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pedropascallme · 2 days ago

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Meet The Rileys

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader

Summary: "The most troubling fact was that you wouldn’t be concealed backup—a position you had become accustomed to holding on operations like this. Instead, you would be front and center, playing the housewife to Simon’s working man."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) reader is American (no other descriptors), canon typical violence but just barely, maskless Ghost, fake relationship, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, kinda soft!Dom Simon, some hair pulling, dirty talk, mild degradation, lots of praise, creampie, I still don't know how the military works or how undercover missions work, if I missed anything please let me know!

AN: To be so honest guys I'm not thrilled with this, but I did what I could. Is the plot nonsense? Perhaps. We're rolling with it.

Bonnie Riley.

The name was right there in bold typeface, printed on the fake ID Price had handed you.

Bonnie Riley, from Connecticut, who looked just like you.

But she wasn’t you. Not in a literal sense, anyway.

She was preppy and proper—presentable, in her tennis whites, her hair loose around her face.

Covert operations were awkward. At their worst, they served as a chilling reminder that so many people had no regard for life outside their own; at best, they were mind-numbing, and a bit uncanny, as you were forced into an entirely new role.

When Price had approached the Task Force with the assignment—an undercover op somewhere in Nowheresville, USA—you had been eager, made excited by the notion of returning to the states.

You missed sweet tea; you missed the rounded, drawled accents of America.

But it was only after you had agreed to the mission that it came to light what you would have to do.

One cartel was working with another, but the details of the brief got hazy from there. The country was suspicious about ulterior motives, worried by the links the domestic group had to other countries. Your job was to find out whether those suspicions were warranted.

As far as stealth missions were concerned, this one was comparatively bland.

The most troubling fact was that you wouldn’t be concealed backup—a position you had become accustomed to holding on operations like this. Instead, you would be front and center, playing the housewife to Simon’s working man.

You still weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up in this position, or whether it was even necessary. But your hand had been forced, as had his.

Ghost’s title as Lieutenant meant a heightened level of responsibility, which was obvious, and more than fair; his consistent silence made him fit for a job that required a hefty dose of observation.

You, in turn, were given the task of having his back; paying attention to his whereabouts just as closely as you did the targets.

Plus, you were the only woman on the Task Force, and an American, to boot.

Playing house ensured that you wouldn’t garner any skepticism moving into the cul-de-sac, granting easy access to the targets.

You leaned against the window of the rented moving van, turning the ID in your hand.

Dragging your finger along the laminated edges, you found yourself thinking of the fake ID you had bought in high school. You smiled at one memory of awkwardly ordering drinks at the local bar, before your father had walked in and seen you and your friends sipping unhappily on warm beer.

You were grounded for a week, but your parents had let you keep the shoddy piece of plastic.

That fake had been adorned with your real name; it was only as fake as it needed to be.

Now, you were Bonnie Riley—faker than fake.

The name Bonnie had been your idea. It was a favorite of Soap’s when addressing you, and you figured a nickname would be easier to remember than something original and unfamiliar. Simon hadn’t been on board with the concept of an alias, stubbornly refusing to pick a name; Price had stepped in and deemed him ‘Jim.’ (“Strong British name, eh?” “S’not me.” “That’s the point, Lieutenant.”)

But when it came to choosing last names, you’d all struggled. Something like ‘Smith’ would be too ambiguous, but anything more unique might be a struggle to remember or explain, were you to get caught up in your web of lies.

When it was time to create the faulty identification, Price had grown frustrated.

“Might as well keep Riley, for all I care—” He had pinched the bridge of his nose as he addressed Simon, “If that’s something you can agree on. God's sake, you’re married.”

“Who says I’d take his last name?” You scowled, already far from pleased by what the mission entailed, but now growing frustrated that your voice wasn’t being heard.

“Aliases aren’t legally binding, Sergeant.” Price quirked a brow at you, daring you to continue your argument.

You had hesitated.

“Should we really go with one of our legal names?”

You posed the question rhetorically, not expecting a response from either of the men.

Realistically, you knew it was a fine idea—it was unassuming, common enough to go unquestioned but not common enough to seem deliberately chosen to blend in. It was easy to remember, and it’s not like people outside the barracks knew Ghost by his real name, anyway.

“Fine," you sighed, resigned. "I’ll be a Riley.”

“Welcome addition.” Simon had nodded in agreement, voice gravelly.

You winced at the memory, watching the landscape pass by as Price drove the van down the highway.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Simon—he was a fantastic Lieutenant, someone you considered a friend before you considered him a coworker. But therein lay the problem; you did like him, maybe a bit too much.

There was a heightened level of anxiety now as you realized that the time and effort you’d spent trying to ignore your feelings for him would be nullified by your need to act domestic with him.

Not to mention his phrasing when the name had been decided upon—a welcome addition. It produced a pang in your stomach not unlike butterflies, which made you more embarrassed, than anything.

You looked down at the ID again. Your picture next to the Riley name made you feel something warm in your chest.

It was an alias, sure—a sham—but the sight was gratifying, either way.

You yawned, growing wary of the silence in the van.

“I still don’t understand why this is something we have to do.” You spoke up, dropping the ID in your lap and staring at Price in the rearview mirror.

“Got somewhere t’be?” He replied with an amused huff.

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the window.

“Just doesn’t seem like our jurisdiction,” you frowned, “Cartel in Middle America? More of an FBI racket, no?”

“Usually.” Price adjusted the mirror.

“But…?” You prompted him when he didn’t continue.

“But, this cartel may be on the ins with a British operation in Wales. And the Welsh fellas are working with a group somewhere on the European continent,” Price drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, “FBI thinks collusion could lead to something bigger than just moving drugs. Already gotten word of terroristic threats.”

“So now you have Ghost and I playing Mulder and Scully?” You scoffed, still staring out the window.

“You’ll have your kit back on in no time, Sergeant.” Price chuckled.

“Good,” you smiled, finally meeting his gaze in the mirror again, “This sweater is itchy.”

“Consider yerself lucky, lass,” Soap piped up from the passenger seat, turning his body to look back at you. “Least ye got a regular sweater. Poor Ghost looks a pure fandan.”

“Nobody knows what ‘at means, MacTavish.” Simon shifted in his seat, typically stoic but clad in a sweater vest and looking just as abysmally preppy as you did.

He looked handsome, but the clothes were so uncharacteristic of him that the thought made you feel somewhat guilty.

“Sorry, LT,” Soap craned his neck to look at Ghost, “A brief translation: ye look like a dick.”

Gaz huffed a laugh under his breath next to you, and Simon clenched his jaw.

~~~

The neighborhood was so polished that it looked unnatural. Identical houses lined up in rows; yards with high, pruned bushes; shiny cars, parked carefully in front of white garages.

This was wealthy territory, and it made you uncomfortable to stare the upper class in the face after spending so much time in the barracks.

There wasn’t much to unpack, despite the number of boxes that had been loaded into the van. Most of them were empty, or filled with small items that would come in handy during the stakeout that would be occurring during the foreseeable future.

But the weightlessness was certainly beneficial, and as Gaz, Soap, and Price acted as movers, you stifled a laugh at their attempts to make it seem as though the boxes were full and heavy.

“This’s the last of it.” Gaz dropped the final box in the middle of the floor.

The cardboard made a clinking sound when it hit the hardwood, and you saw Kyle’s expression turn to one of vague panic as he opened the box to reveal a set of extension cords and small mics.

“Good,” Price didn’t seem bothered about Gaz’s carelessness over the equipment. “S’get ourselves set up here.”

You folded the empty boxes as they were unpacked, stacking them up beside you.

“Why do we all need to be here.” You quickly grew bored of unpacking in silence, mind still buzzing with nagging questions.

“Reinforcements.” Price said simply.

“For a sting operation that we haven’t even started?” You countered.

“Rather do all the work yourself?” Gaz looked up at you, smirking, and you tossed a sheet of bubble wrap at him.

It flew sideways, swaying as it floated to the ground.

“What do we do if people see you?” You voiced a larger concern, “Think they’ll buy it if we tell them the movers just...decided to stick around?”

“Tell ‘em we’re yer kids.” Soap had settled onto the floor, fiddling with an extension cord.

You looked at the Sergeants and Price; none of the three could pass as younger than you, and none of them looked like you or Simon in any capacity.

“You’re stupid.” You laughed quietly, shaking your head at the obvious faults in Soap’s idea.

“Oi—s’no way to talk to your son.” Kyle laughed.

“Big house,” Price butted in, “Nobody’ll see us. And there should be no reason anybody should come in.”

“There room for us all?” Gaz perked up, “Or is someone sleeping on the couch?”

“Not me.” Johnny perked up, ready to argue.

“There’s space,” the Captain chewed his cheek, hesitating before he looked at you, “You two are sharing, though.” He gestured to Ghost.

“Why us?” Your gaze shifted to Simon, who didn’t seem to care, or maybe he just hadn’t heard; he was busy setting up one of the monitors.

“Married.”

“Aliases aren’t legally binding.” You threw his words from weeks ago back at him. “Why can’t any other combination of us share a room?”

“Assume it’s cause the rest of us take up too much space,” Gaz smirked, “’Nd Soap snores.”

“Dinnae!”

“Just—” Price sighed. He’d clearly been anticipating your pushback. “Unless you’d rather take the couch…”

You swallowed, weighing your options.

Sleeping on the couch would be the more admirable thing to do. Simon was putting a lot of effort into this mission—and he outranked you. It felt only fair that he got the opportunity to sleep in a real bed.

Plus, you could feel your ears heating up at the mere thought of sharing a bed with him, and you didn’t want to know what would happen if it actually came to fruition.

“I can take the couch,” Simon spoke up before you had the chance to respond to Price. “Don’t plan on doin’ much sleeping, anyway.”

“Typical honeymooner.” Johnny chuckled.

“Rather keep watch ‘an stay kushy.” Ghost scoffed.

“Don’t care what you do in here. Just remember that outside this house, you’re married.” Price nodded, picking up the pile of empty cardboard boxes at your feet and tossing them by the front door.

“Right,” you sighed. “Yeah.”

~~~

You walked down the stairs slowly; it was dark, and you didn’t want to run the risk of missing a step and tripping over yourself.

Being in a new place always made you uneasy. You had become so accustomed to life on a military base—small rooms and small beds, curfews and floodlights—that anything else felt unnerving.

This house had shadows in new places, the bed was against a different wall. It all felt so liminal, and you despised it.

You remedied your discomfort by wandering the halls, trying to acclimate to your surroundings.

There was quiet chatter coming from the living room, and you turned the corner to see Simon awake on the couch, flipping through TV channels.

“What you doin’ up?” He didn’t bother turning to look at you.

“Big house,” you mumbled, not at all surprised by his knowledge of your presence; he was intuitive to a frightening degree. “Trying to...gather my bearings.”

Simon grunted a response, still not looking at you. You rounded the corner of the couch, keeping your distance.

“Why are you still up?” You chanced the question.

“Been a long time since I ‘ad cable.” He almost smiled, and you liked the way it looked; the light from the TV illuminated his face, and he seemed so docile.

“So, you’re just doing a, uh…” You looked at the TV, “A Brady Bunch rerun marathon?”

He looked up at you, not replying, but he smiled for real now, and that was just as good a response as any.

“Still in your day clothes.” You pointed out.

“My stuff’s in the room you’re sleeping in,” Simon shifted on the couch, and you tried not to focus on the way he let one hand fall over the curve of his thigh. “Didn’t wanna bother you.”

“Wouldn’t bother me,” you shook your head, “Change, LT. You’re allowed to get comfortable.”

“Who said anything ‘bout being uncomfortable?” He challenged.

“Ghost, you’re wearing pleated slacks,” you scoffed at him, “I’m uncomfortable just looking at you.”

“Miss my casual attire, love?” He smirked, and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah. Already sick of having to look at you without the mask.”

It was a deflection, really, to hide the fact that you were thoroughly enjoying being able to see him without the hinderance of the balaclava.

“You wound me, Sergeant.” He heaved a sigh, the smirk on his lips still obvious.

“You gonna change, or not?”

He stared up at you for a moment, short strands of blond hair falling over his face as he analyzed you.

“A’right,” he conceded, standing up and walking over to you. “Go on.”

You smiled, nodding in approval at his cession as you made your way up the stairs.

The bedroom was big—too big for just one person. The high ceiling and lack of any furniture, save for the bed, only served to make it seem even more spacious, which in turn made it feel even emptier.

Having Simon in it with you made it much cozier, and you couldn’t tell if it was just because he physically took up so much space, or if it was just his presence alone that soothed you.

Wordlessly, Simon grabbed the duffel he’d tossed beneath the bed. You watched on intently as he hoisted it by the strap over his shoulder.

He really did look so handsome like this. In another life, maybe this is how he’d be living; white picket fence, a nine-to-five. Maybe even a dog—you could picture him so clearly with a German Shephard by his side.

But you couldn’t imagine Simon living the domestic life in suburbia, not really. You couldn’t picture him without the scars and the grit.

It’s what made him Simon, and you didn’t necessarily think that was a bad thing.

“What’s your story?” You sat on the edge of the bed.

“Y’know enough.” He grunted, turning to you.

“No, your—” You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Your backstory. For…” You gestured between yourself and him.

He nodded in acknowledgement.

“Married two years, together f’eight—”

“You work slow, Jim.”

“I’m careful, sweetheart,” he quirked a brow at you, and you smiled, allowing him to continue. “Moved ‘ere from England cause you missed being home.”

“What do you do for a living?” You prompted.

“IT.” He gritted out.

“Nobody will believe that.”

“’Nd they’ll believe you’re a ‘ousewife?” He shot back.

You shook your head, laughing softly. “Fair.”

He shifted his jaw, and the conversation was over. He turned to leave, but you had one more thing on your mind.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch for the whole op,” you called after him quietly. “I can…we can trade off, every night. If you’d like.”

He turned to look at you again, standing in the doorway.

He shook his head. “Deserve your beauty sleep, Mrs. Riley.”

He turned to leave, closing the door behind him, and you could hear his footsteps as he walked back downstairs. You were left alone in the stupidly large bedroom, the sound of your pulse rattling around your skull.

~~~

To any outward observer, it looked like a chance encounter; people meeting, exchanging pleasantries as neighbors do, finding a sort of simpatico.

But it was a well thought out plan—as well thought out as it could be.

Price had given you the instructions over coffee that morning. You were bleary eyed and felt ill-prepared, but you had to admit, the man worked fast.

“Make sure they stop.” Price stood with folded arms as he watched you and Simon leave the house.

“Can’t really force it.” You paused in the foyer to point out the flaw in his logic, uncertain whether this would pan out the way you all hoped.

“Trap ‘em with small talk.” Price countered.

“Yeah—cause Ghost is known for his chit-chat.”

“S’why you’re helpin’ him.” Price cracked a small smile upon hearing your swipe at Simon.

“What do we do if this works?” You felt a little anxious about being in the spotlight through all of this, “You want us to walk right back inside? Cause that seems—I feel like that wouldn’t…look right.”

“Drive around,” Price shrugged, “Go wherever your heart desires.”

“Pick up some groceries!” Gaz shouted from another room, eavesdropping.

“Aye—yer kids are sick o’cereal and cheese sandwiches.” Soap added his two cents from the couch.

You rolled your eyes as you made your way out of the house in yet another uncomfortably starched outfit.

Simon was already outside, leaning against the front wall of the house. He seemed to have positioned himself fairly purposefully behind the hedges that lined the lawn; he held himself awkwardly without his kit, arms crossed and shoulders hunched.

You realized he was likely trying to find comfort in a more sniper-like position so that he wouldn’t have to face the world more than he already had to in this situation.

“C’mon,” Simon nodded at you when you closed the door. “Y’a’right?”

You nodded, sighing. “We’re getting groceries after this.”

He made a face, but he didn’t say anything as he pushed himself off the wall and followed you down to the driveway.

A few feet from the garage, Simon grabbed your arm.

“Look.”

His voice was low, a gravelly whisper as he nodded to something down the street.

You followed his gaze and saw a couple approaching—they fit the description, matched the pictures; target acquired.

Simon opened the garage door, an action that made him look busy and ensured they would take notice of the two of you.

It worked; they looked up with startled smiles.

“Oh—new neighbors!” The woman called out before she had even reached your driveway.

Her accent rang out as clearly East coast. These were city folk who had run West to avoid the prying eyes and greedy pockets of whichever police department they were under the jurisdiction of; they were finding solace in small-town ambience while they made bank off of moving goods.

“Hi, there!” You waved, smiling wide as you encouraged them closer, attempting to rope them into conversation. “Just moved in.”

“That’s so great! That house has been empty so long...”

The woman finally stood before you, and you could see now that she was older than you, probably by at least ten years or so—though she was clearly putting effort into hiding it.

“About time someone made a home out of it—I was just saying so. Rob,” she turned to her husband, who trailed behind her, “Wasn’t I just saying so?”

“You were,” he nodded, sliding an arm around her waist and reaching his free hand out to Simon. “Robert Ferguson—this is my wife, Deborah.”

“Call me Deb!” She exclaimed, feigning bashfulness.

“Jim Riley,” Simon shook Robert’s hand, nodding sideways at you. “My wife, Bonnie.”

“You’re British!” Deb looked absolutely astounded by this revelation.

“Yes.” Simon nodded, and you couldn’t help but notice how the muscle in his jaw ticked; all of his focus seemed to be on making his features behave to hide his feelings now that the balaclava was off.

“What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Robert asked, quirking a brow, and you wondered if he was already onto you.

“Missed home,” you finally found the opportunity to speak up, inching yourself closer to Simon to keep up the guise of married life. “We’ve been living overseas for so long; I just couldn’t go another day of rain and beans.”

Simon glanced down at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into a begrudging, but amused, smirk. He wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you against him.

“S’right.”

You swallowed the sound that wanted to come out of your mouth when his hand made contact with your body.

It was for show, and you knew that, but it felt nice; he was warm, and you could feel the soft rhythm of his heartbeat when you leaned into him.

You willed your blood back down when it began to rush to your cheeks.

“Overseas…You military?” Robert prodded.

“No—I’m in IT.” Simon quickly shut down any discussion of military service, which you knew was not done with any satisfaction.

“Scars are from a wonky laptop, then?” Robert laughed, but you could tell he was prying, trying to get a feel for you.

Simon cleared his throat, putting his free hand in his pocket to avoid reaching up and tracing the scars on his cheek.

He hadn’t really considered that the scars that marred him would be visible; he’d practically forgotten what his own face looked like at this point.

He didn’t think anybody would care to notice the details.

“Mining accident,” you rushed to cover for him. “We lived in Wales for a few years—when we met.”

You looked up at Simon, who looked confused, but grateful.

“Turns out, he’s not as good with a pickaxe as he is with a computer.” You forced a laugh, and Deb followed suit, wheezing out a giggle.

Robert nodded, buying the lie, and you chanced a smile at him.

“Well, if you need anything…” Robert turned from you to look at Simon, who had regained his composure—though you weren’t sure if anyone but you had noticed he’d lost it. “We’re right down the street, love to—”

“You should come for dinner sometime!” Deb butted in.

“We’d love to have you.” Robert nodded.

And just like that, you were in.

You said your goodbyes and watched on as they turned to walk back down your driveway.

Robert paused for a moment.

“You golf, Jim?”

“Once or twice.” Simon lied—he’d never so much as picked up a golf club.

“Should come down to the club sometime—meet some of the other guys in the neighborhood.” Robert smiled, rejoining his wife and walking off.

You and Simon stayed silent as you loaded yourselves into the car.

You drummed on your thigh, staring out the windshield and watching the house get smaller as Simon backed out of the driveway.

The car was nice. It matched the setting; sleek and shiny, though the vehicle didn’t feature any of the off-putting atmosphere that the neighborhood seemed to buzz with.

Simon had taken the moving van back to the lot it had come from the previous day. When he returned in the new car, you hadn’t asked anybody where it had come from, or why you needed something so flashy.

“Wales?” He finally spoke when he turned onto the main road.

“The other group Price mentioned—they operate out of Wales,” you explained, “First thing that came to mind.”

“Right,” Simon nodded, “And I worked in a mine?”

“I just associate Wales with the miner riots…” You felt flustered, maybe a bit embarrassed by the link you’d come up with.

“Where’d you learn about ‘at?” Simon smirked, shooting a glance at you before refocusing on the road.

“They teach us a little more in history class than just Paul Revere and his midnight ride.” You found yourself grinning at him.

“‘Nd you think I’m ‘at old?” He shook his head, “Old enough t’be a miner in nineteen-eighty?”

“In that outfit?” You pointed out his sweater vest, “Yeah.”

“Cheeky thing.” He dropped a hand to your thigh, patting your leg twice before removing it.

For a second time in an hour, you caught the sound that would have otherwise passed your lips. You straightened your skirt in an effort to chase the warmth his palm had pressed into your skin.

“Just thank me, LT,” you sighed, “Saved your ass.”

“Won’t be the last time, sweetheart.”

