:)

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

Three rotations of the silver spoon in his hand, each marked with a soft sound. The sugar at the bottom of his cup dissolves, and with one last tink he brings the cup to his lips.

Sweet.

His eyes dart to the clock on the wall.

7:19 pm.

A breath enters his chest, exhaling his shoulders slump.

The counter behind him bites into his back, making him stand straight once again.

With another sip of his tea, his eyes find the clock again.

7:20 PM.

With his jaw a fraction tighter, he pushes off the counter. He leaves the kitchen only for his feet to be tangled in a blanket that’s too soft for skin worn as his.

He bends, his fingers tenderly wrapping around the fabric, placing it back onto the couch, when his eyes land on a soft stuffed animal a man like him would never allow in his home.

He turns. His gaze landing on the clock that seems to taunt him.

7:22 pm

Almost.

Not quite.

But almost.

He hated that word, meant too many things could slip between the cracks.

The blanket in his hand burns in his palm, he releases it only to smooth out the wrinkle he created.

He needs to do something, anything to get his mind off the clock.

Off of—

The fridge.

His sharp gaze settles on the white refrigerator stark against his dark countertops.

Within a step he’s pulling the door open, the cool air doing little to settle the unease in his stomach.

His want to look at the door.

His need to check the clock.

Nothing in the fridge looked useful, nothing edible.

The door slams hard enough to make the cans of your favorite drink rattle inside the door.

He almost flinches at the sound.

You.

His jaw clenched with another uncertainty, and this wasn’t over dinner, or the way his stomach seemed to knot and twist.

His eyes snapped to the clock.

7:38

Right before his mind could catch up with the instant new tightness in his shoulders or the ache in his jaw—

The door opens.

“God Simon, I am exhausted.”

He hears your lovely voice complain the instant you stumble through the door and the kitchen walls seem to fade, and the only thing he can see is you.

You’re already making your way to him, bags under your eyes and your clothes all disheveled from work.

You look as tired as you sound.

But to Simon, it’s the sight his tired eyes have been waiting to see.

He doesn’t speak, but the way his entire body relaxes as you find him in the kitchen seems to tell you enough.

Without words Simon crosses the room to meet you in the middle, his massive arms wrapping tight, steady bands around your waist. He doesn’t ask you about your day, he just holds you.

Like he’s reminding himself you’re really here.

Home.

Simon has spent years learning how to wait— but with you?

It felt impossible.

You melt into him as you always do, already feeling your drained battery slowly recharge.

Everyday you do this, come home and sink into the safety of his arms and chest.

Even when you’re running a tad late.

And Simon?

Simon completely curls to meet your shorter frame, his face, bare of any mask nuzzles into the curve of your neck and shoulder, taking a long steady breath.

Seems he’s recharging too.

“V’missed you luvie.”

He murmurs against you, you lean your head into him, happy to stand in the kitchen held by the scariest, most beautiful man you know.

“Missed you too, Si.”

You mumble right back.

And still the clock that taunted him only seconds ago ticks away, but Simon could care less of how quickly the hands move.

Not here.

Not with you.

<< previous — master list >>

The doors to the storage room were heavy, he knew you’d be close. He watched you run inside this dark place your face twisted up with fear.

Simon walks in slow, his phone ringing in his pocket. Slowly he pulls it out to see your name shining across his screen.

Nothing could matter more than this.

More than you right now.

You’re alone, and scared.

And calling for Simon.

Praying, Simon will pick up.

The ringing in the creepy room only adds to your torment.

You press your back into one of the storage crates you’re hiding behind.

Maybe Simon’s closer than you think.

You’re not sure why, but the thought tightens something in your gut.

Heavy footsteps break your train of thought, in a knee jerk reaction you curl up on yourself, pinching your eyes closed.

Your heart races in your chest.

Your phone tight in your hand.

You want to say something— to call out, but you can’t seem to move let alone speak.

This is where it ends. You’re sure whoever that’s been following you, caught you.

And no one is here to save you.

The ringing stops, making your eyes snap open.

Tears burn in your eyes, blurring your vision as you see your little life flash in your mind.

Everything you have done, everything you haven’t done.

More footsteps.. heavy.. slow.

Close— too close.

You gasp when a heavy hand brushes your shaking shoulder.

The man kneels down touching your knee, with a warm rough palm.

Your head turns up to see the last thing you think you’ll ever lay your eyes on.

But-

It’s just Simon.

“Easy there.. it’s me.”

Maybe it’s the adrenaline pumping through your veins, but you could’ve sworn he just cood at you.

Simon has never seen you so.. scared.

It does something to him he doesn’t want to admit.

His jaw tightens, staring at you with an unwavering gaze.

You swallow, hard. A mix of confusion and relief spreading through you.

“Simon?”

You all but mutter.

You reach forward for his jacket, your fingers curl into the soft leather.

Needing something to anchor onto.

He leans forward, like a magnet. Shielding you with a massive arm. You’re so close he hopes you can hear just how hard his heart is beating in his chest.

Like a damn bird in a cage.

You lean into him, like reflex. He smells different today, cleaner. Like a hospital.

Bleach-y.

He speaks again, the pad of his thumb collecting the tears under your eyes.

“Look at you, shaking like a leaf.”

He tilts your chin up, savoring the way his fingers feel against your soft face.

He whispers.

“Tell me whats wrong bird.”

