⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔ 𑣲your puppy𑁤

When you are ovulating, Simon’s cock weeps from overstimulation, but he never complains.

You’ve been riding him for who knows how long, and he’s on his… actually he can’t even remember how many times he’s cum. You’re feral, truly feral, bouncing up and down his length, sitting down fully until his tip is pressed against your cervix and leaking precum. Grinding down on him, your hands fall to his chest, digging your nails into his skin to steady yourself as he writhes beneath you.

He’s a whimpering, whining mess, cursing under his breath, with his eyes rolling to the back of his head when your pussy clenches down on his length. Every time your ass slaps against his thighs a breath of air is knocked from his lungs, leaving him gasping and clutching the bunched-up sheets around his limp body.

“C-can’t take anymore l-lovie,” he stutters, placing both hands on your hips, but instead of moving you away, his own hips buck up just to feel more of your warm, wet walls around his aching cock.

You're slumped over your bed, feeling the familiar feeling of a dick sliding through your wet folds, but the thing is you're fully dressed and home alone, the team left hours ago to the pub.

Your back arched, clit throbbing and slick pooling in your panties. The person could be any one of your team mates, they're all horny mutts who can't keep it in their pants.

A moan slips from your mouth, feeling a fat tip slip in and out, nothing more nothing less.... clearly ghost.

That's until you felt another head slip in beside it, your back arched even deeper, knees digging into your bed. Soap. They're both taking turns sticking just the head in, it's driving you crazy.

A few minutes of this and you feel the familiar buzz of a vibrator press against your clit, you gasped, grabbing your phone to text the team but before you can even hit send your body locks up into a strong orgasm, legs quivering violently and your jeans getting soaked.

cw: 18+ mdni, nsfw.

And how he’d make naive!reader sit in his lap when he notices and older woman standing in subway isle.

“Thank you, both of you.” The older woman giggles as she takes the empty seat.

“‘S no problem ma’am.” Simon nods, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. “She’s so cute isnt she love?”

You can’t even focus, his hardened erection pressing into your ass, in those jeans that Simon loves so much. Couldnt stop staring at the way your thighs spread as you sat down, every curve on you, that charm you have in your brown eyes. You wiggle in his lap but he only presses you down harder, he tsks in your ear, “Don’t move baby, or everyone ‘ere will see just what you do t’me.”

You feel him grow with every shake of the train against you, only smirking as he sees the way you can’t look anyone near you in the eye, heat rising under your skin with that slightly tense look on your face. You try your best to give a smile and wave to the old woman but Simons hands roll down your skin, down your your thighs that makes chills run down your spine, “Bloody hell, can’t wait t’ get off of ‘ere, fuck you right against the wall in the alley across the street from our stop, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

Your lips purse out, breath hitching, “Simon!”

“ ‘F Course you would doll,” he draws out, calloused hands going to your hips, giving them a nice squeeze, humping up into you, “Or should I have you keep keep my cock warm right here, sliding it in your hole so eeeeveryone can see that pretty face you only make with me-“

You can’t help the little mewl you let out, his covered manhood pressing against your cunt, “Simon-“

“—I know, I know swee’art,” he coos, kissing your cheek, “Won’t do tha’ to ya.”

The subway rattles again and you bite the inside of your lips, nervous eyes flickering down into the mahogany brown eyes staring back at you. Glint shimmering in them.

“Not here, anyway.”

Simon lets his hand caress the apple of your cheeks from behind, squeeze them together that makes him chuckle, “Would you let me take you to the bathroom though? Hm love?”

You play with your fingers, checking the time on your phone, before muttering so quietly, “For j-just a little bit, I don’t wanna miss my show tonight.”

And the older man underneath you groans happily, eyes crinkling, rubbing his hand up and down your back, you’ve made the man go red in the face, “M just jokin baby, god, you’re so fuckin loveable.”

a/n: I hope you’re hungry— for nothing.

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who’s got permanent damage in his right ear from years of explosions, gunfire, and close-quarters chaos—no one on base really comments on it anymore, but he’s used to tilting his head slightly when someone talks, or barking a gruff “Wot?” when the words blur together.

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who meets you and immediately notices how you don’t dial it down. You talk and talk—rambling about your day, laughing loud enough that it echoes off the walls, filling every quiet corner of his flat like you were made to chase away the silence he’s lived in for years. Past partners always told you to lower your voice, said you were “too much,” but Simon just watches you with those dark eyes and lets you keep going.

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who starts positioning himself on your left side without thinking, the good ear turned toward you so he doesn’t miss a single word. He never asks you to speak up or repeat yourself; instead he leans in closer, mask tugged down just enough that you can see the faint scar along his jaw, and mutters, “Keep talkin’, love. Like hearin’ you.”

