#him telling her to stand up ghost hands on her waist and walking her to her TARDIS

[ichabodcranemills]

“I cannot conceive of a universe without you in it”

Oh. Oh, this is how it goes then

[readwritealldayallnight]

When Gaz walks into the bases common room, his goal for making his third cup of tea of the day is diverted when he catches sight of Soap’s expression across the room.

The Scot looks absolutely befuddled, eyes wide and sitting slack-jawed across from his Lieutenant. Gaz walks over to the men, catching the very end of Ghost telling his companion to ‘piss off’.

“Alright?” He asks the lads, raising a brow in question.

“Ye oughta hear the shite LT’s tryin’ to convince me of over here!” Soap is all too eager to inform his friend. Ghost grunts, leaning further back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes as far back as he can, as if to tell the Sergeant in front of him ‘this is why I don’t tell you anything’.

Because that’s almost exactly what Ghost is thinking at that moment. He’d just entered the common room when he’d spotted the back of an all too familiar head, fiddling and distracted with the microwave.

When he’d walked up behind the younger man and echoed his call sign out in greeting, his mask hid the smug smirk that appeared at the jump Soap gave, uttering a loud “Shit!” in surprise.

Soap went on to complain about how he was apparently attempting to jumpstart his heart, drawling on about how the Lieutenant was always sneaking up on people like this, moving quiet as a Ghost.

“My missus says the same thing.” The masked man had mentioned casually, as if his chest hadn’t automatically puffed out in pride, standing up a little straighter at the mention of his girl.

“She says you’re too quiet? Aye, LT, think a lot o’ couples have complaints of the sorts in bed ya see-”

“Shut it, you prick.” Ghost quickly shut him down, ending that line of thought. “She says I walk too quietly in the flat. Accidentally scaring her all the time, poor thing.”

At that, Soap’s eyebrows had shot sky high, keen to hear more about the big bad Ghost’s life of apparent domestic bliss, turning him into an absolute sap.

Ghost wouldn’t normally volunteer information about his personal life. But he just loves you so much. And now that he’s not only thinking about you because he is all the time, but also talking about you, his mouth didn’t seem to want to stop talking about you.

“She put her foot down with me recently.” He’d added with a deep chuckle.

“She did what?” Soap had asked bewildered.

“She called it ‘putting her foot down’. I walked up behind her when she was doin’ dishes. Poor bird didn’t hear me and dropped somethin’.”

“Oh, no! Simon! That’s my favourite mug!!” You’d cried out, watching your most treasured ceramic shattering on the tile floor of the kitchen, spreading every which way across the room.

“M’sorry lovie. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He’d sheepishly responded, reaching to turn off the running faucet. He’d grabbed the dish towel and gave it to you to dry your hands, lifted you by the waist and set you on the counter with ease, not wanting you to get hurt with your bare feet. He’d turned, already in search of a broom and dust pan.

“Again. You mean I’m sorry for scaring you again.” You had corrected him, narrowing your eyes. “I can’t take it anymore Simon. You don’t need to be stealthy at home, my love, you can make noise when you walk. In fact I need you to make noise when you walk at home!”

Simon had nodded along, diligently sweeping up every piece of your ruined mug.

“I’ll try harder sweetheart. I promise.” He’d offered, dumping the remnants into the bin before he’d walked up to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist as yours slid around his shoulders.

The very next weekend he’d taken you to a local pottery painting class to make up for the lost mug, as well as you telling him off (because yeah, that was what Simon considered you putting your foot down with him, and he never wanted it to happen again if he could help it).

Ghost finds himself grinning further under his mask at the memory however, of how cute you looked as you tried to raise your voice at him, laying down the law in your shared home.

“And so what’d ya tell her?” Soap asked, curious to know how his Lieutenant had reacted, but more so if the man would even reply or rather would tell him to fuck off.

“I didn’t tell her anythin’.” Simon had uttered. “Did as my missus asked me to do, and that was the end of the story. Well, s’pose I did I tell her I’d look into mug making classes or whatever.”

“…”

“You what?!”

[pathologicalreid]

here with me | s.r.

four times Spencer feels out of place in your house after being released from prison, and one time it's like he never left

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: mom!reader, dad!spencer, post prison, crying, stephen walker's death, non-specified illness, baking, kissing word count: 3.58k a/n: i love this fic format i have been wanting to do it for ages. and here we are. as always-tell me how you feeeeeeeel

“I wanna stay home,” your daughter whined from her place at the kitchen table. She periodically reached to her sister’s high chair so that she could steal blueberries from her plate.

You hummed, pouring the egg mixture into the preheated skillet, “We played hooky yesterday, bub. We’ve gotta go back to school today.” Using a silicone spatula, you started to scramble the eggs.

She grumbled unintelligibly, dramatically sliding down the chair, “Livvy gets to stay home.”

Turning down the heat on the stove, you went around the counter and crouched in front of your five-year-old, “Well, Livvy’s two, and before you ask, Finn’s not going to school either.”

“Finn’s a baby, mom. He can’t go to school,” she told you proudly.

You frowned at your daughter, “It’s hard to be the oldest, honey. We can’t keep staying home.” Ruffling her hair affectionately, you get up from the floor and go back to the stove, you continue scrambling the eggs.

To your eldest, going back to kindergarten was a fate worse than death. It wasn’t strictly that she didn’t want to go to school, it was that she didn’t want to leave home. The sniffle from the table lets you know that this morning was going to be harder than you initially anticipated. “I wanna stay with daddy,” she cried, kicking her legs at the table.

Turning off the heat, you set the pan on a trivet before going back to the table, “I know,” you responded. Every time you thought you had run out of tears, new ones managed to find their way out.

Of your three kids, Eleanor was old enough to really feel Spencer’s absence. To your dismay, she ended up bearing some of the burden of her father being gone for three months. After staying with your parents for a few days, she was finally reunited with her dad yesterday morning, and they had been nearly inseparable since.

“Oh, Nell,” you sighed, cupping her cheeks in your hands, “I don’t know if daddy has plans today. He has a lot of stuff that needs to be done.

Pulling away from your touch, she frantically wiped the tears from her eyes, “I can do stuff too,” she whimpered.

She unwound your resolve like a ball of yarn, “I know you can, honey. I just…” you faltered. You had let her miss so much school over the last three months that the school had sent letters home, “We’ll just have to see.”

You sighed helplessly, standing back up and smiling softly at Olivia, who had successfully gotten blueberry juice everywhere. Returning to the kitchen, you put some scrambled eggs on Eleanor’s plate and put more in a bowl for Olivia, setting it aside to cool more before you give it to your toddler.

Putting the pan in the sink, you flipped on the tap before starting to clean it. While you kept a watchful eye on the baby monitor, you didn’t notice Spencer come downstairs and walk into the kitchen. In fact, you were completely unaware of his presence until he spoke, “Can I help with anything?”

You lost your grip on the pan, sending soapy water flying all over the kitchen as you frantically tried to catch the handle. Eleanor either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Olivia thought it was hilarious. “Oh,” you breathed as Spencer reached over and turned off the water, “You scared me.”

The two of you shared a timid glance, his hand ghosting over your waist as he walked past you to where the girls were sitting.

Biting the dead skin off of your lips, you finished rinsing the pan before setting it on a drying mat. You were wiping down the countertop when Finn finally woke up, and you dropped everything to go get him from his crib, almost like you were running on autopilot.

Unzip the sleep sack. Change the diaper. Get dressed. Cuddle him. Every morning. In that order.

Resting the groggy baby on your hip, you made your way back downstairs and into the kitchen, starting the bottle warmer and listening to the conversation between Spencer and Nellie.

“What if you go to school today, but on Friday we can both take the day off? We could go out for lunch,” he offered, crouching down so he was at her level.

She looked pointedly over at Olivia, who was happily eating the eggs that you assumed Spencer had given her, now thoroughly doused in ketchup, “Just us?”

Spencer nodded reassuringly, “If it’s okay with mommy, we can have a daddy and Nellie day.” He reached out tentatively and tucked some of her hair behind her ear, everything about him seemed so timid.

You looped around the kitchen table, ruffling Olivia’s hair before doing the same to Eleanor’s and even Spencer’s, which made Olivia giggle.

“Can I?” Spencer asked, nodding his head to the bottle that you had just grabbed from the warmer.

Blinking absently for a moment, you eventually nodded, handing Finn over to his dad along with the bottle, watching as Spencer cradled him, walking him around the kitchen while his bottle was clamped between his tiny hands. “Hey, girls, time to get dressed,” you said, forcing yourself to peel your eyes off of your husband.

Eleanor groaned but got up anyway, trudging up the steps while you followed with Olivia in your arms, feeling like you were missing something without Finn also in tow.

Nell made her way back down first, sitting on the couch and watching her dad, keeping an eye on him like she was afraid he was going to disappear before her very eyes. “Daddy?” She whispered, her voice barely audible from your place at the top of the stairs.

“Yeah?” He asked, you heard the sound of him setting the bottle in the sink.

She’s quiet for a moment before responding, “I missed you.”

Spencer’s footsteps stopped abruptly, “I missed you too, lovebug.”

