#Give simon more hugs

[iloveacronix]

Whenever someone separates Krux and Acronix it's like separating these two

Its either both of them or neither

[butchwink]

i got the best and worst booster box ever i pulled three blue eyes. but this was pokemon and it was the fucking duck. quaxlys evolution. i got a bunch of everything cause its a booster box but i pulled three quaquavals. i did it like an advent calendar with my friend. we opened maybe five packs the day we bought it and restrained ourselves for a month and had a pack a day it was so fun pulling these!

the third quaquaval was the rare one but not the gold one and i was so mad lmao it was the second last pack. forreal! and my pulls other than the full art wooper (lets fucking gooo) were shit i wanted a clodsire! i pulled one buying three packs a few days later no big deal lmao but i was so mad at this box.

the last pack had the rare tinkaton. i also got a full art boss's orders too im so happy it was such a funny fucking box in the end i pulled three fucking blue eyes i swear if i saw a fourth quaquaval too early i mightve actually ripped it in half. my problem is I LOST THEM ON THE FUCKING BUS AND LIKE MY WALLET ITS FATE IS WITH THE HUMANS OF OTTAWA AND THE FUCKERS AT OC TRANSPO THAT I TRUST SO MUCH FUCK MY LIFE

[girl-lostconnection]

Concept of a concept time:

Reader who goes through the whole relationship with Ghoap or the whole 141 believing that they would always come second place, because of course Simon would burn the world down if Soap was taken out of it. Of course, Price would do everything and anything to save Simon. Of course, Simon would turn into monster if it meant keeping his family safe, keeping his TaskForce safe.

Of course, Kyle would go mad with grief if he was to lose Johnny. Of course, Kyle would become a shell of himself if he lost Price.

Of course they would all shatter without each other alive and well. It was obvious. It was a fact.

Reader who sees it and places themselves on the outside of it, because these men were already something before they came along. These men were already tight knit and close to each other.

These men were already family when Reader got dropped into their laps. It’s only natural they don’t really slot fully. There’s just no more space.

Reader who takes every bit and crumb of an affection they are given. Reader who gives away everything. All of them. Every kiss and confession, every hug, every bit of love and care they have. They give it all, because yeah, maybe they will never be a part of these 4. But they can be near and maybe…maybe that’s enough?

Reader, who dies. Not instead of Soap, not instead of anyone. They just don’t come back from the job one day, their foot locker was supposed to be shipped out to the family. But there is no family.

So 141 takes it. Who, if not them, right?

Reader, who dies and haunts the narrative from that point on. Reader who leaves a hole the size of a person and no one can fill it. It’s impossible.

Reader, whose warmth was seeping through them all for so long, the absence of it feels like a whiplash. The absence of it feels in their bones and it’s cold-cold-cold now. Their hearth dies and there is nothing to do about it but keep going.

Soldiers die every day, this one shouldn’t have been special. But they were.

Kyle who takes their personal things before someone else can come and toss them out, sleeping with their T-shirts and hoodies. Part of him dies with Reader. Part of him is getting buried with them. He’s sitting at their funeral until Price leads him away.

Simon who takes their photos and books, hiding them, keeping them safe. He needs to have it, because memory is traitorous and one day he might not be able to put a face to the name and he’s terrified of it to the point of feeling sick.

Soap who takes mementoes — keychains and magnets from all of the deployments, he takes every knick knack they found in the foot locker and Reader’s room, he stores them next to his. There are new keychains on every set of his keys. He’s fumbling with them every time he feels like there’s knot in his throat and he can’t speak.

Price gets the notebooks. Just a few of those were in a footlocker, filled with scribbles and meal plans and random quotes and games Reader played with Kyle during boring briefings. But it feels like them. It smells like them. Reader never wrote a consistent diary, too little time and too much going on, but they notated the places and times and that Soap coughs like a sick Victorian child and that Kyle has the most perfect beauty marks on his thighs and that Price sneezes like dad and that Simon sleeps with lamp on.

It is everything there was of them. Everything there’s left of their love and John isn’t sure he’d be able to part with it. It isn’t fair that it happened like that. It isn’t fair that he feels like destroying his whole office when he reads the “im not sure i fit in. on the bright side I reckon if something was to happen to me, no one would mourn too long. they have each other, I should be happy it is like that. I should be grateful” because it’s not fair-not fair-not fair-not fair.

John doesn’t show these diaries to anyone. John guards them like his most prized possession, reading it over and over because you, silly perfect thing, why haven’t you said anything. Why haven’t they noticed anything.

John doesn’t show it to anyone because he’s not sure if they won’t crumble under the notion. He’s not sure they won’t shatter when the rest find out that Reader died thinking they weren’t part of the family.

John sobs so hard, bile rises to his throat, world swimming in his eyes and it hurts, and he’s so fucking angry and it’s so unfair. Because it’s not true, because of course you were part of them, of course you matter, of course they mourn.

Because you die never finding out how much you were loved. Because there’s nothing he can do.

And it’s not fair.

Continuation

[cj-theyoungling]

Simon Riley x Reader

cw : Being drunk. This is pure fluff soooo.

synopsis : Simon goes to a pub after a mission and ends up getting a bit more drunk than he bargained for. After asking for you incoherently Gaz finally gets you on the phone.

author's note : This was inspired by this work I read while I was on the train and I had to put my two cents in. Simon might be OOC in this but it's my story so I get to decide how he acts drunk.

The sound of your ringtone fills your bedroom and wakes you up with a start. You fumble around the empty sheets looking for your phone, you squint at the brightness of the screen and answer once you see Simons contact photo.

"Hey! I think Ghost is asking for you. He's a little bit wasted right now." I man in a baseball cap says to you. You watch as he hands the phone over to Simon.

Simon's face fills the screen, once he catches sight of you the fabric of his balaclava folds in a way you know means he's smiling. "Hi baby." You coo at the screen. His eyes light up as he brings the screen closer to his face. You can tell he's drunk when he leans against Price as he replies.

"Hi doll. I miss you." He slurs his words together, between that and the usual muffling of his mask you can barely make out what he's saying.

"I miss you too Simon." This elicits what you can only assume is a frown from him.

"You don't call me that." He grumbles, you giggle in response and the sound of Price chuckling comes through the phone.

"Damn! You're whipped LT!" A Scottish accent shouts, also clearly drunk.

"Where are you love? I'm gonna come get you." You start putting on your sweatshirt and shoes, you laugh as you hear Simon ask Price the name of the they're at. You hang up, much to Simon's dismay, and drive to go get him.

You enter the mostly empty pub and quickly catch sight of the table full of burly men who all seem to be arguing over something.

"Well is she your wife Ghost? You have their last name saved as Riley." The one who answered the call says, now having shed his cap from earlier.

"Why didn't you tell us about her." Another man says, his hair is sticking up in a mohawk.

Price chuckles at their antics, having caught sight of you walking towards them. "Nice to see you again." He greets, giving you a quick side hug.

"Again?!" The mohawked one says incredulously. You chuckle and introduce yourself to the two men. Simon, suddenly alert once you start speaking stands and wraps his arms around you tightly.

"I missed you doll." He mumbles into your neck, ignoring the laughs from Gaz and Soap.

"I missed you more baby. Now let's get you home, you're wasted." You chuckle as you lead him away from the table. You wave at the men and get Simon into the car.

