body turning towards you as he responds.

“Johnny likes tha’ place.”

You smile at that finding it endearing. Simon looks away again.

“So?”

You chime as the bar begins to empty and the bartender shines glasses by his lonesome.

The floors sticky with spilled drinks and streets illuminated with night lights.

“I’ll see you two next Wednesday?”

Johnny smiles big, his cheeks warm and pink with his buzz.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world lass.”

You wait for Simon’s response, unsure if you’ll get one.

“Aye.”

One word, quiet, deep— but deliberate.

And that’s enough for you.

In case there’s any confusion.

Stalker neighbor simon in order!!

Part 1.

Breaker box.

Part 2.

Chicken and dumplings.

Part 3

Late night calls.

Part 4

Simon stealing your keys.

Part 5

Simon watching you <3

Tw: (slight stalking.)

It’s a rough morning for you.

Cat vomit on your rug, coffee grounds in your early morning cup of Joe, your clothes not sitting right on your skin. Everything seems to be going wrong for you today.

Slamming you cup into the sink you rush out the door, late. Because, of course you’re late.

And of all days, the day you needed to be early to work to set up a meeting.

The day seemed against you.

The morning air wraps around you but does little to soothe the simmering anger under your skin as you march to work.

So lost in your thoughts you don’t see the man slowly walking in front of you.

Only to stop dead in your tracks, running into what you can only assume is a human wall.

A masked man with dark eyes chuckles at you.

You snap your head up to meet his eyes, when recognition slaps you out of your bad mood.

“Simon?”

He nods, taking a step to the side to keep you away from the street as cars pass.

“Seems you’re in a hurry.”

You drag your hands over your face.

“I’m so late, you don’t even understand the day I’m having.”

His eyes crinkle above his mask.

“I’ll walk with you.”

—

Simon knew something was wrong the minute you didn’t rush out of the door at 9.

He left long before you could realize Simon wasn’t there for you to say good morning to.

The lucky charm that set heavy in his pocket reminded him just how important it was to look after you.

Stupid bird you are.

Someone had to.

—

Your eyes tiredly move to your clock sitting on your nightstand. 12:00 AM shines brightly back in your face making you squint.

Something like a groan leaves your lips as you toss once again in your bed, sheets ruffled with exhaustion.

You’ve been laying here for way too long, sleep avoiding you like a cat in a bath. Sitting up, your body aches with the tension you hold.

Your stomach twists and churns into knots with hunger, your mouth filling with saliva as an intense wave of nausea hits you.

Not enough to make you gag, just enough for you to hold your stomach cursing.

“Damn it, wish I ate.”

Huffing, you throw off your warm covers and move to your front door, giving into your relentless growing stomach.

You move down the eerily hallways of your apartment building, the wallpaper cracking and peeling from the walls.

The walk to the convenient store near by goes by quickly.

You’re still dressed in your pajamas, bunny slippers warming your toes as you enter the small, suspicious gas station.

You walk to the aisle your feet take you to, standing in front of a colorful array of chips and sweets.

Nothing and everything looks good.

Footsteps approach you from your side, out of instinct you look over to see a familiar hulking sized man.

A smile pulls at your lips, almost embarrassed to be so casually dressed.

He’s not even looking at you, his attention dead set on the snacks sitting in front of you.

“Simon?”

You chuckle, his name sounding repetitive after the other morning of literally running into him.

Like he just noticed your presence, Simon looks over at you only to look back at the food with a stillness in his features.

“You been walkin’ a lot.”

He says without any hint to what he’s thinking.

You sigh, reaching for your go to snack.

“Can’t find my car-keys anywhere.”

You look at him with an exhausted expression, more tired than any sleep could fix.

“And trust me, I’ve looked everywhere.”

He clicks his tongue.

“Not safe at night.”

Too tired to argue you nod, honestly you do agree. It’s not safe, especially around this area. You open your mouth to reply when his rough voice cuts you off.

“Let me drive you home.”

He adds as he turns to face you.

“We literally live in the same building.”

You shake your head no, an embarrassment flushing your cheeks.

“What, no Simon it’s fine.”

You stammer.

“Plus we’re only like—“

Again he cuts you off, this time with a stern look that makes your spine tingle.

“I’m taking you home. Check out, and let’s go.”

Now flustered and exhausted you rush to the counter to pay.

You leave with your snacks in hand, climbing into Simon Riley’s beat up Chevy.

He leaves empty handed, minus the extra car key sitting in his pocket.

—

Simon sits in his truck a while after you leave.

His knuckles white around the steering wheel as he watches you walk inside the building.

Something loosening in his chest when he sees the third floor second window over go from pitch black to warm with light only a few minutes after you leave.

He lets go, hitting the back of his seat with a soft thud.

Exhaling harshly through his nose.

Safe.

He’s spent the last week watching you walk. Noticing how you never check over your shoulder, not even once.

He clicked his tongue at the thought, shutting his door a little too harshly once he gets home.

—

By the time the bus makes it to the grocery store your hands are sweaty with anxiety.

So many people, all sitting way too close, a man having the confidence to brush against you during the ride. Your mind immediately runs through the worst possible case scenarios that could happen.

You gasp as you shove your way out of the automatic doors.

Feeling an automatic rush of relief, as you step farther away into the less crowded streets.

A couple feet away, your eye catches a large shadow moving across the street.

Your gaze stays there, only for a moment before you move back to your original mission.

“Fuck, need more coffee.”

You mutter underneath your breath, taking a turn towards the supermarket.

Maybe it was the bus ride, maybe it’s the lack of caffeine and sleep in your system but with every step you take, you hear another one.

But, everytime you turn you see nothing.

Not a person.

Not Simon.

You swallow the unease building in your chest as you quickly walk into the grocery store.

“One thing. In and out.”

You tell yourself like that will make this feeling go away.

As you walk down the isles you’re looking over your shoulder, turning too quickly at the sound of a squeaky cart and bumping into almost everything in your way.

You’ve never felt like such a scary cat until now.

You fiddle with your phone that’s been sitting heavy in your pocket.

You walk around in circles, going nowhere.

You chew at your cheek until you taste metal.

You spot two doors that lead to somewhere tucked away, above the doors read a sign that you ignore as you push past the metal doors leading you to what you can only assume is the back.

There’s crates full of packaged foods giving you the perfect wall to hide in, if someone was really on your tail.

The glow of your screen illuminates your face as you unlock your phone with shaky hands.

The metal doors you just entered from slowly creak open. Your breath gets caught in your throat.

Someone was following you.

Your finger hits the call button on Simon’s contact, using your last ditch effort.

It rings.

Then.

(TW: age-gap, a hint of smut, reader is kinda slutty but it’s okay.)

Older Bar owner Price! who risked it all on a shitty bar.

Older Bar owner Price! who never settled down with a a lass or had children, but instead raised a family both behind and in front of the bar.

Older Bar owner Price! who hasn’t missed a day open since the first one.

Older Bar owner Price! who wears flannels and jeans compared to his dark green camouflage.

Older Bar owner Price! who you can always find either in the corner of the bar, scanning over the crowds silently.

Or leaning across a pool table, mischievous grin on his face as he bets a wager on the shot.

Older Bar owner Price! who never gets drunk at his bar.

He prefers the more subtle taste of a cold beer rather than the burning choke of liquor.

He’ll sip his single beer all night, never opening a second one.

Older Bar owner Price! for as chill as he seems to will bark orders as soon as he feels things are getting too out of hand.

If a customer doesn’t pay, he steps in. Voice low and controlled.

“Let’s not do that here, darlin. Not trying to cause a problem are ya?”

Older Bar owner Price! who has more than once purposely accidentally called you “kid.” And not in a joking manner either.

“Look, you’re real sweet’n all, but I’m just too old for you kid.”

Older Bar owner Price! who has your heart the instant you step into his bar.