Hoping this moment will never end.

You open your mouth to speak but honestly you feel like an idiot.

Here you are, crying and shaking and for what good reason?

You breathe out, steadying yourself.

“Someone.. someone was following me.”

You whisper, the tremble in your voice has Simon tensing.

He doesn’t question you further, instead he nods, brushing the tears that stream down your face away with a rough thumb.

His next words send a chill through you.

“Someone was. I took care of them.”

Your eyes widen on his. Everything playing back in your head.

With your brows knitting together words tumble from your lips.

“Simon— what does that mean?”

He stares back at you, dragging his thumb under your eye.

“Means they won’t be botherin’ you again.”

He pauses, studying you.

Before you can even find words to question him with, his big hand moves from your face to your arm, brushing against the cold skin there.

Silencing you.

His words should make you feel better.

They don’t.

But.

The tears in your eyes stop falling.

Again his thumb strokes slowly against your arm.

“Can I take you home?”

Simon doesn’t rush, just waits.

His gentle motions never stopping as you gather your thoughts.

Frozen like a deer in headlights.

The what ifs?

The maybes?

The could haves?

You freeze.

Nasty anxiety stirs in your stomach.

Before you know what you’re doing, your head is shaking side to side.

Slow like you’re unsure of the answer yourself.

“No.”

It’s small, barely there. But Simon doesn’t miss it. Nor the way your eyes dart away from his.

He doesn’t like it.

That’s when he offers, even lower.

“How about mine instead?”

You nod.

Behind his black surgical mask, Simon is sure to crinkle his eyes just enough for a smile to be seen.

Gently, Simon offers you his hand.

It’s big.

Scarred from things you’re not sure you want to know.

Calloused just right before knuckles meet fingers.

You don’t wait to take it.

His grip tightens on you, not painfully.

Never painfully.

Just enough to pull you up and close to him.

He wraps a protective arm around you as you two walk out of the store.

No items in hand.

Just your quietness and another victory for Simon.

He looks down at you, your distant gaze.

Quietly, he speaks to you as you walk.

“You’re alright. Safe now.”

You nod, barely registering the words.

The walk to his Chevy is short, at least you remember it to be.

He opens the passenger door for you, helping you climb in as he’s done before.

It’s soothing, the familiarity of it all.

The smell of his leather seats, the way his hand instinctively moves to the back of your headrest.

Close but not touching, like being near is all he needs.

You take a deep breath in, and out.

Looking up at the roof.

Calming your nerves as your hands clench open and closed.

Simon looks over at you with one hand on the steering wheel, a question in his eyes.

“You see who did it?”

You swallow hard, all the work you just did to calm your unwravels at the simple question.

You shake your head, not trusting your voice.

Simon sees this.

Watches how you stare at only one point, how your fingers clench around the fabric of your shirt.

Softly.

Gently, even.

“You’re safe with me.”

The words on his tongue feel like a lie.

A blatant one.

Simon is not the kind of man anyone is safe around.

But you?

You finally smile back at him, and nod like his words are fact.

His massive hand moves to your shoulder, slow, like if he moved too fast you might jump out your skin.

But you don’t.

Then, his thumb swipes against you.

Once, then twice.

It’s nice.

Comforting.

Your eyes close for just a moment, then Simons outside, opening your door like a true gentleman, offering his hand for you to get out.

Like routine, you take his hand and jump down.

Without a word you follow Simon in, he leads you to his apartment, his hand on your lower back the whole way.

Inside his apartment it’s clean, as you remember from last time. But now your eyes land on a pillow and blanket already folded onto the end of his couch.

Like it was waiting for you.

You look at Simon, he simply shrugs, nodding to the couch.

“Guess it’s a good thing I forgot to put ‘em away.”

You nod, seems understandable enough.

“Sit make yourself comfortable.”

Simon suggests, standing from the kitchen.

You almost move to follow him, but instead you land on the couch. More tired than you realize. Your hands drag down your face.

What a day it has been.

When you look back up, Simon is standing beside you. Bending to place a cup of tea in front of you.

Without question you reach to take it, with a single sip you realize it’s your favorite.

You must have mentioned it once, you think.

“Thank you.”

You breathe out, the ceramic cup warm in your hands. The aroma sweet but natural, blissful even.

Simon stays standing, looking almost awkward in his own home. He clears his throat, shoving his hands too aggressively in his back pockets as he takes a half step back to the kitchen behind him.

“You need to eat.”

It’s not a question.

You open your mouth to protest but the man is already gone.

Pots clink softly in the background, cabinet doors open and close. Before you know it, the smell is making your mouth water.

It was strangely domestic feeling.

Before you’re able to think too deeply, Simon returns with a bowl carefully balanced in big hands, steam rising from the top.

It’s your favorite.

Somehow.

But you don’t ever remember talking about it.

Not once.

Your eyes bounce from the beautiful meal in front of you to Simon.

“How did you know?”

You ask, your tone laced with suspicion.

He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, silently asking to join you with a nod of his head.

You move, making room for him despite his unwillingness to answer you.

When he sits, the couch dips under his weight, sighing with an audible creak.

You look down at the bowl in your hands again, a soft genuine smile pulling at the corners of your lips despite weird coincidence.

You sigh, barely hearing yourself.

“Thank you Simon, really.”