~~~

It was dark by the time you returned to the house; the streetlamps that lined the road had turned on, and the houses were unlit—save for a few bedroom lamps that glowed through curtained windows.

Simon put the bags of groceries on the kitchen island, tossing the car keys down next to them. He ran a hand over his face, pressing his palms onto the counter.

Soap wandered from his chosen bedroom when he’d heard the front door, sidling up next to Simon and sorting through the food that was still stacked in the bags.

“Johnny?” Simon sighed.

“Aye?” Soap pulled out an apple.

“C’you teach me ‘ow to golf by tomorrow?”

“Think just cause I’m Scottish I play golf?” Soap scoffed, peeling the sticker from the apple.

“Do you?” Simon quirked a brow.

Soap rolled his eyes, hesitating.

“Aye…”

“He agreed to play a round with the target.” You cut in on their conversation, pouring yourself a glass of water and kicking off your shoes.

“Didn’t agree,” Simon scowled, “Didn’t even respond.”

“Told him you’d golfed before, though,” You finished your water, putting the cup in the sink and shooing Johnny away from the grocery bags so you could unpack them. “Seems to me like you haven’t…”

“Already lyin’ about everything else.” Simon folded his arms, glaring.

“Yeah?” You quirked a brow. “You sure you weren’t just trying to fit in? To seem cool?”

“Haud yer wheesht,” Soap laughed, “Ye fight like a married couple.”

“S’the point, yeah?” Simon huffed.

“And ye still won’t share a bed,” Johnny rolled his eyes, “Shame—most couples a’least start in the same room.”

You shook your head with a laugh, trying not to let the topic of conversation get under your skin.

You were bickering like a married couple. It was one thing to keep up the act when you were in public, around people who might recount what they’ve seen to the targets, but it was increasingly obvious that the make-believe was seeping into your real life.

Ghost was on your mind far more often than you’d care to admit. But now, rather than fantasies of lust and satin bedsheets, you were imagining him as the husband he was pretending to be.

Soap put a hand on your forearm when you reached into the bag of groceries again, silently reprimanding you for doing the unpacking, and taking on the job himself.

You thanked him and made your way to the staircase.

Simon followed you, and you turned to shoot him a curious look.

“Don’t need attitude ‘bout my sleep clothes again.” He passed you on the stairs, and you sped up to meet him as he pushed the bedroom door open.

“Didn’t realize you put your stuff back up here.” You watched him wrangle his duffel from beneath the bed.

“Didn’t realize I needed to tell you.” Simon shot back, and you rolled your eyes.

“Does this mean you’re going to stay up here tonight?” You pondered aloud.

“No,” he answered simply, “Fine on th’couch.”

You nodded, slightly stung, but you could understand the awkwardness of the position you’d both been put in.

The room fell silent for a beat.

“Do you miss the mask?”

You thought back on his actions earlier in the day, when you’d watched his face morph in response to the conversation with Robert and Deb.

“I mean…you seem kinda naked without it.”

“Think about me naked a lot?” Simon stood back up, smirking; a pair of sweatpants slung over his shoulder.

“Just—” you rolled your eyes. The answer was yes, often, but he didn’t need to know that. “It’s weird seeing you without it for so long.”

“Not comfortable to ‘ave it off, ‘f’at’s what you’re asking.” He sighed, and you nodded.

“Did you pack it?”

“No.” He almost scoffed, but he seemed to catch himself when he realized that your question was genuine.

“Are you sure you want to take the couch again?” You broached the topic once more, “You can sleep up here—I’m fine with sleeping downstairs, instead of—”

“Stop,” his voice toed the line of superior rather than friend for a moment, “S’a’right.”

“Ok…” You mumbled in lieu of an apology.

“Quick thinking today,” his voiced turned softer—by his standards, at least. “Impressive.”

“Does this make me a trophy wife?” You smiled, trying not to grow flustered by his praise. “My skillful lies?”

He seemed to waver for a moment, brow creasing slightly as he thought.

“No…” He shook his head, turning to walk out of the room. “‘At’s not what does it.”

~~~

Simon struggled to feign interest in the discussion happening around him; the topic of conversation was just as showy as the country club itself.

Getting closer to the targets felt like a loss, despite the overall net gain.

The men who surrounded him—all with the same bland accents and unflattering polo shirts—pushed him into the reality that he was an outsider, no matter who they thought he was or who he was pretending to be.

It wasn’t often that he felt small, but there was a creeping isolation that came with undercover work. Though he tried not to let it get to him, Simon felt completely alien.

With golf clubs in hand, they spoke about absolutely nothing despite talking so incessantly, occasionally pausing to sip their beers.

Soap’s introductory explanation on how to properly hold a golf club had done little to assist in Simon’s actual gameplay, and he knew he must’ve looked downright miserable despite making an effort to remain upbeat.

That was never his forte, though.

He watched Robert swing his club against the green, and the loud thwack made Simon feel more comfortable; it didn’t echo in the way a gunshot would’ve, but it was a nice disruption from the tedium.

A young woman drove a cart over to the hole they were on, offering an array of concessions. When she left, slowly carting herself away, Robert let out a whistle.

“If I were ten years younger…” He sipped his beer through a smarmy expression.

“What happened to age is just a number?” One of the other men chuckled, and Simon felt himself cringe. “I like them young, they should like me old.”

The other men laughed, clinking their bottles together. They looked at Simon expectantly, and he felt cornered in a way he had never felt before.

“Mm?” He offered, running a thumb over his golf club.

“Ah, c’mon, Jim—wives ain’t here. That girl a prize, or what?” One of them nudged Simon’s arm, and he tensed.

He convinced himself that it was pressure from his obligation; that his disgust at the notion of looking at another woman lay in the act he was attempting to put up, convincing those around him that he was a diligent husband.

But he knew the truth.

“Bonnie’s all I need.” He forced a smile, trying to maintain a level of geniality.

“Give it ten years.” Robert smirked, and the others laughed.

The group of men moved on to the next hole, and Simon trailed behind them.

He already knew he hated these people. The things they did for profit, their willingness to allow everybody else’s lives to go to shit for a few extra dollars in their accounts; it was enraging.

But this anger stemmed from something else, an unfamiliar frustration that blossomed in his chest.

You were enough for him. You always had been, you always would be, and how dare they think you weren’t as perfect as he thought you were.

Not that you even needed to be—flaws and all, he’d take you over anybody; he’d choose you in a heartbeat every time.

For the mission, he reminded himself. For the mission.

~~~

Simon was active in gaining intel for several days in a row—infiltrating the inner circle, seeing what there was to see, hearing what there was to hear.

They trusted him enough to mutter when he was still nearby, and that was good enough, for now.

Simon had been so busy that you barely saw him, rarely encountered him when he wasn’t on his way into or out of the house.

And the separation, for whatever reason, made you feel anxious. You worried that he was mad, despite the fact that there was no real interaction between the two of you in recent memory that would’ve caused any conflict.

Maybe you had crossed a boundary that you hadn’t realized was there; you had really been gunning for him to sleep in the bedroom—and with or without you there, he clearly had no interest in doing so.

But you kept pushing. You wanted to keep pushing.

You recognized that the anxiety probably stemmed from elsewhere, but you didn’t want to acknowledge your feelings more than you’d already had to lately.

Now, though, you felt alright. Better than alright, even; you felt pretty, and, what’s more, you felt eager.

It was just dinner, a meal with the targets; something that would hopefully see the culmination of Simon putting so much effort into gaining Robert’s trust. But the thought that went into your outfit, your daintily applied makeup, the inner turmoil of what you should do with your hair—it almost felt like a date. One you were excited about; one you’d call your mom to dish about at the end of the night.

You felt girlish; you felt thrilled; you told yourself it was for the mission.

The mission was what was making your heart bounce around in your ribs and your stomach flip with every step.

“Look at ye,” Soap whistled as you walked down the stairs in a dress that was only a bit less tweedy than the outfits you’d been wearing. “Hot date planned, lass?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Something like that.”

“Who’s th’lucky guy?”

“My husband.” You quirked a brow, a shy smile grazing your lips.

“Where’s the man o’the hour, then?” Soap chuckled.

“Probably fixin’ up his hair,” Gaz cut in, smirking, “Now that we can all see it.”

“Perfection takes time, Sergeant.” Simon inserted himself into the conversation, emerging from down the hall and fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt.

It was almost unnerving how good he looked.

You’d become so used to seeing him in fatigues, in a full kit and a balaclava, that seeing him in anything else felt foreign. The past few days had remedied that, if only slightly, and though the outfit he wore now was similar to those he’d been wearing for the past few days, something felt different.

Maybe it was the tautness of the sleeves around his biceps, or the fact that there was no sweater vest in sight, or that he’d gelled his hair back enough to make it seem like he put effort into it without really doing anything at all.

Whatever it was, you swallowed thickly, and tried not to stare.

“Christ…” Soap huffed, a borderline sympathetic look on his face as he gave Simon the once over.

“Never seen a man this handsome, Johnny?” Simon smirked.

“Never seen a man this outta his depth.” Soap countered, laughing.

Simon didn’t bother with a reply, grunting resentfully at Soap before turning to you and effectively shutting Johnny and Kyle out.

“Wired?”

His voice was hushed, as if he intended on keeping the conversation a secret despite the fact that Soap and Gaz had already been more than clued in on what was happening.

You nodded, unable to ignore the sticky, tight feeling of the tape on your skin where you’d planted the wire.

You were worried you might sweat it off, but the dress had a tight bodice; you hoped that if the tape did come unstuck, the fabric would keep it in place.

“Good.” Was his only reply, and then he had his hand on your waist, ushering you out the door.

You tried to think of anything other than the way his palm fit so naturally with the curve of your body.

Simon didn’t mind the perfect fit.

~~~

Dinner was nice, for lack of a better word. That was the only way you knew how to describe it; carb heavy and seasoned. It was better than anything you might get in the mess hall, and you didn’t complain when Deb offered seconds.

The conversation, though, was dreary, and you had to pinch yourself to stay awake. There was something so uninteresting about the lives these people led, despite their involvement in such high-stakes business.

After what felt like ages of trying to seem intrigued by their vacation stories and fine china, Deb piped up with a new topic of discussion.

“Rob just got the car—oh, what do you call it, baby?” She posed the question eagerly, anticipating a reason to brag.

“Wrapped.” Robert shot her a smug look, equally as interested in showing off.

“He got the car wrapped—it’s gorgeous!” Deb fawned over the thought of the newly done-up car.

“Cost a fortune.” Robert rolled his neck, looking at Simon and searching for jealousy in his eyes.

“But so worth it.” Deb swirled her glass of wine before taking a long sip.

“I bet.” Simon nodded slowly, not bothering with eye contact or compliments.

“Why don’t you show Jim, baby?” Deb swallowed the wine in her mouth before turning to Robert, “You boys go out to the garage, leave us to our girl talk.”

“Yes,” you tried not to seem too keen on her suggestion, exchanging a knowing glance with Simon. “That’s a great idea.”

Simon smiled softly, a look that was meant only for you—fashioned so as to express understanding and gratitude.

And maybe something else.

He got up with Robert, following him to the garage.

~~~

“You a big car guy?” Robert closed the door that connected the main house to the garage once Simon had made it over the threshold.

“Not particularly.” Simon shrugged; he’d never even had a car of his own.

“Should get into it—ladies love it.”

“Do they?” Simon smirked.

“You’d be surprised by how much a woman appreciates a nice set of wheels.” Robert laughed.

Simon bit his tongue; it was clear that this man knew nothing about women—then again, neither did Simon, so he just nodded through his doubts.

Robert smacked a hand down on the hood of the car. It was bright red, almost glittery, and Simon didn’t understand why it was anything to brag about.

“S’nice.” He offered, letting his eyes trail over the entire vehicle before looking back up at Robert.

“Hope so. Cost a pretty fuckin’ penny.”

“You mentioned.” Simon grunted, though he tried his best to make it seem lighthearted.

There was a pause then, and Simon waited to see if the conversation wouldn’t move; he wanted to make sure he had Robert exactly where he wanted him.

He might not know women, but Simon knew a rat when he encountered one.

“How’d you do it?” Simon’s tone bordered aloof; he let his gaze fall over the car once more, attempting to seem almost disconnected by his interest in the flashy color.

“What?” Robert leaned against the car.

“Afford it.”

“Saved up,” Robert sighed and picked his nails, “Worked for it.”

Simon nodded. “What was it you said you do f’work?”

“IT.” Robert scoffed, eyes darting over Simon’s form.

He seemed impatient, somewhat antsy; either Robert was onto this sting, or he was about to spill.

“Y’know…I been thinking, Jim,” Robert spoke slowly, straightening up from his spot on the car to look Simon in the eyes. “Don’t seem to be out of the house much unless you’re with me and the other fellas.”

“Solitary job,” Simon tilted his head, “Nice house.”

“Uh-huh,” Robert sucked his teeth for a moment before continuing. “Your wife’s a real peach—real prize.”

“She is,” Simon felt the words slip from his mouth without thinking about it, “She’s my everything.”

He barely heard himself, but he knew he’d said it, and he knew it was true, sham marriage or not.

“Never seem to wanna plant one on her.”

If only you knew, you bastard. Simon kept the thought to himself, rolling his eyes at himself; now wasn’t the time.

“Shy.” Simon offered.

“You or her?”

Simon shrugged; he didn’t care if his cover was blown now. He knew what was happening—he’d been here before, plenty of times, and he’d be here again.

He was far from scared, despite the clear attempts of intimidation on Robert’s part.

Robert seemed comforted by Simon’s casual air; the lack of any obvious fear made him settle.

He returned to a more reserved, trusting state, and Simon could only infer that the grilling was a matter of initiation—a poor method to weed out those who weren’t able to handle the truth.

“I—I like you, Jim,” Robert nodded, gaze glued to the floor and chin grazing his chest as he spoke. “I do.”

“I’m glad,” Simon grit his teeth. “Happy to have a friend in the area. Good start.”

Lure flies with honey, that was the saying. Simon was doing just that, however frustratingly slow-going it was.

“If I show you something—tell you something…” Robert seemed to ponder aloud, not quite looking at Simon as he spoke, his gaze now settled vaguely into the distance. “You be able to keep a secret?” His voice was low, his tone almost sour.

“Yeah,” Simon nodded, waiting. “Sure.”

“Sure,” Robert scoffed, “Need a yes or a no.”

“Yes,” Simon couldn’t help the smirk that crept over his face now. “Yes, I can keep a secret.”

“Good.”

Robert walked to the far wall of the garage. Simon watched on as he popped the lid off of one of the various paint cans that littered a shelf, digging around in it only to pull out a slip of paper.

Easy access: anybody could’ve reached in and found it. Further proof to Simon that these people had no clue what they were doing.

Robert handed the paper to Simon. It was obviously some sort of blueprint; an outline, incredibly amateur. But it was evidence of deeper plans.

A bomb of some kind, but messy and unfinished.

“What’s’is?” Simon feigned ignorance—the more Robert talked, the more a takedown was warranted.

“You never seen a bomb before?” Robert furrowed his brow.

“What’s it for?” Simon pressed on.

“What’s with the questions?” Robert shot back.

“’Umor me.”

Robert exhaled slowly, huffing into the air as he walked around Simon, practically stalking him.

“You wanna know how I could afford a car like that?” Robert laughed, gesturing to the garish car, “How I can afford a wife like mine?” He paused, grabbing the paper from Simon’s hand. “It’s all money, Jim—just without the trail.”

“What are you saying?” Simon was playing a little fast and loose now, but he was eager to get this over with.

“I’m saying,” Robert put the blueprint back into the paint can and sealed it shut again, “If you say anything about this, I’ll gut you.”

Robert walked back over to Simon, putting his hands in his pockets.

“What?” Simon quirked a brow, trying desperately to keep his features under control as his lips threatened to curl upwards into a smile.