The beard? His concrete strong hands? That build that promises you he’d made a soft bed along with a hard fuck.

Older Bar owner Price! who takes one look at sweet, little, freshly turned 21 you and has to physically restrain himself from asking you where the hell your parents are.

Older Bar owner Price! who does a double take at your ID, sighing.

“Ain’t no damn way, kid.”

Older Bar owner Price! who has had to turn you down again and again and again.

But you just can’t help yourself.

Older Bar owner Price! who hears you loudly, drunkenly boast.

“I LOVE AN OLDER MAN. PLEASE DADDY SAVE ME.”

Older Bar owner Price! who knows he’s fucked.

Bowing his head at the bar, his head in his hands.

“Goddamn it, kid.”

He mumbles as he drags you away from the older regular he sees every Saturday.

“Thought I was the only older man you liked.”

You hear older bar owner Price curse under his breath, adding an endearing.

“Brat.”

As he drags you deeper into the bar.

His skin hot with something he refuses to name.

Older Bar owner Price! who usually is a very patient, controlled man.

Until it comes to you.

You who take every chance to shamelessly flirt with the man that’s old enough to be your father.

Pressing your chest against him as you move past him near the pool.

Sitting at his table with your body sat just right for the male gaze.

Older Bar owner Price! who questions his morals everytime he allows himself to sit with your for longer than two seconds.

Older Bar owner Price! who feels himself chubbing up in his pants as you lean over the bar to flirt with Gaz, one of his best bartenders.

Older Bar owner Price! who swears he’s not jealous when you begin to redirect your attention to other people.

But his lip twitches every time you try to make a pass at Simon.

His fist clench into nail digging fists at his sides watching you lean over and flirtatiously drag your hand over a strangers chest.

Older bar owner Price! who has never felt such intense hatred for a customer since.

Older bar owner Price! who swears he’s too old for this as he has you bent over the sink of his public bar bathroom, his back and knees aching as he pistons his cock in and out of you making your eyes roll back with a satisfaction you can’t hide.

Vs.

Simon Riley never watched cartoons.

Ever.

Not because he hated them, not because he thought they were stupid or they weren’t his taste.

No, he was never allowed such things in his childhood.

His time as a young child was spent protecting himself.

Learning to grow stronger, invisible to his father and unnoticed by his mother.

So, naturally, when you bring up the idea he scoffed you off.

“M’ a grown ass adult, I can’t watch cartoons.”

He’d say.

But…

You manage to convince him one night.

“Cmon! You’re telling me that you’ve got to enjoy the wonders of scooby doo? Or even the power puff girls??”

You question your eyes narrowed and face scrunched.

He finds the sight adorable.

Sighing out his nose, his head bowing in defeat.

“No, love. I cannot say I have.”

You grin.

The TV gets on turned on soon after.

And that’s how Simon found himself here.

Stuck on the sofa next to you, arms crossed, expression blank.

Acting as though he wasn’t forced against his will to do this.

The opening theme begins to play, you bounce in excitement next to him.

“Oh I loved this as a kid!”

Simon was seriously questioning his life choices.

Three hours later, you discover that Simon Riley actually loves Scooby-Doo.

He denies it, immediately.

Watching criminals dress up as stupid monsters reminds him of his work but shown in an innocent, comedic light.

He can’t tear his eyes away from the slightly pixelated screen.

Watching Scooby and the gang solve mystery after mystery.

Pointing out how ridiculous these situations are with a straight face.

“Now why would they split up? That’s a terrible idea.”

“Babe, it’s just a cartoon.”

You remind him.

Shaggy says something stupid, Scooby does something that instantly makes it worse and there it is.

A laugh.

Loud, unguarded and real.

His mouth snaps shut.

He coughs.

Shifts on the couch next to you.

His eyes dart to you to making sure you didn’t hear that.

You smile ear to ear.

Warmth spreading all over your chest.

You don’t tease.

You don’t say anything at all, you simply turn your attention back to the screen and lean into his side.

His arm wraps around you naturally.

Simon nudges you halfway through the episode, whispering in an all too serious tone.

“I bet the culprit was that bastard in the beginning, the too nice one.”

“The gatekeeper?”

You question.

He grunts with a nod in response.

You laugh, something soothing inside you looking at your hulk of a boyfriend leaning forward on the couch fully locked in on a silly kids show.

Once the monster is revealed to indeed be the gatekeeper Simon looks at you with an all too smug expression.

“Told you.”

And that’s how Scooby Doo turned into one of your weekly shows.

Curled into Simon’s side as the familiar theme song fills the room.

Simon pulls you closer, kissing the top of your head. Whispering.

“Bet it’s the bloody night watchman.”

“Simon, it just started.”

“Watch.”

10 minutes later, usually proves he’s right. Smiling down at you with the same smug expression he gets every time he calls the culprit correctly.

The blinds are still closed but sunlight peeks through them anyways.

Your bed is warm with shared body heat.

A heavy, hairy arm is wrapped around your middle.

How you love waking up so softly.

You don’t move, not wanting the moment to end.

A kiss to your shoulder lets you know your husband is awake behind you. The scratch of his beard has your cheeks warming.

His hand travels up, landing on your hip.

You smile.

Not a word is said as you scoot back into him, feeling his chest press against your bare back.

You sigh, feeling right where you need to be.

Your eyes flutter closed once again.

Price squeezes at your arm, his knuckles brushing your skin.

Softly his kisses continue. Another to your shoulder, one to the curve of your neck, the last under your ear.

Your heart beats a little quicker in your chest.

His fingers follow the curve of your waist down to your thigh, giving it a teasing squeeze. The cold metal of his wedding band sharp against warmth of his rough palm.

A familiar coil begins to tighten in your stomach as he drifts his hand over your breast. Lazily teasing the little peaks on your chest with slow passes back and forth.

You hum softly, a sound of pleasure.

His fingers ghost down your stomach, making you twitch at the gentle sensation.

His fingers grip into your thigh, just enough to press small dents into your skin.

Like instinct, your legs spread open.

You lick your lips, watching his veiny hand travel lower.

Carefully his fingers brush into the soft curls of your bush, one finger tip pressing into your folds.

Tapping his fingers to your sensitive bud, each gentle slap makes you jolt at the contact.

His calloused finger dips, gathering wetness only to come and spread it over your sensitive clit in a slow tortuous circle.

You inhale, sharp and quick.

Another kiss to your shoulder grounds you.

You lean back into Price, your eyes fluttering closed as he begins to trace unhurried deliberate circles between your legs.

Your hips move and wiggle trying to follow the friction.

The pressure of an orgasm builds deep inside you at his practiced touch, but dies all too fast each time, you get close. Right before you fall of that cliff, Price pulls you back in with a bigger pass of his fingers, teasing you entrance with a single swipe.

He slows his pace down more, circle by circle until his hand comes to a complete stop.

Allowing you to rut against his hand at the pace you want to.

You take the opportunity to press down into his hand, shamelessly grinding with a gentle slow rock.

Breathy moans and whimpers escape your lips, your mouth forming an O shape as you feel that flicker in your stomach turn into a solid wave of pleasure.

Your first orgasm hitting you so early in the morning your legs feel like they get electrocuted. A tingling sensation so intense you’re unable to curl your toes.

But he doesn’t stop.

His hand cups you entirely, his middle finger teasing your slit with a dip between your folds.

A knuckle dipping into your cunt.

Barely giving you what you want.

What you need.

You gasp, throbbing for something more. Your heels push against the mattress trying to persuade his thick fingers deeper inside you.

When suddenly, he pulls out once again.

Leaving you empty.

You whine in complaint.

Price shifts behind you, his eyes darting to the clock on his bedside table.

A shiver runs through you as his hand lands back on your thigh, still wet from your slick.

He leans back in, the bed creaking under his weight as his lips meet the back of your head.

“Gotta go to work love.”