Simon shifts, watching you all too closely as you bring the spoon to your lips, blowing on the steaming food before it slips between the soft muscles making Simon look away with a grunt.

Looking deadly at a spot in his white walls he asks, his voice low meant only for you.

“Who did you call first?”

It seems almost out of the blue. Simon, being curious.

“You.”

You answer without hesitation.

That’s when he sighs again, longer and deeper than before, like you’ve just taken something off his chest.

But the moment doesn’t last long, he turns facing you.

“Why?”

The question catches you off guard.

Because when your breaker box gave out on you, he was there.

When your pipes busted, he was there.

When your keys decided to grow legs and walk away, he’s the one to give you rides, to make sure you don’t walk alone.

It was clear to you.

“I trust you.”

Simon blinks. Your words settling over him like the waves against sand. Washing away the little drawings once etched into them, along with all his thoughts.

I trust you

I trust you

I trust you

Your words ring in his head like church bells.

He replays them over and over until nothing is left but you.

You look down at your half full bowl, taking another bite.

The scape of your spoon against the ceramic bowl is the only sound in the room until you look up to see Simon starting right back at you.

The whites of his eyes visible.

“Simon?”

His eyes flick, so slowly he moves in. Your breath catches at his proximity. But Simon feels like he can breathe again as he gently brushes away stray hairs from your face.

Trust.

You trust him.

“Sleep in my bed tonight.”

Your turn to him with your brows to your hairline.

“Excuse me?”

You breathe out, after all you’ve been through your heart can’t take any more of this.

“I’ll sleep on the couch, my bed is comfortable.”

His gaze hasn’t left yours, he’s not asking.

Somehow you find yourself nodding along to the idea, too tired to argue you tell yourself.

But, things are always safer with Simon.

You know this.

Once your bowl is empty, and your stomach is full, your eyelids are heavy and you can’t help but lean into the warmth at your side.

The TV drones on in the background but the only thing Simon is paying attention to is how perfectly you fit.

Fit beside him.

Fit in his life.

Fit his urges.

You were perfect.

And now he’s got you.

His strong arms snake under your legs, carefully carrying you to his bed, where he’s left special soft sheets like yours just for you tonight.

You barely stir as he tucks you in, completely vulnerable and unconscious in his presence.

He just can’t help himself, staring down at your peaceful form.

His hand twitches at his side.

He knows he shouldn’t. But he’s already gotten away with so much already.

Giving into temptation the back of Simon’s hand brushes against your cheek.

Slow.

Intimate.

Like he was memorizing the way your skin rises under his touch.

So warm.

A smile, one crooked appears on his lips.

His finger ghosting over the line of your jaw.

“Oh.. my stupid little bird.”

…

Simon slowly moves back to the living room after spending too long at your bedside.

The couch isn’t comfortable, digging into his back in plenty of places.

But it’s all worth it.

Worth it, he thinks as his finger brushes over his screen, showing off your pretty face all tear streaked and red with fear from earlier. A small huff of satisfaction leaves him as he saves the picture to a file only meant for you.

He looks back at the hallway where you sleep only a few feet away and sighs.

Placing his phone screen down on his chest.

You’re safe.

Laid in his bed.

Just where you’re meant to be.

Part 1 — part 2 —

୨୧ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ♡ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ୨୧

Trees. Tall buildings. More trees. People.

Gaz’s eyes flick to each fleeting scene of normalcy as his fingers dig into the armrest below. The cab driver has been quiet the entire ride.

His luggage in the back sits forgotten. It smells of too-clean leather and whatever shitty cologne the driver has dabbed onto his skin.

Gaz hasn’t even had time to change out of his military uniform. The light and dark greens were stained with blood and dirt from his recent mission. He looks away, his jaw ticking trying to focus on what’s ahead.

Johnny.

A brother in arms. Gaz picks at the loose skin by his nail as the hospital comes into view. Bile was crawling up his throat, making him feel sick to his stomach.

Stepping out of the cab, he doesn’t remember grabbing his luggage or talking to the person behind the desk. The next thing he sees is the elevator doors. His attention locked onto the button he should be pressing but he can’t seem to move.

Suddenly a soft, pretty purple catches his eye. Looking down, he sees a nurse.

“You’re a part of Johnny's crew, aren’t you?”

You ask.

Gaz opens his mouth to respond with a question, but you’re already moving before he gets the chance. Pressing the elevator button to Johnny's floor, not waiting for an answer, you explain.

“I’m Y/N. I’m Johnny’s primary nurse. You look like you could use a coffee.”

Too stunned to say anything, Gaz only nods back.

You have no idea.

You smile up at him, bright and easy like he hadn’t just been on an 8-hour flight, back to back with a 4-hour drive.

Like it’s nothing, you walk out of the elevator calling out before you get too far away.

“I’ll be checking on Johnny soon. He’s in room 203.”

You remind the pretty military man with tan skin and short buzzed hair.

Gaz stands in the elevator a moment longer, only moving when the doors threaten to close him in once again, now alone.

Before such a fate, he takes a massive step, his heart pounding in his chest.

All this time, and he’s had no updates. No word of Johnny's condition, just the fact that he’s been shot in a fatal area..

Finally, his eyes land on the placard screwed against the wooden door, reading 203.

Johnny's room.

His blood feels cold in his veins as his hand wraps around the handle, trying to prepare himself for the worst.

But that’s hard when all he wants is to see the bright blue-eyed Scot.