Suddenly, Robert lunged, and Simon’s back was against the wall; a small knife pressed to his throat.

He almost allowed himself the joy of kicking Robert’s ass, finishing this once and for all, but he knew better.

Instead, he just stared; this was far from a dire situation. He’d had guns to his head and landmines underfoot—a dull Swiss army knife was hardly comparable.

Still, he feigned shock, putting his hands up and freezing.

“You tell me right now if this is something you don’t think you can handle,” Robert was growling, “You tell me right now if you’re gonna cry like a bitch about this to your wife—you hear me?”

“I hear you.” Simon swallowed, and the blade dug against his Adam’s apple.

“This is bigger than you. This is something that’ll give people like us a leg up,” Robert rambled, “Give us everything.”

People like us. Simon missed his gun.

“So you’re building a bomb.” Simon kept his voice above a whisper to ensure the mic picked it up.

“That’s it.” Robert nodded.

“Why?”

“Stop with the fucking questions!” Robert was growing more agitated by the second, “You wearin’ a wire?”

“Why would I be wearing a wire?” Simon deadpanned.

“Fuck!”

Rob dropped the knife from Simon’s throat for a brief moment to reset his grip as his palms grew sweaty, quickly replacing it with a bit more pressure.

“Alright—alright. Listen…we got connections. Ok? Down in Germany, in Britain—that’s your neck of the woods, right?”

Robert smiled, as if adding humor to the situation would lessen the impact of holding a knife to Simon’s throat.

“Gonna target the airports.” Robert’s eyes were dark, but deeply uncertain.

“The airports?” Simon had a feeling that was coming—same old tired story, same old awkward plan.

“Major hubs in every country. Get to New York, London—guys in Germany can get this to Frankfurt,” Robert wiped his forehead with the back of his free hand, “No movement through the big city hubs, harder to smuggle shit in—no competition.”

Christ. This was hardly worth the FBI’s time, let alone the Task Force’s; these people had no idea what they were doing. This was the most hastily tacked together plan Simon had ever heard—not to mention completely batshit insane, and not at all logical.

“In a year, we’ll be rich. Get access to our own planes—drones, we’ll be the biggest cartel in the country.”

“Right.” Simon couldn’t stop his voice from taking on an amused lilt.

“So…you in?”

~~~

“Blond, British—and he’s so tall!" Deb shook her head with a giggle. "You are one lucky girl.”

Once Simon had followed Robert out, you found that Deb was serious about the aforementioned girl talk.

Eagerly, she poked and prodded into your personal life. It wasn’t as if you cared, but it was hard to keep your lies straight when you were faced with question after question.

At least she was tipsy—that made it easier for you to get away with things on the off-chance that you slipped up.

“Can’t complain.” Your face burned in response to the heaps of praise Deb lauded Ghost’s husband alter ego with.

“How’d you meet him?” Deb’s eyes went wide, and for a moment she looked so young, so excited. “Was it love at first sight—oh! I love that.”

She seemed to be filling in the blanks herself, and you played along.

“Something like that, yeah.” You sighed.

Deb topped off your glass of wine, and you smiled.

In another life—maybe the one where Simon had a German Shephard—you thought you might be friends with Deb for real; you were in a book club together, you drank together on Saturdays and gossiped about the other families in town.

“That’s so sweet—I love it. Love it!” She topped her own glass off. “Have you thought about kids? Got that nice big house now.”

“I…we haven’t really talked about it…”

You yourself had never considered children an option—not at the moment, anyway.

Maybe someday. Maybe when you retired; maybe if you found someone who understood all the nightmares and the adrenaline; maybe when the time was right, and the stars aligned, and you could trust yourself to properly hold an infant.

You dared, momentarily, to imagine Simon as a father—a father to your children. Chubby babies with his piercing gaze; fat little hands that grabbed at his nose, traced his scars.

Maybe you did want kids.

“Honey, it’s just us,” Deb leaned forward over the table, “Is he…you know…?”

You stared blankly at her.

She sighed, almost giggling. “He shooting blanks? Cause Rob—”

You almost spat out your wine.

“No! No—no, it’s not—” You exhaled through a surprised smile, “…We really just...haven’t thought about it.”

“You’re young,” Deb shrugged, “There’s time.”

There was a pause as you both sipped your wine.

“So,” she glanced up at you with a smirk, “He’s good in bed, then?”

You looked at her like a deer in headlights. You tried to think of a lie, wondering if you could stall for time by chugging the wine in your glass.

“I mean—he certainly looks it. You don’t have to worry about me, but some of the women in this town—God, they’ll be all over him if they get the chance.” Deb continued, her animated gestures threatening to spill the wine over the rim of her glass.

You felt a flare of unwarranted jealousy at the thought of Simon being interested in other women; of other women being interested in him.

“I’m not worried.” You lied, unsure of why it was a lie.

Deb leaned in even further, and you could see every eyelash where they connected to her eyelid.

“He go down on you?”

Now, you did chug what was in your glass.

Before you had time to answer, Simon and Robert walked back into the dining room.

Something was wrong. Robert looked tense, but Simon seemed overly casual.

Simon was never casual.

“Grab y’coat, love,” Simon tilted his head forward a bit, which struck you as odd, but you knew better than to question it. “S’get on our way.”

“Oh,” you pouted, trying to make it seem as though you were disappointed to part from the other couple. “Alright.”

“Thank you for having us,” Simon shook Robert’s hand, and maybe his grip was a little stronger than necessary. “Was lovely. Really.”

“Come back soon!” Deb stood, swaying a bit as she placed both her hands on Simon’s outstretched one, “This was so fun.”

Robert said nothing, grunting a farewell as Simon shuffled you to the front door and out of the house.

You didn’t like how silent he was being as he walked you to the car. It wasn’t out of character—he was always quiet. But this silence seemed more anxious than anything.

You found your voice when you had gotten a good few yards from the house.

“Jim…?”

“Sh.” Simon turned his face towards you, and it was then that you realized he was bleeding from a cut on his neck.

“Jim.” You pressed on, uncertain about what to call him when you were in this strange limbo.

“Shut up.” He hissed, opening the passenger door and all but pushing you in.

When he took his seat behind the wheel, you glared at him.

“Lieutenant, you’re bleeding.”

“Not a word till we get home.” Simon was whispering.

Home. It almost felt real for a moment.

When you didn’t respond, he grabbed your face to hammer his point in.

“Got it?”

You huffed at him, and he dropped his hand. For a split second, you were tempted to ask him to replace it; to continue to hold you, even in the slightly callous way, just because.

Instead, you turned to stare out the window as he put the car in drive.

~~~

The house was calm; the lights were off, and the only sound was the faint hum of the monitors scattered about. Everybody else had already gone to bed, that much was clear.

The stillness left you and Simon to yourselves, and you weren’t sure whether or not that was a good thing.

Simon closed the door behind himself, stretching his shoulders back and undoing the top two buttons on his shirt.

“Got what we need.” He said simply, rolling his neck.

“Why’d you get all paranoid back there?” You turned to him, your discontent with his demand for silence in the car overpowering your interest in what he’d uncovered.

“’Ad to be certain.”

“About…?”

“We’re bugging ‘em—s’not crazy to think they might be doin’ the same to us.” Simon tilted his gaze down at you, and you sighed.

He had a point.

“You…” You eyed the nick on his throat with uncertainty. “You got what we need?”

Simon nodded as he untucked his shirt and peeled the tape off the wire, “Gotta make sure the mic picked it up.”

“You’re bleeding.” You mentioned once more.

“S’fine.”

“LT.”

“Enough.”

You stared at each other, tense.

“Let me clean it, at least.”

“S’not necessary.”

“…Simon…”

“What?”

You hesitated, looking down at the floor before you could find the confidence to make eye contact.

You didn’t want to come off as desperate.

“Let’s…let’s go upstairs,” you sighed, “Let’s listen to the tape, let me just…wipe it off.” You tilted your head at him, hoping he could see that this was important to you.

Not that you knew why it was so important.