He murmurs, and just like that the beautiful pleasure making your thighs tremble disappears as Price throws off the covers and stands up.

To your horror, tears immediately begin to gather in your eyes.

But not out of sadness.

Frustration.

A laugh leaves you that sounds more manic than not.

“You’re kidding.”

John is already off the bed, pulling his pants to his hips, a proud smirk on his lips.

“M’not darling. Duty calls.”

He smiles at you flashing pretty baby blues. Bastard knew what he was doing. When he sees the tears trickling down your face he doesn’t panic, doesn’t baby you.

No.

He laughs.

“Damn baby, I make you cum and you’re still gonna cry?”

Despite his teasing his words are full of affection as he cups your face, wiping your tears with one big thumb swiping across your cheek.

“I’ll be back.”

He promises low, his eyes never leaving yours.

You huff, crossing your arms in defiance though a smile pulls at your pouting lips.

You know this isn’t a normal reaction, to cry, but you’re not upset, well— maybe a little, only at the fact that he stopped.

“That’s not fair! You teased me!”

You whine, but it’s half hearted.

He chuckles low and deep, his belly jiggling with the movement.

“You’ll be fine dear.”

With another chuckle he leans in and kisses your forehead.

“When I come back, I’ll fuck you so hard you can’t walk.”

And with that he leaves the room.

Leaving you, a wound up, frustrated, horny wife all alone in the warm bed.

Destined to squirm until he comes home.

The streets are vacant, the barstools as well.

The bar is littered with beer bottles, some empty, others halfway full.

The lights are on, but low. Casting a warm glow inside ‘The Last Call’.

It’s closing time.

Gaz stands behind the bar, his shoulders slumped, as he repeatedly polishes the same glass in his hands.

Watching the white cloth move in circles over and over.

Johnny stands a few feet away, a broom moving in slow strokes back and forth against the floor. Doing little but pushing dirt around.

Neither of them have said a word.

The only noise in the room being the broom brushing against the floor and the quiet music that Price has put on.

A soft clink of glass makes Johnnys tired gaze move to Gaz.

He has no expression on his face. Lips thin, eyes heavy.

The broom in Johnnys hand comes to a stop.

Gaz places the cup top down on the bar. Both palms flat against the wood, caging in the glass between them.

His stare fixated on the bar top.

Johnny takes a step forward, his boots awkwardly squeaking under him.

“Kyle?”

Honey brown eyes find Johnny’s concerned gaze.

A smile that doesn’t quite reach them pulling on his lips.

“Hm?”

Johnny adjusts the broom under him, shifting his feet. Leaning onto the broom like it’s a sturdy pillar. His elbow perched on its handle.

Watching Gaz a little too closely.

Gaz’s ringed finger quickly taps against the bar below.

“Ye look dead on yer feet Kyle.”

Johnny attempts to tease, but the sound comes out strangled.

Gaz slowly stands to his full height, wiping his face with both hands, like that could smooth out the exhaustion written in his features.

Then, a laugh leaves his lips.

But there’s no humor in it, just this empty reverb.

The sound makes Johnny stiffen.

The broom under him now tight in his grasp.

“Think m’might be past tired at this point.”

He shakes his head, smile flat.

Gaz picks the glass up once again.

Heavy and cold.

Johnny watches for a moment longer before dropping the broom.

It hits the floor with a crack that splits the silence apart.

In three steps, Johnny is sat at the bar.

Arms folded, expression serious.

He nods to the barstool next to him.

“Sit with me.”

Gaz stares at him, long enough for a crease to form between his brows.

Then, the glass gets set down once again.

And another bar stool scrapes against the floor.

An expansion of this. <3

Sitting at the bar, it’s sticky with spilled drinks. There’s smoke curling in the air and soft rock playing from some place in the back.

You’re sitting with Simon, tossing drinks back. You’re sure you’ve eased the tension between you two ever since you got a little too close to Johnny.

But Simon is still too quiet.

Like the silence is something he can hold between his teeth.

It’s been bothering him all night. Gnawing at him like an animal in a cage. Relentless as hunger.

You.

How easily you smile, how you bat your lashes, sit pretty without even trying—

Even the bartender looks at you like you’re sculpted from the hands of god themselves.

It made his skin itch.

His fingers tighten around the glass he nurses.

His knuckles bone white with restraint.

Something dark sits heavy in his chest, coiled tight, refusing to loosen. Even with you being so close it does little to soothe the ache.

It just wasn’t enough.

He catches every time someone looks at you. Bites their lip too hard.

How they drift too near, brushing past you like they have the right.

It has his molars grinding together.

Something territorial wakes inside him.

Something old and violent.

Carving your name into his thoughts.

Simon knows this is irrational.

That doesn’t make it feel any less real.

The absolute need to have you in every way shape and form.

It’s unbearable. Sharp, consuming and greedy.

He needs to have your attention on him—

Solely.

You aren’t even his. Not officially.

But you’re always there.

Always smiling at his side.

He couldn’t stand the distance.

Even when you were close enough to touch.

Everything looks fine— you’re laughing. Bright and easy.

Talking about something that Simon only cares about because it leaves your lips.

Listening to you talk, but really only watching your mouth move.

It felt sinful, like eyeing something holy for too long.

That is, until someone is brave enough to try their luck with you.

Right in front of him, like Simon isn’t even there.

His eye twitched, something sharp flickering in his gaze as the man with barely any facial hair, barely any sense- leans in closer.

You don’t shoo him off fast enough for Simon’s liking.

You smile.

Laugh.

Attempting to let the guy down easy. But he seems to have had one too many drinks, stumbling, he grabs your arm, and pulls you off your seat.

Closer.

Simon moves before he can stop himself.

Before he can think, his rough hands land on your hips, yanking you back into his hold and out of the drunk man’s grasp.

Like a game of tug-o-war.

And you’re the rope.

He glares over your shoulder with a look that could kill a man as his mouth finds your neck.

Slow. Deliberate. Possessive.

Each kiss is unhurried. Like he’s making a point.

You go still, caught between shock and warmth.

His lips are rough, like every part of him.

You watch as the much smaller man stumbles away, murmuring something that doesn’t reach your ears.

Simon doesn’t stop as the stranger walks away.

His thumb softly rubs into your hip.

His tongue darts out, dragging across your skin.

He groans at your taste.

You squirm under Simon, going completely quiet as words seem to elude you.

What would you even say?

Heat begins to build between your legs. Your clothes begin to feel too tight as he travels down to your collarbone.

Your breath getting caught up in your throat.

He notices.

Simons fingers twitch against the curve of your hip. His breath fanning against your shoulder when he finally detaches.

When you back into him, an involuntary motion, he still.

His grip tightens on you briefly.

“Bathroom. Now.”

Low and commanding, threaded with warning.

You’ve never heard such a tone come out of him.

Rough like he’s on the brink of doing something he can never take back.

It makes your legs feel weak.

You blink— and suddenly you’re being dragged away.

Simon is silent.

Tense.

Wound tight.

The bathroom door swings open, hard enough to rattle the hinges. Simon shoves you inside before spinning you around.

You don’t get a word in by the time his lips crash into yours.

It would be painful if it weren’t for the way you melted into him. Completely submitting to his brutal kisses like you were made for him.

Your arms wrap around the back of his neck getting on the tips

He kisses you with greed. All teeth and tongue. No time for tenderness after the way the night has tested him.

He spins you around again- positioning you over the sink.

“God…” His voice is wrecked.

You swear it cracks.

“You drive me insane.”

Your eyes find his in the mirror. Your lips are swollen, plump and red.

His find yours with a darkness you’ve never seen.

A walking predator.

But—

He doesn’t want to hurt you, no.

That’s the last thing he wants to do.

No, no, no he wants to make one thing abundantly clear.

You are his.

He drops to his knees, pulling your pants and panties along with him.

The fabric pools at your feet.

His mouth is watering at the sight of you.

