pure-oddity - Tumblr blog

[pure-oddity]

*holds the mic for you because YOURE RIGHT AND YOU SHOULD SAY IT*

kyle "emotional supportive best friend who emotionally supports you by making you cry on his cock because he can't have you crying over an argument you just had with your boyfriend" garrick

[pure-oddity]

God I need them emotionally distraught, ik they're avoiding that box thinking if it stays there they still have a foot in the door.

AND I KNOW SIMONS BEEN SKULKING AROUND!!! WASNT A COINCIDENCE THAT HE WAS THERE AT THE RIGHT TIME!!

Part Six

Can't stop thinking about reader finally giving the boys a taste of their own medicine. And hurting my own feelings in the process of it all. I wanted to make this a baddie reader chapter, but its just a saddie reader chapter. I played Down Bad by T.S on repeat while writing this. Y'all need to thank @blueladys-world for being my ventor for this part.

None of them came the next day to pick up the box of everything you had collected. By everything, quite literally everything. Birthday cards and gifts. Keepsakes from your time together they had given you. Even going as far as returning lingerie they had given you. You didn't want any trace of them in your home anymore. You were gonna have to work hard in rebuilding it to be your safe space once again.

You were surprised that someone from the expo had DM'd you. Renée was an author who had tried to stop by to your stand, but got too caught up in the day. She was in London, working on her next series installment and wanted to pick your brain. Writer to writer.

The two of you agreed on a time. She had mentioned wanting to try this restaurant the last time she visited and you already knew you would be putting that meal on a credit card. It was a bit of splurge, but after the past week you deserved it. You could even wear that sexy black number that had been collecting dust in your closet.

By the time you were done getting ready and squeezing into your dress, you looked more ready for a date than dinner with a colleague.

A colleague. You had a colleague!!!

The knock on the door pulled you from your girlish glee. You didn't need to guess who it was. Your friends knew to text you before they came over and Renée had agreed just to meet you at the restaurant.

It was one of them.

You didn't even t bother looking through your peephole before you opened the door to find Johnny standing there with a floral arrangement of your favorite flowers.

Johnny began to speak, afraid you were going to shut him down immediately no less. But no words came out. His eyes traveled up and down your body, taking you in.

A vision.

You wanted to snap at him that your eyes weren't located on your hips. But damn if it didn’t feel empowering seeing Johnny’s gaze gloss over.

"Fuck me." He swore, gathering his bearings before realizing you were dressed. In a sexy black dress and heels and makeup and oh, fuck you were going out. "Where are you going?"

"First off, none of your business," you said holding a finger up. "And secondly, what are you doing here?"

"Listen," "Bon-"

"The box is right there." You said pointing to a large cardboard box on the floor. "That's everything."

"If you just let me make it-"

"Up to me?" You cut him off again. "I'm over it. Really."

"Just give me a chance."

"Either you haven't spoken to the other two to know I am well and truly done with this situationship, or you’re hoping some half-ass apology and flowers will let you get a last fuck in and the skedaddle. So hopefully if it was latter, hopefully the former answered that for ya.”

So if that's all you came here for, I've got to get going. My reservation is at seven and it's rude to keep a friend waiting."

"It's been a week and you're already going on a date?" He accused.

"Who said anything about a date?" You didn't outright say it wasn't. Where would be the fun in that? “It's just dinner with a colleague.” You didn’t want to lie. It wasn’t a date. But you didn’t need to say it was a woman. “Hardly a date.”

“Look at the sight of ye!" He said, taking the opportunity to take a quick look at how deliciously your ass filled that dress. “A fookin’ dinner with a colleague. Like one of us would show up to a briefing like that.” You opened your compact. Not needed in the age of cellphones but loving the feminine touch.

There was something so... seductive about using a compact mirror to apply your lipstick.

“Kyle does have the legs for this dress.” You said, applying that lipstick he loves. That same shade that looked beautiful on your lips. The same lipstick you would mark all over Johnny’s body. “Believe what you want. Not my problem anymore.”

You put your compact back in your purse along with the lipstick in case you needed to reapply it after dinner.

Johnny's eyes zeroed in on your lips before his eyes met yours. That's when you felt it again. That undeniably spark of chemistry that you had with him. With all of them. That feeling that sucked the very breath from your lungs and for a moment all you could see was the man in front of you.

"Bonnie," he said placing his hands on your neck. His thumbs stroking your cheeks softly. "Just one more chance." He begged, his voice breaking. "I'm a fucking git, but I won't let you go again. I won't leave." You knew that when it came to promises, Johnny had proven that even if he didn't mean to break them, he had forgotten he made them in the first place.

But in that moment you didn't care. Even after everything, Meredith was right. You had loved them. Everything else had ended so shitty. John had blamed you. Kyle had only shown up until it was too late. And Simon. The last time you would ever hear his voice was after he said such cruel things to you.

No.

If you were done with Johnny, you won't let the last time he fucked you being a quick, rough fuck doggystyle before leaving you naked and alone in your bed.

No. The last time with Johnny needed to be good. It might make it harder to finally leave, but you needed this. You needed to know that he could still make love to you and not just fuck you like an animal in heat.

"Johnny?" You asked. Your mouth dangerously close to his. "I don't want you to fuck me."

"I don't have to," he said, starting to take a step back to give you some space before your hands reached his. Holding him in place.

He can't let you go. You couldn't let him go. Not yet. Just one more. You needed just one more time to get him out of your system. The closure you needed.

"Make love to me." You begged, your eyes pleading. "I need to know that I wasn't just something you wanted to fuck." You don't move as his eyes search yours, looking for reassurance. When you nod, his mouth softly touches your own.

His hands travel along your body, but never fully leave you. Sliding your neck to your back. Pulling your body closer to his. A hand placed on your hip so tightly he's afraid you might disappear.

There's no rush, no haste in his touch. His mouth not eager to devour you.

He's slow. With his hands, his tongue. Even when he picks you up and walks to your bedroom with your legs around his waist.

He doesn't throw you on the bed.

Not this time.

He lays you down. His body laying on top of yours. His hand skimming along your bare thighs, but not daring to travel any higher.

But damn you needed him. You wanted love making, but if he didn't get inside you soon, you weren't sure you could let him go after this. You weren't sure you would be able to leave.

"Johnny," you whimpered, pulling away from his mouth. "Please." You took his hand, putting it between your thigh. Aching for any friction.

He obeyed without hesitation. If you told him to get on his bark, he would in that moment. Anything to make you happy. Anything to keep you.

"Got to get you out of this dress first." He resting on his knees before he began to slide the black satin from your thighs to your stomach. You maneuvered, helping him undress you leaving you in nothing.

"I thought you liked the dress." You couldn't help, but tease. Your hand finding its home on the back of his neck, pulling you to him once more.

In a tone lacking any note of humor and in all seriousness, he looked at you. Really looking at you. Taking in how your smile reached your beautiful eyes before he said, "I want you bare to me when I take you."

You felt your stomach flutter at his words before he began to take off his clothes.

He joined you again. His body relaxing when they got between your legs again. His mouth traveled from your exposed neck to your nipples. Sucking and flicking them with his tongue until your back arched. Pressing harder into his mouth.

Your hands tangled in his soft brown hair before you boldly guided him to your already dripping core. He slid down your body before his hands began to push your knees apart until you were fully expose to him.

With your knees bent, Johnny settled on his stomach, placing soft kisses on your soft inner thighs. God, did he love seeing you squirm. He smiled at your tortured expression before looking down at your sex. "There she is." He said before placing a kiss on your pussy.

It wasn't sloppy. He wasn't diving in and licking at your center like so many times before. He was kissing it just as tenderly as he kissed your mouth. Slowly building it deeper and deeper. Adding tongue. Breaking away to readjust his head.

The delicious ache between your thighs began to become to unbearable. "Need you inside me." You panted. "Johnny-"

"Shhh." He soothed. "Got to warm you up first , Bonnie." He said before slipping his finger inside of you. One was all it took before your head settled against the pillows again. When your body relaxed, he added another. He would need to add three to make sure you were good and ready.

His digits stroked that spongy spot inside of you that made your toes curl. "You're barely fitting around my fingers." Johnny was a good 6 inches in length, but the girth is what always did you in. It hurt to take anything past his head into your mouth. If you fucked him without any preparation, especially after a week of no sex, he would tear you into too.

His tongue caressed your clit, your eyes squeezing shut as you felt your first orgasm creeping up on you.

"Johnny." You moaned, your fingers running through his soft brown hair.

"Give it to me, beauty." He panted. "Come on my face. Squeeze my fingers, Lass." He begged before his mouth went back to you.

It was like lightning. Your body now sensitive after being forsaken for so long. Your vision blurred and before you could process it, Johnny was sitting on his haunches between your legs, stroking his cock.

You could only nod, dazed and barely keeping a grip onto the reality of what this was.

The end.

He leaned forward, his cock nestling against you. You knew this was going to be nothing compared to his fingers. "Tell me if I need to stop."

You smiled, mockingly. Reminding him, "Not our first time together, Johnny." just our last.

"You were wrapped tight around my fingers." He gave a half smile before kissing your forehead. The gesture like a knife twisting in your heart. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"I'm ready." You brought your legs around his waist again. Pulling him to you, your arms wrapping around his neck as your mouths meet.

He presses into you. The head of his cock sliding inside just one or two inches. You body contracting around him in a small spasm. He swallows your moan and lets you adjust. He pulls away before looking down where the two of you meet.

"I could die like this, Lass." He said, his breath coming out unsteady as he tries his best to control himself. So close to just burying himself inside of you to the fucking hilt. "Seeing you like this is this first thing I want to see when I make it to the other side." You let out a choked cry as he pushes deeper inside you. Another inch. And another. And another until you're taking all of him.

He slurs something that sound like "fuck", but you are in too much of a daze to care. You arch into him, trying to get closer.

His thrusts are slow and deep. His pubic bone brushing against your clit making you whine and squirm. Begging for more.

You're not sure how long he had fucked you like that.

You needed it to stop.

You couldn't handle it. The softness. His words.

I could die like this, Lass.

Your lip quivered as you told him you wanted to be on top. You needed a moment. A chance to create a bit of space before he shattered your world yet again.

He pulled out. His absence already making you ache for him again before he settled beside you.

You squatted above his cock. Your feet flat against the mattress as you grabbed his hardness and slipping it inside of you. The sound you let out was pornographic. A high pitched, soft moan slipping from your lips as he buried himself inside of you again.

You placed you hands on his chest. Using the leverage to ride him. Your arms serving as barrier for you to get your bearings.

You used his body just as he had used yours. Throwing your head back, you moved faster and faster. Readjusting so your hands went from his chest to his stomach, giving him a better view of your connecting bodies.

His hand slips between the two of you, thumb pressing against your clit, and you tighten even more around. A needy whimper coming out of your throat. The sound mixing in with the sounds of his labored breathing and slapping skin as he begins to fuck up into you.

Even though he had been doing all the work for the last several minutes, you felt the tension start to creep into your calf.

"Fuck fuck fuck." You screech, barely able to hold yourself up any longer. "Ow." You hissed as the cramp took hold.

"Leg cramp?" He asked, not even faltering in his thrusts. You pathetically nod before he takes it upon himself to flip you on your back again.

"I'm going to do this every chance I can." He promises, pressing a searing kiss onto your exposed neck. "Any chance you'll give me." You can't take it. His words, his mouth, his fucking cock. It's too much. "I'm going to show you how much I want you. How much I want to fucking worship ye. Do anything to make you feel good. Not going to leave you again like that, Bonnie."

You reach for him again, pull him into a searing kiss just to shut him up. You need him to shut up. You couldn't take his false promises. You wouldn't survive it. Couldn't.

"Shit." His thrusts quicken, his thumb returning to your swollen bud. Flicking it in a way he had crafted into an art. He buries his face into your neck and you know he's getting close.

You weren't too far behind.

He didn't want to come, not yet, but this was fully out of his control. It was pathetic. A week without sex and you had him nearly coming in the first ten minutes.

But that's what you want. To see him lost in the idea that you would stay.

"Johnny." You groan out. "Please. Cum inside me."

He draws fast, beautiful circles around your clit that immediately push you over the edge. You shut your eyes tight, squeezing him like a vice as you come in strong waves, continuing to push inside you.

in out in out in out.

Deliciously clenching around him tighter and tighter until he can't take it anymore.