Once you get into the drivers seat Simon grabs your hand and holds it tightly. You smile as you begin to drive home. Making sure to take a few pictures when Simon falls asleep in the passenger seat.

[machveil]

ChildhoodBestFriend!Simon Riley who’s always played Simon Says. he wasn’t the most popular kid at school as a child, a little more quiet and reserved than his peers, but when the teacher introduced him to Simon Says? he felt so cool, all his classmates picking him because “Ma’am! Ma’am! Simon has to be it!”. that’s how he became friends with you - the last kid standing at the end of the game. you were so focused, delighted when you won, so happy you ran up to hug Simon

CBF!Simon Riley who never stopped playing Simon Says with you. he’d always use it to get what he wanted, it didn’t work half the time but it always made you smile. “Oi, Simon says give ‘im the remote.”, he’d chuckle when you groaned, whining about how, “You’re lucky I like you.”. it was cute, you had to give him that. even when he left for military service he gave you a hug, eyes closed as he pressed his face to the side of your head, “Simon says wait f’me, okay?”

CBF!Simon Riley that visits you on leave, luggage trailing behind him as he walks with you through Manchester. the weather is awful out - the air a little too cold, ugly grey clouds covering the sky. he hums, short and gruff, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders. straight faced and voice flat, you almost miss the way his lip quirks up briefly, “Simon says walk closer. S’cold out, don’t want you freezin’ t’death.”

CBF!Simon Riley that stays in your flat while he’s on leave. yeah, his apartment is a couple blocks away but your place feels more like home. you had bought a pull-out couch specifically for Simon a couple years back, something that wouldn’t hurt his back too much, something comfortable enough to rest on for the night. unfortunately, it doesn’t get much use other than acting as a normal couch. you’d make Simon use it if he wasn’t already comfortable in your bed, face mask discarded, a t-shirt and sweatpants keeping him comfortable. there’s not much you can do but smile and let your shoulders drop when he pats the sheets next to him, “C’mon, Simon says get in, love.”

[boowritess]

simon got himself a young girlfriend. he really shouldn't be entertaining, ruining, a sweet thing like her but he can't help himself. he's depraved like that. wanting to ruin such a sweet, innocent thing. make it so they only think of him...

her parents loathe him. which is not a surprising reaction.

but simon's too big, too imposing, to make them say anything to his face, and oh, his sweet little thing has teeth that snap at her parents when they try to talk about how he's too old. too rough. he won't treat her right.

they're right, of course. but he's good at making his little girlfriend forget about his wrongdoing just by a little sweet whispering and gently coaxing her thighs apart with a rough, scared hand.

however, what he wasn't expecting was finding out about his young girlfriends older sister.

you.

there's an age gap between you and your sister. you're nearly the same age as simon. but that's not the only thing simon takes note off.

you're more fulled out, in places that simon has no business looking at, the innocent ones and the not so innocent ones. there's a couple more inches on you than your sister. not nearly as tall as he, but he thinks he likes it.

but what really gets him goin'. you don't react the same way to him like your parents did. there was no disdain, disgust or even fear in your eyes when you looked at him.

no.

instead he got a wide smile, a hair-flick over your shoulder and a hug. pulling him in, despite his rigid tenseness. patting his back.

"oh aren't you sweet?" your voice is smooth, and almost coo like when you pull away. eyes sparkling with what simon can only describe is warmth.

and while your parents avoid him when he's around. when you're home, you do the exact opposite. you hover around your sister, making sure she's eating well, looking after herself, and then you do the exact same thing to simon.

showering him in the same doting affection as your sister. making them both a plate of food, a lot of food. making sure they're warm and tucked in at night. it's giving them your card when you send your sister to the shops for something, and quieting simon when he says he has his own. doing your sisters laundry AND his.

and the praise. god the praise. it fucking wrecks him. despite most of it being innocent.

he's helping do the dishes when you come in. "oh aren't you being a good boy?" you chime, voice so warm and sweet. you pat his back, and there's a genuine smile on your face. "i'll make you a cuppa for doing so well."

"you ate all your food? aren't you a good lad? huh? c'mon then, make room for dessert for being good." you'll say, patting his stomach and moving to the fridge.

it sends him into a whirlwind.

he could be spending days with his girlfriend's parents, who act like he's not even there. too intimated by this grown man. which he liked. he likes that. imposing people. making them uncomfortable with his mere presence. it's what his little girlfriend likes.

but then you come in. being all nurturing and sweet. coddling his little girlfriend and then doing the same to him despite you and him nearly being the same age.

then he starts to realize that you're treating him like how you treat your younger sister. treating him like he's young and naive. who can't look after himself. completely helpless. praising him for the basics a human adult should not be getting praised for. treating him like a child.

you've been fucking treating him like some fresh out the womb kid this whole fucking time and he's only seeing it now.

and he really can't help it.

but he fucking likes it.

he aches for it.

in the barracks. late at night. instead of flicking through the pictures of his little girlfriend to help quell the ache in him.

he thinks about you. your warm perfume. the reassuring pats. the way praise seems to just smooth off your tongue so sweetly.

"good boy." fuck.

he stares at the mess he made, panting hard. letting out a groan of frustration when he thinks of you again. and for the third time his cock twitches, the ache returning again.

that's when he comes to the inevitable conclusion.

he's fucking ruined.

a/n: idk where i was going with this but. here u go xx love ya'll, drink water xx part 2 maybe idk.

[bi-writes]

hi! i was thinking if you could write an older!boyfriend simon x reader BUT reader is john price's daughter so is kinda of a forbidden and secret relationship !!!! they've been dating for a long time now until john finds out !!!!!

18+

"how is she?"

"doing well, john. but you don't have to worry about her anymore, you know that right? she's not yours to worry about."

"she is mine. i know she's not..." john huffs. "she may not be blood, but she's mine, yeah? so when i ask 'ow she is, you tell me, kate. can we agree on that?"

"sure, john. she's in georgia. her russian got very good. if you want to know my honest opinion, i think she'll be one of my best."

"well...i wouldn't stand for anythin' less."

"john?"

that voice is music to him. he turns, taking his hat off, and he laughs, genuinely, when he sees you. his whole face lights up, and you make your way to him. it's been months since you've seen him in person--even though he makes you send him constant updates about what you're doing and where you are, you find yourself missing this man and the warmth he gives off whenever you are in his proximity.

he's always looked at you so kindly. he's always taken care of you. whenever you pick up the phone, he's always answered.

"'ello, bug."

he crushes you in a warm hug. he puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds you to his chest, and the tension in his shoulders deflates now that he has you with him.

"hi, john. miss me?"

"well...you were the only one with sense in my house."

"you live alone, john."

"aye."

he pours you a hot cup of tea before he makes you tell him all about your new posting. most of it is classified, and you tell him that, but his face lights up when you talk about the new skills you're learning and all the opportunities that kate is giving you. his face scrunches a little when you talk about the more dangerous ops, but john never has the same regard for his own life.

the mess hall gets busy once dinner time rolls around. his men were not expecting you, and that much is clear when they see their captain even enjoying a meal in public and not secluded in his office. you smile at his sergeants, but when your gaze lingers a little longer on the doors, johnny just nudges you with his elbow.

"miss the big guy?"

"what? no."

"he had a long night last night," he wiggles his eyebrows at gaz, who just laughs a little. "i might need to try the whole brooding, scary look LT has got on. attracts the most bonnie things, fuckin' christ."

your plate flies when you stab at your food too hard. the cutlery clatters as it hits the floor, and you jump a little, swallowing.

