loviejohnnydovie

[loviejohnnydovie]

poc!tf141!reader x simon riley

author’s note: a lovely reader linked me the series that this fic was inspired by after i couldn't find it!! it's "if i can't, no one can" (specifically the "say the word" chapter) by the amazingly talented @hahaifolded; it's also a poc!reader fic and it's about about all the boys falling for the newest recruit and the chaos that ensues, i loved it and can't wait for the next installation. you guys should go check it out!! cw: descriptions of fighting, punching, blood, etc

you'd always loved training the recruits. for the most part, they were excited to be here. there were always a few you had to put in their place, but even that was enjoyable.

until one day, one of them decided to go too far.

you, kyle, and johnny had been tasked with showing the new recruits around, orientation and all that. simon had tagged along after you and soap had begged him to, and he’d finally caved when kyle had mentioned he might get the chance to scare the shit out of some recruits.

so halfway through orientation all of you ended up in the gym, and you had been having the time of your life — there had been more than average both women and recruits of color in this batch, and you had been busy talking to one of the girls when some privileged son of a bitch decided to poke his nose where it didn’t belong.

“c’mon sweetheart, save some conversation for the rest of us too, no?” you stop talking about to turn your head and take a mental inventory of the recruit who thinks he can talk like that. simon is the only one to notice and he does so immediately, but doesn't step in.

“what makes you think i’d want to talk to a recruit with an attitude like yours?” the chatter around you dies down as some people glance toward the two of you now, sensing that something’s about to go down. “do you really want to fuck with me, recruit? you’re not even a few days old. fresh meat.”

“always so fiesty.” your blood boils at the sentence. everyone’s watching now. the gym is silent. why isn’t this kid shutting up?

“always so cocky,” you counter, trying to keep a level head. you weren't one of his fellow recruits, you were a sergeant.

“me? oh come on, we all know why you’re here.” there is no way this fucker has the audacity to say what you know he’s about to say. “you check off all the boxes for being the diversity pick. everyone can see it.” there are a few mutters of agreement from around the room, as well as some scattered gasps.

“recruit, what business do you think you have talkin’ to ‘er like that?” soap butts in, standing in front of you to put some distance between you and the kid. you stand still for a second to think, knowing all eyes were on you. 

“what’s your name, recruit?” you ask, sidestepping johnny.

“cole.”

“say it correctly, recruit!” soap barks at him.

“cole reed, ma’am,” he says rather unenthusiastically. you look him up and down. anyone who knows you could tell you had a plan brewing. 

he was built. 

but you could take him. no sweat.

“reed. gloves on. me and you, in the ring, now.” the room erupts with chatter, and before you can turn to get your training gloves, soap stops you.

“whaddya you think you’re doing, bonnie?” he asks quietly, not trying to give the recruits the impression that he’s doubting you — he’s not. he’s just worried. “you really think this is a good idea? we could jus’ send him to price, get him outta here and transferred to some shitty, low level base—”

“i think this is a great idea,” is all you reply before heading over to your duffel on the side of the gym and picking out your maroon training gloves. your heart is hammering. you know you can take this kid out, easy, it’s just that—

you feel ghost creep up behind you, but you choose to ignore him. he walks over to your side, watching your slightly shaking hands put on your gloves. you silently curse yourself. simon is observant. he’ll notice.

“if you want, i can snap that guy’s neck real quick.” you don’t reply, trying to steady your breathing. he scans you for a second, then opts to help you put your gloves on, watching you closely. some whoops erupt from the other side of the gym by the ring, and you turn your head to see the recruit, cole or whatever his face was, with his stupid fucking friends, motioning you over. “wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience. probably be the highlight of my week.”

you crack a smile, but shake your head. “i got this.” you just can’t steady your fucking breathing. 

“i know ya’ do. jus’ a bit worried.” kyle’s made his way over to you and simon, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“you got this. we’ll be on standby if things go awry.” both you and simon turn to look at him, who realizes what he wanted to say came out wrong. “i’m just sayin’ if you need help—“ simon’s glare makes him switch his words once again “i mean, we have your back. that’s all,” he finishes, rubbing the nape of his neck.

“thanks, gaz.” you turn around once more to see soap now screaming at the recruits about something, probably about how you were gonna fuck their favorite boy up or something. that’s enough to put a smile on your face, enough to give you that little bit of confidence you needed to stroll over to the ring. 

johnny puts both of his hands on your shoulders. “listen, bonnie. that dude tries anything crazy, i’ll fuck him up. and have him on toilet scrubbing for half a year.” you can’t help but giggle at johnny’s loyalty — it really was his most endearing quality. you take a deep breath.

“thanks, soap. but i got this. don’t you worry your pretty little head.” you mess up his mohawk, your reassurance seeming to ease his anxiety a bit. dipping under the ropes, you try to stay unaware of all the eyes that were on you two, sizing up your opponent. he’s got this shitfaced grin on his face that you can’t wait to wipe off.

he goes for your head for his first punch. typical, you think to yourself, blocking it, but you’re so in your head that you fail to block the second one that goes straight for your stomach. shit. get it together.

“how long did you say you’ve been here? and somehow you already let a recruit fake you out,” he tries to egg you into going at him, but not yet. not yet.

“is all you do talk?” you have a lot more success into baiting him into a move, and he goes for both of your sides, repeatedly, not stopping even as you backpedal and only stepping back once you counterpunch. jesus christ. this kid was murderous.

“is all you do fuck your supervisors? can’t think of another way you got here.” you can hear johnny’s bewildered what did he say? and can almost hear what simon is thinking in his head, the ways he could kill him, probably.

“you mad you can’t?” you ask in the most genuine voice possible. he mimics you like a child, swinging a hook your head but stepping backward at the last second, effectively dodging your block and catching your face instead.

“do you even know how to fight?”

“no,” you pout, running your tongue along the inside of your mouth, tasting the blood.

“clearly.” he gets bold and manages a kidney punch which, even though you try, you can’t block because it caught you so badly off guard.

another punch to the head that you block, but then a punch to the side of your head and then the other side of your head and another—

“what in the bloody fuck is she doing?” kyle mutters to simon, watching the beatdown. simon doesn't give a response. he knew you had it under control, but each time cole successfully got a punch in, he winced. he’s not happy with you for your strategy — you could’ve easily slipped around him and knocked him out, your ability to be quick and agile being something that you topped the rest of the team in. but simon knew that simply wouldn’t do for you.

soap figures it out before gaz does. “oh my god. she’s gonna fuckin’ kill him, isn’t she?” simon didn’t say a word. he just watched, eyes fixed on you. 

it was all part of your plan. you would take a few punches in exchange for learning his fighting style, and then he’d say bye bye to his dignity and the respect of his classmates for probably the entire time he decided to stay at this base. which, if simon had taught you hand-to-hand well enough, wouldn’t be long.

cole throws a punch to your midriff that gets you doubled over, torso still weak from the blow to your back and head pounding from the countless you couldn’t block. simon has to restrain both himself and throw a hand over gaz’s chest to keep him from stepping in.

you have this under control, simon thinks. you have to.

and as if on cue, you sidestep cole’s next punch, much to the awe of the crowd. you dodge the next one. and then block and pow — a sucker punch that sends him staggering back into the ropes. that one definitely broke his nose. nice. the recruits gasp, but your team has a different reaction — simon smirks under his mask, gaz’s jaw drops, and soap looks like he could start cheering right this instant.

cole jeers, coming back at you. you easily step to the side and stick out a leg out to trip him, letting him fall nearly flat on his face. a smile crosses your face as you tut at him, the metallic taste inside your mouth becoming ever so prominent. there are a few scattered laughs throughout the crowd. 

he hastily gets up and starts bouncing in true sparring fashion — that’s not gonna save him now — cautiously coming near once again. you’re banking on him trying your head, and you’re right. you duck down, hitting him with one to the stomach, then the chest, then the neck as the crowd gasps. he doubles over, hands at his neck, coughing up a bit of blood on the floor at which he incredulously looks at. you watch him closely, ushering him to take another shot at you. 

“do you even know how to fight?” you repeat his words from earlier, and you see a flicker of fear on his face. got him.

“i’m textin’ price.” johnny waits for simon to stop him but simon doesn’t, attention unwavering from the match taking place.

you checkhook him, hard, as he goes at you again, and you can imagine just how psycho you look with your grin. “no words, recruit? you tired? you done?”

he runs at you again — did this kid never learn from his mistakes? — and tries a jab which you dodge with ease, hitting the side of his head with a crossjab. he grabs his head — he clearly underestimated how hard girls hit. 

you know you need to end this before you kill him, since the kid himself didn’t know when to stop. you give him a second last punch to the ribs, and the moment his arms fly down there, you finish the entire fiasco with a punch to the back of his head as your final move. he lands on the ground and you finally let your shoulders slump, noticing how heavy your breathing is. the crowd of recruits is silent until a few of them start whooping, then comes the cheering, then comes the clapping. your ears are ringing and the commotion catches you off guard, completely having forgotten the nearly 100 people watching. your eyes land on your team: simon’s arms crossed and eyes looking up at you, almost as if he was proud (you were ignoring the anger in his eyes), kyle’s admiring nod, and soap’s grin that he was desperately trying to hide. you turn back to the bloodied recruit in front of you.

“who do you think's the diversity pick now?” you spit out, wiping the blood from your mouth. crouching down, you make eye contact with him. “huh, white boy? got anything to say?” he was conscious, but you get nothing. getting back up, realizing just how dizzy you are, stumbling a few steps back while the floodlights blur. the sight of him curled up on the floor gives you mental satisfaction, but your body is on fire. you hadn’t realized the force behind his punches because of all the adrenaline, and the pain was starting to hit you. 

johnny and gaz quickly scramble around the ropes lead you out of the ring, and you’re leaning more of your weight on them than you’d like to. they can tell. 

almost at the locker rooms, you take a look back and see simon crouched down by cole, seemingly saying something to him before getting up. price was standing right behind him. fuck, price was here too now.

once kyle and soap get you into the locker room you immediately rush to the sink, coughing up the blood that had pooled in your mouth while gripping onto the sides of the basin, knuckles white. you look up at your own reflection and immediately close your eyes to hide the sight, your physical state accurately reflecting the amount of pain you felt. a black eye, bloody nose, and already developing bruises littering your torso. to top it all off, blood, everywhere.

jesus fucking christ. that kid do crossfit or something?

the door opens and johnny immediately stands in front of you defensively, but it’s just simon and price who turn the corner. you can feel the anger radiating off of simon, eyes grazing over every inch of you as he takes inventory of your state. your captain does the same, but moreso in disbelief.