You started to make your way down the stairs, letting Olivia go down on her own now that she wasn’t covered in blueberry. Eleanor looked at you with big eyes before helping her sister climb up on the couch. “Finny, Finny, Finny,” Olivia echoed.

Zipping up Eleanor’s school lunch in her bag, you sighed, hoping you were doing the right thing by sending her to school. “Hey, Nell,” you said, checking a new message on your phone, “Mrs. Jareau is here.”

JJ’s carpools had saved you multiple times while Spencer was in prison, you were just grateful she was willing to continue them.

Normally, she’d run out the door at the prospect of being able to talk to Henry, but this time she lingered by the front door, holding her backpack straps in her hands and staring at her dad, “Will you be here when I get home?”

He looked at you, a thousand emotions flashing in his brown eyes, and he squatted in front of her, “I’ll be here,” he said, holding out his pinky finger to interlock with her much smaller one. “I promise,” he said, kissing her forehead before standing up.

Once you knew she was off to school, you made sure Olivia was settled in on the couch and Finn was in his bouncer before going back to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. You were placing dishes in the dishwasher when Spencer came back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning against the countertop and handing you a bowl to put on the top rack.

Taking the bowl, you didn’t look at him as you placed it in the dishwasher before putting a tablet in and pressing the start button, “I wish you’d stop apologizing.”

He stepped slightly closer to you, “I know. It’s just… watching you handle all three of them in the morning. It’s incredible,” he praised you. “I left you alone,” he said mournfully.

You shrugged, having never really thought of it that way, “You didn’t leave me alone. I had them,” you said, nodding in the direction of the living room, where Finn and Olivia were having a conversation that only the two of them could understand.

You sighed in relief as the shower water washed over you, an early afternoon shower just before Eleanor got home from school, the little ones were down for their naps, and you had to race against time before one of them woke up. It didn’t give you a lot of time to just sit under the running water, but you’d have enough time to wash your hair before you needed to pause the shower.

You had narrowly avoided disaster this morning when the girls’ breakfasts had been mixed up. Thankfully, you navigated a toddler meltdown that was triggered by the appearance of ham in her eggs. Poor Spencer was still confused even after you explained to him that she wouldn’t eat ham because it’s pink and pink is her favorite color.

It wasn’t something that made a lot of sense to you either, but the only person that it needed to make sense to was your two-year-old.

Rinsing your hair, you remembered how happy Spencer had been when he got Finn down last night. He’d spent the day talking about how babies don’t start to really recognize faces until they’re around four months old, and that was about how old he was when Spencer left.

Finn knew his dad. He’d even started reaching out for him when he wanted to be held but feeling comfortable enough to be put down for the night by him—it felt like a milestone.

The crying started right after you finished rinsing your hair, you quickly shut off the water and grabbed your towel off of the hook. Wrapping it around yourself, you dried off your feet before opening the bathroom. Sometimes when Finn cried while you were in the shower, you’d just bring him in with you to finish, but when you opened the door, his tears were already waning.

Spencer had gotten to him first, scooping him out of the crib in your room and holding him to his chest, “Hey, buddy,” he cooed softly, “What’s wrong?”

The baby chattered in response, gripping the cotton of Spencer’s t-shirt in his tiny fists and wiping his tears away.

“You’re alright,” Spencer whispered, placing him on your bed to undo his sleep sack, smiling at his son when he kicked his legs once freed. “You just wanted to be held, huh? Your sister was the same way when she was a baby,” he said.

Nell. He was remembering Nell as a baby, who slept best when she was being held and would cry if you were out of her line of sight.

Spencer turned around, stopping in his tracks when he saw you in the doorway, “Did you finish?”

You’d been caught, “Oh. Could you get a new soap from the hall closet? We’re out,” you fibbed, mindful of the way your hair was still dripping wet.

He frowned, “I just put a new one in this morning. Did you look on the caddy?”

Blinking, you shook your head, “No, my bad.”

You had already started closing the door when he called for you, “Honey?”

Pausing, you peeked out the door to look at him, “Yeah?”

“I’m here,” he told you, something urgent in his tone.

Your face warmed, the reminder of his presence making your heart race, “I—” you faltered, “I know.”

You had managed to get Nell out the door without a fight this morning with the promise of her father-daughter date tomorrow. Olivia was settled with her toys in your line of sight and Finn was in a sling. The baby hadn’t slept well last night, and you were fairly certain that he had a new tooth poking through. He seemed fine now, catching up on sleep while you wiped down the kitchen.

Spencer was across from you, filling out some required papers for his reinstatement hearing. He hadn’t fully committed to seeking reinstatement until you brought it up. Frankly, you were horrified by the fact that Spencer was under the impression that you would ask him to leave the BAU for any reason.

“What do you have planned today?” Spencer asked you, still focusing on the papers while making gentle conversation with you.

You raised your eyebrows briefly, “Really awesome exciting stuff.” You took a sip of your coffee before adjusting Finn’s sling. Very slowly, you were beginning to find a new routine with Spencer and the kids in the morning. Spencer was learning about everything that had changed, and you were learning how to give him more responsibilities around the house.

You needed to let go of the notion that you were still alone. Spencer hummed in response, laughing at your blatant oversell, “Like what?”

Smiling, you dried your hands on a tea towel before standing next to him, distracting him from his paperwork with the cuteness of a sleeping baby. “There is so much dirty laundry in this house,” you told him, “I’m surprised anyone has any clean clothes.”

“Anything else?” Spencer asked, placing one hand gently on your hip and pressing a tentative kiss to your lips.

You hesitated, “Uh, cooking?”

He looked at you curiously, “Cooking for what?”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you looked over at Olivia, making sure she was preoccupied before answering, “Monica and the kids.”

Realization dawned over Spencer’s face, “Oh,” he breathed. It didn’t surprise you that Spencer had conflicting feelings about Stephen’s death, given that he hadn’t known him that well prior to his arrest, but he and his family had grown close to you in your husband’s absence.

You nodded, “There’s a meal train thing going on for them, so I was going to make some stuff and drop it there later.” Tentatively, you smoothed Spencer’s hair back, needing something to do with your hands, “Maya used to babysit a lot when I needed extra hands. I just want to feel like I’m returning the favor.”

“Can I come with you?” Spencer asked, tilting his head back to look up at you.

Smiling softly at him, you answered, “Of course.” You sniffled, “If we time it right, we could pick Nell up from school at the end of the day.”

He squeezed your hip comfortingly, “I love you.”

You leaned down and kissed him again, “I love you too.”

The chattering woke you up, Finn in his crib talking to himself as you glared at the alarm clock. It was just past three in the morning, and the second thing you noticed was that you were alone in your bed.

You sat up in a panic, worried you had dreamt the past few weeks until your eyes found Spencer’s watch sitting on his nightstand. Rubbing your eyes, you dragged yourself out of bed before getting Finn from his crib, taking his sleep sack off to make him easier to hold, “Hey,” you whispered, “Let’s go find daddy.”

It didn’t take you long, Spencer was sitting on the floor in the hallway, his knees bent to his chest as he looked into Nell’s room, her space nightlight providing a soft glow into the hallway.

“If you move to the left about a foot, you can see both of them at the same time,” you informed him.

He listened, shifting over so that he could see Eleanor and Olivia at the same time, both of them sleeping peacefully in their beds. Spencer looked up at you, “Why do you know that?”

You slid down the wall, taking a seat next to him and settling Finn lengthwise along your thighs, “At the beginning of March, Nell brought home a virus from school and gave it to Liv, and then one of them gave it to Finn. So, I’d sit out here in the hallway and watch the girls with Finny in my lap,” you told him, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Just so I’d be nearby if any of them needed anything,” you kept your voice at a whisper, rocking your legs in hopes that it would soothe Finn back to sleep.

Spencer didn’t respond for a moment, thinking through what you had said before finally speaking up, “No one told me they’d been sick.”

Humming, you smoothed the baby’s hair back, keeping it out of his face, “I didn’t tell anyone.” To this day, no one else knew that you had juggled three sick kids at once, “I lied to JJ and told her that I was keeping Nell home for a few days, and she didn’t push for more information.” No one had pushed you for anything in the past three months.

“Why didn’t you ask for help?” Spencer asked, leaning his head on yours and resting a hand on your knee.

You didn’t want to, quite honestly. You hadn’t wanted to have to call your mom or anyone from the BAU when you needed help because it felt like an admission of sorts. Admitting that Spencer was gone long-term and that you were a solo parent. “I don’t know,” you lied, “I felt like I had something to prove to the world.”

Spencer swallowed thickly next to you, “Did it work?”

Shaking your head, you sighed a breath of relief at his presence, “No.”

He was quiet for a while, likely wallowing in a pit of guilt that he had been constructing for weeks, “We should get him back to bed.”

“Spence?” You whispered, closing your eyes and listening to the sounds of your quiet house, “Can we just stay like this for a little while?”

Humming a confirmation, Spencer placed a gentle kiss on the crown of your head, leaving his hand resting on your knee while the two of you remained in the hallway, enjoying each other’s company.

“We should’ve done cupcakes,” you said mournfully, turning on the oven light to see that there was something very off about the cake you’d put in the oven.