"Fuck," he says again, and you see it in his face, and you see it in his face, the second it's all over for him. You want to sear the image in your head. Keep it there forever. Knowing you'll never see it again. The way those enchanting blue eyes squint nearly shut before closing in complete ecstacy.

His mouth would open. A moan caught in his throat that he isn't ready to let go.

His hand closes around your hip, holding you to him while he presses as far as he can go, and it's only then do you feel his cock twitch in quick, jerky movements. He moans out your name before taking your mouth into a searing kiss.

"I fucking love you." He says. "So fucking much."

He was still under the blanket when you returned from the bathroom. You picked up your clothes up from the floor. Looking at the clock realizing you had less than five minutes to get out the door before you would be late for dinner.

"What are you doing?" he asked. You couldn't look at him. Hearing the panic in his voice almost made you stop. Tell him it really was just dinner with a colleague. A woman. That you would be back. Beg him to wait until you came home.

"I can't cancel on the dinner." You said slipping your feet into your heels. "This was a mistake."

You weren't sure why you said it. You weren't sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. If you wanted to hurt him or make him think you regretted it when you would truthfully do it again. You would do it again and again. You would never stop.

Like Johnny, you could have died in that moment, but for a completely different. Where he would be content, you would be saved from the pain. The pain currently coursing throughout your very soul.

"Lock the door behind you." You say as you practically sprint out the bedroom. Only slowing in your stride to snatch your purse off the kitchen counter before running out. The door slamming behind you.

The restaurant was nicer than you expected. The wine alone was the price of an entree. You didn't seem to be phased at all and were relieved when Renée insisted on picking up the bill.

Your dinner had been delicious and the conversation even better. Renée wrote fantasy romance and wanted to pick your brain about a Why Choose. You had nearly spent out the over priced wine you weren't even really enjoying. Oh the irony.

"It's like all the rage now, but it's hard to make more than one appealing as the love interest. You should have seen the Goodreads comments on my last book. So many people bitched about my FMC not ending up with a character who was quite literally her adopted brother."

"So," you took a breath trying to find the words. "I'm going to be honest. I only read your latest book and I loved Luka. But I can't compare him to other MMCs you've written about so I don't know if they are similar or different. But what I can say is that I'm seeing like this trend of MMCs where they are all this dark-haired, brooding or mysterious character who dislikes mostly everyone and is only soft for either a select few or only the FMC."

"I think if you are going to write a Why Choose you need to think of guys you wouldn't mind falling in love with." You couldn't help, but think of what drew you to your boys. "One could be the leader. Someone who isn't afraid to have his neck on the line. To make sure everyone else is taken care of and being strong enough to handle the stress of that. He would be big on words of affirmation. Lifting the FMC up. For me, it would be someone that I know will take care of business. He's confident in his decision. That confidence would extend to me." You clear your throat. "If I was the FMC, that is."

"Okay." She nodded, pulling out a pen and notepad. "You don't mind if I-"

"I don't write about polygamy." Crossed that bridge. Currently trying to burn it. "So feel free."

"Another could be the one who it's so easy to fall in love with their charm. The one who falls to his knees. Wanting to worship every inch of her. The one who makes her laugh. That one to make her forget about the sadness that creeps into her bones. The one to hold her whenever he could. He's about quality time and physical touch."

"So different love languages." She said, her pen quickly scribbling.

"Yeah." You said, leaning forward. "Then there is the gift giver." Your mind went to Gaz. Most of the gifts and trinkets in the box sitting by your door had came from him. He had gotten you new earbuds when yours broke. When you were being harassed at your gym, he had bought you and him a membership at a different one. "The one who would give her the world if she asked for it. If you're going with a high fantasy then maybe the one to take note of something at a market that the FMC had been eyeing and he bought it for her. Just someone who takes notice like that."

"So acts of service would fall with all of them then you think?"

No. Simon had been the one who probably spent the least amount of money on you. He didn't praise you like John. He didn't even try to attach himself at your hip like Johnny.

But if you needed something fixed, he would come fix it himself. He'd be damned letting a strange man into your apartment. And alone? Fucking forget about it. The one who hated any sort of cardio activity outside of fucking you, but didn't hesitate in attempting to keep up with you when you wanted to go on a run and get some fresh air. If you needed something done, he didn't pay someone else to do it. He did it. If you wanted to do something, he made it happen. He made you safe.

You couldn't bring yourself to say explain it. Your eyes begin to itch. Warning you to think of something else.

So instead you just told her yeah. That they would all commit acts of service. And even in your hypothetical explanation of characters that haven't even been written yet, Simon was still the ghost among them.

"Lucky fucking girl." Renée said setting down her pen.

"Yeah." You said, downing the rest of your wine.

You walked home. The cool crisp wind feeling like it was whipping your exposed skin. It was soothing as the ghost of Johnny's touch still seemed to burn you.

You had hoped that you would get some closure, but you just felt hollow. You came twice and still manage to leave unsatisfied. Johnny wasn't malicious... he was Johnny. He wasn't like the others. Simon would never apologize and John and Kyle wouldn't try to keep reaching out after you told them know once.

Johnny couldn't stand you being mad at him. He never could. He would beg and beg for your forgiveness. You didn't regret fucking him one last time. He needed to know that you were well and truly done. There was no going back from this.

"Hey, Love!" You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of a voice coming from a source you couldn't see. You perked up, quickly scanning the dimly lit street before your eyes settled on a cluster of shadows just across the street. "Yeah." The slurring voice said again. "Talking to you gorgeous!"

You resumed your trek home. Now picking up your pace. "Don't be like that! Where ya off to?" The voice followed you. You kept your gaze straight. You were three minutes away. Three minutes and you would be at your building.

Three minutes.

Three minutes.

"What's the rush?" Another voice joined the cacophony. "Just want to have a chat."

You turned. They were maybe twenty feet away. You kept your eyes glued to them as your started to make a run for it.

You had made it about ten feet before your body collided with someone. Firm hands gripped your upper arms, steading you as you threatened to fall back.

You sucked in a breath of air, ready to scream when you looked up. It was too dark to make out the man's facial features. He was tall. His head eclipsing the street lamp just behind him. You shook beneath his hands. The voices behind you now silent.

"Keep walking." You didn't need to see his face. You knew that deep timber voice anywhere. He released you from his grip before letting you pass him.

"Just wanted to have a chat." You heard one of them try to reason. "No harm done."

"No harm done yet." Was the last thing you heard Simon say before you broke out into a full fledged run.

[pure-oddity]

Had an idea for a kind of open relationship with price and -

Captain price who leaves an open offer on the table for all his subordinates. He's a good Captain, a caring and attentive Captain. Likes to give what's his a reason to stay his. So he offers up his attentions and services, helping the needy sergeants and the high-strung lieutenant relax and just let go for a moment.

Offers the same to you, much to your embarrassment. You've walked in on him with the boys more than once.

Soaps mouth stretched wide around the Captains cock, nose pressed against a full happy trail while he drools and cries.

Heard Gaz's breathy whines, sat on his captains cock while the man fists the sergeants cock.

And through the crack of a door watched as the big bad ghost is bent over and fucked tenderly, ears straining to hear hushed praise and words of affection.

You deny yourself to the point of hysteria. High strung, vicious, teeth bared and biting at friend and foe alike. Until you can't. Until his fingers look too good, and your thighs part open at the rumble of his voice. With wet eyes and trembling lips you try to beg for what you want - only to be hushed by your captain because -

"I know what you need darling, it's alright. Captains got ya' "

[pure-oddity]

[pure-oddity]

Microsoft Copilot finally found it's way to my desktop. I'd heard rumors of it, but apparently the latest Win11 update just installed it as part of the batch update. No asking, just threw the waste of space in there.

So of course I did what anyone with a gaming desktop and hates excess bloat with a passion does and looked up how to remove it.

The article I found said to run Terminal in admin mode (Command Prompt/CMD for those that don't refer to it that way and are looking for something labeled 'terminal') and type the following:

easy copy/paste here:

reg add HKCU\Software\Policies\Microsoft\Windows\WindowsCopilot /v TurnOffWindowsCopilot /t REG_DWORD /d 1 /f

Then you just restart your PC and no more copilot :D

[pure-oddity]

Wrong Number, Right Day

Chapter One: Good Deed of the Day

Gaz x Female Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 526 words

Summary: Kyle gets a wrong number text but decides to be a little generous that day.

Notes: I wrote this on my phone on breaks in between jobs. No editing.

Kyle groaned as he body refused to relax. His muscles still tight and tense, despite the flight home and the bar with the others. The piss poor alcohol had done nothing to ease Kyle’s stresses either. He ignored the constant buzzing of his phone on the table. Soap was probably sending updates on whether or not he’d managed to make any leeway with Ghost.

Soap had been trying to get in the Lieutenant’s pants for a while now. Kyle could tell by watching that Ghost was interested but never made a move. The little ways he took care of Soap. Making sure he was get checked out by medical. Doing check ins while at the safe house. Getting water and food into him. Subtly touching his shoulder when stressed. All these little things, and some alcohol, led Kyle to stupidly mention all of it to Soap.

So now the man was determined to get Ghost ti break first. Another buzz of his phone finally annoyed Kyle enough that he reached for it. Of course he had like 16 texts from Soap. As he opened his phone he noticed one was from a number he didn’t recognize. Opening the text he blinked stupidly at the text.

Unknown: Seriously Kyle I need the rest of the money.

Who the hell was it? Probably a wrong number. Cause the only person he owed money was Ghost. And he was letting him cover the next round of drinks instead. Kyle quickly started to type a response when Soap sent him another message making his phone buzz and Kyle’s alcohol fuzzy brain was spooked. His finger slipped across the phone.

Kyle: Sorry w

Shit. He’d hit send to early. Before he could respond again he got a flurry of texts.

Unknown: please

Unknown: kyle

Unknown: he said he’ll kick us ouyr

Unknown: *out

Unknown: im already working thre jobs just to cover what you can’t

Unknown: im not trying to make you feel bad but i cant afford food for a few weeks to cover this

Unknown: and don’t ask me to not feed your dog again

Unknown: he has to eat kyle

Whoever this Kyle was, he sounded like a fucking prick. This poor thing busting their ass just to get by. And to not feed his own dog? Kyle pulled up his bank real quick. As long as it wasn’t ridiculous, he could probably afford to send some money.

Kyle: How much?

Unknown: thak uo!!!!!

Unknown: just the last $250 and then well b god

Unknown: *good

Unknown: u still have my link?

Kyle: Please send it again.

Unknown: here ya go

Kyle: Sent $500

Unknown: what no! i just needed the rent!

Unknown: you need money for food!

Unknown: kyle take the other back!

Unknown: kyle!!!

Kyle: For your troubles. Going to sleep. Goodnight, love.

Kyle leaned back against the couch, his body finally releasing all of its tension. For some reason being able to help someone in a tangible way made him feel better. He could hear the buzzing of his phone but it lulled him into a soft sleep now instead of annoying him.

[pure-oddity]

useless, part two

Part Two of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. As a reminder, I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. Unfortunately I got carried away with this part, so I haven't used my third prompt yet. But that just means a Part Three is coming.

You could argue this fits 95. Attending an event together...

Read Part One. Tag list: @v1x3n @kiranezra

~2k words, Price x f!Reader. Enjoy!

The ice bites through the steel shaker, your fingers sting, and the noise is a tick too loud, but both are decent distractions while you figure out what to say. In the corner of your eye, John watches with an amused look, tempting your elbow to somehow find his chin. When you finally stop, popping the cap to strain the vodka and vermouth, of course, he's already prepared with a snarky comment.

"Did it owe you money?"

"Yeah," you say, pulling an olive from a jar and dunking it into the glass. "Be glad you don't." 

John leans on the counter beside you. "I'd hate to cross you."

"That's new," you retort, savoring both his mildly confused look and the drink. "They feed you growth hormones in the army?"

He laughs. "Breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

You suppress a smile behind your glass and cross an arm over your front. "Are you back for long?"

His laughter peters out, and he shakes his head. "Nah, I leave tomorrow night."

"Mm," The noncommittal masks your wilting. You study John's face in the half-second pause. Since stepping foot in the house, no, since hearing about this soiree yesterday, he's plagued your thoughts. All those hours spent in each other's company for the better part of a year. That dumb fight resurfaces. You're not going to amount to anything! Classic John to prove you wrong. The jerk. 