“fawn, are you okay?” kyle calls you by the callsign the team had adoringly given you, making your eyes start to well up with tears.

“i’m fine,” your voice cracks, and all kyle does is walk over to you and give you a gentle hug as tears start to roll down your face. he knows what you’re feeling right now all too well. “it's okay. i'm okay,” you choke out, feeling weaker than ever now that price, your captain, was seeing you in this state.

“no, you’re not. that was fourteen punches you took.” thanks a lot for counting, si.

“with full force,” gaz adds, and you really want to shoot him a glare.

“and training gloves. those things do a number on ya’.” you do shoot soap a glare, instantly shutting him up.

“what were you thinking?” there’s a hint of pleading in simon’s voice, and you wonder if the others caught it too. 

you don’t have the heart to meet eyes with si, knowing one look would send you straight bawling. all you wanted to do was curl up into him and have him trace meaningless symbols on your skin, dating or not be damned. you were tired of being so masculine, of pretending like you were some eternally infallible soldier that could take everything thrown at her without so much as a peep. nobody could blame you for needing his arms wrapped around you, tight, not even yourself.

and that was saying something.

“y/n, what happened?” price asks cautiously, walking over and helping johnny sit you down on the bench. you don’t even know what to say, shaking your head.

“this stupid bampot,” you giggle at soap’s scottishness coming out in full force, immediately regretting it and wincing, “started spewing all this shit about her, being racist and sexist and whatnot, and then she said they should fight. and smarty here made him think he had the upper hand so she could figure out his next moves. oh, and then she beat his ass.” i mean, he explained that pretty concisely. price rakes a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to handle this.

“are you mad at me?” you ask genuinely, unsure if you’d crossed the line. again, you were a sergeant. that kid was a recruit. his brows furrow.

“sweetheart—” he crouches down next to you, putting a consoling hand on your thigh. “not even a little bit. mad at him? not even, i’m furious. that bloke got what was coming to him and i couldn’t have thought of a better person to dish it out.” his words do wonders to ease your tension. “i’m going to go take care of this. you boys got her?” the rest of the team nods. “good men. i’ll check on you in a bit.” he stands up and leaves, but not before bending down to press a kiss to the top of your head, a tender gesture that makes you start crying again.

“thanks, cap,” is all you can manage, voice still shaky.

the boys proceed to gently dab the blood off of you with wet towels while you try to put your mind over matter, but the pain is too much. johnny and kyle just keep apologizing over and over, and simon even mirrors your winces when someplace he touches stings. eventually they get most of it and all that’s left is the dull pain of open skin and your bruises that were getting worse by the minute.

luckily,  your team’s barracks aren't a far walk from the gym. you refuse to hold onto anyone for support, fearing anyone who saw would realize how badly you got banged up and word would spread. so simon’s hands hover at the ready to catch you as you’re walking while he shoots death glares at a few base personnel who do a double take when they see your state. 

kyle punches in the code to your room—nothing abnormal, all of you knew each other’s codes (price being the exception, but simon had somehow gotten his hands on the captain’s code too, a story for another time)—and the boys help you inside, sitting you down on your bed.

“you need anything, bonnie?”

“no, thank you, soap. you guys have done more than enough.”

“don't start that. do you want us here with you?” gaz asks, and you shake your head. the boys nod, starting towards the door, but you grab simon’s hand before he can make it too far. he understands, crouching down in front of you, keeping your hand in his. kyle and johnny exit, and you two sit in a comfortable silence for a while.

“think we should take you up to the medic,” simon breaks the silence, inspecting your wounds. you didn’t mean to get this banged up, but hey, you were way better off than that cole kid was.

“i don’t need to go to the goddamn medic, simon. story’s already gonna spread like wildfire on base.” the corners of your mouth quirk up a bit thinking about it, and simon shakes his head.

“you don’t have to prove yourself to everyone, ya’ know.”

“that’s not what i did. i fucked him up.” your clarification elicits a low chuckle from simon’s chest, and you smile proudly in response.

“jus’ sayin’. don’t want it to catch up to you one day.” you tilt your head, and he makes it a point to not look up at you, instead, running his fingers over the bruises on your midriff, still crouched down in front of you.

“and that means?” simon sighs, knowing you weren’t going to let this go without an answer.

“you can’t always win.”

“you do,” you point out. you can see him open his mouth and then close it from under the balaclava, trying to figure out what to say. “this was important, simon. this was a battle i had to pick.”

“i know, i know,” he backtracks. “‘s just...” you lower your head, trying to catch his eyes.

“c’mon, si,” you speak softly. “you know you can say anything.” a beat of silence.

“i worry about you.” because you’re a woman of color in the army is what he doesn’t say — you being on the team had showed him the brutal reality of what you’ve had to go through your entire life, and all it managed to do was make him more angry on your behalf. it just didn't make sense to him. you were more capable than most of the fuckers here, so why did you have to be treated so differently?

“sounds like you’re my boyfriend,” you tease him, and he looks up at you with those stupid puppy dog eyes of his that could get you to do whatever he wanted. “...i can handle myself, si,” you reassure him quietly, trying not to make any sudden moves, almost as though you were trying not to scare a cat. 

“i know you can. just don’t want you to have to, ya’ know?” you bite the inside of your cheek, making the decision to gently cup the side of his face. he almost immediately leans into your touch, just ever so slightly. you want to kiss him. you really do. you don’t know what’s stopping you two from going at it on your bed right here right now, to be completely honest.

“what are we doing, si?” you whisper, trying not to let him hear the tremble in your voice. you blame the hits to your head for what you were asking him, but you couldn’t do it anymore. it wasn’t normal. the lingering touches, the heavy stares, the way he talked about you, talked to you, like you were his girlfriend. it was all too much. you needed an answer. you either needed him to push you away and break your heart or you needed his lips on yours, now. “what is this?”

he doesn’t reply, and all you want to do is start screaming at him.

“what are we doing, simon?” you repeat yourself, heart probably beating faster than it was in that ring. you begin to wonder if the stress would reopen your wounds. “please. i can’t keep doing this anymore.” he doesn’t say anything but he moves his hands from you, and you swear that’s the end of it—

until he flips up his balaclava, shifting to his knees and gently grabbing your chin to press a kiss against your lips. you freeze for a few seconds, unable to understand what just happened which he mistakenly takes as a sign to pull away. you quickly remedy your mistake by grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and actually kissing him this time, feeling everything — from the contour of his lips that you’ve never seen to the softness of his hair when you wrap your arm around his neck to pull him in closer to the small whimper he lets out when you rub your thumb against his chest — stop, stop, you’re getting lightheaded. you pull away, blinking from the sudden dizziness, body still considerably weak from everything that just went down a mere 20 minutes ago.

“woah, okay, slow down,” you can hear the amusement in his voice as gets up and sits down next to you, lying you both down on your bed so it’s a more even eye level.

“we’ve been going slow for months,” you reply annoyedly, and you can see him smile, for the first time ever, you see him actually smile, because his mask is flipped up. you slowly move your hand to rest on the side of his face, thumb caressing his cheek.

“like what ya’ see?” he asks with a grin that you can see. you still can't get over the fact that you can see simon riley's smile.

“no. hate it,” you murmur, eyes still transfixed on his lips.

“mhm.”

“shh,” you use as an excuse to put your finger to his lips. “i'm busy staring at the most gorgeous man i've seen. you're ruining it.” he smiles. you wanted your kids to have that smile.

“whatever you say, dovie.”

“that’s new.”

“it’s out of pity. that kid kinda really fucked you up, ya’ know.” you give his chest a light punch, and for the first time ever, you hear simon riley’s laugh without the muffle of his mask. “want me to take it off?” he asks.

“are you trying to finish me off after what's happened already?” you ask, only half serious. “i want you to take it off when you want to take it off.”

you don't know it, but he'll reference that last sentence in your vows.

“but... i have a question.” he nods for you to continue. “were you really counting how many times i got hit?”

“yeah, i was. fucker got lucky,” he sighs.

“why?”

“fifteen was when i was gonna get in there and snap his neck.”

⁀➷ more

₊˚⊹♡ taglist: @ghostlythots @redartifex @pricesprettyprincesss @negomisan @smutty-littleslut @thatgurlyoudunn0 @diseasedclitoris

[loviejohnnydovie]

Based on this that’s been in my favorites forever and I just stumbled upon when I was organizing them

You’ve never had a serious relationship. No, your fifth grade boyfriend doesn’t count, and neither does the guy you were in a relationship with for, like, one day. So, safe to say, you have basically no experience. Especially when it comes to flirting.

And that experience would’ve been nice right about now, when there’s a large, ruggedly handsome, clearly interested man standing right in front of you.

Your hands tremble as you pick up the drink he bought you and you take a sip to try and soothe the nerves.

The man, Simon, you learned, smiled and leaned slightly closer. Or at least you think he smiled, from the way his eyes crinkled. His medical mask was hiding what you assumed to be a charming grin. “So, where are you from?”

You nervously answer his question and ask the same one back, before wrapping your lips around the sugar-covered rim of the glass.

“Manchester.” He answered, even though his accent gave him away earlier. Okay, you could work with this.

“Manchester? I wish you were from… my bedroom.” You responded, then immediately regretted it as his eyes widened and he laughed. Great going, now you just lost his interest and he’s not going to like you anymore and you’ll stay single even LONGER and-

“That was good.” He chuckled and nodded, regaining his composure. There were a few moments of tense silence before he broke it. “So, you want me in your bedroom?”

“No!” You answered and your eyes widened. Fuck. “Y-yes! I mean, yes, I mean, kind of. I’ve never had a guy in my bedroom before.”

His eyebrow raised in response and he sipped his beer. A pensive expression crossed his face, and you thought he’d be done with you for sure. “Never?”

“Never.” You confirm and swallow the lump in your throat, looking away.

“We can change that.” He stated and his eyes crinkled again.

[loviejohnnydovie]

a little continuation of this. john price x cashier fem!reader. verbal abuse, anxiety, yelling, hurt/comfort, price comes to your retail rescue<3<3 1.4k words

The only good part of a 5am wakeup is watching the sunrise slowly climb the sky.