He surrendered with a sigh, dropping his head and gesturing forward with his hands. You led him up the stairs.

~~~

You put the tape into the slot, hitting play before turning your attention to Simon.

He sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread; he’d undone a third button on his shirt, and you tried not to ogle his chest.

You’d managed to locate a first aid kit, but upon closer inspection of Simon’s scrape, all you really needed was Neosporin and a band aid.

You moved to stand between his knees, fingers drifting to his chin and encouraging him to tilt his head back as you began gently cleaning the scratch and applying the Neosporin.

“Shallow.” You muttered, now clearly able to see that this was a nothing—something you’d talked up to yourself, thinking it would be more serious than it was.

He had been right—it wasn’t a big deal. But you still felt a weird obligation to patch him up, and there was a large chance that what compelled you to do so was the promise of being able to touch him.

“Mm.” Simon grunted, and you could feel the vibrations move through his throat.

You fell silent, listening to the tape.

Your hands went shaky as you heard how Robert interrogated Simon—not that it was really grounds for any anxiety; Simon could hold his own just fine, and Robert clearly wasn’t well versed in grilling someone.

“Your wife’s a real peach—real prize.”

“She is. She’s my everything.”

You chanced a glance up at Simon upon hearing his words played back on the recording.

He was already looking back at you, and even without the mask, his face was unreadable.

He waved off your attempt to put a small bandage on his scratch, and even so, you found yourself reluctant to leave your place between his legs. So you stayed, and you listened back to the whole tape like that; him sitting on the bed, you standing awkwardly in front of him.

When the tape looped, you sighed, walking over to remove it from the slot. You found a safe space for it in your luggage.

“Told you.” He seemed smug, but you knew it was in jest.

You looked at him, rolling your eyes.

“Yes, well—thank you, LT.”

“Don’t ‘ave to be my wife anymore.” His words were sudden, and you felt a bit hurt by his apparent eagerness to be rid of this partnership.

Simon wasn’t entirely sure why he said it. He spoke mostly out of disappointment; he liked having you as his wife, even if it was pretend.

He liked to have something tangible, something that proved he could do it, someday. He liked having you. And maybe, in his own, socially awkward way, he was trying to gauge your interest; look for indicators in your reaction to see if his affection for you was one-sided.

“It’s a shame,” you laughed nervously, “I was just getting used to it.”

He smirked, still looking at you.

“Glad you got what we needed,” you were suddenly very set on changing the subject. “Deb wouldn’t talk about anything important.”

“Girl talk.” Simon echoed Deb’s earlier sentiment with a barely-there smile.

“She only cared about the kind of sex you and I have.” You winced as soon as you said it—so much for veering the conversation into less awkward territory.

“What’d you tell ‘er?” Simon seemed genuinely curious now, and you couldn’t help but imagine what you would’ve said to Deb had this been a real marriage.

“Told her it’s just pathetic missionary,” you smirked, “And I always fake it.”

Simon chuckled lowly, shaking his head.

“Let’s ‘ear it.”

“What?” Your brow furrowed.

“Tape,” he nodded to the tape player. “Showed you mine, yeah?”

“Ghost—”

“None o’that,” he huffed, smirking. “C’mon.”

You hesitated, but did as he instructed.

There was a sick part of you that was somewhat eager to see what he would do when faced with the questions you’d been barraged with.

You managed to reach into the neckline of your dress, peeling the wire from your skin. You put the tape into the machine and hit play.

This time, you stayed next to the tape player, leaning against the wall and watching Simon.

You snuck glances at him while the tape played, alternating between keeping your gaze on the floor and letting your eyes dart up at him. It was so unimportant—such awkward lies told by your recorded voice.

But you wondered if he could see through it all.

When you heard Deb on the tape player asking whether Simon went down on you or not, followed by Simon and Robert re-entering the room, you popped the tape from the slot.

“See?” You huffed as you tossed the tape into your luggage alongside the other one. “Nothing important.”

“Y’never answered ‘er.” Simon’s voice was low, almost hesitant.

“Hm?” You looked up at him, confused.

“Never answered ‘er question,” he tilted his head back, eying you up in your entirety. “Do I?”

“You…” You felt warm.

“C’mon,” he smirked, “Part o'the backstory, yeah?”

“I don’t…” You breathed, “I didn’t think that far.”

“D’you want me to?”

“To think up a backstory about our sex life?” You scoffed.

“To go down on you.” His voice was suddenly serious, and the low tone he had taken morphed from nervous to downright possessive.

You felt your heart flip, or maybe it was your stomach; your body felt too tingly to tell what was what anymore.

“I…” You took a breath, nodding slowly. “Yes.”

Simon exhaled audibly, maybe a sigh of pride. He clapped a hand down on his thigh, encouraging you to take a seat on his lap.

You practically tiptoed to him, perching yourself on his thigh and letting him wrap an arm around your waist. His other hand fiddled with the hem of your dress where it rested, just above your knee, and the subtle gesture made your pulse pick up.

He leaned in, not to kiss you, but to appreciate your proximity. You could feel his breath against your neck, your jaw; he paused just below your ear, pulling back to look down at you.

“Look pretty,” he muttered, “Don’t think I told you ‘at yet tonight.”

“Thank you…” You found the confidence to bring a hand up to his collar, fiddling with the unbuttoned part of his shirt. You still couldn’t look at him, not trusting yourself to remain collected beneath his gaze.

He smiled softly, bringing his fingers to your chin and tilting your face up to him.

“You gettin’ shy on me, Mrs. Riley?”

You swallowed, unable to stop the way your eyelids fluttered in response to his touch.

“No,” you sucked in a breath. “Just—don’t usually hear things like that from you.”

“Y’like it?” He quirked a brow, still smiling.

“Yeah,” you nodded as best you could with his hand beneath your chin. “I do.”

“Good,” he nodded back at you. “S’good…Do it more often, then.”

There was a moment of incredibly charged silence between the two of you before he finally leaned in to kiss you.

It was slow, but eager; you wrapped your arms around his neck, and he slipped his tongue past your parted lips once you’d matched the pace of his movements.

You allowed yourself the same kind exploration, pushing your tongue against his, licking into his mouth just as he did to you. You let your spit mingle, breath turning heavy when Simon brought both of his hands to your waist.

You trailed your palms from behind his neck to his chest, running your hands over the bit of exposed flesh his semi-unbuttoned shirt allowed, tugging gently on the fabric. Simon let out a quiet groan, and it spurred you on; you dipped your fingers beneath his collar, grazing your nails over his skin.

His hands wandered over your back, finding the zipper on your dress and toying with it. You made a sound of approval, soft and breathy against his lips, as a go-ahead for him to strip you of the layer. He tugged the zipper down, and you let the top of the dress fall over your shoulders, exposing your front to him.

He didn’t even look at your bare chest, too focused on pressing his mouth to yours. You, in turn, pushed your body against his—a subtle gesture, one to encourage him to lie down, and it worked well enough; he leaned back on his forearms, breaking the kiss to admire you as you looked down at him.

“Take it off, sweetheart.” He reached a hand up to fiddle with one of the straps of your dress where it hung loose over your arm.

Somewhat reluctant to rise from his lap, so content with the closeness, you obliged nonetheless.

You let the fabric of the dress pool around your feet, leaving you completely bare, save for the basic panties you had on.

Simon looked unbelievably pleased as he drank you in.

“Got a damn good-looking wife.” He teased, sitting up and reaching out to run his hand over your side.

“Yeah?” You looked down at him, responding in a similarly playful tone. “Your everything?”

“Yeah…” Simon glanced up at you, cold stare reduced to something more tender, though still serious, “Yeah, ‘at’s right.”

You smiled softly, unsure of how to respond.

Simon busied himself, playing with the waistband of your underwear.

He hooked his fingers beneath the elastic and slid your panties down your legs, exposing your core to the temperate air of the bedroom. You stepped out of them, along with your dress, and waited with bated breath for his next move.

He gripped your thighs, enjoying the warmth of your body and the sight before him; you could feel his breath fan against your stomach, his eyes glued to your form.

“Sit,” Simon commanded as he rose from his seat on the edge of the bed. “Here. C’mon.”

You took the spot where he had previously been sitting, pressing your thighs together and staring up at him with uncertainty.

With little hesitation, Simon moved to kneel before you, placing a hand on one of your knees.

“Open.”

He seemed focused, determined, and the imbalance of his title and the fact that he remained fully clothed wasn’t lost on you; it made your heart beat a little faster, head swimming with desire despite the as yet gentle, chaste touches he’d laid upon you.

You spread your legs for him, and he made a sound akin to a soft growl. He pressed a kiss to your knee before moving up your leg, nipping at the plush skin of your thigh and pulling breathy gasps from you as you watched him move further up your body.

By the time you could feel his breath fanning your bare cunt, you had grown impatient, fingers lacing in his hair and tugging gently as you combed through the strands. Simon huffed a shaky breath, glancing up at you with a look that verged a sneer.

“Fuckin’ needy,” he whispered, and you could feel the displaced air around your body as he spoke, “Use y’fuckin’ words if you want it so bad, love.”

“Simon…” You let your eyes flutter closed, letting the outline of him between your thighs fall in and out of focus, “Please…like you said you would.”

“Say it.” He was demanding, desperate to hear the words fall from your lips.

“Go—go down on me. Taste me. Just like you promised.” You felt pathetic begging for it, but you didn’t really mind, given the circumstances.

You tried to keep your voice even, but the anticipation was killing you. He smirked, a subtle expression, as he leaned his face forward into your cunt.

“Man o’my word.” He quirked a brow before all but diving into you with his tongue.

You inhaled a gasp, a choked sound that hit the back of your throat sharply. Still pulling gently on his hair, you spread your legs even wider, hungry for the feeling of his tongue on your cunt.

“Fuck—” You couldn’t find the words, content to offer brief curses of gratitude while he flicked his tongue over your clit.

He teased the bud, flattening his tongue over you before pulling back to delicately trace it with the muscle.

He wrapped his lips around you, sucking and applying pressure to varying degrees while occasionally letting his teeth threaten to close around you. It offered a sort of sinful thrill; the suspense of whether or not he’d really bite down made your back arch as you watched him.

When he pulled his mouth off of your clit, he licked a stripe up your slit before using his tongue to tease your entrance, slowly tracing your hole before pushing into you.

Simon looked drunk off you; eyes closed and groaning softly as he licked into the warmth of your cunt. He collected your slick, swallowing it as if it were a sort of heavenly ambrosia.

“Christ,” Simon pulled back for a moment, bringing a hand down to your core and spreading the messy combination of spit and slick around, admiring how you glistened. “Fuckin’ soaked, sweetheart, look’t you.”

You bucked your hips with a whimper when he swiped over your clit, and he growled at the reaction.

“You need more?” He looked so smug, “Give you a finger, see ‘ow much you can take?”

“Yes.” You breathed the one-word response, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes.

He growled at your enthusiasm, removing his hand to lick one more stripe up your cunt before pressing his middle finger to your hole and slowly pushing in.

“Fuck,” he muttered, entranced by the way you wrapped around the digit, “So fucking tight.”

He thrust his finger down to his knuckle, curling the digit upwards and letting it dance over your most tender spot.

You whined, reaching for his wrist and lazily tugging at it.

“'At's’it,” he finally tore his gaze from your cunt, “You enjoying y’self, sweetheart? You feel nice?”

“Simon I—I’m gonna cum.” You gasped as he leaned forward again to press his tongue to your clit.

“Nah, no you’re not,” Simon shook his head with a smirk, “Gonna give y’another—not fair ‘f my girl only gets to cum on one finger, yeah?”

You just mewled, letting your body fall back onto the mattress and raising your hips in submission.

Simon pressed kisses to your inner thigh as he pulled his hand back, giving himself the space to push another finger into you. He followed the same pattern, curling them up against your g-spot, sucking eagerly on your clit and watching you squirm from the stimulation.

“Still wanna cum f’me, sweet girl?” The thrust of his fingers slowed, focusing all of his energy on your sweet spot, twisting his wrist to amplify the squelch of your cunt. “Wanna show me 'ow this pretty cunt can squeeze me nice ‘n’tight?”

“Ye—es,” you sighed, “Simon, just like—like that.”

“Right ‘ere, yeah?” Simon’s gaze darted between your face and your core, as if he couldn’t decide which view was prettier. “C’mon, love—right on my 'and like this, lemme taste it.”

He brought his mouth down to you again, sucking down hard and speeding up the pace of his fingers again. He made a point to nudge your delicate spot every time, in sync with the pressure he put on your clit.

Your back arched, writhing in pleasure under him and letting your orgasm consume you all at once; it was white-hot, a culmination of your longing for him, coupled with the speed at which he’d let his walls down and allowed you the pleasure of having him.

Your legs trembled, muscles tensing rhythmically as you gasped through your high and the shivered aftershocks.

“Look’t ‘at,” Simon groaned, still nestled between your legs, “Fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart.”

You reached down to comb your hand through his hair. When he continued lapping at your slick, nose nudging your clit and refusing to let up until the experience bordered overstimulation, you yanked lightly at the strands between your fingers.

“Right,” he sighed, allowing you to pull him away from your core and placing kisses on your inner thigh instead. “Can’t get enough, love.”

“Hardly an issue…” You mumbled, staring down at him with your lust-blown eyes, cheeks flushed.

He continued to nip at the skin of your legs, alternating between each of your thighs and occasionally pulling away to admire the subtle marks his teeth left on you.

It gave you enough time to recover from your release. But just as soon as the heat in your core began to quell, you were hit with a fresh ache between your legs, amplified by his breath fanning your skin and the position he remained in, so close to where you still wanted him.

“Simon…” You sighed, propping yourself up on your elbows to gaze down at him properly.

He managed to tear himself away from you, replacing his mouth with his hands and pressing his palms soothingly against the tops of your thighs as he analyzed your expression.

He didn’t respond, staring up at you expectantly and waiting for you to continue.

“Give me more.” Your voice didn’t falter now, well aware of what you wanted and what you hoped to receive.

“You givin’ orders now, sweetheart?” He chuckled lowly, letting his fingers press a bit harder into the plush flesh of your thighs.

“Not as your subordinate,” you smiled shyly, “As your wife.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, trying to read his expression; his eyes seemed to darken just as much as his smirk widened.

“…Please?” You added in an effort to get him to respond, whether it be verbally or physically.

“S’right,” he nodded, “Knew my wife ‘ad better manners 'an my Sergeant.”

You laughed softly at his words, appreciating the uncharacteristically lighthearted approach he seemed to be taking.

But he cut your giggles off, forcing you to replace them with a gasp as he grabbed you by the ankles and stood.

“Y’want it like this?” He practically cooed, though his voice was sweet to a mocking degree, “Lemme fuck you out while you lay ‘ere?”

He rested your legs on his chest, positioning himself in a more than suggestive manner as he pressed his hips to the back of your thighs.

“S’at what you want, love? Or did you want me to bend y’over?” He let your legs fall, leaning over you so that he was close enough to let his nose press against your cheek. “Treat my sweet wife like a fuckin’ whore…”

Your mouth felt dry, breath hitching in your throat at the apparent promise he was making to treat you as gently or as roughly as you deemed fit.

“You…” You felt lost for words, turning your face and letting your nose bump his. “Bend me over.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he breathed his words softly. “Can’t leave my girl wanting.”

He left feather-light kisses over your jawline, maneuvering his hands under you to haul you up and flip you onto your stomach. You let out a soft grunt, content to allow him to manipulate your form and position to his liking.

“Christ, ‘at’s a sight…” Simon ran a hand over the curve of your ass after he’d helped you settle, his calloused fingers rubbing roughly against your softer flesh.

You laughed softly—at the gesture, at his words. There was comfort in knowing him this way; in seeing the man with the mask fall out of his stoic demeanor and into something so much more gracious and inviting.

You pushed back against his hand, chasing the heat and weight of his palm and whining slightly as you became impatient at his lack of action.

Simon tsked softly, now using both hands to knead your ass.

“Gave y’what you wanted, love,” he gave your ass a light smack, and your whine caught in your throat. “Lend me some patience, yeah? Wanna admire what’s mine.”

The sheer avidity in his voice, the quiet tone in which his possessive words spilled out, made you exhale a dreamy sigh as you surrendered to his touch.

You stretched your arms out in front of you on the mattress, resting your head on your bicep and letting your eyes drift closed.

Simon’s breath was hot against your skin, and there was a moment where you wondered if he was going to ignore your pleas and instead use this time to go down on you again—not that you would complain, but it was amusing to think that a man so tough in stature could be so easily pussy whipped.

Instead, though, after what felt like ages of him simply sweeping his hands over your body, kneading your flesh and pressing open-mouthed kisses to the back of your thighs, he seemed to vanish from behind you.

You emitted a quiet whimper in confusion, craning your neck in an attempt to look back at him from where you lay spread out on the mattress.

Simon shushed you softly, pressing his hand to the small of your back.

“Not leavin’ you,” he spoke gleefully through a growl, thrilled by your need for him. “But I can’t fuck you with my trousers done up, sweetheart.”

You nodded lazily, listening to him unfasten his pants and pull his cock from its confines.

The waiting was the worst part; you had already done so much waiting for him in the time that you’d known him.

Still, the building suspense was oddly delicious, forcing your body to acknowledge that you would finally, finally, be getting what you’d been craving.

You whined when Simon finally offered more contact, placing his cock between your ass cheeks and rocking his hips.

He was heavy against you, and the warm, smooth skin of his length urged a new flood of arousal throughout your body.

You could feel the fabric of his pants rub against the back of your thighs, and you subconsciously pushed yourself back towards him to chase the implication of his power.

“Gonna go nice ‘nd slow f’you, love.” Simon moved, fisting his cock and aligning himself with your entrance.

You sucked in a breath. “Don’t have to…”

“Can’t go breakin’ my wife in 'alf.” He answered frankly, and you wanted to point out his ego in the moment, but as his cockhead nudged your hole, you forgot all about chastising him.

“Simon—”

“Easy, sweetheart…” Simon sunk into you slowly, as he’d promised; his hands guiding your hips backwards onto him. “Jus’ take what I give you.”

You let out a shaky breath when he bottomed out, mewling softly into the bedspread as you grew accustomed to the intrusion of his cock inside you.

“’Ere you go,” he groaned, looking down to get a proper eyeful of your cunt wrapped snugly around him. “Feel nice, sweetheart?”

“Y—eah,” you kept your face buried in the comforter, the pleasure of the stretch absolutely overwhelming. “S’so good…”

“I know.” Even with your back to him, you knew he was smirking.

He pulled out quickly, eager to get it over with so that he could bury his cock back inside of you. He thrust back into you just as fast, swallowing a moan as he was hit with the pleasure that was being hugged by the warmth of your cunt.

“Fuck,” he swallowed a moan, tossing his head back, “Such a fucking—you got the most perfect cunt, sweetheart. Made f’me.”

“For you,” you moved your head, tilting your face up in a poor attempt to look at him behind you. “For you, Simon.”

“’At’s right.” His grip seemed to tighten on your hips, possessive to the point of leaving his fingerprints on your skin.

Maybe it was the way you said his name with such fierce desire, undercut only by your quiet whimpers; maybe it was your murmured promise: for him, and only him. Something about this—about you—had him completely at your beck and call, no matter what the reason.

He moved one of his hands to press against the top of your back, pushing you down and forcing your back to arch.

“What a pretty fuckin’ picture,” his thrusts were growing sloppy in the midst of his enjoyment, and he reeled himself in slightly as he spoke. “So easy to fuck you out, sweetheart—little slut of a ‘ousewife, you are.”

The position allowed him to fuck into you deeper, his cock pounding your cervix with every thrust of his hips.

You gripped the bedspread, desperate to ground yourself in the haze of such intense bliss.

“Simon—,” you felt your eyes roll back as you tried to maintain a level of composure so that you could get your words out. “So fucking—y-you’re so deep, Simon.”

“Yeah, you say my fucking name,” he leaned forward, pressing his lips to your shoulder. “You let everyone ‘ear who’s nice ‘n’deep in your pretty cunt.”

“S—imon!” You heeded his request, though you needed no instruction.

He straightened up, and his speed steadily increased.

You felt a heady sort of pleasure that traveled throughout your body and all but turned off your brain. Babbling, you reached back for him as best you could.

“What d’you need, sweet girl?” Simon took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your palm. “’M right ‘ere.”

“…See you…” you tried to verbalize your want. “Wanna—see you.”

Simon’s hips slowed, stilling inside of you as he took in your request.

“You wanna see?” He wasn’t asking as if he’d misheard; he was teasing, drawing the scenario out before he inevitably gave into you. “Wanna watch yourself get fucked, love? Act like a whore while I treat you like one?”

You moaned in lieu of any real response, nodding against the mattress.

“Prefer to see my face, or my cock?” He queried, once again leaning forward to press kisses to your shoulder.

For some reason, although the latter option was absolutely something you’d like to see—a front row seat, watching him fuck you senseless—you felt yourself much more eager to watch him; to view the pleasure on his face as a mirror of your own enjoyment.

You wanted a domestic level of intimacy, something filthy but so pure, in its own right.

“Let me see your face, Simon,” you whined, “Please.”

He let out a sharp breath, not quite a laugh but in the same realm.

“Hoping you’d say ‘at.” Simon slid his hands down your body to grab your waist, using his grip as leverage to slowly pull himself out of you.

You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, and he stroked his palm over your back in an apparent effort to soothe you.

“C’mon. S’get you up.” He squeezed your sides, encouraging you to flip over onto the mattress.

Just as you settled onto your back, Simon moved away, dropping himself onto the bed and patting his thigh.

You turned to face him as best you could, still hazy with lust, and shot him a curious look.

“Come sit, sweetheart,” he smirked down at you, “Wanna see how you look bouncin’ on my cock.”

You smiled, “You just want me to do all the work.”

“Promise no wife o’mine’s gonna be left wanting,” Simon quirked a brow at you, leaning forward to coax you over to him. “’Less y’keep talking back like ‘at.”

You fell into his arms, allowing him to pull you onto his lap. You rolled your hips against his cock, the zipper and fabric of his pants biting gently at the flesh of your ass as you made yourself comfortable.

“All the work,” Simon huffed, reaching between your bodies to align himself with you again; you lifted your hips to provide the necessary space. “Kinda shit husband d’you think I am?”

“You—fuck—” Any retort you’d had planned was immediately subdued when he pushed you down onto his length, one hand on your hip while the other splayed out over your ribcage to keep you balanced on top of him.

“Can you manage, sweetheart?” He was teasing again, taunting you as you tried to compose yourself by pressing your hands onto his chest.

“It…” you breathed, refamiliarizing yourself with the stretch of his cock nestled deep inside of you. “Simon…”

You rocked your hips slowly, grinding down on him and letting him open you up; enjoying the tingling pressure of having him buried in your cunt.

“What’s’at?” He reached up, pressing his thumb to your bottom lip.

“I—” you kissed the pad of his thumb, gaze drifting down to his face. “I love it.”

Simon grit his teeth, pushing his thumb between your lips and letting his jaw fall open when you began to suck eagerly on the digit.

“Yeah…” His eyes drifted from your face to your figure, his free hand rubbing up and down your side as he began to pull you back and forth over him.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, trailing the wet digit over your nipples and watching them pebble before he placed the hand on your thigh, his other hand still rubbing over your side.

Your head fell back, breath coming out in short puffs. His control was easy, comfortable to be under, and the occasional twitch of his fingers when he felt you clench around his cock was something you could get used to.

When you’d become accustomed to the position, you used your hands on his chest as resistance to push yourself up and down on his length.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart—look’t ‘at…” Simon’s voice was raspy, chest heaving as he watched you bounce your hips over his cock. “Pretty cunt’s making a fuckin’ mess on me.”

You chanced a glance down, craning your neck to get a proper look at his cock as it disappeared into you.

He was right—it was messy; slick and wet, you coated him with your arousal. You could feel the stickiness between your thighs and under your ass when you ground yourself down against him.

Simon tsked, reaching up to wrap a hand loosely around your throat, refocusing your attention on his face.

“Said you wanted t’see my face, love,” he smirked up at you, forcing the smug look as best he could through the daze of having you ride him. “You fuckin’ look at me, then.”

You moaned, eyes fluttering closed at the way his fingers felt around your neck before you quickly opened them to stare down at him.

He dropped the hand from your throat, but it stayed on your skin, roaming your body and exploring every dimple and curve of you.

“Perfect,” he was muttering to himself now, admiring you in a way that felt so unfamiliar but so natural to the both of you. “You’re fucking perfect. My sweet girl—fuckin’ incredible.”

You whined, feeling as though you could cry.

His actions were one thing; his touch, the way he raised his hips to meet you, chasing the warmth of your cunt and burying his fingers into your flesh. But the words he spoke, the tenderness you were receiving from such a typically cold man—one you’d yearned for, one you’d assumed would never reciprocate your hunger for a decent touch, a kiss—made you feel a sweeping sense of pride; a sort of validation that made your ears warm and your heart stutter happily.

It was almost too much, and you could feel the spring in your abdomen tense in the same way the muscles in your thighs did as the exertion of riding him became more than a little tiring for you.

But Simon knew—intuitive to a frightening degree—and as your hips stuttered above him, he wrapped his arms around you, pressing a hand to your back and coaxing you to curl against his chest.

“So good, sweetheart,” he mumbled into your hair, arms still wrapped around you as he bucked his hips. “Perfect little wife, did your best, yeah? Ridin’ me so nice, let me put in the work now, right?”

You whimpered into the crook of his neck, relishing in the way he used your cunt like a toy for himself; hands moving to your hips to keep you steady, he fucked into you at a much faster pace, but the comfort you found lying on his chest was unparalleled.

When he pushed you down a bit rougher, letting the head of his cock punch into your cervix and making you let out a mewl of pained contentment, your jaw went slack. You felt drool pooling beneath your cheek and over the shoulder of his shirt.

Simon all but laughed when he felt the damp spot on his shirt, craning his neck to smile at you as he slowed the pace of his thrusts enough to reach up and tug you back gently by the hair. He forced your gaze on his, letting his voice take on a sweet, taunting lilt.

“What would the ladies in the neighborhood say if they saw you dirtying my clothes like this?” He cooed, pushing his cock into you so slowly that you could feel your walls moving, contorting to take the intrusion inch by inch. “Soaking my pants ‘nd droolin’ on my shirt? What would they think, sweetheart?”

“Probably be—be jealous…” you sighed, the angle and his slow movements creating the perfect storm to properly stimulate the spot on your front wall while your clit dragged over the base of him. “Probably want you just as bad as I do.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Simon growled, voice coming out almost hoarse as he spoke, his grip on your hair tightening ever so slightly. “Only want you.”

Suddenly he was burying his face into your chest, mouthing at your breasts and offering deep, fast thrusts up into you.

You cried out, clawing at his shoulders as you found the strength to wrap your arms around him and press yourself against him.

“Pretty thing,” Simon moved to look back at you. “Only want my wife. Only need you, sweet girl.”

“Simon—” You could feel the lust reach a fever pitch, the spring in your abdomen threatening to unfurl completely.

“I know, sweetheart,” he was panting, putting all of his effort that wasn’t focused on fucking you into responding to your moans. “C’mon ‘nd give it to me. I got you, lemme ‘ave it.”

It was almost pleading, the way his words came out, and it only served to push you over the edge.

You felt a deep seated tingle, muscles spasming and stomach tightening as a soft, needy gasp of his name escaped your lips.

You felt electric, charged and satisfied, slumping into Simon and letting yourself free-fall into the warmth that bloomed from your core around his cock.

“Fuck, ‘at’s it,” Simon moaned beneath you, wrapping his arms around you tightly as his hips stuttered feverishly, chasing your release in an effort to find his own. “Talk to me, sweetheart, gotta—”

“Inside,” you breathed, already anticipating the question and dead set on your answer. “Inside me, Simon. Please.”

He groaned, head falling back and eyes squeezing closed; wanting to draw out the pleasure of being inside of you, if only for a moment longer.

“I’ll give it t’you, love, I—fuck, lemme see you. Show me ‘at pretty face. Wanna see my wife when I fill ‘er sweet fuckin’ cunt up.”

You pushed yourself up, immediately obliging.

Pressing your forehead to his, noses brushing, he captured you in a brief but bruising kiss before pulling back to admire you above him.

“Fuck—‘ere you go, my pretty fuckin’ girl,” his eyes were heavily lidded, his gaze plastered to you, hungry and triumphant but so soft. “Jus’—Christ—”

Simon met his high with a grunt, thrusting lazily into you and coating your walls with his spend.

You whimpered, melting into him once more; listening to the way your breath fell in sync with his; appreciating the warmth of his release inside of you.

Simon sighed, splaying a hand over your back and tracing shapes on your skin.

After a moment of tranquil silence, he reached for your hips and carefully eased you off of him, both of you making quiet sounds of discontent.

Just as soon as you were off of him, though, you curled into his side, slinging a leg over him and pressing your face to his chest. He wrapped an arm around you, tugging you against him in a manner that made you feel like you were made to be there, flush against him.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time, Simon,” you spoke softly, but there was already a level of playfulness returning to your tone. “Do you wanna sleep up here tonight?”

You felt him huff a breath, laughing at your question.

“Does the bed come with the woman?” He tilted his face to look down at you.

“Up to you…” You held your breath, though you were unsure why; at this point, it seemed clear that he wanted you around, that he was just as eager to share space with you as you were with him.

“I’ll stay, sweetheart,” his other hand came up to toy with your hair. “Be a damn shame to make you sleep alone, Mrs. Riley.”

“What a doting husband.” You rolled your eyes, but you released the breath you’d been holding.

“Don’t you forget it.” He tugged playfully on a strand of your hair, and you squeaked, swatting at him just as impishly.

