strawberry-lychee

[strawberry-lychee]

me, quietly whispering to the ao3 page of an author who doesn’t even know I exist: I am obsessed with you

[strawberry-lychee]

i’m drooling at ur older bf price (not much else to say except when/if u ever have more thots abt him please share 🙏)

previous

You curl in on yourself after sex, sometimes. It’s a pattern Price has noticed—you’ll finish, then he will, and in the humid moments after, the shutters in your eyes will close. You won’t meet his gaze.

He’s only asked once about it, and it had been so clear that the question disturbed you that he hadn’t pressed. You’d tell him, he reasoned, when you were ready—

(And he could nudge you in that direction in the meanwhile.)

The sink is put back together, cabinet door closed. Your sundress is wrapped and twisted around your midsection, naked breasts wet with his saliva and compressed against his chest as you lay panting on top of him. His shirt is in some far-off corner, thrown aside, and his jeans are around his knees.

“That was nice,” he murmurs in your ear, kissing your hair. He makes a home for his fingertips between your shoulder blades, walking the trail of your spine, up and down, slow as a tide.

“Mm-hm,” you say, out at sea. Far away.

He can’t deny that it disappoints him. But it isn’t about him, and he shouldn’t make it so. Even if it is about him, it isn’t actually about him—it’s about something else that has attached itself to him. Things are like that more often than not—deeper, older problems with hooks, the barbed kind that sink in and cling and won’t come out of their own accord.

So he keeps kissing your hair, and he keeps stroking your back. His softened cock hasn’t slipped from you yet, and he makes no move to dislodge it. You nestle closer to him; shift your body over his, a little, just for the feeling of it. He waits for the sigh—the long, steady breath you take after the act, after you’ve found yourself again in wherever it is you go after moments like this.

“This is probably weird to talk about after sex,” you say, and Price’s ears perk up.

“Nothing weird between us, dove,” he encourages. “What’s on your mind?”

You play with his chest hair a little, twirling it around with the manicured ends of your nails. (A manicure he happily paid for.)

“You’re the first man who’s ever given a damn about me,” you mumble into his neck.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says honestly. He kisses you again, because he wants to, and because he wants it to comfort you.

“You don’t make me feel stupid for not being able to do stuff on my own,” you continue. “My step—my mom’s husband. He used to make fun of me for, for getting confused about changing my car’s oil. Or he’d get annoyed at me. Or I’d need him to change my tires because I can’t do it on my own, and I’d call him for help, and he wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

“He sounds like a piece of work,” Price comments.

A younger version of himself would have offered to beat the shit out of the asshole. That self’s anger on your behalf sits radioactive in his chest even now—corrosive, roiling, righteous fury, ready to carve your name on whatever offal is left over after Price gets through with him.

But that would be for his own ego, not for you. That has no place here.

“Do you know—” and your voice breaks a little, “do you know how bad it feels when a man who’s supposed to look out for you treats you like you’re an idiot? Like you’re not smart enough to be worth helping?”

“Some,” he says. “It’s an awful feeling. I wish you didn’t know how it felt, dove. I’m sorry.”

He feels something warm and wet drip onto his chest, and your shoulders begin to shake.

It’s not the full-body, wracking cry of catharsis. Just an episode of something longer, something tired. A problem dealt with, over and over again—a wound that reopens sometimes, if it’s pulled the wrong way.

Price gathers you closer, wraps his arms around you tighter. He cups the back of your neck with one hand and murmurs “shhh” into your hair, soothing and quiet, squeezing you against him.

“I’m okay,” you say, a little watery. “Really, I am.”

“I know you are,” he says.

He tilts your face toward his, and kisses the center of your forehead. You meet his eyes with your own, wide and glistening with your tears.

“I’m always gonna help you, dove,” he promises, catching one that falls with the edge of his thumb. “And you can always ask.”

-

No I don’t have daddy issues why do you ask

[strawberry-lychee]

another lil abortion ficlet with ghost, can be read as a follow-up to childfree

cw: talking about abortion, briefest of vomit mentions, abrupt ending as per my usual

"the kid would be four now."

simon's voice cuts through the darkness of your bedroom, tone entirely unreadable. even though the statement is apropos of absolutely nothing, you still know what he means. you watch the dark, shadowy profile of his face from your pillow, all sleep having been chased from your mind with 6 simple words.