There’s a quiet sort of tiredness that lets you appreciate it more — and though the lot associates have made a joke about the morning crew and their sunrise photos, there’s an element of truth there that’s both funny and a little beautiful.

It’s a drag to wait outside the doors for a manager to open them, trying not to make eye contact with the early-bird oldies and the impatient contractors who think they should just be allowed in before everyone else based on the amount of money they spend.

When the doors open and the 6am hardware warriors stroll in, ready and chipper, you’re half asleep leaning against your counter.

Another good thing about the early shift is the lack of uptight managers. None of them want to wake up before ten, so you’re safe to lean and lounge while waiting for customers.

A call comes through your earpiece after a few customers, nearing the cusp of 8am.

”Hey, we’ve got the guy coming your way,” your head cash – Lisa – says, voice crackling in the mic. The guy is a rude jerkoff, some contractor who thinks abusing staff is the way to get good service and better prices.

What’s worse is that your managers allow it. In fact, you get warnings like this all the time. The guy is here, the guy has a big order, make sure to cash him out fast or he’ll start shouting. Be pleasant. Smile.

The guy is walking down the store lumber aisle with a pinched expression on his face and two other employees dragging his stacked carts behind him.

You try to ignore his caustic vibes, thinking instead of the pink, purplish sunrise you’d seen earlier. Clouds like magic, cotton candy, floating above you 

You ignore the incessant tapping of his feet, the annoyed groan he makes when you lift a package of insulation up and find flat saw blades.

Sure, you can’t accuse him of stealing. But you can make a cheery, passive aggressive comment–

“Oops, I guess you forgot these!” you chirp, scanning them a little slower than necessary. It’s not mature, but it does make you feel a little better. Nice try, bozo.

Playing the idiot cashier helps with these types. Why are you mad, sir? I’m just a cashier? And though you could answer more questions than you do, you don’t. Playing the ditz makes life easy.

Lisa’s definitely judged you for it, but hey. She’s not stuck at the register like you are.

Sometimes, it works. You get a scowl, but they’ll go quiet. Sometimes.

Today, it backfires.

“Excuse me?” 

Oh here we go, you think. It’s way too early for this.

“What was that, sir?” you play dumb, voice squeaking.

“Are you accusing me of stealing?” his volume raises. You see redness crawling up his neck. Fuck.

“No, no, I only meant–” you try to backtrack. Fuck, fuck. This is the result of your hubris. Your reasoning flies out through the massive lumber area doors as his rage climbs.

“No? No? Because I think you just accused me of stealing. Do you understand how much I spend here, you moron?”

“I do, I didn’t mean to imply–”

“Get me a fucking manager, now,” he snaps. God, you have no clue if he acts like this to get his way, to get discounts, or if he’s really this angry half the time he comes in.

Regardless, the effect is real. You’ve never been good with anger, and you’re shaking a little as you press the call button on your pager.

“C-Can I please have a manager down to lumber cash?” you broadcast to the store.

All you can think of is looking away from his angry gaze while you wait. Oh, a bubble bath – you have an aloe and green tea bubble bath packet at home waiting for you.

Hot water. Bubble bath. Manager to fix this mess. Maybe a hot chocolate after work?

A couple minutes pass. Longest minutes of your life.

No answer. The guy taps his foot, sighing loudly, angrily. You try again.

“Can I please have a manager down to lumber cash?”

Oh fuck, is that someone else in line? You turn away bodily, speaking again into your mic. Trying to look like you’re doing something about the wait.

Another couple minutes. Despair washes over you like a cold blanket of snow.

“Need a manager at lumber cash,” you try.

Typical, really. Lisa is likely on break, and you have no idea who’s managing the store at the moment.

You imagine it’s likely Cody, who’s good with contractors like this because he's personable but he’s also lazy it almost cancels out. Also, he takes a smoke break every 5 minutes.

And never takes his pager.

“What the fuck is taking so long?” you hear behind you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, turning. “My manager is busy at the moment but–”

“Busy?” his voice is like a gunshot in the airy space, an absurd volume for the time.

“Yes–”

“Do you know–”

A third voice cuts in.

“Think you better learn a little patience, mate,” British?

Oh, shit. It’s that guy from before. He’s got one hip a little cocked, a frown on his face like he’s smelled something bad. His boonie hat is titled down, nearly covering his eyes. You can see them because you’re shorter than he is.

“Excuse me? And who are you? Mind your business,” the guy says.

“I think you’d better let the nice girl check me out while you wait,” he motions for you towards the parallel cash desk, and you’re grateful to just follow.

You scurry away from the guy faster than is appropriate, calling out again as you cross the open space towards the other cash desk for a manager.

You can only hope they arrive while you’re helping this one. John Price, you think his name was. He's a memorable man. Him and his moustache and his expensive company.

John Price has left the guy flabbergasted. He also has twice as many carts as him, and when your eyes widen to see them he just says take your time in a smooth, deep voice.

Oh man.

You do take your time, already calmer for John’s presence. Strange maybe to feel safe in the company of a stranger, a contractor no less, but it’s a nice change of pace.

Beep, beep. You scan methodically. John has no hidden items, and he doesn’t pressure you. He leans up against his lumber order and watches you check underneath things, under the cart, doing everything you’re trained to do.

“Start early?” he asks.

“Hm?” you lift your head. “Oh, yes. 6am.”

He whistles.

“Hard worker, I see,” he helps you lift a heavy bag of concrete.

“Thank you,” Marx look away, you think. Your face is only a little hot.

Cody strolls in the lumber doors missing his apron and – you guessed it – his pager. You fix him with a look as he smiles in greeting.

“Need a manager when you’re free,” you rush. Cody is nice, but you’re kinda miffed now.

“Oh, sure,” he says, walking by you toward the breakroom.

John Price raises a brow.

“Not everyone’s up to the task, eh?”

You feel hot again.

“It’s just early.”

John smiles. He looks remarkably silly doing it, you think. His facial hair makes him look approachable, cuddly. Like a teddy bear.

John’s order totals double the guy, which isn’t really a victory for you but it feels like one. Ha! See, you aren’t the richest guy here. You feel vindicated. Cody looks miserable cashing him out, which makes you just a little guilty.

“Will that be cash or card?” you ask, finger hovering on the POS.

He pays with card. You certainly do not notice how he cradles the machine. You aren’t that down bad.

Only you are, and his fingers are huge. His knuckles are hairy.

When you go to hand him the receipts, printed twice for record keeping, he manages to slip a 50 into your hand before you notice.

“Oh, no! I’m not allowed to–”

He folds those big bear paws over your hand, enclosing the cash in it with a sh sh sh as you protest.

“For the trouble,” he winks.

“You didn’t give me any trouble,” you try. The warmth of his palm, the roughness of his calluses. You’re a goner.

He chuckles, and you wonder how he can be both so intense and so disarming.

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he squeezes your hand, pushing it gently back towards you until you can put it in your apron pocket.

“Thank you,” you squeeze out.

“Don’t let him get to you,” he says.

“I’ll try,” you thank God or the universe or whoever that Cody and the guy finished a while ago.

“Attagirl.”

Yeah, you’re a goner.

[loviejohnnydovie]

John Price is the kind of man that if you tell him you have a boyfriend he’d roll it off and say

“call me when you’re in need of a husband”

[loviejohnnydovie]

Hi! I absolutely love your writing and I've been stalking your page for a while now and I'm really surprised no one requested that one old tik tok trends of S/Os grabbing thier partners feet from under the bed.

PLEASE I NEED TO KNOW THE COD MEN REACTION 😭😭😭😭😭

The way I cackled over this. I love a good prank, especially when there is nothing malicious or nasty behind it. Thank you so much for sending this in!! I had a freaking blast with this. Also, genuinely startled/surprised 141 is just a hilarious concept to me. Enjoy!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, hijinks & shenanigans, pranks, established relationship

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

It’s unfair to do this to John, but he makes it so easy. He falls for every one of your pranks. Speedwalks right into them.

And this one is no exception.

You’ve smushed yourself underneath the bed. It’s possible you won’t be able to get out. But that’s a problem for later. Right now, you’re about to scare John.

“I’m home,” he calls out.

You remain quiet. Distantly, you hear the front door shut, and John’s heavy footfalls.

“Dove. I’m home.”

Still, you remain silent.

John calls your name this time. You do not respond.

“Cabbage?”

This time, you almost snort. John doesn’t call you cabbage unless he’s being sincere.

John appears in the doorway, pausing just outside. He takes one step, and then another. He’s just out of reach, booted feet near but not close enough.

“Car’s out front.”

Another step.

You grin, and grab at his ankles.

“What in the bloody—”

John stumbles back, nearly trips, and then rights himself. You cackle, and John sighs. Wiggling closer to the edge of the bed, you bring your face into the light.

“Welcome home,” you grin.

John shakes his head. “I’m not helping you get out from under there.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

You silently chuckle to yourself, rubbing your hands together like some comic book villain. Johnny is just off the game with Simon, walking around the house looking for you.

“Darling,” he calls out, that Scottish lilt making the pet name even sweeter.

You stay hidden, watching him pass the bedroom not once but twice.

Even from your hiding spot, you can hear him muttering to himself as he searches room to room.

His feet and ankles appear, pausing just inside the doorway before heading straight to the bathroom. He checks there, and then the closet.

As Johnny passes by the bed to leave, you take a swipe at his feet.

“Oi!” he shouts, spinning around.

You wait a beat. He takes a step. Pauses. When he attempts to leave again, you make another pass.

This time Johnny yells, rushing for the door, returning seconds later. Moving to his hands and knees, Johnny looks under the bed—but only at a safe distance.

“You,” he says, smirking. He starts crawling toward you.

“Johnny,” you warn, but it’s too late. He’s reaching under the bed, wrestling you out from under it, peppering you with sloppy kisses that leave smears of salvia behind.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon is fresh up from a nap. He has no idea you’re currently hiding under the bed. But you’ve taken his phone, placed it on the bed as bait, making calls on it to herd him toward your hiding spot.

Simon appears, stopping directly beside the side of the bed. Slowly, you reach out, and then manically flail about, grabbing at his sock-covered feet.

You expect that your actions might surprise him. He might even make a sound, or even swear. What you didn’t expect is to hear your unshakably dreary husband let out a shriek like that of a startled old woman. Pulling your hand back, you cover your mouth, stifling a snort.