"My mom told me you're doing well for yourself. You graduated something early? That you got into the SAS or whatever?"

"'Whatever'?" John scoffs, turning to face you better, enunciating each word as if you can't recite As You Like It by memory. "Yes. I'm doing well. You're looking at Lieutenant John Price, I'll have you know."

You arch an eyebrow. You know, in your gut, it is impressive. How or why is a mystery; it just is. Zero chance you'll let him know that. "And that's a big deal?"

"To some people."

"Well, I'm not 'some people'." You say with a tilt of your head.

"No, you're not," He answers a mite quieter before taking another swig and straightening. "Rumor mill says I'm looking at another promotion, maybe next year."

"What'll your title, er, rank be then?"

He smirks. "Captain."

You nod as if this again means something to you, a foreign civilian, and make a show of it. "Right," Your eyes hold each other in place in his parent's kitchen. A balloon of silence begs to be popped, for a decade's worth of fleeting memories and games of telephone through your mothers, to burst and ease the tension. And it's so typical, so John, that he hasn't even asked about y–

"And how're you faring?"

Stunning. Fucking karmic.

You can't stop yourself. "Oh, look at you, John Price. Did the army also finally teach you how to hold conversations?"

His eyes narrow a fraction, and that quizzical pinching of his brow returns. His lips part to speak, but a commotion at the entrance to the kitchen draws your attention. A pair of older men meander in, pink-faced and glassy-eyed, slurring the words to Auld Lang Syne two and a half hours too early. You take it for what it surely is, an out, and slip away. 

John's parents are eager enough to receive you in the crowded living room and return to their fawning. You'd rather wade through another stint of stilted conversation with their questions about your credits stateside or reminisce about embassy days than suffer John pretending to give a shit regarding your useless career.

You dance around speaking to him again, politely finding ways to dip in and out of conversations he thrusts himself into. The practice leverages all parts of your acting career and what you remember of the education your mother gave you. Smile, nod, ask leading questions, and watch for the interloper. It pays off, as John seems to eventually get the hint and fades into the background of the party.

When the clock strikes half past eleven and some ex-policy advisor nearly spills his ale on you, you decide it's time to sneak out. You've overstayed your allotted time. John's nowhere in sight, most guests are deep within their cups, and the giddiness of the impending countdown is palpable. It's easy enough to step into the front hall unseen without an ounce of guilt in your veins. You came, you saw, you drank expensive vodka, and made nice with your mother's friends.

Buttoning your coat, you step out into the night's chill and start down the steps. You're two paces from the garden gate when a man's voice pushes into your ear.

"Goin' somewhere?"

The two courses of stage combat you've completed guide your hand in a flat chop to the offending jugular. The owner of said jugular, however, catches the blow with an arm, then laughs, a rich and deep sound, to drive the humiliation home.

"John, Jesus Christ, you complete asshole!" You hiss, turning to shove the man standing in the shadows behind you. 

"There she is," He cracks, still chuckling. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Yeah right, you absolute-"

"Arse?" His hands rise in defense when you glare, the glow of a cigar catching your eye before he lowers it to his mouth for a puff. It's a moment before his mouth opens, the tobacco scent permeating the short distance between you. "Just out for a smoke."

Wrinkling your nose, you sigh. "That is awful for your health."

"So's my line of work," He counters.

"Fair point."

"Glad you think so."

You stare at him again. Admittedly, it's hard not to. Even in the dark, the glint of his steady gaze tethers. Maybe it's the military thing—like he's learned to restrain people without touching them. It must be because it couldn't be anything else. A shiver compels you to speak. "I have to get going."

"So close to the bell?"

"I need to prepare for an audition," You lie. There is no audition. The only thing waiting for you at home is an inherited prompt book for Kiss Me Kate to work on.

"I'll walk you to the station."

"You don't need to do that."

John corrals you toward the gate, his accompaniment apparently a foregone conclusion, and holds it open as you pass. "C'mon. It's been ten years. You used to escort me all the time."

You huff. "That was security, not me."

"You were always in the car, weren't you?"

John sticks to your side despite your protests, which last for all of one street. You slip once, and his arm offers itself immediately, which you take only for stability. Beneath the layers, his muscle is firm and a sure thing, unchallenged by your leaning on it. He's always been strong. 

"Is there a reason you avoided me all night?" he asks suddenly, showing you the small mercy of keeping his eyes trained forward.

The walk is slick, and you realize that a minute too late, his arm is both a gentlemanly safeguard and a leash.

"I didn't avoid you."

"No, you just ran off again before I could talk to you."

Ran off again. The lout remembers. Has to.

"Fine. I wasn't in the mood to be reminded of my failures."

He scoffs, arm flexing to squeeze your hand. "You weren't a failure. Furthest thing from it."

"I'm not talking about school, John," you snap, exasperated. You regret ever wishing he'd inquire after you. "I don't—I don't want to talk about that." You see him glance in your periphery and then search the air for a way forward. You provide it.

"So, Captain. That's a big deal." As much as it kills you, it's easier to speak of his successes. "Bet your parents are over the moon."

John sighs. "They're thrilled."

"You do anything particularly insane to earn it?"

"Can't tell you," he answers automatically, a notch more serious, his cigar adding a touch of drama.

You pat his arm. "You'd have to kill me?"

"Something like that."

A few minutes pass in silence. Muffled music and cheers trickle through open windows on either side of the streets. Midnight rapidly approaches, as does the station.

"You seeing anyone?"

Oof. Maybe you should've spoken about your failing acting career. At least that had some color and excitement.

"No. My boyfriend, uh, ex-boyfriend ended things a week ago."

John stops, gently tugging when you nearly stumble. His expression is difficult to read between lampposts, but his tone suggests contempt. "At Christmas?" 

You want to laugh at his incredulity, the pure scandal in his voice. But you don't. He's gone all serious again. "Two days before, actually. It's alright though," you nudge him to walk again. "It wasn't anything serious."

It's the truth. Jeff was a middling boyfriend. He was never going to go the distance. He'd been a half-decent romp and someone to drink with. 

"Well he seems like a serious idiot."

"I won't fight you on that," you shrug. "And you, Captain? I bet you must beat them off with a stick in uniform."

He chuckles, releasing smoke. "I'm not a Captain yet. And I'm too busy."

"You'll make Captain," you say a little too quickly, too confidently, snapping your focus back to the stairs to the station ahead. "I can make it from here."

John seems to consider it. He's quiet before he snuffs out his cigar on a bin. "I'll walk down with you."

You descend the steps arm in arm, passing a giggling, buzzed couple on their way up.

"It's a shame you're leaving before midnight, Cinderella," John teases as you stroll slowly into the virtually empty tunnel. His head is on a swivel. Ever the soldier, apparently.

The ground is dry and even below street level. There's no need to keep his arm.

"Yeah, well, I'd rather not stick around to see everything turn back into pumpkins," you check the time. The train is due at 12:02 AM.

John seems almost on edge as he looks around. You feel a slight, frenetic energy reverberating where your arms touch, mismatching the absolute rigidity of his bearing. His eyes are wilder when they meet yours, and his head dips slightly.

You frown. "What's wrong?"

"It's good luck to kiss somebody at midnight." He all but blurts out.

Your hold on his arm loosens, but he grips back firmer. "That's what's got you in a tizzy?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm going to need all the luck I can get this next year."

What is he going on about? His promotion? You're unsure if you like how he's looking at you. "John—"

A trio on the platform starts counting down some distance away, but the sound carries.

"Please." It's earnest. It's certain.

You bite your cheek, searching for any hint of this being a joke. "Just a friendly peck." you clarify.

"'Course." He reels you in, eyes half-lidded, closing in suddenly with a barely held-back urgency.

A hand cupping the back of your head knocks a gasp out of you. "It doesn't change anything." You quickly add.

"Not a thing."

Cheers erupt down the platform, but you barely hear them over the roar of blood in your ears. John's mouth is a force. It's earnest. It's certain. It was never going to be a friendly peck. You've kissed many people on stage and off, but never quite like this.

The train's rumbling knocks you back into reality. You're both breathing heavier. John's eyes darken with a hungry look, and everything in his posture suggests he's after more. Your name slips from his mouth like a command.

"Stay," he orders.

But you're not a soldier. You've never even played one. You're not equipped to face whatever this is—what that was. The doors to the car open behind you, and his eyes flicker toward them as if to will them shut. You shake your head imperceptibly.

"Happy New Years, John."

You step into the train, a coward. You don't look back to see if he watches the train depart, but you know he does.

It's another fourteen years before you see John Price again.

[pure-oddity]

i wanted to show everyone my favorite tiktok

[pure-oddity]

Simon x reader

Content warnings: MDNI, overstimulatuon, praise kink out the wazoo, PiV, female reader, it's just smut tbh.

"S-simon-"

"You're okay."

"Simon!"

"You're okay."

You whimper in disagreement, you pant and whine, shiver and shake in his arms.

He's got you in his lap, clothed bulge grinded up into your bare slit - fingers drawing devilish circles on your clit.

He's talking you through it as you lose your mind.

"Just wanna play with it a lil, tha's all. Shh, shh, you just cum love - just fuckin soak me."

The tail end of that sentence is accompanied by him sinking his hand lower between your cunt and his cock, playing with you and audibly smearing your slick around your puffy hole.

His fingers are quick to slip in and towards the spongy part of your cunts walls, rubbing war roughened digits against it.

The shout you let out might worry the neighbors, but you doubt even the police could stop a man like him when he's on a mission.

You've cum more than once already. He's thrown you past your personal limits and is eager to set a new record, ripping as many orgasams as he can from your weeping sex.

"Si - si I can't! I can't!"

"Yes you can sweet girl. You're already on the edge. Just need to tip you over an -there we go thereee it is. Good girl."

You sob and claw into the arm wrapped round your middle, as you cum again for the umpteenth time. You've lost count, but there's a stain on his sweatpants and everything down below feels slick.

He cups your pussy in a large hand and pets it. Stimulating enough for your stomach to clench but soothing enough for you to slump further in his hold. You're rewarded with a kiss to the temple.

"Ya know, you complain an awful lot for someone who asked for this. Could just use your word, let the poor girl rest." At 'poor girl' he gentles his hand against your pussy even further. You don't respond, too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

He chuckles at your stubborn silence.

"No didn't think so. Greedy pussy needs more an more, good thing I have so much to give huh?"

He shifts enough to slip his cock from his sweats and boxers, the leaky tip splatters on his stomach as it flops up. It's red and angry looking, there's a prominent vein that commands attention along the underside of the shaft. His balls look heavy and full and your cunt clenches on nothing.

He adjusts you now, depositing your upper half into the mass of pillows and blankets shoved up in your passion. Your lower half remains in his lap for a second while he admires you. Hand skimming across your ass, sinking lower to spread your lips and watch your hole twitch.

He takes his time rubbing his fat tip through your folds, using your slick to glide seamlessly against you. He slips in for a second and you try to arch back onto him in your impatience- he backs away.

"None of that, I'll give it to you when I decide you're good and ready. Need to stretch this pretty pussy nice and slow , so you'll have to wait."

He's slow, popping the head in and out fucking you with just the tip while you whimper for more. You're ignored as he watches mesmerized. He sinks ever so slightly deeper the next thrust and let's himself sit there with a groan, only to move back out again.

This back and forth of him slowly feeding you every inch of his cock drives you to a fresh wave of tears. You can't even beg properly, reduced to mindless babble. You aren't any more coherent when his hips settle against the plush of your ass.

He smoothes a hand up and down your lowerback, sliding around to your tummy - gently kneading over the spot he's sitting in. You buck up and away from the sensation, getting maybe an inch away before you're gently but firmly sat back on his cock.

"Nu uh. No running, being so good for me yea? Gotta keep being good. You take my cock, you were made for it. Now I'm gonna fuck this pretty cunt -"

"Yes! Y-es baby please!"

"And I'm gonna grab the wand again."

"No, no! Can't, I cant!"

" yes you can sweet girl, but you need convincing huh? I'll show you."

He's got you pinned with his weight against your back as he reaches for the wand. You wiggle against him regardless, all you end up doing is seating him snug against your cervix.

The vibrations hit you before you register the sound of it turning on.