"you're thinking about that?" you ask quietly, watching as simon rolls onto his shoulder so he can face you during your pillowtalk.

"dunno why. it's like when i took you to that clinic, a little timer started in the back of my head, keeping count for some reason." he doesn't sound sad or angry or even particularly emotional about it, but you're still wary. it's hard to anticipate where this conversation is going, and you're just praying to god he hasn't changed his mind about parenthood- lord knows you haven't changed yours.

"yeah?"

"yeah. kid's birthday would've been around mine. maybe that's why keepin' track is so easy." he says it so easily, so matter of factly, like 'water is wet' or 'dr. zhivago is terrible'.

it's hard to know what to say to that. you know what he means, though, about the little clock in the back of his mind. you have one, too, although you really only think about it when you see children smiling at simon. it's wild how many of them are charmed by the big man in the mask, and how you imagine some faint outline of a nondescript kid that looks vaguely like the two of you doing just the same.

"are you- i mean-" the words won't come out, caught in your throat, threatening to choke you. from the darkness, a warm, calloused hand reaches out to cup the side of your neck, thumb stroking over your pulse point. the ice-cold foot he hooks behind yours is just as sweet, but slightly less comforting. maybe if he was wearing socks it would be a nicer gesture.

"no, love. i've no regrets, and you shouldn't have any either. was just thinkin' out loud, that's oll. didn't mean to worry you." he moves is head forward, to the edge of his pillow, and you find yourself following suit, getting as close to him as you can. "i just keep thinkin' of everythin' we've done in four years. the travel, the lazy days, the spontaneous nights out. the late nights. the loud sex. those two weeks gaz stayed with us while he and his girl worked their shit out. that time you and i went to the lake at midnight just to watch the moon and stars from the dock and fell asleep out there. dunno if we would've been able to do oll that with a kid to look after."

"if we had a four year old right now, i'd be stressing about getting them ready for school in a year. fussing over constantly getting new clothes because they keep growing out of their old ones. making sure they're socialized well enough to adapt to being away from us eight hours a day. trying to teach them to read, count, mind their manners, and play nice with others... and all that on top of making sure they're eating right and staying safe and healthy." you say quietly, biting at your lip.

"exactly, and i would have had to take a desk position, leave oll the fieldwork behind. you'dve had to cut your hours at your job, if not quit outright. our lives would orbit the little tyke. we'd have very little time to ourselves." simon says, his deep voice rumbling through the dark. "i'm not sayin' we wouldn'tve been happy. i'm sure we could've made it work, enjoyed having a nice little family. but if we had that, then we wouldn't have oll of this. everything we've done, that we've accomplished together- it wouldn't have been possible with a four year old. oll those hard times we've had would've been made even harder with a kid in the mix. so thank you, love, for givin' me a life that suits me much better than oll of that."

he leans in, pressing his lips to your forehead and wrapping his arm around your shoulders to hold you close against his chest. the relief you feel is almost instantaneous, allowing you to sink a little further into the mattress and soak up the warmth of his body under these blankets.

"thanks for not, like, being weird about it when i told you what i wanted." you say quietly in the dark, and warm huff of air against your hairline from a silent laugh warms your heart further.

"love, i was relieved you weren't gonna make me be a dad. i'm not hung up on ideas of legacy and lineage- s'far as i'm concerned, the riley name can rot. you're oll i care about. well. you and work." he admits, and it's your turn to laugh.

"pleased it's in that order." you tease, soaking up the rumbling chuckle you get in response.

"just don't tell the captain." he jokes with a yawn, giving you another loving squeeze before his breathing starts to slow down and even out as sleep quickly overtakes him. it's impressive how fast that man can fall asleep, really, and as you slowly succumb to the throes of rest, your last thoughts are of how glad you are to not have to constantly keep an ear open for the pitter patter of little feet preceding an announcement of nightmares, restlessness, or vomit to be dealt with.

