Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Simon's gaze was locked onto her and her lips split into a grin, so clearly dazed and wanting to giggle at his awful attempt at trying to test if she had been concussed from the fall she had just taken moments ago. Fortunately, Simon was able to scoop her up after her head smashed against the pavement, lucky to not have split her skull open but not lucky enough to not have a small knot on her right temple.

"You serious?" She giggled, swaying a bit to the side but he held her still. He couldn't help the annoyed huff that slipped from his lips, but there was a glimmer of amusement behind his eyes. His eye black that had been smeared against his eyes hours ago was now faded from the rain that had drenched them. Even in her allegedly concussed state she read Simon like a book. Always wanting to know all his ticks so she could push the right buttons, usually working in her favor more than her detriment. However, she really couldn't speak for her other teammates.

"Yes, 'm bloody serious. Now answer the question." It was almost playful the way he responded to her. Not wanting to give too much away, but also not wanting to be too rough around the edges for her. God knows he didn't want another go around of the same tears and pouty lips until he had to muster up the pluck to apologize.

Kyle, Johnny and Price couldn't help but chuckle at the scene unfolding in front of them. Luckily the incident had happened on their way back from the bar and not in the middle of a mission. Her usual state of bumbling around, and tripping over thin air was a rather large contrast to how tactful and agile she was on the field. She tapped her chin for a moment with that giddy smile. "Hmm, four?"

Simon glanced between her cute and incompetent expression and his two fingers and then back to her. Kyle was the first to burst out into laughter.

"Bloody hell." Simon groaned as the others chuckled.

"Got ye a concussion, don't y'lassie?" Johnny brushed the hair out of her eyes and she smiled sweetly up at him.

"Bumblin' fool." Simon shook his head.

"Jus a clumsy duck off th'field, aren't ya?" Price grinned, as he softly pinched her cheek. She licked her lips as she wriggled into his touch, feeling the rough pads of his fingers tickle her soft skin. A girly mirth errupting from her and she cowered away playfully from him. A wry grin on Simon's face as he observed the interaction and held her steady once more.

"Well, she's definitely concussed." Kyle laughed again, playing with a strand of her hair. She hummed in content.

"Y'think that's somethin' to be happy about?" Simon's vexation bubbling to the surface at her lack of concern and at his teammate's lack of intiative. All of them at her side, cooing at her in her wobbly and whimisical state and more than ready to take care of her. He pinched the bridge of nose. No wonder she was so giddy.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Fatigue was submerging into his muscles as he unlocked the door to the shared flat, not bothering to kick off his boots but instead placing his fishing hat on the console before heading to the bedroom. The door slightly ajar and his eyes softened at your sleeping form, so pretty, so...

He sighed at his listless, perverse thoughts, but he couldn't help it when you were wearing that soft pink night slip that clung to you like a second skin. He found himself palming at his hardened member as he leaned against the doorway taking in the sight of you. Honestly, he felt a little drunk from the sleep deprivation, buzzy light headedness that his mission consigned his now weary body as his half lidded gaze set itself upon the peaks of your breasts that rose and fell.

Your body stirring awake, squinting at the familiar form in front of you. "John?" You murmured softly and oh your voice.

Your voice had sent him over the edge, sinking him down to his knees at the end of the bed. His stubble tickling at your inner thigh, lips dotting against the surface of your skin that sent a pleasant shudder up your spine.

Fingers immediately carding into his soft, chestnut hair as you sit up a bit to gaze down at his exhausted form splayed out over your lower half. You couldn't help but chuckle at the fact that he was still fully dressed in uniform.

"Missed you, ducky." He hummed against your inner thigh, millimeters away from your now throbbing core. You licked your lips and flashed him a sweet smile that made his insides go gooey; his eyes might as well have had hearts in them from the way he was gawking up at you adoringly.

A small sigh escaped you. "Yeah?"

He alternated from side to side, showering you with heated kisses, making it unbearably achy between your legs. "Yeah." He breathed out, fanning over your clothed pussy.

"How bad?" You wanted to challenge, but your voice breaks as easily as your resolve in a failed attempted at provocation.

He chuckled as he flickered his sapphire gaze up at you and a sly smile graced his lips. "S'bad, ducky."

And honestly he wasted no time removing your frilly knickers and carelessly tossed them to the side before he dove into your sopping, wet cunt. The way he spat on it before lasciviously devouring you, as his calloused hands caressed your sides and rested at your belly. Lewd noises echoed in your shared bedroom walls both from the squelching of his tongue and mouth against your pussy to the moans and whines that salaciously curled out of your lips.

The way your back arched against the sheets to the way your fingers grasped at his mussed hair and shamelessly grinded against this tongue, Price was fighting the urge to absolutely pound you into the mattress. But he'd settle for the way you obscenely inundated his name while you pathetically writhed beneath his grasp.

Incoherence spluttering from your lips as your chest heaved from the euphoria his tongue was bringing you while he eagerly lapped you up, not quite rough but hungrily. The undivided attention your dripping core was receiving had you whining out for him as your fingers scrambled.

"Missed this sweet pussy." He exhaled as he withdrew from you, admiring the ichorous, dewy sight of your folds reflecting in the dim light from the living room. He gave your cunt a long lick, "So good." Another gluttonous lick. "Fuck, angel." He whispered, before gathering his saliva on your pussy once more and he watched as it sank down your swollen and puffy petals. You involuntarily clenched and he shot you an impish grin. Azure hues fixated on you as he eagerly shunted his flattened tongue from your opening to suckling on your billowy clit, sending your back arching once more as he nestled himself between your legs.

At this point you're begging for release in the form of disjointed pleas and half crescents forming into his scalp. "John...john, please! Need...to cu..."

By way of acknowledging your request, he hummed against your pussy and gently prodded his fingers past your needy folds. He moaned again at the feeling of your tight, wet walls soliciting another whine from you.

"H-hah...John...!" You squeaked out as he curled his fingers barely brushing against your sweet spot that threw you in a fervent daze, causing you to sit up as your jaw went aslack and no words could find a place on your tongue. Just the syrupy sweet, impassioned whines that escaped you as your toes curled, reaching your peak.

He was so lost in you, drinking up all your enraptured gasps and divine honey, feeding his carnal desires. "Cum for me, ducky."

And your orgasm ripped through you, completely coming undone as you cried out in pure pleasure. Though he was still having his fill of you even after, sending you wriggling away from him to which he smiled against you and placed a sweet kiss against your mound before he clambered ontop of you. Giggles filled the room as he held you tight against him and peered down at you lovingly with your sweet nectar coating his pinkened lips.

"Missed you." He beamed. Such an infectious smile he had. It made you grin ear to ear as he leaned forward to tenderly kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips and withdrew a bit too quickly for your liking as he sucked on your bottom lip. The corners of his mouth turned up as he tugged on it ever so gently, bringing it between his teeth before unlatching.

You snickered at the naughty grin on his face. "Missed you too."

His lids were beginning to droop as he gazed down at you and he burrowed himself into the crook of your neck, deeply inhaling your saccharine scent. Your digits gently looped into his hair once more, as he left a little wake of kisses from your jaw to your collarbone.

Sleep began to envelop this unwavering soldier, and soon the sound of his snores were heard and you inwardly chuckled at his incredible timing. All that work just to end up nodding off, though you'd never complain when he was that good.

Chapter Text

Whether it was on base, missions, or in the privacy of your quarters, you were always inappropriately groping at your quiet boy toy (with his prior permission obviously), but that doesn't stop him from shooting you an icy glare that sent you snickering. Truthfully, you palming at his dick over his trousers was enticing for him. He loved the perverse smile that graced your glossy lips when you skipped away after his cock immediately chubbed at your touch. Always casting aside the jabs from his teammates about the hickies that littered his neck and torso, and the scratch marks that etched into his back in long, jagged crimson streaks. Keegan didn't give a damn.

In fact, he proudly paraded you around, with fresh bite marks on his neck after you finished grinding down on cock just moments ago while your hands were pressed into neck as he begged for more. Keegan was so, so, so needy. So, need for you.

"Fu⏤ fuck, angel, I⏤ " He whimpered out underneath you, as you greedily bounce on his cock and your breasts caromed with every stroke. His thick brows scrunching together as his pretty, wintry hues rolled back in his skull and his jaw hung as strangled moans left those rosy lips of his. "I⏤think, I think gonna c⏤"

"Uh uh uh." You gently chided, halting your ministrations against his hips, depriving him of any pleasure. He let out a constricted whine at your display of authority that he found so sexy, but it only made him more yielding to your rule.

A soft exhale left his lips as he smiled up at you, eyes still closed, caressing your sides and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. The dom in him itching to come crawling out, and tossing you around like a ragdoll. Keegan was certainly allowing you to have a little too much fun in this domineering position, and your heart instantly jumped at the expression on his face as his eyes fluttered open. Dark, long lashes framing his steely, libidinous gaze.

His teeth hooking into his lip was a dead giveaway of him deciphering whether or not to flip you over and hammer into you to satiate his needs of absolutely pulverizing you. Nothing would satisfy him more than to do just that. Your haughty gaze challenging him to do what he was currently pondering, knowing damn well he outsized you and the thought alone was quickly decoded as he practically saw the submissiveness trickle into your eyes. As soon as you could even register it, Keegan had you flat on your back. The mattress warm and slightly damp was an indication of how much you were torturing him, but now it was his turn.

A small gasp escaped you when he held your wrists with his hefty hand. "Think you've had enough fun, princess." He declared, hovering over your quivering form and a deep chuckle bubbled from his chest as he slowly rolled his hips so deliciously against yours. The shattered breath that escaped you was so heavenly to him, lyrical even. The enmeshment of dirty words, incoherent profanities, whimpers and groans was a little symphony orchestrated by him. The blissful thrusts only made your pussy pulsate against his girthy cock, stretching you pliant as hell.

Though there was still a look of defiance scrambled into your features that were bunched up in the thrill of him taking control. "Oh, don't look at me like that." His honeyed voice, said between your lips glossed over with saliva as he gently pressed his free hand around your throat.

"Open your mouth." He prodded your mouth open with his thumb, ceasing his movements for a moment as you observed him spitting into your mouth. His saliva hit your tongue and you immediately swallowed it. An involuntary clench was enough to part his own lips to let a shameless whimper slip out. That sent him into euphoria as he drove all the way into you to the hilt, kissing your cervix so delightfully. The both of spiraling into a frenzy as you clasped your legs around his waist and his brows furrowed once more as the silky warm that enveloped his cock.

His tip nudging at your a-spot slowly, but deeply as your mouth hung open at the luscious sensation. The way your eyes never left his each and every time he pounded into as you puckered your walls around him, making him near his end. "Fuck, princess⏤gonna cum." He softly cried out between thrusts and you nodded, with starry eyes and lips laquered with his saliva.

"Keegan⏤" You choked out between sobs as his fingers tightened around your throat and you felt your orgasm start to build up in your lower belly. "I'm⏤"

"Cum for me." He let out a shaky breath, and you felt the warm, rushing sensation expanding through your system as your climax rippled through you. And he felt that. Every single twitch and pulse as you locked onto him and soon he felt that sweet, sweet, moment of carthasis washing over him. His dick throbbed uncontrollably, spilling his tepid, creamy arousal into you.

Your lips curling into a giddied smile as you both caught your breath, covering your eyes with your forearm. Keegan's intense gaze usually left you flustered after such an impassioned session. He licked his moistened lips and chuckled at your shy state, always finding it endearing as hell when your orgasm carried you away. "Let me see that pretty face." He murmured, moving your arm out of the way and you peeked an eye at him that sent him into fit of laughter.

And you whined as he embraced you, rolling you over so that you laid ontop of him. A gentle kiss to your hair as he pulled upward so he could nuzzle his nose against your soft cheeks. Another plush kiss to your skin and playfully groaned, pinching his nipple in return. He jolted at the sudden pang of pain.

"Oh, you wanna play dirty, huh?" His husky voice perked up and you knew what was coming. You attempted to escape his grasp but his stout fingers caged you as he began to tickle you.

"No! N-no! Keegan⏤!" You struggled to find words between breaths and laughter. His assault not stopping, your mirth like music to his ears. To him, there was nothing better than these silly little moments he shared with you.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"It's just sex."

But he's literally paying attention to every staccato of your moans, as he angles his hips perfectly to hit your sweet spot every fucking time. The way you arch your back, and your whimpers are elongating with every stroke, adding just the right amount of pressure to have you cumming all over his dick. And he doesn't even care if he's finishing anymore, as long as you're getting yours he's more than satisfied enough. And he's definitely not flipping you over on your back every time without fail just to see your pretty "o" face.

"It's just sex."

But he's waking up before you with your coffee exactly the way you like it, down to the milk preference, brand and roast. Your eggs perfectly fried, and a tender kiss to your temple asking you,

"How'd ya sleep, love?"

"It's just sex."

But he's always fixing your hair when it's out of place, the collar of your shirt when it's tucked in incorrectly and making sure he's holding your hand when you're crossing the street together.

"It's just sex."

But he's talking you down over the phone when you get into a catastrophic argument with your dad and moments later he's showing up at your door with your favorite snacks and beverages. His arms are enveloping you in the most snug bear hug, kissing your temple and rubbing your back while you cry it out. And then you're watching reruns of your favorite tv show and until you're passed out in his arms.

"It's just sex."

But he's letting you in. You're seeing all the sides of him that he never shows to anyone else. The scars under his mask, the way his lips curve up into a smile when you're doing you're little dance to oldies on the radio, and the genuine, hearty chuckle that effortlessly escapes his now loosened sternum.

"It's just sex."

But then you're under the steamy water coming out of his showerhead, as he sings in his off-key baritone while he suds up his loofa to clean you up after he fucked your brains out on his loveseat. Memorizing every mole, stretchmark, and crease in your skin as he's exfoliating your pretty skin.

But,

It's not just sex.

Because he's sitting there on the sofa, wondering how the fuck he ended up with the prettiest, vintage engagement ring you pointed out when you two were antiquing (antiquing? he doesn't bloody go antiquing) between his stout, scarred fingers, glittering in the moonlight and all.

"Si?"

He turns from the ring to the most stunning woman that's ever graced his miserable presence, leaning against the doorframe with his shirt hanging loosely over her thighs, hair disheveled in the cutest way humanly possible. Her playful smile etching into her dulcet features as she sucks in her bottom lip. Oh yeah, she's a fuckin' stunner.

"Are you coming back to bed?"

His eyes visibly softening as he drinks you in.

"Ya, dovie, I'll be right there." He murmurs, licking his dry lips, and you're already padding back to his room, making sure you sway your hips provocatively. That causes his lips to kick up into a genuine smile and a chuckle to escape his chest. And then he's up, carefully putting away the precious metal in a false bottom drawer under the utensils, and then he's jovially treading back to you. Face first into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet, natural musk. He could bathe in this shit.

Fingers carding through his hair and he's oblivious to the knowing smirk on your sly face. That fucker thinks he's so slick.

Chapter Text

Knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out
Is it casual now?

The death grip you have on his mohawk as he sloppily eats you out with such vigor is making your legs shake so hard as you climax for the third time in the backseat of his truck. A gentle slap and a tender kiss to your clit after he's done supping you up and then he's adjusting himself in his trousers to make himself a little more comfortable under the restricting material.

"I gotta go now." He breathes, rubbing your bare thigh and you shiver at his touch. He always had to go. And honestly you could feel your heart dropping to your stomach as he flashes you that casual, boyish grin.