“Bloody hell!” he shouts, taking a few steps back.

He pauses a moment, and then gets down onto his knees before flattening himself across the floor.

“Come here,” says Simon, voice eerily calm.

Oh. Oh no.

“I’d rather not,” you reply, knowing that Simon is already brewing up a punishment.

“Come out, love.”

You scoot further away. “Your tone is too neutral, Simon.”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Is it?”

“I’m calm.”

You’re nearly out the other end.

“I’ll chase you,” he smirks.

You make a run for it.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“I’m in here, Kyle,” you call out as you slide yourself beneath the bed.

You wiggle around until you’re hidden, waiting for him to follow your voice. You hear his footfalls before he appears.

“I thought we—” He comes to a stop just inside the door. “Babe?” A pause, and then he says your name. Then, softly, “where are you hiding?”

As he steps into the room, and heads for the bathroom, his feet pass by your hiding spot. This is your only opportunity before he figures out that you’re beneath the bed.

You reach out, just brushing your fingertips against him, then retreat.

“Fucking hell!” he shouts, stumbling backward.

You do it again, and this time he growls your name. Taking a step back, Kyle drops onto his stomach, gaze narrowed as it focuses on you.

“Really?” he asks, deadpan.

“I found it hilarious,” you reply.

Kyle sighs and shakes his head. “Move over.”

“What?”

Shoving himself underneath, Kyle drags himself across the floor until you’re shoulder to shoulder under the bed.

“Bloody filthy down here,” observes Kyle. “Needs a good dusting.” He winks. “Got a spider in your hair, love.”

“I regret this so much,” you whisper.

taglist:

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[loviejohnnydovie]

Neighbor! Simon who is sitting cross-legged on your kitchen floor, a hand on his stubbly chin while he tries to figure out how your washing machine works.

Meanwhile you're stirring a pot on the stove and glancing down at him apologetically every now and then.

Funny that there's a pack of Marlboro on the windowsill of your balcony along with an ash tray you'd bought especially for him.

Simon's muddy shoes are in your hallway more often than not, and you decided to get him a pair of slippers since he spends so much time there.

He wears them religiously, you find it adorable.

When you finally hear a click and the washing machine whirrs to life, you're so overjoyed that you wrap your arms around his waist and stand on your toes to press a kiss to his jaw.

His expression barely changes except for the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight.

He rubs gentle circles into the small of your back. You insist he stays for dinner.

He ends up sleeping on your couch, just in case something else goes wrong in your new apartment.

[loviejohnnydovie]

thinking about your older bf!simon that’s had a long day.

“the lil’prick gets lippy with price of all people”

he wasn’t impressed, new recruit fresh out of training and lacking manners.

simon hates bad manners.

“he’s young, si- sure he’s still learning”

he huffs a breath through his nose as he lifts your ass, slamming you back down in his lap and making your eyes roll a little bit.

“don’t recall it taking that long f’me”

you can’t help but giggle as you look down at him, hands on his broad chest as you roll yourself in his lap.

he looked beautiful like this, totally pissed off but pliable under you.

“you’re different, baby- never met anyone with manners like yours”

simple sentence changes everything.

you can see see the way his lip quirks up, before you can even think- his hips are hammering up into yours.

“y’think? how about y’show me your manners and cum f’me?”

[loviejohnnydovie]

Your fav military man, but this time he’s got you bent over his muscled leg, whimpering and pleading with your face smushed against the couch cushion as he rubs your plump pussy with his big, calloused fingers.

It’s almost unfair how he’s got you wound up enough to drool on the cushion. Your legs are spread apart for his complete convenience, and every stroke of his thick fingers against the sensitive, puffy skin has your cunt weeping for more.

You beg and plead for him to do something more- to shove those stupidly thick fingers inside where they belong, and he tuts once, gruffly. A mere second of silence passes, and your clit aches in silent protest of the missing stimulation before- oh.

Your no-nonsense lover’s hand firmly connects with your cunt with a sharp smack, and you see stars. A strangled, surprised moan falls from your lips, and he chuckles darkly, a soft, rasping sound that makes you whine again. “Oh, baby…. Did we learn something new today?”

[loviejohnnydovie]

Simon’s home.

Which means he’s glued to your side.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

The two of you are in a local bookstore, the shop having caught your eye while out on a stroll together, each of you going to your respective shelves to find your preferred genres.

Simon grabs the first novel he thinks sounds interesting, quickly snatching the book by its spine so that he can cross the few steps back to your side.

His eyebrows furrow when he notices how closely you’re holding a book up to your face, your own eyes squinting at the back cover.

“Havin’ trouble there, love?” He asks as he approaches.

“Can’t believe I let myself run out of contact lenses.” You reply, trying your best to decipher the blur of black ink on the pages.

“Could’ve worn your glasses.” He retorts, something he’d already suggested more than once since you ran out of your contacts and had to order new ones.

“You know I only like wearing them at home.”

“But you’re so cute in ‘em.”

“Yeah well, you’re the only one who thinks so.” You mumble under your breath, though Simon hears it of course, the crease in his brow deepening.

“Wha’s that supposed to mean?” He gruffs out.

“I just got teased a bit in school was all Si, typical kid stuff. Just stuck with me I guess, but it’s fine, I have my contact lenses.” You explain to him.

Simon considers your words for a moment, the gears evidently turning in his head, muscular arms crossed over his large chest.

“And do we know where these fuckin’ tossers are at now?”

“Oh my god Simon, don’t-”

“Have we got any names to work with?”

“That is not-”

“Any addresses?”

“You are not about to-”

“Pictures?”

“I was like ten years old-”

“S’alright lovie, we’ll dig up your yearbooks when we get home.” He simply says, plucking your book from your hands and heading towards the register to pay.

[loviejohnnydovie]

Shopping with John Price and while you’re the one grabbing stuff off the shelf and adding it to the trolley, he’s the one pushing it and adding all the items together to keep an eye on the price.

Not that it matters to him. No, no, he’d let you buy 5 new cars using his card, but you insist on sticking to a limit so you don’t go overboard and accidentally waste food or money. His glasses occasionally slip down from his nose before he’s pushing them back up, his phone in one hand as he adds up the price on his calculator app. However, when you notice before him, you take the opportunity to push the frames up for him at the bridge, giving him a quick kiss during.

A small smile rests on his face for a few seconds afterwards as he trails along behind you, his hand grazing along your ass and giving it a slight squeeze.

[loviejohnnydovie]

you scurry into the bookshop from the cold, the door slamming shut behind you with the breeze.

the warmth inside feels like a slap after the bitter chill, and your glasses immediately fog over, clouding your vision in a steamy blur. you pause, fumbling with your mittens, distracted by your own breath bouncing back at you behind your scarf, making it worse. you step forward without thinking.

and immediately regret it. your shoulder slams into something hard and solid, like a wall. except the wall shifts, and a deep voice hisses down at you.

“fuckin’—we in a rush? watch where you’re—”

“sorry!” you blurt out, flinching back.

the voice halts. just stops, snipped mid-sentence. you’re scrabbling to pull your mittens off now, fingers clumsy and frantic. the fog persists, blinding, smothering, your breath quickening and making the condensation worse.

“shit, shit, sorry—”

then a hand settles on your shoulder.

a low, rasping hehehe rattles from above. “can’t see a thing, can ya? ‘old still.”

you freeze, mittens half-off, mouth hanging open in protest as something dark moves toward your face.

“uh, what are you—oh, you don’t have to…”

a thumb drags black fabric gently over one of the lenses. the fog clears in a small oval, revealing part of the stranger’s face, his deep brown eyes. you try to crane your neck for a better look, but the hand on your shoulder shifts to your chin, steadying it.

“keep still.”

your mouth shuts and your pulse stutters. his thumb and forefinger pinch just firmly enough to hold your head in place. he clears the second lens, and when he withdraws the fabric, you finally see him.

he wears a thick, cloth mask, the loops disappearing beneath the edges of a matching hat. though most of his face is hidden, you notice the faint scar cutting across the end of one blond eyebrow, a few faded freckles dusting his forehead. the scarf around his neck hangs loose, one end caught in his hand, which he drops once he seems satisfied with his work.

“there,” he says, leaning back a fraction to examine you. his eyes crinkle at the edges, amused. he must be smiling. “look at those eyes.”

you blink up at him, and you’re hyper-aware of your own breathing. careful not to exhale too hard, in case you fog everything up again.

“thanks.”

his thumb, still resting lightly on your chin, moves in a small, absent circle. he hums, low in his throat, and then lets go.

“of course, sweet’eart.”

for a second, you just stand there. five seconds, maybe. you’re the one who breaks the silence by awkwardly stepping away.

“okay, yep, thanks again.” you say, words knocking into each other like you knocked into him.

you retreat further into the shop, yanking at your mittens until they’re off and stuffed into your pockets. your scarf is next, practically ripped from your neck, the heat of your own embarrassment prickling at your skin all over.

what just happened? should you have said something? made a point of how weird that was? because it was weird. right?

you circle the horror section three times before your heart rate evens out, but even then, you’re not really seeing the shelves. the titles run together, and your mind drifts back to him—his hand on your chin, the soft way he said sweetheart.

your glasses are clear, but you’re stuck in a haze.

simon was just supposed to kill time, having arrived arrived early to meet price. except now he’s going to be late, for the first time in ages, to a meeting with his captain.

it’s difficult to hide in a shop where he’s taller than most of the shelves, but he’s careful. doesn’t take much of an effort anyway, she’s preoccupied by the shelves of the horror section. not his preference, but he likes the twist. likes the view, too. the profile of her face, her hair, the way her jeans fit snugly over her arse.

smitten. that’s the word, he thinks. charmed, maybe. pretty, sweet four-eyes all dressed up in knitwear. she probably made them herself. seems the type. he wonders, absurdly, if she’d make him something. a sweater, maybe. something that actually fits his shoulders.

then she suddenly moved, pulling out her phone, and he buries his face in the cookbook he’s been pretending to read. thai recipes, apparently. he flips a page, wondering if she likes thai food. he could try making it.

his phone buzzes and for a second, one irrational second, he thinks it’s her. like she’s sent a message telepathically from across the shop. but no. it’s price, blunt as ever, asking where the fuck he is.

he looks up again, and she’s gone. just like that. his stomach drops, and he straightens instinctively, scanning the aisles. he can’t help it, he turns—

“so…you like thai food?”

he looks down and finds her at the next shelf over, smiling shyly. something about it. it slips through his ribs and gets comfortable.