[strawberry-lychee]

Lil kisses with simon are always a must. The man's been alone most of his life so when he somehow hounds a sweet thing like you he's keeping his back hunched, uncomfortable, but if you can reach his cheek then its all worth it.

He's acting all sly as if he wasn't the one that wanted kisses each time. Blushing and stammering when you hold him down to drown his eyes and heart in kisses.

"Lovie, ain't fair, caught me by surprise."

And yet he's still keeping the lipstick marks on his cheeks. Like a token when he decides to sit down so you can reach into him even more.

[strawberry-lychee]

i hate that every time i look for color studies and tips to improve my art and make it more dynamic and interesting all that comes up are rudimentary explanations of the color wheel that explain it to me like im in 1st grade and just now discovering my primary colors

[strawberry-lychee]

inexperienced!reader, but not in a sexual way but a romantic way. inexperienced!reader who has only ever been someone people hook up with, but never someone dated. inexperienced!reader who has all but sworn off love because it just never seems to find her. inexperienced!reader who starts to get real freaked out when Lieutenant Riley starts dropping by the admin office and stares at her through the windows. inexperienced!reader who starts to bring bear mace to work and keeps it in her purse in fear that she is being stalked by the large man. Lieutenant Riley who has, for the first time in his life, become absolutely smitten with a bird. Lieutenant Riley who never once stepped foot in the admin building before her started working there. Lieutenant Riley who always sent Sergeant McTavish to take the finished paperwork over, so his presence is immediately noticed among the admin staff. inexperienced!reader who really starts fearing for her safety after a note was left on her windshield with a time and place. inexperienced!reader who sprays Lieutenant Riley with the bear mace when he moved from around the car next to her when she is examining the weird note. Sergeant McTavish who watched it all unfold from the inside of the weapons building. Sergeant McTavish who breaks out in a full sprint to see if Lieutenant Riley was okay and if you had lost your marbles. inexperienced!reader who gets in her car and locks the doors before calling her boss who is still inside. Laswell and Captain Price who comes out to Sergeant McTavish bent over laughing, Lieutenant Riley on the ground in pain, and inexperienced!reader sitting shellshocked in her car. Laswell who gets the whole story and mandates workplace safety and harassment training for all the 141. Captain Price who formally apologizes to her the next day on behalf of his ‘muppets’. Lieutenant Riley who sends Sergeant Garrick, who you find quite sweet and charming, to explain that Lieutenant Riley thinks you’re absolutely stunning and wants a do-over, but is worried to approach you for not only his safety but out of embarrassment. inexperienced!reader who gives Sergeant Garrick a second phone number she has, as she is still extremely weary of Lieutenant Riley. Lieutenant Riley who definitely doesn’t sulk after you don’t answer his ‘Hello.’ after 3 days. inexperienced!reader who is freaking out, now not because she’s being stalked but because someone is showing interest in her and she’s confused on how to handle it. Lieutenant Riley who makes a lot of noise before he walks up to her while she is leaving a day later. Lieutenant Riley who finally apologizes in person and admits he’s very embarrassed about scaring a pretty bird like you. Sergeant McTavish and Sergeant Garrick who watch on from a distance ready to intervene incase we have another bear mace situation. inexperienced!reader who gives him her real phone number and scurry’s off to her car. Lieutenant Riley whose smirk is wide under his mask, knowing that he is going to court the shit out of you to prove he is exactly the man you need.

a/n: wrote this instead of working. enjoy. maybe i’ll expand on this, maybe not 💋 xoxo

[strawberry-lychee]

Soap was hot 🔥 in the OG

but adorable in the reboot

[strawberry-lychee]

Hngg more poly 141 x roommate reader thoughts is:

When it comes to decorating, you are the boss. Not a single one of them dares to come between you and your Pinterest boards as you decorate each room.

Johnny might grumble about how “this place is startin’ to look like a bloody showroom” when you insist on fluffing throw pillows just right, but he’s the first to proudly point out your handiwork when guests come over.

Gaz is your shopping buddy, happily trailing behind you at home goods stores, pushing the cart while you debate between two sets of curtains that, to him, are identical. Shopping with you has made his eyes open up to so many new shades he didn’t even know existed.