Exposed. No barrier.

Dripping.

He doesn’t hesitate.

You feel his nose press at your clit as he inhales, taking a deep breath of you and moaning on the exhale.

You twitch, a high, broken, sound leaving you as he opens you up with his thumbs.

Then he pauses.

Not long.

Just to look at you.

Watch how you pulse, how your thighs tremble.

He drools.

His tongue swipes over his lip.

Gathering saliva, only to open his jaw letting it slide down his tongue onto your achy cunt.

He smiles—

You catch it in the mirror.

He dips down, his tongue flat. Dragging across your slit collecting the mix of his spit and your slick.

Then he pushes into you, tongue thrusting in and out of you like he can’t get enough of the taste of you.

You grip onto the dirty sink so hard you swear it’ll snap clean off.

You try to hold the sounds clawing behind your lips, not wanting to be caught in such a position.

Smack!

His hand cracks against your bare thigh, right under your ass.

You yelp.

“Don’t fuckin’ hold out on me.”

He grunts out before sucking hard on your clit.

Needing a reaction out of you.

It’s all over for you.

You can’t hold it in.

He eats you like he’s claiming you. Like this will be his last chance to make you his. Slurping, kissing, slobbering all over your cunt. Making a mess of himself and you as his victory drips down his chin.

You sing for him.

Completely falling apart.

Moans and pleads spill from your lips until you’re babbling incoherently, back arching shamelessly as you grind into his face.

Simon doesn’t stop until his jaw is tight and aching. Only when your thighs tighten around his head and you gasp.

Your entire body goes tight—

And you come.

Hard.

You gasp as it hits you full force, trembling like you might black out from the impact alone.

He stands so fast you almost lose your footing.

He doesn’t have the patience to fully undress himself after that. Just yanks his jeans half way down to his thighs, boxers following.

Revealing his red and angry looking cock. It hangs heavy, casting its own shadow. Already leaking with precum.

You blink, eyes wide.

Cheeks flushed.

His hands find your waist spinning you, so you’re face to face. Lifting you higher onto the sink. He hikes your legs up wrapping them around his waist like they’ve always belonged there.

He leans in.

Cupping your face like you’re the only thing worth touching.

Like his hands just now remembered how to be gentle.

Like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

His eyes are intense on yours.

But you can’t look away.

“You are my everything.”

Your stomach flips.

His eves never leave yours.

Searching for something.

His lips press a single kiss at the corners of your mouth.

You chase him, desperate, but he dodges, instead leaning down to press soft kisses into your pulse point.

“And, I need you to believe that.”

He rasps against your skin, his hands so gently moving down your body but his hips rut into you like he just can’t help it.

“Simon.”

You rasp, but it sounds more like a plea.

He smirks.

His eyes locking onto yours.

He waits.

Watching.

“I need you.” You whisper.

Still.

Nothing.

His hands slide up your thighs, stopping right before your core.

The air feels thick, like it’s hard to breathe.

Your eyes prick with tears.

When words tumble out of your mouth, desperate and honest. Words that just feel so right in the moment.

“I’m yours—“

You plead.

There it is.

He leans in, grabbing your jaw tilting your head up to look at him.

“Say it again.”

You obey without hesitation.

“I’m yours, Simon.”

It comes out softer, almost unsure.

You barely recognize yourself. Vision blurring as you reach out for him, nails biting into his skin.

“Please.”

You tremble.

“I need you to make me feel good.”

That’s enough.

Simons hands squeeze at your softness before spreading your thighs wide for him.

“Atta’ girl.”

He praises.

His eyes move up to you, a smirk pulling on his lips.

“You are mine.”

His hand travels up. Caressing the round of your cheek.

“Open.”

Your body listens before you realize.

Simon shoves his digits into your mouth, swirling them around your tongue before he pulls them out. Dragging them down your thigh before they dip lower.

Teasing your clit.

Your entrance.

Then without warning, both hands grip your hips.

And he shoves you down onto his cock.

You scream.

He grins so hard he swears he’s showing off his molars.

“Oh is that right?”

He mocks with a dark laugh, giving you no time to adjust as he begins to thrust into you.

Long.

Hard.

Deep strokes that go in and out.

Hitting the spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back every single time.

You’re completely dumb, and he barely even started.

“You don’t know what you do to me. Always lookin’ so pretty. Talkin and dancing like there’s nothing in the world that could hurt you.”

Each word is punctuated with a brutal snap of his hips.

You can barely hear him over the filthy sounds spilling out of you.

“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined this?” he spits. “Fisted my cock to you like a damn teenager for so many nights— just to have this…fuck— just to have you.”

His thrusts grow faster.

His words getting sloppier.

Possession turning desperate as he grabs at you.

“Fuckin’ say it.” He growls. “Say you’re mine. I need to hear you say it.”

“Fuck- I’m yours! God— Simon, I’m yours!”

You cry out, ecstasy running your mouth as you cling to his shoulders like you’ll fall apart without him.

Your second orgasm building fast… too sharp.

Simon fucks you like some kind of animal, like he’s lost his damn mind.

His voice turns into a wrecked collection of murmurs.

He truly sounds like a mad man.

His grip bruises your hips, rutting into you like he wants to leave a piece of himself inside of you. Almost apologetically, he kisses at your neck right when warmth floods inside of you.

Simon whimpers against your throat, unable to stop even as his cum fills you. He rolls his hips slowly. Dragging it out, small left over spurts pulsing deep into you.

White and thick.

Your thighs tremble.

You can’t speak, just left panting

trying to catch your breath.

Sweat clings hair to your forehead.

Reality settles in as Simon finally pulls out of you.

Leaving you empty.

Aching at the loss.

You just fucked Simon.

Well—

Simon just fucked you, in a shitty bar bathroom of all places.

What the hell did you two just do?

Simon kneels down, so carefully placing your panties back on you.

Fixing your clothes like you’re something delicate.

You sit in his release. Cold and sticky.

He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You lean in like it’s been practiced.

His arms wrap around you, gently picking you up.

You’re completely dazed.

Almost not catching it when he says.

After retiring, Price knew he would have to do something with his time. Anything to keep his mind preoccupied.

Plus having all his boys around?

They needed to stay busy.

One night, a lucky one. Something stopped him outside a rundown bar.

The windows boarded shut.

Chains wrapped tight around the door handles, rusty things they were.

Along with a big sign that said:

“FOR SALE BY OWNER CALL: XXX-XXXX”

He smiled, feeling a spark of hope.

Of purpose.

Something he hasn’t felt since he left the force.

Soon, he gathered the guys to tell them of his plans.

…

Price and his boys spent months renovating the shack into a cozy bar.

It once smelt like musk and mold, dust covering each surface.

There were rat droppings everywhere and Soap constantly recalls the time he saw a bat fluttering in the ceiling.

Despite such, they all poured hard work, time and money into the place.

Replacing the old rotten oak with dark strong cedar.

New windows.

Pool tables, a jukebox, bar stools, even dart boards were placed around.

The electricity was a nightmare. Simon spent hours in the breaker box, throwing bloody curses at the damn thing until he figured out whatever problem Price had. After being shocked a time too many he got the lights on.

Warm lightbulbs and neon signs were hung up making the place feel warm.

Lively.

Real.

Finally, the last touch.

A bright neon sign that read:

“The last call.”

OPEN.

The name of the bar was decided after hours of bickering back and forth.

…

The first night was a total hit.

Sticky tables, hazy air and laughter from drunk girls filled the bar.

Everyone loves this place. It becomes the spot for parties, sad lonely nights, and relaxed evenings.

Price is the one who silently takes care of things in the back.

The bookings, the inventory, everything that keeps his establishment running smoothly.

Before the bar was even open, he hid a shotgun under his bar. For— just in case.

Thank god he hasn’t had to use it.. yet.

No one knows about it, other than his boys of course.