Tears are already sprouting in the corners of his eyes as he slowly pushes the door open, ready to see his best friend on the edge of death.

The moment the door opens, 3 pairs of eyes immediately snap to whoever came in.

Gaz stands in the doorway, like he isn’t sure he’s allowed inside yet. His expression haunted, dark circles under his wet eyes, and lips so tight they hurt.

Bright blue eyes stare back at him with a growing smile.

“Kyle!”

Johnny exclaims, his heart monitor beeping a pace quicker than before.

Chairs scrape as both men stand.

Even Simon’s eyes are wide.

“Gaz.”

The man still in camouflage brushes past Price and Simon to get to Johnny. His knees give out on him as he moves closer to the hospital bed. Tears freely streaming down his face.

“Johnny! Fucking Christ! You’re okay!”

His nails dig into the sheets covering Johnny’s legs as he bows his head into his lap. Uncaring of the snot and tears that soak into the cloth below.

“M’ alright Kyle.”

Johnny murmurs, petting the top of his head trying to comfort the usually put-together man.

Then the door opens again—

Lilac scrubs.

A kind smile.

You.

You stop at the door, sure you’re not supposed to be here during such an emotional reunion, you take a step back when Johnny calls out.

“Angel! Get ova’ ‘ere.”

The Scot gestures you to come closer, and you take a step as Gaz straightens up, wiping his face.

“Sorry about that.”

He whispers.

Once you make it to Johnny's bedside you offer the shaky man beside you a soft smile.

“Thats alright.”

Price watches as you rest a gentle hand on Gaz’s shoulder. He says nothing.

“All four of you have gone through hell, take some time to just be with each other.”

You turn your attention to Johnny. He seems alright. Good vitals, no signs of discomfort.

Your eyes bounce between Price, Simon who’s silent as always, and back to the stranger.

“It’s alright, a lot of emotions running.”

You offer a supportive pat on the shoulder.

“Angel—“

Johnny slurs, catching both of your attentions.

“Kyle, this is my angel.”

He gestures to you, then to Kyle.

“N’ Angel this is my best mate, Kyle!”

Johnny waits for you two to shake hands, and a chuckle leaves your lips as you reach out.

“Pleased to meet you, properly this time.”

His hand is warm, rough like the rest of the men in this room. The gold band on his fingers rests coldly against your hand.

He nods, and you see the smallest smile form on his lips, just enough to give you the shadow of a dimple.

You look back at Johnny with a brow raised.

“Was that all?”

He shakes his head, but a mischievous smile splits his face.

“Puddin‘?”

You scoff, but can’t help but smile.

“Always.”

Quietly you leave, with a side mission to grab a cup of pudding.

–

Now alone, Price slumps back in a chair, pulling his fishing hat over his eyes with a sigh.

Simon sits beside Gaz who can't look away from the needle taped into Johnny’s arm. He paces.

“Kyle.”

His head snaps in the direction of Simon, who’s sitting with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Sit.”

“Yer’ even makin me nervous.”

Johnny adds, a crinkle in his eye.

Gaz ends up, begrudgingly pulling a plastic chair nearby to be more comfortable, completely silent. His leg resumes its relentless bouncing.

Johnny’s smile slowly turns lazy, his head tilting.

“Don't look so blue, it ain't a pretty color on ye Kyle.”

That rewards Johnny with a half-hearted chuckle.

“That nurse of yours, seems nice.”

Gaz offers trying to lighten the mood, Johnny takes the bait, grinning, instantly moving onto his favorite current topic.

You.

“Were not the only ones to think so, seems Price has taken a likin’ to ‘em too.”

Gaz actually laughs this time, looking over at Price who only snores in response, his cap over his eyes.

“Think they'd be good together, the two of em.”

Only then does Price have something to say. Ripping the hat off his face to gruffly decline..

“Absolutely not, McTavish. Don't start.”

Johnny and Gaz share a look, and Simon who's been quiet speaks up from beside them both.

“Think he might ‘ava point there Captain.”

“Unbelievable.”

Price mutters, dragging a hand down his face.

Johnny laughs.

“M’ takin a leek.”

Price stands, shaking off the remainder of the smile betraying him on his lips.

Johnny turns to Gaz, a shit-eating smirk on his lips as he whispers.

“How much you wanna bet he's just tryin’ to see em again.”

Gaz snorts.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Gaz brushes it off but Johnny turns, ready to tell him more of the angel in purple.

“They always leave me extra puddin’ they're a real sweetheart.”

–

Price’s steps are slow as he begins to return to Johnny's room, wiping his wet hands on the back of his dark denim, his eyes scanning across the white halls. Military habit as they bounce from corner to corner, searching for something he prefers not to name.

Only for it to find him.

“Captain?”

You question, making Price jump.

Literally, he flinches a whole inch backwards..

You laugh.

“Jumpy much?”

“Too much caffeine.”

Your narrowed eyes scan him up and down, he really does look worn out.

“cmon, I wanna show you something.”

He looks at you with suspicion, but you’re already walking away.

Shoving his hands in his pockets he trails after you, pretending he isn’t stretching to keep up.

You look back at him, a smile on your lips as you push through two doors. One was painted a soft blue, the other a baby pink.

Price is quick to realize that you’re taking him to the nursery unit.

His throat tightens for a reason he just can’t put a finger on.