You only nod as you recollect yourselves and climb back to the front seats. Your heart on your sleeve as he pulls at your place and you're turning to him with a bashful smile. His baby blue are distant but he gives you a warm, good-natured grin as he rubs your thigh.

"Good seein' ya, lassie." He points his chin to the door as a gesture for you to hit the road in the most "polite" way possible.

You were no stranger to Johnny's detached ways. He was an avoidant at best when got his and he was sending you on your way to do whatever it is that you do before he hits you up again with a, "You up?" text.

Ugh.

"Dude, you deserve better." Your friend shakes her head at you as she pinches at a fry and pops it into her mouth.

"Honestly, he's a fucking asshole. He should be on his knees asking to be your man, not just the backseat of his truck." Your other friend chides, but it's lost on you. Their voices drown out as you peer over at your buzzing phone.

"You free tonite, lassie?"

"Don't" They quip at the same time, but it's tossed to the backlogs of your mind when you rush home after your hang out.

He's already there leaning against your doorway, swinging his car keys between his fingers as he lustfully gazes down at you. And in no time he's jovially, hungrily taking your face between his stout, calloused hands and kissing you passionately, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist as he grinds into you. And you can't take it anymore, you want him. You want him so fucking bad and you didn't care if it was casual. Or whatever bullshit, avoidant bullshit he was feeding you.

You wanted him, craved him. You waste no time pulling aside your panties as he merely unzips his jeans to free his hard, girthy cock and presses it between your succulent, dripping folds, and his thick brows are furrowed together in euphoria. He casts a small glance down at you to make sure you're all right as he pushes himself deeper into you. It's a pleasant burn as he stretches you out, and you welcome it because fuck, it feels so fucking good when he's filling you up, but when he's done emptying himself out you're hollow once again as he's zipping his jeans back up.

He adjusts his brown leather jacket and gives you a wink and kiss to the cheek before he's on his way out.

And you almost feel like crying when he's gone. Just the remnants of his cologne and splooge still left on your linen sheets.

Two weeks, and your mom invites me to her house on Long Beach
Is it casual now?

And then you're at the grocery store, picking out what bouquet would be the prettiest as your centerpiece, and feel a pair of arms wrap around you, a steady kiss to the cheek, and a rumbling Scottish accent in your ear, "Hey, sexy."

You visibly melt at his touch and he loves the way you're wrapped around his finger. Addicted to how pliant you are for him in every conceivable way.

"Ey, Johnny, ye gonna introduce me?"

And you both freeze at the voice. An awkward laugh escapes his chest as he's moving away from you and see a woman who adorns strikingly similar features to him.

"Ma, this is..."

"[name]." You smile that glorious smile of yours and for a second it's got Johnny kinda dazed. He's blinking out of his stupor, but something about the way you shake his moms hand and so effortlessly talk to her stirs something in him. A side he's never bothered to explore because he was waaaay too busy exploring your insides.

"Ye should come t' our house in Long Beach. We're havin' a wee, friendly get-together. Bring a pal, even." Her accent is thicker and even less coherent to your ears than Johnny's is so it takes you a second to decode what she's saying. And suddenly your face lights up and--uh, oh, Johnny's in trouble now.

Because she's smacking him across the head with her rolled-up wad of weekly ads that she picked up from the market and scolding him for not telling her about you.

"Aye, Johnny, I knew what ye're up to. She's a braw lassie. Get yerself sorted!" She spews as he opens the passenger seat door for her, rubbing the back of his head. You almost feel bad for him as you watch him get reprimanded by his mother from your car. But it's almost a little too embarrassing that you could tell what the conversation was about.

And he's trying his best not to be a dickhead when you do actually show up at the party, but you're lighting the room up with every step as you're being engaged and thrown into a cacophony of banter and laughter. And you're actually so fucking funny? Like, really funny, like he's keeling over and clutching his stomach funny and it's not just because of the persistent buzz of his ale.

You're witty and sexy and downright fucking gorgeous, especially when the sea breeze picks up and sends your hair back a little and it's like a slo-mo in those romcoms Johnny was forced by his mother to watch when he was growing up. And how could he forget about how gentle you were when you're speaking to the wee ones. Weaving wildflower crowns and plaiting hair as you coo at them so maternally. And the cheeky little grins you would have on your face as you whisper little nonsensicals to them, and melodious giggles that follow.

Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuck.

Is it casual now?
I know what you tell your friends

But then you're heaving after your second orgasm, he's still pounding away at you and there's a different look in his eyes as he bends down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. He's overstimulating your clit and telling you what a sweet girl you are for him and that sends you over the edge and he's pulling out to cum all over your belly in hot white spurts.

Another kiss to your forehead before he gets up to what you think is him getting a towel to clean you up but he's lifting you over his shoulder in one swift movement and you're giggling all the way over to the shower. And then there's another round of deep, thrusting into your a-spot against the cold shower tiles until you're rolling your eyes back and begging for him to let you cum.

And that release is something else and he's smiling at you with his teeth latched between his lips, soaked dark lashes that frame his pretty cerulean blue eyes that send you into a trance. Honestly, heart eyes motherfucker because that's exactly how you would describe yourself in that moment as you gaze at him. He's just too damn pretty for words.

And how gentle he is when he's helping you clean off, but his presence is stripped too quickly for your liking. He's toweling himself down and grabbing his boxers as he puts his clothes back on, and you can only stand there studying him from the shower. He's leaving again and your heart was sinking.

But then you're hearing his voice, and you peep you head out just a bit to catch the conversation.

"Girlfriend?" He laughs, "not even close, mate."

And you could almost just disappear down the drain. You felt humiliated as you swamp out the rest of the exchange under the din of the hot water hitting your eardrums.

"She's mare like wifey material." He chuckles, thumbing through his camera roll in the little album he's titled, "Bonnie <3".

It's pictures he's collected over the past year of the both of you, some candid, (a lot) some in bed, and a ton from the night at the beach house. You were truly so beautiful and Johnny was getting caught up in you and he was no longer fighting it.

And I try to be the chill girl
That holds her tongue and gives you space

But you're getting fed up when you're in the middle of movie night and Johnny decides it's the best idea to watch Good Will Hunting. And it's the scene where Will and Skylar are breaking up and it's tearing you up inside when you see Johnny get a bit misty-eyed. You can't help yourself. You reach for the remote and pause it before, turning to him with anger and frustration in your eyes. And he's reaching out for you to calm you down with a flummoxed gaze, but you're refusing his touch and comfort.

And Johnny is sent home with his tail between his legs, speeding down the highway as he blasts Johnny Cash and attempts to suppress the earlier occurrence. It's unpleasant. The feeling that's settling into his chest and it feels tight.

He pumps the brakes. Hard.

And he's reversing in the middle of an intersection, cars are honking, people yapping at him but it's white noise as he's racing back to your place.

And with his heart in his hand, he's thumping urgently at your door and it feels like a millennia before you're opening it.

Tear-stained blood-shot eyes, disheveled hair in his Scotland flag embroidered hoodie he misplaced a month ago. He stares at your sniffling, crumpled form. Oh, how could he have done this to such a beautiful woman?

"I was lookin everywhere fer that hoodie." He says softly. His eyes are glossy as he blinks down at you, half smile and all.

You peer at the hoodie and then up at him. "What do you want? The hoodie? Here."

You begin to take it off but he's shaking his head and pulling it back down especially when he realizes you have nothing on underneath and he would be baring you out to the world. He heaves himself inside and you're scrambling against his arms, trying to push him out but of course, Johnny outsizes you by way too much to even make him move. He's holding you by the waist, leaning his forehead against yours as he dabs at the tears in the corner of your eyes.

"Y're so beautiful, [name]." He murmurs.

You're watery eyes, ream at his words. He had never said that to you before and your heartstrings are being pulled in every direction.

"What...?"

He kisses your cheek so tenderly and you feel like your ascending, "I said, y're beautiful, [name]. 'n' I wish I told ye that earlier."

You gaze down at his shoes not wanting to meet his eyes but he lifts your chin and meets your lips with the softest kiss he's ever bestowed upon you. It was so chaste yet so ardent and it made your heart skip a beat.

"I don't understand." Your thoughts are racing at this point and he can see it in your eyes. How absolutely head over heels you are for him and he was too much of a dickhead to really acknowledge it, how utterly striking you were, how perfectly imperfect you were. Going out of your way for him and fuck, he did not deserve it. Not then and maybe not even now, but realizing what a catch he has in his literal palms, he doesn't want to let go. And he will do anything to make up for it.

"'m sorry, hen. Never should have treated like ye were rubbish. Ye should be cherished 'n' protected." He brushes the hair out of your face and it is a painful revelation standing there in front of you with his heart on display and he's wondering how you were so brave to be doing it baring it out for him every time. And still, he would reject it like the bastard he was. Refusing to let you in when all you wanted was to be preserved, served, and loved.

"Johnny, I--" You croak out, tears cascading down your cheeks and you're looking back down at the ground, but he gently cups your cheeks.

"No, I love you, [name]. An' if ye let me, 'll do everythin' an' anythin' to make it up to ye. Ye were always there f'r me, an' it's about time I return it."

He shakes his head, wiping away his eyes. "Damn, 'm pure shite at this, but I hope ye can forgive me."

But as warm as your heart was, you have to stand firm. Johnny had hurt you in so many ways so, it wasn't going to be easy for you to just say yes. "You really hurt me, Johnny..."

"I know, I know, but 'm a man of action an' 'll do anythin'." He's pleading and to say that it isn't satisfying as fuck to see this beautiful, brawny man that you've been fucking for the past year groveling for you, was simply a lie.

"Ye gettin' off to this?" A smile graces his lips and you try to hold back, but you can't help but smile back at him.

Everything is so infectious about Johnny and it kills you.

"Fuck you." You breathe out, running a hand through your hair.

And he can't help but attack you with kisses and lift you up before crushing you under his weight as he lays you out on your mattress. Giggling like a maniac you remember to compose yourself even if it felt like the surface was breaching. There's a pause and you're both gazing into each other's eyes as you intertwine fingers, and Johnny is kissing you again, but it's different. It's really full of love and admiration.

He sighs in content for a moment before withdrawing and peers down at you. "S'what d'ya say? Gimme a chance?"

You cock a brow and smile at him. "You really are in no position to ask me."

"But..."
"I'll sleep on it."

He's beaming at you now and you're totally getting flustered under his gaze. He wasn't going to let you slip away this go around.

"Deal."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"I don't wanna be alone."

His voice breaks as he reaches out to you. His usual stoic demeanor had completely diminished in your presence. For the first time, Simon was needy. You gaze down at his hand gently gripping your hand, "I need you." He says. Pleas even. Dark, stormy, and now conflicted eyes are peering up at you and he tugs you toward him. You didn't know how to react. Seeing Simon so injured and broken makes you feel some type of way. Somewhat wrong, but somehow...powerful?

"You need me?" You finally spoke up. His Adam's apple bobs up and down.

"Yes.” He croaks out.

The morphine that has been coursing in his system finally kicks in and you were experiencing the lowering inhibitions of Simon Riley, not Ghost.

The Simon Riley laying out on the infirmary bed before you at this moment was vulnerable, desperate, and reliant on your presence and aid--insistent even.

But naturally, you're hesitant. A situation like this is compromising and delicate. Given the nature of the circumstances and his stature, he is obviously still at an advantage, but it feels wrong to pounce at the opportunity. You don't want to feel like a predator skulking about as he studies you with reliant, onyx hues.

You look at the time on your watch.

12:38 AM

It was quite late, but the tugging of his hand over yours disrupts your train of thought.

"C'mere. I want you by my side." He susurrates and you're in a bit of a trance at the resonance of his soothing, sleepy tone. It's not its usual gruff and gravelly, but instead a lulling rasp that pulls you in.

"It's late, Lieutenant." You gently chide as you attempt to pry his fingers off your wrist, but he takes his free hand over your own and pulls you flush against him. Goddamn, he was strong. Even in his dazed and confused state, he is built like a fuckin' boulder.

But he's not listening to you as he fiddles with your fingers, tracing over the skin and where it creases and finely wrinkles. Over the nail bed, and the unfiled ridges, down to the chip that you earned from earlier when you reached for your gun in your holster too quickly. He's thumbing over the half-moon on your thumb and then the scar on the meat of your palm before he brings it to his masked lips as if to kiss it over the fabric.

A small, shuddering breath escapes you, and your eyes are glazing over before you swallow thickly. He cups your hand over his jaw and inhales sharply as he closes his eyes.

"Don't care." He replies, curling his bicep around your waist and secures you so have nowhere to go.

Your heart thuds at the contact and your cheeks are teeming with warmth. And suddenly it feels like the heat in there is turning to the max because you're sweating like a dog under his keen gaze and snug hold on you.

"Want you to stay." And it's as if he's speaking purely from the heart when he looks at you like that. You want nothing more but to crumble into his arms and cave into whatever feelings are lurking within you, but there's an urge to maintain your professionalism. And Simon senses that. He wants you to let go.

Why? He didn't know. Be it the drugs, the near-death experience, or the fact that you look utterly gorgeous under the strong moonlight or all of the above; he wants you with all his being.

His bandage-wrapped fingers loop around the bottom of his mask and he's lifting it up to expose just his lips as it scrunches up under his nose. Even if you have seen the sight a multitude of times over the years of knowing your Lieutenant, it is always as awestriking as it was the first time you saw it. His pretty rosy lips kiss at your wrist and you're stunned.

"Stay." He croaks out.

"And then what?"

You can't help yourself from asking such a silly question. You just need to feel needed by him because there is just something about the clinginess in his body language that pulls you in for more. If Simon is being honest right now, he's on cloud motherfucking nine. He's so high that everything feels like tunnel vision right now and you're the only damn thing he can focus on, not that he would want to focus on anything else.

So when he's telling you to stay, he damn well means it. But he also wants more. He's telling himself not to be too hasty, at least the logical part of him, though he is following his heart's desires. And his heart is conveying to him that he yearns for your closeness, for all your regard, and selfishly enough, your own heart.

At this point, all reasoning is being tossed out the window when he fixates on your trembling, shimmering eyes and your quivering glossed lips that are slightly chapped. But he's thinking to himself, one kiss. One kiss would fix that for you.

Simon is no longer struggling to sit up when he's tensing you closer to him feeling the sweat wetting the small of your back. His brows slightly raise and you feel your cheeks flush at his little observation, but he's not halting his motion to close the short distance between you two. He's bringing his hand over the nape of your neck, carding his scarred fingers through the tendrils of your hair and a soft sigh leaves your lips.

And the way you visibly relax draws out a small smile onto his lips as your foreheads collide. You don't even dare to open your eyes. You swallow thickly as you feel your breath become shallow and sharp. It fans against his lips and he's feels even more enticed to just kiss you.

"Dammit, [name]..." He finally breathes out. And you're eyes are on him and he can feel a thrill creep up his chine when he sees the flash of longing overcome your half lidded gaze.

And now you're yearning to bridge the distance, creeping closer to him, nudging your nose against his, and faintly brushing your lips over the stubble on his philtrum. You notice how his chest huffs out, stuttering as it leaves his lungs.

Long blonde lashes tickle at your own as your lips graze and you're heart is thumping out of your chest. You feel yourself holding back from your own hankerings but the moment that Simon brings his thumb to skim over your bottom lip, you feel the tension snap like a rubberband and you're crashing your lips against his. To hell with ethical conduct and decorum, you want nothing more than to satiate your thirst for him.

And with every kiss, you feel like your hunger is being appeased. The ferocity that grows in the depths of your groin is clawing out as you clamber on top of him and you're tuning out the noisy heartbeat monitor that's becoming rapid. And it cuts out, thanks to the swift movement of Simon pulling out the cord so he can nestle his hands under your shirt and slip his tongue between your open-mouth kisses.