Spencer hummed, looking at the recipe again to see if there was something you had missed, “Why didn’t we do cupcakes?”

You huffed, “The Pinterest photo I found was of a cake.” It was a perfect cake, complete with a purple graduation cap made out of fondant that you could put on the top. The only problem was you had severely overestimated your baking abilities.

“So,” Spencer started, “It’s your fault.”

Scoffing, you tapped his chest with a silicone spatula, “It’s the fault of whoever posted the original photo!”

Spencer smiled at you, a dopey look in his eyes despite it being one in the morning. “We should’ve asked Penelope to do the cake,” he told you, flipping over the recipe you had printed out.

“We can make a cake,” you retorted, you were throwing a very small party for Nell’s last day of kindergarten—the first time you’ve invited a group over since Spencer was arrested. “You have three PhDs and you don’t think you can bake a cake?”

He raised his eyebrows at you, “This might come as a surprise to you, but none of my coursework ever involved baking.”

You grinned at him, “That does surprise me, it’s basically chemistry,” you challenged.

Spencer rolled his eyes, “Okay, come here,” he said, pulling you into his arms by the fabric of your t-shirt.

Realization fell over you as you scrambled to get away, “No! You’re gonna put frosting on my nose again.” It would be his second offense of the evening.

He followed you into the living room where you tripped over a toy truck, causing you to fall to the ground. When he offered a hand to help you up, you tugged him to the floor, causing one of the balloons that you had previously blown up to pop.

You covered your mouth to muffle your giggles, waiting to see if the noise had woken any of the kids up.

The kids were all so happy to have Spencer back, but your stomach twisted at the realization that this was the first night you’d really felt like you had Spencer back. You loved the kids, but you haven’t had a moment without them since February.

“Hey,” you said to Spencer, rolling over and flinging a balloon at him for good measure.

Carefully, you rested your chin on his chest, staring at him while he tried to calm his own laughter, “Hi,” he said back, ruffling your hair affectionately.

You took a deep breath before speaking up again, “I missed you.”

You hadn’t said it yet. You’d developed some misconstrued fear of making him feel guilty if you’d told him just how much you missed him, but it was the truth. You missed him. He smiled softly down at you, almost as if he had been waiting for you to say the words. “I missed you too,” he whispered.

Slowly, you lifted yourself up and pressed your lips to his, kissing him. It was more than any of the quick pecks you’d shared in the last few weeks, it was real. His hands dug into your waist as if he was afraid you were going to disappear, but you stayed there. You stayed with him, and you always would.

Up until the timer for the cake went off, your phone buzzing in your pocket when you finally pulled away. Breathing heavily, Spencer asked, “Is it too late to ask Penelope to do the cake?”

[the-froschamethyst4]

Ex-Husband Simon

Simon Ghost Riley Headcanons

————

————

Ex-Husband Ghost will sign the papers only because he knows you were hurting. He’d be gone for a long time and wouldn’t even know if he was okay or not

Ex-Husband Ghost would feel bad when he’d come to pick the kids up and they don’t understand why their mom and dad aren’t together anymore and why they see him 40 days out of the year

Ex-Husband Ghost who tries his best to keep in contact with you and your kids

Ex-Husband Ghost who cried himself to sleep because he was wondering what he did wrong as a husband

Ex-Husband Ghost who can’t stand the sight of you with another man. When he first went to go pick the kids up and sees you with a man standing on the front porch his hand on your waist. It pissed him off seeing that

Ex-Husband Ghost and when his daughter told him that you were pregnant with that man’s kid, it pissed him off even more, but the reality of remembering that your not his anymore hit him like a brick. He can’t dictate who you have a kid with, you had 2 with him

Ex-Husband Ghost picking up the kids again and he sees you with your big belly with that man’s child

Ex-Husband Ghost his kids expressing how they don’t like their mothers new boyfriend because he could be mean to them for no reason

Ex-Husband Ghost who finally got a chance to talk to you without the court involved or your new boyfriend

“Did you know he was an asshole to the kids?”

“What? No he’s not, Simon, he yelled at them one time because they made a mess, he never yelled at them after that. He knows better.”

“That’s not what the kids told me.”

“Simon-“

“Think about it and I’ll tell you what they told me.”

Ex-Husband Ghost who hates seeing you upset and when the next time he picks up the kids sees you upset and he knows it had something to do with the man

Ex-Husband Ghost who learns you two broke it off and you went to the hospital after having a miscarriage because of stress

Ex-Husband Ghost after he learned that he would pay much more child support then he was suppose to and even brought you groceries

Ex-Husband Ghost who still misses you every time he sees his kids

Ex-Husband Ghost who invited you to come to the park to watch the kids play.

“I’m sorry about the break-up.”

“I learned that he was cheating on me…”

“How long?”

“5 weeks after you had told me he yelled at the kids and when I confronted him about the yelling he told me he was cheating and then started to throw out that the child was probably not his and someone else’s…”

“Y/n-“

“Don’t…I’m here for my kids.”

“I know…”

Ex-Husband Ghost who would still buy you flowers for no reason, the just-because flowers.

“Go give these to mama,” he tells his daughter after she got out of the car.

“Okay,” she takes them and runs towards her giving them to Y/n and smiling down at her daughter moving them inside the house. She turns to Simon and blows him a kiss.

Ex-Husband Ghost who still owns his Kawasaki. He pulls up into your driveway and sees you walking out of the house arms holding you as you move your sweater over your body due to it being cold.

“It’s cold Simon, did you drive here on that?”

“I did…I wanted to see if you wanted to go on a ride?”

“Simon, the kids-“

“They’re okay…I promise just around the neighborhood, nowhere else.”

“Okay,” he pulls out her helmet from his backpack, helping her put it on and helping her on the back.

Ex-Husband Ghost who starts being invited back into your home because it was your children’s idea. They wanted their daddy back in the house to have dinner, and for him to play with them

Ex-Husband Ghost who starts coming over to help you a lot more than before. Before it seemed like Simon was married to his work…not his actual wife.

Ex-Husband Ghost who starts helping you with your sexual needs

[lundenloves]

SIMON TAKING HIS DAUGHTER TO BASE

{✧} dad!simon once again, no one faint i don’t have insurance coverage. soap may be able to fireman lift you home.

{✧} i just wanted to write something with his work and daughters combined and thought, hmm the idea of war, blood and death doesn’t quite match up to a five year old. therefore, this was born. if you don’t fw it don’t tell me, i’ll nosedive into a pit of lava without hesitation. happy reading, kids.

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↳ no warnings | 1.3k | dad!simon

“Right,” Simon crouched down to his daughter's level, taking her small hands in his. “You stay with dad, yeah?” His finger tapped the side of her nose, the two of them stood by his jeep outside of the base. This was not allowed. He knew that.

But — today was dedicated to paperwork in his office, that was the sole purpose of coming in on his time off. The only issue being, it was a day off for someone else too. His kid. “Can you do that for me?” Thumb smoothing across her cheek, standing back up upon her nod. 

“What are we even doing?” She took his extended hand and swung her arms, watching as he swiped a pass through a reader and pressed down on the bar of the door to open it. “How long will we be?”

“It shouldn’t take long, lovie.” He looked down at his little girl. “Just stay with me. Don’t let go of my hand.” Her grip tightened and Simon crossed through seemingly endless corridors and rooms to little eyes, each passing soldier giving her father a firm nod followed by an utterance of ‘sir’ in acknowledgement. She found herself looking into every crevice she could find on their voyage, straying from his side a few times to touch things. 

“Where’s uncle Soap?” For every two of Simon’s steps, five of her own were taken, little feet switching between hops and skips each time. 

“Not a clue.” Simon mumbled more to himself, looking around corners and turning his shoulder with every voice. “He’s here somewhere. ‘M sure he’ll find you first, kid.” She nodded, trailing her finger across the wall until they had reached his office. “Right,” He continued, fumbling in his pocket for a set of keys. “We won’t be long here, alright?” 

“A’right.” She said enthusiastically, her own accent mirroring his and following him into the room. Simon hung by the door for a moment, arm above the threshold to hold himself out. 

“Johnny.” He shouted after a group of men, his sergeants mohawk a dead give-away. Soap turned around instantly, something between a respectful soldier and a puppy. Ghost nodded back to his office, planting a hand on his daughter’s shoulder when she had stood next to him, on her tiptoes to see over the passing men. She was barely up to Simon’s waist. 

“See him?” His hand moved to her back, eyes flitting between her own and Soap who was wrapping up a conversation, her smile growing to a grin when he had crouched down in the now clear corridor — slapping his knees before holding his arms out. 

“C’mere you.” His hardy Scottish accent echoing in the bleak narrowness. She ran toward him, shrieking laughter as he tickled her sides, undeniably gathering a fair amount of attention from soldiers in close proximity. “Alright sweetheart?” Johnny picked her up, holding her against his hip and walking back to Simon’s office. “Is she allowed to be here?”

“No.” Simon answered, holding the door wide for him. 

“No one’ll say anything anyway.” Johnny let her down. “Ae, missy?” 

She shrugged, moving behind Simon’s desk and climbing onto the seat, small hands fidgeting with the pens that were lying around. Ghost placed his hands on his hips. The dark hoodie he wore was usual, minus the bulky tac vest and belt. “You busy?” 