~~~

By habit, you woke up early.

The room was quiet, bathed in a blanket of hazy sunlight that poked in through the curtains.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, so intent on staying up and appreciating Simon’s presence next to you in this brand new, exceedingly pleasant way.

But now that you were awake, you could enjoy it again.

His arms were still wrapped around you, soft breath fanning the top of your head as you lay tucked into his chest.

Sometime during the night he’d stripped down to match your level of nudity, and you trailed a finger over his bare shoulders, admiring him. You couldn’t help but press a kiss to his skin, warming your lips with the heat that radiated from him.

He stirred slightly, grunting as he tugged you further against him. He placed a kiss to the top of your head before falling back asleep, and you closed your eyes, happy to join him.

Covert operations were awkward. Not this one, though.

☆Like my work? Buy me a ko-fi :)☆

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fic #call of duty smut #cod #cod fanfic #cod smut #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost cod smut

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cupidbedsy · 3 days ago

Note

🪻 for "I neglected you." "No, it's ok, you..." "No, it's not ok. I should have realized how lonely you felt." With pookie Quinn please?

✿ CUPID'S FLORAL SHOP ✿

here's a freshly picked lonely lavender 🪻 !

warnings: quinn neglecting reader, tired quinn, unresolved conflict

word count: 937

florist cupid: thank you so much for requesting lovie, i'm sorry it's taken me a while to write it! i hope you enjoy it, the ending is a bit rushed because i was running out of ideas and words to use 😭

you've known about quinn's tendencies to throw everything he has into hockey. every time you got home from work, he was rewatching old games or jotting down ideas in his notebook for practice the next day. it was one of your favorite things about him, how dedicated he was, but it quickly also became one of your least favorite things.

he did everything he could to make the team better, to make himself better, but at the same time, he was wearing himself thin. every time he'd come home from practice or a game, he'd look a little bit more tired than how he left. each loss cut into him and you couldn't recall the amount of nights he spent laying awake after one, recounting all the things they could've done differently.

eventually, you started seeing less of him, mentally at least. he was still there when you got home from a long day at work, he was still there to pull you into his arms in the middle of the night, but you can't remember the last time the two of you had sat down and had dinner together.

you didn't want to rant to him about the minor mishap that you had or that you lost one your favorite sweaters the other day, not when he he felt like he had the weight of the team on his shoulders, he had bigger things to worry about.

but deep down, you wanted him to focus on something other than the losses, other than the comments. each time you would offer to go out with him or watch a movie, he would shake his head and push you aside, claiming he had some stuff to work on. with each rejection, you grew annoyed and soon it became too much.

you got home and once again, quinn was sitting there scribbling something in that godforsaken notebook. you couldn't help the sigh (huff) that escaped you, alerting quinn to your presence.

he gave you a small smile before turning back to his page, "hi baby."

you raked a hand through your hair, making it more messy than it already was. you shrugged your coat off, hanging it up, kicked your shoes off, and made your way over to the couch, plopping down next to him.

he didn't say anything, just continued to write with the cutest furrow of his eyebrow as he concentrated and you frowned as it softened your annoyance.

"quinn can we talk?"

"mhm." he drew something, you couldn't tell what, but you could assume it was a play he had been curating up since you walked through the door.

"quinn."

"'m listening, y/n/n." but he wasn't, he kept his focus on the page, drawing random lines over it.

you sighed, taking the notebook away from him, "quinn."

finally he looked up, pushing his hair out of his face to look at you, "why'd you take it away? i was working on something."

he reached for it but he simply held it out of his reach, "because i want to talk to you and i can't do that when your head is somewhere else."

"i was listening."

"no you weren't."

you placed the notebook behind you, hands making quick work of moving to the hem of your shirt and fidgeting with it. you mulled over your thoughts in your head, trying to organize them as best as you could.

"what'd you want to talk about?"

"quinn, listen..." you started but were quickly cut off by his bewildered voice.

"you're not breaking up with me are you?"

"what? no, of course not. i just wanted to talk about something."

he let out a sigh of relief, nodding as he sank back into the couch. you took this as a sign to go forward, continuing to play with the hem of your shirt, "you know how much i love that you take everything to hear,t the criticism, the compliments, the suggestions, and how much you do to make the team better but recently."

you trailed off again, a wave of nervousness washing over you, "i feel like we haven't been us."

he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, "what do you mean?"

"when's the last time we had dinner, quinn?"

your question hit him in the face like a cold glass of water. he recounted the past month in his head, trying to rack his brain for the last time you two had gone on a date or spent the night together besides cuddling in bed.

you were right, it had been a while since the two of you had done anything, the realization rushed through him, a feeling of guilt and sadness following it.

"i neglected you."

his soft words made you frown, you didn't mean to make him feel worse than he already was, you just wanted to bring it to his attention, you reached for his hand, tangling your fingers in his, "no, it's okay, you..."

you tried to explain but he shook his head, slipping his hand from yours and standing up, "no, it's not okay. i should've realized how lonely you felt."

you watched as he walked fast to the kitchen, slipping his shoes on. he needed time to think, time to make this right between the two of you. he had messed up, and it weighed him down more than anything on the team could've.

"quinn, honey, where are you going?" you went to follow after him but as soon as you stood up he closed the door to your apartment, leaving you more alone than you had felt in weeks.

back to the shop ! ; navigation !

#. ˚◞ ✿〚 cupid's floral shop 〛#˚ ༘♡〚 cupids writing 〛ₓ｡#˚｡⋆〚 blurbs 〛#˚｡⋆〚 quinn hughes 〛#quinn hughes #qh43 #quinn hughes x reader

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bbokicidal · 20 hours ago

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Can I request Felix who is usually a sub leaning/vanilla and wants to dom reader for the first time, and Bangchan is there to help teach him what to do.

Idk if it makes sense but I love your work sm💕

-👩‍💻

[Drabble] Just A Little Help | Felix x Reader [+ Chan]

Felix loves when you take control, don't get him wrong. He likes the feeling of you being on top - hovering over him, sitting in his lap, riding him until his thighs push together and his knees knock against one another, shaking as you milk him dry. Those times are the best for him because it lets him relax, lets someone else take control so he doesn't have to worry about how he's doing, if he's doing it right, if he should do something different;

But he wants to try something new. He wants to try being dominant with you, but he isn't really.. sure where to start. It isn't the same as you being dominant so he can't really just think back and retrace your steps before following them himself, so he tries to do some research. But even then, he's a little nervous! Videos only show so much and so many of them are staged, even some of the amateur stuff (which is also filmed at shitty angles.)

Videos didn't help, articles didn't help - and his confidence is beginning to dwindle so much that he's debating just giving up and letting you dominate him like usual tonight. But then Chris sends him something - it's a meme, though it's sexual in nature, a clear innuendo that Chris is laughing at over text.

And so Felix decides to ask his Hyung for help.

It's a little embarrassing at first, but Chris seems to take it seriously. He understands why Felix is asking and offers up front to help the younger Aussie with his wants. He comes to the house in the evening and greets you with a polite smile.

When the time comes, you expect Chris to take his leave and head home. Only, Felix informs you that he wants Chris to stay, asking for your permission to keep him in the room. You're surprised, but if it's something they both want then you suppose it's alright - And you're only further surprised by the way your boyfriend initiates everything first. He's the one to kiss you, to gently guide you to the bed, to grind down against you and have you squirming beneath him in need. You're confused, but wildly aroused, and peek over at Chris only to see him gently nodding at Felix who was also glancing over.

Chris is there to guide him.

You've caught on, but stay quiet. Bringing it to their attention might only embarrass Felix and he seems to be in the groove right now, so you simply hum and moan and nod along as Chris comes closer to the bed to tell Felix what to do verbally. No more hints - simple, crisp, clear instructions. When to take off your jeans, how to pull down your panties with his teeth. Felix's tongue meets your clit and you gasp out, use to sitting on his face and having it all at once; But the gentle teasing he ensues when he's in control is enough to drive you mad - No tongue burying in your pussy, no suffocation of your poor sweet boyfriend beneath you. Instead it's little kisses peppered inside your thighs, the tip of his tongue flicking over the bundle of nerves he seemed to locate so expertly.

Chris watches the way your body shifts and uses your body language to decipher whether or not Felix needed to do more. He stays quiet until Felix comes up, hastily pushing his boxers down his thighs and crawling onto the bed between your legs. He doesn't need help with this part, sinking into your walls and whimpering at the way you seem to swallow him whole. Felix had to admit, the moment he started moving he almost regretted being on top - because he knew as soon as your thighs locked around his waist that he was going to become addicted to the feeling.

He's fucking into you just fine, and you seem to be pretty content with it - moaning, whining into the space between you - but Chris suggests Felix could take it a little further. Chris hums out that Felix could choke you, but the younger of the two quickly shakes his head. He isn't sure about it, is a little too shy to do such a thing just yet, and instead opts to lean down over you and cage you in with his elbows pressing just above your shoulders. It allows him to kiss you but still gives you the feeling of being held down, trapped beneath him.

Felix is exhausted by the time it's over. He isn't use to doing more of the work so he just lays atop you and lets you card your fingers through his hair while Chris sits aside quietly, waiting until someone got up to take his leave. He shifts when you get up first, rolling so Felix laid on the bed and you could get up and off of him.

Chris gives you time to get dressed, meeting you in the kitchen shortly after. He asks how it felt, if it was okay with him there - and when he hears that you actually liked having someone else in the room, Chris asks if he could potentially come back another time. Maybe be involved more.

Though, he has to warn you; He isn't as gentle as Felix is.

#skz imagine #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #bangchan x reader #felix x reader

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harrysxcarolina · 22 hours ago

Text

don't worry, i won't tell

b. eilish

warnings: wlw, soft!billie, top!billie, costars, no plot, short n sweet, teasing, flirty, smut, lol i was thinking about swarm and let my day dream run wild about billie completely letting her intrusive thoughts win in this scenario

The coolness of the satin sheets causes a shiver to run down your spine. Your smile grows as you feel her lips leaving soft butterfly kisses up your legs. Her fingertips gently caressing your torso creating little shapes as she works her way up your body. A soft hum leaves her lips as her legs tangle with yours as she towers over you. Her hair cascading over both of your faces as she reaches down to brush your cheek. A warm smile evident on her face.

“Do you have any idea how good you looked tonight?” She whispers against your skin as her lips begin their attack on your neck. Her moans echoing into your ear as her body falls on top of yours. Pinning you beneath her as she kisses along your jaw up to your lips.

“You may have mentioned it once or twice.” You mumble as you feel her smile against your lips. Before anymore words can be spoken her hands tangle themselves in your hair as she captures your lips in a heated kiss.

Her lips burning your skin and your fingertips grip and grasp at her skin. Her body is slithered between yours. Your bodies and lips tangled together in a heated make out session. Hands exploring each other's bodies. Trying to display the amount of love and affection between the two roles the best you could.

As the scene gets more heated you sense something off with Billie. You feel her tense at random moments. Her body is moving differently than what you’ve both planned and trained for. Confusion is laced between your thoughts as you shake away the feeling as you fall back into the scene.

Her lips falter against your skin as her breath hits your neck. A low moan escaped her lips as your hands gripped her hips and guided her into slowly moving against your positioned thigh. Leaning up and tilting her head back to take in the view of you beneath her. Her hand softly brushes your check as she takes over the grinding motion of her hips. Her lip finds its home between her teeth as her eyes never stray from your face.

Her hand slowly moved its way down your neck and across your chest. Between the valley of your cleavage and down to your torso. Soaking in the softness of your skin underneath her fingertips, your back arches off the bed. A moan leaves your body as you reach out needing to touch her.

She quickly leans down, laying her chest on top of yours. Her hands bury themselves deep into your hair as her head lays beside yours on the pillow. Her breath fanning across your face. Your hands roaming up and down her spine as her hips quicken and her breathing gets heavy.

“Please keep touching me,” she whines. Her face buries deeper into your neck as her lips graze your skin as she leaves love bites along your neck. forgetting where she was and what she was doing. Her hips never faulted. Confusion is laced on your face, but only for a moment. Trying to stay in character.

Billie didn’t have a line to perform just then so you weren't sure where this was coming from. Her soft whimpers become more frequent as you start to tease Billie’s skin with your fingertips.

“Say it again please,” you beg as your fingers tangle themselves deep in her dark locks, pulling her head back slightly forcing her to look in your eyes. Causing a deep moan to leave her lips, her eyes meet yours. Her hands gripping the sheets tightly now moving her hips harder against your upper thigh. Her eyes hooded as she captures her bottom lip between her teeth fighting back the smirk on her face. You can feel the wetness between her thighs sliding down your leg. You lip finds its way between your teeth. Glancing up at her as you fight back a moan at the sight. Noticing she was already looking at you through her lashes. Her cheeks a rosy pink. Her lips swollen and kissable.

now understanding her comment earlier about touching her.

“I’m in love with you, sweet girl.” She states as her eyes move from between your eyes and lips. Leaning down and kissing you like her life depended on it.

As your bodies find yourselves in the last staged position Billie’s once again on top of you.

Your thighs laced between her hips as your lower torsos meet your eyes lock for a moment. Her lip once again finds its way between her teeth. Eyes pleading. Reaching up, tucking a piece of fallen hair behind her ear before moving your hand to the back of her neck and gently pulling her towards you.

Lips brushing just lightly against each other. You can smell the faint scent of spearmint from the gum she was chewing earlier.

“Please,” she whispers as a soft moan follows. Smirking, you slightly tilt your thigh hoping it wasn’t noticed by anyone in the crew but the girl above you. Her breathing stops at the sudden change of pressure against her dripping core. Your thigh now rubbing perfectly against her clothed swollen clit instead of the staged position you were instructed to do. The both of you forget about the room full of people and cameras. Your grip tightening on her hips as she moans in your ear.

“Do I feel good Billie?” You softly whisper into her ear. Your lips brushing the shell of her ear as you feel her breath hitch. Her pulse is loud in her ears as she feels your hands roaming her skin. Teasing her spine as your lips trace up and down her neck.

Sliding your hands across her ass and up her back slowly as the tip of your tongue traces the shell of her ear. Feeling her muscles flex under your touch does something to you as you feel that familiar pull between your own thighs. Forgetting that you are supposed to be professional and stop the scene if it gets too hot and heavy for lack of better words. Were you going to do that? Absolutely not.

Her hands ruffle the sheets beside your head as she grips them tighter. Her hips grinding harder against you as your words soak into her skin.

“So fucking good.” She moans in your ear. Your grip on her gets even tighter. You can feel the heat radiating off her skin as she kisses your neck.

“I love you too,” you whimper. That was her final cue for the scene, and she let herself go. Biting her lip she leans further into your neck as her hips rotate deliciously on your thigh. Her high taking over as her body shakes in your grip. Her chest heaving against yours as you aid her in gliding herself across your thigh. Her cum drips down your warm skin as her breathing is ragged.

“Cut!” The director calls causing the both of you to slightly jump. Billie’s body falls completely on yours as she tries to catch her breath. Your soft giggle is heard in her ear as one of your arms wraps around Billies lower back holding her against you. The other reaches for the prop blankets surrounding the both of you to cover your bodies as Billie collects herself.

As she starts to recollect her composure and breathing her face heats up at the realization of what just happened.

“I’m so so-“ Billie starts.

“It’s okay.” You interrupt her with a smile. Sitting up and grabbing the robes that were being handed to you. Grabbing them both, handing one to Billie who was now sitting beside you on the soft bed eyes wide in shock and horror. Draping the robe across your shoulders before quickly leaning over on your hands and knees. Your lips centimeters from her ear. A soft smirk across your face.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” You whisper before placing a gentle kiss on her cheek before climbing off the bed and bouncing your way back to your trailer. Billie sitting there frozen in place as she watches you walk away trying to hide the raging heat lighting up her cheeks.

#billie eilish #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish fem!reader #billie eilish blurb #billie x reader #billie #eilish #wlw #billie eilish x girlfriend

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midnight-fox-boy · 3 days ago

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To preface: I hope this isn't taken wrong as I'm not the best at explaining how I feel or my thought process, please don't take anything I say as accusatory or anything.

I think privilege is a nuanced issue. (Going off of gender stuff alone here and not taking into account intersectionality ofc). I think that the way the world, the law, and specific situations perceive you can very much impact what we may consider "privileged".

A trans man that fully "passes" like a cis man probably won't have to worry as much in the supermarket or at work, assuming they didn't transition at that job compared to a trans woman, whether she "passes" or not because of the dangers from being perceived as a woman, OR being clocked.

But in terms of laws, any anti-trans laws like what's going on right now in the US will pretty much effect us all equally. If it goes their way all of us would have our Agab listed on identification and we'll be forced to use the restrooms associated with our Agab.

In intimate/romantic settings there's risks for all of us, too. If someone finds out you're trans it can always go bad.

Something I think all binary or binary presentating trans people who are going stealth have in common is that underlying anxiety around what may happen if people find out they're trans. We can argue about privilege all day but the moment you're outed, so much social privilege can be lost in an instance. If you can't uproot your life and start over somewhere else. The fears involved in being found out can be horrifying. It can like less of a privilege when you have that looming over your head, regardless of how true or not true said privilege is.

Even outside of all of this, there really is different fears and issues involved for different trans people, you know? Like transmascs have different issues with medical care than transfems do. And to be clear, that's not me saying that one is worse than the other, just different.