You lead him to a big window, behind this pane of glass separates you two from what Price could count as 20 newborns all swaddled in blue and pink blankets along with tiny hats he is sure his hand would dwarf.

Price swallows.

Hard.

You hadn’t expected awe.

Softly you whisper.

“I always come here when things get a little too hectic. It’s peaceful.”

Price’s hand twitches at his side like he wants to reach out.

The silence between you is thick. His eyes scan over each child with purpose, the smallest, almost sad smile crossing his lips.

Then his hand moves, fingertips just barely brushing the cold glass.

“It’s... funny.”

You look over at him, your breath caught in your throat at his soft tone. His eyes don't leave the pastel colored room.

“I've spent my entire life, protecting people.”

His hand drops from the glass, like pulling himself back from a dream too far gone.

“Just never got around to makin any..”

His gaze hesitantly moves to meet yours.

You want to say something, the words right on your tongue, you open your mouth to speak when—

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

Your pager, clipped to your hip shrieks cutting through the intimate atmosphere. The words die in your throat when your eyes flick down.

“It’s.. it’s Johnny.”

Before Price can ask what happened, you turn on your heel and sprint down the hallway.

He chases after you…

I luv Simon <3 and his bad habits.

Simon only cleans with bleach.

And it’s not because it’s the only chemical he can afford.

It’s not because he likes the smell or the way it leaves his hands dry and cracked open.

No.

You always complain about the way your eyes burn when you enter his apartment, but if you knew the filth of his childhood home you wouldn’t think twice about it.

—

Filthy almost didn’t cover it.

When Simon was little, he slept with cotton in his ears. Terrified at eight years old that the cockroaches crawling over his skin would make their ways into his ears.

He survived those years living in garbage, the floor to his room littered with items that never belonged to him and are now rotted into his carpet and reek of something like death.

His bathroom was left in a worse state than his bedroom.

The toilet, stained yellow and black.

The grout of the tile of the shower, black.

The mold spotting the plastic lining of his curtain taunting him each time he runs the damn thing.

Only for the water coming out of it to be rusted and just as dirty as the shower floor itself.

It was worse than embarrassing, it was a death trap.

The second he entered the military, the difference of having a mountain of trash constantly surrounding him, compared to the minimalistic style of his new life had him breathing in a breath of fresh, clean air.

This was a good start, he thought.

Then, he got his first clean up assignment.

It wasn’t anything big, not even punishment.

Told to scrub the bathroom floors until they were white, and that’s where he was introduced to the simple chemical.

Bleach.

Simon knelt on his hands and knees, brush held in his hand with nothing but determination.

The cold tile was covered in dirt, muck, and other things he doesn’t care to think about as he scrubs at the floor.

The smell burnt his nose, and his eyes.

The chemical eats away stains and dirt that Simon thought he would spend hours slaving away at.

Blinking away tears to see as he wipes at the ground that reminds him too much of home. With another pass of his hand, he watches as everything turns white.

Once finished, the once muddy bathroom is now spotless. Simon was left in awe.

For the first time, Simon had cleaned something so filthy, and turned it sparkling.

Damn near brand new.

He didn’t care how badly his eyes burned, or how his nose kept the smell long after he left. This, was beautiful.

—

Today under his bathroom cabinet sits 6 bottles of the product. Simon won’t clean with anything but the stuff.

When you come over for the first time, it’s the second thing you notice. The first thing being his spotless place, each surface reflecting from how clean it is.

Much later, one day when you two are cuddled on the couch you ask, simply curious.

“Si, why do you only use bleach? You know there are other cleaning products right?”

Simon slowly turns his head to look at you, his brows furrowing like you had just asked the most complex question.

“It.. it makes things clean, love.”

It’s hesitant, but it’s all he has to say. Simon sits a little straighter, his gaze never leaving yours. Still questioning.

Now it’s your turn to be confused. With a tilt of your head you question.

“But there are other things Simon, like a bunch of stuff that don’t burn the shit out of your eyes, you know?”

Simon doesn’t answer you, not right away. He takes a deep breath, the words seeming to cost him something as he looks away from you.

“It makes things feel clean, to me.”

You wait, knowing there must be more to come.

He fidgets with his hands, rubbing the soft muscle between his finger and thumb.

“My past life, was full of filth. Bleach,”

He pauses, looking back at you as he repeats himself.

“Bleach makes things clean, love. Nothing else.”

Seeing Simon so sure on one thing, you know it must be important enough. You sigh laying back to his chest.

“Next time, just air it out for me, kay?”

Simon’s still against you, before slowly he relaxes back into you. A gruff hum of agreement follows.

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

Word count: 580

Summary: Just take the damn thing.

Warnings: none

୨୧ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ♡ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ୨୧ ୨୧┈┈♡┈୨୧

The arcade was small, full of retro games that Johnny and Simon haven’t seen since childhood. Simon holds the door opens, following after the two of you enter.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

The Scott scoffs, his hands on his hips like he’s just found something no one else has.

Tye

The masked man stops in his tracks, his eyes darting around to each game like he doesn’t know what to look at first.

His fists clenching at his sides.

The lights were bright, the music almost too loud.

Simon didn’t say anything, like usual.

Johnny looks over at Simon, a gentle smile on his lips as he taps the bigger man’s shoulder.

“It’ll be alright, ye?”

Simon nods once before Striding deeper into the arcade.