He's losing himself in you and he doesn't care because the feeling of your nails digging into his abdomen is more than pleasant. As if the morphine wasn't dizzying enough, he was starting to feel like he was reaching some sort of seventh heaven. Especially when he hears the soft whimper that leaves your lips when he thumbs atop your hardened bud and gently tweaks it between his fingers.

The tent that's starting to feel like it's pitching between his legs is getting ground upon and he shudders at how fucking good it feels.

"Fuck." He murmurs as he lifts your shirt up to expose your breast to him and he's latching his lips to your sensitive nipple. It's a soft probing of his tongue against the erogenous zone and you're instantly arching your back and he grasps at your hips to abrade your clothed sex against him. And it feels so fucking good.

So, naturally, you're not stopping. And Simon can't help but become absorbed in your pleasure. Your milky moans are like music to his ears as he switches over to your other nipple. The friction builds in your lower belly as you get into a good rhythm and it becomes increasingly euphoric with every roll of your hips. And fuck, it's not even much but the way you are so touch-starved makes it all the better.

"Simon, I—hah—gonna—" You moan out, throwing your head back in ecstasy as his tongue swirls around your bud. He's already addicted to the way you're saying his name between your whimpers.

"Cum." He commands, as he clutches your hips to help achieve your oncoming orgasm. His sexy, raspy voice is enough to send you over the edge and a terrific gasp escapes you as you bury your face into the crook of his neck. Your breath is gone and you feel like your voice melts into a deep, hot sweetness that soothes your electrifying nerves.

There is a brief pause of silence as you catch your breath and the embarrassment skulks in and you don't want to withdraw from him. You only focus on his heartbeat which slows and his breath that levels. Your throat tightens as you shift awkwardly and his hand on your hip feels a little limp. You take another moment to memorize how he smelled to help you calm your nerves.

The aroma of his natural musk enmeshed with the faint scent of cypress digs into your brain as you try your hardest to engrave his essence before it slips away. With one more breath of courage, you withdraw from him to face the music but it seems he's fast asleep. His thumb is still hooked into the belt loop of your jeans, and you can't help but giggle at him.

A small sigh leaves your lips as you calm down from your climax and your shaky fingers, lower his mask back down so it's stretching over his neck. Maybe if you slip away right now he'll think that it was just a nice little wet dream...

But you feel his hand cling to you as you try make your sweet escape.

"Thought I told ya to stay." He mumbles under his breath while he wraps his arms around your waist, securing you and making certain you're not leaving his side anytime soon.

There's a feeling of assurance that fluxes over your edginess and you can finally breathe again. Simon's body feels weightless as he lays in this infirmary bed with your toasty form atop his. It feels heavenly to have your figure pressed against him and he hums in contentment. He's replaying the sound of your moans and the way your body writhed under his touch. And you're starting to feel the rigidity of his dirty thoughts against the zipper of your jeans.

"You sure?" You murmur back, feeling the warmth sidle back into your cheeks.

His grin grows under his mask and you can feel it against your forehead. Sleep overtakes him, but he gives you one last squeeze.

"'m sure."

Chapter Text

 

"This is an awful idea..."

Kyle's tone is halting as he observes the way, Johnny begins to pick apart the large bud of weed and spreads it out on the rolling papers that Simon purchased not too long ago. Simon wouldn't say where he pawned off the necessary ingredients for a good blunt, and neither he nor Johnny were going to ask.

"Don't be such a wet blanket, Kyle." Simon quips at the uneasy Sergeant.

Johnny snorts as he brushes off the stickiness of the bud and the aroma is rich, sweet, and pungent as it fills the Lieutenant's dorm. If they received any disciplinary action, Simon would take the fall (which was mighty presumptuous of him being that all the resin glands were on Johnny's fingertips, but they digress).

"Ease off on him, L.t.. He's the teacher's pet amongst us, like." Johnny winks at Kyle.

Kyle's face contorts in disgust and betrayal. "Piss off, MacTavish."

This sends the troublesome pair into a fit of giggles, but suddenly the door opens and they're all jostled by the new company. You freeze as you look at the three bozos lounging around in Simon's room. Crushed-up cans and empty bottles of ale were tossed around the room, half a eaten pizza left out on the coffee table where Johnny was busy rolling up a joint.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Your tone is exasperated and beyond wanting to comprehend why in the entire fuck they were deciding to roll up in the Lieutenant's room.

"Why." It wasn't even a question. You really just demanded an answer at this point.

"I didn't—" Kyle is the first to open his mouth, but you close your eyes and hold your hand up to stop him. You shake your head and then sharply exhale as you shut the door behind you.

"Good girl." Simon sarcastically praises as you wordlessly sit next to Kyle.

Johnny giggles at the way your cheeks puff up in embarrassment as you tuck in your legs and lean comfortably to the side.

"Fuck you." You spat at him. "I could have you reported."

"Under what jurisdiction?"

You sit there with a disgruntled expression on your face and you're aware of the smug look that hides behind his stupid balaclava-clad face. Johnny isn't even high yet, but he's giggling like a maniac at everything Simon says. It's the thrill of getting caught red-handed with contraband and bloodshot eyes that makes him lightheaded and giddy. Not that they were bound by any real-world laws or regulations because the 141 operated outside the chain of command, but Price finding out would certainly be a damper in their mood.

But your frown turns into an evil simper. "I'll tell, Price."

And the mood drops for a moment, but Simon loves to challenge you. It's practically etched into his DNA to rile you up in any way he can.

"Go ahead, ducky."

"Don't call me that."

And Simon's hit a nerve, but that all seems to dissipate as soon as Johnny places the rolled-up joint between his lips and sparks up. The first sweet inhale relaxes every rigid nerve in the Scotsman's body as he passes it off to his Lieutenant and leans against the wall. Simon lifts his mask and your jaw ticks at his exposed flesh. His lips are a pretty pink that wraps around the spliff, before toking the absolute fuck out of it and holding it in before exhaling it out through his nose.

The pair exchange a look before nodding and grinning at each other. "Tha's good shit, maaate."

"C'mon, Kyle." Simon coos, beckoning him over. Kyle moves ever so slightly in his direction, but your hand grasps his wrists halting him back.

"Oh, come now, [name]. Don' be uptight. 's all good vibes round 'ere." The masked idiot smirks at you before passing it off. Kyle glances over at your disapproving stare before hesitantly taking a hit. It doesn't even take a second before he's coughing his lungs out and Simon and Johnny are cackling, keeling over on the tiny bunk. You think it may break under their weight at any given moment, but that's just wishful thinking.

"That's not how you do it, Kyle." You chide, seizing the joint from him and you're drawing in the smoke yourself as you demonstrate the proper way of inhaling it. Simon and Johnny go silent as they observe you clearly very shocked by your sudden volunteer.

"Gotta hold it properly." You bring the joint to your lips, comfortably positioning it between your fingers.

"Don't inhale too quickly, or you'll cough your lungs out like you did just now. Take your time and hold it before releasing it, slowly." You indicate to him once more and the THC unravels months of built-up tension embedded in your body now that you got a proper hit.

You peer down at the spliff as you exhale the smoke. "Damn, that's good shit. Where did you twats get this?" Chuckling a bit at your usage of their own slang on them.

"Though' we were pourin' poison in the well, but the water is already spiked, it seems." Simon is lying back against the wall, propped up on his elbow with one leg flat and the other is bolstered up. He's relaxed as hell, surveying you like a cat as his tail swishes around with piquing interest. And Johnny is like his orange cat counterpart, licking his paws and rubbing his head as they lounge together on cloud nine.

"Mmm, she's always been like that. Naughty lassie." Johnny teases as he moves closer to you. He's sitting on your right as he eyes the way Kyle successfully follows your directions.

"Aye, tha's a good lad." Johnny praises, rubbing his thigh and Kyle is blinking up at him with hazy, honeyed eyes.

And for some reason you're taking offense to that. "Hey what about me?" You pout at him.

And he's beaming when his baby blues flicker to you. Calloused palm flattening against the expanse of your exposed flesh, riddling your thigh with gooseberries. There is a slight snatch in your breath as he caresses you but you don't move away and it's quickly starting to feel a little heavy as you feel everyone's eyes on you.

But before your body can even react, the door is getting barged into and there stands a very irate Price who literally looks like steam is pouring out of his ears. And just when you think that you're all about to get your asses handed to you, Price plucks the spliff from Kyle's fingers, opens the window and everyone is clamoring to rise from their seats thinking that he's going to toss it out. But you're all dead wrong.

My mans is taking the biggest puff out of all four of you before he jovially steeps the smoke out of his nostrils and he's nodding in approval, "Aye, tha's good shit."

There's a collective sigh of relief that settles upon the 141 before Simon speaks.

"Christ, Boss, least warn us."

"Thought y' were gonna bite o'r heads off." Johnny leans against the window sill, left of his Captain.

Price chuckles as he takes another brief toke before passing it off to Simon who was on his right.

"I should've, you lot were gonna finish it before I even got a toke."

Simon gazes over at you from where he's posted, inhaling the last few hits of the blunt, but you and Kyle are fucking zooted. I'm talkin heads rolled back against the couch cushions and you're gone.

And he is choking on the smoke as he laughs at the both of you before Johnny and Price glance over and join him. Their giggles attract your hazy attention and you lazily toss a pillow at the back of Johnny's head. But then you're cowering away as he approaches you in a jokingly menacing manner, wrapping his arms around you like he's about to perform a tickle attack.

The sound of your stomach growling rips through the silliness and he pouts at you and rubs your belly.

"You hungry, ducky?" Price is towering over you from behind the couch you are situated at, tucking the stray hairs behind your ear and you feel your cheeks warming up at your Captain's sedative voice.

You nod at him with a giddy smile, and before Price even opens his mouth Kyle is pulling up his Uber Eats app to order everyone's go-to Chinese take-out meals.

And as Price is extolling his Sergeant by lightly massaging his shoulders, Simon is taking your chin between his fingers and tilting his head at you.

"Y'got everyone at y'r beck an' call, ducky." But the nickname no longer has its previous bitterness. It's replaced with endearment as he pinches your cheek and that draws out a smile from you.

"Didn' know ye were s'experienced." Johnny's warm breath fans over your neck and you're starting to feel a buzz that's reminiscent of your uni days.

You hum in response as you feel Price's fingers gently scratch at your scalp, and there's a gentle euphoria that warms you to your bones.

"Quit yappin' her ear off." Price scolds the two, but something about the way you're being simultaneously taunted and dotted over is starting to ignite a bit of desire within you.

You shut your eyes and all your senses feel elevated as you're being coddled on all sides. And as much as Simon loves getting under your skin, there is something about the way you're blissfully sitting there not having a care in the world as everyone trills around you.

"Like a kitten." He warbles, caressing your cheek and you lean into his touch.

"A very cute kitten." Johnny nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck as his fingers brush against your knee. A giggle leaves your lips and you're squirming away from his ticklish stubble.

But every way you're moving, you're in the hands of a different man who's relishing in your coquettish behavior. It's overstimulating really. So, the minute you hear wrapping at the front door you're jumping out of your seat to check out who's behind the peephole.

But it feels like a slo-mo scene as you're running away from the giggly, dazed men who follow closely behind you. By the time you're reaching the door, Johnny has already tripped over the end table, Simon is heaving for air and slipping over the barstools in the kitchen in a loud clatter, Price is attempting to help them both up but can't stop laughing his ass off and Kyle, well, mans is passed out on the couch with his mouth wide open.

You can hardly even contain yourself as you open the door, and the delivery man on the other side is flummoxed yet amused at the men in the background and then there was you. Giddy as hell, palms facing up with the most bloodshot eyes.

And before he can even get a word out, Johnny is wrapping his arms around your waist and carrying you back to the couch while Price is sending him off with a wad of cash as he grabs the food.

"Chattin' up the delivery lads, aye?" Johnny teases, as he pulls you into his lap and begins to tickle you. The smell of food is waking Kyle up from his little half-baked nap and he's ruffling your hair as food is being passed out.

"She doesn't need to bother. She's too fit for that." Kyle opens up his kung pao chicken and the smell floods into your nostrils, but he's already on it. "Say 'ahh'." He lifts the chopsticks to feed you the delicious morsels and you happily accept it with a jubliant hum.

"Spoiled little thing." Price chirps as he shoves his lo mein into his mouth. The sauce coats the corners of his mouth and the ends of his stache.

"An' who's fault is that?" Simon gestures at his Captain with his chopsticks. It was true. As their Captain, naturally, they fell in line behind him, so when they saw how he would pamper you excessively they would do it too. And not because of the fact that they were good little soldiers, but because it opened the doorway for them to openly chat you up or (consensually) feel up on you.

Price lets out a hearty laugh. "Ah, bullshit! The minute you lot clocked the opportunity to grab her, you were all over it!"

Johnny licks his lips as you feed him a crab rangoon. "Can ye blame us?"

You quickly cover his mouth with your hand and scrunch your nose up at him. "Don't talk with your mouth full, Johnny!"

He playfully nibbles at your hand and you're then being scooped up by Kyle, who is more than happy to accept your weight in his lap. And Johnny is moaning about how you're being stolen away.

"She's not being swiped if she's scarpering off by herself!" Kyle laughs as he's swatting away any attempts at Johnny trying to confiscate you back.

So, of course, Price wants to dig his heels into Simon when he sees how lackadaisical he is.

"Simon couldn't pull her even if he gave it a good go."

Dark, piercing eyes dangerously flicker to the smug Captain who lays back against the arm chair, sipping on his ale and waits as he takes the bait. One thing that Simon doesn't like is when someone's threatening his hold on his position in any type of situation that especially being you.

"I don't need t'bother." He retorts, taking a sip of his own drink as he man spreads on the sofa.

"Oh, and why's that?" Price is intrigued now. Simon narrows his eyes at him but continues to stuff his face with food, sticky bits of rice garnish the sides of his mouth. This doesn't stop the Captain from pressing the matter and it's now starting to capture your attention as Johnny misses your mouth when he attempts to feed you some stir fry and it stains for your cheek instead.

But Simon is effortlessly patient and cool as a cucumber when he's being dogged on by everyone now, and you're observing the situation closely. He carefully wipes his mouth with a napkin, takes a last swig of his drink before he gets up to clean up after himself. And Price is almost convinced that Simon has given up as used, balled up napkins are being tossed at him by Johnny and Kyle, but in one swift movement you're being tossed over the behemoth's shoulder. A squeak barely manages to escape you as he pats your ass and the others are scrambling to get you as they playfully jest at Simon.

"Ah, no fair!" Johnny tugs at Simon's waistband, and lets go with a loud snap to his pelvis.

"Unhand her!" Kyle laughs as he tries to grab your foot, but he's only left with your ankle sock.

And while those two idiots finally gather themselves to give in to chasing after him, Simon is booking it to his room, and Price is left cackling on the armchair enjoying the rest of his meal.

"Simon!" You giggle, as he's enforcing the door and locking it with one arm as you barely dangle off his shoulder.

He balances you out just for a moment before he tosses you onto his bed and successfully turns the lock. Johnny and Kyle's shouting can be heard on the other side of the door, but Simon doesn't seem to give two fucks as he's approaching you. You're laid out on his bed, cheeks flustered when he towers over you, grasps your wrist, and raises them above your head.

And as his lips are hovering above yours the door is getting busted into as Simon is getting tackled to the floor as the Sergeants hold him down. Your eyes ream at the little giggly clusterfuck, and then in strolls Price who sits on the end of the bed and scoops you into his arms. You feel dizzy in his warmth as you snuggle against him and he kisses the top of your head.