[loviejohnnydovie]

neighbor!simon x reader. longer read.

you’re neighbor is a homebody. sort of.

he’s either never home or always home. you aren’t sure what he does, but whatever it is leaves his flat vacant for months at a time, not so much as a mouse breath breaching the thin popcorn walls that separate your rooms.

and when he is in the complex, you’d never know it. a shut in, the only give away is the muffled news channel that burrows through your moldings, or smithed footfall at ungodly hours.

the first time you caught him moving in while off to work. big bloke- and when you waved to him he stared, before lumbering into his complex. given, he was holding a large cardboard box, so you weren’t expecting him to return the greeting. but a hello would’ve been nice.

it was 4 months until you got a good look at him.

you were awake at a time you shouldn’t have been for a reason you had long forgotten. you do remember thinking you might as well do your laundry.

when you went down to the mat, there he was.

tracker fed shoulders taking up half the space, and on an inhale they took two thirds. clothes looked as though they had been dyed in pen ink and left to dry in hail. mud boots, thick legs, and the silhouette of a cauliflower ear against the fabric of his balaclava.

he glared at you like you weren’t supposed to be there. an anomaly, disturbed his routine. steel face, stone eyes, swear you’d seen the same look in your history books on the shields of greek soldiers.

it all scared you shitless, so you turned on your heel and didn’t go back until the morning. you make it a point to hustle past his door after that.

but you tend to take more than you can handle. swaddling your groceries as you wobble up the stairs, just barely there before your foot catches on the last step. produce among some of the other fragile items scattered across the tiles, and you curse under your breath.

you wouldn’t characterize yourself as a klutz, but it scrambling to collect your groceries feet from your door isn’t helping your case. the paper bags struggle against your grip, and it feels like you’re just biding your time until they all rip apart.

“you need help.”

its said more like an observation than it is a question. you turn slowly, and a goliath stands 6 feet and something over you. he sports a medical mask and a ballcap, which reveals new features- sun bleached skin that peels from the bridge of his nose to between his brows, which are thick and blonde. the left is cut in half by scar tissue and spite. if you squint you see freckles.

the night he scared you, you remembered his eyes as pitch. crow feather. under your bed.

you now see they’re the deepest shade of brown.

“i- no its fine i..” your arms do a dance with the bags, trying to keep them steady.

he grabs them both from you, and suddenly they still. its like handing squealing pigs to a farmer. built for holding them. it makes you feel weird that you like it.

“unlock the door.”

you do as you’re told and find your keys in your back pocket. fumble at the lock before opening the door and standing to the side to let him in. he nods.

sets your groceries down before gently tipping the brim of his cap. he doesn’t say anything before leaving.

and this started the strangest routine.

every week you’d get groceries, he’d be there.

the first time he was on the second flight of stairs. when you questioned how he knew you’d been shopping, he rolled his shoulders and scoffed.

“your huffin n puffin gave you away.”

he was there for four more trips. each time, you had gotten more words out of him. found out he had the driest sense of humor and a plethora of knock-knock jokes that you painfully laughed at.

he even kept up with the occasional flirt.

“yknow, you could start charging for your manual labor.”

“you rich?” he returned.

you laughed. “far from it. but this is a service, and you haven’t started making demands so…”

he stopped and stared at your back before you turned around. “so what?”

“i have to assume you just like me.”

he rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his cheek twitched under his eyes. although it was hidden by the mask, you had made him smile.

“don’t get your hopes up.”

all of it was enough for you to get comfortable. and then he wasn’t there.

the absence was strange enough to make your pace stutter when you reached the second floor, but you recovered and trekked to your room.

not without glancing at his door, though.

he must be back at work. surely he isn’t…well. he couldn’t have moved out without telling you. you aren’t close but maybe you are?

you thought so hard about it for so long that you placed your ear to the wall separating your flats.

after a few moments, you heard nothing. not even a mouse breath.

you felt foolish for being so relieved. and you kept feeling foolish for hoping he’d be there with every errand, and disappointed when he wasn’t.

it was 4 more groceries trips before you saw him again.

waiting at the entrance of the complex, crossed arms and black attire stood out like a sore thumb in the winter blight that bit at your nose with snow and temperatures below freezing. you picked up the pace.

when you got to the cement steps, you sorely regretted your decision to jog. not because it winded you, or it amplified the struggle you had with your bags, but because of the smug smile you could see crinkling the bastards cheeks under his mask.

“you missed me.”

you handed him a bag. “i missed your arms. carry that.”

you could hear the grin from behind you.

“whatever you say, sweet’eart.”

[loviejohnnydovie]

You had never seen him look so utterly human before

Laid up amongst the scratchy, thin sheets of the hospital bed, with only a plain surgical mask covering the bottom half of his face, everything else above Ghost’s shoulders exposed to your eyes for the first time, while his own eyes have been shut for nearly four days straight now

You had never seen your Lieutenant without the signature mask that haunts the dreams of even the deadliest foreign mercenaries, had never seen him look anything less than intimidating, commanding, powerful without so much as even trying to, his presence alone striking fear into those who’ve heard whispers of the fearsome Ghost

Now however, with an IV hooked up to his arm and a nurse that comes to check on his vitals periodically, it’s hard to picture him as such a gruesome soldier, rather than a simple man who bleeds like any other human

In spite of the evident vulnerable position he finds himself in, his pale skin appearing nearly translucent under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital, there was no denying that Ghost remained someone to be feared

A particularly nasty blow to the head during a field op gone wrong had knocked the burly soldier out cold, and though doctors were optimistic he would make a full recovery, they couldn’t exactly tell the extent of the damage done until he woke up

You and the men that made up the remainder of the 141 had been taking turns remaining by his side, not wanting for Ghost to wake up alone, whenever that would be exactly

You wonder how he would feel about this, the fact that you are currently the one on shift for the unofficial rotation of visitors who’ve stuck by his bedside throughout his injury

You’re well aware of the fact that the Lieutenant doesn’t like you, has never liked you, and probably never will, though you’ve never been able to get a straight answer as to why

From the moment you’d met him, he’d been cold to you, distant, making no effort to get to know you nor welcome you to the team, opposite to the way the Sergeants and Captain had welcomed you with open arms and hearts

No matter how much you poked and prodded at them for an answer, some sort of inclination as to what you could possible have done wrong to have Ghost dislike you so much, the men always bit their tongues

You saw the way they exchanged knowing glances and sly smirks, believing they were being more cunning than they really were, insisting to you with carefully chosen words that it wasn’t something you should worry about too much, that the LT had a different way of expressing his feelings than most

“So long as he doesn’t wake up and want to ‘express his feelings’ by punching me in the face for being the first thing he opens his eyes to.” You thought to yourself, glancing up from your book at his still sleeping form, shaking your head at your silly thought

No, he’d never been particularly kind to you, but he’d also never gone out of his way to be cruel to you either you supposed

Perhaps he found you to be more of a nuisance than anything else, a pest he couldn’t seem to swat away hard enough, an annoying pimple he couldn’t quite pop

Your eyes scanned over his face once more, cursing whatever Gods might be listening that the man hiding beneath that Ghost facade had to be so … intriguing

You could see old scars running across his face, some of them peeking out from under the surgical mask while others ran across his brow, his crooked nose evident even under the fabric of the mask

He was handsome in his own, rugged way, a fact you were displeased to learn when you first saw him laying here, switching off with Soap who’d been sat at his side earlier

Ghost may not care for you, not that he had given you many reasons or chances to care for him, but you cared about your remaining members of the task force, and knew how important Ghost was to them, and so for the 141, you’d do your duty and care for a Ghost who apparently wanted no such love and tenderness from you

You looked the large man over, brows furrowing when your eyes landed on his neck, noting that the pillow supporting his head was getting a little flat

You stood from your chair, setting your book down, and approched him carefully, almost as though any sudden movements would somehow wake the comatose man from his slumber

As gently as you could, you attempted to adjust the pillow behind him to hopefully be more comfortable, quickly realizing just how heavy he was when he was nothing more than dead weight

You slowly slipped your hands behind his shoulders, pulling him forward as best as you could until you were able to adjust the pillow one handed

Slipping your hands back down his shoulders to ease him back into the bed, your palms naturally ending up sliding onto the back of his neck, the tips of your fingers brushing against the hair at the base of his skull, an involuntary shiver running through you at what you realized too late was a bit of an intimate touch with a man who’d been touch starved for years

It was hard to say who was more stunned at first, with how quickly things transpired, when you suddenly felt a pair of strong hands reaching up to grip your wrists and hold them in place

You hadn’t even realized you had let out a gasp as your eyes flicked down and met none other than Ghost’s own wide open orbs only inches away from you, staring right at you as though he was seeing a ghost

Stunned into silence, worried that you truly were about to end up on the receiving end of Ghost’s anger for having invaded his space like that, you barely had enough time to process that he’d somehow woken from his coma when his grip on your wrists tightened further, and somehow, whether it was a trick of the light or you imagination, his gaze softened before his scratchy, out of use voice said:

“Love.”

Your ears were ringing, hardly taking notice of the way a flurry of alarms and bells had gone off as soon as Ghost had woken up, his heart rate soaring through the roof and alerting staff

Medical personnel rushed into the room before you could wrap your mind around any of what was happening, Ghost’s grip on your never loosening until the doctor finally approached you both, sensing the tension in the air

“Lieutenant Riley,” the man said, gently landing a hand in Ghost’s bicep to hopefully help him ease his strong grip on you. “Let her go.”

His grip on you disappeared instantly, as though your skin had suddenly burned him, but his eyes never wavered from your own, even as he began mumbling unintelligibly beneath his medical mask

“What was that?” The doctor asked, trying to bring calm back to the room and ease Ghost into a state where he could be properly examined

“My girl.” The Lieutenant’s gravelly voice echoed throughout the sterile room

“Pardon?”

“My girl.” Ghost repeated, never once breaking eye contact with your now widened eyes

“Do- do you know who this is, Lieutenant?” The doctor posed the question, slowly gesturing towards you with a confusion that was spreading amongst you all

“‘Course I do.” Ghost spoke with certainty. “That’s my love.”