Price rarely says much, but his approving nods and the way he quietly installs shelves or hangs up your chosen artwork without complaint tell you he doesn’t mind in the slightest. Always nods his head with a “yes, ma’am” that always makes you crack a smile.

Simon, of course, seems utterly uninterested. But the way his eyes linger on the new cozy rug you picked for the living room or how he spends more time in the kitchen now that you’ve added some homely touches- soft dimmable bulbs, a shelf for their personalized mugs, the seasonal towels, that one towel that had “kiss me and tell me I’m pretty” written on it, your little potted herb garden on the windowsill- there speaks louder than words.

Still, they do joke about your decorating “tyranny” but deep down, they love seeing the space slowly transform into someting that truly feels like a home.

[strawberry-lychee]

Small snip, thought i had while I was working.

Imagine Simon waking up next to you, no biggie, not the first time he woke up next to a stranger.

Problem he does not remember who you are, how he ended up at your house. Whatever, Johnny's fault for wanting to bar hop, he just needs to find his phone.

That's when he notices a ring on his finger.

His brain stops working, he is sitting on your bed for 15 minutes staring at the golden band.

You, on the other hand, wake up screaming that there is a stranger in bed- even more- there is a gorgeous rock on your finger.

You're freaking out, marrying a stranger while your drunk was not on your horoscope for this week.

Meanwhile, Simon's brain is going through the pros and cons. Pros: you're handsome/gorgeous, this means he doesn't need to live in the barracks and have to deal with cleaning inspection. The only con he can think of is that he has to live with you due to the military policy on marriages and you've seen his face.

Well, looks like you're married, congrats.

Simon finally finds his phone to Johnny texting him what the hell happened last night and finds photos of your court house wedding.

[strawberry-lychee]

i will sexualise the horrifying and find the horror in the sexualised

[strawberry-lychee]

“s’alright, i’ve got it,” is like insanely hotter when it’s things that are mundane.

like opening a ridiculously tight jar of pickles that you’ve been struggling with, or trying to find the end of the tape for you cuz you swear you can’t feel the damn thing, or bending down to pick up something you’ve dropped, or taking over the dicing of onions cuz you’re starting to tear-up, or reaching over to pass you the remote control when it’s too far from your grasp, or fluffing up the throw blanket over you just at the sight of the slightest tremor, or shaking your wet umbrella for you while you dig through your pockets for the keys.

like, they’re things that you can do. things that he knows you can do, but he just– he loves taking care of you.

and it’s not like he’s even doing this consciously. it was something like second nature to him – taking over when things have become even the slightest of inconvenience for you.

hell, you didn’t even know it was a thing until your friend pointed it out—

“john’s really nurturing, ain’t he?”

the words were not made with ill intent nor were they judgy, and were rather just honest with open curiosity like it was unexpected; like this familiarity of john taking over and you folding yourself into him was…

unusual.

all you could do was nod, your mind racing at all instances and finding it in you that you love him like that. so attentive. so ready to help and to be of service and to spoil, no matter how banal.

god. how could you have ever been so lucky, huh?

(or or: older man john price with daddy issues but through your eyes.)

[strawberry-lychee]

when the older man is the one with daddy issues so he's nurturing and careful and indulgent, but he's also so teasing when he's taking you apart. how he draws out the pleasure until you're crying, splintering at the edges, your words coming out in weak babbles. until you're pawing at him, begging for anything - your orgasm, a kiss, him to engulf you in his warm embrace.

but also thinking about how he loves to feed you; cooking up healthy and delicious meals, while you're over there in the living room busying yourself because last time you helped him, the two of you got distracted and forgot that there were potatoes in the oven.

or how he just loves buying you clothes; from shirts and sweaters to pants and skirts, to toques and scarves, down to the things you didn't even know you needed like an extra pair of gloves or stockings cuz you've torn the other one, remember?

and how he starts looking for a bigger house, somewhere with a bigger lot and a wider garage, and more rooms cuz you mentioned that you wanted your own office; that your back is starting to hurt from working in the dining room, with those old but lovingly worn out seats. and this one that he found has a bigger kitchen, with an island and tall, tall windows, and a place for a chandelier.

yeah, he's already imagining cooking for you here while you watch him from the island. this way, you're closer to him; easier for him to reach for a kiss.