You begin to realize something while you watch Simon turn into a cackling mess as he's being simultaneously tickled mercilessly by Johnny and Kyle. Price has a triumphant smile plastered on his face. It creeps up slowly on you, but he had succeeded in properly baiting all three men, so he could get his way with you.

His azure hues shift to you and he's kissing your cheek. It makes your heart flutter, but you're shaking your head at him when he's gazes down at you with that impish expression.

"Naughty little minx." You wave your finger at him with a bubbly smile. And he's hiding his face in the crook of your neck, tittering away because he knows he's been caught red-handed.

Chapter Text

Keegan is having difficulty rifling through the photos on the notably expensive Sony A7R IV that he purchased for you to capture pictures of No Man's Land when he sent you out on a surveying mission. It was imperative to conduct a reconnaissance of the area for environmental assessment purposes. The Sergeant had previously expressed how vital it was to gather data that was relevant for any potential future infrastructure development, disaster response, and management following the ODIN incident. Sounded simple enough. And yet, Keegan is left puzzled by the initial fifty images out of a whooping two hundred and fifty that is starting to show a discernable trend. They're all images of Hesh.

Now, this wouldn't be such an issue if they were the images that he had specifically requested you to take on said mission. But it was practically a full-blown photoshoot of pure pretty boy.

"[Name]." Keegan pinches the bridge of his nose as he takes a deep breath before he continues.

Your lips curve into a charming smile. "Hmm?"

"Can you tell me what is wrong with these photos?" He points the screen of the camera in your direction.

You lower your head to get a good gander of what he was referring to: Hesh standing in perfect golden hour lighting that seldomly peaks over the horizon and paints him a pretty shade of tangerine. He looks ethereal, and your smile only grows.

"Mmm, I think they're perfect. Follows the rule of thirds. See." You point to how Hesh is not perfectly centered.

For a moment, Keegan's eye twitches and he can't decide whether he wants to slap the absolute shit out of you for insubordination or for your sheer lack of regard for what he was asking of you. It is blatantly obvious to him (and the other Ghosts) that you have a raging crush on Hesh, though to be fair Hesh was completely oblivious to it. Nonetheless, it is absolutely infuriating when you choose not to follow orders and, instead do a candid imaging session of your Lieutenant.

"That's—kid," Keegan breathes out. He's weighing out his options. Keegan isn't the type to yell at a woman, but he's almost provoked to do so. He chooses not to engage in a manner that will upset you, so coddling it is.

"Hm?" You peer up at him with cutesy, puppy eyes and fortunately for you, his gaze softens and it's easier not to be so enraged by the situation.

"Ya gotta crush on Hesh or somethin'?"

Your smile falters and you feel the heat sidling to your cheeks and ears when those words fall out of his mouth, and he has to stifle the laughter that's threatening to erupt from his chest.

Your eyes dart to the ground as you awkwardly shift your weight. "Um, what gave you that idea?"

He's studying the way you nervously rub your arm and he almost feels bad for asking.

Another exhale. "Nothin', kid. I was just messin' around is all." He hands you back the camera and gives you a knowing look.

"I'm willing to overlook this if you take this seriously." His voice has a bit of an edge to it. You glance up at him and nod with a pout. "Go round up Hesh and update him on the mission. You'll need another go around."

Your face lights up and you begin to dial up Hesh's number to notify him.

"And one more thing," Keegan calls out to you and you hear Hesh pick up. His voice like the purest heroine, but you have to rip your attention away to listen to your experienced Serg.

"No photoshoots"

You grin and give him a thumbs up as you jovially skip away. In all earnest, you did not hear what he said. You are too enraptured by your crush's voice to listen to what Keegan is yapping about, and part of him is aware of that. So as a precaution, he may or may not have warned Hesh ahead of time about your recon mission to keep you in line.

"No pictures, please!"

Hesh giggles, raising his hand to conceal his face from the camera pointed in his direction.

"Aw, just one! We already wrapped up what we needed to!" You maneuver the lens to capture his dimpled grin that melts your heart. But Hesh is not giving in. He's under strict orders not to permit you to take pictures unrelated to your assigned objective. However, your infectious laugh and the adoring gaze from those pretty eyes of yours are proving to be quite the distraction.

He halts his actions, contemplating whether he should just allow you to have your way. After all, you did complete the necessary task, so maybe one photo wouldn't hurt?

"Alright, just one." He chuckles, giving in to your ridiculous demand. But he's already being prompted to model on the large boulder bolstered against a blossoming weeping willow. The view behind him overlooks a glimmering lake, teeming with wildlife in the afternoon sun.

And Hesh is like a Disney princess. Cottontail rabbits approach him at his ankles and a hummingbird lands on his shoulder as if it's a rest stop. It's a picture-perfect moment as you snap away at his gleaming smile that beautifies his already handsome face. It's taking you all your willpower to not rush at him and shower him with all your affection.

A small huff leaves your lips as you store the camera back in its original weatherproof pouch. You think that it's probably for the best if you both start to head back to base, and notify Keegan of a successful mission to avoid any unnecessary reprimanding. As you zip up the storage bag and absentmindedly make your way toward Hesh who is preoccupied with feeding his leftover trail mix to a black squirrel, your balance seems to waver and you're crashing down face first. Luckily, Hesh secures you in his taut arms, but he's fumbling with his own equilibrium and completely loses his composure, leading you to collapse into the shallow end of the lake in a raucous splash.

The water is quick to sodden your uniforms, and you're pressed up against Hesh's rigid and saturated body. You meet his gaze and he's gawking up at you with flushed cheeks and reaming eyes. You imagine that your expression had a certain likeness.

"I'm so sorry..." Your eyes glaze over his soaking white shirt that's now giving you a pretty good view of his herculean torso. And you honest to God hadn't meant to memorize every delicious carving of his toned midsection, but it was right there.

And Hesh is by no means innocent either. His wandering emerald eyes are just as guilty as yours. Instead of your usual, mundane tactical brassiere, you're sporting a baby blue lacey bra, an oversight that transpired because you were too engrossed in hurrying off to your one-on-one mission with Hesh. And when your dilated gazes meet, your stomachs do a little flip that have you clamoring to get up.

You wordlessly extend your hand to him, and he accepts it without hesitation, responding with a polite yet quiet "thank you." Water trickles down your drenched forms and the silence is deafening. That is until Hesh bursts into a fit of laughter. He's carding his fingers through his dark, moistened locks and shaking with mirth. The type of joy that's contagious as hell, and you have no choice but to join him.

A zephyr sweeps past you and it sends a chill up your spine, and your nipples are poking through your sheen shirt. Hesh is rushing out of the shoal of the lake to grab his (thankfully) dry tactical jacket to envelop your shivering body. It's warm and smells just like him. Spicy vanilla, patchouli, and warm amber waft into your senses. Your breath hitches when you feel the pad of his thumb brush the apple of your cheek, perching the loose strands of hair that cling close to your eye behind your ear.

Your wet lashes flutter up to him and he absently licks his lips. His viridian hues train on you as you shyly conceal your abashed features. He chuckles at your coquettish behavior, caressing your cheek, feeling the peach fuzz stand up straight as gooseberries line your skin.

His body inclines toward you and you feel his heart stammering against your chest, meeting the stuttering pace of your own. His other hand is on the small of your back, pulling you closer as he captures your chin between his fingers and tilts it upwards.

"Viking-Actual, what's your location?"

The cacophony of his radio startles you both, shaking you out of your lovestruck daze. There's a look of annoyance that flashes over his features as he presses and holds the push-to-talk button and speaks:

"Viking-Actual, we're wrapping up our current operations and RTB. Over."

There's a brief silence before Merrick's voice is heard again.

"Request location update, not status. Over."

Hesh rolls his eyes so hard that they might just come out of their sockets. Your teeth latch into your lip as your shoulders jostle in hilarity. His expression is priceless, but it quickly shifts into a grin knowing that at the very least he can entertain you.

He sighs before notifying him of your location and it's met with another silence to which Hesh takes that as a sign to continue what he was doing before he was interrupted. But the moment that your lips almost graze, the static of the radio returns and he can't help but snicker at the ridiculous timing.

"Copy that. RTB ASAP. Over."

You're giggling under the propped-up collar of his jacket and it's starting to redden the blush on his cheeks. He's getting trepidatious at this point. The tension feels palpable and he's almost deterred from kissing you now.

But like the goddamn soldier he is, he pushes through and he's leaning in once more. Not even the stupid clatter of the radio can stop his lips from finally meeting yours. It's a gentle kiss. Soft, pillowy flesh that presses sweetly against your own and your body is warming up, relishing in his natural musk and the toastiness emanating from his body.

Your arms curl around his dampened waist as you breathe one another in. It's electrifying feeling him against you like this and there's a pyre that's slowly burning down below, but he withdraws too soon. The corners of your mouth draw out into giddy smiles. It's a gratifying feeling. Reciprocation.

"Should probably get back to base soon." He studies how you tuck your lips in, swiping at them with your tongue in an overly elated manner that causes him to giggle again.

"Uh huh." Is all you can muster up and it incites another round of glee. And Hesh can't help himself from cupping your cheeks and bringing you into another kiss. Your heart is soaring as your lips collide and you easily find a rhythm that makes you feel like your bodies are melding together.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, another pair of idiots lurk in a set of tall shrubs about 50 meters out, snooping on your little makeout sesh.

"You think they can see us from here?" Merrick asks his quiet Serg, as he peers through his binoculars.

"Nah." Keegan replies, popping a piece of granola into his mouth and sets his optics down. He pats his counterpart on the shoulder. "Let's head back."

Merrick raises a brow at him. "You don't wanna tell 'em to come back?"

Keegan smiles as he packs his things and slings his sniper over his shoulder. "Let 'em be. We can give 'em hell for it later."

And just that sentence alone thrills the Captain as they tread back to base leaving the nescient, impassioned couple behind. Never a boring day back in the Ghosts HQ.

the end , that's me after writing this^

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

His window's already passed, so he's shooting at the glass
Keeping guns in his locker, and he denies it
Like it's actually important, but he lied 'cause I sure did watch him
Showing up wearing black, and he knows that

Sharp, acrid, chemical-like fumes dizzy your mind as you step out of your garage and lift up the cover of your welding helmet to wipe the sweat off your brow. Smoke and dust collect in the air from the galvanized stainless steel that you had been working with for the past two hours and you're realizing that maybe you bit off more than you could chew. Your DIY metal sculpture has not been going as well as you had thought and you're starting to reconsider that taking a trip downtown to recruit some help from your local metalwork shop might be your best bet. It's a straight shot, seven minutes away from your neighborhood, but you really do not want to admit defeat.

You sighed as you card your fingers through your hair and grab your keys, stuffing the fucked up metalwork into the passenger seat and hit the pedal to the metal.

The bell rings as you push open the door and the metallic, pungent smell of multiple fumes clogs your nose. To your right, a man is stuffing his light-wash denim Levi jacket into a blue-rusted locker. His hair is a sandy blonde color cropped down into a grown-out buzz, and his taut arms are littered with tattoos. His black tee is tucked into his jeans and he adjusts his holster to reveal the handgun that's stowed away under his leather belt.

He turns to you and his eyes widen, brows raised as he quickly shuts the door to his locker, but you have already caught a glimpse of the guns that littered the small space. And as alarming as it may have been, you were only fixated on how pretty his hazel eyes were.

"Can I help you?" He treads to the desk that sits right in the middle of the small lobby area, and you suck in a small inhale before approaching him.

The metal sculpture you have been working on clatters on the wooden counter.

"Need some tips and tricks for this piece that I'm doing for an art show later this month, would you be able to service me in that?"

He raises a brow at you. "I don't typically take freelance commissions."

You huff. "Please? I'm desperate."

His eyes flicker to you, giving you a once over and a small smile adorns his face.

"Alright."

His daddy's on death row, but he'll say it with his chest, though
His friends move dope, he hasn't tried coke
But he's always had a problem saying no
His older brother bagged the valedictorian
His mother, steady, screaming he should be more like him

A shiver runs up your spinal column when a chilly gust sweeps into the open garage. For May, it's certainly a bit too chilly. But you ignore it as you study how he perfects the fissure you attempted to weld over earlier. A small puff of air leaves your chest and Logan sets down the welder and glances over at you.

You cross your arms. "What?"

He stifles a laugh, scratching the stubble on his cheek with his soot-covered fingers. "You're huffin' and puffin' over there."

"No, I'm not." You mimp at him.

He snickers at your pursued lips. "You are."

In the short time that he has gotten the pleasure to know you, he realizes how short of a fuse you have when it comes to your own artwork. The meticulousness of your piece and how high-strung you become when you can't implement the same technique as him because, duh, he's a professional welder with years of experience under his belt. But regardless, you're throwing your little tantrums and don't think he doesn't notice it. The little finger taps on the metal table whenever your penetration isn't properly bonded, or the eye rolls when he fixes the undercuts you created. It's cute and admirable how passionate you are about your craft and honestly, it really turns him on. Especially when you spend hours perfecting your fusions, even staying after closing time.

But then it's after midnight, and Logan forgets that his friends transport their red tops through the facility in the later hours to pick them up in the morning. You always knew the shop was a little sketchy, so drug trafficking and money laundering had definitely crossed your mind at some point. And yet, you're silent and minding your own at the company that huddles in the large expanse of the garage. A wink is sent your way from the gentleman with pretty wintry hues and you give him a meek smile. You only recognize his older brother Hesh who gives you a good-natured grin while he carries a duffle bag with money sticking out the corners of the zipper.

"Dude, you said nobody would be here." Hesh chides in a low voice.

"My bad." Logan's tone is blase and the sound of Hesh's tongue clicking echoes.

Logan leans against the wall, pushing a cigarette between his lips before he lights it. "She maintains focus on her own assigned tasks."

You narrow your eyes at the statement, sensing that, strangely, it carries enough weight to influence the intimidating group of men. There's an awkward silence until his older brother clears his throat and the palpable tension in the room dissipates.

You continue to make yourself busy, manipulating metal sheets into flower petals. Hesh does a once over at you before he pushes past his younger brother and toward the back, but he can't stop himself from leaving him with a snide remark:

"Make sure it stays that way."

Can you read my mind? I've been watching you
(You know it, you know it, you know it's true)
Couldn't fight to save your life, but you look so cool
Camo' jacket, robbing corner stores
Hard odds to beat when you're on all fours
Good men die too, oh, I'd rather be with you, you, you

Fortunately for you, you were good on your unspoken rule of minding your business. So much so that you were beginning to befriend their little clique. But they're lingering a little too long around your liking, distracting you when you really should be getting toward the final pieces of your sculpture.

It's hard when they're flexing your taut muscles while showing you their tatted arms and fresh ink under their Saniderm patches.

"What is it?" You cock an amused brow at Keegan.

He gives you a wolfish grin. "A pansy."

You chuckle. "Cause you're a fuckin' pansy?"

He joins in on your laughter. "Hell yeah."

You don't really like prying so you laugh it off knowing there is some deeper meaning behind it. The sound of Logan's throat clears and an icy glare is shot toward the retired Sergeant's way to which he only rolls his wintry hues and pokes your side on his way out. You jolt at his playful gesture and swipe at him, narrowly missing by a few millimeters, as he jogs towards the break room.

Logan leans against the welded steel workbench, sucking on a blue raspberry ice pop as he ogles you. "Should be workin' on your piece 'stead of flirting."