[loviejohnnydovie]

Neighbor! Simon, who sees you moving into the flat next to his one afternoon.

And out of pity, seeing you struggling alone with heavy furniture, he helps out. Picking things up with ease that you were fighting just to drag past the door.

He’s so sweet that you offer to pay him once everything is all set up. Of course, he refuses.

So instead, you offer him a coffee. It’s 7PM before you know it, he’s such pleasant company even though he’s not much of a talker.

Coffee turns to dinner.

He helps out the best he can, stirring the pot of pasta while you prepare the sauce.

It’s your first night in your new apartment so you decide to celebrate with a glass of wine. You offer him one too.

You wipe pasta sauce off the corner of his mouth. He bombards you with his best dad jokes.

And suddenly your lips are on his. You’d meant it to be a peck on the cheek, but he’d pointedly turned his head just in time.

You chase him out with excuses that it’s getting late, you need sleep, work tomorrow. He doesn’t protest, only smiles to himself as you push onto his back.

You slide down the door until you’re sitting on the floor, fingertips brushing against your lips where his kiss still lingers.

[loviejohnnydovie]

Slow It Down

I was listening to Slow It Down by Charlie Puth and the lyrics wormed themselves into my brain and all I could think of was Johnny so now this exists.

This got away from me a bit and I'm not even sure it's about the song anymore buttttttt uuhhhhh... 4.9k words later we have this

Johnny x f!reader // mdni // p in v sex // smut and fluff yippeee //

He was just supposed to be a simple one night stand. A body to provide a little warmth and a little fun for the night and then be someone you would never have to see again. He didn’t seem to agree though. He had attached himself to you like a leech, wormed his way into your brain and that’s exactly why you’re still sharing a bed three days later.

Your friend was throwing a little birthday party at one of the local pubs and admittedly, you had a few too many drinks. How couldn’t you? It was the first time you had seen her in months after becoming swamped with your new job. The stress from your packed schedule was reason enough to drink, but having a good time with her was a must. She was awfully persuasive, making you take a shot after every song she deemed was her favorite.

After a quick trip to the bathroom to fix yourself up you made your way back to the dance floor. Finally feeling perfectly fuzzy around the edges, you were confident enough to let go and dance in whatever way the music led you too. Surrounded by your friends you found it easy to feel the music, your hips swayed, hands in the air, running the tips of your fingers through your hair. The alcohol buzzing through your system leading you to close your eyes and just experience the beat.

It wasn’t long until you felt a presence behind you. Assuming it was one of your friends, your drunk addled brain led you to step back to dance against them. You were slightly startled when hands found your waist, their rough calloused fingers gently settled on the exposed skin your body suit provided.

“Gonnae give a man ideas dancin’ here like tha,” his breath hit the shell of your ear as he spoke. His deep scottish brogue made your skin tingle. As you tuned your upper half you were met with a dangerously charming smirk and blue eyes that reminded you of the deepest parts of the ocean.

You swallowed, trying to fight the blush creeping up on your cheeks. He was alarmingly handsome, and from the way he seemed to look at you he was also deeply interested. Perhaps some extra stress relief was in the cards for you tonight.

Instead of replying you simply went back to dancing. He grunted quietly as your ass worked itself against his front. 

You danced like that for a while and he swayed to the music with you. His hands moved themselves from their firm hold on your hips to be wrapped loosely around your waist.

When the song ended he let you go, freeing you to turn around fully. You did so with a bit of a sway, now able to look at him fully. You caught sight of his broad shoulders first, the way his black shirt hugged his muscles. Eyes tracing up to the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, then to his face.

His eyes were making their own way up to your face, he had clearly taken his time looking you over just as you did with him. The corners of his lips quirked up into a slight smirk as he caught you paying attention to his features.

“Ye dance like tha’ on every lad ye meet?” he leaned down towards you, tilting his head as he spoke. He had to raise his voice over the music and chatter around you.

If it wasn’t for the alcohol in your system you weren’t sure you would’ve responded. Hell, if you hadn’t drank tonight you wouldn’t be on the dance floor at all. But with this handsome man paying you attention and your confidence spiking you figured you would see how far you could get with him.

“Only the pretty ones,” you return his smirk, pulling some of your hair behind your ear as if it would help you hear him better.

His eyes fluttered before widening a fraction, his smirk softening into a smile. He held out a hand, putting the other behind his neck as if he had been reduced to nothing but a nervous boy.

“Ah’m Johnny by the way,” he said almost too quietly for you to hear. You knew that he paused to wait for you to give yours, but you had a better idea in mind.

“I’ll give you mine if you get me a drink,” you responded with a slight glint of mischief in your eyes. You set your hand in his, moreso holding it as opposed to going for a shake.

You couldn’t hear, but you could tell from the way his shoulders bobbed that you got a chuckle out of him. 

“Cheeky lass,” he shook his head and tightened his grip on your hand before walking off towards the bar with you in tow.

As you walked you realized that this was the first time in a long time that you felt some sense of control. With how crazy your work schedule had gotten, life had been slipping away for a while. This felt nice, oddly calming. You could finally get some sense of relief, and you were also excited from this man who already seemed to be wrapped around your finger.

He walked you up to the bar, finding a spot that had just enough room for the two of you to squeeze in. He flagged down a bartender who’s eyebrows raised and finished off making a drink before heading over to the two of you.

“Ah’ll take whatever lite ye have on tap and for miss…” he trailed off, looking to you for your answer.

Your eyes locked with Johnny. You finally gave him your name, then you turned your gaze to the bartender. “I’ll take a martini, dirty, please,” you gave the bartender a smile before your eyes were brought back to Johnny’s.

He said your name back to you, testing the way it sounded coming from his own vocal cords. “Dirty, aye?” he chuckled at the way you rolled your eyes.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to do that,” you gave him a small, genuine smile. “You buy drinks for girls often?”

He turned around to rest his back against the bar. “Only the pretty ones,” he said and gave you the same cocky smirk you gave him, earning a snicker from you and a slight blush.

You couldn’t help but find yourself joining him in leaning against the bar. You looked out and watched the crowd, landing on your friends and seeing how they didn’t even seem to notice your absence. You’re not sure when he managed to move his arm around you, but it was there now, gently tugging you towards his chest. You obliged, talking a half step closer to him and leaning into his side.

Once your drinks came you stood like that for a while, taking genuine interest in each other’s lives. You learned that he was on leave from the military, that he was on some elite task force or whatever that meant. He learned about how you were burnt out from work, barely having time to yourself. It was nice, having a genuine conversation with someone outside of work or your parents on the phone.

“Ach, gotta be getting ye tae bed here soon then, huh?” He asked with a teasing head tilt.

You smacked his chest playfully before setting your empty drink on the table. He gave you an opening to ask for what you wanted, and who were you to deny yourself?

You hummed, keeping your eyes on the dance floor before you, “No, too lonely in my bed all by myself,” you uttered with a shrug.

There was a rumble in his chest, you could feel it against your shoulder. His head dipped down, forehead resting against your temple, his nose brushing your cheekbone.

“Ah’d be more than willing tae keep ye company. Cannae have ye getting cold all alone under yer wee covers.”

His response made your breath stumble over itself in your throat. You shifted against the bar, turning to face him, bringing your face close enough that you could see the small freckles on his face and the way his eyes were half lidded while looking at you. Well, they weren’t looking you in your eyes, they were trained on your lips.

“Gonna kiss me, Johnny?” You whispered, part of you was almost nervous to see what he would do. He was practically  frozen in time after you asked and you were wondering if he was just going to ignore you and move on or pin you to the bar and consume you whole.

He settled somewhere in the middle, leaning forward that last bit to slot his lips against yours. A quiet grow came from his throat as he took your face in his hand, you could tell by the way his fingers were trembling he was holding back.

You placed one hand on his neck and the other on his bicep before working your lips against his. He shifted forward, pressing you ever so slightly into the bar behind you. The move caused a slight moan to slip out of you, parting your lips just enough for him to slide his tongue past your teeth to get a taste.

Suddenly, he pulled his head back, watching the way your eyes slowly opened as you pouted from his sudden absence.

“Easy lass, go let yer friends know yer headin’ out and then meet me by the door, yeah? Gotta close out my tab.”

You nodded and quickly slipped through the sea of bodies to find your friends right where you left them. You told them your situation, quickly kissing cheeks and hugging before making your way off of the floor as quickly as you could because they started cheering something about you getting laid.

You spotted his mohawk by the door and made your way to him. He held the door open for you as you exited, letting his hand come to rest on the small of your back and guide you out.

“Ye drive?” he asked, turning his head towards you.

You shook your head, “No, took an uber.”

With a nod he switched directions, leading you to the passenger door of a navy blue truck. The color reminded you of the way his eyes shifted when you asked him if he was going to kiss you. Thinking back to that moment made your face warm and your core even warmer.

He opened the door for you, helping you up into the truck. As he slid into the driver's seat he plugged his phone in and handed it to you. “Throw the directions tae yer bed in there for me lass,” he said as he turned his headlights on and started the truck.

You put your address into the GPS and chatted with him on the short drive back to your house. If this wasn’t a one night stand you would think you were with a man you were dating, he made you feel so calm and content.

When you pointed out your place he pulled off to the side and put the truck in park. He got out and opened your door for you, helping you out. 

Right after he shut the car door he leaned down once more, pressing his lips to yours with a bit more fervor this time. You took a step back, letting him press you fully to the side of the car. He was certainly not holding back now, his lips moved on yours like you were a meal set to be devoured. His hands found your waist, kneading the flesh beneath his hands as he dipped his tongue in for a taste once more.

You felt like you were going to melt into a puddle right here on the street. It didn’t help that you could feel his hardening cock through his jeans, straining against the fabric as he slotted a knee between your legs.

The sudden pressure made you jerk a bit, a shaky moan escaping your mouth and being fed right into his own. He hummed against your lips, pressing his knee just a little harder against your weeping core before stepping back and pulling a whine from you.

“Sorry, couldnae help myself. So fuckin’ addicting,” he said before licking his lips, trying to remind himself of the taste he just removed himself from.

You slipped your hand into his, leading him down the path to your house. As you fumbled with the keys to the door he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “‘m willin’ tae bet yer pussy’s gonna be just as addicting.” His hand bunched the back of your body suit in his fist before releasing you as you finally got the door open.