Leaving you alone with Johnny.

The Scott’s eyes stay on the tall figure until they lose him between the tall machines and pools of people.

You laugh loud and free, snapping Johnnys attention back to you as the arcade screen illuminates your face in a way that has him unable to look away.

Your screen fades to black and you groan.

“I suck at this game!”

You laugh and roll your eyes, turning to Johnny who’s smiling right back at you.

“Move over, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Playfully, the Scott pats you on the shoulder, inserting another quarter into the slot to continue the game.

Simon watches from afar with his jaw tighter than before, a small plush squished between his fingers.

His heart races.

And it’s not because of the bright lights, nor the music.

You look up at Johnny with a bright smile, leaning into him.

Simon approached silently.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Simon challenges from behind Johnny.

His dark gaze flickers to you when in his rough hand you see it.

A hello kitty plush.

You can’t help but grin ear to ear.

Slowly, he holds it out to you.

“Take it.”

His expression so stoic, you almost believe it’s a trap.

Nonetheless, you take the cute cat stuffed animal from Simons hand, holding it like it’s precious.

“Thank you.”

He grunts in response.

The Scott laughs, glancing over his shoulder.

Without a word, Simon digs in his pocket for a coin, stepping away to join Jonny in the game with a competitive glare.

You watch the two from the side, a small smile pulling on your lips as they playfully bump shoulders trying to mess the other up.

Your fingers caressing the soft fabric of the plush in your hands.

Your stomach turns in your gut, a gnawing hunger reminding you that arcades aren’t the place to eat.

Simon shifts, his hands leaving the controls instantly at the sound.

“Hungry?”

He questions, stepping away from the game.

You shrug.

“We’re having fun. I’m okay.”

You gesture to the system between the two of them with a smile.

“Finish your game.”

You offer.

Johnny and Simon share a look, one you can’t decipher. Johnny throws on his jacket, leaving the game music to continue as they both turn towards you.

“Nope! Duty calls.”

Johnny chimes as he steps to your right.

Silently Simon joins on your left, waiting for you to move.

You can’t help but giggle.

“You guys are ridiculous.”

You say but your cheeks are warming with their thoughtfulness.

You all leave the building, moving outside when Johnny speaks up from your side.

“Plus, I know a killer BBQ place we could check out.”

Simon Riley has bad— weird? habits.

And a lot of them.

It started when he was just a kid, picking old scabs off his skin. Watching the dried up blood peel right off, only to squeeze at the small wound until it bled again. Repeating the process enough to the point it became habit, creating oh so many scars.

Speaking of his youthful days, the rare times he remembers on the playground was spent sitting alone on a far away pile of dirt. Gently pulling earthworms from the ground, keeping them safe in his small palm. Small friends, he thought.

It was a short time, but when Simon was in school his leg tapped under the desk he sat at. Everyday. Every class period. Every lunch. The stimming being loud enough for the teacher to lose concentration, their eyes breaking to the same spot under Simon’s desk.

When Simon was 10 he picked up the first butt of a cigarette he could get his hands on, hiding away while his dad was too drunk to notice. The moment he put it to his lips, the taste immediately burned the tip of his tongue, he hacked and threw the thing like it had truly wronged him.

Although.

4 years later and Simon is pick pocketing strangers off the street to get money for a fresh pack.

The nasty habit sticks with him to this day. His teeth yellow and rotted. Nicotine that stains his fingers and smoke that clings to his clothes no matter how many times he washes it.

At 28, he no longer picks at his scabs. Bullet holes and deep gashes being no contender for such things.

But.

His nails now bleed weekly. If not daily. When dark leather is no longer protecting his big digits the real damage is seen.

All around his nail is dry, cracked. Rubbed raw and red. His cuticles non-existent and overgrown in an impossible way.

At 30 Simon stopped smoking.

After all, with all the hospital visits he’s taking to see Johnny the habit becomes something more irritable than soothing.

He now wears nicotine patches. Plural. One atop his shoulder the other stuck to his lower back, killing the cravings before than can begin, allowing him to stay as long as he wants with Johnny.

Now?

32 years old, a small nicotine patch on his skin, your feet in his lap.

He no longer picks at scabs, nor steals for cigarettes, or even fills his pockets with dirt.

But habits don’t just disappear, they change into other smaller things.

The Tv is on, playing some late night show neither of you are paying too much attention to.

Simons finger moves over a hangnail resting on his thumb.

Just once.

Like habit, he brings his hand to his lips, ready to rip off the extra skin.

Like it’s nothing, you sit up taking his wrist.

Confused Simon looks over at you.

You meet his gaze without question.

“Let me get that taken care of for you.”

You hum, always happy to help.

Simon can’t get a word out before you’re already up and off the couch.

You return holding a small black case full of nail tools.

Simons dark eyes bounce between you and your new pack of toys.

“Wots that?”

He asks with a tilt of his head. Sitting down, you take his hand, opening up the case expertly with one hand.

“It’s nail care Si, just relax.”

You suggest before moving to start your gentle work cutting away extra dead skin.

Simon watches you.

Watches the gentle treatment of each nail, like his hands haven’t put others in the dirt.

Gentle, like they’re not ugly worn things.

The smallest smile pulling at his lips.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone held his hand any reason other than a medic checking for injury. A teammate pulling him to his feet. A weapon being handed to him.