Smoke and citrus curls around the bar, Price sits with Johnny and Kyle most nights, his cigar loose in his fingers as they chat.

Most don’t even realize he’s the owner when they come in.

No one really does.

Price is always there, watching, waiting.

Making sure everyone behaves to a certain degree.

Keeping tabs on.. well, tabs.

No one leaves without closing their tab. Ever.

—

Johnny, the Mohawk sporting man with pretty blue eyes, was first to volunteer for bartender duty.

These days he mixes drinks and flirts with customers along side his right hand man Kyle.

A charming pair they are. Always enticing customers with a charming smile and stupid line.

Johnny leans over the table, his chin resting in the heels of his hands a shit eating grin on his face as he smoothly flirts with the pretty girl sitting at the bar.

“Cmon.. let me make you one drink, promise it’ll be perfect.”

Kyle, who was shaking up a drink for another customer chimes in over his shoulder, with a knowing smirk.

“Make it two, and you might actually believe him.”

—

Most nights the two behind the bar are dressed in matching sleeveless vests, cargo pants or jeans on underneath.

Toned abs and v-lines on display, along with the dark ink in Johnny’s side. Showing off for everyone to see.

Kyle and Johnny are always putting on a show as they make drinks, teasing others with a lick to their lips or bat of an eye.

Heartthrobs for sure, and they knew it too.

They play into it, letting customers flirt with them, even collecting a few girls and guys numbers.

—

Johnny loves being behind the bar. He gets to be creative and talk peoples ears off.

What else could he want?

Regulars eventually start to ask for specific drinks that only Johnny can make.

Kyle looks at the sad drunk he sees at their bar at least 6 times out of the week with furrowed brows when he orders a “Scottish shite.”

With the straightest face he can muster Kyle slowly shakes his head when Johnny jumps into the conversation with a smile.

“Oi, I got you.”

Kyle watches in confusion as Johnny takes over the man’s strange drink request.

…

Johnny is witty, always playful and full of fun.

He’s the type to joke and flirt no matter who you are. What you’re wearing. It doesn’t matter.

He loves a good reaction.

Saying the slyest thing with a grin from ear to ear.

“Looks like you were poured into that dress lass.”

Johnny is the type of bartender to grab the mic and start singing.

His all time favorite gig?

“Girls girls girls” by the motley crew.

He often changes lyrics depending on who’s in the bar.

Adding “boys boys boys” too because, why would he leave out half the audience?

…

While Kyle is the sweeter of the two, and everyone who goes to the bar knows that.

When he notices that his regulars are having a bad day, he’ll slide their go-to drink across the bar without a word.

Nodding to his patron with a knowing smile before he pulls a seat up.

Talking with them until they decide to go home.

He will be the first to call it quits for another when they’ve had one too many drinks.

Calling a cab to make sure they get home safe and sound.

The next day when the man stumbles back in with a headache, Kyle kindly hands him back his keys and wishes him a safe return home.

Taking orders with a smile, but on a bad night when Kyle gets a rude customer or one that is just too pushy, Johnny switches from being sweet to sour, fast.

Johnny looms over Kyle like rain cloud.

His glare sharpens, tone going flat.

And on the off chance, he is known to spray water.

Dousing an asshole from head to toe, alerting Simon of any danger in an instant.

…

Simon sits in the back and watches like a personal security camera, making sure the girls feel safe enough to dance.

That no one is disrespecting anyone. Or anything.

He’s silent, never wearing anything but his complete black out fit.

He never drinks at the bar unlike the rest of the boys.

Rarely he can be seen with a single glass of dark alcohol, nursing on it the entire night.

The moment anyone causes a scene Simon is there. His presence alone, massive and heavy, makes whatever prior tension disappears.

He is used to this, girls looking in another direction when they make eye contact.

The puffing of chests from other guys as they pass. The constant flirts from Johnny.

But this?

This was a little much…

…

Everyone wants a piece of the eye candy that is Johnny and Kyle.

Especially on wild Friday nights.

Wild Friday nights was an idea proposed by Johnny himself to bring more people to the bar.

“Cmon— we need something that gets peoples attention? Hear me out, no rules, no shame. Just.. wild.. wild Friday nights..”

Johnny confidently suggested to the guys one night.

Simon hated it.

Price tilted his head.

“Think it’ll work?”

They had to find out.

So what if the bar became a strip club for a night?

Price didn’t see any harm in letting his boys run wild.

For a night at least.

…

Johnny promised a crowd.

And a crowd they brought, after roping Kyle into this of course.

Slowly stripping soaking wet clothes down their bodies.

Moving, grinding, dancing on each other and patrons.

Water and sweat dripping down them seductively..

Kyle would kneel down, pouring shots into pretty people’s opened mouth. Holding the side of their jaw with his massive hand.

“Yeah, there you go.. you like that hm?”

He’d coo making the girls and guys go wild.

Johnny would drag soapy hands down his body, making a real mess of the bar and himself.

Allowing patrons to shove cash into places it most definitely shouldn’t be. Hands groping at his thighs. Some braver ones copping a feel of his jewels.

It was good for morale, and business.

Price and Simon watched Kyle and Johnny like hawks. Making sure no one did anything the guys weren’t allowing.

Price, if needed would grab the shoulder of a man too drunk on his feet and sit him down with a rough.

“That’s enough for you.”

…

The guys would end a Good Friday night with their pants swollen with cash. Corners sticking out in little places, folded up and crumbled in others.

Bar floor wet and sticky.

Empty liquor bottles scattered around.

Makeup and men’s cologne stuck to their skin.

After a much needed change of clothes, the guys came back to sit at the bar.

Price and Simon sat counting each dollar. Simon with a half empty glass near him. And Price with a cigar between his teeth.

“Seems wild Friday nights are a go.”

You’re getting so tired of your shitty apartment!

Sure- it’s yours but, there’s always so many problems, that never seem to end.

First it’s your light flickering, then your window that’s leaking when it rains, then your breaker box—

Which you’re more than glad your good neighbor Simon Riley stepped in to help you with.

If only you would call him now.

So many things are falling apart- the thought has crossed your mind more than once.

But you don’t want to bother the big guy!

You’re sure he has plenty of things to do, and friends to talk with.

But…

Your sink has been acting weird, barely dripping water when you turn the handles.

You make a decision. You’re old enough, you should know how to fix a silly sink!

You move to an old set of wrenches you let collect dust in your closet.

Swearing you’d never use them.

But alas, you need water from your sink.

Kneeling down with a wrench in hand, you feel like a true plumber.

You clamp your tool around the loose looking nut and turn.. and turn.. and turn some more when—

PSSSSSHHH—

Water hisses and sprays at you, like some kind of possessed sprinkler. Completely catching you off guard.

Freezing cold water soaks into your clothes, puddling around you.

What did you just do???

You thought you were turning it the right way!

Your hands come out in front of you, like you could push the water back into the pipe.

You jump up to your feet, leaving the kitchen to flood.

Your legs move under you, and before you know it you’re banging on your neighbor’s door like there’s no tomorrow.

….

—

Simon has kept himself busy.

After his retirement, who knew he would be learning so many hobbies!

All because of you.

First Electrician.

Then plumber.

Now friendly handyman!

Not to say his other abilities haven’t come in handy in this whole thing.

Lock picking.

Stealth.

Observation.

All skills he needed to get in and out of your apartment without leaving a trace of himself.

You crawled into Simon’s mind like termites in old wood.

Never leaving.

Your breaker box was just the hook.

The warm meal you so kindly handed him had him needing more than just a taste of your cooking.

A sweet thing like yourself shouldn’t be alone in a run-down apartment anyways.

He told you last time, if you needed anything— and he meant anything, to call him.

And still, his phone never rang.

Not even a text.

He called you about a week ago.

In a moment of weakness, and still it wasn’t enough.

Simon was getting impatient.

His leg would tap relentlessly.