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who finds your volume oddly comforting after missions. The flat used to feel like a tomb—too still, too quiet. Now it’s full of your voice: you singing off-key in the kitchen, yelling excitedly at the telly, chattering while you cook. He catches fragments sometimes, but the tone? The energy? That comes through crystal clear, and it settles something restless in his chest.

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who gets a little smug when you forget and raise your voice even more around him. You’ll be mid-rant about some coworker and suddenly boom a laugh, and he’ll just smirk under the mask, pulling you into his lap with one big hand on your hip. “Didn’t catch all that,” he rumbles, “but I liked the last bit. Say it again.”

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who never once makes you feel like your loudness is a flaw. If anything, he guards it. When Soap or Gaz tease you lightly about being the “loud one” in the relationship, Simon shuts it down with a flat stare and a low, “She talks how she talks. Fuck off.” You’re his noise. His life. The one sound he never wants muffled.

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley whose favorite thing is when you’re in bed and that volume of yours really comes out. He loves the way you can’t stay quiet—whining his name, gasping loud when he drags his cock slow and deep, moaning without shame as he pins your wrists above your head and fucks you harder just to hear you get even louder.

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who growls against your throat, “Louder, sweetheart. Want the whole fuckin’ block to know who’s makin’ you sound like that.” He angles his hips just right, thick length stretching you open, and when you cry out—sharp, unrestrained, voice cracking on a broken “Simon, fuck, right there”—he swears it hits him harder than any explosion ever did.

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who buries his face in your neck as you come undone, your loud, messy moans vibrating against his skin while he spills inside you with a deep, guttural groan of his own. Afterward he stays buried deep, breathing you in, one calloused thumb brushing your cheek as he murmurs, “Never get tired of hearin’ you lose it for me. Loud as you want, love. Always.”

when you first moved in, you were wary of the big, brute of a man that lived next door. you'd seen him, for the first time, taking his trash to the end of his driveway for the garbage truck to pick up while movers lugged boxes and furniture inside your house. he spared a single glance, offering a nod at your small wave before retreating into his house.

you thought that was that.

for weeks, you lived without any interaction. settling into your new home, coming back and forth between the hardware store and your house for new projects. taking out your trash before you go to work. you'd seen him take out his own trash once, but you watched from your window, so he never noticed.

you felt weird doing it. watching the thick muscles of his biceps flex against his filled out sleeve, dusting his veiny hands on his jeans before adjusting his balaclava. you wondered why he wore it, but you moved on. you'd likely never interact.

until a couple weeks later, you had arrived home with new groceries. a lot of them. it would take multiple trips that would make your arms ache.

you barely opened your trunk when a dark mass appaeared at your side. you gasp in surprise, head craning. damn, he was taller than you thought.

without a word, he reached in and grabbed at least ten grocery bags with ease. it didn't even seen to bother him as he carried it into your garage and to the door. he didn't struggle to open the door, inviting himself in and leaving you dumbfounded.

what the hell?

the next time his weird behavior manifested was when you were at work. you got a notification from your doorbell camera about some movement, expecting a salesperson or jehovah's witness. instead it was your neighbor—the one who's name you still don't have.

he carried a tackle box, and you were about to speak to ask what he was doing when something compelled you to just watch. he seemed to take apart something on your porch, taking and replacing a piece of the light before screwing it back. he left without a word.

when you got home, your porch lights shined brighter than before—they were dim and on the verge of burning out. why would he do that?

you wanted to confront him, but you appreciated these small things. he still appeared out of thing air to take your groceries in, leaving before you could thank him.

he even started pulling out your bin for you, sitting it at the end of the driveway and dragging it back to the garage when the truck came by.

it perplexed you. why was he doing this for you? did he do it for his other neighbors? he had to, you couldn't be that special.

so you continued living life, welcoming the small actions as they made everything easier. besides, you enjoyed the company, even if he never said a word to you or looked in your direction.

the first time you approached him was on the drive home when a light appeared on your car's dashboard. you had no clue what it meant, though you probably should've. when you arrived home, you debated taking it straight to the autoshop, but instead you tried your luck with your neighbor. he likes to help, so you're guessing he wouldn't mind.

with a soft knock to his front door, you stood waiting patiently, and wait you did. a few minutes later, you contemplated turning back because he wasn't answering the door despite being home (his car was in the driveway).

just as you turned, the front door creaked open, revealing your neighbor clad in nothing but a white towel around his waist, balaclava shoved on haphazardly. his chest glistened with water as it glifed down his skin. oh fuck.

you could barely keep your eyes off his toned chest, abs flexing under your gaze before they snapped back to meet his dark ones. he lifted his brow in question.