I'm a trans guy, my partner is a mostly closeted nonbinary person who definitely leans transfem. Ive been on hormones for a long time, they are not on hormones yet. I worry less about myself at a store than them. They get more insults, more stares. Even though they just present as they always have, even when they don't feel bothered to shave, it's like people just know and see things they associate too much with femininity. Long hair, leather jackets with flowers on them, a generally slim more androgynous build, etc.

I'm usually gendered correctly, even if that means people think I'm 12 instead of 24. I understand that I'm less likely to be clocked as trans than them. But in terms of physically being able to defend ourselves? I'm 5ft, I don't have a lot of strength, I have arthritis, chronic pain. Most cis men could easily overpower me. My partner is slim, but surprisingly strong for their weight and much taller than me. They could put up a much better fight.

I worry more about myself at night because I'm small. Not necessarily because people might think I'm a woman, but because I literally look like a child to most people. I would feel super anxious if they tried to use the women's restroom when I've personally never experienced anything negative using the men's restroom since I was 15 and pre-T.

And then when we're together we're pretty much on equal terms lol. Because then things shift to homophobia (or tbh people thinking they're a creep).

Basically this isn't to disagree, my point is that I wish people took more time to analyze things in a way that isn't so "this or that". Things are more nuanced and complicated than "trans men have privilege over trans women". I wish we could all just celebrate our similarities and differences and stand up for each other when we need it. We all deal with social isolation, bigotry, and a lot off bullshit overall.

And if we were to view privilege as like this general overarching thing without specific circumstances or nuances, then I do believe everything kind of just evens out into this "similar and different".

if you legitimately believe that any trans identity has privilege over another there is genuinely something wrong with you and you need to go outside

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sogoodtoheritsvicious · 2 days ago

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broke the sweetest promise (that you never should have made)

summary: your relationship with lando ends before it can ever really begin

parings: lando norris x ex!reader x harry styles

vicious speaks: this was supposed to be a cute little fic after i was inspired when listening to ‘electric touch’, and now it’s taken on a life of its own! i hope you enjoy this new mini series 💕 i had to make lando the bad guy, i’m sorry 😭 this is just setting the stage so there’s not a lot of harry but don’t worry, he’s in the next part!!

series masterlist

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lando we’re so golden ☀️

tagged yourusername

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yourusername we’re saurrr cute 💛

⤷ lando you definitely are 💛

⤷ fan1 can you put us all out of our misery and DATE ALREADY

⤷ fan2 fr!! yn’s looked like she’s been in love with lando for years and he’s been looking the same way lately 🥹

oscarpiastri two pretty best friends

⤷ yourusername missing our 3rd 😔💔

⤷ fan3 lmao oscar saw the shipping comments and said NOT on my watch 😭

⤷ oscarpiastri she can do better

⤷ lando SLOW DOWN SLOW DOWN

⤷ fan5 oscar PLEASE 😭

⤷ fan6 i fear osc isn’t joking

alexandrasaintmleux yourusername give me your hand in marriage NOW 💍💍 i’m SERIOUS

⤷ yourusername i’m all yours baby 😚

⤷ charles_leclerc i’m literally right here?

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux and?

⤷ yourusername is that supposed to mean something to us?

⤷ charles_leclerc damn okay

⤷ fan7 you got humbled so quick dkgjfjs

fan8 harry in the likes, what the hell 😭

⤷ fan9 maybe he’s an f1 fan

⤷ fan10 ooh i hope we’ll see him at a race!!

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fan1 IS MY LIFE A JOKE TO YOU

fan2 you’re crazy if you think we believe you’re just friends after this

maxverstappen1 oh my God did it finally happen?

fan3 this is basically a hard launch, right?

oscarpiastri you already know how i feel so i’ll just say that if you’re happy, i’m happy ❤️

fan4 you won’t last long, lando will get bored eventually 🤷‍♀️

yourbff bitch you have some explaining to do

fan5 omg are we about to get love songs for the first time?

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69,654 likes

tmz f1 driver lando norris and singer yn were seen in a pretty heated fight at a studio earlier tonight! apparently lando left her alone in tears. for those who don’t know, he and the singer have been best friends for a few years now, with fans recently speculating online about a relationship confirmation coming soon from the pair but those dreams were crushed when lando was spotted kissing a mystery woman on valentine’s day (see last slide).

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fan1 omg he’s such a WHORE

fan2 YN STANS WE RIDE AT DAWN 🤺

fan3 this is so sad, man. you can tell yn loves him and i thought lando loved her but clearly that isn’t true. she deserves so much better!!

fan4 leaving her alone in tears is such an evil move…lando norris you shall die by my sword

fan5 it was clear lando wasn’t ever going to see her as a serious option. she did this to herself!!

⤷ fan6 yn didn’t do anything to herself, lando is the one who keeps stringing her along, especially lately.

fan7 our girl needs to cut lando off, take time to heal and when she’s ready, move on with someone who actually loves her.

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fan1 damn tell us how you really feel 😭

fan2 this isn’t the confirmation post i wanted but i guess i’ll take it 🤷‍♀️

fan3 the fucking shade 😭😭

yourbff GET HIS ASS!

fan4 leave lando alone you weirdo

maxverstappen1 this is more information about lando than i ever wanted to know but i can appreciate what you’re doing it for

fan5 me when i lie

fan6 this is diabolical

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fan1 oh girl this is not it

fan2 this isn’t the serve you think it is

fan3 there’s still time to delete this

fan4 wow you really feel no shame in homewrecking

lando ❤️

⤷ itsaria you need to set the record straight about yn. people are in my dms calling me a homewrecker and i didn’t sign up for that shit, lando.

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yourusername i never wanted to bring this to social media but i was made aware that lando released a statement today that as you can see from above, is full of nothing but lies. we’ve been best friends for a few years now and i had been in love with him for almost all of them. we recently admitted our feelings for each other and decided to see where things would go between us. it was new, but we were relationship and he did cheat on me. i don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling but i haven’t seen or spoken to him since that night at the the studio and things between us are obviously not fine. i’m also pretty sure aria had no idea about me so please do not attack her. this is the last time i’m going to speak about this situation, as i want to move on with my life.

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theynsociety still not over taylor and yns surprise performance last night!!

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fan8 i’ve missed her so much!! she was literally glowing last night 🥹🫶

fan9 the fit!! THE HAIR!!! i have a feeling we’re about to enter her best era yet

fan10 harry’s always popping up in the most random places 😭

fan11 it’s been a long month, but clearly this break is doing wonders for her 😍

fan12 harry styles yn fan confirmed?

liked by harrystyles

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taglist: @pansexualdarling

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yandere-sins · 2 days ago

Note

Hello! I've been rubbing my hands together thinking of a prompt ever since your requests opened! ( ≧∀≦)ノ

May I request a LADS Caleb imagine where you're friends with the MC, but you're a bit unsure and intimidated by Caleb for some reason? There's something about him you can't put your finger on, so you keep your distance towards him. But of course, he can't have that so he takes the opportunity to show you how he really feels when you come over his house for MC but it's just you and him? 👀 Predator-pray dynamics with eventual smut would be so good with him!

Hehehe, I am finally caught up enough with Caleb to do this! Thank you for requesting ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Taking a deep breath, you braced yourself as the light switched on behind the front door.

Visiting your best friend had never been a problem—until now. It was supposed to be only temporary, but recently, her "brother" had moved into her flat. It didn't really concern you who she shared her living space with, but he concerned you. And not in a good way.

Whenever you met him, something felt... off about Caleb. Maybe it was the smile that never seemed to reach his eyes or how you caught him smelling your jacket once. Perhaps it was all just a coincidence when he seemed to undress you with his gaze, or you felt uncomfortable since he worked for the Deepspace Aviation Administration. You had never been concerned with your friend, though, in all the years you knew her, and she was just so thrilled to have her brother back and visiting.

So, who were you to put a damper on the mood?

Fridays had always been movie nights for you and your friend until Caleb returned, and you two had to pause the meet-ups for a while so he could settle in. You were all the happier when she finally asked you to hang out again. However, the anticipation turned bitter when she asked for the three of you to watch the newest addition to her movie collection. But at this point, you could hardly say no since she knew you had no plans, and you were probably just imagining the weird vibes around Caleb anyway.

Reassuring yourself silently that there was nothing wrong and you were creating a big issue about fantasies in your mind, you put on your best smile as you heard the door unlocking in front of you.

"Surprise!" you chimed, raising the bag with snacks and the six-pack of drinks into the air. Instantly, you were overcome with nervosity and slight embarrassment as you realized it wasn't your friend who opened the door, but the man himself. Caleb watched you in slight amusement, a smile playing around his lips as he eyed the things you brought before his gaze fixated back on you. He let out a short laugh before making way for you to step in, shaking his head, and you felt your cheeks heat up.

"We were expecting you, so not much of a surprise, is it?"

Laughing off the embarrassment, you quickly squeezed past him, pushing off your shoes as you entered the apartment. You felt his eyes burn into your back, but just as you were about to bolt for the living room, Caleb swept the bag of snacks from you, carrying it for you as he walked slightly ahead.

"And with us," he sighed, shaking his head faintly, "I mean 'me'. My sis is still working and told me to get you situated and to start without her."

"Oh," you mumbled, not expecting to be alone with Caleb. All the worries you had tried to suppress were rising to dangerous levels now. "I'm sorry, I didn't know... She didn't message me today. If it's inconvenient tonight, we could make plans for another day?"

Undeterred, Caleb began unpacking the snacks as he blew out air dismissively, waving off your concerns. "Don't worry about it. Sit down, have a drink."

You gulped as you looked at the previously made cozy set-up on the couch. Someone—presumable Caleb—had collected all the pillows and blankets from the apartment, spreading them out over the cushions, lit candles everywhere, and put on the mood lights in the otherwise darkened room. The TV was already showing the movie title, ready to play, and you grew less and less sure if you should stay.

Caleb noticed your hesitation, watching you silently as you hesitated. He had crossed the distance between you in less than two steps, his face morphing into a mask of friendliness as he patted you on the back. "Come on!" he encouraged, and you stumbled forward, not expecting his gestures' impact on your body. "It's not like I bite! This is going to be fun!"

Before you knew it, you were sat on top of the couch, and Caleb briefly left you to place the drinks you brought into the fridge, returning with two cold ones before plopping down and handing you one. You opened your mouth again to protest, but he was faster, pressing play and opening up some popcorn bags, filling his mouth before holding it out for you.

That's when you had to face your fate and realize it was already too late to back out.

Grabbing a hand of popcorn for yourself, you thanked him briefly before sinking into the cushions, trying to make yourself small and unnoticeable as you directed your attention to the movie. You couldn't really focus, and it was hard to ignore Caleb, who was laughing and commenting next to you. Still, you did your best, not wanting to be disrespectful to the movie or your friend.

"Do you know when she'll get home?" you asked after an especially funny scene that made even you giggle and Caleb snort. He hummed thoughtfully before searching for his phone in his pocket, staring at the display momentarily as you looked over at him. You caught a brief glimpse of his display, noticing he had a privacy foil on, so you couldn't see the notifications. But with a tinge of regret, he shook his head.

"She wrote a while ago she's still busy, sorry."

You put on an expression that said, "Oh well, can't be helped," shrugging your shoulders and returning to the movie.

"Are you done with that?" Caleb suddenly spoke up again, demanding your attention back to him. His voice was eerily commanding sometimes, making it feel like you had to obey him. When you shifted your gaze back, he caught your eyes with his, unblinking. But when you looked around to see what he meant, you noticed his finger pointing at your bottle, and you gave it a questioning shake, noticing that it was, in fact, empty.

"Oh, yeah," you mumbled, and faster than you could react, Caleb snagged it from your hand.

"Can't have that!" he yelled, jogging over to the kitchen. "Sis would kill me for being such a bad host to her bestie!"

Maybe you had been wrong. Grinning a little at his comment, you found Caleb to actually be a bit dorky and much less menacing than you had previously assumed. He behaved just like a brother did at times, and seeing him as just a normal dude was reassuring. You may have made a mountain out of a molehill with your ideas, and he had just been awkward the first few times you two met, only now warming up to you. You could appreciate him trying to host you well and get along with his sibling's best friend. Maybe you two could still turn into friends after this failed movie night? The thought no longer seemed too far off.

It took him a while to return, and by then, you were already lost in the movie again, munching popcorn. For the first time that night, you were more comfortable, sitting cross-legged and leaning back. Caleb plopped down, and you, this time, smiled at him as he handed you your drink, immediately taking a sip.

"Not a bad movie," you commented, and he hummed in agreement. You were glad that all this tension and awkwardness was slowly settling between you two. He was a big part of your best friend's life, and so were you. It would really suck if you two didn't get along.

Sipping your drink, you continued watching the movie, laughing here and there. Caleb, too, sat back after a while, arm flopping over the backrest behind you. You didn't mind it too much, although his fingertips nearly touched your shoulder. Unfortunately, your eyelids grew heavier with every scene you watched. It was like a curse since the movie was growing on you. You knew you should have prevented falling asleep at all costs, but you couldn't. Neither rubbing your eyes nor giving yourself the "stay-awake-damnit!" pep talk helped.

The last thing you noticed before you slipped into your dreams was the feeling of the bottle being taken from your hand and your torso falling over, head landing into a soft cushion.

»»———————— ♡

Drowsily, you were ripped from your sleep as a breathtaking wave of pleasure overcame you. Your mouth opened at the feeling of something hot and wet slipping between your legs, a thorough assault on your senses as it mingled there. You didn't have the strength to lift your head and look down at what was going on, and neither could you stop feeling this way or close your legs, only meeting resistance from your muscles when you tried.

Something felt wrong, but wrong had never felt so good before.

A small, pitiful moan escaped you, and the shuddering bolts of pleasure ceased for a moment before they returned in full force, a long, wet stride all across your cunt that immediately disappeared after attacking. You heard yourself moan again as the colder room temperature teased your heated pussy. Then the weight around you shifted, the ground you laid on giving way to something, and you missed the sensation between your legs that were now attacked by the cold air.

Groggily, you forced your eyes open, even just a crack, but what you saw was completely distorted and blurred, making you sigh in disappointment. Where were you? What had happened? Distorted memories left unclear and incoherent thoughts in your mind that you couldn't make sense of.

"... awake?" someone called out to you, but it sounded like they spoke through a thick layer of water. You wanted to reply with a short "yeah," but it sounded more like garbled groaning than anything. Someone laughed before you felt a cold touch draw over the curve of your nose, down your cheekbone, and press against your jaw, tilting your head gently upwards. More muffled words that you could barely understand fell around you, which began to frustrate you.

"... a few pills... you... so cute."

Instinct made you grin, although you didn't know if your lips followed your brain's orders. You liked compliments; who didn't? They made you feel all warm inside your belly, warmth that slowly crept lower and lower until it found your clit, rubbing the sore nub in slow circles. You sighed, and something soft laid down on top of your lips, playing with them, softly vibrating as they moved, the voice now much louder.

"You like that, huh?" it murmured against your mouth, making you swallow the words as you released another soft sigh. "You like being called cute while I tease your pussy, don't you?"

"Mhm," you managed to say out loud. You liked it—liked it a lot! Those fingers were calloused, but they worked eagerly. If you didn't know it better, you'd say they did their best to please you. It made you feel adored to be taken care of, sweet nothings trailing off the lips that played with yours, calling you "good girl" and "sweetheart". They told you how wet you were for him and how well you'd take his cock. In your delirium, you smiled, agreeing obediently, opening your lips to welcome this stranger's tongue when it came prodding. It was a nice, sexy dream, an illusion so lovely you never wanted to wake from it.

As you ground against the hand, allowing the fingertips to invade you, and slowly working your way down on them, your eyes suddenly snapped open, reality crashing into you like the wind toppling over a fragile house of cards. You tore away from the kiss, gasping out loud as you reeled for air. Unfortunately, your sudden movements caused two of his fingers to slip in up to his knuckles, and you mewled at the strike of pleasure that hit you.

"C-Caleb?!" you screamed, in shock at who you saw hovering over you, holding his mouth with a pained expression. You might have accidentally bit him or ripped his lip open—but that wasn't what you should have been concerned about at all!

Looking down, you saw his hand still molded to your pussy, and as soon as he noticed your eyes shifting downwards, he gave his fingers a little wiggle inside you, confirming your worst nightmare as you felt them moving and teasing your walls.

"S-Stop!" you yelled, wanting to force your hands into his chest when you noticed they weren't moving an inch. Neither were your legs, and you cranked your head upwards, confused, finding them tightly constricted in leather shackles. Those that you had only ever seen to be used in pornos, spreading over your whole wrist and cushioned on the inside. Something that had to be prepared.

"What are you doing?!" you instead snapped at Caleb, directing your focus on him. More than the horror of waking up to him playing with your body, panic began spreading through you like wildfire as you realized you were unable to move.

"Why?" he chuckled, finally swiping the back of his hand across his lower lip, and you saw the small drops of blood you had left on him. "I'm taking care of you. You fell asleep and rubbed against me as if you needed help; I am just assisting you with that."

"What?! No! I... I'd never do that..."

Shaking his head, Caleb gave you the look of someone who believed you were lying just to keep face, but you were telling the truth! Why would you even?! And why him, of all people?! Not even your tired self would seek comfort or pleasure from him... would you?

"So dishonest," he criticized, and his fingers separated inside you, forcing your walls to cling to them. "And here I was, so nice preparing everything for you. So you'd be ready for me once you woke up. You should appreciate my efforts more."

"Your... efforts?! Caleb, this is inappropriate! We don't even know each other that well, and that's beside the point—just stop this!"

Shaking in your shackles, you wished you were a mind-reader. Maybe it would have told you something about his unreadable expression as he stared at you. Perhaps it would have explained why Caleb calmly but firmly, full of conviction, replied, "No," before leaning down and kissing you again.

Pulling his fingers slowly, teasingly out of you, Caleb didn't hesitate to plunge back in, quickly finding a suitable rhythm to fuck you. All while his lips assaulted your mouth, forcing his tongue back in and his free hand sneaking beneath you to support your neck, just so he could tilt your head back and make it harder to refuse his advances. Wrecked by shudders, you wound yourself in your restraints, always hoping to win some distance between you two. However, the position made it nearly impossible.

"You don't know how long I've waited to taste you," he mumbled between kisses. "How long I've been planning this, to capture your body and soul."

"Mhm--! Stop--!"

"I won't. I'll never."