“Will be in,” Soap held his arm up, checking his watch. “Fifteen minutes.” 

Simon nodded, looking toward his daughter who had found post-it notes, clicking a pen and doodling across multiple of them. “If you see Price, tell him I'll only be twenty. Maximum.” His eyes hadn’t left her, nodding in approval once she had held up her drawing to him. A stickman.

“Will do, Lt.” Soap crossed his arms over his chest and shifted in his stance. “She’s looking more and more like you. Getting big.” He mumbled the last part, shaking his head slowly as if time had passed like he was a pensioner. 

“Hm,” Simon grunted in response. “I’ll see you before I leave, yeah?’ 

“No bother.” Soap saluted the little girl, taking a post-it she had held up toward him. “Is that me?” He pointed toward himself, folding it and slipping the note into the pocket of his tac vest after she had nodded. 

“You’re leaving?” 

“I have to darlin’.” His thumb caressed her cheek, taking the discarded pen and doodling his own drawing of her. “Whose that?” He smiled, sliding the post-it toward her. 

“That’s not me.” She giggled, pushing it back toward him with a grin. “You’re bad at drawing.” 

Simon tsked, moving behind his desk and picking her up to sit on his lap. “Eh! That is so you!” Soap’s accent bounced off the walls causing an eruption of laughter from the little girl and Simon turned the computer monitor further toward him. Thick arms huge next to hers that clung onto them to get a better view of the desk. 

A short knock sounded through the room and Johnny moved from the door, hands clasped together as Price walked in. His eyes and demeanor instantly softened at the sight. “Kept this one quiet, Simon.” He chuckled, taking short steps forward to pass him some documents stamped with red classified text. 

She smiled at Price although shyed into Simon’s neck, “What is this?” He asked, bouncing his knee up and down to subconsciously entertain his daughter.

“Read it later.” He instructed, nodding once at his sergeant. “Johnny, aren’t you on drill today?” Price stood with his legs a good distance apart, thumbs slotted into his pockets to splay fingers wide over his thighs. 

“Ten minutes, sir.” 

“And Simon, you’re eh— you’re off aren’t you?” Price continued, smiling at his daughter who was staring up at him with small hands clung to her dads neck. “Take it you’re not here for long.” 

He shook his head, leaning back in the chair with hands behind his head. “Just ten minutes or somethin’, finishing these off before Monday.”

“Right.” He nodded. “Mind and not stay for long, yeah? You’re scheduled off for a reason.” Soap held the door open for him, watching as he left with a cautious look on both sides of the corridor before stepping out. 

Soap leaned out of the door, eyes following the captain until he was out of view, spinning back on his heel to Simon. “Open it.” Came his intrusive thoughts, nodding toward the classified envelope that had been tossed to the side. 

“No.”

“Aw c’mon, we’re both 141.” He slid a seat out in front of the desk, “Just open it.” The letter opener was spun across the desk. “Ae?” Face scrunched up in a convincing nod toward Simon’s daughter. Although, she was busy attempting to climb onto the desk, and would’ve had her fathers hand not prevented it with one swoop. “Tell your dad to open the wee letter.” 

“Open the wee letter.” She repeated, maneuvering onto her back across his lap and slowly sliding down onto the floor.

Johnny held his hands out in a way that proved his own innocence, as if that saying was her own doing. “The boss has spoken.” He gestured toward the little girl who stood on her tiptoes to look out the small window. 

“Haven't you got drills to run?” Simon said bluntly, dotting his pen and blankly staring at Soap.

“Oh shit.” He pushed the chair in haphazardly. 

“You’re leaving now?” 

Johnny nodded toward the small girl who held her fist out for him to bump his on. A habitual thing learnt by none other than the Scotsman himself, much to Simon’s unreasonable displeasure.

“Shit.” She mumbled to herself.

“Johnny.” Simon scowled. 

“Catch ye, Lt!” 

i’m clawing the walls for price.

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkjoequinn @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov

as always comments are reblogs are greatly appreciated! if no one pats me on the head every now and then i’ll sit in a hole.

↳ requests are open for dad!simon stuff although see the masterlist for more info.

[shotmrmiller]

PAUSE! OH MY GOD. writing a soap smut got me thinking. 

As a medic in base, you see the 141 guys all the time. Whether in passing or because they get injured, you’re always interacting with them. Your particular lack of response at Ghost’s irritated glare after reprimanding him for being unable to keep his stitches intact during training is what solidified your friendship with Johnny— what Soap tells you to call him.

Every time Johnny goes out, he likes to drag you along and this is where you notice peculiar interactions between him and Ghost.

The way Ghost gives Soap Johnny his full attention when he’s speaking, turning his entire body to face him, even if it’s something completely trivial. Or how Johnny stresses over Ghost who’s injured on your med table and Ghost will comfort him. When going on a mission, if one goes, so does the other.

You wonder if there's something else going on.

—

You get your answer.

One day you’re knocking on Johnny’s door because it wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to weasel out of a physical. You’d think getting shot would hurt more than a vaccine but here you are— about to twist his scottish ear off. The door finally opens, and you barge in because you aren’t about to cause a scene in the middle of the hallway when you freeze. 

Ghost is in Johnny's room, lying on the bed. If looks could kill, Ghost’s would’ve leveled the base. And he’s naked under the sheets— if that tree trunk-sized bulge is what you think it is. It doesn't even look hard. Bloody hell. 

You shift your gaze towards Soap, and your eyes drop— he's clad in nothing but a towel that hangs dangerously low on his hips. 

Massive. These men just walkin’ round with weapons in their pants.

Shaking off those thoughts, you shift your attention to his face.

“Meet me at the clinic in 10 or so help me god, Johnny.” and walk out the door.

You hear a muffled "Yes ma'am" , and a hiss escapes your lips.

That cocky smile Johnny had means he definitely saw you ogling them. 

—

A week passes and it’s a friday. You can’t wait to lock yourself in your barracks room and watch movies the entire weekend— you plan to start as soon as you're off the clock.

And then other medics twist your arm into going out for drinks.

Now you find yourself seated at a table in a lively bar, indulging in shots of tequila. As you glance around, your eyes catch sight of Soap and Ghost standing near the bartender. It appeared that some woman is talking to Johnny and he has a polite, detached smile on his face. Always too kind to strangers.

Then she starts caressing his thigh.

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. Right in front of Ghost’s salad? You lock eyes with Ghost and he looks murderous. Jesus.

You usually don't stick your nose in others' business, but if you don’t intervene, Ghost might actually kill her in her sleep. Besides, tequila has always made you bold.

With a confident stride, you make your way towards Johnny and remove that woman’s hand before settling yourself snugly on his lap— and you wrap his arms around your waist.

“And who is this?” you ask Soap, but the girl questions back.

“No. Who are you?” 

Bitch. 

Curling your upper lip, you answer, “I’m the one he comes in every night hoping it takes. Now leave before I make you,” completely ignoring the massive bulge pressing up into your arse.

She looks at you with a bewildered expression, but doesn't move so you finish off with, "Try it. Just a warning though, it'll be hard to fight when the fight ain't fair."

You cock your head to the side with a taunting expression and the woman scoffs before walking away. Noticing she left her almost full drink behind, you give it to the bartender to toss in the trash. She's just gonna have to get another one.

Your act comes to an end, so you shift to stand up— and realize that the arms encircling your waist tighten, keeping you on his lap. His clothed cock.

“Ye didnae think we’d let ye go after yer little show, did ye?” 

Unless Johnny’s speaking french, he just said we. You'd be nervous but you aren't about to decline what could be the best sex of your life. The want you feel in Soap's pants has you riding a certain high— it makes you feel confident.

Grabbing onto the edge of the bartop, you swivel the stool you're on to face Ghost. 

“And this okay with you? I wouldn’t be stepping on any toes, or nothin’?”

Ghost swiftly lifts you from Johnny's lap and places you onto his own.

“Does this answer your question?” and draws you closer before grinding his erection against you.

And it sure as hell does. Slapping the counter, you ask for some water. If this night is going to end with you sandwiched between these two, you want to remember all of it.

reader's a boss ass bitch. GET IT CHILE.

[servicpop]

✶ ﹑ㅤXOXOㅤ﹏

NOW STARRING : cowboy Cole x "showgirl" m!reader

「ㅤFLUFFㅤ」ㅤdates n stuff with your cowboy bf

notes ,, not proofread ! – part one , part two

You started dating him. The sweetest cowboy around.

You've never really understood it when the showgirls always rambled on about their partners — you personally thought you couldn't do it. But here you are, yapping on and on about him.

You'd blabble a few compliments to him like "he's so handsome," "he's got the cutest smile," "he treats me like a prince," and the girls could practically see the hearts bubbling off of your head. You couldn't stop! The words flooded out your mouth like word vomit and you swore they were getting tired of hearing your heart thumping at 150 beats per minute.