You both shuffled in, and you were just able to get the door shut and locked before he was on you again.

Lips were pressed against one another, hands were balled in fabric and hair, and you were sure your body was buzzing enough to be recognized as an electric current.

“Bedroom… is… straight down… mm… the hall” you managed to mutter between increasingly sloppy kisses.

He wasted no time, picking you up by your hips and wrapping your legs around his waist. You pressed hot, wet, opened mouthed kisses down his jaw to his neck. You could have sworn you heard him whine at the sensation.

“Fuckin’ hell lass,” he grunted as he pushed your bedroom door open, walking over to the bed and dropping you down on it unceremoniously.

After your back hit the bed he stripped himself of his shirt. You watched with anticipation as every inch of skin was revealed to you. Corded muscle stacked on top of corded muscle graced your gaze as you explored him with your eyes. His skin was littered with big and small scars. A story for another time you figured, you had business to attend to.

He moved to take off your leggings before pausing and waiting for permission. You nodded and he made quick work of them, slipping them off before hooking his fingers into your flats and pulling them off too. You worked on the buttons of the body suit, quickly undoing them so he could help you pull it off.

He muttered a quiet string of curses as he saw you, clad in nothing but a bra and your panties. His hands found his belt, and as he worked on his pants you got your bra unclasped and tossed to some foreign part of the room. He crawled onto the bed, joining you as you both lay there and nothing but your underwear. The outline of his cock was well pronounced, making itself known against the fabric.

“Not just a pretty face, gorgeous fuckin’ body too. Holy hell,” he mumbled as he returned your kisses from earlier, making a wet trail from your neck down to your pert breasts.

Johnny took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. With the other hand he massaged your other breast, making sure they each got their own love. You watched him with rapt attention, your back slowly arching itself off of the mattress as you thread your hand through the hairs of his mohawk. He moaned when you tightened your grip on the locks after he sucked particularly hard.

He hummed as he made his way down your body, treating it as if you were his personal goddess to be worshipped.

When he was met with the fabric of your panties he looked up at you. “Let me taste her, lass. Ah’m dyin’ tae ken.”

“Please,” you all but whined.

He hooked his fingers under the garment, pulling it down quickly but making sure not to rip it.

“Pretty, pretty pussy,” he murmured, seeming to be saying it to himself more than he was saying it to you.

He shifted himself on the bed, bringing your legs up over his shoulders before licking a slow, languid strip up your slit. Your gasp was like music to his ears and he simply needed to hear more. 

Suctioning himself to your clit he started slowly by gently swirling his tongue against it before working you up to where he wanted you. With only a few seconds of this slow teasing and a needy whine from you he moved back to your slit. He prodded your slicked hole first before dipping in for a taste. The sounds that escaped both of you at the feeling were straight out of a porno.

“Holy fuck, Johnny!” you cried as you brought your fingers to his hair once more. He hummed against you before bringing his thumb to your clit, massaging it in tight circles while he worked his tongue against you.

You didn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed about the fact you were already so close. Every single one of his movements sent burst after burst of pleasure through you that you couldn’t focus on anything else.

He pressed a finger against your folds just below where his tongue was working so diligently. “Please bonnie, need tae feel ye cum on my fingers. Ah need tae taste yer sweet cum, bonnie please,” he begged.

How could you deny him when he begged so nicely. He slowly pressed his finger into you, and after a slight curl that coil in your stomach tensed and then snapped, sending you into a cry of pleasure as your orgasm rammed into you.

A few moments of pure, white hot bliss passed by before you had realized he was kissing you again. He was consuming your moans just as you thought he might have consumed you against the bar.

You weren’t sure when he got his boxers off, but you could feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

“Please,” you whined against his lips. You wrapped your hands behind his neck, locking your legs around his hips as the head of his cock moved to notch itself at your entrance.

“Please what?” he whispered.

“Please, Johnny, want you to fuck me, please,” you pleaded as you managed to pry your eyes open.

You were met with his darkened blues, the ones that matched the shade of his truck.

With a slight motion forward he pressed into you, introducing a burning stretch that quickly turned to pure pleasure. He worked his way inside you, taking it slow and waiting for you to give him the okay to feed you more.

When he was halfway in his head dipped to your shoulder. “Steamin’ jesus, bonnie. This pretty cunt o’ yer’s is gonna kill me.” And with that he jolted forward, bottoming out and grinding himself against your clit.

“John-Johnny holy shit!” you cried as he hummed against your skin. He pressed a kiss to your neck as he waited for you to adjust after suddenly becoming so full. “Need you to move Johnny. Fuck… please,” you begged.

And Johnny did not disappoint. His body trembled much like how it did when he first kissed you, he was holding back again. You felt as his restraint left him when he moved to kiss you. He began to thrust quickly, a stark contrast to all of his slow movements from before.

The thrusts started shallow at first, he wanted to make sure you were properly adjusted before he gave fully into his own needs. It didn’t take long for his thrusts to become longer and more purposeful.

The sounds he was making in your ear as he rested his forehead against your temple were a combination of low grunts and growls with near needy whines. You met him with your own moans, he was pulling them out of you like a thread gets pulled from its spool.

His thrusts quickly became sloppy and he whined in your ear, “Can Ah cum in ye, please? This cunt’s too good Ah can’t-”

“Yes!” you all but yelled, “I’m on the pill, fuck, yes.” The words came out quick as his thrusts became borderline forceful after your confirmation.

His hips stuttered as he let out a long stream of curses and random mutterings you couldn��t quite pick out due to his grunting. His hips met yours and he stopped, you could feel him twitch in you as he spilled himself within your gooey walls.

“Johnny, Johnny f-fuck!” you cried out as you too were tumbled off the edge partly from his pleasure alone and partly from the way the blunt head of his cock slammed against your walls.

Johnny slowly lowered himself down onto you, bracing himself on shaky elbows so as to not crush you. As you slowly came down from your high you gently ran your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp idly. He let out a contented hum, the sound was almost purr-like.

The both of you laid there, in blissed out silence for minutes, just enjoying the warmth of another person for as long as you could. You felt him move, opening your eyes to watch him shift back onto his knees and slide out of you with a slick sound.

“Where can Ah find a towel for ye?” he whispered quietly, as if he would startle you by speaking at a normal volume.

You pointed to a closet across the room. “Top shelf,” you murmured before sitting up slightly.

He came back across the room, gently cleaning you with a towel before tossing it somewhere near your hamper. “Ah’ll get it in the mornin’,” he hummed before pulling back your covers and tucking you both in.

He nestled himself right behind you, wrapping an arm around your midsection. You almost wanted to beg him not to leave tomorrow, to stay with you for a while, but honestly neither of you were in the position to sustain something longer than tonight. With that thought creeping itself into your head you shut your eyes, basking in his warmth while you could.

~~~

When you woke to your alarm the next morning the bed was empty, save for you. You leaned up to find all of the clothes that were haphazardly tossed around last night were all cleaned up and in the hamper. With a sigh you tossed your legs over the side of the bed and got up to start your day, the soreness from your shenanigans last night not lost on you.

As you made your way into the kitchen you saw him there, hip notched against the counter and drinking coffee.

His eyes lit up as you came in. “Ah made ye coffee.” He slid a mug across the counter towards you. “Oh, an’ Ah made ye some eggs an’ toast!” He spun around, grabbing a plate and setting it in front of you.

“Johnny, this-”

He cut you off with a wave of his hand. “What, ye think Ah’m just gonna leave ye cold and alone in yer bed? No’ the type of lad Ah am Ah’m afraid,” he said with a wink.

Shaking your head with an almost amazed smile on your face you walked over to the food and coffee. You tried both, and while they were nothing special, the thought alone warmed your heart.

Johnny got closer to you as you ate, eventually settling behind you, caging you against the counter. He rested his chin against your shoulder, watching you eat your food. The food he made you.

As you finished he peppered feather light kisses against your neck. They were cute at first, but you had to start getting ready for work… and he had to go, you couldn’t open up to something that isn’t set up to succeed in the first place.

You tilted your head, pinning it to your chin and nudging his head out of the way. His hands were already gripping the hem of your shirt. He was primed to go again.

You pulled away a bit, turning around in his arms. “Johnny, we can’t”

His brows furrowed and his head tilted to the side like a curious dog, “Why no’?”

“Because I have to go to work, and this-”

He cut you off once again before you had the chance to deny him, “Ah’ll drive ye tae work. That way Ah can pick ye up after.”

The second you went to protest he leaned down, trapping your lips in a searing kiss, one that momentarily made you forget why you were even protesting in the first place.

He hummed, running a hand through your hair before releasing you. “Go on, get ready. Ah’ll get the truck all warmed up.” With that, he pressed a kiss to your temple and walked out the door with his keys.

You met Johnny by the door after you got ready and he held out your jacket for you to slip into. Without a word you let him help you into it before he ushered you out to his truck.

~~~

True to his word he drove you both to work and was waiting outside to pick you up once you were done. He was sweet, syrupy sweet, and you weren’t sure how to feel about it. There was no way in hell you would be able to make something like this work with him being in the military, you’re not sure you could handle that. So why the hell were you sitting in his passenger seat coming up with scenarios in your head about dating a  guy you had met not even 24 hours ago?

You were quiet, emotionally distant while in the car with him. This whole predicament was a can of worms you didn’t want to open.

He pulled off to the side out in front of your house again and led you to your door. You turned to look at him after you got it open. “Look, Johnny, I appreciate you doing all of this for me, I really do. But I’m not so sure-”

God. At this point you should honestly start preparing yourself for this. He cut you off once again for the third time today. Once again it was with his lips covering yours. He quickly hoisted you up, shutting your door with his heel before walking you over to your couch.

Setting you down on the plush cushions he broke the seal of your lips with a content growl. He kissed down your jaw before dropping to his knees, slotting himself between your legs without much resistance. 

“Been thinkin’ about this pretty little cunt all day, bonnie. Need tae taste ye again,” he said without breaking eye contact with your covered mound. He made quick work of the buttons of your slacks, pulling them down past your knees and letting gravity do the rest of the work.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t thinking about last night all day at work, and as much as you wanted to stop him, to stop this before it became something unmanageable, you couldn’t find it in you to get him to quit.