Eyes searching for shadows that weren’t there.

He was going insane.

So he took it on himself to help you out.

In his way of course.

—

The first time he breaks in was just for a quick trip. A quick wiggle to your lock with a bobby pin had the door creeping open.

He needed to do something.

Something to get him back in your head, the same way you were in his.

He would simply unscrew a lightbulb from your fridge.

Something harmless.

Surely, you’ll come to him for that, no one likes searching for food in the dark.

Or so he thought.

The moment he stepped into your home the smell of you hit him square in the chest.

Something sweet, something utterly you.

He has to hold back a groan.

After stealing the small light from the fridge, with an easy twist to his fingers, his eyes land on your coffee bar. A small area near your kitchen.

Skimming through your items making sure not to touch a thing.

Mugs, so many mugs.

Some cute, some plain, others downright questionable.

He leaves quickly after, a a lightbulb and something a little heavier weighing down his pockets.

You never came around looking for a fix.

It drove him insane.

Don’t you need him?

A few days pass before he returns with a bobby pin, and a credit card in hand while you’re gone away at work.

But this time when he tries the handle…

The door opens for him without a hint of resistance.

Like it’s welcoming him.

“Stupid little bird.”

He mutters under his breath.

You didn’t even lock your door.

Now, what would you do without him?

Being stupid enough to leave your home wide open to creeps. Murderers. Thieves.

People like him.

You needed a man like Simon to protect you.

To keep you safe from yourself, of course.

He moves to your kitchen sink like a guest invited into your home.

His footsteps silent.

The cabinet doors creak open, exposing him to your perfectly fine, if not a little rusty, pipes.

With utmost concentration he tightens the water valve, checking to make sure your sink won’t flow all the way.

This will definitely make you need him.

While he’s here, he might as well take the time to look around.

Seeing all your things that make this place your home.

Your novels, trinkets, memories hung on the wall.

He notes it all.

…

Simon sits in his apartment, your coffee mug being held in his hand.

But he doesn’t drink.

He just holds it.

Like it belongs there.

He hears footsteps, quick. Panicked.

Then— the banging on his door.

Perfect.

Because, you’re here.

For him.

He rises from his recliner, slow, unhurried. Like he has all the time in the world.

Leaning in the doorway, mask already on. Your mug still in his hand.

You look up at Simon. He towers over you.

Your eyes flick to the mug then back up at him.

“Need something?”

His head tilts, watching you drip onto the floor.

You pause for a moment like you’re searching for the answer.

“Simon! My entire apartment is flooding!”

That’s not exactly what he was expecting..

but nonetheless, he holds back a chuckle at the panic in your eyes as he moves past you.

He stalks into your apartment that is conveniently a few steps away.

Taking a look inside he automatically sees the bigger problem you’ve created.

“Christ alive..”

He shakes his head disapprovingly, moving to the spot you once were.

Getting drenched in the process.

You stand there watching with wide eyes.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know who else to go to!”

You exclaim.

Your words settle warm and heavy in his chest. Feeding the exact thing that’s been gnawing at him for weeks.

You needed him.

“It’s a good thing m’ here then.”

With a creak of metal the spraying water stops.

“There.. how’s tha’?”

He questions, his masked face peeking out for a moment.

“That’s- that’s amazing thank you so much! God you’re soaked! Let me get you a towel!”

And with that your back turns, leaving Simon in your kitchen.

He stands slowly, watching you move deeper into your home until he can’t any more.

Then, he moves— making sure each step doesn’t make a sound.

His attention on the key dish that you leave beside your front door.

So welcoming.

With a few steps, his gloved fingers wrap around the thin metal. Sliding them into his pocket, with not even a sound.

You return with the towel and Simon is already in your doorway, arms crossed. Water dripping from his massive frame.

You move quicker, not wanting him to catch a chill.

“Here!”

You wrap the towel around his shoulders— it doesn’t meet the ends.

Despite the towel barely fitting him, he pats himself dry.

“Thank you.”

You repeat, your cheeks burning.

“God- I am so sorry—“

“Don’t.”

His voice is low, rough.

“It’s what m’here for.”

You nod quickly, and hurry yourself into the mess that is your kitchen to begin mopping.

Simon watches you for a beat longer.

His eyes dark and focused.

Stalking prey.

Stupid bird.

He leaves out your door without another word. The weight of your keys a good reminder in his pocket.

By the time he gets home, his grin is so wide his cheeks ache with it.

Thumbing the plastic to your fob the entire way to his recliner.

The best part..?

You don’t even notice.

Not the missing mug.

Not your keys.

Not the pair of panties he took weeks ago that still sit under his pillow.

And now? He can make sure you’re always safe.

Toying the tracking device he bought just for you between his fingers.

Your keys in the other hand.

.

.

You’re running so late.

To be fair, you don’t NEED to be there— at home. Where it’s nice, and warm.

And dry.

But, you want to be.

After a day of meetings, computer screens, and stupid, stupid, people. Your body craves the comfort of his rough hands on your skin, the cradle that is your bed.

Home.

But the weather had different ideas.

The rain soaks you from head to toe as you navigate through the maze that is this shitty city.

A chill has settled in your bones. Your clothes are stuck to your skin, hair dripping, your fingers nearly pruned by the time you swing your door open.

The smell of home fills your lungs, your eyes close in pure relief to be out of the downpour.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Your eyes snap open. Satoru is sitting on the couch, staring back at you with his pretty brows knitted together.

Before you get a word in, he’s leaping over the couch.

“Babe you’re dripping wet.”

Like you didn’t realize—

You had forgotten your umbrella at home.

You open your mouth to tell him.

“You could get sick!”

He interrupts before you get the chance.

Your jaw tightens, before you try again.

“I left—“

“Where’s your umbrella!”

He puts his hands on your shoulders.

The feeling warms you, even through your bone-chill.

“I forgot it at home.”

You mumble, your head bowing in defeat.

“Oh! My poor baby! No worries. Satoru is here! He will take care of you!”

He dramatically exclaims, rubbing your soaking wet arms before he pulls you deeper inside your shared home.

You laugh at his antics, a warmth spreading in your chest despite the goosebumps on your skin.

“Where are we going ‘toru?”

You ask, he looks back at you with his charming grin.

“The shower of course. Gotta warm you back up.”

Satoru pulls you into the lavender scented bathroom, turning to face you, steady hands moving to your drenched clothes.

“I can’t believe you left your umbrella, if you get sick, I’m going to take care of you.”

He complains but there’s no heat, pulling off your soaking wet uniform, piece by piece.

“You’re shivering..”

He frowns, stepping away from you to turn on the shower, the water quickly steaming up the mirrors.

“There…”

He coos, rubbing your chilled skin with his warmer hands.

“My pretty baby..”

His voice is soft, his eyes trailing over you.

“Let’s get you warmed up!”

He strips himself quickly, pulling you into the shower along side him.

You sigh as the water hits you, big hands pull you into his chest.

Arms wrapping around your shoulders, melting into you.

He kisses the top of your head, making sure to keep you under the warm stream.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

You move to speak, to tell him about your shitty day—

“Shh.. don’t talk.. don’t think.. let me take care of you.”

You open one eye, a smirk pulling on your lips. Knowing you’ve used that exact line on him.

“You copying me now?”

He laughs, shaking his head.

“No.. no, well maybe a little.”

Your eyes close again, doing as he asked.

You hear shuffling, the soft bend of plastic, then— his hands in your hair. Gently lathering suds. Fingertips rub at your scalp in small circles making your head tip back.

Fully, completely, trusting.

The water hits you, dripping down your body warming you up from the chill from outside.

The shiver long gone.

Satoru had gone quiet when—

“You’re beautiful.”

He whispers, watching you with such intensity

he’s almost glad your eyes are closed.

“Thank you, ‘toru.”

You breathe out.

He gently tips your head back, letting the water pull the soap out of your hair.