and just also thinking about how he always picks you up from work; he's never late and sometimes, he'd even be too early. it's not even like he works odd hours because he should be finishing up at the same time that you do, but he rather bring his work to home - wrap up while you're already in bed, snoozing, not knowing that he crawled back out of it after he's cuddled you to sleep - than not pick you up at all. he loves the drive, anyway, and he's a senior at his position so he's got room for flexibility.

it's just, he is so greedy of every chance he can get to be with you. to be of service for you.

thinking about all of this knowing this is so john price :(

(ext)

[strawberry-lychee]

Police au! TF 141 x lawyer! Reader would be too funny.

It was probably Simon who got sued and you got called in as his lawyer.

“You’re lucky you got the L/N girl. Family runs a company. Had her for one of my cases and she got the job over and done with in thirty minutes. Damn brilliant if ya ask me.” Captain Price says, patting Simon on the shoulder.

Sergeant! Simon was a tough man who proudly piled up the charges people sued him for because he won every case without a lawyer. Until this one. This case was a lost cause without a lawyer.

“What do ya’ll think she’s gon’ look like?” Jonny asked, tapping his polished boot on the tiled floor.

Kyle laughed, “Why yer askin’ that? You think you’re gonna score a date?”

“Lawyer chicks are hot.” Jonny shrugged, “And I read ‘er file. Graduated top of her class. Smart lass.”

A firm knock on the door interrupted the conversation. It creaked open, revealing Simon’s lawyer. “So, heard you crashed into a group of nuns, jumped a fence, landed on a dog… then jumped another fence and landed in some cactus?” You laughed. “And now the nuns, the owner of the dog, and the owner of the cactus are suing you. Doesn’t sound like a good day for you.”

“Ay, you got a pretty one, Serg!”

You smiled, placing your briefcase on the table. “So, tell me about the cactus. Did you look like a hedgehog after?”

[strawberry-lychee]

Simon Riley who needs a job at all times. Some sort of objective. A goal.

When he’s home… it’s you. He gets up with you in the morning before work and makes your tea or coffee, depending on your disposition. He makes your lunch and packs it. He helps you put on your coat. He’d tie your shoes for you, if you let him.

At night, he’s dedicated to turning your brain off, emptying you of all your stress and worry, the tension slowly leaking from your shoulders as his cum leaks from between your legs. He fucks you stupid, cleans you up, tucks you into bed.

It’s easier to focus on you. Obsess over you. Spend his waking and dreaming hours thinking of you. It’s the greatest reprieve he could have asked for.

You’re accommodating, languishing in his attention, letting him hover and obsess as he pleases. You promise, time and time again, that you understand, you knew what you were getting yourself into, you were willing to be his sun for the time he could be home. The thing he revolves around. The lighthouse in a foggy night when the water is too rough to navigate and he desperately needs to avoid splintering upon craggy rock.

When it’s time to go, he tucks you away in the back of his mind, unable to afford the distraction. If he thinks about you for too long, he’ll turn around, run right back to your arms, your warmth. Love is a weakness on the field, but off it, it’s the only thing he lives for.

[strawberry-lychee]

bye y’all my ride is here

[strawberry-lychee]

Sometimes aftercare with Simon looks like-

Gasping for breath as you feel him grab onto you. The sudden release of air from your lungs almost sending you into a coughing fit when he decides to trap you under him.

"Si- Si- you're fucking heavy-"

"I know, I know", and he'll lighten up just enough for you to breathe comfortably. Opting to cuddle at your side while your chest and leg get covered by his limbs. You'll grab his hand and he'll press it down into the mattress as he has done mere moments ago.

"Don't leave", is all he says when you start to question him. A begging edge to his words when he hides his eyes into the corner of your jaw. Scarred and split lips that kiss and pray, a miracle thats arrived. Greedy enough to keep it.

[strawberry-lychee]

P2 P3

Reader who gets pregnant off of a one night stand with some soldier during armed forces day, showing your appreciation for his service a little too well.

You had a support system, friends who joked about you having way too much fun, hence your predicament, others already offering to buy things for the baby and your parents who couldn't be happier to meet their grandchild.