"are you alright, bug?"

"huh? yeah, oh...yeah, just...fucking clumsy. i...i'm gonna...find the toilet."

the blood is rushing in your ears as you make your way out. you're vibrating, hot inside, and you feel him before you see him, even in your anger.

when he pulls you into the shadow of a nearby supply closet, you swipe the blade out of your boot and hold it up against his throat. even through the mask, the blade bites, and he hisses as you hold him up against the wall there.

"don't fucking touch me," you snarl, and ghost's eyes are bright and alive as he holds his hands up defensively.

"wot--"

"and don't what me," you snap. "actually, don't fucking talk at all, you cheating, manipulative, british piece of shit--"

"look so pretty," he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. "did you do y'r hair, baby?"

"i will kill you."

"'s olright. last thing i see'll be you."

"i'm not fucking kidding, simon!"

he bends a little, tilting his head, and you breathe out through your nose as he leans his forehead against yours.

"reckon ya spoke t'johnny."

you scoff. "told me all about your winnings last night, lieutenant."

"was no winnings, love, don't be so fuckin' naïve." simon swipes at the handle of the blade, curling his gloved fingers around your wrist and forcing it away from him. "y'r just mad cause y'r cunt missed me."

"don't flatter yourself, asshole."

"so if i pull your knickers down right now, y'won't be drippin', swee'eart?"

"that's irrelevant."

"'s not. turn around and bend over."

simon's sorry, so he eats your pussy from behind. he gets down on his knees, and the crack of them satisfies you immensely, up until you feel his mouth between your cheeks, tongue slicking up your folds. you brace yourself against the wall, palms flat against the concrete as he puts two gloved hands against your ass and spreads you wide to fit himself nicely there. he hums, groans, makes you whine as he slurps obscenely into your cunt, laving at the drip of you until the taste of you floods his mouth.

"simon..." you whimper. "tell me i-it's not true."

he presses a wet kiss to your ass, biting it firm.

"'s not true, love. promise."

"fuck your promises," you sniffle. "you're a professional liar."

"tha' 'ow it's gonna be, innit? not gonna trust me? believe me?"

you rest your forehead against the cool wall, and the shadow of him envelopes you when he stands. he grunts a little as he gets to his feet. his big hands squeeze at the curve of your waist, and you close your eyes when you feel his breath against your neck.

"i'm sorry, simon."

"for wot?"

"i just...i like you so much. so much."

"come 'ere," he murmurs in your ear. he pulls your hips back, pressing your ass against his pelvis, and you dig your nails into the wall when you hear his belt buckle and zipper. "my pretty girl. my pretty, pretty girl."

"i missed you s-so much, simon."

"i know, love. quiet now. someone'll hear."

it's not the worst place you've fucked. you've snuck quickies in the rec room. behind the mess hall. met up in filthy gas station toilets, fallen into the backseat of a car in the parking lot of numerous military bases. even once, you deigned to suck his dick in his office, and you had to hide behind his couch when john came in to ask about an op.

john had a rule. his men were off-limits. he should've thought about that before he hired a man straight out of your wet dreams for his stupid fucking task force.

you're weak. and simon is a man.

inevitable.

you're a mile into pound-town when someone interrupts. simon is cock-deep inside of you, pelvis up against your ass, one hand braced around your throat and the other squeezing your ass. your eyes are rolled back into your head, and there's drooling coming out of your mouth. it's hot, disgusting, filthy to let him have you like this, but it's been weeks since you've seen him, and the phone calls aren't enough.

you love talking to him. you love when he talks to you. he'll never be annoying to you, you'll never get tired of him, but the distances hurts. you want simon to be all around you--inside of you, against you, his voice in your ear and his mouth against yours and his warmth your only sheet, but you can't bring yourself to do more than this.

you're too afraid of disappointing people. you're too scared of simon's rejection. if your relationship is nothing but fun, nothing but sex, you can pretend it isn't real, but you're just lying to yourself now.

you babble, and it sounds like love, but then the hallway light blinds you, and familiar blue eyes nearly kill you.

"jesus christ!"

simon puts his body in front of yours to cover you, using a harsh boot to kick the door closed. you squeak, covering your face with your hands, and you groan audibly as simon pants against your back.

"fuck--" you gasp. "oh...fuck, fuck, fuck!"

simon buries his face into the crook of your neck, laughing a little.

"bloody hell," he breathes. "reckon we're fucked, huh, love?"

"it's not funny, simon! we're in so much trouble!"

"well..." he squeezes your throat gently, tilting your head back. "could still finish. no sense in pretendin' now."

"you are not going to come when he's probably waiting for us outside."

"i'm balls deep in my favorite girl," simon mutters. "could come just fine. just say the word."

"you're disgusting."

"mmm..." simon squeezes your hips. "keep talkin'. i like when y'talk t'me like tha'."

"fucking asshole."

"yeah...yeah."

"you stupid, immature, unhinged pain in my ass--"

"fuck."

well.

you're definitely never leaving this room.

[yawnderu]

Ex-husband Simon never truly goes away. 

Simon’s stomach twisted into a knot as he heard your muffled sobs, your warm tears seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt, holding onto him for dear life even if he’s the one responsible for your pain. 

“I hate you, Simon.” Empty words that still send an unfamiliar ache to his chest, his soul hurting for you. 

“I know, baby, I know.” He managed to croak out, his voice hoarse. The sight of the gold wedding band on his finger stabbed at something deep within him, reigniting the flicker of emotions he always tried to push aside for an amicable divorce. 

Ten years down the drain, your whole life reduced to nothing but ink and paper. Simon’s duty to the SAS and the 141 took up so much of his time, often only managing to be home for a few months out of the year. Missed holidays and celebrations, broken promises of trying to be more present. As understanding as you tried to be, everyone reaches their breaking point. 

“Give me some time, love. I’ll retire. Y’can get anythin’.” Perhaps it is selfish to ask you to wait, yet how is a broken man expected to give up on the only beacon of light he has amidst all the darkness and shadows? His highschool sweetheart, his beloved wife. 

“How long?” Your whispered question hit Simon like a blow to the gut, so much trust and fear held in only two simple words. He closed his eyes for a moment, his hands tightening around your waist as you still straddle him, nearly cuddling him up even if all you could do was cry. 

“After we scatter Johnny’s ashes. S’ gonna be a quick trip to Scotland, and then I’m all yours.” He paused for a moment, his rough fingers tracing over the band on his ring finger, his touch always gentle in your presence. Despite the ring being a constant reminder of your love and broken promises, it was always safely tucked under the thick material of his gloves. Simon’s way of keeping you with him, of having something that made him cling to his sanity no matter how much bloodshed those same hands spill. 

“Half a month.” He’s more explicit this time, his warm hand running up and down the length of your back, not daring to go lower despite how much his entire soul craves you. It’s a tender moment that gives him an inner sanctity, and he’s not looking into ruining it. 

His eyes flutter shut as your delicate arms encircle his shoulders, hugging his body closer to yours, the smell of tobacco invading your nose. Despite it all, you’re placing all your trust in Simon one last time.

[tojisun]

the apple that rolled over to the tree

!! fluff; f!reader; parenthood!!; simon-centric hehe >:3 // divider by @/plutism!

there is a… kid attached to your hip when simon returns home from a mission, his exhausted body stumbling into the kitchen where he finds you and it.