"There we go. Fuck - there we go. F-feel that? Don't that feel fuckin - christ you're clenching like a bloody snare - feel nice? Fuck me I'm not gonna last."

[pure-oddity]

Worth the Trouble

Simon/Ghost x Mean!fem!Reader

Warnings: slightly toxic? Reader is verbally mean and ghost Def manipulates the situation so he can have the missus come see him. PiV , Smut MDNI

“Heard LTs lost it, goin around on a rampage.”

“Just about near it. Price thinks he's injured and trying to downplay it. Won't tell him much aside from ‘I'm fine’. Hell for all we know hes just got a man-cold”

“Ach, the poor bastard”

Gaz snorts and continues with the next set, Soap checks for signs of struggle or strain before continuing (a dutiful gym buddy)

“Heard he blew some recruits ear out.”

“Think he backed out entirely, can't blame him - if I weren't already knee deep in this shit I'd tuck tail and run from Ghost”

“You n me both. Well. I did always have a taste for trouble. Probably woulda sought him out and he mighta strangled me.” he muses happily imagining his Lt tossing him around.

“Surprised he hasn't already “ gaz laughs, his eyes determined through the final pushes.

Soap laughs at that, thinks his lt has gotten close once or twice.

“Don't worry much about it though” gaz grunts.

Soap meets gaz's eye, watches a bead of sweat trickle down into his hair line.

“Why not?”

“Captain says he's calling in the secret weapon. Going nuclear.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Johnny questions, thinks of what could possibly be nuclear in regards to Ghost.

“Dunno. But I guess we'll find out.” Gaz finishes, setting the bar back in place and sitting up with a groan. He gives a sniff to his shirt and audibly gags.

“Yea that's rank, you wanna hit the showers?”

“Sayin I stink Garrick?”

“Sayin we should hit the showers”

“Cheeky cunt”

Soap follows his fellow Sargent to freshen up in the shower block, a stealthy sniff to his armpit solidifying his choice in joining.

The issue of the ornery Lieutenant momentarily forgotten.

—----------

He always knew price had an easy time with the ladies, but to parade one around so freely - a young woman at that?

“Well well, did price finally let you out his basement? I knew he had a pretty bird caged away somewhere!”

He reaches out a rugged palm and his smile is all boyish charm.

“Names Soap, nice to meet you bonnie”

She doesn't respond and doesn't move to shake his hand. Her arms remain seated within pockets of the leather jacket she adorns. Just continues to chew a wad of gum, sizing him up like one would an enemy. She looks bored, mildly annoyed.

He can't feel too upset over the snuff, the ample amount of cleavage on display makes up for it.

“Not the sociable type? No problem, work with one of those - I'll break you down”

She looks at price now, who - soaps noticing - looks like he swallowed a lemon laced with depression.

“MacTavish. This young lady is not my bird - lovely as she is - but she is the solution to our problem.”

For once Soap is speechless. Realization kicking in suddenly and with a force so strong his jaw drops.

“.....is that why he's pissed?? Lads gone without a bit of pussy and he's lost the plot? “

“MacTavish”

“Just sayin! Sorry lass, don't mean to be crude” he does mean to be crude actually. He is crude, but usually he waits till the second date before parading that fact around.

“......let's just get this over with. Fuckin bullshit for you to pull me out here. again” She grosses, looking miffed.

“Right, yes. Again, I do sincerely apologize- I wouldn't if I had another option”

“You're his captain, just order the fucker to act right” She scolds him, dissaproval evident in how she sizes him up.

“Unfortunately my lieutenant is a master of malicious compliance. Sweet as sugar with me, but a menace to anyone else.”

She sighs something resigned and annoyed. He watches as she blows a small bubble and pops it with a sharp click. Her brows scrunched and nose wrinkled into a sneer.

“Are…are you actually here to - do I get something like this if I start throwing a fit?!”

He eyes the woman next to his captain as she walks past him, seemingly familiar with the layout of the building.

“MacTavish. Shut up.”

“Yes sir.”

A brief pause

“Is it cause he's a lieutenant? Do I need to be a lieutenant?”

“Give me 50 Sargent MacTavish “

“Yes sir.”

He drops quickly and works through the 50, counting quickly before springing back up and towards the direction his captain and mystery woman left. He catches up to the tail end of their conversation.

“-he won't come out”

“really. Have you tried, I don't know, kicking the door in?”

“No. A bit extreme don't you think?”

He watches as she walks to the door, examines it, and he thinks ‘no, no way’. Watches as she turns and braces herself against the doorframe and thinks ‘Oh she's insane’ as she picks her foot up and slams it back against the door with a solid thump.

She gets 4 in, he notices the damage to the door grows steadily - the odd tinge of arousal at the unhinged behavior of this woman.

Feels his stomach drop to his knees when the door is thrust open and she's dragged inside the darkness.

The door is hardly shut when the screaming begins.

His captain waits patiently while he looks towards him and the door.

His LT is loud but she's managed to be louder. He can't make much out from how fast everything is said, muffled through the slightly askew door

“-acting like a fucking toddler!”

While this isn't his particular brand of dirty talk, he supposes it makes sense for the ghost to want a heavier hand.

Too heavy, it would seem. The loud thump is jarring, enough so that he springs towards the door. Price grabs him, handles him into his side with a fierce look and a sternly mouthed ‘no’

The screaming had stopped. The silence is deafening. Johnny thinks at least one of them is dead. A woman that crazy probably wouldn't go down that easy, even against a ghost.

His body flinches when the door opens, he expects a limp hand to flop out horror movie style- heavily surprised to find the lass perfectly intact, not a hair out of place.

He peeks in the open doorway to see Ghost knelt in a way that can only be described at revenant. He sits at her feet, face pressed to her stomach while he clutches her body to him. she has a hand on each of his shoulders and glares down like an angry God.

“We'll be in the infirmary captain, he's got an infection. Stupid fuck.” She slips from Ghosts grasp with some struggle, swatting at clutching hands as she commands him “up”

Ghost, much like his namesake,rises like the dead and slinks out of the shadows of his room and into the light. He looks, oddly pleased(downright giddy) for a guy just pronounced a ‘stupid fuck’.

He watches as the fury marches towards the medbay, her hellhound shadow tight on her heels - might have even carried her if she didn't look as rabid as she did.

“Captain?”

“That's Doll, Johnny. Ghosts leash, and Simon's keeper. Try to annoy her less yea? She sends ghost after you and there'll be fuck all I can do to stop him.”

“Heard…..doll? Really? I think of a doll, I think sweet and porcelain. Not, pissy with a heavy heaping of crazy. She looks like the type to cut brake lines.”

“Yea well, just don't let her know which car is yours and you'll be fine.”

“Sure she won't just cut them all?”

He sighs, something heavy and worn.

“I'm hoping she's forgotten where we keep them.”

—-------

“Hi just him today, thanks.”

“Oh um, and you are?” Doctor Nicole has seen a lot. Hasn't seen this yet. Might see more if spouses were more common on base.

“Im his voice currently. And his brain. He's not smart enough to use either on his own to tell you about his infection. Left leg, by the way.”

“Oh well. Oh. Um. I - I'll have you hop up on the bed then lieutenant! I'll take a look and. And fix that.”

He doesn't move, stares at the woman(his voice and brain, apparently) like she's the only one in the room - in the world.

His world groans and throws her head back - he chuffs.

“Listen to the fucking doctor , on the bed. Now.”

His steps are heavy and solid as he seats himself on the edge of the bed. Thighs spread and hands limp between his legs. He looks like a hunched beast eyeing his next meal.

The doctor finds that having her keep his attention is better than having it herself.

“Well. Uh, left you said?”

“Yeah. Calf area - knife probably? Something sharp.”

“Well then, uh , lieutenant? Are you able to, to roll your pant leg up for me to see? Or is the pain too severe?” she prods gently, he doesn't respond.

“Roll up your pants.” like a marionette with strings tightly wrapped around her fingers, he moves to roll up his jeans to reveal the sickly wound.

“Oh yeah definitely an infection. Odd for you lieutenant, usually you're better at catching this.”

The woman scoffs and slumps in her seat. He leans towards her as she sends him a scathing look.

“He's a fucking man child. Threw a tantrum to get what he wanted and now he's being pampered.”

“Mhm.” The affirmation is the most sound he's made since coming in here.

“Well I'll just. I'll just get this taken care of” Nicole stumbles put, feeling like an intruder.

“ ‘Priciate that doc. Don't be afraid to make it hurt.” Her tone is tinged with sadistic hope.

“Oh I. I'd never intentionally hurt someone under my care - that's unethical “ the military may not be the most ethical, but she's damn sure going to try to be.

“Pity. He'd deserve it, letting it get this bad-willingly might I add.” She snips at him , face scrunched.

He hums something delighted, and the doctor wonders if she should order a psych evaluation. Remembers the 141 are notorious for dodging said evals and dismisses the thought entirely.

If he likes when women are mean and degrade him, that's his business.

He sits still, moving only when told by the woman in the chair who's now playing on her phone.

He stares at her intently, glares at the phone occasionally. The doctor finishes quickly, grateful that the infection was only in its earliest of stages.

“Okay so I'm prescribing a round of antibiotics, I noticed that you have an allergy to penicillin so I'm giving you doxycycline." She writes the perscriptipn down quickly, grabs a bottle stocked preemptively for cases like this.

"Take it with a meal twice a day every 12 hours until the bottle is empty. Come back within a few days just to make sure it's progressing and then again when the bottle is empty.” She types in a quick series of notes notating the lieutenants upcoming appointments.

“He'll be here. I'll make sure of it” there's a bitter edge to the woman's words, the doctor wonders how anyone could stand to be with someone so angry.

“God I hope you do” ghost groans out, threat either going over his head or straight to his crotch.

The doctor flinches, forgetting the lieutenant capable of speech.

“Well thanks for the help. I'll be getting him back to his captain.” the woman hops up and walks towards the door.

“Oh uh, have a g-good one!”

She smiles politely, drops it quickly when she eyes the once again silent wraith behind her

“Let's go, it would be rude to make your captain wait.”

He nods and follows along after her, like a deformed elongated shadow.

An odd couple, the doctor muses. But not the oddest she's seen. Not even the weirdest.

Another soldier bursts in, she hears the words ‘snake bite’ and ‘penis’, wishes she was stuck back with the ghost and his guide.

—-------

“You alright then, lieutenant? Everything sorted?”

“Affirmative sir. I've got the prescription, doc cleaned me up and changed my bandage. “

“Good. Thank you for coming, Doll.”

“He only acts like this because you let him, you know.”

“I do. But sometimes it's easier to go along the path of least resistance. Trying to argue with a stubborn mut, or handle the fury of his actual commanding officer? I'll take you anyday love.” He finishes with a purr, noting the sudden tenseness in Ghosts shoulders.

“Careful, might put thoughts in a girl's head if you keep talking like that.” She notices too, but eggs the poor lieutenant on - smile a touch cruel.

“Oh? That all it takes? Not a fan of Mactavish then?” semi-joking now. He'd be a liar if he said having a pretty woman snark up at him didn't effect him at all.

“Prefer waking up with mouthful of English breakfast personally. Speaking of-” She turns towards ghost, her face still cold and indifferent as always.

“I'll be in your room. I'll only be here another hour and then I'm gone. Why don't you see if your captain can find it in his heart to dismiss you early”

She smiles something sharp and sinful, takes off in a run that makes Ghost body jolt - he looks like a junkyard dog choking himself on the end of his lead trying to get a bone just out of reach.

“Captain. May I be dismissed.”

“Well-”

“Captain.”

“Simon”

“Captain price, may I please be dismissed, sir”

There's a desperate edge john isn't used to. Something rabid, something hungry. A darkness kept caged wriggling through iron bars.

“dismissed, lieutenant “

The ghost breaks off into a sprint, and the hunt is on. Price can't think too much about how it ends, his trousers already too tight at his twinge of interest.

Similar shades of fucked up, the both of them.

—----

He's panting in your ear, groaning as his hips slap against and bruise your ass.

“fu-fuck. Come on, give it to me. Show me you're- fuck! Show me you're worth all the fuckin trouble - Oh god, simon!” You can't help but scream, hope he doesn't have neighbors.

His pace is mind-numbingly good, making up for the dry start in the beginning. Prepped just enough to fit him but not enough for the ache to be avoided. But he knows your body thoroughly , and with a few well aimed thrusts and a circles of your clit you're dripping down your own AND his thighs.