But what about the father?

Well, it's not exactly like you could track him down. Fuck, you didn't even know the man's name, only how he made you feel, his filthy words strumming in your ear, big hands tight around your waist, hips slamming away in a desperate chase.

Let's forget how you leg-locked him.

When your daughter was born, everything changed, and time slowed down. She was a quiet baby, barely crying or having any outbursts like a normal child would but outspoken in her own little way. That chunky thing came out of the womb with a glare. Brown eyes staring down anyone and everyone but you.

That's something she definitely got from her father. You vividly remember how his umber eyes watching you from across the bar. He was like an eagle waiting for the perfect moment to strike his prey. A perfect soldier.

So, you named your daughter Adira in memory of his strength. That's one thing he could have.

Adira loved to be by your side. Her chubby cheeks pressed into the nook of your neck, holding you close with strength of a thousand babies. Your clingy little thing was a koala, always by her mommy's side, never straying far no matter how curious she got. When she learned to walk, her favorite thing became to hug your leg, especially while in stores. She hated people, wearing a tiny scowl whenever customers passed by tucking herself closer to you.

Maybe it was a good thing her father wasn't around. Having to compete for her first words would've been a bloodbath.

You spent two years in bliss. The fact that you were a single mother an afterthought to raising what you considered a blessing.

With Adira's second Christmas coming up, you wanted to do something special. She loved trains and found them absolutely amusing, often mimicking the honk as she ran around your apartment. Thankfully, there was a train ride for kids around the park during this time of year.

Here, you stood in line, bundled up to the nines. Big poofy coat, warm gloves, and fuzzy boots. As the crowd moved, Adira clung close, arms wrapped around your leg, glowering at any passerby with an annoyed look on her rosy cheeks.

That one was new. Maybe something else she got from her father.

The two of you took steps in tow, keeping Adira close and comfortable as the train came into view. Her expression shifted, excitement palpable. "Twain!" She squealed, jumping up and down.

Before you could respond to Adira's childlike joy, a man bumped into you by accident, nearly stumbling over his own feet. He turns to look at you, blue eyes meeting yours, but you were too focused on the weird ass Mohawk on his head.

People wore still those?

"Sorry bout that lass." The man starts to apologize, a Scottish accent lacing his voice.

That breaks your stare, laughing awkwardly to mask your wandering gaze. "Oh no, it's fine. You should be careful. you might slip on ice."

He nods, giving you a kind smile. The Scottish man starts to leave, but the look your kid was giving him sent shivers down his spine.

Little Adira was giving him a fierce stare down from behind your leg before ultimately cutting her eyes at him as if he were merely a nuisance.

"Next in line! Mctavish!"

The man doesn't stay after that. You assume that it was him they were calling with the way he hurried off. Hope he doesn't fall, seemed like a nice guy.

Soap can't help but do a double take when be gets to the front. The little rascal was wearing his Lieutenants face, hawk eyeing anyone who dared got to close. It was like looking in a mirror.

He nudged Gaz, making a gesture to look back without making it obvious. "See the lass and her bairn in line?"

Gaz gives him a raised brow, looking back for a second before turning around. "There's a lot of kids with their mother's, Johnny."

Soap glances back, double checking to make sure you were still in line. “The lass with the wee one—she’s got the same wicked look as Lt. You cannae miss her.”

Gaz rolls his eyes but humors Soap by looking once more, his eyes scanning the crowd until they land on a little girl already mean-mugging him from a distance. He swiftly turns around, blinking in surprise, trying to comprehend what he saw. "Uh..."

Soap only nods in agreement. That was Ghost's face, on a kid no less. He wastes no time, elbowing Roach and getting him to look back as well, leaving the other Sergeant in the same shock as Gaz. "That is not a face a kid should have."

"Agreed." Gaz added, shuddering at the thought.

"Where's the cap?" Soap asks, the train ride no longer feeling like fun now that he’s discovered the jackpot.

"Market place with Lt. for cigs," Gaz knowingly remarked, remembering that Price had run out on their way here.

"Well, let's go show them a Christmas miracle," Soap shot up from his seat all too eagerly.

The sergeants just got their Christmas present.