“what—”

he can’t even fathom the emotion coursing through him at the moment, what with shock triumphing over everything. still, you’d probably need to give him credit for not losing his goddamn mind at seeing a whole child — he couldn’t have been more than two years old with how he’s only three apples tall — clinging to you like a baby koala.

“oh my god, you’re back!” you squeal, unfazed at how dumbfounded your fiance has become, before shuffling close to embrace him.

simon reciprocates the hug anyway.

you step back, your lips still wobbling in your tears as you stare up at him, all awed like you couldn’t believe that he was back and simon wishes he can press his promises to your lips because he will always find a way to come back, he swears on his life, but also—

the child.

“sweetheart?” he begins, soft as to not spook you or the kid. “who’s, uh, who’s that?”

the child shifts, turning his little face from where it was burrowed onto your neck at the sound of simon’s voice. he rests his head on your clavicle, smooshing his already chubby cheek, before the biggest brown eyes that simon’s ever seen stare up at him, all doe-eyed and jarringly innocent, and simon, he—

well, not even babysitting tommy’s kids prepared him for this.

“this is yasha,” you murmur, pulling simon’s attention back to you. “or yakov, or james if he would want an english name.”

the boy reacts to you calling his name, and simon watches as those curious eyes tip up at you in question. you swipe your finger over his nose, the little thing scrunching up at the ticklish feeling, and simon becomes breathless at seeing the unadulterated joy in your face.

it is all parts soft and tender, but also anxious and worried, and simon begins to puzzle out the pieces.

“he’s my foster child. or ours, i guess, now that you’re here.” your voice is so fragile as you reply to him, your hand now beginning to rub soothing nothings on the boy’s back. simon wonders if it’s more to calm yourself down than it is to comfort the boy.

your lips purse, hesitating, and simon waits because while he he’s pieced out what you want to ask, he knows that this is something you would want to truly talk to him about. it is something he knows you have mustered up the courage to bring up so he gives it to you, open and ready, and he hopes that his face and his gait show that whatever it is you would want to say, simon will always support you no matter what.

“si?” you begin, looking heart-wrenchingly small in your worry. “i think i wanna adopt him.”

simon hums, stepping close but also being careful not to crowd yasha, before he curls his arms around you two — his family — and nuzzles his face on your other shoulder. “i’d love that.”

he offers you a smile, and squeezes your arm in comfort, then he watches as the tears come, easily springing up from your eyes. yasha startles, whirling to look up at his mother in worry. simon’s throat constricts at the thought of you being a mother and him, a father; how, now, there is someone else for simon to come home to. someone to fight for.

jesus. he’d need to tell the lads and maybe get wasted as a celebration.

“owies?” yasha asks, chubby fist balling your shirt.

“they’re happy tears, sweetie pie,” you reply, crooning. “i’m just so, so happy.”

yasha hums, nodding, probably already distracted, and simon takes that time to straighten back up. he pushes your hair away from your face, before he pitches forward to press a kiss on your forehead.

yeah, he’s happy too.

.

yasha gets spoiled, not that simon’s complaining given that he’s been the one doing all the spoiling.

“really, si? a new toly?” you ask, arms crossed over your chest in your exasperation.

toly or anatoly, or tory because yasha still can’t speak properly, is the name that yasha gave to all of his new stuffed toys. it all started with a dog plush that simon bought from the supermarket on a whim and gave to the boy. it was laughably quick how yasha had abandoned his blocks to make grabby hands to the toy, before squealing out that name.

the next stuffed toy that yasha received, which was just the softest and roundest penguin plush toy that simon’s ever seen, was also named toly. so was that teddy bear you bought for him. or that reindeer he got for christmas. somehow, every single one had been named toly.

the only thing you and simon can find about toly was that anatoly means sunrise. simon was so sure it was the russian word for animal, because why else would yasha repeat it, but who would have thought that their little fish is so imaginative?

like, of course he’s going to name all of his toys toly because they are as warm as sunrises. see? smart kid.

but this one, this new toly, set off world records. it was a camel plush that simon saw at the airport when he was out, pretending to be a civilian.

(garrick had been assigned with him for that mission, and was quick to spot and mention simon’s on-duty purchase.

“it’s for my boy,” he grunted in reply, forgetting the fact that he’s yet to truly break the news to his squad. garrick had never looked as surprised, and next thing simon knew, the news made its way to their group chat.

price was amiable about the whole thing. mactavish? not so much.

he just about begged to see a picture of yasha — “and yer girl again, if you wouldn’t mind.” — or even visit him. then he invited garrick to come and price invited himself too, so now the guys are going to swing by some time soon.)

when simon gave it to yasha, their boy had stared at it for a solid minute — simon counted — before screaming and then running to snatch the toy from simon’s hold. he hugged the camel close to his person, his little head nuzzling against the plush face of the camel, all the while absolutely vibrating in unabashed excitement.

he picked up thundering footsteps and turned around just enough to see you literally slide into the room. yasha continued to hug the camel, ignorant of the distress he caused, while you looked on in your panic, buzzing with worry because you just heard your boy scream, damn it!

“he’s fine, bub,” simon said before you could ask, and he watched as you came down from your frenzy, your breathing slowing down at the rationalization that if simon was not panicked, then everything’s alright.

then, your eyes landed on the new stuff toy.

“really?” you asked.

in his defence, yasha adores camel-toly.

in your defence, yasha’s room is running out of space for his tolys.

…well, simon does have all that military money. gonna have to spend it on something else, right?

.

[charlie foxtrot]

sriley: link

john2: ????

sriley: new address.

garry: oh? congratulations.

sriley: thanks.

johnp: 👍

.

yasha was shy when saying hi to price, then outright cried when he saw mactavish, which made simon bark out loud in laughter. yasha only stopped sniffling when he saw kyle. in no time, yasha absolutely adored garrick to the point that he would not even let him go.

dinner was prepared and while you called them all to eat, simon ambled out of the kitchen, where he had been helping you, and walked towards kyle and yasha to pick up his son and seat him on his high chair. but yasha had only looked at him, his head tilted in question, before ignoring simon and clinging onto kyle.

hell, he had even let go of camel-toly so that he could use two chubby fists to hold onto kyle. surprised, simon didn’t even know how to react and watched as his sergeant offered him an apologetic smile before carrying his son to the dining room. kyle rounded the table and sat yasha on his high chair, only, yasha made a scene when kyle did so, and he released a lungful of screams and cries, breaking everyone’s eardrums and their hearts.

kyle stood there, worried and confused, and hovered because he did not know what to do. hell, none of them did, and then you walked out of the kitchen, rushing to yasha, and hummed songs to comfort your son.

you crooned when he made grabby hands to be picked up and you did so with no hesitation, your touch soothing the boy into quiet sniffles. but even then, yasha wouldn’t settle down as he wriggled in your arms, short limbs reaching for—

simon glowered.

yasha was reaching for kyle. you were quick to giggle, asking kyle if it was alright that yasha would eat with him, and simon had glared at his sergeant, daring him to deny their son of anything, before reluctantly nodding his approval at kyle’s happy trill of, “of course, ma’am!”

yasha had finally calmed down when you sat him on kyle’s lap, and his boy was even polite enough to actually eat his soft veggies every time kyle beckoned him to open his mouth for a new spoonful.

simon did not startle, but it was close, when your hand landed on his thigh.