Johnny hummed at the sight of your dampened panties and he dove right in…

After some reciprocated affection you found yourselves bundled up under a blanket on your couch, eating take out and watching some old comedy movie. You were wrapped up in his arms, barely paying attention to the movie as your mind replayed his grunts and moans over and over again in your head from when you sucked him off earlier. Some deep down part of you thought this was nice, that this was something worth holding on to.

~~~

Johnny picked you up from work once again the next day, insisting that you came over to see his place. Reluctantly, you obliged, packing yourself an overnight bag and leaving it in his truck.

When he brought you to his place it was quite quant. Little sections of memorabilia and trinkets that you could only assume came from his missions. His kitchen was a little cluttered, but you figured he hadn’t been spending much time here over the last two days so who were you to judge?

You got into bed with him, cuddling under the covers until your cuddles became heated touches, then turned into you making out. You sat, straddling his hips as your lips worked with each other in unison. Johnny let out quiet sounds of rugged pleasure as your tongue explored his mouth, making sure to map out every section. He sucked idly on your tongue as his hands found the curve of your ass. Roughly massaging the flesh as his tongue made its way past yours and infiltrated your mouth.

After a while of making out he pulled back. Your lips felt puffy and they buzzed with your pulse. He looked into your eyes and gave you a cheeky grin. “Need tae shower.” He shrugged, sliding you off of him.

“Okay,” you said quietly, confused by his sudden decision to shower right this second.

You sat there for a moment as he got up and started undressing, you figured now was a decent time to tell him that this all should probably stop, that you two shouldn’t continue this fun escapade you’ve both been on the past two days. 

Taking a breath, you opened your mouth, and right as you were about to speak he filled the silence, not giving you the chance to speak, “Ye gonna join me? Too lonely in my shower all by myself,” he said with a shit eating grin.

Okay… maybe you could find a way to make this work after all.

~~~

Uhhhhhhhhmmm yeah so there’s my thoughts for the day

[loviejohnnydovie]

some clever sleep pun title // Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Summary: Simon's been spoiled and didn't even realize it. Now his bed isn't as warm as it used to be.

Tw: freak obsessive loser Simon, mentions of sex/boners, sleepy reader, Simon's lowkey manipulative but nothing too insidious.

Two weeks. Simon Riley had been spoiled into two weeks of sharing a bed with you. Sure it hadn't been under the best of circumstances- ratty safe houses with little to no central heating, sleeping bags in camps that weren't safe enough to light fires, catching an hour or so of shut-eye on cargo flights between hot zones. It was a convenience thing, if not a necessity in some cases.

After all, the cold weather gear you'd been issued just simply wasn't up to snuff. And the safe house was cold and damp. The campsites were windy. The flights were drafty and turbulent. And- you were soft and warm and fit right under his chin like you were made to be there. Two weeks of less-than-ideal conditions, and it was the best sleep Simon Riley had in years.

Initially, he hadn't made the connection between you and good sleep. He had assumed it was just the intensity of the mission that had worn him out so much he had no choice but to get good sleep. So, he'd been all too excited to get back home to his own bed, all by himself. Pub dinner, a scalding shower, a proper cuppa, good wank, and his own bed.

For the first hour at least, until no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the sheets to warm up just right. He used to enjoy sprawling out when he laid down, but it seemed like he had too much space now- which was not a common feeling for someone as large as Simon. The detergent scent on his sheets wasn't comforting, wasn't warm enough. His blankets weren't heavy enough.

It took him another hour to answer the question- how had damp mattresses and sleeping bags on forest floors been more comfortable than his own bed in his own flat? He could feel the weariness in his bones, he could feel the comfort he craved... but it just wasn't enough.

So the common denominator had to be you.

"Fuckin' Hell." Simon groaned in the darkness of his bedroom, rubbing a calloused hand up and down his face before rolling himself to the side of the bed and swinging his feet over. Sweats were pulled over his boxers, socks and trainers on his feet, a hoodie over his bare chest, and a clean neck gaiter to pull over the bottom half of his face. Then it was a short 2 AM train ride and a three-block walk into base housing.

Of course, you lived in base housing. That meant a small bed, and a shitty mattress, less than fifteen minutes of hot water at a time..., He spent almost a month away from his flat and now he's crawling to base housing in the middle of the night like a fucking barracks bunny in need of a good fuck. Well, he might not turn that down either...

He shook the thought out of his head, remembering how wide-eyed and flushed you'd been the first three nights you'd shared the safehouse mattress with the lieutenant. Keep ignoring how that look on your face sent blood straight south How still and tense you were at first, shivering and locked up until you tucked into his chest, relaxing as sleep took you. The awkward tense period had waned quicker every night until it became the end-of-day habit for you to curl directly into his chest, falling asleep almost instantly no matter if it was on a damp mattress, forest floor, or sat up against cargo crates.

His mind flitted back to base housing as he raised his fist to beat on your door. Base housing. If you were what it took to get a good night's sleep when off duty, well, his mind was already strategizing the best ways to get you out of base housing and into off-base housing. (Preferably his off-base housing- in his bed.)

A minute passed. No answer. With another grumbled stream of curses, Simon shuffled tiredly on his feet, rubbing his eyes and contemplating just scaling up to the window, but decided against it. He didn't need to deal with base MPs getting called for what would look like an attempted burglary. So instead, his fist rapped even harder on your door, casting trained looks over his shoulder as he did.

Another minute, no answer. His fist raised again, but before he could rain holy (sleepy) hell on your door, it flew open.

Fuck. He was gone. He'd never sleep well alone again.

Just the sight of you and he could feel his brain finally producing sleep chemicals. The door blew a breeze of soft smells at him- detergent, your shampoo, some candle he might have to steal on his way out... and revealed you, only one eye open, hair sleep-mussed and jutting out in every direction, fuzzy socks, one pulled up your calf and the other slouched around your ankle, fluffy house shoes....

"LT?" You questioned with clear confusion, clearly exhausted, maybe not even all the way awake, voice thick and slow with sleep. Unfair you'd been able to sleep just fine on your own while he was pacing the city like an addict, "What are you- what time is it?"

"2:45 in th' morning." He answered gruffly, as usual, already shouldering, albeit gently, into your home. Your home was annnoyingly the perfect temperature, and everything smelled, looked, and felt like you. His nose wrinkled under his mask, frustrated at how much it put him at ease, and made him just want to curl up and hibernate through this cold snap they'd come home to. He'd take anything at this point- your bed, your couch, the floor at the foot of your bed.

"Right." You nodded, letting him past you without much of a fight, closing and locking your door with a sleepy kind of clumsiness, taking a few times to latch the chain before turning back to him. Simon absently wondered how much he could talk to you while keeping you in a sleepy stupor. He also wondered why the thought was so endearing to him as you mumbled, "Wha's going on? Don' tell me we're getting shipped off again already.."

"No' yet." Simon's chest clenched almost worryingly when you bumped into the corner of your couch, rocked on your heels, and then continued on like you hadn't noticed the collision, "Couldn't sleep."

"So now we both suffer?" You mused, the eye you had closed opening halfway as you chuckled at your lame joke, interrupted by a yawn.

"Prefer not to." Simon shrugged and before you could register it, he was already herding you up the stairs with a gentle efficiency that put any working breed to shame, enjoying the upwards view of the little sleep shorts that differed so much from what you'd worn in the field. He wondered if he'd sleep even better with the feeling of your bare thighs wrapped around his, "Lemme sleep here tonight, lovie? Just tonight?"

The just tonight part was probably a lie. But he'd use it as many nights as you'd let him get away with it. The pet name had honestly just slipped in his exhaustion, waking you up just enough that both of your eyes opened and widened, heat creeping up your cheeks. You paused on the steps, bumping directly into Simon's chest as he kept inching you closer to the bedroom. No, he wanted you back in that sleepy agreeable place, so his warm hand splayed across the soft fabric of your sleep shirt, gently rubbing at the small of your back to keep you moving.

"Please, love, go' used ta sleeping with you." He hummed as he guided you into your bedroom, finding the pile of blankets you no doubt had crawled out of to answer his knocking. So many blankets, had you been cold without him? Was the pillow lying longways beside your spot a limp substitute for his chest? He wouldn't ask, he'd just let his assumptions feed his ego. You were back to your lazy shuffling, chest shuddering with another yawn, "C'mon, sweetness, let's get y' ta bed, you're exhausted."

It was easy to gently manhandle you back into bed, your eyes already fluttering as his hands smoothed over your side and legs, brushing some hair out of your face. So maybe it was unfair, to kneel right by your bedside and ask in that low, deep accent, "So- can I stay?"

"Mmmhm, stay." You breathed. Simon smirked under his mask- so eager, not even an 'I guess'. Still, he wasn't going to ask twice, slipping himself into your bed and curling around you just as he had for the past two weeks. The relief was instant, his own eyes already getting too heavy to keep open for long.

The sheets were already warmed by your dozing, and with his added body heat, he could shove some of those extra blankets off. He'd keep you plenty warm. When he pulled you into him, he still had enough room to stretch his long legs out but didn't feel like he was swimming in space. Your pillowcases smelled soft, he didn't know things could smell soft but they did, tinged with your shampoo and perfume and whatever detergent you used. And the weight of your head in the crook of his arm, your arm over his chest, was just right.

He was out in seconds. Good luck ever having your bed to yourself ever again.

___

You've heard of give a dog a bone, now get ready for 'give a soldier a good nights sleep'. Simon is Goldilocks, and your bed is just right. Or maybe the 'give a mouse a cookie' book but this time its just your boss bullying his way into your life (bed) because he's sleepy and touch starved.

[loviejohnnydovie]

roommate soap who catches you masturbating because nothing else quite takes the edge off like a little death or two but instead of looking surprised and pivoting, he stands there and looks perturbed.

yer doin' it all wrong, lass. it's no wonder ye always strung tight.

you go from mortified to insulted in seconds, but before you can even snarl at him to leave, he's already dragging his big ass boyfriend in the room, still fully appalled at how you're mistreating yourself.

got tae see this, simon. appalling, it is.

and now you're being manhandled into different positions, toys long abandoned for thick fingers and coarse palms, lube replaced with spit and they'd left you with the destabilizing knowledge that the first peak they'd brought you then had been humiliatingly fast and efficient and somewhere along the way, fingers had been replaced with tongues.

(that you had to almost crawl yourself to the bathroom after your long nap and they hadn't even fucked you is embarrassing.)