And with that, it felt like the deal was sealed. Caleb wouldn't let you get another word in as he kissed you into breathlessness, working his fingers into your dripping cunt. Slipping his thumb back up to your clit, you felt utterly exposed as he teased it with deliberate movements. Everything beneath his palm had heated up, your flesh raw and wet, welcoming him even though every shock of pleasure pained you as much as it pleased you.

You screamed against his lips, and Caleb swallowed all your anger and insults as if they were a delicious treat. It wasn't long until your body betrayed you, your heartbeat raging in your chest as he brought you close to the edge. Your voice had long turned hoarse, your moans all that was left from your resistance while your hips curled upwards, reaching for just a little bit more. It was humiliating. And good. And terrible. Catastrophic.

But your orgasm was earth-shattering.

You had never known it could feel so good to be fingered. That being assaulted could have these kinds of effects on your body. Nobody told you that your back could still arch and your toes claw into the blanket as you came, even though you never wanted to. Tensing in your restraints, the pain was non-existent, even when you fell slack, the fall from grace crueler than this whole situation.

Silent tears wet your cheeks. Perhaps you were too stunned to speak, but with abhorrent focus, you watched him lick every inch of his hand clean, Caleb's face flushed, his eyes sparkling until his gaze shifted to you. Immediately, the light faded out of them, but the corners of his mouth curled higher into a maniacal grin.

"You can be honest now. Didn't it feel good?" he asked, and a hundred different insults flitted through your mind in response.

"You're awful," you pressed out through gritted teeth, more tears collecting in your eyes. "What did I ever do to you?"

At your words, his grin seemed only to widen unnaturally.

"Well, for once, you ignored me all this time, pretending to be uncomfortable despite obviously being very comfortable with what I can do for you. Were you trying to make me jealous, flirting with all these other guys at your work? Don't you know I've been waiting for you to come to me all this time? And as if it's not enough torture I had to endure, what were you thinking wearing your sexy underwear coming to a movie night with my sis and me?"

"H-How... How do you know that?!" you stammered, cursing yourself for not doing your laundry and wearing something normal that day, but who could have expected it to result in this?!

"I have my way, hun, no less since I got to take it off you, at least. But I've had enough of this teasing. I've decided to have my cake and eat it too, even though it pains me that I had to lure you here by pretending to be my sister. She doesn't even know you were supposed to come today, but don't worry, I'll make sure you're thoroughly entertained."

"You... You psycho..."

"Ah," he hummed, but the smile never vanished. "If that's what I must be to finally get you all to myself, so be it. And now that I have you, I'm not sure I ever want to let you leave again."

Caleb hummed thoughtfully for a moment, undoubtedly scheming another hideous plan in his mind.

"Hey..." you mumbled nervously, goosebumps spreading all over your body as his words slowly began to register. "Just let me go, okay? We can forget all of this, and I'll just leave, and you won't have to see me again. I... I won't go to the police either, so can you just let me go, please?"

"I don't think so, you cutie pie," Caleb replied with no hesitation whatsoever, not even a moment to think about it. Sliding most of his body between your legs again, you watched as his devilish grin disappeared beneath your belly, only to feel his tongue lick up the spill dripping from your pussy moments later. He laved it up thoroughly, taking his time to taste and hum appreciatively, the sound vibrating against your puffy lips. Everything inside you screamed to close your legs, but with the restraints and Caleb's body between them, you had no way of doing it.

Staring at the ceiling, you silently wept, the occasional moan slipping past your lips as you wondered where you had gone wrong. You never expected Caleb to feel this way about you, much less act on his crazed thoughts! There were some raised red flags, but nothing that would have told you about the true danger you were in, and despite his accusations, you weren't guilty of leading him on or teasing him!

Caleb's head popped up once more as you contemplated, growing a bit too still for his liking, it seemed. You met his gaze with your blurred one, and he smiled, softer now, but you noticed his hand reaching down to his belt, opening it before moving on to his zipper.

"N-No...!" you mewled, and Caleb watched the horror etched in your expression, a sense of adoration washing over his. The stark contrast of your reactions didn't help soothe you, but it taught you an important lesson: It had never been your fault.

You were just unlucky to become his object of obsession.

"I'll make sure you won't be able to walk away from me once I'm done," he sighed blissfully, his massive cock springing free from his pants, his eyes never straying from you, even when he lined it up to your entrance.

"Even if you want to."

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gallavichsreddie1128 · 3 days ago

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Anything (Rafe Cameron)

Description: Y/N and Cleo are kidnapped and Rafe finds out.

Word Count:854

Request:f your requests open, rafe x reader the reader gets kidnapped aside with Cleo rafe find out,

Author’s note: I changed a few things from the original story since I don’t remember exactly what happens.

She wasn’t answering his calls or texts, she wasn’t the best at it but at least she would get back to him when she can. She hadn’t answered all day and it’s not like he could really go to her house. She lived with the pogues, she was a pogue. Their relationship was a secret and if any of them found out, who knows what would happen.

Neither of them wanted to take that risk. But he was worried and pacing his house as he thought of what to do. Maybe she was napping all day or maybe something bad happened…. He stared at Sarah’s contact debating on whether or not to call her. If it was something stupid like her napping or she lost her phone he would regret it but if it wasn’t and he didn’t call…he’d also regret it.

Sarah stared at her phone in confusion as her brother called. He never called her and that’s why she answered it. “Hello?” He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding once he heard her voice. “Hey um I…” How did he start this? Tell her that he’s dating one of her friends? Tell her that he’s worried for all of them? “I uh you might not like this but this isn’t about you.” Sarah’s face held a dirty look as he talked.

“What do you want Rafe?” She asked, the attitude clear in her voice. “Y/N. Is she okay?” He asked. He sounded worried and that confused Sarah. Why did he care? “I know you don’t need to hear this right now but she’s not answering my calls or texts.” He told her. Why would she answer anything from him? “Why would she answer your calls or texts?” He rolled his eyes and decided it was best to rip the bandage off, “We are dating. She’s my..” He didn’t finish the sentence knowing Sarah got it in the first half. “Is this some kind of sick joke? Do you have something to do with this?” “Something to do with what?” He asked, confused.

“Y/N is missing along with Cleo, we think they were taken by the people that have been after us for a few days now.” Rafe felt his heart drop in his stomach. He had the right idea calling her. “Who is after you? What do they want with Y/N?” He asked a bunch of questions trying to understand. Y/N hadn’t told him anything about this. Sarah told him everything she knew but it wasn’t enough for him. “O-okay I’m willing to do anything to help get her back.” He tells his sister.

Y/N was shaking in fear as Lightner and Terrence stood before her and Cleo. The amulet, the one that Pope hid and Y/N had no idea where it was. Cleo might but Y/N is going to get herself killed being of no help. “I can take you to it.” She looked at Cleo as they pretty much pleaded for help. Her own father was behind this as well… She saw that Terrence looked a little scared as well.

“I think I know where it is.” She told Y/N. Y/N nodded but that didn’t help her fear. They pulled them into the house that was empty. She wondered if her friends even knew that they were missing, if Rafe knew. Cleo went and looked where she thought it was and Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding as Cleo found nothing. Lightner threatened to kill her and Y/N if it wasn’t found. Y/N helped her look as tears streamed down her face, they were going to die.

Y/N had that set in her mind. Y/N thought she would be happy to see Pope but when she realized that he wasn’t going to give over the amulet she realized that someone was going to die. Lightner grabbed Cleo and tried to kill her, Y/N screamed and struggled as her hands were still behind her back. She couldn’t do much but scream. Terrence got in front of her and took the bullet. Y/N gasped but felt herself relax at the fact that it wasn’t Cleo. But Cleo was heartbroken.

Pope untied Y/N’s hands for her. “I told the others, they should be here soon.” It was awkward that Rafe was there and everyone but Sarah and Y/N glared at him. Unfortunately, this was the time to tell the others about their relationship, especially after he ran up and kissed her. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He whispers to her and she smiles. Everyone looks shocked, disgusted, surprised, anything but happy for the two. “What the hell?” John B asked. Y/N looked at her friends with a guilty look.

She was hoping this day was far away but it was now. “I guess I have some explaining to do.” She said and Kie nodded, “Ya think?” She sighed and told them all about it as Rafe smiled at her. John B looked mad as hell but the others kinda accepted it and was surprised that he was there. Who know Rafe Cameron had a heart?

#rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron imagine #obx4 #outer banks #outer banks x reader #outer banks rafe #outer banks imagine #drew starkey

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not-poignant · 2 days ago

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Hi, Pia! A year ago I discovered you through the Mysterious Skin fanfic, which truthfully has helped me in so many emotional layers till this day (and always will). After that read, I jumped on your profile and was blown away by the world you have created with your own hands. You really inspired me to publish my first fic in AO3 recently (for a random fandom), but sadly I've been having a hard time with it.

At the beginning I was relieved that fear didn't stop me anymore, but then it happened again, it came back, in another form, hitting me harder. I don't know how to explain myself, it's just that I think I'm not good enough, that there are better stories with better characterisations and when I read one of those I think: "This is perfect, I could never achieve this level, I don't have this voice, I should just delete mine, I don't have nothing to say, I can't make people feel this way" and I hate to have those feelings because I think it breaks down the true meaning of writing in general (to help people, to connect, to make a tribute, to have an emotional journey), but at this point I have lost my mind. My dream was always to be a writer, but I left it behind for so many reasons, now I thought things were changing inside me, but I guess it's not the case, I can't even deal with a fanfic...

I just wonder if you have ever feel this way before. How did you start writing? How has it been for you? How do you deal with these things? Feel free to answer me only if you're comfortable with that, I don't wanna put pressure on you as if you were my spiritual guide, but, for all the thoughts and things you share here, I think you are a wise person.

Sorry for the long text, I don't have people in real life to talk to about these issues. I'm really grateful to you already because of your story, it's always in my heart, it's part of me. Btw, I hope you are doing well, keep the amazing work. ❤️

PS: Sorry for the mistakes, not a native English speaker here.

Hi anon,

Congrats on posting your first fic! That's really huge. Even if it does open us up to The Insecurities, it's still a massive thing to do in the first place and I'm so happy for you.

As to everything else, oomf, let's get into it.

So the first thing is there is no writer out there who doesn't get assailed - literally assailed - by insecurities and massive feelings of self-doubt or even self-hatred over their writing (if there is, I haven't met them).

There's no point in writing at which they stop, and if you overcome some, new ones come in their place. I think that's just the nature of the beast - both wanting to (ideally) please at least some of our readers, and also offer something decent to read.

It can help to realise this is a normal part of writing and the experience. Obviously at its most severe, it might require therapy support, or professional support of some kind, but getting assailed by The Insecurities is part of being a creative person.

I don't know how to explain myself, it's just that I think I'm not good enough, that there are better stories with better characterisations

So yeah, this is true. Hear me out! This is true for me too. This is true for every writer that exists. Even the ones who win Pulitzers. This is going to sound blunt, but this is true for every story in the world. I know when I post my works that there are better stories with better characterisations out there. And there are stories that I consider perfect to me. But this last part is really important! I don't get to determine what's perfect for everyone. I'm not allowed to make that choice for them. And also people don't read in order to find The Most Perfect Story Ever, they read for many many many reasons, and that one often isn't even on the list! That's just on our list, when we feel beset by The Insecurities.

Like, yes, better stories exist. That's very subjective. They're better to you, they might not be better to some of the readers who read your work, and unless your only goal in writing is to be 'the best ever' (this is not a great goal imho because it's unattainable) sometimes a simple 'oh...yeah I mean it's true there are better stories according to me, but that doesn't mean that people won't enjoy mine, or that people won't think my stories aren't the best, and I'm not even writing to be the best in the world, so I don't know why I'm listening to this because it's not even what my values are in writing.'

But I also need to make it clear that your insecurities will never leave you 100%. They find new ways to come back, and they do keep coming back. We get periods free of the worst of it, often have low-key doubts in the background fairly frequently, and sometimes feel really good about writing. That's...writing. You haven't done anything wrong in your writing or in yourself when you have new insecurities coming in, and you've acknowledged yourself that things have already changed, because these are new or different insecurities. Think of it like an upward spiral, you circle back to feeling insecure, you have to if you want to keep going up.

You won't stay there forever, but the circling is part of the process. It can help to remind yourself of some cognitively true facts - what you think is perfect in writing is someone else's 'worst story ever' if they read it. What you love to read is not necessarily what you end up writing, and that doesn't mean it can't be someone's favourite story. And yeah, someone has already done something better by our standards, because I don't think there's any point on this journey where we go 'that's it, I've done it, I've become the best writer ever, insecurities begone!!!' (It would be nice, but it's not how it works).

So when insecurities come back it's not 'oh god I've failed at writing and/or keeping the insecurities away' it's - this is normal. You can go 'oh I'm being a regular writer right now, in the hard part of it.' I know this. It sucks. It probably means I need a break when it gets really bad, and I need to recharge a bit. I can keep improving, and my writing doesn't have to be anything other than entertaining. I've pretty much struck perfect from my vocabulary. It's too subjective.

I just wonder if you have ever feel this way before.

Anon, about twice a year I feel so bad about my writing I become convinced that the only answer is to delete all of it off my AO3 accounts. And on a regular basis I go between what I consider fairly normal insecurities (is that closing okay / is this arc good / will people like this character / have I pushed this too far / oh god my engagement is down am I terrible at writing), to pretty intense ones (idk why I do this nothing I write is good / how have I convinced these amazing people that this is worth their time / I wish I could write like (insert X author here) instead of this absolute mid shit etc.)

It helps me a lot to know that some of it is mental illness, but most of it is actually just normal. I'm a writer who wants my readers to have a good time and who wants to write something I can be proud of, and sometimes my brain won't let me feel proud of anything I've done because I made it, and sometimes I don't like myself very much. It means I should work on liking myself more. It doesn't mean I should stop writing.

I started writing as a kid, to cope with fairly awful life circumstances at home. So I was lucky that insecurities didn't matter because no one was seeing my writing except for me, I already hated myself (because people who were supposed to care for me, hated me - there's a reason I write the stories I do!) and I was literally trying to survive something that some people don't survive.

When I started sharing my writing, The Insecurities came. And...idk, I learned how to recognise it as a normal part of the process. It took a long, long time. It's normal to feel like there's something unique about how much we suffer over not liking our writing or feeling like it's bad, that the insecurities say something really true about our writing or even our integrity as a person.

Most of the time they say nothing at all except about the state of our mental health and how tired we are. For example, it's more normal for artists and writers to hate what they create during times of government unrest, or increased oppression, or in abusive households, because it's a way to redirect a lot of very unpleasant feelings to something we think we can control.

Sometimes it just happens because we're tired and the wave crashes over the dam we have in place that says 'go away insecurities.' Like you'd be amazed how much food, staying hydrated, getting good sleep / having good sleep hygiene can actually keep the worst of The Insecurities at bay.

Sometimes we need a break! Too much of a good thing in writing can lead to our brain trying to tell us we're terrible at it so we'll just walk away and watch some movies for a bit! The best way to prevent that is to take a break before we get there.

The good news is, you're a writer feeling something very normal for us writers. The bad news is that it feels bad. It can help to step back a bit, and also to join some writer's groups online maybe, ones that focus on support and lifting people up.

I wish I could say you one day hit a point where the insecurities never come back, but if anything, I don't think you can do these sorts of crafts without them. At their extremes they're not good for us, but the extremes of anything aren't good for us. You're not alone, I promise. The worst you've felt about your writing, is the worst many people have felt about their writing. It's just...often such a lonely process and many writers don't talk about it, but it's there, and it won't last. It's part of the spiral. Over time, you might find it easier when you know it's normal, and temporary, but frankly, there are times it's just really, really hard.

You will move past this, and then one day you'll touch on this again, and then you'll move past it again. Sometimes we spend longer in it than we wanted to, sometimes we need to take a longer break than we meant to, sometimes we write more than was good for us with how tired we were at the time.

It's not perfect, it's not supposed to be perfect, but it is part of the journey, it just means you're a writer like the rest of us writers, anon. I hope you can find your way back into writing more soon! And I hope you can be compassionate towards yourself. You put yourself out there, and have been writing, and honestly that's fucking amazing. I think you're awesome.

#asks and answers #pia on writing #pia on fanfiction #the whole insecurities thing is rough #but it is incredibly just dslkfjsad something we all go through #your favourite authors have sat there staring at their writing like #'should i just quit why would anyone ever read this'#they have stared at other authors they admire #and felt two feet tall in comparison #they have wanted to entertain the people who read their writing #and they have worried about how best to do that #and they have thought about quitting #and they have hurt themselves with their insecurities #while learning how to cope with them #being a creator in any of the arts is that combo of having to be self-critical to improve #and that often overspilling into self-condemnation and self-hatred and profound insecurity #time and practice can help #but ultimately the journey is a spiral #which means we always come back to the insecurities #and we always go forward to more good times #but you can take a break from the spiral too #writing is hard

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blastiebabe · 2 days ago

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did you just open your own door?

Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

You and Katsuki has been dating for 2 months. He might be known and seen as a rough and strong hero, but it shocked you to know how soft and respectful he was ever since you two got together.

Being with Katsuki who treats you like a princess without you asking for it was damn magical. He cooks for you, he buys you your fav snacks when he goes on groceries, Katsuki always makes sure you are always well and comfortable. He always make sure that you receive the best.

That's why the shock and disappointment in his face when you opened the car door for yourself does not need any explanation. As you close the door, you see him with his mouth wide open like you just did something so horribly unbelievable.

Katsuki hurriedly walks to his side of the door and even before sitting in the driver's seat, he goes, "What the hell just happened?"

You look at him smiling. "What?" You ask innocently. He pointed to your door with his left hand. "Oh. Love, I can open my own door, it's okay."

He scuffs at you like you have said something so horrible. "No, it's not okay! It is supposed to be me opening the door for you. I can do it for you."

"I know you can, Kats. But I can also do it myself, you don't always have to do it. It's not a big deal, don't worry about it." You say calmly, as you sense how serious Katsuki was about it.

You have always been independent. It was a long time you have not been with anoyone romantically, so these there are not a big deal for you because you know damn well you can do it yourself.

Katsuki slowly breathes in as he try to explain himself. He holds your hand with both his hands. "My love, it is a big deal for me. If today I am not opening the door, then what else am I not doing for you?"