Seated at the vanity, your legs dangled over the chair as you turned to one of the girls, holding your cheeks in your palm as you swooned over Cole. She didn't mind, of course, she was used to your rambling now and was focused on perfecting a new lip combo. "Oh you're so smitten!" She giggled, patting her cheeks with a cushion. "Ain't your mouth tired of moving so much 'mr lover boy'?" Another girl nudged your shoulder with the end of her brow pencil, shaking her head as she huffed from your yapping. A whistle from the girls broke you out of your trance as you lifted your head to look towards the doorway.

When you turned your head, you were met with Cole's figure standing at the entrance of the tent with a bright red blush and flowers held closely to his head. He must've heard everything. Flustered, he clutched his hat that was also held to his chest, lifting it up slightly to cover his red face, "U–uhm... hey. Apologies– I don't wanna' intrude on the ladies space." Cole's eyes were casted to the side; you could tell he was trying to be respectful of the space you shared with the girls.

You got up, walking over to where he was stood and took his hands in yours. "It's alright, I'm sure they don't mind," you reassure him, gently guiding him towards the dressing rooms where you could get changed into some more comfortable clothes. You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Cole's eyes trained to the floor and his hat covering his face as he followed you like a puppy. He most definitely felt intimidated by the bustling lifestyle showgirls lived.

As you pulled him into the dressing rooms, Cole finally relaxed, lowering his hat to his side as he watched you with a sweet smile. "No peeking," you chime, disappearing behind the wall to change. "I wouldn't unless you asked sweetheart," Cole called out, taking this moment to lean against the wall as he waited for you to finish.

When you appeared, Cole let out a whistle, his eyes locked with yours as he exhaled contently, "How do you look so beautiful all the time sugar?" Cole took a few steps closer to you, reaching his fingers out to tuck a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered in your hair, brushing through it as he held the side of your neck just behind your ears. His lips ghosted over yours and you could practically feel the heat radiating off him. He didn't connect the kiss and instead pulled back, "Nope! Savin' it for later," He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist as he walked with you out of the dressing room.

It was a nice, sunny day out with the sun beaming down on the two of you but the clouds were kind enough to provide some shelter from the harsh sunlight. Linked by arms, you and Cole were stumbling around the streets pointing out what each cloud looked like. Passer-bys probably thought you guys were drunk but in reality, you were just having some silly fun with your boyfriend.

"That one looks like a duck," Cole laughed, pointing his finger to the sky at the fluffy cloud that was... shaped nothing like a duck. It looked more like a dachshund with its pointy nose and long body but you could see where Cole got a duck from. Another cloud caught your attention, it was most definitely shaped like a horse, "Hey, doesn't that look like Spirit?" You muse, smiling as you pointed to the other cloud. "You sure got keen eyes, darlin'" Cole leaned his weight against you, ruffling your hair playfully as he squeezed you even tighter against him.

After a few minutes — or hours — of giggling at random shapes of clouds, Cole finally led you to a small café by the lake. You hadn't even realised you walked this far out with him. "They've got some mighty fine milkshakes, we can share one!" His hands dipped down to yours, linking your fingers with his as he pulled you inside. The soft jingling of the bells rung through your ears as you stepped through the door, the cozy scent of coffee beans and sweets wafted to your direction.

The atmosphere was so nice, like a fireplace on a cold winter night. Cole seemed to be familiar with the workers, calling out a few greetings before letting you sit down at one of the tables beside the window. The window sill had a small succulent plant, adding to the comfortable environment this café had. "How 'bout a salted caramel milkshake? Sound good?" Cole crooned, swiping his finger along the paper menu before he glanced up at you. You were willing to try out anything Cole suggested, he seemed familiar with this town — maybe because it was quite close to his home town.

Cole called over the waiter and had a brief chat before the waiter left with your orders. The wait was comfortably quiet, just Cole admiring the lake and sometimes you.

The waiter finally came back with the tall milkshake glass, the whipped cream dripped down the edges in small streaks of white adorned with a pinkish cherry ontop. They placed it down before flashing the two of you a smile. The milkshake stood tall and beads of condensation trickled down the flared design of the glass. "Here," You felt the coolness of the cherry being placed against your lips and you look up to see Cole holding it out for you, "I've had this milkshake plenty of times. Its my favourite."

You happily took the cherry, plucking it off of its stem as you chewed on it, the sweet taste leaving a pleasant tingle on your tongue. You watched as Cole grabbed an extra straw and placed it into the drink, pushing one towards your side and holding one to his. You both leaned in to take a sip, the coolness of the milkshake running down your throat nicely. "It's good!" you smile and Cole cant help but smile too. "Told 'ya" he laughed.

It seemed like hours as you and Cole rambled on to eachother about anything that came to mind — he'd tell you about the local gossip and you'd tell him about your experiences in different cities. The more you talked, the more the milkshake slowly disappeared and the sun lowered behind the horizon. The sunset glow casted through the window, a yellow-ish orange color painted the interior of the café. The workers practically had to kick you two out since it was 5 minutes to closing time.

The walk back to your motel wasn't silent, the evening was filled with endless conversations and laughs. Cole turned to face you, the crinkles beside his eyes softening as he had to ask the one question that's been lingering in the back of his mind, "You gotta hit the road again, don't ya?" You look up at him and can see his little heart cracking behind those eyes, he always hated to see you leave. "Yeah," You nod, your voice somewhat breathless, "It's in the city this time, its quite far this time." Cole frowned, squeezing your hand a bit tighter.

"You promise to write t'me, okay?" You weren't that cruel to not write letters to him. "Of course, Cole."

He walked you right to the doorstep, but before you could go inside, he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around your waist held you tightly. "Wait—" He mumbled, looking down at your face. You were so close to him. Like a snake, his arms constricted around your body, holding you as if you'd run away if he let go. He lowered his head and brought his lips to yours.

You could taste the sweet-salty taste of the caramel milkshake you shared earlier. His lips were soft, not lustful, just genuine love for you. He pulled away to let you take a breath before leaning back in for a second kiss, this time leaning so far forward you had to bend backwards to accommodate for the passionate kiss. "I love you," Cole murmured against your lips, peppering kisses all over your face as he leaned in as close as possible to you. The kisses tickled your skin, causing a giggle to be forced out of your lungs, "Love you too." As you say your last goodbyes — and Cole gave you about 50 more kisses — you finally walked back into your room, meeting one of the girls you shared the motel with.

"That was something straight out of a romance movie," She teased, stirring her black coffee with a teaspoon. "Oh shush," You reply.

Cole sighed with a smile as he finally finished drying the flowers he hand-picked earlier. One of the local grannies told him how to dry flowers and that they would last longer when dried. Knowing Cole, he most definitely used those lessons to use for you. He gently placed the flowers in the envelope, licking the glue to activate it and encased his hand-written letter safely inside.

"He'll love it!"

You had achieved a small collection of dried flowers from Cole, all different kinds and combinations. He really did have an eye for pretty things. Of course, you wrote back, using one of your favourite lipsticks to plant kiss marks on the letters, and neatly signing your name with a heart in red ink. You sealed them up and kissed the envelope once more for good luck.

Your pile of Cole's letters grew as you didn't have the heart to throw any of them away. Tonight, you had recieved an extra special letter, one that had the paw print of Scout on the front. Your heart raced as you took the letter out, curious to why this one was worthy of getting a paw print signed on it.

"I'm coming over! Just wait."

Was written on the bottom of the letter. You could just imagine the big toothy grin on Cole's face when he wrote that. And you have to give it to him, for a guy like him, you didn't expect his handwriting to be so elegant.

You weren't sure when, where, or how Cole was going to "come over," but you waited nonetheless, and the next day Cole had arrived at your hotel with a pair of rugged jeans and a hoodie you gifted to him after on of your performances. "Cole!" You beam, basically jumping out of your seat to hug him, "Honey!" He laughed back, holding you tightly against his chest. "I missed you."

He lifted you up into his arms bridal style, causing a squeak from you, and jumped onto the plush bed with you snuggled in his arms. Your legs tangled under the warmth of the sheets as he pressed his face against your neck, relishing in the soft floral scent of your perfume. He loved that scent, it was perfectly feminine but had a certain masculine undertone to it — which in his opinion — embodies you so well.

"When you get a vacation, come back to my house, I'll let you meet my parents," Cole whispered against your skin, his hands tracing small circles on your back, "Let's get married..."

"Sure— wait what?"

a/n : Cole sweet Cole !! This fic wasn't my best ,, I think maybe I could've done better/wrote more but currently my laptop is out of order right now !! I hate writing on my phone TT but it'll be back soon (hopefully) ♡

[postmortemnivis]

could be read as a part two of this post

“when i met you,” price started, “you were a mess of a man.”

simon grunted in response, his arms crossed over his chest almost as if he wanted to protect, shield himself from price’s words. each cut deeper than knives, aiming straight for the strong walls he’d built around his heart, the ones that only you had been able to tear down.

a mess of a man. he knew it, he didn’t need to hear about it too.

“at first, i honestly didn’t think you were going to ever become someone.” the older man admitted.

johnny’s laughter could be heard from the living room, where he and kyle were chatting about god knows what, probably the last poor girl johnny shagged in a bathroom stall at a pub the previous night.