A mess on his bedsheets - he thinks of it as a present for later, you think you spoil him.

He fucks you like an animal, unhinged and hurried- like he's worried you'll get up and leave, worried you'll realize he's not worth the trouble.

He pins you further under his weight and changes the angle - groans at your wail of ecstasy .

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! You - you better not pull this shit again. I - I let you keep this fuckin job -please don't stop- let you play hero but -oh god, oh god - but don't-”

You gasp, moan something pained and drawn out as you come again along his rigid cock - muffling a scream into his pillow as he grinds up into the sensitive spots in your cunt to draw your orgasm out further.

“k-keep this shit up toy soldier, see how quick I put you back in the box!” You snarl , glaring at him over your shoulder. He groans deep and slams as deep as he can, unloading against the deepest parts of your hole.

He's still hard when he slips from you, wrangling you onto your back before slipping back in. Your legs fit nicely on his shoulders, and you're grateful for your flexibility.

You scoff. “can't cum lookin at a skull , switch to another one or take it off - might have a chance of getting me off then” you wonder how mean he'll be, wonder if he'll actually stop to find a different mask.

Dont have wonder long as he's quick to throw the whole thing off. The black grease around his eyes is streaked from the sweat - hair plastered to his forhead. He looks happy to see you.

“not - not bad! Might be worth all this after- after-after!” You buffer aloud. Like a skipping record, you'd be humiliated if it didn't feel as good as it does.

In fact. You should be mad at his constant interruptions, but he's persistent on fucking through your cunt and into your brain.

“Tell me. Tell me dolly. Tell me sweet heart. I'm worth the trouble, yeah? I'm your trouble right? Gonna keep coming back, keep coming on my cock?” He says it like he doesn't exist somewhere in your rib cage nearest to your heart. Like you don't already live in his.

“Yes, yes!” You promise, the one you will die before you break.

“Yes what?" He implores, a steady chant of 'keep me, keep me, keep me' running through his head.

“To all of it you fuck! Yes! All mine, my cock, my headache, my brute - fuck!” your own mind proclaiming that you'll keep him 'forever, forever, forever"

You're crying now, overstimulated tears as your thighs quiver on his shoulders.

“Yeah. Yeah. All yours, n' you're mine. All fuckin mine. Not Prices and not fuckin Johnnys” he snarls, bitter and possessive.

“Gotta act up, gotta cause a mess. Can't get you here otherwise. “ he continues, pace consistent to further along your impending ruin.

It's getting hard to keep up with the banter. Hate how he's still capable of talking while you're becoming goo.

“J-just fuckin wait till you're off deployment! Fuck!”

“Nu-uh, get too tight n mean when I do. Have to drag you here to give you your fix so you're sweet when I get home. You're my sweet girl right?” He coos mockingly.

You don't respond. too busy clawing red ribbons into his back.

“Right?” He punches your cervix now, enough to make you choke and bite into the meat of his shoulder.

You bite hard. Harder when he moans. You lick at the indents and nose into the hammering pulse at his neck.

You can tells he's close with how his tempo gets thrown off, how his huffs louder. Having forgiven him for making you drive all this way, you give the dog a well earned bone.

“Yours, your sweet girl. You just need to work for it a bit hm? You don't mind huh big guy? My big guy?” You whisper into his ear, whine into it in a way you know drives him crazy.

He comes with a shout, one you know the whole fucking base heard. You're too fucked out to care much, especially when the brute lakes down and settles his weight on you with a contented sigh.

He hums, a touch demanding and you roll your eyes. You rub a hand gently up and down his torn back, scratching gently at his scalp to feel his heavy sigh of contentment.

“You gonna take care of yourself now? Got everything out your system?”

He hums, tone non-committal - fucker. As long as price has your number, as long as the ghost stays restless - you'll be called in eventually. Not a matter of 'if', but 'when".

Thankfully you don't mind being the nuclear option. Not much anyway. Especially if this is what it gets you. A moment of peace, skin pressed against skin - soft breaths evening out against your collarbone.

'Yea', you think. 'He's worth the trouble.'

(End notes: the thump that was heard was actually Simon falling to his knees. Dude goes from 0-100 when it comes to love so he either ghosts(hehe) you or worships you.)

[pure-oddity]

Oh I definitely will be expanding on this! With this au the internal struggle between the readers intuition and their care for simon is what leads the reader to action (or in some cases inaction). This just doesn't have a chronological place yet in the story! I imagine it's somewhere early middle where there's an established bond, but the reader is less capable of easily dismissing things Simon says or does.

Illusion of choice

Serial killer!Simon Riley x reader

(Warnings: death mention and Simon's lack of care for said death. Implied drink tampering. Simon is a little intense. (Let me know if more are needed). Reader sees red flags and promptly ignores them.)

(This isn't like chapter one or anything it's just a snapshot of something that went down in this universe) not proofread, you know the drill

"You love that you gave Simon a chance and became his friend. He's become one of the most important people in your life. So when you ignore the bad feeling you get around him sometimes, you just hope it won't come back to bite you (it will. He will too)"

“Tony Swalts, you don't go near him. He haunts the alley next to the pub. Every Thursday, like clockwork. Always looks like he just came in from the rain.” Simon says, takes a sip of water, and continues eating.

You look up mid chew and eye the man across from you.

He's maskless, hardly ever wears it around you anymore. You watch as his scarred jaw moves, chewing into the meat - deer you think? You stopped asking what it was, he's never fed you less than the best so why bother worrying.(you feel bad for worrying, but sometimes, sometimes-)

His eyes, dark and empty, stare at his plate. He's a dispassionate eater save for the few hums of contentment you get on a particularly good meal. Nowadays, he lets you help make the meals - will even indulge you and try any new recipes you find online.

He's fine with you seasoning and marinating, less so when it comes to cutting and handling hot items. ‘leave the knife work to me lamb, best that way’ he says ‘no use burning yourself, give me the pot’ he urges. You think it's his nice way of calling you a hazard.

(You don't bother trying to correct him, he gives you that stupid look - his ‘lieutenant stare’ is what you call it. You crumble under it quickly, like you imagine any of his subordinates had.)

You nudge a bit of pea around your plate.

Open your mouth to speak.

Go back to the pea.

Roll your shoulders and feel your mouth form around the first syllable.

Back to the pea again.

You nudge too hard and it smears a baby barf green against the white ceramic of the plate.

“Wh-why? I. I mean I'm not looking to make any new friends or, anything. But…why?” You pick a new non smashed pea to toy with, eyes downcast.

Your leg twitches when you hear his fork gently clack against the wood of his table.

You feel the lieutenant stare, you ignore it - but you feel your face heat up under the weight of his gaze.

He doesn't get. Mad. At Least not at you. You know that, but you brace for it anyway. It's just what you're used to. He's mumbled about breaking you of that habit a few times, like you're some unruly puppy with an interest in chewing furniture.

“Don't. Think I should get into it. It'll do more harm than good. Smells like fish , if you really need a reason to avoid him.” His vague answer is what does more harm than good, now more curious and nervous than ever. But you will keep the fish thing in mind, your nose is sensitive.

“Well. Uhm. Thats not great to hear. I'm actually more worried than I was before I asked.” You accidentally smush another pea. “Shoulda just kept my mouth shut…” you mumble. You've eaten enough, more than enough you think - you're about to ask him for a Tupperware when he speaks again.

You're expecting this to be the end of the conversation. But he surprises you by elaborating, “Some birds have had….less than nice things to say about him. And he has done….less than nice things to them and anything he can Leer over.” he grabs a napkin, sets it near you, grabs another and wipes his face clean. “Don't want him thinking you're next.” he tacks on.

You mirror him gently, making sure to get your fingers too.

“Just. Keep away from him, yea? Not like it'll be hard. Fucker like him? He's bound to get what's coming to him.” He assures.

He rises with his plate, and you go to do the same but he presses you down by your shoulder.

“Few more bites, you skipped breakfast - you did, I know you did - hardly ate any of dinner, too busy playing with it. “

he squeezes your shoulder, gives a quick rub to your back, and then goes to place his dishes in the sink. You shovel a few quick spoonfuls of pea into your mouth, washing them down with a gulp of water. Your stomach turns but he is right about having skipped breakfast. You don't dwell on how he knows, just accept that he does.

You remember that Tony spoke to you once, just once. The conversation ended just as quick as it began when Simon slunk up behind you. You didn't look back as you were shepherded into the pub that night. Wonder if there was a wordless exchange that you would have caught if you did.

You wonder if Simon forgot that night. You don't think so. He's got a good memory when it comes to you (it doesn't unnerve you so much anymore, how he knows you. it doesn't bother you. It doesn't-)

“Right. You're lookin about as green as the peas, c'mere. I'll pack it away for later love.” He beckons with a hand and you dutifully follow, eager to be done having lost your appetite.

You watch as he roots through his cabinets and fishes out a container. The food is packed neatly inside and placed in the fridge, and he joins your dishes with his in the sink.

He stops your move at washing them by gesturing towards a stool nearby.

“You know the routine. I wash you dry, man your station.”

You snort, imagine him saying that in battle. Sounds silly to you, but you're sure in the moment you'd take it seriously - assuming you weren't trying to run off from the firefight.

Up the stool you hop, dry rag in hand, while Simon washes. The water is steaming, whisps of evaporated water curling around his reddening hands and wrists. Says it's better for sanitization- just not for the hands, you remind him. He's lucky you're invested in him, you keep a bottle of hand lotion in every room. He won't use it himself, but stays still while you rub it into cracked knuckles and callus ridden palms.

He's quick with the dishes, and to tease him a bit you make a show of inspecting for missed spots - you don't find any. He chuffs at you, the weird breath laugh that he does.

“Mean it though, lamb. Keep away from him.” He reminds, disregarding the pleasant mood you had painstakingly created.

You set the dish down with a touch more force than necessary and his brow twitches. You mutter a half assed “my bad” and avoid his eye.

“Lamb.”

It's not like you want to see this guy, really. You do plan on avoiding him but. But you can't just let Simon dictate these things. You're an adult capable of making your own choices, youre the one in control of your own life , you- hearing your name stops your train of thought.. He says your name in a way that snuffs out your rebellious spark. Hardly ever uses your name, only when he's serious.

There have been times when you responded to ‘lamb’ faster than you had your own name, it's so foreign to you.

“I. I won't. I won't go near him, okay? It's not like I want to talk to some sleazeball anyway.” You concede, fight leaving you.

He's behind you faster than you can process, boxing you in between the counter and his solid mass.

“....m'not actin like this for no reason. Keepin you safe, lamb. Always keeping you safe. It's my job now, not asking for permission and I wont. You're my one good thing, my lamb, my…friend”

He says friend like that sometimes. Not in a way that makes you think he views you as less than a friend. But makes you feel like he sees you as more.

You don't broach the subject. Neither does he. You don't like change and he knows that (you also feel like running from him would be easier if you're just a friend, not that you need to run - it's just a precaution).

“I know. I know, Simon. I just…I don't like when you decide things for me sometimes.” You admit, hesitantly.

A beat of silence goes by and you feel the need to backtrack rise through you. You have a few appeasing lies brewing when he hums thoughtfully.

“Mm….even when it's easier? Just letting me decide?” He asks, his voice deeper somehow- accent thickening somehow, as he draws closer. If you took a deep enough breath your back would touch his chest.

You keep your breathing controlled, shiver, and nod. “Even when it's easier…I- I should still be the one to choose. For the most part…unless I ask you.” (but oh isn't it tempting, the thought of just letting someone else take over and-)

He sighs. And from the corner of your eye you watch as he nods. Nods again. And then like writhing snakes his arms slither back and away, he takes a few audible steps back(audible for your comfort) and leans against the kitchen island, arms now crossed.

“Alright, lamb. What do you want to do about the Swalt situation?”

As pushy, and overbearing, and all encompassing Simon and his attention is, even when he makes you feel like you're drowning - the moments of consideration he shows you keep you hooked to his side.

“I…..I don't want to be near him. And I don't want him near me…Especially not with that smell.” You decide, resolute and feeling just that much better expressing some control over your life.

“Done and done, lamb. We'll keep you outta his sight and mind. Let his luck run out, I'm sure he'll get what's coming to him.”