"uh, hi." you said awkwardly, rocking on your feet. you hadn't even properly introduced yourself to the man, mostly because he disappeared so quick that you didn't have the chance. "a light came on in my car, and I was wondering—"

the door shut mid-sentence. it left you dumbfounded, mouth hanging open in shock as you stare at the door like it may open again. maybe his generous actions ended at bringing the groceries in. maybe he didn't want to get dirty after just showering. you couldn't expect the man to be ready to help any time you needed it.

after a minute of contemplation, you turned to walk back down the path. you'd have to get it to the mechanics and figured out how much it'd cost you.

when you reached the last step, the door opened again. still shirtless but now looping a belt around his jeans, he walked out, bare feet padding on the concrete. he nodded to your house, signaling you to lead.

you lead him back, hand him your keys and let him do his thing because now you get a free show. his muscles flex as he works under the hood, dirtying himself in a way that's sinful. after a while working in the hot sun, you go inside and bring back a drink, which he gratefully accepts—still without saying anything.

he's a bit weird, refusing to talk to you, but he's fixing your car so you can't complain.

"is this your official uniform to fix all your single neighbor's cars?" the words slip out before you can stop them. mortification warms your face, but it forces a deep chuckle from your neighbor, whose eyes crinkle under his mask.

he glances up at you, dirt smearing his skin. "only the pret'y ones."

your heart flutters. his voice was deep, gruff, like he smoked cigarettes, but it was satisfying to hear.

"so you do talk." you tease whilst biting back a smile. you'd finally gotten words out of him. a small victory. "what's your name?"

"simon."

"really? you look like a greg."

he shakes his head with a smile and continues working, leaving the two of you in silence. what you don't know is that simon's heart is nearly pounding out of his chest. it's beating so hard, he's worried he'll break a rib.

vs

He practically pounces on you, stripping himself bare of his clothes and then yours.

His muscles ache but he missed his love way too much to care, his face smushed against your cheek, growling in your ear as he thrusts.

His thick meaty tip keeps ramming itself against your soft velvety cervix, making your head swim deliciously.

"John! Don't stop im gonna cumimgonnacumimgonnacum— cumming!"

You moaned, clawing at his broad back, his hips slamming into your pelvis harder and harder.

He lets out a groan, feeling his orgasm approaching fast, the coil in his belly snaps as he fills you up with warm gooey semen.

You're both left panting as you hold eachother on the couch

Macmillan obviously has his history with Price (whether that was a relationship or a weird situationship where neither quite knew where they stand... well, you can decide) and that colors everything in this particular dynamic.

Macmillan is possessive over Price, feels like the captain is his creation, but seeing Price commanding the attention and affection of his boys is also exciting for him. Seeing the continuation of his work and influence, in a sense. That his perfect living weapon turned out to have kept his soft heart underneath all that cold professionalism is adorable - the same man who followed him like a loyal dog now commanding his men with the same affection, leash tight but hands gentle.

Gaz, Ghost and Soap don't quite know what to think of Macmillan. The man comes strolling in and swipes Price off his feet, their fearless captain turned to putty in this stranger's hands. Gaz tries to ignore his jealousy, knowing he has his captain's heart; Ghost tries to remain unaffected, but he bristles at the thought of his unwavering leader so weak at the hands of another; and Soap is honestly just confused as to how the whole thing works. It creates friction between the 141 boys and Macmillan, and as a result between 141 and Price. Price wants them all to get along. His boys are not as certain about the benefits of such an arrangement.

Simon's heart dropped and his blood began to boil. Not supposed to be here? This was the only place he was supposed to be. Lying in the warm grass, holding you in his arms. How could you not want him here?

He'd been to hell and back just to be with you again. How could you push him away like this?

You gently reached, caressing his cheek. "Simon, please. I need you to go back now. I promise I'll see you soon."

Tears welled in Simon's eyes. For the first time in a long time, he begged. "Please, please baby. Let me stay. Please, I need you. Please," he sobbed. "Don't do this to me. Please, I need you. Please, love."

"I love you, Simon Riley"

Simon slowly opened his eyes. Your voice was still ringing in his ears yet here he was, back in the bathroom. The bathroom of the house you used to share. The bathroom where he took all those pills. The pills instead of a bullet because he still wanted to look nice for you. You always said how much you loved seeing his face.

The pill bottle is still there. The dust he never bothered to clean is still there. The hollow, pressing weight in his chest is still there. But something was different. His cheek was warm, the same cheek you touched. He could almost feel your skin against his.

Only for him to end up rutting against the matress while you straddle the back of his thighs, pushing your whole body weight behind your palms to work out the tough muscle.

You never see John relax like this, groaning in delight when you push particularly hard at the spine. Every thrust of his hips has his ass grinding against your crotch, not that you mind when he's so soft and pliant.

You doubt your old man will be up for anything more than a nap after this but...doesn't mean you can't imagine all these delighted sounds in your room afterwards.

The shudder and high keen he lets loose when he cums in his briefs will permanently haunt you.