“you didn’t?”

price shook his head. “as i said, a mess of a man, simon.”

a mess of a man. simon knew himself, he knew he was no saint, no good: he was a murdered, the angel of death that could be seen in the middle of the field, his dark glow foretelling the end of anyone who found himself in the middle of his bloody path. his hands were stained with the blood of many, the same hands he refused to touch you with; the only thing that kept him sane was knowing he wasn’t ghost, ghost’s crimes were shielded from simon by his black gloves and balaclava.

simon looked at price as his hand rested on his shoulder. he remembered what it felt to be neglected by his own father, and price knew it. price always seemed to know everything about his boys, he could see right through him. what simon needed was guidance, and price would’ve given it to him.

“nothing to be ashamed of,” he continued, “most of you boys are, you seek for something more. think of johnny, he enlisted when he was sixteen. you enlisted the day of your eighteenth birthday. we all know that if you’re a responsible man you don’t run to the army. we’re all crazy, messed up men.”

price also knew they were reckless, a suicidal loyalty bound to him. after all, their job attracted the beasts, the outcasts, the sadists, the worst of society.

simon rolled his eyes when price referred to them as boys. the man was less than ten years younger than simon, but he still felt the paternal pressure and instinct to protect the boys. his boys.

“wha’ made you change your mind?”

price motioned simon to move further into the kitchen, away from the people that were invited to his house.

“her.”

your voice echoed as you walked out of the bathroom, letting johnny finally hold his little niece. gary was walking behind you with the brightest smile on his face. gaz made a comment about how the three weeks old baby looked just like you, with simon’s dark eyes and pale blonde hair. if only he knew you helped simon dye it every month and a half, him sat on the edge of the bathtub and you standing between his thighs, his hands firm on your waist as he—for once—looked up at you instead the other way round.

you agreed with a chuckle, looking around for simon.

“look a’ the lassie, she’s already an uncles gal!” johnny’s laughter filled the flat. from the corner of his eyes, simon could see the person he’d grown to call his brother hold his newborn daughter.

“her?” he looked at you, the softest and most subtle smile crawling on his scarred face. simon struggled to hold back his smirk.

price nodded. “i remember we all could tell that you met someone. you’d become less… rigid. you’d smile more, were more clement with the recruits.”

“she changed me.” simon shrugged, attempting to hide the smile that would try to crawl on his face anytime he’d think about you. even after years, between a marriage and now a child, his eyes would light up at your thought alone. that’s the impact, the effect you had on him.

“that’s good, simon.” price spoke. “we’re all happy you’re doing better. we remember how you used to-”

“okay, got the message.” simon interrupted him. “loud an’ clear, john.”

his life before you seemed so distant and he almost couldn’t remember of a time where you weren’t by his side yet. like a far away dream, closer to a nightmare than a dream, but still something that didn’t look like the life he was living now. he didn’t need to remember a bit of it, what was the use? he had you now, everything before the day you met didn’t matter anymore, it didn’t exist anymore.

price sighed, looking to the ceiling as he tried to find something in his pocket. “coming outside for a smoke?”

simon shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. “nah, capt. quit a while ago.”

it’d been months since you’d showed him the pregnancy test that shook his whole world. he’d fallen to his knees in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by worried recruits, johnny immediately sprinting close enough to check whether his lieutenant was okay but far enough to give you two privacy.

“promise me ‘m not dreamin’.” he murmured, pulling you closer by wrapping his arms around your waist, hiding his face in your chest.

you brushed his short blond hair back, biting your lip as you smiled. you could feel your eyes tingling, tears threatening to spill at any given minute. “you’re not, si. we’re gonna be parents.”

you chuckled, leaning down to kiss his head and felt your white work shirt getting wet by his tears. you looked around at the faces of the confused recruits, and you smiled, because you knew you were the only person who’d ever truly know how the scary lieutenant, the ghost, really was.

“we are.” he whispered before kissing your still flat stomach, getting back up and giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. “thank you.”

in the nine months he’d been taking care of you like a person on their deathbed—really not necessary, si, i can still do the dishes by myself—he’d stopped smoking, and treated himself to just one beer every first sunday of the month.

he had worked on himself, hard.

for you and for your daughter. he wanted to be a better person, a good man. he wanted to be nothing like his father, that having haunted and scared him for so long and being the main reason he always tried to postpone having children, what truly held him back,, but he tried to be a better man.

that was what distinguished him from his father, he tried to be better.

leaving the military was sure next, after fixing the downstairs bathroom faucet and oil the doorknob of the closet. he wondered how the boys would take it, but in the end he didn’t really care, he knew they’d understand.

“quit.” price repeated, eyebrows raised as he put his lighter back in pocket. he wasn’t a social smoker, but knew better than to smoke near a baby, even if he would’ve excused himself to the balcony.

simon smiled as he heard you scold johnny for throwing the little girl in the air. “what if you drop her?”

“ah wid never, lass.” he reassured you, laughing at the slap he got on his scruff.

“you’re a good man, simon.” prices hand found its way on simon’s shoulder again. “you went through a lot, but you’re still fighting for a good cause, you didn’t let it change you. that’s what makes you a good man.”

simon was about to deny, say he wasn’t, he was the worst man there was, but then you walked into the kitchen, all smiles.

“hey si.” you smiled. “baby’s hungry.”

simon immediately stretched out his arms to hold the baby, a bottle already in his hands as soon as those words left your plush lips, your lashes batting up at him.

you wrapped your arms around one of his strong biceps and smiled up at him and then at price.

“cute, isn’t she?”

“is indeed.” john nodded, smiling under his thick moustache.

before he decided to leave the kitchen to leave you three some privacy and join the boys in the living room, where johnny had apparently put on a rugby match—“scotland-wales, for fucks sake, lad!”—he shot simon one final knowing glance.

simon returned the look, your eyes too focused on the little girl in her charcoal grey onesies to notice.

“you okay, si?” you whispered, but your husband's eyes were unfocused, staring off into space as price’s words kept replaying in his head like a broken record.

he nodded, kissing your forehead almost instinctively. “yes, love.”

you smiled up at him and then at your daughter, simon’s mind travelling an hundred miles an hour, waiting to crash on itself and get brought back to reality. price’s words echoed in the background of his brain, quieter each second that passed.

a good man.

tagging who asked:

@mr-sol @v1x3n @m4dyy @softangelheart @redzluvvesage @nittoka

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

(UN)FINISHED CHEMISTRY

a/n: This second part was requested. Enjoy!

PART 1: (UN)FINISHED BUSINESS

jude bellingham x exgf!reader

warnings: a bit suggestive... Also, someone teach me how to come up with titles.

summary: Not enough time has passed for them to see each other again, yet Jude and she are forced to interact once more in another of Adidas’ “wonderful” campaigns. This time, though, they’re a bit closer...

The second photoshoot wasn’t supposed to happen so soon. In fact, they had both hoped to avoid each other for as long as possible, but fate—or rather, Adidas—had other plans. Just two weeks after their last encounter, they found themselves in another sterile, brightly lit studio. This time, the set was more intimate. Dimmed lights, softer tones, and a background that screamed "romance." It was all part of Adidas’ latest campaign for their new sportswear line: “Body connection.”

Right. Body connection.

Jude arrived first, dressed in a fitted black T-shirt and grey sweat pants, his athletic physique on full display. He scanned the room, taking in the atmosphere. The set was designed to look like a private gym, sleek and modern, with cushioned mats, low lights, and a few props—an exercise bench, a yoga mat, and a punching bag. It all screamed tension and sweat.

It would’ve been the perfect setting for anyone else. But when she walked in, the air shifted.

She appeared, effortlessly stunning in a sports bra and high-waisted leggings, both in deep navy that contrasted beautifully with her skin. Her hair was tied up this time, giving her a fierce, no-nonsense look. But Jude saw the way her eyes flickered when they landed on him. She was nervous, just like last time.

But it was different today. The tension wasn’t just from unfinished business or bitter memories—it was from the photoshoot brief itself.

The photographer clapped his hands as soon as she stepped onto the set. “Alright, everyone! Let’s pick up where we left off. This time, we’re focusing on physicality. I want to see raw energy, that connection. Jude, you’re going to be guiding her through some workout moves. Maybe a bit of flexibility. Close contact. Real, physical chemistry.”

Physical chemistry.

Jude swallowed hard.

Her breath hitched.

As she stepped closer, her face unreadable, they stood barely a foot apart. The energy between them crackled, and neither could deny it this time.

“Alright, let’s start with something simple. Jude, stand behind her and guide her through some stretching. Show her how to do it right,” the photographer directed, oblivious to the wildfire about to ignite between them.

Jude moved behind her as instructed, his body looming over hers as she bent forward, preparing for the stretch. His hands hovered just above her hips hesitant before they made contact, his touch firm but gentle as he guided her posture. His fingers splayed over her waist, his thumbs grazing the skin just above her waistband. She stiffened for a moment, the contact electrifying, but forced herself to stay composed.

"You’re tense," he whispered against the back of her neck, so low only she could hear. "You need to loosen up."

She wanted to snap back at him, to tell him to keep his hands to himself, but his touch—it was familiar. Too familiar. Her skin tingled where his fingers rested, her pulse quickening in a way that both thrilled and terrified her.