Never because they just wanted to.

Simon knows he’s not soft, that he’s not gentle or patient but you?

You treat him like he is.

You look up at him just in time and smile right back before going back to your work.

Simons throat tightens.

His fingers wrap around yours, stopping you from snipping around his nails, you look up in confusion.

Then, you hear it, he’s turned away from you, but his words still meet your ears.

Damn democracy.

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

Word count 1.2k

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ────

“Evenin’”

Johnny chimes as you move to the booth tucked into the darker corner of the bar.

You move to sit when, out of the corner your eye, you catch it. Simon shifting his big boots under the table, making room for you.

Quick. Subtle.

Like he was expecting you.

Like he’s already decided where you’ll be sitting.

Something warm settles in your chest at the thought.

“How’ve you been?”

Simon clears his throat before he asks from the side.

The question catches you off guard, not because it’s extremely personal, but because it’s Simon.

You smile at the effort as you settle next to him.

“Good.”

You lean back with a small sigh.

“Better now that Im here.”

For a second Simon just looks at you.

“Good.” He says finally, turning his attention to the table in front of you both.

A pause.

Johnny watches silently, biting back a smile.

There must be something about you that feels so familiar. Johnny has never seen Simon open up so quickly.

“You play darts?”

Simons gruff voice snaps Johnny out of his thoughts. His baby blue eyes track to you, waiting for your response.

You nod.

“Any good?”

Simon crosses his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing above his mask.

You grin, nodding to the dart board across the bar. Never one to say no to a game. Especially with such handsome men.

“Why don’t you come find out?”

…

Simon stands at the dartboard, shoulders straight, feet planted.

“That all you got?”

He asks, not even a hint of amusement in his voice as he nods towards your dart, barely clinging to the edge of the board.

“It was a bad shot!”

You fire back immediately.

Simon makes a sound under his breath, then throws the dart.

“Bullseye.”

A smug little exhale leaves him.

You gawk at the board then turn to him with a scrunched face.

“That was luck.”

He scoffs.

You throw again. This time it lands only a color away from where you were aiming.

Simon shifts beside you, his boots squeaking against the hard wood.

“Guess you can aim.”

If you didn’t know any better, you say he sounds almost impressed.

But.

You definitely suck at darts compared to him.

You should’ve figured that based on the very little you did know about his background.

Still, you two go back and forth until Johnny drags you back to the bar top.

…

Johnny keeps your go to drink ready for you beside his. Even when you’re running late.

Every Wednesday now, you three are playing a game of pool or darts.

Johnny moving closely behind you, adjusting the pool stick in your hand smoothly.

His chest pressed to your back.

So close you can smell the cologne that sticks to his skin, and the warmth of his breath against your neck, making you shiver.

“There you go.. jus’ like tha’”

He coos in your ear as he helps you line up a shot, the pool cue cold in your hands.

Your breath caught up in your chest as he smiles over at you.

You stumble over a thank you, your cheeks heating up.

Johnny chuckles, stepping away to lean over the pool table, winking over at you.

“Anytime, lass.”

…

Simon stands a step to the side, making sly comments about cheating though, it’s literally impossible as you all stand in front of a dart board.

“You’re cheatin’.”

His Manchester accent wraps around the word seductively than should be allowed.

Your lip twitches as you turn to look up at him.

“Oh yeah? How’s that big guy?”

You question taking a step closer to him.

Simon huffs.

“Don’t know, but you are.”

He looks down at you, his eyes narrowed.

You chuckle shaking you head as you turn away to throw another dart at the board.

“Don’t be jealous cus I’m good.”

Simons gaze hasn’t left you, a warmth he doesn’t understand spreading across his chest at your sass.

He scoffs.

You smile.

“Brat.”

…

The bar smells of old wood and liquor, the lights shinning neon light on Johnnys face as he leans on the pool table aiming his shot.

You watch his back arch, bending over, toned inked arms gently wrapped around the thin pool stick.

You have to bite your lip to keep your comments in, nonetheless one slips.

“You look that good all the time?”

Johnny slowly stands back to his full height, winking.

“Only fer you.”

Your skin tingles, you blame it on the alcohol.

Not on Johnnys wink.

And definitely not the way every time you look for Simon he’s already watching you.

Simon takes one massive step, and instantly he’s towering over you.

He leans down, making sure you hear him, his voice a low rumble in his throat.

“Careful.”

You blink.

Leaning back to look up at his dark gaze.

“What?”

“Keep talkin’ like that and he’ll follow you home.”

Then he steps away, moving to the pool table, and leaving you pressing your thighs together.

“Fuck.”

You breathe out, your gaze following Simon to where him and Johnny play their turns.

Johnny’s pink tongue peaks out between his lips as he concentrates on his shot. His sleeves straining against his arms as he moves.

You can’t look away.

Only because you’re curious if it’ll land or not.

It sinks into the corner pocket, he grins, standing back up and ruining what you would consider a lovely view.

Across the table Simon is no better.

One large hand is sprawled out against the green felt, the cue inbeween careful, rough hands.

He bends lower to the cue, his forearm flexes with the movement.

You’d stare for exactly three seconds too long, then your m gaze snaps up to meet two dark eyes already starting back at you.

You turn to look at anything, absolutely anything else.

Your cheeks burning with something like embarrassment as you hear a low chuckle then the sinking of another ball.

“Your turn.”