The last part…feels like a promise. A thinly veiled threat. It makes your stomach curdle at the thought, and you focus on lightening the mood (undigested pea won't taste, feel, or look nice coming back up).

“So soldier boy, Intel says you haven't seen the hobbit series yet - that's a crime. I could have you arrested, you know?”

He snorts. “Yea? You gonna cuff me, officer?”

“Not officer.” Your correct him “judge, jury and executioner. And as such I sentence you to ‘watch the first movie with me’. While serving hard time you're also tasked with making popcorn.”

“Could I ask the oh so supreme authority to grab some throw blankets? I have evidence to suggest one of the parties involved gets cold real easy.”

You sniff indignantly. He's just a space heater, you're the normal one. But, “ a reasonable request, consider it granted.” he loves keeping his flat cold.

You watch the movie together, he doesn't mind that you make little jokes here and there - he even joins in a few times.

And he likes it! That's what he tells you at least. And you think you've gotten better at reading him, so you're pretty sure he means it.

He lets you prattle on about the movie. You let him curl you into his blanket, tucking you into his side. He makes a comment here and there. Offers praise in regards to certain scenes and questions others. You talk into the night, forget about swalt, forget about all the tension, forget that you're supposed to drive home.

It's late now. And you're far too tired to drive, he reminds you that this isn't the first time you've slept over.

even has a set of his clothes ready for you.

—--------

It takes two nights for people to realize Tony Swalts was missing. 3 more for his body to be found and the story to hit the news.

‘Another soul stolen by the infamous Reaper’ is what the news is headlined as.

“Told you so” he says, smug (almost…proud?) As the newscaster goes over the details. “His luck ran out, took a risky gamble and lost. Good riddance”

“Y-yeah, you called it…a guy like him was uh. Bound to end up like this, eventually” you murmur in nervous agreement. You're sat next to him on the couch while the segment airs. He's got his arm thrown against the back of the couch. His fingers gently play with pieces of your hair.

You don't listen to the broadcast, not concerned with the details. You know it's gruesome, know that he died screaming - terrified beyond belief and in pain.

You know that Simon really shouldn't be so happy at the news. Relieved maybe, but happy? You'd understand happiness from the perspective of anyone Swalts wronged but - you see Simon's shoulders shake as he quietly laughs- but you know this can't be a normal reaction.

You also know that you were with Simon around the time of death, shared a bed at his instance (co-sleeping helps keep him asleep longer, he says). Woke up next to him and everything. Know that you got up in the middle of the night for water, only to have him go get up and pour you a cup himself. He has an alibi. You are his alibi. There would be no way for him to have done something like that and hide it so well.

This internal battle never seems to stop. Torn between what is real and provable and what your intuition tells you is happening.

You've been in his house, you've seen every room, checked every crevice. Nothing. It's Simon. Your Simon. Your friend for fucks sake. Sure he's a bit rough around the edges but he's a good person. You know him, you think. You really truly think you do. Know what he likes, what he doesn't. Gotten better at knowing what he's feeling or thinking.

You know all these things. You know it's not him.

But you just don't know why he looks so…

satisfied.

You keep quiet ultimately. Remind yourself that he is your friend. And that he's been accused of being this horrible killer before, worked to show and prove his innocence in court- was even attacked by the real killer and just barely survived!

And as he plays with your hair and switches over to the movie he let you pick out you settle deeper into his side. He let you pick on his night, cause he ‘wanted you to pick something that made you happy’. Why would a monster be sweet? Considerate? Why would he feed and experience life with you? Laugh, and joke, and smile with you?

You don't know. Maybe you don't want to know. Maybe it's better that way.

[pure-oddity]

Simple Math / Part Six

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings - tags: 18+ MDNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. Nurse reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Reference to past domestic violence. Angst. Alcohol. Crying, anxiety, panic. Johnny in distress. Johnny is still a menace. Soft dads. POV switches. Note: Safe sleep for infants always. I do not endorse sleeping with your baby in your bed. This is a fic not real life. Simon does some digging.

“Shhh now, ye’re alright.”

Johnny coos, Penny cradled up to his chest. He’s not wearing a shirt, eyes still half sealed shut with sleep, and she squalls in his arms, screaming as loud as her little lungs will allow. “What is it, mah wee lamb? Are ye hungry? Do ye need a change?” He checks her nappy, efficiently looking for a mess or something to clean up and is nearly disappointed when he finds her still dry. If it’s not her nappy, then maybe her stomach? Could she be hungry again? He thumbs through the notes on his phone to find Simon’s last entry: 23:20 – 50 ML. 

That was only an hour ago. 

He frowns, walking in a circle, bouncing her gently, trying to settle her back to sleep. She’s so tiny, and still has grown so much in just the short time since they brought her home. It amazes him. It terrifies him. 

“What is it, sweet bairn? What’s got ye all upset?” He touches his lips to softest skin he’s ever felt, his thumb trying to swipe away the tracks of tears on her cheeks. “Please dinnae cry. I-“ 

“You okay?” Simon clears his throat behind him, and Johnny tenses. 

“We’re fine. Ye’re supposed to be sleepin’.” 

“Heard the two of you in here fussing. Thought I could help.” Simon’s trying to be supportive, trying to be a good partner, Johnny knows, but all he can feel is irritation, a defensive reaction making his hackles rise. 

It’s not fair. He’s so good at it. He’s a natural. And Johnny… Johnny feels like he’s failing his own kid, when she’s not even a month old yet. 

“I dinnae need-“ 

“Hey.” Simon touches his elbow, and then his chin, tilting his face upwards. “I know you don’t, love. You’re doing a great job. It’s not your fault she’s having a rough go.” He soothes him, fingers kneading into the top of his spine, squeezing the nape of his neck and pulling him into his arms. Penny is still crying, but softer now, a low-pitched tone of misery that makes his heart ache, and he feels so overwhelmed, so helpless, staring down at her as she tries desperately to tell him what's wrong, the only way she knows how. He rests his cheek against Simon’s chest, melting into his hold, letting him wrap his arms all way around his waist. 

“She hates me.” Johnny grumbles, and Simon presses his mouth to Johnny’s temple in short, succinct kisses. 

“She doesn’t. She’s brand new. She can’t hate anything, yet, and certainly not her Da.” He strokes her cheek. “Let’s bring her to bed, see if we can get her down and then one of us can put her back in the crib, alright?” Johnny sighs. 

“Alright.” 

“What’re you doing after this?”

“Going to bed?” What else would you be doing?

“I’m thinking about going to Jackie’s for a drink… wanna come?” Nia untucks her scrubs, pulling the top up over her head.

“Jackie’s, huh?” You chew on your lip. You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t. But… Jackie’s is a dive. It’s dark, and dingy, with black walls, black floors, no window in sight. And... it’s a hospital haunt. 

“It’s my birthday.” She whispers, casting a glance around the rest of the room. “I’m not… it’s not a thing, I just want to go, have a few to celebrate.” You take a deep breath. “Please?” She tacks on at the end, and your shoulders dip down in defeat.

“Okay. One. And then I gotta go.”

“Yes!” She cheers, excitement smashing her palms together.

Nothing like a seven am beer. 

Jackie’s is a distinct place. It’s one of the only twenty-four-hour liquor licenses left in the city, or so you’ve been told, and has been frequented by hospital staff for decades. It’s dart boards and dark wood floors, cheap beer and rail vodka, a worn to hell pool table, and an old, disabled juke box that someone broke intentionally, years ago. It’s an institution, and reminds you of some old places you used to frequent, when you weren’t… who you are now. Years ago, before, you used to love a good dive bar. Didn’t mind the way the floor stuck to your feet, and you considered yourself nearly tactical at darts. It was a source of pride, the accuracy, the rate at which you could make a bullseye, even when you were a few sheets to the wind.

“Coulda been a surgeon.” You’d tease, a smirk growing across your boyfriend’s face.

“If you were a surgeon, sugar, who’d be at home waitin’ for me after work?” He’d push back, coating the warning in an adoration, giving whoever was undoubtedly watching a slick smile before snaking an arm around your waist and tugging you close. “You don’t need to be surgeon. You don’t even need to work. You have me.” 

You thought you knew, then. Knew how to handle it, how to navigate the ever-present, ever-growing threat… but you were wrong.

You were so, so wrong.

“So, heard there’s a spot opening up on days.” Nia chucks her purse at the bar top, climbing onto the stool next to you. “You’ve got the seniority… you givin’ it any thought?” The bartender walks by with a hello, and you nod at him.

“Old Speck please. And no, I like nights.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t know Americans liked Old Speck.”

“We have it in the states. I didn’t live under a rock.” You quip, and she laughs before ordering her own poison, a choice that makes your own eyebrows shoot up in question. “Vodka on the rocks?”

“I’m a straight to the point kind of girl.” She explains. “So, no days?”

“No days. You?”

“I might. Night shift is kicking my ass.” She complains. “Don’t even know what day it is half the time. My rhythm is off.”

“You need like, at least six months to fully adjust.” You put a note down in exchange for your beer, and then the bartender scuttles away, distracted by some insistent woman at the other end of the bar.

“Six months?!” You’re about to launch into your spiel about how it’s not that bad when your phone vibrates in your pocket.

>Make it home from work alright? 

>It’s Johnny, by the way :) 

The two texts are the start of a new group chat with your number, Johnny’s number and the number you put in your contacts just yesterday… Simon’s. Your head jerks back on instinct, confused.

“You okay?” Nia asks, and you nod.

“Yeah, fine just…uh-“ She peeks over your arm, and giggles.

“Is that your patient? Two sixty-eight?”

“What?”

“Your patient. The military hottie. The one that’s always lookin’ at your bum.” Your face burns, and she tsks. “Ah, don’t be embarrassed. He’s smokin’. Wish he looked at me the way he looks at you.” You’re surprised at the flare of irritation that starts up in your stomach at her, a hot streak of jealously simmering there, burning away indignantly. “Aren’t they… I mean… isn’t the scary mask guy his partner?” He’s not scary, you scowl inwardly. He’s just… protective. The butterflies in your stomach startle, and you drift back to last night, in the stairwell, in the car.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart.” 

“If you ever need anything, Johnny and I… we’re here.” 

Nia says your name, dragging you back to earth, and you shrug. “Yes… they… they’re together. It’s just been hard on them, so I think there’s a bit of an attachment growing there. You know, it’s not unusual.” She bites her lip, mouth pushing up into a smile.

“They’re quite fit. Wouldn’t mind if they formed an attachment to me.” She pauses, delicately sucking her gasoline on ice up through a straw. “Gonna text him back?”

“Nia.” You hiss, and she barks out a laugh.

“Oh, come on, just a bit of fun. I don’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s not appropriate.” You remind her, and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re such a stick in the mud sometimes. Remember when Marshall was fucking his brain cancer girl? Now that, was not appropriate.” You do remember- Marshall’s sudden absence, the whispering, the HR investigation that spanned weeks, interviews with everyone on the floor.

Your beer goes sour in your stomach.

“I gotta get home.” You wrap an arm around her shoulder with a squeeze and a whisper. “Happy Birthday.” You feel bad for abandoning her, and maybe in another life you might even consider her a friend, but you’re already too exposed here as it is, and staying any longer would be too indulgent- not to mention, incredibly stupid.

You pass another nurse on the way out and him know that Nia’s at the bar, alleviating your guilt just a tad before you hike up your hood and make a beeline for the train.

By the time you get back to your hotel room, get showered, and collapse on top of the far too big bed, it’s nearly been an hour. You plug your phone in, unlocking the screen to flick on do not disturb, and realize the group message is still open, cursor blinking, waiting for your response.

It’s fine. You can tell you got home okay, that’s not crossing any lines. 

>Yeah, just got settled for bed. See you later!

A text from Simon chimes back within a minute, and you squint at it, one eye open.

>Get some rest.  

The floor is dead silent at the beginning of your shift.

Nothing beeps or whines or cries, no noise echoes around the corner to where you’re scrolling through Johnny’s chart, getting caught up on his day, triple checking that his levels and vitals are all within normal range. He passed his follow up for the liver procedure with flying colors, and the relief you feel is not unexpected, the weight of worry lifting free from your shoulders without another thought.

He’s fine, he’s better than fine, he’s… too healthy for the ICU.

Reality hits you like a truck, and you stop short, sneakers squeaking along the floor.

He won’t be your patient anymore. 

He won’t… be your patient anymore. 