“Don’t thank me, it’s a fact.”

Your face heats, a light chuckle leaving your lips.

His arm reaches over you, and you lean in pressing a soft kiss to his forearm.

Long fingers return to your scalp, repeating the gentle motions.

You peek your eyes open just enough to see him.

Big blue eyes watch you, filled with something you wish you had a better name for.

You know he loves you, but this tender care— his concentration, it deserves a different word.

Adoration?

Possibly.

You close your eyes again and smile to yourself.

Satoru catches it, because, of course he does.

“And— what are you smiling at?”

“You.”

You reply without missing a beat.

He scoffs, but you hear a smile in it.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

The shower gets turned off quietly, Satoru steps out first, grabbing a towel to make sure your hair gets dried off.

Then another for your body.

He takes his time patting you down, making sure you’re warm, dry. Most importantly, taken care of.

He kneels taking your thighs, gently lifting each foot into his lap clearing your skin of any water before standing and wrapping the towel around you.

“There.. warm now, right?”

You nod.

“Be right back. Don’t move.”

Your boyfriend dries himself off as he walks away, quickly returning with his towel wrapped around his waist and a hoodie and shorts in his land.

“Let’s get you dressed.”

He proceeds to gently pull off your towel, like unwrapping his favorite treat.

Savoring it.

Leaning in he kisses your shoulder.

Satoru pulls the familiar fabric of his hoodie over your head, the smell of laundry softener and his cologne easing you further.

Then he holds the shorts that you step into, pulling them up to sit snug on your hips.

“Now.. then..”

You smile up at him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

After a night at the pub, you and the boys step out, ready to leave.

The air is warm in the way that’s just perfect. Heavy and thick.

Wrapping around your shoulders like a blanket.

There’s crickets in the back ground chirping their song without worry.

Soft hum of traffic in the distance.

A summer night, a normal one at that.

And just- one too many drinks.

Johnny on your left and Simon to your right, sandwiching you between their bodies.

You’re a giggling mess at first.

Cheeks flushed warm, mind fuzzy.

The three of you a trio drunker than skunks moving in a zig zagging line towards the vehicle.

Following Price like he’s the only compass you trust.

All of you pack into the truck, one by one.

Simon by the window.

You in the middle.

Soap to your other side.

Gaz calling shotgun.

They all settle.

Everyone relaxed, their bodies molding into the seats under them.

Price drives— the only one semi-coherent one.

Music playing softly in the background on the radio.

You’re just as tired, leaning back into your seat. Your eyes fluttering closed—

But.

In the silence…

Drunk Simon sings to himself.

His defenses completely lowered.

His words murmured, not meant for performance or anyone to hear.

Soft and sweet. Just a slurred version of the chorus.

His eyes are closed, head leaning on the window.

“Lean on me.. when you’re not strong..”

“And I’ll be your...”

He doesn’t even fully finish the line, trailing off

Into slumber.

It’s not pretty, his voice is gruff.

It’s not perfect— definitely out of a tune and slurred.

But it’s real.

And you and Johnny hear it.

Both of you almost missing it over the rumble of the engine

Your eyes, misty when they find each other.

Jaws slacked in awe.

You both look back at Simon then at each other in silent promise to keep this sacred thing between them a secret.

Never to be spoken about again.

Tw: suggestive, slight dub-con, other?

Coworker Choso who stutters over himself the first shift you two have together.

Coworker Choso who cannot take his eyes off of you!

Coworker Choso who seems so sweet, always smiling at customers.

Coworker Choso who constantly helps with little things you don’t want to do.

Bathroom needs to be cleaned?

Choso did it.

Trash needs to be taken out?

Done.

Coworker Choso who always reminds you to take breaks.

Most definitely more than you should.

“There’s my favorite little helper.. why don’t you sit down, I can take care of this.”

He coos to you.

You sit watching him take care of customers.

Coworker Choso whom you quickly realize is very good with kids.

Coworker Choso who has a dark edgy look but flushes red if you two hold eye contact too long.

Coworker Choso who intentionally gets in your personal space at every chance he can take.

You’re bent over getting something?

He’s passing behind you, hands on your hips subtly grinding into you.

You’re on your tip toes trying to reach something on a high shelf?

Don’t worry! Because coworker Choso is already there! A hand on your lower back as he reaches above you for the item you need so badly.

His toned chest pressed right up against your back.

Now it’s your turn to not squirm and press back into him.

Coworker Choso who smiles at you as he gives you the item like your cheeks aren’t a pretty shade of pink.

Coworker Choso who lets absolutely no one talk down to his pretty coworker

Asshole at the counter?

Don’t worry your pretty little head because choso is already behind you as back up.

Giving the nastiest glare.

Coworker choso who begins to call you his:

Favorite coworker.

Little helper.

Coffee addict.

Anything he can use to hold a subtle claim over you.

Subtle until a customer hits on you, and not so subtly at that.

The man in front of you is clearly drunk with flushed cheeks and feet that refuse to keep him upright.

You smile none the less, putting on your best customer service voice despite the oily aura of this guy.

“Good evening sir! How can I help you tonight?”

Maybe it was your words.

The soft sweet tone in them.

Or maybe it was the way your uniform clung to your skin like an extra layer, getting shrunk in the dryer one too many times.

Or— he’s just a total perv!

The man smiles all lopsided as he reaches over the counter successfully grabbing a handful of your chest, slurring.

“You, pretty thing— lookin’ so good…”

You freeze completely.

You should scream!

Push this man off you!

Do something!

Chosos fist collides with the man’s jaw before he gets another word in—

He stumbled back, Choso’s hands find your shoulders with surprising gentleness as he pulls you back. Away from the counter.

His hands are warm through your clothes, making your skin tingle underneath.

He gets enough space to easily jump over the counter and lands with the grace of a feline.

The drunk man can’t keep up as Choso throws another punch. You see blood, hear the crack of the man’s now permanently crooked face.

You’ve never seen Choso so upset.

The worst part?

There’s no scowl.

No frown.

He’s completely calm on the surface.

Dragging the man away, throwing him out before he turns to you.

His voice soft like he’s scared you’ll run away.

“Everything okay, pretty?”

You blink at him in shock.

Your gaze dips to the blood on the floor.

Then back to him.

You swallow.

Then nod.

Your heart cannot slow down in your chest.

He follows your gaze, smiling as he rubs the back of his neck, like he just did something endearing, while his knuckles are split open.

“I’ll get that cleaned up.”

Coworker Choso who’s as sweet as the creamer he puts in your coffee around customers and your bosses.

And as filthy as sin when he finally gets you alone.

Coworker choso, who is a total pervert.

And a huge stress relief!

Coworker choso who finds you stressing out over grades, home life— whatever.

He promises to take your mind off it.

“Just let me take care of you pretty..”

He coos.

You can’t say no to the puppy dogs eyes he gives you.

Pulling you into the freshly cleaned bathroom.

He kisses you before anything, long slow kisses that turn your legs into jelly before spreading your thighs.

“There you are.. my pretty little thing..”

He purrs into your ear, the slightly humiliating words making you gasp as he lowers.

Kneeling down he burrows his face into you.

Nose pressing against your clit, only covered by your panties, taking a deep— slow, breath.

Coworker Choso who is absolutely nasty!

Slobbering all over your panties as he moans like he’s the one getting head!

When he finally ends up pulling the pretty white cotton to the side, he can barely control himself!

Coworker Choso who ends up cumming in his pants when you gush on his face. His hips rutting against nothing, face flushed pink covered in your slick.

All your stresses covering him from his nose to his chin.

Sweet, pathetic coworker choso <3

Your love life is amazing, the sex, even better.

He’s rough, and dominating, making you feel small and stupid in the best ways possible.

Allowing your thoughts to go quiet.

Tonight was a perfect night.

Well it was…

You lay in bed, your legs still shaking from the nth orgasm you had that night.