You jump a little bit, turning to grab your pool cue with a bit more force than necessary.

“Easy there.”

Simon almost hums, his voice getting softer— amused.

“I’m fine.”

You quip.

“Didn’t say you weren’t.”

Under his mask a smug curve tugs on his lips.

…

The three of you expand outside of the bar soon after.

It was Johnnys idea, really.

“Let’s meet somewhere else yeah? Wanna try out a new place?”

He shrugs, like he hasn’t been planning how to say this in his head for days now.

Simon doesn’t respond, his eyes on yours watching your expression.

You grin ear to ear, waiting for a chance to invite them to your favorite place.

“Let’s go to an arcade!”

Simon stiffens.

Johnny beams his eyes lighting up.

“Oi! We’re goin’!”

Simon sighs shaking his head.

“We’re not.”

“We are.”

“Absolutely not, Scott.”

Johnny turns and points at you.

“Arcade.”

He declares.

A mischievous grin crosses your lips as you mirror his stance pointing back at him.

Holding back a laugh as you echo.

“Arcade.”

Simon looks between the two of you for a long time, shaking his head.

Muttering.

“Damn democracy.”

Chapter two. (Part one here.)

Summary: New numbers, new habits, new problems.

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

Warnings: alcohol use. Not much else.

Word count: 780

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ────

The day you return to the bar you immediately search for a messy Mohawk and dusty blonde hair.

Simon sits in the booth looking at the unguarded pool tables like he hasn’t been searching for you every other time the door opens.

Johnny sees you first, a grin splitting his face as he calls you over.

“Aye! There you are!”

You walk over and slide into the seat next to Johnny.

“Miss me much?”

You tease.

“No.”

“Yes.”

The answers overlap, turning into one sound before you break into laughter.

Simon glares at Johnny, kicking him from under the table.

The Scot only laughs harder.

You notice an order of your favorite fries waiting beside Simon. You raise a brow and he slides the basket to your greedy hands.

…

Before the night ends Johnny slides you not one but two slips of paper, numbers written almost unintelligibly on them.

“Two?”

You question, looking over at Simon who is actively skinning Johnny with his eyes.

“Didn’t say they could ‘ave mine Johnny.”

“Didn’t say they couldn’t either.”

The Scot cheerfully replies, bobbing his head like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You chuckle.

Johnny turns to you with a bright smile that makes your chest tighten in a way you don’t quite name.

“You know, just in case you need anything.”

He says adding a lopsided grin that only makes it worse.

You take the slips carefully, folding them and slipping them into your pocket like they matter more than they should.

“I’ll keep that in mind. In case I need anything.” You echo.

The next day you text Johnny and Simon both. Just to make sure you got the right numbers, at least that’s you tell yourself.

“Hey! Is this Johnny?”

You phone instantly lights up with an incoming call. You answer with suspicion.

“Hello?”

“Aye, lass! m’glad I gave you my number. Tell me how’s your day going?”

Johnny’s Scottish accent fills your room like he’s sitting right there with you. Your mouth opens before you can stop it, giving Johnny a play by play of your day.

…

“You still there?”

You ask into the quiet of your room, the only light coming from your alarm clock.

Johnnys reply comes a little later than it should.

“Aye..”

You smile softly.

“Thought you fell asleep.”

Johnny laughs under his breath, something low and warm that makes your stomach twist.

“Nah.. keep talkin’”

…

After a night too many drinks you end up stumbling to your door.

A drunk grin on your lips as your phone lights up with a notification from Simon.

“You home safe?”

You fall onto your bed with a grin so big it hurts, you type back uncoordinated.

“Yeah.”

The reply comes minutes later, you almost forgot about it.

“Good.”

…

“You ever goin’ tae hang up?”

Jonny asks the same night, his pretty voice laced with exhaustion.

“Guess I should let you sleep huh?”

You ask, grinning in the dark as your feet kick like a crush ridden teenager.

“I’ll be dreamin’ of yer pretty face anyways.”

You toss, hiding your smile in your pillow.

“Goodnight, Johnny.”

He huffs, the sound playful, but reluctant.

“Night, pretty.”

You lay on your back, looking up at your ceiling with a smile stretched so wide it grows painful, long after the call ended.

…

Simon texts you randomly.

Nothing ever big.

“Morning.”

“Bar at 5.”

“Hello.”

One morning your phone buzzes as you’re reaching your coffee.

“Hey.”

Another message follows immediately after.

“It’s Simon.”

You chuckle, already knowing it’s him.

Stopping your morning routine to reply. You’ve had his number saved for a few days now, and you reply to his strange messages as best you can.

“Hi Simon. How are you doing this morning?”

Simon stares at his phone a moment too long, his fingers hesitate over the screen before he hits send and tucks his phone too quickly into his pocket.

The message pops up on your phone seconds later.

“Have a good day.”

You stare at your phone a smile creeping onto your lips. He didn’t even answer your question.

“You too, big guy. See you later tonight?”

A thumbs up appears in reply.

Never in his life has Simon been more greatful for a screen to hide behind.

His palms grew uncomfortably sweaty at the thought of you— your smile, your laugh, the way it lingers in his mind long after you’re gone.

He doesn’t know what this is.

And Simon is the kind of man who knows when something’s are better left alone.

But.

You aren’t making that very easy.

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

Part 6

Stalker Simon saving you!

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.