“you okay, baby?” you asked, eyes furrowed in your worry.

“yeah,” he remembers replying with, his throat all choked-up because he knows yasha must be excited to have new people to play with, but still, there was something that stung when his boy chose garrick over him.

not that it was kyle’s fault because he is a dear for even doing all that he did for yasha, but simon had hoped that he would always be yasha’s favourite.

too lost in his thoughts, simon had almost missed yasha’s call.

“-ddy? daddy?” yasha asked, startling simon.

it was not the first time yasha called him that, but every time he did, it never fails to make simon melt.

“yeah? what’s up, buddy?”

simon pretended that no one was watching the interaction.

yasha giggled, hiding his food-smeared lips behind his little palms, before turning to use garrick’s front to hide from simon. you snorted, murmuring to kyle how you swear you would wash his shirt before they go, but it’s all buzz to simon because his son — his darling boy — wanted to play with him during dinner.

yasha peeked at him again, before giggling once more when he caught simon’s eyes. this continued on until dinner ended, with simon occasionally miming growling monsters to induce more hearty giggles from his son, and being rewarded with the happiest laughter ever.

simon turned to you, with his heart on his throat, and beamed.

“aww,” mactavish sang from somewhere beside him. “ain’t that adorable— argh!”

simon had swung his arm out and thumped his fist on johnny’s stomach. thank god, yasha had chosen that time to hide his face again on kyle’s stomach.

.

“unca’ john?” yasha asks in a stage-whisper because everyone within earshot just heard him even with his attempt to be quiet. it’s only their training that stopped simon from acting like he’s noticed.

“yeah, bubsy?” john replies, sounding so utterly soft that this version of him is so foreign to simon.

“this tory,” yasha says and simon discreetly peeks to see which toly is being introduced to uncle john — it’s the elephant one.

price gasps theatrically like he hadn’t seen yasha drool all over this elephant toy before, and puffs out, “how cute!”

“mhmm,” yasha says, nodding, then smacks the face of the toy on john’s face. the trunk smooshes against john’s nose, and thank god that elephant-tory is soft because that aim would have been lethal if it wasn’t.

“jesus—” price gasps out.

“language!” simon hisses, and ducks his head back down just before yasha could catch him peeking.

.

yasha is now four and he still gets teary eyed when he sees johnny. simon placates his friend and says it’ll pass soon. maybe.

basically, i wanted to write a fic wherein simon’s reaction to being presented with a child is “what— oh okay, sure why not” and (literally in 20 minutes) “i will kill everything for this child” and so here we are

a simon spinoff - it takes a rampage (to be a dad)

[preqwells]

imagining simon with a reader that's extremely awkward since it's their first serious relationship.

simon was practically yearning for your touch, ready to burst at the seams and teeter over while you hesitantly refrained. you two had been dating for at least eight months and had known each other for longer around this point, so he was well-adjusted and within his comfort zone with you; he trusts you. you’ve had flings here and there, all of which lasted more than a month if you were lucky— not your fault these assholes did a complete 180 once you officially put a title on things. for a long time, you convinced yourself that it was your fault since the only common factor in all of those relationships was you until simon was practically desperate to prove you wrong— although his poker face and lack of flowery words would ever allow him to do so.

every time simon would try to get closer to you at night? you didn’t know what to do. cheek kisses? you’d just press your lips into a tight-lipped smile, managing a small “thanks” and averted your gaze. if simon tried to hold your hand? it was almost like you’d find a way to wiggle out of it. it was almost like you weren’t used to affection— how could you of all people not be used to affection, he wondered.

he started to eventually get discouraged at one point. he wasn’t one for affection often, but you didn’t seem to want to get closer to him— why didn’t you want to get closer to him? he’d try to brush it off, but he wasn’t good with words and touch was all he had left.

it was abruptly brought up when you two were seated on the couch, his eyes mindlessly mapping out how your hair framed the side of your face, assuming it began to tickle you from the way you raised your hand and began to gently scratch the softness of your cheek. “why do you move away from me when i try to touch you?” he suddenly asked, his voice vibrating in his chest. he caught onto the way your jaw undulated at the question which only fueled his curiosity. were you aware you had been doing this to him? were you dangling your affection above his head? what a cruel game if you were, honestly. “um…” you began, a silence ensuing between you two. you didn’t know what to say— what could you say? your reasoning felt silly the more you thought about it— you didn’t want to push simon away of all people.

“i don’t know what to do or where to put my hands… and im afraid i’ll get clingy. its not that i dont like it… i do…. i just…” you mumbled, your eyes flickering between his and the tv.

…that was it?

you didn’t know where to put your hands and you thought you’d be clingy just after giving him a small hug? small kiss? he stifled a laugh which you caught onto, prompting a small pout to form on your plush lips. “why’re you laughing? i’m being serious!” you groaned, slightly frustrated at the feeling of simon not taking this seriously. simon took your frustration in stride, the roughness of his hands grazing across your cheeks as he gingerly cupped the sides of your face. “s’nothin— nothin a’ all…” he mumbled, secretly on cloud nine as he silenced you with a kiss, feeling you tense up to which he elicited a throaty chuckle. “it’s not— s’not funny!” you attempted to reprimand him which failed, seeing as how you were holding back your laugh at simon’s smile and at how ridiculous the situation was now that you thought about it.

“you’re right. i’m afraid you’ll be like a leech if you get used to me.” he mumbled against your lips. he was pleasantly surprised at the feeling of your hands returning the gesture and cupping his face, your thumbs grazing the stubble which pricked and prodded needles into the soft pads of your fingers. “shut up.” you mumbled back, pulling him down onto the couch with you as he landed on your chest. he tried to ignore the rapid beating of your heart and how it hammered in your chest, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think it was cute.

if you weren’t used to affection, he’d have to change that.

[readwritealldayallnight]

(part of the ‘Wife at First Sight’ series)

The newlyweds hold each other close, bodies swaying in time with the music that plays through rented speakers in the dance hall, their loved ones gathered around to watch their first dance.

Every guest in attendance is sporting a smile as they gaze upon the happy couple, some even have tears brimming close to their lash lines, threatening to spill over. There is no doubt that today is a day every in attendance will remember for a long time.

You and Simon however…

Well, the two of you are happy for the newlyweds, of course, no doubt about it. You’re very grateful that your sister included you in her wedding party. But when one of Simon’s large hands happened to slip into yours when the DJ asked everyone to gather around the dance floor to watch the couple’s first dance, he hardly had to give you much of a tug to steer you towards one of the darker corners of the decorated space.

Turning to face you, he offered you his extended hand along with a raised brow in question. Slipping your smaller hand into his bare palm, both of you pointedly ignoring the spark that shot through your nerves at the slight touch, you allow him to hesitantly pull you closer and closer, until there isn’t any air left between your bodies, your figures moulding together as though you were simply chunks of clay on a pottery wheel, two separate pieces becoming one.

Instinctually, as though the two of you have held each other like this countless times beforehand, your arms snake around his neck while his large palms come to land on the small of your waist, the room too dark for you to see how his hands hold the slightest tremble to them

Simon can’t recall if his hands have ever shaken while on duty, and if they have, it was in the very early days of his career, too long ago to even be remembered. His confidence in himself and his abilities too strong to allow for any nerves to seep through and put a tremble in his steady hands. With you however…

When it comes to you, Simon finds himself in uncharted territory, in unfamiliar waters. He doesn’t have anyone on comms to tell him how to do this, no briefing to go over the plan, no Captain giving him orders he can follow to a T like the good soldier he is. For someone who had become so used to working solo for years, he’s finding himself at a constant loss when it comes to pulling the trigger with you.