The thought twists you into a mess of complicated emotions. A snarled, tangled viper's nest of unknowns, uncertainties, things you're desperately trying to tuck back behind your heart, hide them away so no one, not even yourself, can see them.

This is a good thing. This is what you want. Stable patients, on their way to recovery. 

So, you’ll miss them, that’s okay. There’s a little bit attachment, that’s alright. 

This is the best case scenario. You’re making a mess of things. You’re getting too involved with your patient and his family. You let Simon drive you home, for fucks sake. 

They’re getting confused, because you’re the caretaker. It happens all the time. As soon as Johnny steps down, they’ll forget all about you. 

You’re risking too much. You’re risking their safety, their child’s safety, your own. 

It’s for the best. 

You put your best work smile on when you approach his room, pulling as much air into your lungs as you can manage.

Focus on your job. Your patient. You’re a professional. 

Johnny is alone. No Simon, no visitors, nobody keeping him company. It’s a strange sight, and he looks almost uncomfortable, creased brow lowered down over his eyes. That’s… odd. Worse, there’s a heaviness in his gaze, sadness pulling his mouth downwards, usual playful demeanor nowhere in sight. Even sad, he’s a marvel, and every day, he gets stronger, he gets healthier, he gets closer to leaving this room, amazing you with his tenacity, his will. 

“Hey, you on your own tonight?” You casually knock on the door frame, and then pull it shut behind you, cocking your head.

“Aye.” He’s sullen, his despair tugging you closer to the bed, an urge to try to comfort him too strong to deny. 

“How are you feeling?” You try the subtle question, hoping he'll be forthcoming, and you keep yourself composed as you wait for his answer. 

“’m alright.” You tab through his chart, glancing it over once more, if only to assuage your own anxieties, and then tap into his vitals. Everything looks good, last labs look great… so what’s going on? 

“Just alright?” His fingers flex in the blanket, tanned skin against white linen, picking at fibers and threads, unable to hold himself still. He looks like he’s going to burst open at the seams, explode inside this room, a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the end of the countdown.

A tear tracks down his cheek. “Johnny?” You step closer, close enough so your fingers graze his, trying to delicately let him know, you’re here. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. What’s going on?” The monitor beeps steadily in the silence, his chest depresses with a gust of air.

“It’s… it’s nothin’ bun. I’m jus’… I’m havin’ a bad day.”

“Want to talk about it? I hear I’m a pretty good listener.” You encourage, and his face twists.

“No, I- Ach. Aye, alright.” He shifts in the bed, and you hover in case he needs help, but he waves you away. “It’s… bein’ in here. I want to be wi’ my family. Penny turned one, before I left for this assignment. Was only supposed to be two weeks tops, but then it turned into a month, then two. And now, I’m home… but ’m not really home, and I-“ His voice cracks, raw thread of agonized emotion separating his words, and he swallows it, forcing it back. “I’m blown to bits and cannae even see my own daughter. I’m missin’ out on everything.” Oh, Johnny. Your heart is heavy, and it hurts for him, bleeds as he wipes his face. 

“You’re not blown to bits, just a little banged up.” You give him a soft smile, and when he shakes his head, your fingers find his on instinct. You don’t even stop to second guess yourself, fully sinking into the contact with a gentle squeeze. “Hey, look at me.” His lashes are wet, sticky with tears, and he sniffles. “You’re making great progress, Johnny, going to be out of here in no time. You won’t even be in the ICU much longer, and then once you’re downstairs, Penny will be able to come visit all the time. After that, it won’t be too much longer until you’re back home with them.” He nods, and you stroke your thumb across his knuckles.

“Ye think so?”

“You’re the toughest patient I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a fair amount, you know. Traumatic injury recovery takes time, it takes patience, but you’re doing a great job of it so far. You just have to take it one day at a time. Before you know it, you’ll be at home on your own couch, bossin’ Simon around all day instead of me.” He laughs at that, a throaty chuckle capable of spreading heady warmth through your veins, and then gives you one of those stupidly stunning smiles.

“Shouldnae be cryin’ in front of ye.”

“You can cry in front of me any time you want. That’s what I’m here for. Besides, it’s not the first time.” You tease and he rolls his eyes.

“Doesnae count. I was high.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” The untouched dinner tray on his side table catches your eye, and chilling worry reappears in the back of your mind. “You didn’t eat?”

“Didnae have an appetite until ye showed up, pretty girl.” Okay. You can remedy this easily, if he's interested in eating. Lack of appetite is alarming, but if you can get him to eat now... 

“You hungry? I haven’t eaten yet. Want me to grab you something?” He brightens, indulging in a spectacular smile, and you take it as a yes with a small laugh. “Alright. Let me run down to the café, yeah?”

“What’s that saying, about how I hate to see ye go, but love to watch ye leav-“

“Okay!” you practically shout, cutting him off, fire racing across your skin, and he snickers, palm pressing against his heart like he’s wounded. “I’ll be right back.” You give him a serious look, and and he rubs his palm through his hair, mirth sparkling in his eyes. Holy hell. How is he so attractive? And how is it still so blinding, every time?  

You get two of the only option left this late in the evening, chicken soup and some sourdough, balancing the bowls carefully on their trays until you’re placing them down in the room, swinging the little table over Johnny’s lap and settling in beside him, perched on Simon’s recliner. The soup is warm, spiced with herbs and thick with noodles, and you're pleased that it's better than you were expecting, happy that Johnny seems to like it as well. 

"Wanted to take ye out properly for our first date, but this will have ta’ do. Simon’s gon’ be so bloody jealous.” He masterfully hums between your bites, and your eyes go wide, trying and failing to swallow your soup instead of choking on it.

“Johnny, we… this… I- this isn’t a date!” you squeak.

“Why not?” He asks, inflection innocent, and your brain rattles around inside your skull, splitting down the middle, falling apart in bewilderment. Why not? What does he mean?

“You… you have a partner. Simon? You know, your family that we were literally just talking about?” He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with this look on his face, one you can’t interpret. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What did Simon tell ye, the other night. When he took ye home?”

“What? He… I don’t remember.” Does he know that Simon gave you his phone number? 

Of course, he knows, he started that group text. 

Does Simon know what Johnny said, about you coming into their lives? About-

“Didnae he tell ye, we’re here for ye?”

“Y-yeah.”

“We, bunny? We.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand.” He sighs. What is he trying to say? What is going on?

“We like ye. Like I said, we think ye’re really special. Simon, and I. Together, bun.”

“Wh-what?” Puzzle pieces snap together and then break apart, like a landscape jigsaw that you spent days completing once before it was promptly ruined. Does he... does he mean... Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no. You have to squash this. Now. Just explain it, he’ll get it. He’s smart. “No… no, Johnny it’s just… it’s this thing, that happens. Patients get attached to their nurses or doctors sometimes, it’s normal. You d-don’t like me, I promise. There’s nothing even to like.” He blinks, jaw grinding under stubble. If Simon’s stare feels like he’s reading your mind, then Johnny’s is like being pinned down in one place, unable to move. You’re paralyzed, and powerless, lost in the icy blue sea of his eyes, drowning with a hand sticking out above the crest of the surf, reaching for him.

“Why would ye say that? That there’s nothin’ about ye to like? Nothin’ could be farther from the truth.”

“I don’t… there’s not. It’s… I’m your nurse, Johnny. That’s all.” Sweat glosses the small of your back, slicking upwards to cover your spine, and your heart hammers, it beats, beats, beats- so loudly you’re sure the pulse point in your wrist is visible. “Johnny.” His name shakes from your lips, and he relaxes, gentle concern replacing the relentless intensity in his gaze.

“Shhh, hey. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didnae mean to upset ye.” You're still frozen, a statue, and he reaches for you, trying to grab onto your hand. The heat of his skin breaks you from the spell, and you force a robotic, bedside smile onto your face, scooping up your half empty bowl.

"It's okay." You need to get out of this room. Now. The walls feel too close, Johnny feels too close, everything is compounding on top of you, threatening to derail your entire life, ruin your plan. They cannot like you. They cannot care about you. They cannot show interest in you. You can’t let this happen. “I’ve gotta check on some other patients, okay? I’ll swing back your way in a bit.” You promise him, guilt eating you alive about running away, and when he gives you a sad smile, you almost lose your resolve.

“Alright, pretty girl. I’ll see ye later, then.” He murmurs, and you try not to trip over feet during your hasty exit.

Fuck. You’re so fucked. 

Simon and Johnny’s house is finally silent.  

Penny is down, safely tucked into dream world, her grainy grey-scale image flickering on the video monitor at Simon as he pours two fingers worth of bourbon into a glass.

Poor baby girl. His stomach twists. She put up such a fight tonight, hollering at the top of her lungs, standing up in her crib, working herself into an absolute state. He hates leaving her alone to cry, and on nights like this one, the only way she’ll close her eyes is if she’s being held, snuggled in Johnny's arms, or against Simon's chest. 

He’s a sucker, he knows. Doomed from the day she was born, but he can’t help it. Neither of them can. She’s their baby.

So, he doesn’t blame her for being so out of sorts. She always sleeps better when her Da is home. They both do.

His phone vibrates with a text, a short message from Johnny, and he scrolls through it, settling on the couch with his laptop, unopened email from Laswell blinking impatiently.

>She’s jumpy. Tired. Looks like she hasn’t gotten any sleep. Simon frowns.

> She manage to find a pair of panties for work today?

>Unfortunately. He can practically see the pout on Johnny’s lips, can hear the way he probably huffed and puffed when you first came into the room this evening, your hips swishing side to side, pretty smile on your face for him.

>I think I made her upset. Simon pinches the bridge of his nose. Johnny, love. Why can’t you listen? He takes a deep breath, trying to relax the worry that’s creeping up the back of his neck. 

Disagreements aren’t for text messages. They’ve learned that the hard way. 

>Take it easy for the rest of the night, then. She’s skittish. He shoots off the recommendation, and then pulls his laptop across his knee, clicking open the email from Kate.

Simon,  Your girl is a ghost. This kind of wipe work is professional level… are you sure she’s a nurse?  I’ve attached everything I could find, but it’s pretty scarce. The name you provided pulled a copy of her NHS nursing license, her taxes, an award she won at work last year, and a COVID vaccination record. No birth certificate, state identification, or public records of any kind, even after a global hand search. Nothing that even proves she exists or is an American except a sealed record from two years ago in the states. It’s not accessible, even for me, which means it could be WITSEC, or a court ordered name change in relation to a domestic violence case. There are 18 states that seal those records to protect the victim, so she could be from anywhere. My gut says it’s probably the latter, which is why she doesn’t exist prior to.  You’ll notice on the vaccine record, she marked ‘unhoused’, and I couldn’t find any lease/rental agreements, sale records, or mortgages in her name.  I wish I had more for you, but she really is a bit of a puzzle. I’ll keep digging.  -K.L. 

There’s an unsettling rattle going off in the front of Simon’s skull. It’s a siren, a smattering of warning bells, and he swallows the rest of the bourbon in one go, embracing the burn that slides down the back of his throat.

Who are you, little bunny? And who are you running from? 

[pure-oddity]

No hate to this person (if you’re reading this, I’m so happy you took a chance on Simple Math even though it’s unfinished!) but it does raise a general question:

And tell me why (if you’re so inclined) ✨

[pure-oddity]

Illusion of choice

Serial killer!Simon Riley x reader

(Warnings: death mention and Simon's lack of care for said death. Implied drink tampering. Simon is a little intense. (Let me know if more are needed). Reader sees red flags and promptly ignores them.)

(This isn't like chapter one or anything it's just a snapshot of something that went down in this universe) not proofread, you know the drill

"You love that you gave Simon a chance and became his friend. He's become one of the most important people in your life. So when you ignore the bad feeling you get around him sometimes, you just hope it won't come back to bite you (it will. He will too)"

“Tony Swalts, you don't go near him. He haunts the alley next to the pub. Every Thursday, like clockwork. Always looks like he just came in from the rain.” Simon says, takes a sip of water, and continues eating.

You look up mid chew and eye the man across from you.

He's maskless, hardly ever wears it around you anymore. You watch as his scarred jaw moves, chewing into the meat - deer you think? You stopped asking what it was, he's never fed you less than the best so why bother worrying.(you feel bad for worrying, but sometimes, sometimes-)

His eyes, dark and empty, stare at his plate. He's a dispassionate eater save for the few hums of contentment you get on a particularly good meal. Nowadays, he lets you help make the meals - will even indulge you and try any new recipes you find online.