You snort, as you position the sheet metal on your sculpture but it slips out of your nimble fingers and clatters loudly on the ground. A vulgarity leaves your lips as you fumble around to get it, but Logan is quick to pick it up and perfectly welds it on the shoulder of the sculpture.

And for once you're kind of relieved that he's intervened. You quietly inhale, leaning against the workbench as you observe how he sets down the welding tool on the table. A primal sense of jealousy and possessiveness seeps into him as he glances over at you with darkened eyes.

"Your deadline's comin' up."

"I know." You mutter, eyelashes batting up at him with desire.

You notice how his camo compression shirt hugs his physique and you feel the sweat begin to form at the nape of your neck. His eyes glance over at your lips and they involuntarily quiver. The tension is unbearable--palpable even.

He moves closer to you, closing the gap between your forms as he reaches out his calloused hand to gently grasp at your neck. Your breaths mingle against one another while they inch closer, brushing the pillowy flesh of your lips before he devours you. His lips hotly slot against yours and it's dizzying the way he kisses you so feverishly. You waste no time kissing him back as he clears the workbench and lifts your form to sit atop it. The cold steel presses against your bare thighs, but the warmth of his soot-covered hands creates a pleasant contrast as they glide over the flesh of your spine. His other hand threads through your hair and tugs it just right, eliciting a moan as your tongues collide.

Your hand moves to his chest before gently pushing him away, your lips only connected by a string of saliva and your breaths draw ragged. A smirk adorns your dulcet features as you move back to the welding table, and Logan feels captivated by the person he's starting to see.

"Gotta get back to my work."

I owe you a black eye and two kisses
Tell me when you wanna come and get 'em
I only want him if he says it first to me
I wanna, uh, him in the back of his mom's Mercury
He looks like he works with his hands, and smells like Marlboro Reds

Logan has been missing for some days since that night. Hesh on the other hand has been more than happy to fill in the void that his younger brother has left.

"He's been on a business trip." Hesh nudges you as he helps you remove the slag on your sculpture to reveal the clean beading underneath. You perk up at his voice.

"Who?" Although, the both of you know exactly 'who' he was referring to.

Hesh chuckles as he wipes his blackened hands and sets the microfiber towel down to sit on the wooden stool across from you. His emerald eyes are glimmering in the sunlight that reflects from the garage windows. One thing about the Walker brothers is that they shared that coquettish, boyish charm that you couldn't resist. It is brimming with mischief and playfulness with a roughness around the edges.

He glances at his watch. "In about an hour or so."

Your heart drops to your stomach and you feel a yearning pain for his enigmatic presence that is always luring you in for more. Your fingers absentmindedly brush at your lips and the retired Lieutenant narrows his eyes at you.

You're quick to notice that Hesh picks up on your subtle gesture and you swiftly excuse yourself. But he can only snicker to himself when he sees how you hurry off to the courtyard just outside the garage. Your brain inattentively searches for the scent of Marlboro red's. It's a distinct smell; strong and robust in comparison to the menthol's that the other smoke. And you don't know if it's your imagination, but it wafts into your senses. Unthinkingly, you follow it and your eyes ream at the unexpected arrival of the inscrutable man who cooly, draws smoke from his lips, and it unfurls into the air before it evaporates.

His intense hazel eyes never leave yours and you're caught up in them. They're dark, alluring, and spellbinding in the shade of the canopy of the courtyard. He sports medium-wash denim jeans adorned with distressed patches at the pockets and thighs, secured by a simple black belt, with his slate grey tee neatly tucked in. The fabric of the sleeves tightens around the muscle of his taut biceps and you have to thickly swallow to conjure up some strength. Strength to not throw yourself on him and jump his bones.

"Thought you'd be here in an hour or so." You murmur, slowly striding toward him. He takes another drag before offering it to you. You smooth over the lipgloss that lacquers your lips before you pluck the cigarette out of his fingers and slowly inhale. When it leaves your mouth, the creases of your lips brand the cigarette paper and he licks his cracked lips as you hand it back to him. He doesn't waste any time wrapping his mouth over your strawberry-flavored lipgloss, remembering how you tasted the last time your lips touched.

"Wrapped up early." He replies, with the cigarette fixed between his lips. He turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Why? Did you miss me?"

It makes me so, uh, and I can't get enough of it
Something's been feeling weird lately
There's just something about you, baby (there's just something about you, baby)
Maybe I'll just be crazy (I'll be crazy)
And piss him off 'til he hates me
Low slung bad bitch, baby, come and get you some

And in the blink of an eye, it's the showcasing of your art exhibit and you tell yourself not to get your hopes up. That Logan isn't exactly the most predictable of humans, but Hesh assures you they'll all be there. In fact, they're thrilled to have an excuse to wear a suit and attend an event where they can showcase their metalworking skills and be recognized for their talent.

"He'll be here." Keegan pulls you out of your stupor. He's peering over the rim of his champagne glass at your trepidatious expression and how your eyes dart across the room looking for him; overgrown blonde buzzcut and the heavy aroma of iron oxide, tobacco, and his father's passed down Jean Paul Gaultier. You can't quite imagine him in a suit either, but you aren't disappointed at how well the retired Marines turned blue-collar workers clean up. Clean-shaven with a few dabs of aftershave, dressed in crisp navy suits, and wearing their finest tap dancing shoes, they were set for the night.

They don't even look out of place either, and yet you did. In a crowd full of people who adored your art, and every second of your night being spent talking to art collectors, admirers, and socialites--you were utterly alone. And you knew that you shouldn't rely on a man to fill that void, nevertheless, here you were, doing just that.

"I'm gonna go to the restroom." You mutter and down the rest of your champagne before heading off. The sound of Keegan's phone ringing is faint, but it manages to catch your attention. You lean against the wall for a moment in hopes of capturing who he was speaking to. In hopes of it being...

"Logan! Where the fuck are ya, kid?"

And your heart drops to your stomach. You felt like you already had your answer. Something about a shipment taking too long to process with their wholesale dealer and that was something you didn't want to stick around to hear. You had some hope that this time would be different. That maybe he would push aside whatever shady business he had going aside for you, but you were a fool to think that he would change for you.

The rest of the evening drags by. You're no longer glancing at your watch or rummaging through the room for him. The little words of encouragement and smiles from his friends and brother had become mere background noise to you by now. Time is like a hazy blur of conversations about your artwork, countless glasses of Armand de Brignac, and mindless gossiping about gallery politics and exhibit guests.

And soon enough it's past midnight and your social battery is running low. Your guests have long left the premises, but thankfully your welding companions stay behind to help you pack up your remaining props and pieces into their truck that could probably fit ten bodies in the trunk alone.

You let out a sharp exhale as you observe Merrick scolding Hesh and Kick for not preparing the cargo net. Sometimes it was talking to a small herd of teenage boys, nonetheless, you were grateful for their help.

The final pieces remaining in the exhibit were delicate and, moreover, the ones Logan had been most involved with. When you headed back inside to load them into your car, you immediately felt a pit in your stomach as soon as you entered the gallery.

There he stood, with a mussed-up, overgrown buzz, and unkempt facial hair, clad in soot-covered work trousers and a white tee stained with what appeared to be dried blood, admiring the work you both had collaborated on.

"Man, she's a real beauty—really outdone yourself, [name]."

He turns to you and you feel yourself crumble. You tremble with anger, and his face softens as he takes in your expression. He knows he fucked up big time. The worst part about it is that he looks unbelievably sexy, but your rage is bubbling within you as you take another stride toward him.

He's careful with how he approaches. Careful to not make any sudden movements as if you would pounce on him and tear him limb from limb.

"I'm sorry..." He breathes out, observing the way you slowly circle him.

"Oh, you're sorry?" You hissed.

He swallows thickly, feeling a shudder travel up his spinal column. "There was a hold up..."

He clenches and unclenches his fist reflecting on said "hold up" that caused him to be so tardy. It's not like he didn't know how important this was to you, but he also wasn't obligated to show up in the way you were expecting him to.

You stop in your tracks and pinch the bridge of your nose. It's hard to stay mad at someone whose tongue was shoved down your throat just a few days ago.

Logan is debating whether his presence is even worthy of being around you, but he reaches out to hold your wrist anyway.

"Get off of me." You tug your wrist away, but he has a firm grip on you.

"Let me make it up to you." His hazel half-lidded gaze holds yours and your anger begins to melt away.

"How?"

His hands suddenly find themselves around your waist and you yelp as he lifts you, setting you on the bar. Your little black dress rides up your thighs and pulls them apart only to find that not only are you not wearing underwear, but your pussy is glistening in the dim exhibit lighting. He gives you one final glance as if to ask for permission, but you're already tangling your fingers into his dirty blonde hair.

He doesn't even waste any time devouring your sopping, wet pussy. One long stripe and then he's losing himself in your saccharine taste that he cannot get enough of. He had no idea how he withheld himself from such a heavenly taste and those sweet, milky moans.

All those long nights they spent working together in the shop he had to hold himself back from slipping down your shorts, bending you over the workbench, and taking right then and there. It all amounted to this moment—his tongue deep in your cunt and you were lost in the euphoria he was bringing you. The notion of the others walking in on you is tossed away to the backlogs of your mind.

His fingers dig into the supple flesh of your thighs, holding your writhing body still as he sucks on your pillow clit. You tremble against him feeling yourself nearing the edge, but he's torturing you. Withdrawing his tongue from the sensitive nub, kissing around your inner thighs, but you're not having any of it.

Your fingers pull at his hair and lead his tongue back to where you want it, bucking your hips against his mouth. His hazel hues flicker up to you and he's smirking at your domineering energy. You're taking charge as you grind your pussy against his tongue and lolling your head to the side as you feel your orgasm coming on.

"Fuuuck, 'm gonna..." You moan out in pure ecstasy as your eyes drift to the back of your head and your back arches away from the counter.

And he's definitely not stopping his efforts in bringing you there. In fact, he's probing his fingers between your velvety folds and curling his fingers to that sweet spot that drives you to your climax.

"Logan...!" You whimper out as you ride your high and he drowns in your soddened pussy. "Oh fuck..." You breathe out as it dissipates slowly but surely. He licks one last stripe to your shimmering folds as he withdraws his fingers, observing the way your arousal clings to his fingers and lapping them up.

"I have no fuckin' clue how I held back for so long." He cups your cheek, lips lacquered with your cum, and you hotly slot your lips against his in a feverish kiss. Being pressed up against him in the building where you hosted your long-awaited art exhibit feels like one of your reoccuring wet dreams.

Your hands fly to his belt to unbuckle, but the sound of footsteps grasp your attention and your caught redhanded, but his cheeky older brother, Hesh.

"Oh—" He grins at your tangled bodies against the bar. "as much as I hate to break up you two lover birds, security is rounding us up to see us off.”

You feel the embarrassment creeping up on your flushed cheeks. “R-right.” You fix your dress and Logan casually buckles his belt and helps you down from the bar as if you two weren’t going to fuck each other dumb.

As Hesh grabs the last few items and exits the area, Logan comes up from behind you and squeezes your ass as he murmurs against the shell of your ear:

“I’ll follow you back to your place?”

Good men die too, so I'd rather be with you, you, you rather be with you, oh
Oh, I'd rather be with you, oh
'Cause good men die too, so I'd rather be with you

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

There is a strange feeling that twists in your stomach as you approach Keegan's room. The door is left ajar, and you push it open, allowing yourself in to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, cleaning his gun. His balaclava is off and laid out on his nightstand, worn and distressed from use. He glances up at you for a moment; his rifle is completely disassembled, and he's taken the liberty to maintain his equipment.

"Hey, kid." His voice sends a frisson up your spine. You freeze in place, eyeing his physique. His navy loose-fitted tee lightly outlines his toned body, and his tactical pants are tight and baggy in all the right places as he manspreads. Bore brush in hand, his taut fingers, stained black with carbon residue, work meticulously to clean out the chamber.

He looks up at you again, noticing your unchanged form and expression. "What's on your mind, kid?" He sets down the bristle and grabs a microfiber towel to clean his hands.

Your eyes flicker to meet his wintry hues, and the lump in your throat starts to dissolve. "Can I ask you something?"

He notices the change in your usual demeanor and nods. "’Course."

You step closer to him, and he watches you intently. Your gaze is intense, as if you're staring into his soul. The words that fall from your mouth make his heart drop.

"Would you fuck me if I asked you to?"

The military prepared Keegan for many things, but this was not one of them. A beautiful woman, his teammate, asking if he would fuck her? No, the Marine Corps did not train him for such circumstances.

He only observes as you close the space between you two. You place your hand gently on his sturdy shoulder, sliding it to cup his face.

"It's not exactly appropriate," he murmurs, but he doesn't shy away from your touch. It stirs feelings he suppressed when you first joined years ago.

His hand finds its way to your hip as you straddle him, pressing against his growing erection. "But?"

You inch closer, pushing your chest against his, hovering over his pale pink lips. Keegan can hear the blood pumping straight to his dick, silently transfixed on your next move.

"Uh huh," you brush your lips against his mouth, and his hand fists at the fabric of your pants.

"[Name]..." he breathes out, letting his head hit the headboard to create some space between you, but your fingers make quick work of his belt, swiftly unzipping it with ease.

He doesn't exactly protest, merely squirms under your touch as you play with his exposed happy trail.

"I think you'll like it," you swallow thickly with anticipation. The situation is wrong, but he can't find it in himself to stop you. The way your hand feels as it slips under the waistband of his briefs is tantalizing. The pleasant tingly feeling of blood surging to his dick at your euphoric touches, the way you thumb over the precum creaming out of his tip, makes his thick brows scrunch in pleasure.

You take a moment to lower your lips to the swollen, red tip, lapping up his arousal. A strangled huff escapes him, and your lashes flutter as you peer up at him, laying your tongue flat on his shaft before standing up to undo your own trousers and letting them fall to the ground.

His Adam's apple oscillates as he fixates on the sway of your hips when you approach him and take your place on his lap once again. His glacial eyes, now darkened, fall on your glistening pussy, which is mere millimeters away from his cock. He no longer hesitates when he reaches out to touch your sopping folds.

"Yeah, you definitely don't need any prep..."

You suck in your bottom lip but push away his hand. "I'm ready enough," you state, hovering over him and wanting nothing more than to let him sink into you.

You lean over the edge of the bed and retrieve the condom from your side pocket. Keegan slightly narrows his eyes at you. "Christ, you were that ready?"

"Always." You tear the condom foil with your teeth before rolling it onto his dick. He bucks his hips at your touch. You grin down at him, relishing in how pliant he is for you. Licking your lips, you align yourself with him, and his eyes alternate between looking at your pretty face and your pretty pussy.

"Fuck, your pussy is..." His voice melts into a moan as he throws his head back, bottoming out into you. You dig your nails into his tanned flesh.

"So what?" You demand an answer from him as you relentlessly rock your hips against him. The real feeling is unmatched, your imagination could never conjure up the sight of his mouth hanging open and his death grip on your hips as you grind on him. The exhilarating feeling of dominating your CO is unparalleled.

"So—fuck, [name]." He shudders, involuntarily bucking his hips as he thrusts into you. It’s nothing but primal instinct at this point as you both drive into each other, using one another for the gratification that has been bubbling in your lower bellies—a fire that has been burning for too long.

"...so pretty." He chokes out, but before he can say another word, he feels his orgasm approaching. "Gonna—cum."

"Me too." You cry out, bouncing on his dick. He didn't even need to rub your clit to make you climax because the girth and length of his dick were hitting your A-spot so deliciously, so perfectly. You reach your peak, and soon you feel a wave of pleasure overcome you. Your pulsating walls push Keegan over the edge, and he rides the tides of rapture alongside you.