But now, with your smaller body held so gently but firmly in his strong arms as you sway together to the melody, no one else aware to the private moment you two are having in the shadows, he can’t imagine going on any longer without this being his reality. No more pretending, no more charades, he wanted the real thing. And that alone terrified him more than any RPG or close combat fight ever had.

As the night wraps up, Simon hangs back and watches you hug your sister and new brother in law, watches you bid your goodbyes to fellow friends and family members, watches you fetch a coat for an older aunt who’d misplaced it, watches you ruffle your young nephew’s hair as he sleeps on his mothers shoulder, watches you spin and stroll and saunter about the space leaving everyone you interact with wearing a smile, all while he thinks to himself, wife wife wife wife wife wi-

My wife

If you would have asked him, he planned on blaming the slight breeze outside during your walk from the venue back to the car, as to why he removed his blazer and draped it over your shoulders. But like everything else that happened between the two of you, you didn’t question it, instead choosing to enjoy the warmth that the jacket emanated, along with the lingering smell of Ghost clinging to the fabric

Nor did you have anything to say when you felt his pinky finger brush yours once, twice, three times before he was threading his thick, calloused fingers together with your softer ones, each of you silently relishing in the others touch

As he did every time the two of you happened to drive together, he opened your door for you, still holding onto your palm as he helped you in. Tonight however, unlike any other time, instead of shutting the door and coming around to the drivers side right away, Simon instead grabbed ahold of the seatbelt before you had a chance to, slowly reaching over you to buckle you in, your cheeks warming at the gesture

The drive back to base was quieter than usual. Already known for being a man of few words, you had grown accustomed to the way you apparently brought the fearsome Lieutenant out of his shell for you and you only. You occasionally filled the otherwise comfortable silence with comments about the wedding, remarks about the decor, complaints about the music choice, joking about how much fun you’d had introducing everyone to your husband, all while he sat quietly in the drivers seat

Though his ever stoic expression did not betray his inner thoughts, his mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to figure out how to open his mouth and just say what he wants to say. He remembers learning somewhere that car rides are often a useful environment for having difficult conversations, as it is easier to talk and let things out without having the pressure of someone watching you, and you looking back at them.

He has to do it. He will do it. If he doesn’t do it now, when else will he ever work up the courage to say what he’s been feeling since the very second he laid eyes on you and knew who you would be to him

“-honestly though, I don’t think anyone was expecting my uncle to start dancing like th-”

“Love, can I-” Simon interrupts you, his hands tightening around the steering wheel as he takes a steadying inhale and braces himself. You glance at him for a moment, not minding that he’s cut you off, as you’d been wondering what was going on in that head of his, almost able to hear the gears turning in his brain as he drove. “I need to say somethin’.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t-” He can’t help but take another deep breath, unsure of how to go about this. “I don’t know how to-”

This time, it’s you who cuts him off, when you shift in your seat and reach a delicate hand out to rest on his bicep, offering the slightest squeeze of reassurance. He takes his eyes off the road just long enough to glance down at where your hand lays on his muscle, feeling as if his he’s been shocked where you touch him, even with the clothing separating your skin from his, the simple gesture giving him just enough confidence to say what he needs you to hear

“I don’t have much to offer you, love.” He begins by saying, his death grip on the steering wheel loosening more and more every second he feels the weight of your hand still resting on him, letting him know you’re there. “My job- it’s dangerous. I know you know that, but I haven’t a family member left alive because o’ what I do. I haven’t a single friend outside o’ my own bloody task force. I’ve got a small flat in the city I only see maybe five times out o’ the year. I don’t- I don’t have much, love.”

Simon takes another breath, grounding himself as he feels your thumb stroking his arm through the fabric of his button-up, still listening to him, still here with him.

“But if I had you, swee’heart. If I really had you, had you as my wife,” he has to stop to clear this throat, his emotions seeping through into his words. “If I had you as my wife, I’d have the whole world. That’s all I want. All I need.”

It’s your turn to stew in silence for what in actuality is only a few moments, but for Simon it feels like an eternity and a half, every possible worst case scenario he’d ever thought up flashing through his mind with every passing second you don’t say anything.

“Wait,” you finally reply, the storm in his head halting at the sound of your voice. “Simon, do you- are you- are you saying you like me???”

That… that was not what Simon was expecting you to have to say after all that

“Er- yes.”

“Simon!” You squeal, the gentle hand on his arm now swatting at him repeatedly. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?! I had no idea!”

Were it anyone else, Simon would be downright bewildered with how truly and utterly blind you’ve been these past few months, only now putting two and two together as to his true feelings for you. But because it is you, he can’t help the light chuckle that slips free from between his lips

“You know what, you’re right lovie. I should’ve been more clear.” He says, only half-joking.

“But wait, I- I don’t understand. You- isn’t there someone else? I mean- I helped you pick a ring for someone-”

You watch as Simon readjusts his grip on the steering wheel so that he’s driving with one hand, the other reaching across to the glove compartment in front of you, pulling it open to reveal nothing out of the ordinary; the car’s starter manual, a flashlight, an extra pair of gloves, a ring bo-

A ring box

But not just any ring box

You know it as soon as your eyes land on it, and you can’t help the gasp that comes out of you, even this late at night in the darkness of the car with shadows whooshing past constantly, you recognize that box right away

You helped pick it out after all

“It’s your ring, love.” You hear Simon whisper, his outstretched hand hesitantly reaching out to smooth over your knee, recognizing that things are starting to make sense to you after all this time. “It could only ever be for you. There is only you.”

Your trembling fingers pull the box from its hiding spot, bringing it to rest in your palms on your lap, cradling it as though it were the most precious thing you ever held

You don’t realize that Simon is pulling the car over to rest on the curb, until you feel the parking brakes being put on, your eyes finally glancing up to meet his own steady gaze. Gaze locked with yours, he slowly reaches out to pluck the box from your hands, tilting the top open to reveal the very same piece of jewelry you’d unknowingly chosen for yourself. But your eyes never drift down to catch the diamond sparkling in the light, instead staying directly on his, something much more precious and priceless unfolding between the two of you

You’ve known Simon for months now, have spent countless hours talking, laughing, getting to know each other more deeply than anyone else has known you in years. In all that time, never once did you question his mask, nor did you ever ask to see what was underneath, respecting that it was part of what made him him

Now however, your eyes widen as you watch his fingers slip beneath the ear loops of his simple black medical mask, before he slowly brings it down, revealing a scarred, pale, vulnerable, and handsome face beneath

The gesture is not lost on you; Simon is truly baring himself completely to you, no more hiding behind jokes or masks or anything

“Love,” he begins, clearing his throat once more before he asks the most important question of his life. “Would you make me the happiest man alive and marry m-”

You’ve cut him off again

But not with your words, nor your reassuring touch

No, this time you cut him off by reaching forward to grasp the collar of his shirt and pulling him towards you, lips meeting in a passionate crash that feels as though time has stopped and the earth stands still, a feeling that leaves you certain that no one else on the surface of the earth has ever felt something as deeply, as world shattering as this

You’re finally kissing Simon

Simon is finally kissing you

Pulling back for air, you don’t dare go any farther than where you can lean your forehead against his, each of you panting, with grins stretching across your kiss-swollen lips

“Take that as a yes.”