He's fine with you seasoning and marinating, less so when it comes to cutting and handling hot items. ‘leave the knife work to me lamb, best that way’ he says ‘no use burning yourself, give me the pot’ he urges. You think it's his nice way of calling you a hazard.

(You don't bother trying to correct him, he gives you that stupid look - his ‘lieutenant stare’ is what you call it. You crumble under it quickly, like you imagine any of his subordinates had.)

You nudge a bit of pea around your plate.

Open your mouth to speak.

Go back to the pea.

Roll your shoulders and feel your mouth form around the first syllable.

Back to the pea again.

You nudge too hard and it smears a baby barf green against the white ceramic of the plate.

“Wh-why? I. I mean I'm not looking to make any new friends or, anything. But…why?” You pick a new non smashed pea to toy with, eyes downcast.

Your leg twitches when you hear his fork gently clack against the wood of his table.

You feel the lieutenant stare, you ignore it - but you feel your face heat up under the weight of his gaze.

He doesn't get. Mad. At Least not at you. You know that, but you brace for it anyway. It's just what you're used to. He's mumbled about breaking you of that habit a few times, like you're some unruly puppy with an interest in chewing furniture.

“Don't. Think I should get into it. It'll do more harm than good. Smells like fish , if you really need a reason to avoid him.” His vague answer is what does more harm than good, now more curious and nervous than ever. But you will keep the fish thing in mind, your nose is sensitive.

“Well. Uhm. Thats not great to hear. I'm actually more worried than I was before I asked.” You accidentally smush another pea. “Shoulda just kept my mouth shut…” you mumble. You've eaten enough, more than enough you think - you're about to ask him for a Tupperware when he speaks again.

You're expecting this to be the end of the conversation. But he surprises you by elaborating, “Some birds have had….less than nice things to say about him. And he has done….less than nice things to them and anything he can Leer over.” he grabs a napkin, sets it near you, grabs another and wipes his face clean. “Don't want him thinking you're next.” he tacks on.

You mirror him gently, making sure to get your fingers too.

“Just. Keep away from him, yea? Not like it'll be hard. Fucker like him? He's bound to get what's coming to him.” He assures.

He rises with his plate, and you go to do the same but he presses you down by your shoulder.

“Few more bites, you skipped breakfast - you did, I know you did - hardly ate any of dinner, too busy playing with it. “

he squeezes your shoulder, gives a quick rub to your back, and then goes to place his dishes in the sink. You shovel a few quick spoonfuls of pea into your mouth, washing them down with a gulp of water. Your stomach turns but he is right about having skipped breakfast. You don't dwell on how he knows, just accept that he does.

You remember that Tony spoke to you once, just once. The conversation ended just as quick as it began when Simon slunk up behind you. You didn't look back as you were shepherded into the pub that night. Wonder if there was a wordless exchange that you would have caught if you did.

You wonder if Simon forgot that night. You don't think so. He's got a good memory when it comes to you (it doesn't unnerve you so much anymore, how he knows you. it doesn't bother you. It doesn't-)

“Right. You're lookin about as green as the peas, c'mere. I'll pack it away for later love.” He beckons with a hand and you dutifully follow, eager to be done having lost your appetite.

You watch as he roots through his cabinets and fishes out a container. The food is packed neatly inside and placed in the fridge, and he joins your dishes with his in the sink.

He stops your move at washing them by gesturing towards a stool nearby.

“You know the routine. I wash you dry, man your station.”

You snort, imagine him saying that in battle. Sounds silly to you, but you're sure in the moment you'd take it seriously - assuming you weren't trying to run off from the firefight.

Up the stool you hop, dry rag in hand, while Simon washes. The water is steaming, whisps of evaporated water curling around his reddening hands and wrists. Says it's better for sanitization- just not for the hands, you remind him. He's lucky you're invested in him, you keep a bottle of hand lotion in every room. He won't use it himself, but stays still while you rub it into cracked knuckles and callus ridden palms.

He's quick with the dishes, and to tease him a bit you make a show of inspecting for missed spots - you don't find any. He chuffs at you, the weird breath laugh that he does.

“Mean it though, lamb. Keep away from him.” He reminds, disregarding the pleasant mood you had painstakingly created.

You set the dish down with a touch more force than necessary and his brow twitches. You mutter a half assed “my bad” and avoid his eye.

“Lamb.”

It's not like you want to see this guy, really. You do plan on avoiding him but. But you can't just let Simon dictate these things. You're an adult capable of making your own choices, youre the one in control of your own life , you- hearing your name stops your train of thought.. He says your name in a way that snuffs out your rebellious spark. Hardly ever uses your name, only when he's serious.

There have been times when you responded to ‘lamb’ faster than you had your own name, it's so foreign to you.

“I. I won't. I won't go near him, okay? It's not like I want to talk to some sleazeball anyway.” You concede, fight leaving you.

He's behind you faster than you can process, boxing you in between the counter and his solid mass.

“....m'not actin like this for no reason. Keepin you safe, lamb. Always keeping you safe. It's my job now, not asking for permission and I wont. You're my one good thing, my lamb, my…friend”

He says friend like that sometimes. Not in a way that makes you think he views you as less than a friend. But makes you feel like he sees you as more.

You don't broach the subject. Neither does he. You don't like change and he knows that (you also feel like running from him would be easier if you're just a friend, not that you need to run - it's just a precaution).

“I know. I know, Simon. I just…I don't like when you decide things for me sometimes.” You admit, hesitantly.

A beat of silence goes by and you feel the need to backtrack rise through you. You have a few appeasing lies brewing when he hums thoughtfully.

“Mm….even when it's easier? Just letting me decide?” He asks, his voice deeper somehow- accent thickening somehow, as he draws closer. If you took a deep enough breath your back would touch his chest.

You keep your breathing controlled, shiver, and nod. “Even when it's easier…I- I should still be the one to choose. For the most part…unless I ask you.” (but oh isn't it tempting, the thought of just letting someone else take over and-)

He sighs. And from the corner of your eye you watch as he nods. Nods again. And then like writhing snakes his arms slither back and away, he takes a few audible steps back(audible for your comfort) and leans against the kitchen island, arms now crossed.

“Alright, lamb. What do you want to do about the Swalt situation?”

As pushy, and overbearing, and all encompassing Simon and his attention is, even when he makes you feel like you're drowning - the moments of consideration he shows you keep you hooked to his side.

“I…..I don't want to be near him. And I don't want him near me…Especially not with that smell.” You decide, resolute and feeling just that much better expressing some control over your life.

“Done and done, lamb. We'll keep you outta his sight and mind. Let his luck run out, I'm sure he'll get what's coming to him.”

The last part…feels like a promise. A thinly veiled threat. It makes your stomach curdle at the thought, and you focus on lightening the mood (undigested pea won't taste, feel, or look nice coming back up).

“So soldier boy, Intel says you haven't seen the hobbit series yet - that's a crime. I could have you arrested, you know?”

He snorts. “Yea? You gonna cuff me, officer?”

“Not officer.” Your correct him “judge, jury and executioner. And as such I sentence you to ‘watch the first movie with me’. While serving hard time you're also tasked with making popcorn.”

“Could I ask the oh so supreme authority to grab some throw blankets? I have evidence to suggest one of the parties involved gets cold real easy.”

You sniff indignantly. He's just a space heater, you're the normal one. But, “ a reasonable request, consider it granted.” he loves keeping his flat cold.

You watch the movie together, he doesn't mind that you make little jokes here and there - he even joins in a few times.

And he likes it! That's what he tells you at least. And you think you've gotten better at reading him, so you're pretty sure he means it.

He lets you prattle on about the movie. You let him curl you into his blanket, tucking you into his side. He makes a comment here and there. Offers praise in regards to certain scenes and questions others. You talk into the night, forget about swalt, forget about all the tension, forget that you're supposed to drive home.

It's late now. And you're far too tired to drive, he reminds you that this isn't the first time you've slept over.

even has a set of his clothes ready for you.

—--------

It takes two nights for people to realize Tony Swalts was missing. 3 more for his body to be found and the story to hit the news.

‘Another soul stolen by the infamous Reaper’ is what the news is headlined as.

“Told you so” he says, smug (almost…proud?) As the newscaster goes over the details. “His luck ran out, took a risky gamble and lost. Good riddance”

“Y-yeah, you called it…a guy like him was uh. Bound to end up like this, eventually” you murmur in nervous agreement. You're sat next to him on the couch while the segment airs. He's got his arm thrown against the back of the couch. His fingers gently play with pieces of your hair.

You don't listen to the broadcast, not concerned with the details. You know it's gruesome, know that he died screaming - terrified beyond belief and in pain.

You know that Simon really shouldn't be so happy at the news. Relieved maybe, but happy? You'd understand happiness from the perspective of anyone Swalts wronged but - you see Simon's shoulders shake as he quietly laughs- but you know this can't be a normal reaction.

You also know that you were with Simon around the time of death, shared a bed at his instance (co-sleeping helps keep him asleep longer, he says). Woke up next to him and everything. Know that you got up in the middle of the night for water, only to have him go get up and pour you a cup himself. He has an alibi. You are his alibi. There would be no way for him to have done something like that and hide it so well.

This internal battle never seems to stop. Torn between what is real and provable and what your intuition tells you is happening.

You've been in his house, you've seen every room, checked every crevice. Nothing. It's Simon. Your Simon. Your friend for fucks sake. Sure he's a bit rough around the edges but he's a good person. You know him, you think. You really truly think you do. Know what he likes, what he doesn't. Gotten better at knowing what he's feeling or thinking.

You know all these things. You know it's not him.

But you just don't know why he looks so…

satisfied.

You keep quiet ultimately. Remind yourself that he is your friend. And that he's been accused of being this horrible killer before, worked to show and prove his innocence in court- was even attacked by the real killer and just barely survived!

And as he plays with your hair and switches over to the movie he let you pick out you settle deeper into his side. He let you pick on his night, cause he ‘wanted you to pick something that made you happy’. Why would a monster be sweet? Considerate? Why would he feed and experience life with you? Laugh, and joke, and smile with you?

You don't know. Maybe you don't want to know. Maybe it's better that way.

[pure-oddity]

The way Soap would use military talk to get a reaction from you. He knows you're into it. So you're standing in the kitchen, maybe cooking something and you can hear his raspy voice from behind the corner "Got visuals on the target" and you're already grinning, wisely putting down anything that could make a mess. You hear slight shuffling and a whispered "Nice and stealthy boys", the next thing you know is him tackling you and immediately catching you in his arms, carefully lowering you to the floor. He crawls over you rasping: "Hostage secured", and presses his lips to yours but you both have to laugh. And it ends up being a messy kiss because you both can't stop giggling and grinning into the kiss. And when he breaks away because you're both smiling so wide it's just impossible to properly kiss, you put your hand on his chest and tell him: "You're a goof MacTavish". His smile softens and he replies: "Aye, your goof, that is."

[pure-oddity]

Mistletoe mancandy series

[pure-oddity]

Feral horny Johnny who's gonna do whatever you ask and take whatever you give him as long as it's from you.

Dude would hump on your leg If you told him your holes were too sore to touch.

Very much a giver....at first. He gets lost in it easy, still makes you feel good but you can feel the switch of his focus because it feels good, you feel good. Greedy, greedy man who needs touch like he needs air.

His is the kinda dick that's so good you run from, and he's the kinda guy to lock his arms around your waist and hold you to him while he fucks you from behind.

Hes also vocal, no shame and wants you and everyone else to know that you're making him feel wonderful and how much he's enjoying being in, on, and around you.

Also the kinda guy to try to warn you off. Like, no he's not gonna hurt you - but marathon sex is the only cure to his pent up frustration rn. Tells you he can make do with a pocket pussy and his hands(and your wand vibrator, and some other toys) but -

"Ya 'ave work tomorrow, I ken. But it's Thursday, you take Friday off 'n you'll be okay enough to go in monday. Promise-swear it"

- he's gonna ask you anyway. And much like 'if you give a mouse a cookie', if you give a Johnny a blow job, he's gonna wanna 69 - ya know?

So say yes at your own peril, you'll be walking funny into work. buuuuut he's gonna bring you lunch with a couple of flowers so it evens out.