Your spine arches involuntarily as you both cling to one another, gyrating your hips until your fulfillment reaches its peak. A shaky breath escapes his lips as you lift yourself off him, not bothering to remove the condom filled with his cum. You reach for your trousers and underwear, slipping them back on with ease, and tidy yourself in his full-length mirror.

As you turn to him, you notice he hasn't moved a single inch. He's lying there, chest heaving, as he eyes you up and down. You pad over to him, place a tender kiss on his forehead, and smile. "Thanks, Keegs."

With that, you happily tread out of his door, closing it behind you and ensuring you hear the click before you leave. He listens for the sound of your footsteps as they fade until he hears nothing but the buzz of the AC. To say he’s bewildered is an understatement.

He lets out a labored breath, running a hand through his short-cropped hair.

"Anytime..."

Chapter Text

“This is wrong.”

“So wrong.”

You moan out as Johnny’s calloused fingers slip under the waistband of your underwear, peeling off the fabric to feel the wetness pooling between your thighs as he lifts your pajama shirt to reveal your braless chest. His lips immediately find your nipple and they harden at his tender touch. A stark contrast between the rough pads of his fingers that caress your naked skin. And soon he's between those sweet thighs, supping up your drooling folds, immediately clenching at his touch as you squeeze his head between your thighs. The feeling of his scruff and shaven head scratches at your inner thighs, but it's a pleasant feeling. His hair is soft, silk-ladden-like as you trace over his scalp, scratching at the follicles with your nails which causes him to moan against your pussy.

And before you know it, you're being turned onto your stomach, ass being pushed back against his pelvis as he aligns with your core. He slowly pushes into you and you arch like a cat, stretching your arms as you claw into the sheets. It's not even moaning at this point, just straight whimpering enmeshed with incoherent words. Fuck, it feels sooooo good, especially knowing that you two weren't supposed to be doing it. Or at least you think so. Was it entirely inappropriate? Definitely.

But the Captain has always made it clear that what you do outside of missions is entirely your business. So a little fun here and there isn't gonna kill you. At least that's what you told yourselves, after having euphoric orgasms, tucked under damp sheets as you cuddled against one another. You suppose everyone has a vice...this one you just so happen to share with Johnny.

Chapter Text

Thinking about Simon having a tattoo on his left lower hip when you two start drunkenly making out on your bunk. He's lifting his shirt above his head and you're shimmying out of your skirt. You're happily getting on your knees to unbuckle his jeans, sliding off his briefs as well.

The green little ink catches your eye and you pause for a moment to inspect it. "Is that a tattoo?"

He's leaning back on his elbows, dark brown eyes fixating on your sexy topless figure. "What of it?"

You scoff. "Four-leafed clover, eh?"

"Yeah," He takes a swig of the water bottle that sits on your nightstand. "'means you're lucky to even get this far."

You scoff again as he chuckles, but it's cut off by the pleasuring feeling of your tongue swiping across the inked skin. He shudders as you swirls over it, sucking his hip bone, and his fingers thread though your hair.

But you pull away too quick for his liking. "Lil minx." He mutters as he watches you get up from the ground.

You giggle at his flushed cheeks, but it ends with you squealing as he pulls you on top of him, giving your ass a little squeeze. "You won't get away with teasin' me like tha'"

Chapter Text

"Si—Simon..."

You sigh out in pleasure with every roll of your hips as you grind down on him. Your clit grazes against his lower abdomen, and his cock stretches you out pliant. Fingers dig into his shoulders, marking half crescents into his pale, scarred skin. But something feels off.

His hands loosen their grip on your hips, and upon opening your eyes you find him his half-lidded gaze distant in a familiar haze. He isn't present.

"Simon." You halt the rutting of your hips, cupping his stubbly cheeks. "Are you alright?"

His onyx hues fixate on you. He is clearly readjusting his withdrawn eyes to refocus on you. You didn't want to say it yet, but you had felt him go a little soft a few seconds prior. "We can stop."

"No, no." His fingers squeeze your middle as he sits up a bit. You shake your head, but he's not letting up. "Why stop?"

You firmly grasp his face and his blonde lashes flutter up at you with a seemingly unreadable expression, but you're no stranger to Simon's detachment. Although he loathes to admit it, it happens. The relearning of being intimate is tumultuous for him.

"Because you're not mentally here, my love."

He frowns. "But I want y'to finish."

You exhale sharply. He doesn't even deny it. "No, Simon. I'd feel disgusted with myself if I finished while you weren't here with me."

He struggles to reply. In all honesty, he doesn't know what to say. It's not exactly a common occurrence, but he's not too keen on having a conversation about it. You never pry though. His therapy sessions are his own, unless, of course, you join him if he so desires.

Couples counseling is mandatory. A rule you established when you first decided to tie the knot. If you had problems that were beyond just a sit-down talk, a professional would have to intervene. And Simon agreed. No fuss, no muss. To preserve the sacredness of your relationship, he'd do anything.

He sighs. "'m sorry, dovie." He caresses your sides, feeling the gooseberries on your skin rise. A small smile adorns his lips and you giggle at his smugness.

"Stop it." You begin to get off of him, but Simon holds you firmly. You feel his dick harden inside of you, now kissing your cervix. A little gasp escapes your chest as you readjust yourself.

"Y'like tha'?" Simon's grinning now. It's his confidence gleaming through the abysmal darkness of his mind. The life in his eyes feels revitalized, and you now feel his vigor—literally.

"Yes, but..."

"'m here, love." He reaffirms, squeezing your waist again. "'m here. Please, 'm achin' for you."

He groans a bit and bucks his hips when he feels you pulsate around him. You return your own moan, leaning forward but his fingers thread through your hair and he brings you into a sloppy, heated kiss. His hips thrust into you slowly and deeply, earning a guttural moan from him.

For a moment as you withdrew from the kiss, your gazes meet and Simon's eyes soften and become glossy with tears that brim over his oculars and spill over the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, baby." You coo, holding him close as you kiss his face. His sadness is silent, yet palpable. You're now babbling sweet, sweet words to him as you pepper him with kisses, and Simon holds you as if you're going to slip away. You gently guide him through the double inhale technique you learned from your therapist, and with the sweetness of your voice, the kindness in your eyes, and the tenderness of your touch, he feels at ease.

"I dunno how y'put up with me."

You grin, kissing the corner of his lip. "It ain't easy."

"Oh?" He flips you over on your back, pressing you firmly against the mattress and you giggle into the nape of his neck. "Wanna say that again, love?"

You thread your fingers through his sandy blonde hair and kiss the tip of his nose. "You're not hard to love, Simon."

His eyes soften once more and he kisses you deeply. Simon has never cherished anyone more in his life. You were always so patient and kind from the jump. You were truly the "greater woman" behind the "great man".

He rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes as you gently card your fingers in his hair.

"Thank you, lovie."

Chapter Text

It's breakfast time in the mess hall and Kyle is navigating to the usual spot that the 141 hangs out in. Clandestine, blue rusty bench right against the large panel windows, with a clear view of the crisp evergreens and wildflowers stretching out in the horizon. A peaceful outlook for a proper meal and some banter.

"Brekkie for a champ." Johnny winks up at him, noshing on his breakfast burrito.

Kyle chuckles as he takes his assigned-unassigned seat next to the friendly Scotsman and they start chatting about last night's fútbol game. It is followed by Simon sliding his tray, seating himself opposite Johnny with a quiet clatter as he attempts to slip his large body onto the bench. And then it's Price coming from behind him, jostling the skull-masked behemoth to scare him, but it's lost on Simon because he's just giving him an uninterested stare that causes the table to shake with laughter.

And you? You're sitting there from the outside, munching on your home fries with a pang of envy at their camaraderie. Never really having a taste of it as you sit alone most days unless you're on the go, rushing to a mission and you're sharing a ration bar with whatever squad they stick you in. But let's face it, no one really wants to be around you.

Jinx.

That was your nickname. Luckless, star-crossed with death, always skulking closely in your shadow.

Your reputation presided over you. Seven squads KIA, and you were the only one to survive them every single time.

So, it's no wonder you're a lone wolf in a mess hall full of lively, rowdy soldiers.

"Why don't we sit here?" A new recruit inquires to their Sergeant.

Their superior takes one glance at you before giving you a tight-lipped smile, "Actually, I just remembered Corporal Dunn (s/o to my mans) needs us back in his office, so let's just have lunch there, yeah?"

The rookie's wide, naive eyes peer over at you and they wordlessly nod at their CO and you don't even bother to see if they've glanced over their shoulders, whispering to one another about you.

"... seven ...?!"

"Keep your voice down, soldier..."

"...sorry."

But somebody seems to have their sights set on you and your sharp, feline-like eyes are on the Sergeant tables away, tucked away into a corner and he can't help but jump a little as he's downing his morning brew.

And suddenly he's snorting it up and his teammates are throwing jests his way.

"Keep y'er coffee in y'er mouth, dammit!" Johnny bellows as he erupts into laughter, patting his back.

And there's something inaudible said by Kyle and you're studying the way his pretty, plump lips move.

"'s that Sergeant over there."

And suddenly four Brits are shamelessly turning your way and you're not tearing your gaze away from them as you're scoffing down your scrambled eggs.

"Heard she's lost seven squads, only one to make it out alive." Simon speaks in a nonchalant tone, popping a piece of celery into his mouth before his face contorts into something that resembles disgust.

A " Bloody hell, that's disgusting. " is drowned out by the continued conversation between the three of them about your unfortunate rep.

"'s not the lass's fault." Price adds, leaning back a little to crack his spine. "Oh, yeah, tha's the stuff." A satisfied groan leaves his lips as he rests his elbows on the table, listening in on the little shred of gossip.

This time, it's between Johnny and Simon as Kyle zones them out and his honey eyes are training back on you. A frisson runs up his spinal column when he realizes your gaze never strayed. Like a cat, you're fixating on him, wagging your tail, not yet ready to strike just simply observing with a piquing interest.

And then the subject changes when Simon decides to make a jab at how Johnny's overgrown mohawk resembles a porcupine and he's chuckling to himself as the Scot gets riled up. Kyle thinks that one last glance won't hurt, but you're gone. Not even a trace of maybe some crumbs left from your English muffin. He's intrigued to say the least.

Kyle is spending his days in search of you. You're like an apparition that only gets spotted on odd days of the week at unsuspecting time frames, nestled snugly into unfrequented areas on base. He's trying hard to remember the way your hair looks, your lips, the curve of your nose but all that's burned into his memory is your pointed gaze burring holes into his vision.

He stays up late when he catches a glimpse of you in the armory as he's passing by it, in deep conversation with his Captain about how Koala bears do indeed have chlamydia. And he's backstepping to gaze through the window, but you're gone and he's starting to think that maybe you are a ghost.

How stealthy and lithe your body must have to be under that black, compression tee and those tight, tight tactical pants...

And he's fisting away at his dick, half frustrated and half aroused by the allure of your mystique. Little black cat, thumping her tail against the concrete with enigmatic, hypnotizing eyes that entrance him.

"Fuck!" And he's spilling all over his sheets, taut, heaving abdomen, and humiliatingly enough, right on his chin. He dabs at the cum that's dripping on his face and then gazes over the opulent arousal, before throwing his head back and groaning.

Why was you being such a quandary turning him into a fucking pillock?

"...Kyle...Kyle!" Price's hasty voice rips into his stupor, slinging him back into reality.

"Goddammit, Kyle, ya missed th' shot..." Price clicks his tongue, shaking his head under his gilly suit as he makes up for his mistake. "Are ya soft in’t head or summat?"

"No, sir." Kyle mumbles, embarrassed at the fact that his Captain is cleaning up after him.

" He's gey glaikit" Johnny pokes over the comms.

" English , MacTavish." Simon presses the Scotsman.

"He's fuckin' dazed." Johnny quips. " Fuckin' cunt ."

And then there's a collective laughter amongst the four soldiers and Kyle can breathe again, the memory of you tossed into the backlogs of his mind as he's back in the fray.

But then it's 2am on the base, and he can't sleep so he's in the kitchen trying to whip up some Pinterest drink,

"Angel's milk?" He scrunches his brows at his phone screen as it casts a blue shadow over his flummoxed features.

He shrugs his shoulders as he squeezes the bottle of honey into the bottom of his mug, followed by a generous amount of milk, and then he pops it into the microwave for a minute and a half. He leans against the kitchen island and lets out a sharp exhale.

"You were supposed to add vanilla."

He practically feels his skeleton jump out of his skin at the voice, but he can't lie about the fact that he was more than elated to see who was standing beside him.

Hell's fuckin' bells , as Johnny would say.

She was standing beside him, arms crossed, hair in a cutesy haphazard manner, dark circles carved under your eyes, dressed in a little pink striped VS lounge set. And fuck, you smell so good. Like warm vanilla, candied almonds, and maybe coffee? It is difficult to say because he is too flustered by your abrupt appearance.

Your presence and how striking you were up close as you were far away, breathing, existing right next to him.

"Bloody hell, you scared the shite outta me." He swallows thickly, and for the first time, he sees the corners of your lips gracefully turning up into a smile. And oh man, it's making his dick twitch pretty violently in his blue-white tartan pajama bottoms.

"Did I?" Not bothering to hide the satisfaction in your voice nor your expression.

"Ya did, indeed."

And the tension is so palpable. His eyes are skimming over the exposed skin of your thighs, from the fresh baby pink manicure on your nails to your shiny, lacquered lips. You were a sight for sore eyes.

Thump, thump, thump.

He can practically hear your metaphorical tail thudding against the kitchen tiles right now.

The beeping of the microwave rips through the suspense and he pushes himself off the counter to retrieve his heated mug. Opening the utensil drawer to pull out a spoon to stir the little concoction, but his brows are raising when you reach over to squeeze two drops of vanilla extract into his drink.

"Tryna poison me, are ya?" He teases, peering over at you. You have a mischievous glint in your eye as you put the cap back on and carefully tuck it away into the cabinet for later use.

"Don't need to."

"Why's that?"

But you've already turned away, walking back to wherever you came from, hips swaying in your satin pajama shorts that outline every curve of your sweet body.

"Because you'd already be dead by now if it were up to me." You state over your shoulder and then you disappear into the abysmal hallway.

And then he's back in his room again, tightly coiling his hand around his slippery cock that's soaking with his own saliva and maybe a little bit of lube. Same shit, different night, though, this time he was blessed with an addition to his hyperactive imagination.

This time he's thinking about how you would look bouncing on his cock, smiling down at him with your hands around his neck. Pretty, shimmering lips parting as those sharp eyes drift to the back of your head and--

"Shiiiiiiiit."

He's shamelessly cumming all over the hardwood floor of his room, milking out his semen as it comes out in steady ropes and he is heaving. He feels how his cock is convulsing in his hand and he lets out a winded breath before tossing himself against his mattress with heavy eyelids. He goes to bed wondering how worn out he'd be if he ever got his hands on you.

"Oi, Johnny, how many bloody times d'ya need me to tell ya? Pick up y'r fuckin boxers after ya've had y'r shower, ya daft twat!" Simon's roaring echoed through the hallways of the base, shaking up the new recruits but just another day to passing soldiers who had been there for longer.

Price and Kyle merely observe the pair from the sofa in their living room as Johnny's form peeks out to an irate Simon who is standing in the doorway to the shared washroom. Johnny is nonchalantly drying off his mohawk that's now touching the nape of his neck as he peers at the rubber ducky boxers pinched between Simon's fingers.