“Oh my gosh,” You laugh along with him, your shared breaths warming the others reddening faces. “Just wait until we tell everyone!”

Simon isn’t sure how to break it to you, that you might just in fact be the last person to find out about this

If you’ve made it this far into the series, I wanted to say thank you so so so much for reading and thank you for your patience between uploads!!!

This will not be the last part to Wife at First Sight- I’m hoping to make one last NSFW part to wrap it all up, but I wanted it to be separate from this upload in case anyone wasn’t wanting to read the 18+

- M 🫶🏻

[cmncisspnandmore]

Nothing breaks Simon’s heart more than seeing you cry.

He hates it, it makes his skin crawl, and he feels helpless.

He watches the tears roll down your cheeks, leaving shiny streaks down your face. Your eyes red rimmed as you wipe at them furiously with your hands.

He feels terrible as he pulls you into a bone crushing hug. One hand on the back of your head pressing your face into his large chest. The other around your waist, holding you tightly against him.

His grip tightens when your knees give out, both of you slowly sinking to the floor. Until he’s on his knees trying to hold you together, trying prevent you from shattering to pieces in his hands.

His lips press to your hair as he rocks you slowly back and forth. Soft murmurs fill your ears as he tries to assure you that it’ll be okay even though he knows it very well might not be.

He holds you, long after his legs start to ache, his muscles tense from being in the same position for so long. He listens to your sobs quiet, your breathing slowing as you manage to calm down.

The soft “sorry..” that comes from you makes Simon feel sick. You should never apologize for showing emotion, for being human. For experiencing sadness.

Rage bubbles in his chest as she listens to you try to explain your emotions away, listens to you apologize for “falling apart” and saying “it won’t happen again.”

Simon suddenly wants to rip whoever made you feel like you couldn’t express hurt to shreds. To feel them shake beneath him as he makes them take back what they said to you. Makes them say sorry for making you feel like you weren’t allowed to cry.

But he doesn’t show you how upset he is that someone had made you feel like you can’t cry. He doesn’t tell you hoe his knees have gone numb from kneeling on the hard floor. He just continues to hold you, his arms sore.

As you collect yourself all Simon wants to do is see you smile. To see your lips turn up in even the smallest smile. So he does what he does best in situations like this.

“What do you call an angry veggie?” He asks, pulling back ever so slightly so he can see your face.

“Uh…” you pause, your face scrunched slightly, “what?”

“A steamed veggie,” he grunts, and for a moment he’s worried he said the wrong thing. But then your lips twitch, and a small smile breaks out on your face. along with a dramatic roll of your eyes has Simon letting out a small breath of relief.

Simon hates to see you cry, but he also loves being the one to make you smile after.

[doeidawn]

18+ MDNI

simon has told you countless times before that civilian life is tough for him. every time he comes back home from deployment, there's a tension in him that's hard to soothe. as rough as military life was, it gave him a purpose, made him feel like everything he did—down to the food he ate—was for something. it's not like that back home.

he doesn't like to sit around and do nothing all day. and you've told him that he owes it to himself to relax, to just sit down and enjoy the mundane. that's what being home is for, you'd remind him. but it's hard for him.

you've found it's a little easier for him to relax if you're doing it with him. so you'll invite him to watch whatever you've got on the tv, or ask if he wants to take a midday nap together. it gradually gets easier over time. he resists less each time you ask.

but you don't fail to notice how much he fidgets, like his very being is uncomfortable with sitting still unless it's for work. he's always moving somehow, fingers itching to do something.

the solution he came up with? he's got his hands on you whenever possible. it's easiest to relax when you're moaning in his ear.

even now, when there's a movie playing on the tv in front of you, simon has you sat on his lap with your legs spread in front of the screen. his head rests in the crook of your neck, peppering kisses on your jaw, and he's still able to keep his eyes on the screen so you don't scold him about 'not paying attention' later.

of course, it's not like you're paying attention either. hard to when he's got two of his thick fingers knuckle-deep inside your slick cunt. he pumps in and out at a steady pace that has your toes curling and your head falling back against his shoulder. the wet squelches that sound out every time he pushes in and curls his fingers is more enticing than the people on the screen, anyway.

"gotta take care of my girl," he'd coo in your ear. his fingers slide out and up to your swollen clit. he presses gentle circles around it before patting your sensitive skin with just enough force to make you squirm. "and gotta make sure she's gettin' enough attention, too, huh?"

right now, his only focus was on making you cum hard. he knew that angle to take to make sure his fingers hit deep inside, making your back arch off of his chest. your slick walls hugging and pulsing around his thick digits until you're squeezing tight and flooding his hand with your cum.

"that's it, baby," he groans, panting with you like he'd cum in his pants from just the sight of you. his fingers spread you open, sliding through the obscene slickness. "such a pretty fuckin' sight."

regardless how much you mewl and moan and whine, he doesn't stop until you're shaking, until you can't give him any more. but when that happens, he moves his hands off of you, letting you get comfortable so you can doze off with your head in his chest while he rubs your back in soothing strokes.

[luvlystarr]

.・。.・゜❃・.・❃・゜・。.

Prompt: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley “hates” you.

Content: Fluff, Grumpy x Sunshine

Just posted part 2!

.・。.・゜・゜

Ghost hates the new member of the Task Force 141, you.

Ghost hates how talkative you are. He hates how you don’t follow his orders sometimes. He hates how you always get on his nerves.

But most of all, he hates how every time you see him your doe eyes gleam with joy. He hates your smile. He hates your how your sweet voice calls out his name. He hates how tender your touch is when you patch him up. He hates how you furrow and purse your lips when you're concentrating. He hates how your hair perfectly frames your face, showing off your perfect features.

Every little thing about you gets him all riled up and fuming with anger. Occasionally he would say some harsh remarks towards you, yet every single time you would awkwardly laugh it off, causing him to be even more pissed off.

Ghost would always complain about you to Soap and Gaz. They never understood why he despised you so much since you're basically the sweetheart of the team.

Both of them were confused until they heard Ghost mutter, "I hate how my face gets warm when she’s around. Especially how pissed off I get after hearing her stupid giggles!”

Oh, that makes more sense now.

Gaz gives Soap a knowing look before the two boys look back at Ghost with a smirk on their faces. Unfortunately, it didn't end well for the two Sergeants that day.

Even though every fiber of his being was annoyed by you, he didn't have the strength to tell you to shut up when you kept rambling about your new pet dog at home.

Or that one time he couldn't bring himself to push your head off his shoulder. So instead, he sat still like a statue for an hour and let you rest peacefully.

Including that one time he let you hug him abruptly out of nowhere because you had a tough day. He even patted your back because he didn’t have the heart to shove you off of him.

Ghost wouldn’t dare to admit it but he does like you. Possibly even more.

・゜・。. .・。.・゜・゜・。.