Jude’s voice was controlled, low and steady, but there was a heat behind it that wasn’t just for the camera. “Lean into me.”

She hesitated, her body betraying her as she shifted her weight slightly back. She could feel the hardness of his chest pressing into her back, his breath grazing her ear. He leaned in closer, their proximity leaving nothing to the imagination.

She bit her lip, trying to suppress a smile as his breath ghosted across her neck. “This is supposed to be professional.”

“Right,” he said, his voice teasing. “Because nothing says professional like having your ex feel you up.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the flutter of excitement his words ignited within her. The pull between them was undeniable, and Jude could sense it.

The photographer was completely oblivious to the tension building between them. “Perfect, perfect! Now, Jude, step in front of her. I want you two to do some light sparring, playful but intense.”

They broke apart, and for a second, she felt a strange emptiness where his body had been. Shaking it off, she took her stance, fists up, eyes locked on his. This time, she was ready to match him, toe to toe. Jude grinned, that infuriatingly confident smirk tugging at his lips.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmured, raising his fists. “I know you want to punch me.”

The playful challenge in his voice lit a fire in her, and she threw a light punch at his chest. He caught her wrist with ease, spinning her around so her back was against him once more, his arm wrapped securely around her waist. The motion was swift, almost too quick for her to react, and suddenly she found herself pinned against his body, her breath hitching as his grip tightened.

Of course, the photographer was delighted.

For a split second, the world fell away. It was just the two of them. His hand on her stomach, his breath at her neck, his body flush against hers.

“Easy,” he whispered, his lips dangerously close to her ear. His fingers slid along her skin, resting just under her ribs as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her. The heat between them was almost unbearable now.

She felt the muscle in her jaw tighten, trying to keep herself from melting into him. “Let go of me.”

Jude’s smirk deepened, but he released her slowly, savoring the feel of her slipping from his grasp. As she turned to face him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with a mixture of anger and something else, she realized they were far beyond the point of pretending.

"Alright, alright, let’s move on," the photographer called, completely unaware of the silent storm brewing between them. "Jude, lift her like you’re helping her with a pull-up. Close contact, show that strength. We want it to look intense.”

Jude raised a brow, and she shot him a warning glance. “Careful Bellingham…”

He chuckled shortly and stepped forward, slipping his hands around her waist again, this time lifting her effortlessly off the ground as she gripped a pull-up bar above her. As her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist for balance, she felt the undeniable semi-hard length of him pressing against her.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she muttered, half to herself, half to him.

She could feel his breath on her lips, his heartbeat against her own. Her body was practically molded to his, and for a moment, the rest of the room faded into oblivion.

Jude held her there, his hands pressing into her lower back, fingers digging in just slightly. “As if this were easy for me,” he murmured, his voice rough, his lips grazing her ear as he lowered her back down slowly.

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Did he miss her or did he just hate her? He was playing with fire, and they both knew it. Her breath came faster, her pulse racing as his grip tightened just slightly, their bodies still pressed together.

“You’re tickling me,” she muttered, her voice breathless, but even as she said it, her hands slid down to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

For a second, she thought he might kiss her. His eyes darkened, flicking to her lips, and she could see the struggle within him—the same one she was battling. But instead, he pulled back just enough to let her go, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

“I’m not falling Y/N,” he whispered again, that same taunting edge in his voice.

She half-pouted, but before she could respond, the photographer chimed in with one final instruction, completely oblivious to the electric storm between them. "That’s a wrap! Great work, guys! The chemistry is unreal."

Jude gave her one last lingering look, his eyes burning with unspoken words, and then he stepped away, leaving her standing there, her body still buzzing from the contact.

As he walked off set, she let out a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. She hated him. But God, she wanted him too.

As the crew began packing up, Y/N stayed rooted to the spot, still feeling the echo of Jude’s touch on her skin. The room had returned to its normal buzz of activity, but her mind was somewhere else, replaying the weight of his hands on her waist, the heat of his breath on her neck, the pressure against her bum...

She reached for her phone, half-expecting to find some mundane message from her manager or a notification of an app. Instead, her heart skipped a beat when Jude’s or rater, the contact named: that arrogant jerk, flashed across the screen.

Body conection? Nailed.

Her breath caught in her throat. She stared at the message for a long moment, the flickering studio lights casting a dim glow across the phone’s screen. She didn’t know what to say—didn’t know if she should say anything at all. It had been months since she had entered his chat.

A second text buzzed in before she had time to think.

Any idea when round three is?

Her pulse raced, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard. She bit her lip, the mix of amusement and desire swirling inside her like a storm. Every nerve in her body screamed for her to resist—to keep up the wall she’d built between them and left him on read—but a small part of her, the part that still remembered how things used to be, was tempted to tear it down.

She started typing, paused, then erased the words before starting again. Finally, she sent a single, teasing reply.

Don’t get too comfortable, Bellingham. Next time, I’m throwing the punch.

A few seconds later, her phone buzzed again.

His response came almost immediately.

Can’t wait.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It was far from over.

[rqgnarok]

standing ovation - jamie tartt

fandom: ted lasso

wc: 2321

warnings: mentions of jamie’s dad and DV, spoilers for ted lasso’s mom city. reader uses female pronouns. 

summary: reader sneaks into training grounds after richmond’s win against man city. seeing her is just what jamie needs. 

author’s note at the end!

There’s something in the air.

Jamie’s pretty sure Will sprayed some lavender shit all over the locker room again but that’s not quite what he means– he’s said goodbye to every single one of his teammates and all the coaches– and the locker room is now his and his alone. He locks away his dad’s ghost by locking up his phone, the simple message doing wonders to finish lifting that weight off his shoulders.

He wasn’t at the game. Or maybe he was, Jamie realizes now that it doesn’t really matter. A part of him will never stop looking over his shoulder whenever he visits his hometown for his dickwad of a father, but the older, bigger part of him knows Coach was right– his motivation doesn’t come from hating his dad anymore and it doesn’t have to. His forgiveness is for himself, for the little boy that had to build a mask to save himself from his dad, and for the man he is today because of him– and because of his mum, Keeley, Roy, Ted, his teammates–

The standing ovation at the end was more of a benediction than he’d like to admit. Everything about his hometown made him feel prickly; like he was a virus the town was doing its best to reject, and other than his quick visit to his mom Jamie expected the whole thing to be a disaster. The kids on the street, the people on social media, the rude assholes in the bleachers– Jamie thought that was all he was gonna get. Blind, thoughtless hatred despite Jamie trying his best.

He remembers Roy getting a standing ovation on his last game, while Jamie was still wearing Man City blue. He’d been appalled, unable to discern the possibility of someone hating you so much they respected you. All he’d ever gotten– from his dad, rival teams, his own team– had been everything except respect.

But they’d clapped for him. They thought him deserving of something precious and somehow it feels like permission. He can play for himself. He can come home without his dad’s ghost belittling him for not turning out the way he expected him to. 

Even Manchester hasn’t been home in a long time. Sure, his mom and Simon are there, but Richmond has his family, too– his friends, his teammates, his–

“Excuse me, I’m looking for my boyfriend. 5’9 not quite 6 foot, sexy as hell, the most fantastic football player to ever walk on Earth?”

Jamie’s lips involuntarily twist up as he glances at the door. (Y/N)’s a sight wearing her Richmond TARTT jersey, looking disheveled and flushed like the rest of the city probably is right now after their win tonight. 

Jamie doesn’t give a shit about the rest of the city, though. At least not right now. He cares about his girl sneaking in (with Keeley and Roy’s permission and advice, probably) to see him, normal sleep schedule be damned. 

He laughs, loud and unrestrained joy lighting up his features as he hobbles towards his girlfriend, letting himself be enveloped in a crush-tight embrace.

“Did ya watch it?” he wonders, forgoing his usual shy demeanor whenever (Y/N) praises him and just allowing his excitement to overflow, arms going around (Y/N)’s waist and hoisting her off the ground.

“Did I watch it, he asks,” (Y/N) scoff is downplayed by her big grin and the way she wraps her arms around Jamie’s neck as he spins her around, fucked up ankle be damned. “I couldn’t take my fucking eyes off of you, Jamie, oh, my God–”

She’s kissing him deeply, unable to contain her excitement. 

“You’re so fucking brilliant,” she whispers against his mouth, her hands at the nape of his neck making him shiver into her embrace, unable to get enough. “Oh, Jamie, that assist– the entire play for Colin’s goal? Your goal–”

“It was for you,” he tells as he drops her off, cupping her face in his hands and cheeks hurting with how wide he’s smiling. “I couldn’t celebrate but it was for you. For you and me mum, you were with me on the pitch the whole time–”

He stumbles a little as he drops her on the ground and (Y/N) tenses in his arms. She looks him over, suddenly worried. “Oh, shit. Your ankle, dumbass, are you okay? Fuck, did I–”

“Angel,” the nickname has her melting almost immediately just like he thought it would, a five-word weapon he’s never gotten tired of wielding. (Y/N) pouts at him, still concerned, and Jamie can’t have that, he kisses the expression off her face immediately. It should be illegal for her to be sad, no, sir. “‘s not even a sprain. It was probably the panic of bein’ in the same place as me dad, to be honest.”