"Why, ye get frightened?" Johnny is totally poking the bear that is Simon 'Ghost' Riley, and Kyle and Price have to stifle their laughter. But truly this was better than reality TV, so they let it go on.

Simon merely blinks down at the impish grin on Johnny's face.

"You fuckin'..." Simon begins to say.

"No, you are fucking YOU ARE FUCKING!" Johnny boasts out and there is a twinkle in his eye and the two are at it.

"Fuck YOU BLOODY BASTARD BITCH!" Simon plays along as he starts shouting back at Johnny and that just riles him up like the giddy puppy he is, continuing the brainrotting bit. Add that to the laundry list of things that's already on the post-mission 141 routine.

And then there's a rapping at the door that cuts off the laughter and the ridiculous comedy skit that Johnny and Simon are playing out.

"I'll get it." Kyle volunteers getting up from the couch to peer through the peephole, but he feels a lump in his throat at the sight.

"What is it, Kyle?" Price asks in a hushed tone. He must've seen the way the Sergeant visibly stiffened.

"It's her ." Kyle emphasizes in a way that lets on a little more than he's willing to admit.

"The lassie from the other day?" Johnny pipes up, suddenly very intrigued.

There's a chorused 'Shh!' at Johnny, who's baby blue eyes widen a bit as a small smile appears on his face.

"A'right, sheesh."

The room is quiet for a brief moment before Kyle just decides to bite the bullet and jingle the door open. And there you are, dressed monochrome as hell, like a second skin in your normal attire. Long-sleeve, slate-grey henley fitting snugly around your upper extremities while the black cargos are hugging tightly around your thighs, but is falling baggy below the knee.

He shifts his weight against the doorframe, supping up your every feature, pretending like he isn't falling apart on the inside at your mere presence.

"Can we help you?" He asks, coolly.

Smooth, Kyle. Smooth.

You narrow your eyes at him. "Actually, yes." You mimic the way he folds his arms across his chest before you take a deep breath.

"Laswell sent me over."

Price enters your line of sight, pressing his palm at the base of the casing, and peers down at you with a cocked brow.

"Laswell, you say?"

You shamelessly size up the Captain, not caring how your eyes are lingering a little longer than they should on him and his Sergeant. The pair cock an amused brow at your behavior before you shift on your other foot.

"Yeah, she said you could use my expertise, I suppose." You shrugged indifferently. Whether they choose to bring you on board wasn't really a huge concern of yours. By now, you were sure that they knew of your reputation, so if they took a chance on you right now, you'd be more than elated to join their elite task force even for just one mission. A huge part of you was itching to get back in the field, and honestly, you had a feeling that these men were a lot more resilient and capable of handling themselves enough to not get killed in the line of duty.

Price turns around to Johnny and Simon who approach from behind and they all share a look before peering down at you

"Let's get to work then, yeah?"

It is laborious work withholding himself from not jumping over the table and biting the flirty Scotsman's head off when he sees the way he was making you giggle. Using his boyish charm to woo you as he puts his arm around the back of the sofa to show you just how easy it is to hack into Russian portal sites to access any organized terrorist emails, threads, or private chats on any relevant intel they could muster up.

Making dirty hacker jokes like, "Ye got an access point fer me?"

To which Price shoots Johnny a knowing 'down boy' look and, of course, he just gives him a coy smile in response. It's infuriating.

So instead of simmering like a twat, he gets up to make himself a cup of coffee. And if it weren't for the smell of candied almonds and vanilla drowning into his senses, he would've never felt your presence standing beside him.

"Ya followin' me or are ya actually after a brew?" His eyes fall on you as he moves to lean against the counter and sip at his coffee.

"Make me one?" You ask with a reticent smile.

He swears he can feel the lump in his throat expanding as his pretty honey eyes flicker to you. He licks his dry lips before casting you a half grin and sets aside his mug. Kyle is a gentleman. He would never deny a lady's request. If the lady wants a coffee, then she will get a coffee.

He wordlessly prepares the machine once again, popping in the K-cup, letting it run until the mug is full and offers it to her. She sweetly thanks him and even her voice is enough to get a little rise out of him, but not long enough before he watches her hand the fucking brew to Johnny. Fingers tighten around the handle of the ceramic, but before it can crack a gloved skeleton hand reaches over his own and puts it down for him.

"Don' let tha' twat get to you." Simon's gruff voice cuts into the Sergeant's head. "He's jus' takin' a piss on ya."

They both glance over at the two who are back to being friendly, kicking their feet up before returning to their respective roles. But Johnny flickers his gaze to the hard stare he's feeling on him and gives them a cheeky wink and grin, toasting his mug to him before sipping at it. Kyle scowls at him.

" A Twat, he is. "

The day of the mission is like any other day, but your scent is literally driving him into a maniacal state as he's adjusting the laces on his leather boots. This time it's reminiscent of musky prickly pears, and figs that are infused with your natural scent, and it's making him break a sweat.

But he snaps himself back into his domain. He spurns any invitation from you to sidetrack him when he's prepping. Humiliating himself in front of his Captain the last go around certainly exceeds the threshold of mortification he could handle. Add you into the mix and it's a recipe for disaster.

It was a simple enough objective. They were conducting a training exercise. A sweep and search to detect and disarm IEDs that were at a high risk to civilians inhabiting the south side of London without alarming the public. You were specifically instructed to wear concealed weapons, plain clothes, and a cigarette or two to blend in, but damn. Your ass looks so good in those low-rise jeans and the henley that's unbuttoned a little too far down...

Focus, Kyle.

"Mission like this is elementary for someone like you, innit?" Price breaks the silence, as he adjusts the gun in his holster. His brows raise at you as he chews on some cinnamon gum.

You playfully scoff, "Didn't make it this far to die on a simple sweep and search."

"Awe, don't look too doonfaced that ye haven't been sent on a real mission yet." Johnny ribs winking at you.

That earns a little chuckle from the gentlemen around you except for Simon. He's gazing out the window in a far-flung daze, and you bump your knee into him. His dark eyes flicker to you and he bumps your knee back in acknowledgement. Just black cat things.

Surprisingly that doesn't wrack Kyle's nerves. Instead, it just brings a smile to his face. Being aware of your status within the base made the small interactions you shared with them all the more charming. The skittish black cat in you began to emerge from the alleyway, hesitant to be petted but still willing to brush her tail against their calves.

Cute.

"Mate, if you take any longer, 'm gonna blow myself up for fun."

" Oh, feck off. "

Playful banter is exchanged between Simon and Johnny, as they work in pairs to disarm the 'bombs' scattered throughout the city while remaining undercover. Thankfully, the five of you were out of earshot from any residents because you'd all have a field day with that one and something tells you that Price doesn't exactly have the patience for that kind of thing.

"Suprised you're not complaining." Kyle speaks up as he surveys you to cut the last wire to neutralize the threat. The grass is dewy, and there's a hum of cars passing on the slick streets as civilians shuffle past, huddled in coats.

"Nice work, [name]." Price praises, seeing that you completed your task. You cast a smile his way.

"Thanks, Cap."

And he's moving back to Johnny and Simon who are too preoccupied with one another to see that their Captain is a bit disgruntled with their lack of urgency.

"They're such knuckleheads." You chuckle to yourself.

Kyle glances over at the three who are now bickering over something that was now completely unrelated to the task. His smile grows.

"That they are."

"So, do I pass or what?" You stood up straight, glancing over at your Captain. He gives you a good-natured grin.

"Don't get too cocky now. It's still an op, y' know?"

You nod your head. He was right about that. It still was an active operation that could flip at any moment. Intrusive thoughts flood your mind and you feel frozen.

"Hey," You feel a grounding hand on your shoulder. You glance up to see Kyle warmly smiling down at you. "You'll be alright. We'll be alright."

Price feels pride wash over him as he looks at his Sergeant and then back at you as he folds his arms over his chest. "This isn't like any team you've ever been on before."

"I've heard the stories." You mimic your Captain's gesture. "barely hangin' off a heli and still managing to rush the enemy? Impressive."

"Upside down at that." Price claps Kyle's shoulder, causing him to become bashful at his Captain's words.

Your Captain averts his gaze to Johnny and Simon, who are on their last disarming. "Are you lot finished, yet?"

He goes on to berate the two who were taking a wee bit too long for his liking, leaving the both of you alone. Kyle awkwardly shifts his weight as he hovers his hand over his gun.

Your gaze is intense on him, not even bothering to pick up any conversation. He can practically see your tail twirling, feeling at ease with his presence while he feels himself gnawing away at his insides to say anything.

He takes a breath. "You're a lot calmer than I thought."

You shrug. "Well, when you've outlasted seven crews, what's eight?"

"Yeah, about that," You both pause for a moment, observing as a throng of pedestrians treks on the sidewalk just a few yards away, but they disappear behind the buildings unaware of your militant presence. "you wanna tell me why you're the only one who's made it out?"

You narrow your eyes at him. He is right to be suspicious, but you didn't feel like being scrutinized for the nth time. You were proven innocent in every situation, but something lingers in the back of your mind that makes you feel guilty every time. The memories of your missions have gone south, the sharp sting of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you dodge ricocheting bullets. But you shake the thoughts away. "Another time, maybe. Don't wanna jinx it, do we now?"

Kyle grins at that. His honey eyes fixate on you, searching your expression for anything that will give way to what you're really thinking.

Before either of you can say more, Price's voice cuts through the air. "Enough chit-chat. We've got one more to disarm and I want it done before anyone catches wind of what we're up to."

The tension between you dissolves as a new one accumulates in your shoulders as you refocus on the task and approach the final IED. You begin to feel the reality of the situation hit you when you realize everything could go insanely wrong. The public may be unaware, but the consequences of failure are all too real. Your consequences, your failure.

Price gestures for you to take the lead on this one, after all, you're the one he's really examining. You don't realize it, but he has full belief in your abilities. He's read your file and he knows damn well what you're capable of. You're under the scrutiny of your teammates, but one shoulder squeeze from your Cap gives you the morale boost to drop to one knee and begin your work.

Upon investigating the device, you realize it's like the other devices and you feel yourself relax a little. Kyle is at your side, and trepidation seeps into your fingers as they cruise over the wires.

"Blue or red?" he asks.

You don't even skip a beat. "Blue." you reply, trusting your instincts. "On my count."

Kyle readies himself with his wire cutters. "One. Two. Three."

You both carefully snip the wires, and for a moment it feels like the world stops. Your eyes watch as the device powers down, neutralizing the threat.

"That's it." you breathe out, feeling relief wash over you as allow your shoulders to relax.

Price steps forward, and claps you both on the back. "Good work, Wisp, both of you. Civvies are starting to get curious around here."

Wisp?

"Yeah, Wisp! Tha's a good one, Cap!" Johnny cheers, holding out his hands to give you a double high five. You giggle at the unexpected enthusiasm, but you high-five him back and intertwined your fingers together and he does a mini jig.

"Did a fine job." Simon politely nods, respecting your space, unlike his idiotic, cutesy counterpart.

Kyle clicks his tongue but is grinning otherwise at your success. The Scotsman can flirt all day with you, but he knows there is some brimming between you two. It was simply a game of cat and mouse at this point.

Wisp.

As you gather your gear, a lingering sense of impending doom still skulks in the back of your mind. You feel an itch under the skin where your past scars have healed over, but it's duller than usual. Pushing it to the back of your mind, you fall into step with Kyle feeling as though something has shifted in your dynamic with everyone.

In that crucial moment, Kyle trusted you. They all trusted you. It lingers in your mind, a question left unasked.

Kyle nudges, catching your gaze. His smile stretches beautifully across his face. "Guess we make a good team don't we, Wisp?"

Wisp.

You can't help but return the smile, feeling the butterflies settle in your stomach. You feel reborn. "Guess we do."

As you walk away from the site, blending back into the hustle and bustle of the city, you can't help but wonder what your next mission will bring. Whether the tension that is rising between Kyle and you will go unspoken. For now, you'll allow yourself to savor your victory. You've come out of it unscathed. They came out of it unscathed. As awful as it was, that's more than what you could ever say about your last teammates.

And as the rain falls softly around you, you feel like the hell you've endured is somehow worth it.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

part one

cw: onlyfans!simon , canon universe, cybersex, solo sex/masturbation, being simon's good girl while he has some downtime, parasocial relationship???

author's note: and let me say this once to be clear, if you don't know how to ask for a part two properly without giving some sort of positive feedback and instead demand it from me you will get a verbal spanking from me and i will embarrass you, i do not care

Your breath catches as you gawk at your phone, rereading the message. The sensation of anxiety pricks at you causing you to perspire under your pits and the temple of your forehead.

The thought of him—TacticalHeat—or Ghost or whatever the hell his name is waiting on the other side, possibly stroking himself at the notion of you joining him on a private call sends a rush of arousal up your spine.

Ping!

TacticalHeat: You still there, lovie?

Oh, fuck. You card your fingers through your hair and let out a heavy exhale. It's awful timing really. Like getting caught with your pants down...literally.

Fingers sticky with lube and your own arousal, you stretch your limbs to open the drawer of your nightstand and pull out a wet wipe to clean off your hands and get a gander at the state of your appearance. It's slightly disheveled, but honestly? In a super sexy bedhead kind of way.

You wipe the corners of your eyes to remove the accumulated smudged mascara from your gruesome work day and let a sharp expire through your nose. Well, if you were going to do this, you'd at least look hot doing it.

You: Yeah, I'm here.

TacticalHeat: So what do you think, lovie...you up for it?

"Fuck!" You exclaim to yourself, not realizing that your dumbass forgot to reply to his original message. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment, tracing circles in the air as you try to unscramble your mind.

You: Now works...what do you have in mind?

The three dots appear almost instantly like he's waiting for your response with the same fiery intensity that has you gripping at your phone.

TacticalHeat: I'll send you a link. I wanna see you, too.

Ghost has invited you to a Zoom meeting.

Your heart pounds rapidly against your ribcage, and you feel the heat sidling to your cheeks. You hadn't expected this to escalate so quickly, to be pushed into the spotlight. And yet, the idea of him watching you is thrilling.

With trembling fingers, you adjust the lighting in your room and the camera on your phone to ensure you're getting the best quality. One last look in the mirror to smooth out your hair, and make sure your top reveals a little cleavage before you tap on the link, muddying your phone screen with oils on your finger.

Twiddling with the tripod that sits by the edge of your bed as the link loads, you clip on your phone and sit back while you wait to get accepted. He wastes no time getting you out of the waiting room and you watch as the screen shifts, and suddenly, there he is. Simon's half-lidded gaze fixates on you, his familiar skull-mask in place, but this time it's different. He's relaxed, clad in a black loose-fitted henley that outlines his taut physique, and he's manspreading in light-wash denim jeans, hands exposed and you're already aching at the sight. It's an intimate setting and the atmosphere shifts when he gets a real gander at you. His gravelly voice sends a frisson up your spine:

"There's my good girl," he purrs, and just like that you're hooked.

There's a moment where your heart drops to your ass, and you let out a little shaky breath before giving him a shy smile. His gaze doesn't waver. It's intense and focused as he drinks in every detail of your appearance. You're half wondering what he thinks of you and half focused on the hoarseness in his voice when he calls you 'good girl'. How the blood rushes to your face and your trepidation tingles on your skin.

"Hi," You finally muster up and you swear his dark eyes light up, or maybe it's the delusion that spikes into your prefrontal cortex. "I'm a bit, um, surprised that you wanted to chat like this."

His mask warps in the corner of where you assume his lips are indicating a smirk. "I like a bit of spontaneity," he says, leaning closer to the camera. "Besides I wanted to see how you would handle this."