[diaryofaprettyprincess]

simon 'ghost' riley x girly!innocent!reader..

when he fucks you you get so overwhelmed, ur body raising with goosebumps, ur nipples pert and sensitive as they brush against his scarred tattooed chest. u cry n whine, making small cute gasps everytime he bottoms out into you, drool leaking from ur mouth as ur mascara makes small streaks down ur face.

he alternates between slow n hard thrusts and fast and hard thrusts, his cock making ur tummy flutter as he manhandles u (sort of accidentally, he kind of forgets how much smaller than him u are), he'll stick his thumb in ur mouth, his other fingers grasping onto the side of ur face as he forces you to look up at him with doe eyes. its a sweaty, slippery mess between the two of u as u sniffle, digging ur light-pink polished manicured nails into his bulky biceps, rutting ur hips upward as u now have no control over what ur lower body does. ur swollen button rubbing gently against the dark curls of his lower region.

everything feels so good, ur eyes crossing n closing as u wrap ur arms around him, his scent intoxicating and surrounding you.

when u cum, ur cunt fluttering around his dick, ur hole stretched so wide u can feel him in ur tummy, ur whole body stiffens, and u havent realized that u have not taken a breath yet until simon shushes you through his grunts then runs his large hand along the side of ur torso as a means of trying to calm u--even though his hips are stuttering and hes pounding into you, using u. "breathe, sweet girl, breathe." his voice is strained as he fucks ur hole, ur cunt tightening around him. ur back arches off the mattress, ur breasts rubbing against his chest, furthering ur intense climax as u gasp for air, small sobs escaping ur throat as simon kisses ur neck then ur lips messily, his cock still driving inside of you. he holds u close to him as he teeters off of the edge, ur hips bucking wildly, ur cum dripping onto the sheets underneath you, ur eyebrows pinched upwards as u hug simon closer to ur body. u have never felt anything like this. not before him, at least.

"i got you, baby..I got you," he whispers gruffly, his accent more prominant as he comes, his seed warming ur pussy as he fucks it into u, choking on a moan as he grips ur body closer to his, ramming into u animalistically-- the act of him using u and his fingers bruising ur hips making another wave of ur orgasm rock through ur body, whines and moans leaving ur throat. "that's it..good girll." he whispers, slowing his hips. "did such a good job, didn't you sweet girl? such a good job. 's okay know it's alot.." u slump onto him as u come down from ur high, whining softly as ur drool gets on his shoulder, his rough hands roaming ur body as he gives u lots of kisses, praising u <333

[elysianightsss]

No because girl you NEEDDDDDD to elaborate on this -> Soulmate AU. Poly!141 x neurodivergent!reader <- I will die happily

Elaboratingggggggg🤭🫠

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You didn’t think that you’d get this far in life, many reasons spring to mind but the main one is you’re a little different than most people. You can’t cope with certain things and struggle with change. You remember growing up your family would brush off your ‘issues’ and say to just deal with it. How little they understood you.

Moving out was the best decision you ever made, the only change you have ever been happy about. It was necessary and would make your life so much easier on a level only you could understand. You could set up your space the way you like it, the way you need it. And with just you, no one would mess with your stuff just to see you loose it as it was ‘funny’ or move things to suit them better.

This way, you could live in peace.

Task force 141 had just finished a successful mission, camping out in one of the many secret safe houses as they waited for further instructions when they had sent Johnny to the shop for supplies. That’s where he saw you, in a Sainsbury’s supermarket of all places, headphones tight over your ears to block out the world while you tried to decide if the extra two, ninety-nine was worth it or not for the soothing lavender face mask you wanted.

Johnny was quick to subtly snap a picture of you and even go as far as to follow you home before bolting it back to the guys to tell them he’d finally found you. Their last soulmate.

As soon as Johnny showed them the image of you, that was it for them. They had to have you. A burning need coursing through their veins, pumping around their bodies. Nothing would ever be enough until they had you in their arms.

But as said and as they observed themselves, you don’t cope with change.

So they had to situate themselves into your life slowly, one by one.

Johnny and Simon moved in next door to you, and lived there for seven months slowly getting to know you and obviously spying on you. They gradually began to understand you and your cute quirks. They know that you eat the same thing for dinner every night, you use the same plate or bowl and wash it straight after use to make sure it is ready for next time.

You have one set of cutlery, one glass and one mug. Two pillows though you only sleep on one and use the other to hug to sleep. And to top it all off you have one recliner chair and one massive beanbag chair that makes you feel like you’re being hugged tight each time you sit on it. It gives you the deep pressure therapy you desperately need at times.

The guys found your habits strange at first but the more time they spent with you, the more they began to understand you. Understand your need for order, for repetition. And they had experienced first hand what happens when change was forced into your safe space.

Johnny had the bright idea to gift you a set of cutlery a few weeks ago so when he and Simon came round for dinner as they did every Thursday for the past four months, they didn’t have to bring cutlery and plates from their own place, it would already be there.

Simon said it was a bad idea but he couldn’t say no to Johnny, not with how happy he looked while he picked out some pretty baby blue plates and silver cutlery with little mushrooms painted at the end. He boasted to Simon about how much you’d love them while they stood in the queue to pay.

He was wrong.

After dinner was cooked you plated up the food no problem thinking the pretty plates were from their house. Then you opened the kitchen drawer only to hear the clutter and smash of cutlery rubbing together. The sound made a ringing pierce your ears, your hands reaching up to cover them. It was like nails on a chalkboard to you. The sound you heard making you panic beyond measure, your breathing out of control as you slid to your knees.

Johnny’s smile dropped and he sprung into action using the deep pressure therapy you had told him about with your beanbag chair. Simon was quick to removed the extra plates and cutlery from where Johnny had put them and take them back to their place before returning ready to help. He knew he’d need to call John and let him know you had had an episode, but helping you came first.

So you liked constant repetition. If it made you happy, that was absolutely fine with them.

Kyle got himself hired as a barista at your favourite cafe, he learned your usual and practiced at home to make sure every morning when you stopped by on the way to work to drink your coffee and sit with your laptop for twenty minutes, you’d have the perfect drink. He made absolutely sure that it tasted the same every single time. No change.

After a couple of months of smiles and waves here and there he finally got you to open up. Baby steps. A little at a time and now Kyle was taking his twenty minute break at your table while you typed up something for work. You always worked so hard. But he managed to get a few sentences out of you each time and it made his heart sing.

And last but not least, John became your new boss after your last one mysteriously got caught for money laundering. Mr Price was an amazing boss, he didn’t ask for much and was always giving you big opportunities that you’d only ever dreamed of. You had been promoted twice since he became the CEO.

You were now executive editor under him as the chief editor at one of the best publishers in the country. Pirons Classics, number two in the UK and number four in the World. To say the guys were proud that you worked there in the first place was an understatement. Their smart girl.

He called you sweet nicknames and brought you lunch everyday. The same thing, a pesto and cheese sandwich and a snack of your choosing from the vending machines. You don’t remember when it started but you were always too shy to say anything so it became a regular thing.

If you were to sit and think real hard about the situation you would realise how changes had been introduced into your life ever since the four of them appeared. But they were subtle changes and you genuinely couldn’t remember a time when these changes weren’t normal. On top of that, these four men were the only people besides yourself, that you felt comfortable, relaxed and content around.

So for the first time you don’t sit and think, for the first time you just let it happen and you don’t notice the difference.

Johnny and Simon were more involved with you than the other two. They were the closest to you currently with the status of your best friends which Johnny most certainly bragged to the other two about. You had known them for almost a year now and they didn’t exactly hide their romantic relationship but didn’t exactly flaunt it either.

You had found it kinda hot when you saw them kiss and even though it was unusual for you, you luckily managed to keep your mouth shut about it.

You had no idea they had noticed.