Your clothes are thrown, left forgotten somewhere in the corner of your shared room.

You’re completely alone.

Only for one reason.

Simon’s downstairs, grabbing you a glass of water after such a scene.

Tonight… he was rougher than usual.

Touching you with harsh hands, and speaking with mean words.

A look in his eye that you’ve never seen before.

Something that looked too closely to the way he would look at any other stranger.

It wasn’t much.

Just enough to make you wonder.

Enough to let thoughts spiral.

Enough to remember every command.

Every ache of your worn out body.

Your arms are littered in Simon’s fingerprints.

Bite marks throbbing on your shoulder and neck.

Your ass bright red from spankings.

You slowly roll over onto your side trying to relieve yourself of the sting.

It does little to help.

A small sound leaving your lips.

Did he mean it, when he called you a whore?

A piece of ass only meant to fuck?

Pathetic..?

Tears began to welt in your eyes before you knew what was happening. Your gaze fixed onto the wall.

The puddle forming under your cheek starts slow.

Quiet.

Simon walks back in, naked as the day he was born when his eyes find you.

He stops dead in his tracks.

You’re curled up on yourself, looking like a ghost.

You hear his steps quicken.

The glass clinks as it’s placed down.

His heart is racing in his chest as he approaches.

“Luvie…?”

His call is a whisper.

Your eyes slowly find his.

Cheeks beaten red, blotchy with tears.

His stomach drops.

“Y/n… talk to me.”

He sits down beside you, eyes scanning over your shaking form.

He knows something is wrong but doesn’t know what.

He didn’t do anything different tonight, not to his memory.

His hand lifts but hesitates, dropping back to his side.

“Are you okay.. did I hurt you?”

His voice wavers with concern.

Fear.

You can’t answer, your throat tightening at his worry.

Unable to meet his eyes, suddenly feeling guilty at your tears.

Your thoughts eat at you.

Were you being stupid?

Overdramatic?

Your mouth opens and only a broken sound comes out.

Simon reaches for his shirt sitting only a foot away, pulling it over your head.

You allow it, slipping your hands through the sleeves.

It’s big, like a dress on you.

Your eyes are still down in your lap.

He leans in, gently pulling your hair from your shirt without a word.

The gesture allows you to breathe.

Giving you some sense of security.

“M’ here luvie.. you can tell me anything.”

He whispers, his hand gently patting down your hair, soft like you’ll disappear if he touches you with too much pressure.

He’s close, but not suffocating you.

Giving you space to breathe, to process.

You’re quiet for a long moment. Leaning into the warmth of his hand as a comfort.

“Simon… you were.. really mean.”

You manage to get out, unable to look at him.

You pause the word feeling wrong on your tongue.

“Different..”

You choose instead.

He feels his blood run cold at your tone. So small, so unlike your bright self.

He begins to overthink, replaying everything he said, how he touched you.

His hand freezes on you for just a moment.

“My baby...”

His tone makes your eyes snap over to him.

His hand moves again, slowly moving down your cheek.

“I am so sorry… I never meant to hurt you..”

Even if he doesn’t fully understand, he knows enough.

“I was too rough on you..”

You wince as he gently caresses the inflamed skin he was once so rough to.

“May I.. hold you?”

His words come out small, hesitant to ask for more than he should.

You nod with a small sniffle.

He doesn’t wait a second.

Picking you up under your legs, pulling you into his warm chest.

His chin rests on top of your head as you breathe into him.

Your shoulders shaking with attempts to keep your cries in.

“It’s okay… let it out.”

He coos to you, his hand rubbing circles on your back. Big, slow motions. Warm and heavy on your clothed back.

Trying to apologize in every touch.

Every twitch of his fingers.

You breathe deeply, feeling like every pass of his hand only breaks the dam inside you further, until you just can’t take it.

You sob into him, loud and ugly.

Hiding your face into him as your entire body shakes.

He holds you tightly.

So tight, like he wants to pull you inside of him.

His heart pounding with worry.

God never again.

“M’ sorry… m’so sorry—“

You slur into his chest like a mantra.

His heart breaks a little.

He pulls you closer if that’s possible, murmuring in your hair.

“Shh..shh.. don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

He replies, calm and soft.

His hands going to your scalp, gently massaging.

You’re close enough you can hear his heartbeat.

It’s fast.

Despite such, he continues.

“Breathe for me luv.. breathe.”

He coaches… You listen.

He rests his cheek on your head, taking a breath of your hair, reeling in you.

Holding you together.

“I’m the one that should be apologizing.. you should never feel like this.. not with me.”

So gently, like you’re made of porcelain, he tilts your head up, collecting your tears.

“You are everything to me, my world, my entire heart. I thought you wanted to feel small under me…”

He pauses kissing your temple.

“If you don’t want that, it’ll never happen again.”

You shake your head, cheek moving against his palm.

You take his hand in yours, feelings swirling in your chest.

“I.. I do want that.. I like it when you’re mean.. sometimes..”

you speak softly, your eyes red rimmed, meeting his for a glimpse.

He waits…

Thinking…

You’re keeping something in, and he can see it.

“Then.. what’s got you like this..?”

He responds, his tone patient. Only for you.

His fingers tangling in your hair.

You pause, closing your eyes as you gather courage.

“I.. felt so alone.”

You whisper back to him.

His heart lurches at your tone.

His arms wrap around your shoulders.

His breath soft against the back of your head.

When he speaks again it’s hesitant. Careful.

“M’.. sorry dovie.. how can I help you now?”

You lean into him, more than grateful for his comfort.

“Love me..”

You whisper back, your eyes closing, a small frown on your lips.

He doesn’t respond verbally.

Taking the signs he leans in, kissing so softly over the bite mark he left on your shoulder.

Again, at the bruises on your arms.

Your fingertips.

Palm, wrist.

Loving you.

Fingers carefully moving against your sides, finding your sore hips.

Rubbing, massaging.

His hands pull you back into him. Whispering words of affection.

“My pretty baby.. always so good for me.. yeah?”

He asks, his hands pausing.

His honey eyes soften when they find yours.

“Say it, pretty… for me?”

His voice is low but so careful, in a way that makes your thoughts go quiet as you repeat his words.

“I was good… for you.”

you nod, feeling a tightness in your chest, a burn in your nose.

He holds you softly, his big hands moving down your thighs.

“I love you.”

He whispers into your skin.

Tears roll down your cheeks again.

This time, not out of pain, or insecurity.

But the way he loves you.

So sweetly kissing at every mark, every bruise, every affliction to your skin.

He shifts, pulling your back to his chest.

His hand wrapping around your jaw to make you look up at him.

His eyes serious, tone low.

“I love you, more than anything.”

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re never alone with me. I’m here with you, always. More than just sex. More than any scene.”

He promises you.

His rough but controlled, keeping eye contact.

He ends with a kiss to your wet cheek.

You nod up at him.

Your heart warming in your chest.

He wraps his arms around your middle, resting into you.

“Let me draw you a bath.. we can soak together… how does that sound luv..?”

He asks, barely a whisper.

You smile so softly..

Just a small idea for a poly Tf141 and reader!

Tf141 getting a happy ending?

It’s you.

Waiting at home with a big warm meal.

Enough for 4 men.

A bed big enough for all 5 bodies.

Sheets cool and soft against scarred, rough skin.

It’s your patience.

The comfort in the silence between you all.

It’s coffee in the morning, shared between warm mugs and morning breath.

It’s you shaving their faces with steady hands and a smile

The sweet words you murmur between shared sheets.

The soft caresses of your hand down their backs.

In their hair.

Over their chests.

It’s the tenderness in the way you scrub the dirt from their fingers.

The sweetness of your lips on theirs.

The ability you solely have to take a day worth nothing and turn it into something valuable.

It’s you giving them something they never thought they could have.

Something precious.

Something theirs.