You avert your gaze for a moment, feeling hot all over again. He notes how you suck in your bottom and how your dilated eyes flicker all over the screen, a subtle sign that your adrenaline is pumping. He wishes he could hear your heart beating through the screen.

Your fingers delicately trace over your collarbone, "what do you wanna see?" your voice drops to a sultry whisper.

His eyes darken and he takes a slow breath as fixates on you, taking in all your subtle gestures and the silkiness in your dulcet tone.

"Show me how you've missed me," he rasps. "show me what you've been doing while you've waited for me."

Christ, you want to melt into your mattress. You knew it was a playful gesture to create a more intimate atmosphere between you two, even if it wasn't true.

The challenge in his tone exhilarates you with a hint of collywobbles that infest your tummy. With a quick glance at your full-size mirror mounted on your closet door, you begin to tug at the strap of your skimpy top, teasingly revealing enough of your skin to keep him riveted.

And it works.

As you continue, you can hear the jingling of his belt being unbuckled and the sound of his zipper going down.

Your blown eyes are entranced by how he frees himself from the waistband of his briefs and you’re driveling over how the muscles under the porcelain skin of his cock twitches. He tilts his head back, transfixed on how you’re exposing your pebbled bud to him.

“Bloody hell,” he murmurs, swallowing thickly as you squeeze your breasts between your fingers. “Every inch of you looks perfect, lovie.”

You practically fawn over his compliments. He’s praising you, watching you, getting off to you. And that feeling is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. You feel liberated and exposed, knowing that he’s eagerly watching you as the lines blur. This feeling consumes you, consumes him, and soon you’re stripping off your panties and he doesn’t even bother to hide the groan that escapes his lips. 

“Look at you, absolutely stunning. Every bit of you…” His tone changes when you part your silken, glistening folds. “Touch yourself for me, lovie.”

It’s a demanding tone. One that sends a frisson up your spinal column and you feel the need to please, but there’s another side of you that awakens. The kind that crawls out when you’re being railroaded by a domineering man. 

“Say please,” You wave your wand around. 

He softly snorts at your attempt at trying to tame him, but he humors you, “Please, lovie. I crave ya.”

And that’s enough to inflate your ego. Your fingers switch on the vibrator and you tease it over your clit, bucking your hips at your sensitive clit. 

There’s a twitch in his eyes when they widen. Like the light in his head switched on. “So you’ve been playing with yourself, have you, pretty girl?” he coos, sitting up a bit more. Oh, you’ve really got his attention now. 

Your heart flutters at the same rate that your pussy does when you realize he takes note of your current over aroused state. “Maybe,” you give him a coquettish grin. 

As you take the initiative and push the boundaries with him, a rumbling growl emits from him. His gaze intensifies as they lock on yours with a mixture of surprise and approval. He loves a good brat.

“Is that so?” he susurrates, his tone oozes with amusement. He likes the way your pretty face glimmers with the excitement to satisfy him. “You wanna take control now, do you?”

He shifts in his seat. “Go on then, lovie.” he gestures to you, and oh how his dick creams at the sight of you shaking your legs on for, gasping at the vibrating sensation of your toy caressing your cunt. You’re really such a site for sore eyes.

“Such a pretty pussy,”he praises with a husky voice that makes your heart race. The saccharine moans that leave your lips as you spasms against the silicone while you instruct him to tug at himself. 

He obliges because how can he not when you’re looking so fucking luscious on the other side of the camera as you winsomely order him to smear the opulent precum that oozes from his angry, swollen tip. A little sob leaves your lips when you see how compliant he is, and how his chest shudders at your words and creamy cries of delight. 

“Just like that,” he encourages, pumping at himself and in an instant the tables turn, and you’re more than willing to let him take control. He pants at the sight of your parted, saliva-lacquered lips and lolled back eyes. “No one else gets to see you like this. Only me.”

And that sentence alone leaves you breathless. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles, through his own labored breaths. The raw emotions in his voice makes it clear how much he’s affected by you, “God, you’re everything I want and more.”

And that does it for you because your orgasm rips through you like a hurricane and you feel your spine involuntarily arch in pleasure, peaked breasts splayed out as your pussy rapidly pulsates on full display for him. They bounce at your ragged breaths and throes of passion and he’s quick to follow, elongating the pleasure of your peak. His velvety, opulent cum spurts out in plentiful, white cords as he bucks his hips and throws his head back. His guttural moans are like music to your ears and you’re quaking at the pure rapture. 

There’s a long moment of silence as you both come down from your highs. A laugh leaves your lips, and a wry grin twitches at his features under his balaclava. You’re no longer dripping nerves. Your smile lights up the room, and his heart swells at the sight of your afterglow. Your confidence shines through and he’s still hard. Not a very common occurrence in the world of Ghost.

Your eyes flicker to his girthy cock and your grin spreads. His eyes follow yours and he chuckles and gently pumps himself, “not every day that happens.”

You cock a brow. “What the inviting me for a cybersex sesh, or the staying hard after cumming part?”

He barks out a hearty laugh, “Both I s’ppose.” he softly plashes. “Really got me goin’ there, lovie.”

And the nickname brings you back to life. Maybe you really were delirious because you can sense that his eyes display a different range of lingering emotions--persisting lust and a genuine admiration. You can’t help but to feel a little victorious as you watch him continue to stroke himself, even after the both of you reached your peak.

“Not everyday I meet someone who can keep up with me,” he rasps. He lets out a breath of satisfaction.

You tilt your head, a coy smile etches into your lips. “Guess I’m just full of surprises,” you reply softly. There’s that sensual confidence seeping into your tone and it shows on your body.

He chuckles. It’s low and alluring and it causes gooseberries to trail up your skin. “That you are, lovie,” he counters, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. His voice makes you feel warm and gooey. “Could get used to this…to you.”

The implication hangs heavy in the air making his interest in you clear and undeniable. Your heart skips a beat as the heat between you simmers again. It’s no longer the deviancy alone that tips him off, it’s the fact that he’s brought out a different side of you.  

“Maybe next time,” your voice is low and tempting as your eyes motion to his still-engorged length. “you’ll let me show you how much more I can handle.”

His smirk widens under his mask, and his hunger for you multiplies. “Count on it.” he replies with the promise of fulfilling that request.

You both share a yearning moment. The spark between you is electrifying and certainly obvious. You decide to make the first move as you sit up to hover your sticky thumb over the end call button, “Good night, Ghost.”

He chews at the end of his cheek and his eyes crinkle signaling that he was smiling wide. “Good night, lovie.”

There’s no doubt in your mind that this won’t be the last time you’ll see each other like this.

Chapter Text

God Knows I Tried ft. Elias Walker

Synopsis: Your daddy issues are raging and your long-time 'victim' has been none other than your superior and captain, Elias Walker. After a failed attempt to capture and kill Rorke, you go to "comfort" him, but he seems to have other plans for you.

Author's Note: AND GUESS WHAT I WILL PROVIDE FOR YOU, I'M GLAD WE'RE REVIVING GHOSTS IN THE FORM OF DROOLING OVER DILFS BC LORD KNOWS I NEED SOME MORE MCDADDY CLUB LOVIN

Tags: NSFW, Daddy Issues, Age Gap, Power Dynamics, Reader has long hair???

Elias ruffles his fingers through his silver hair after he removes his distressed and worn mask, setting it down on his desk as he sharply inhales. He hadn't gotten to Rorke on time and that pissed him off, and rightfully so. The bastard had been getting away every damn time. His body is tense and he feels as though his anger is brimming from within, bubbling to the surface and he yearns to do something about it.

So when you come rapping on his door, ripping him away from his inner turmoil, and he hears the pleasant sound of your voice through the small crack asking, "Can I come in?" He is more than willing to oblige.

His body completely faces you now, beaconing you over, and taking in your figure in your all-black tactical uniform. It fits you like a second skin, but his intense gaze shifts to your smooth visage. The moonlight catches in your teeth when you greet him. "Can I speak to you for a moment, Sir?"

He raises a brow at you. "Somethin' on your mind, Sergeant?"

Truthfully, you had no idea why you came in. You just found yourself walking back to his office rather than your bunk. After today's failure, you want nothing more than to comfort him. You slowly step forward, just a few feet away from him. "Was just checkin' on you...?"

God, you were so stupid. Checking in? Come on...

A flash of amusement etches into his features, he tilts his head as he studies your expression. "Checkin' in?" He leans his palms against his wooden desk.

"Yeah, I mean--I know this is something very close to you..."

Oh. My. God. Would you shut the everliving fuck up!?

He sighs and turns to the night sky. The moon is full, and its luminance brings a sense of calm to him. He chuckles at your obvious statement, but he doesn't chide you about it. Something about you makes the hardass in him a little soft. "Suppose so."

You swallow and fiddle with the leather on your gloves, waiting to think of something, anything else to add to the conversation, but your mind is coming up blank.

"Tell me, Sergeant--why did you really come into my office?"

Your heart drops to your ass, and your stomach does the thing. Not the hot-and-sexy-thing, but the oh-shit-I-just-got caught thing.

Elias is a sharp man; follows his intuition, checks every corner he treks, and was raised by plain-spoken folk. He can see through most people and unfortunately, you're most people. You wear your heart on your sleeve, your gaze lingers longer than usual and although it may not be obvious to others, you imitate most of his behaviorisms.

Where you used to take your coffee sweet and milky, you now take black. The way you now drink sparkling water over soda. Your go-to music is The Eagles and Creed over Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift (though you still did listen to them, it was seldom). Even your eating habits have changed drastically from avid fast food eater to health nut, although that seems more like a get in shape sorta ordeal due to your fast-paced, rigorous work environment. Either way, you have definitely been picking up on a lot of things that he actively does.

You avert your gaze to your fatigued boots. "I don't know."

"Step forward, soldier." He commands, and you oblige. Not because he commanded it, but because you want to be nearer to him. To take in the scent of gunpowder and the leftover aroma of his aftershave.

You're a foot away from him now, hands tucked behind your back, eyes forward. His dark eyes size you up, and you feel the sweat forming on the nape of your neck. 

"Eyes up." His fingers tap under your chin and your lip quivers a bit when you meet his gaze. "You gonna tell me what's really on your mind?"

He taps on your chin once more. "And don't lie to me."

You swallow thickly. "It's not...appropriate."

He clicks his tongue and a half smile appears on his lips. "That right?"

You nod. "Yes, sir."

"I want to hear it."

But he sees the trepidation that overcomes your features. It’s been so painfully obvious to him. Your little crush. It was endearing, cute, mere puppy love, but he would be lying to himself if he hadn’t thought of molding your walls with his girthy cock. He usually tiptoes around it, but the mission from earlier is bringing on an itch that he can’t quite scratch. Not even a Playboy mag could get him right anymore.

He sighs. "You're not my bud to blossom, sweetheart." Brushing the strands out of your face. You tremble at his touch, yet you lean into it. God, he could do anything to you and you'd let him.

"But I'd let you." You grasp his hand. His eyes ream in surprise, but the building arousal jostles up his spine. He may think that blossom is not for him, but he's intently observing how your desire stirs, seeping into your veins. His breath spreads out your petals, the smell of your perfume permeating, intoxicating him.

Your lips part open and his thumb slips in, your saliva coating his gunpowder-stained skin draws an involuntary groan from him. He wants to devour you, but he can't. You're too sweet, too decadent, too fresh. He needs to take his time to savor you. It's wrong, but he can't help himself. Especially when you look up at him with those pretty, perfect doe eyes with his fingers in your mouth.

Your free hand palms at his crotch. It's intrepid, daring how forward you are about your fiery fervor for him. He cocks an eyebrow at you, but he doesn't halt your actions.

"That's a big weapon you're slingin' there, sir." You smirk up at him, squeezing his member over his trousers. "Can I cock it?"

He chuckles at your cheekiness. He wants to disarm you, wipe off everything on his desk, and throw you up there. And you'd be so easy to lift too...

But he's shocked when your lips lock with his, a dauntless action on your part. A subordinate fraternizing with her superior? It's enough to get you locked up, and dishonorably charged, but this wasn't the minor leagues anymore. You were hunting for bigger fish. Something that's beyond the crumbling American government outside these four walls. There's a spark between the both of you that you've been waiting to ignite in him, and he can no longer suppress his deepest hunger pains for his carnal needs.

And soon he is swiping away at the stacks of papers and stationery that lines his desk, hoisting you up to sit that pretty ass on his mahogany counter. A gruff moan escapes his lips as you collide once more, and you're practically clawing at his chest. His tongue slips between your lips wanting to collect yours as your teeth clash in desperate need for each other's solace.

His hands grasp at your wrists, slowing you down, wanting to relish in your taste, your smell, your touch, and the way you moan when he dips his head in the crook of your neck to sensually kiss at your sweet spot. Perspiration builds at the base of his forehead as he slowly unzips your fleece, revealing more of your skin and he kisses at your sternum. Your fingers thread through his silver hair and your breaths become labored at his hot touch.

He wants to build as much anticipation as possible before he takes all of you, all of what you'll allow him at least. Impatiently, your arms cross over your chest, pinching at the hem and smoothly peeling off the skin-tight fabric, leaving you only in your tactical bra. Elias pauses for a second. He loves to appreciate the finer things in life.

His fingers caress your disheveled plait from the top to where your hair tie keeps it bound and he gently removes it. You analyze the lust and admiration in his features as he carefully unweaves your hair.

You watch as his Adam's apple oscillates. "You're beautiful." He susurrates, carding his fingers through your hair. Your heart stammers against your chest when you notice how he looks at you. The rough pads of his fingers glide over your collarbone to the strap of your bra, and slides either side off of your shoulder to reveal your naked breasts. Your nipples instantly harden from the chill in the room, and he gulps before reaching out to squeeze your left one.

To say it had been a while was simply an understatement. The touch of a woman has been lost on him since the death of his wife. So soft, so supple. He pinches at your bud and you involuntarily arch your back and whine out. The guilt he feels dissipates the second his lips latch onto your nipple and you shudder as his tongue swirls around the sensitive skin. "Captain...!"

He gently hushes and kisses your lips tenderly, then your cheek, your jaw as he cops another feel, grabbing two handfuls of your tits while he sucks on your neck. One of his hands glides over the expanse of your abdomen, to unbuckle your belt and unzip your trousers--

"Dad?"

Shit, he left the office unlocked. But it's too late. His boys are stepping through the door, although it's not long before their eyes ream at your half-naked form, legs spread with their father between them. Hesh quickly shuts the door and you both glance down, feeling the guilt skulk into your minds.

"I should go--" Elias sputters, and you nod as you scramble to put your clothes back on. Now this was humiliating. Being caught by his sons fraternizing with their father is just the icing on the cake of it all. You straighten your hair and fix your collar as you begin to head out the door, but his hand catches your wrist bringing you back flush against his chest.

"Don't think I'm lettin' them scare you off." He caresses your cheek, with thumb and you sigh, cheeks still warm with embarrassment. "I ain't done with you yet, sweetheart. Got that?"

He raises his brows at you and you nod. "Yes, sir."

He kisses you softly and your heart skips a beat. "Go on, now." He gestures toward the door. "I'll deal with those two."

Your lashes flutter up at him and you feel warmth all over. He smiles at you, kissing your wrist and it's no wonder you keep forgetting to leave. His gaze, his aura it's alluring and you keep pulling back in for more.

He chuckles at the hearts in your eyes. "That's an order, soldier."

You straighten at his words and nod before rushing out the door, ensuring you hear the click as you close it and quickly get to your quarters. A feeling of heaviness weighs on your shoulders as soon as you shut your door. How were you going to face Hesh and Logan?