You claims both his hand as you brush your thumb onto the top of them. "Katsuki, I understand that. But no one even saw that you didn't do it so don't—"

"I am not doing it for other people to see, love. It's for you. I want to treat you the best way I possibly can, and I want to do it as often as I can because that's what you deserve." He says while looking straight at your eyes in all sincerity as he brings his right hand to cup your cheeks.

You have never known a love like this. So seeing how this man can make you feel the most strongest and the most vulnerable at the same time is all new for you. You lean on his touch.

"Katsuki..."

Ever since you have been with Katsuki, every second of every day he makes you remember that he is the love you never knew you needed.

"So, you gonna let me open the door for ya all the time or am I gonna start being a pain your ass?"

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ thank u for reading! :>> . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ༶•┈ by yel0ngkape ┈•༶ i accept requests, so feel free to reach out! ♡

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captain-huggy-bear · 9 hours ago

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Morning Sickness

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of sex in the past, pregnancy, etc.

Summary: Quinn is getting increasingly worried about you as you're sick every morning and every evening, you're adamant that you're fine. Turns out you're right in a way.

Notes: Thanks to the person who sent this idea in :)

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

It starts around a month after your honeymoon. Every single morning Quinn wakes to the sound of you throwing up and every single night he holds your hair back as you're sick over the toilet.

You pass it off as a bad stomach bug or anxiety, something different every time but Quinn doesn't believe you nor does he like what's happening. He's had many health scares with you; the chest infection that led to you being hospitalised after you nearly passed out at work being a prime example. As a result, he knows better than to assume that when you say you're fine, you're actually fine. Instead he sits with a heavy buzz of anxiety in his chest, a fear that something is seriously wrong but not knowing what and not knowing how best to convince you to get a check up and see the doctor about it. You’re stubborn to a fault.

It's another one of those evenings where he's happily curled around in bed, blankets tucked in around both of you. You're in his arms, back to his chest, legs twisted together so that any movement jars the other, but you're so used to it at this point that sleeping apart is more difficult and less restful than navigating the tangled mass of limbs that the two of you become each night.

When you try to slip out of his arms he's awake like a shot, blinking through bleary eyes while you push his arms off you so that you can get up. Quinn lets you go, an instant release but he's quick to follow, footsteps padding on the carpet after you towards the bright light of the bathroom. Never once considering rolling over and going back to sleep.

"You okay, baby?" You're leaning over the sink, taking deep breaths, cheeks puffing out as you try your very best to not be sick again, nausea roiling through you. You’re so fed up of being sick, it’s become a routine that’s led to you being careful about what foods you eat in the morning and evening, learning what is the worst to throw up and what’s the least offensive thing to throw up.

All you can do is shake your head frantically before you're rushing to the toilet, knees hitting the floor with a loud thud as you lean over the toilet bowl to be sick. Quinn winces at the sound of your knees impacting tile and he's beside you in an instant, hands reaching for your hair to pull it back and out of your face so you don't have to worry about throwing up in your own hair.

"Oh, baby...just let it out..." A warm, free hand landing on your back, rubbing soothing circles as he feels the way your body jerks with each bout of sickness, your muscles contracting and relaxing each time.

You’re crying, he can hear it, the way you whimper and whine because this is the worst and you’re fed up with being so violently sick…It only increases his worry because this has been going on for too long and it just doesn’t seem to be getting any better.

He stays beside you, holding your hair and rubbing your back until you’re no longer vomiting. When you stop, cheek resting against the toilet seat in exhaustion he’s up and reaching for a glass to fill with water for you.

“Here, baby, have some water…” You take a mouthful only to spit it out in the toilet in an attempt to get the taste of vomit from your mouth, before downing the whole glass. It doesn’t really help much.

“I hate this…” You groan out, feeling silly because it’s not even like you feel ill most of the time, you just keep getting these random bouts of sickness in the mornings and evenings. Quinn shouldn’t be as worried as you know he is…it’s probably all in your head, maybe you’ve created a Pavolvian response to the morning and night time where your body expects to be sick, so you are?

“I know, baby…” Quinn runs a hand over your hair, pushing a few strands out of your face and behind your ear, he’s gentle about it, long fingers gingerly caressing your skin like he’s worried you’ll break, “You need to visit a doctor, baby.”

“It’s probably nothing, Quinn…I’ve just eaten something or have some sort of bug or something…” You don’t want to go to the doctors, you’re certain this will blow over soon, that it’s nothing serious and you hate the idea of taking more time off for it even as your husband looks at you like you might be the most stubborn human being on earth.

“For weeks?”

“Quinn…” You sigh out his name because you don’t want to argue, because you’re tired. All you want is to go back to bed, curl up in his arms and get what little sleep you can before you have to go to work in the morning.

He must see how tired you are because whatever fight he had seems to leave his body, shoulders slumping, head nodding to himself like he’s made a decision in his mind to put this down for the moment even if he wants to keep going, repeat himself until you give in.

“Okay…okay, let’s get you to bed at least…” He gives up arguing because you’re so tired and have to be up at 6am for work. It’s bad enough you're not feeling well, let alone that you have to still teach like this, adding exhaustion to the mix is just a bad idea. He’ll keep pushing until you go to the doctors, but right now? Right now he can see you're tired and sleep is probably better for you than arguing at 1am.

Quinn helps you to your feet, your hands resting in his much larger ones while he pulls you up. He keeps both hands on your hips the whole time as the two of you waddle your way back to bed, there’s part of him that worries you might fall or faint on the way back to bed, hands firmly gripping you just in case.

He curls around you once you're both back under the covers, almost protective like he’s trying to shield you from some unseen threat and you nestle back into him, resting your head on the arm underneath you.

The early morning throw up session had you completely wiped hours later, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise that you felt dizzy as the day went on. Even more so because food was just not enticing you and you had skipped lunch when your sandwich made you feel queasy just looking at it. Each lesson felt harder and harder to teach and your last lesson of the day had your head reeling. It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise with how dizzy you felt, how lightheaded you were, that you fainted completely in front of your students. Thankfully, you had felt it coming on, having lowered yourself to the ground mere seconds before it happened.

To give them their dues, your students who could have used that as an opportunity to cause a mess, do whatever they wanted and generally cause chaos, actually tried to help. They were so concerned for you that they got another member of staff to come help, David, your favourite trouble making hockey fan, put his rolled up Canucks hoodie underneath your head and Stacy checked you were still breathing. The fainting spell didn’t last long, within a minute or so you were back to consciousness and trying to sit up, staff and students trying to force you to lay back down.

It’s Laura, the English teacher next door, who grabs your phone and calls your emergency contact, Quinn…even as you protest and tell her not to bother him, that you’re fine. All your protests go ignored by the forty year old, who had become something of a mentor and parental figure during your time at the school.

“Hi Quinn, sorry, it’s Laura from Y/N’s school?” You can’t quite tell what Quinn says on the other line, but you’re sure it’s along the lines of ‘what’s wrong?’ in a panicked tone because no one ever used your phone. You hate worrying him, he has so much on his shoulders already, so much weight there from the team, the season, his brothers…

“She’s fainted, do you think you could come get her? It’s the end of the school day anyway but I don’t think she should be driving home…thanks, Quinn.”

You groan at her, tempted to tell her off for calling him against your wishes but you know she means well…you also know there’s absolutely no chance you’re getting away with avoiding the doctors now. In fact you wouldn’t be surprised if he drove you straight to the doctor's office after coming to get you…still, maybe you should see a doctor, what with throwing up all the time…and now fainting?

Laura won’t even let you get up from your spot on the floor, packing your things away for you, getting your students to chill for the last 10 minutes of the day and waiting until Quinn arrives. You know she’s worried you’ll faint again, but it feels ridiculous, sitting on a cold, dirty classroom floor waiting for your husband to come get you.

“Hey, baby…” The way he stands in the doorway to your classroom when he finally arrives makes you want to cry. It’s like he’s scared you’re going to faint again, a sense of hesitancy and caution in his body language that you hate because Quinn is never like that around you.

“Please don’t…don’t be scared of me, right now…” You feel like crying, wetness starting to fill your eyes and your voice coming out choked. You’re not even sure why you’re so emotional about him looking like that when Quinn’s always worried about you, it’s not a new development. He cares so he worries.

“Hey, hey, I’m not scared of you…I’m worried, baby.” He’s crossing the space between you as quickly as possible, crouching down next to you with care, hands reaching for your face gently to rub his fingers across your cheeks to try and calm you down.

“I’m sorry…I don’t mean to be a bother…” Your eyes are so watery that Quinn’s face is a blurry mess, but even then you wouldn’t be able to mistake the serious set of his brow, the way his jaw clenches, how he always takes your concerns and worries seriously.

“Sweet girl, hey…you’re not a bother. You’re never a chore, okay? But I'm going to need you to accept that we need to go to the doctor's now, okay? I’ve already phoned them, they can see us in forty minutes.” You can’t really deny him, he’s been so patient with you, worried, but not pushing you to go to the doctors too much and you know he’s right…something’s not normal right now and you need to get checked out.

“Okay…” The smile he gives you is radiant, relief filled and bright like your answer is enough to make his day. It makes it worth it.

“Atta girl, right, let’s get you up off this floor, okay?”

You nod at him, reaching for his outstretched hands and letting him grip yours tightly, your wedding rings gleaming and new under the fluorescence of the classroom lights. As Quinn stands he pulls you with him, helping you to your feet and holding you steady when you get a bit of a headrush from the sudden upright position.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, i’m good,” He doesn’t quite look like he believes you, “I promise, i’ll let you know if i’m not.”

He’s got an eye on you the entire way to his car, always watching in case you suddenly faint or trip or take a dive to the ground. You don’t, your dizzy spell has passed and now you just feel emotional and embarrassed about the whole thing.

As is routine by now Quinn opens the car door for you and buckles your seatbelt, making sure it rests comfortably against you and isn’t digging into you at all. He goes a step further than normal though, reaching into the backseat to grab a blanket he keeps there for when you get cold, laying it over your lap and tucking it under your thighs like he’s worried you’ll get cold on the drive to the doctors.

Quinn leans forward into the car, pressing a kiss to your forehead gently causing you to close your eyes, letting out a happy sigh. He lingers slightly, hand smoothing down some of your fly away hairs before he shuts the passenger side door and gets into the driver's seat.

There’s a heavy silence that settles over the two of you while Quinn starts the drive to the doctor’s office. It’s a silence that screams that Quinn has things he wants to say, words he’s holding inside him right now and you wait patiently for him to break.

It doesn’t take long, a few minutes pass before he’s watching you from the corner of his eye, “You need to start trusting me to handle knowing when something is wrong…” He sighs out at you, and you try not to cut him off, biting on your lip to force yourself to listen until he’s said what he needs to say. “I know you’re scared of being a burden and putting more stress on me, but, baby…I’m your husband. I need to know. I want to know. My job is to support you. I can’t do that if you’re not letting me in…” He reaches a hand across to squeeze your leg, an attempt to reassure you that he’s not mad, but that he wants you to trust him more and you get it…you do. You’ve been so reluctant to put any more stress on him, but here’s Quinn demanding that you do, telling you he wants to know when things aren’t quite right.

“I just…you have all this pressure on you and I don’t want to add to that.”

“Baby, the only stress you’re giving me is when you don’t let me help you…I need you to promise me you’re going to start relying on me more, please?” He can’t take it anymore. The way you try to hide how you’re doing, try to take all that onto yourself so that he doesn't get any of the pressure. You’re the only pressure he wants, fuck hockey, fuck the season, but he needs to know what’s wrong with you so he can fix it, so he can help you.

You reach for his hand on your leg, twisting your fingers in his and holding his hand tight, watching him glance at you out of the corner of his eye, focusing on the road for the most part.

“I promise.”

Quinn’s shoulders drop in relief, his need to support and protect you, to look after you already feeling better now that you’ve promised you’ll actually communicate with him properly. He loves you, but your fear of being a burden is his least favourite thing about you. He hates that people have made you feel like you have to minimise yourself, your problems. Hates that you’ve been trained to be so hyper independent and self reliant.

“Have you taken a pregnancy test?”

You blink at the doctor like she’s insane because the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind that that was a possibility, that maybe you were pregnant.

“Uh, no…”

“Have you been using protection? Is it possible you’re pregnant?” You try to think back to your last period, late, try to think back to the last time Quinn and yourself had unprotected sex…your honeymoon. So over the moon, so giddy the two of you hadn’t really thought about it, forgoing the usual precautions because you were married now so it didn’t seem like such a big deal.

You look at Quinn, the two of you sharing a look that says you’re both thinking back to your honeymoon, the two weeks of being absolutely feral for each other that you really didn’t think much about the consequences…well, you did, in a sense. Quinn had had a great time considering what you’d look like pregnant with his child, dirty talk filled with comments about getting you pregnant, but it had all been fantasies, silly in the moment dirty talk, neither of you had really considered (rather stupidly perhaps) that it might become a reality. You hadn’t thought…normally it wasn’t that easy for people and you’d always had concerns about fertility in your family in the past so why would it be that easy for you?

“It’s…it’s possible.”

“Okay, I want you to go take this test and come back when you’re done. I think you might just be experiencing some really bad first trimester morning sickness.” You take the test offered to you, the little pee cup and pipette too, glad that she wasn’t expecting you to pee directly onto the stick…

“Do you want me to wait outside the door?” Quinn asks as you hesitantly get up, not really wanting to go alone, as silly as it was because all you were about to do was pee into a little cup and put some drops onto a pregnancy test, it wasn’t like you were going to do anything crazy. But, you’d never had to take a pregnancy test before, you’d never had to deal with the reality that you might be pregnant and even if it's with your literal husband it’s still kind of scary...

“Yes, please…” He’s reaching for your hand without any hesitation, guiding you out of the examination room and towards the toilets.

You hesitate before entering, scared to find out the answer, unsure which you want to be true; that you’re pregnant or that there’s something else causing you to be sick and faint. You want kids, both of you have discussed it time and time again, but you always thought it would be planned, that the two of you would be actively trying when you got pregnant.

“It’ll be okay, y’know? No matter what. If you’re not pregnant we’ll figure out what’s wrong and if you are? That’s a good thing, we wanted kids, baby.” Quinn can see you’re scared, the way you grip the test tighter, how you seem to stop breathing as you stare at the bathroom door. He’s trying to not get his hopes up, to temper some of the excitement he can feel because he really…fuck, he really hopes you’re pregnant, he’s so ready to be a dad, and it would be an added bonus to know you weren’t seriously ill, just dealing with the first trimester.

“Yeah, just…wasn’t expecting it to potentially be this soon.”

“I know, baby, but it’ll be okay and mom’ll be over the moon.” You smile at the mention of Ellen, how excited she’ll be…heck Jack and Luke would be ecstatic to be uncles, suddenly things didn’t seem quite so scary when you considered the people around you, how supportive they would be.

“Yeah, she’ll probably scream down the phone…” If you’re pregnant goes unsaid but it’s there, the reality that maybe you’re both starting to get your hopes up for something that isn’t going to happen.

“Okay…I can do this.”

“You’ve got this, baby…it’ll be okay,” He smiles at you one last time before you disappear into the bathroom.

Your hands shake the entire time you’re in there, completing the test and putting it on the side to wait. You pacing a hole into the floor, back and forth, back and forth as the time ticks down on your phone. In that time you start to get excited, nervous, but excited. The initial shock of potentially being pregnant disappearing in favour of thoughts about what it would be like to finally have your first child with Quinn…how he’d teach them to skate, how Luke and Jack would play with them at the lake house in the summer, how Ellen and Jim would be devoted grandparents, how you’d read them books every night and make your own Christmas traditions… Your nerves now centred on that possibility that you weren’t pregnant, that your hopes might be crushed.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look when the time was up, reaching for the door handle to Quinn pacing outside the door. His head shoots up the moment you open it.

“So?” Quinn looks so expectant, lips bitten and red from all his worrying, waiting for an answer.

“I…I can’t look, can you check it for me?”

“Uh, yeah, course, baby.” You can tell he’s nervous too, but he steps inside the bathroom, locking it behind the two of you for privacy. You point to where the little, but no less life altering, test rests by the sink.

You watch him walk over, watch the tension in his shoulders, how he looks at the little test, seems to read the marks, and then again, and again like he’s struggling to process it. You know the answer the moment his shoulders relax, the moment he turns to you with tears in his eyes and a wide smile, so wide across his face. He’s practically grinning, vibrant in the way he is after a won game or how he was at your wedding. The sort of vibrant that changes Quinn, his usually understated calmness wiped out in favour of pure unfiltered joy.

“We’re…we’re having a baby…” Saying it feels unreal at first, that those two little lines can mean so much, that right now, in your tummy is your baby. The perfect mix of the two of you slowly growing into someone amazing, someone he’s so excited to meet.

“Yeah?” You can feel your own excitement starting, hearing it is making it real, so fucking real.

“Yeah, baby!” You’re crying, he’s crying, it’s a mess when you come together in a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around you and lifting you off the floor to spin you around. You’re both crying into each other when his mouth slants over yours for a kiss, one of his hands cupping the back of your head, the other resting gently over your throat.

It’s a kiss that feels monumental, deep and filled with love, so much love that the taste of the salt from your tears does nothing to deter either of you as you cling to each other. The scratch of Quinn’s beard, the silky smoothness of his hair in your fingers, the way you cling to each other, you’ve not felt that happy since your wedding day, since you both finally said I do. It feels like the world has shifted on its axis in the most spectacular of ways and all that worry, all that fear is gone, just like that.

He’s so fucking relieved, that’s part of it. God, is he excited that you’re pregnant, that he’s going to be a dad, but part of the excitement is relief, that you’re okay, that you’re not seriously ill. You’re just pregnant, just dealing with morning sickness and all the changes associated with growing a baby.

When you pull apart neither of you go very far, foreheads pressed together, noses nuzzling against each other. His hands still cradle you close to him, his breath warm against your lips.

“We’re going to be parents…you’re going to be a mom…” There’s something about him saying it that makes it feel more real because it feels almost out of body of an experience, to find out you're pregnant when you had no plans to be.

“Yeah…you’re going to be a dad…”

“Fuck, I love you…” Quinn kisses you again, soft but lingering as a hand comes down to rest against your belly, no sign yet of the bundle of cells that’s growing into a baby, “and I love this little bean too,”

“I love you too, you’re going to be so great, they’re going to love you.”

“They’re going to love us.”

#teacher reader x quinn #huggy bear writes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes/reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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