Something steely flashes through her eyes, there and gone in a second, at the mention of Jamie’s dad. (Y/N)’s never been anything other than kind about it, but Jamie doesn’t doubt she’d beat the old fart up if she were given the chance. 

The thought only makes him smile.

“Did you? See him?” she wonders cautiously. She’s touching him again after her moment of hesitation over his injury, hands doing soothing motions up and down his sides. Jamie fights off a shiver.

“Nah,” he says simply as if the thought of crossing paths with him didn’t have him toeing the line of a panic attack the entire three days they were in Manchester. “I don’t know if he was there, and if he was, I didn’t see him. I don’t think I care anymore. It’s for the best, really.”

(Y/N)’s expression brightens, though they both know they’re not done talking about it. Jamie wishes it could be as easy as turning off his phone and forgetting about his dad, but his skin already itches a little with the idea of getting a text back from him. He’s also no doubt that (Y/N) will hold him throughout it all. 

“I did see me mum.”

“How is my favorite Tartt?” she teases.

“Happy,” Jamie says softly, always the most important thing to consider when it comes to his mother. Ever since he was a toddler and he gained acknowledgment of his dad’s actions; after an especially gruesome argument that ended with his dad breaking a few photo frames and plates, stumbling his way out of the apartment, and slamming the door shut, Jamie would climb on his mom’s lap and wipe her tears as best he could with his tiny clumsy baby fingers. “Yeah, she was real happy. And for me, too. Even before the match, she was happy to see me, happy to… jus’ happy.”

“That’s good, sweetheart,” she threads her fingers through Jamie’s hair to keep it off his face, his headband lost somewhere in his lockers or amongst the rest of the dirty laundry. He’ll have to tell Will to watch out for it, he’s a little attached to it after the night he’s had. 

Jamie’s usually not the one to believe in lucky garments or charms but– well. He feels pretty lucky right now; that (Y/N) saw some worth in him when they met and makes the choice to love him and come home to him, day after day, whatever the outcome may be. 

(Y/N) looks at him adoringly like she knows what he’s thinking. “Did’ya get your wings back, then?”

Jamie grasps her hand in his and turns to kiss the inside of her wrist, only slipping a little bit of tongue. “Nah. They was never gone. All I needed was a little help to see.”

He frowns before (Y/N) can answer. “I was gonna say something stupid like ‘you’re me wings’ but that’s disgusting and I hate it. I would never say something like that. ‘m not Roy.”

(Y/N)’s laugh is surprised and comes deep from her belly. “Are you telling me Roy Kent’s a secret romantic?”

“Big old softie, that tosser,” he rolls his eyes. “He snuck you in for me, didn’t he? That’s all you need to know about–”

(Y/N) shuts him up with a kiss just because she can, and they’re both smiling too hard for it to be a proper one. 

She says “He likes you. He’s proud of you. We’re all so proud of you,” while peppering kisses all over his face, landing on his cheeks, nose, temple, jaw, and corner of his mouth. “You’re so, so good, Jamie, I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he says, because there’s not gonna be a single time in which she tells him that and he doesn’t reciprocate. “Mum said that, too. And Keeley and Roy. And Coach, too, I guess, in his own way. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without them.”

“I can’t believe I missed it,” (Y/N) pouts and beats herself up over it for the thousandth time. Jamie presses a kiss to the space between her eyes for the thousandth time in response. “I should’ve been there, I should’ve told my boss to go to hell–” 

“You’re here,” he tells her, shaking her a little by the shoulders and looking her over like he can’t quite believe it. That she’s here in the locker room, in his life, loving him like he’s always desperately wished for but never thought he’d deserve. “What was I gonna do, put my dumb ankle into ice and sit alone in the dark?”

“‘m sure Roy and Keeley would be here drinking champagne with you if I wasn’t here.”

“And what could we be doing that is keeping them away right now?” he raises his brows, sneaking a hand down her back lower, lower, lower–

(Y/N) slaps his chest, though a gleam in her eye tells him she’s not saying no to anything. “You’re…” she drifts off.

He smirks cockily. “Unbelievable?”

(Y/N) shakes her head imperceptively. “Nah. I always knew you could do it. But you’re breathtaking, I’ll give you that. As if your ego needs it.”

Jamie’s mouth softens into a smile, soft and apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

(Y/N) frowns a little at the sudden shift in conversation. “Whatever for?”

“I’ve been a dick these past couple of weeks–”

He had. (Y/N) won’t let him admit it but he wasn’t lying when he told Roy he wasn’t doing well. Not eating, not sleeping, waving off (Y/N)’s concern with a little too cold shoulder. It made him feel a little too much like his dad, and that thought only dragged him further down.

It had been (Y/N) who suggested Jamie pay a visit to his mom while in town for the game, and when he’d mentioned this to her she’d smiled knowingly, ran a hand through his hair, and made him promise an introduction soon. 

“You were anxious,” she corrects him with a shake of the head, won’t let him speak ill of himself when all he did was have a normal, human reaction to a very triggering situation. “And I’ve been worried about you but you don’t have to apologize, Jamie. Not to me, not in a million years.”

“Alright,” he says, soft and charmed. He soothes his thumb over her knuckles, featherlight. He looks down at their intertwined hands for a beat or two, gently swinging them back and forth. “Then can I apologize for shutting you out? I know you were only trying to help. I’ll do better next time at letting you know what I need.”

“And I’ll do better at listening,” she assures him with an indulgent smile, using her free hand to trace the Richmond crest of his shirt. “Look at us, communicating and shit.”

Jamie scrunches his nose in faux disgust. “Gross,” he says, but even the facade is too much to keep up when (Y/N) nudges his nose with hers. His lips tilt upwards against his best intentions, drunk on her presence and something inside his chest brimming with unstirred delight. 

(Y/N) exhales against his mouth. She hasn’t been more than a few inches away from him since she came down to meet him, always touching him.  

“What do you wanna do, huh?” she asks him, pulling at the bottom of his shirt. “Anything you want. We can go get some takeout from that burger place you like or maybe something fancier? We can go home and get some ice on that ankle–”

“It’s nothin’–”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” by that, she means when the team doctor gives him the all clear and he isn’t limping slightly with every step he takes. It’ll take a while but Jamie can take it, especially if any downtime comes with them spending the days together. She makes a questioning hum. “But we can do that tomorrow, then. Tonight, whatever you want. You’ve earned it.”

And Jamie does feel like a winner. Not only because of the three points they managed to steal from Man City but because he gets to come home to this. He gets to leave his dad behind in Manchester and his mom in safe hands, he gets to accomplish his dream for himself and the people that love him instead of trying to prove someone who hurt him wrong. 

He gets to live for himself. Coach Lasso was right, him forgiving his father was the kindest thing he could do for himself. 

“I want this,” he murmurs against her temple, breathing in the smell of her perfume and taking in the warmth of her body against his. “I got all I need right here.”

(Y/N) smiles and crowds even closer, pressing a kiss to his jaw. 

A beat. Then–

“So that’s a no for a quickie in the locker room, then?”

(Y/N)’s laugh tastes like a standing ovation.

_________

precious little jamiebaby i hope i did you justice ily

i was ready to make an angsty peace about him but mom city left me craving to give him a moment of peace so ta-da! thank you so much for reading and letting me know what you think!

a reminder that commissions and asks are open!

<3

masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi

[ghostedeabha]

2 ladies

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

based off this video i watched on facebook; when you move in with your gf and her cat and now there's 2 women to yell at you for coming home late...

wc: 474

tw: none, pure fluff.

a/n: here's a cute lil blurb, it's kinda shit. requests are open so if you have any feel free to send some in!!

keys jangle annoyingly as simon fishes them from his pocket, a soft huff leaving his lips as he raises them to the lock, trying to determine which key unlocked the front door to his apartment. he'd just gotten off work for the day, somehow the 9-5's on base were harder than actual deployments, exhuasted from paperwork and lousy recruits. a long day with even longer hours, he didn't even get to leave until 7.

as the key wiggled in and the door finally popped open, simon was immediately greated by a loud barrage of sassy 'meows.'

his girlfriend's cat, juniper, was all but shouting at him, walking around his legs.

"what? what's wrong?" simon asks gruffly, looking at the small white cat that encircled his ankles, effectively trapping him in his spot.

meow.

"sorry ma'am, got held up at work." simon apologizes to the feline as she tells him off. another loud, sassy meow coming from the white fluff ball.

the small cat stands in front of simon with a swishing tail and shouts another little 'mew' at him, telling him off for being late. they had dinner plans damnit!

"i know, i'm sorry. i'm home now." the gruff soldier replies, looking down at the cotton ball with eyes staring back up at him. simon bends down to scoop her up in his arms, holding the soft animal close to his chest as he entered the apartment. juniper has no protest, happily letting the muscular man scoop her up off the floor, purring against his chest.

"better now? accept my apology?" simon questions as he closes the apartment door behind him with his boot, both hands occupied by the feline in his arms

"you're home late." a soft voice drifts from around the corner, (name).

"i know, i'm sorry. got held up at work. this one already gave me an earful." simon apologizes sincerely, offering a small, apologetic smile as he scratched under juniper's chin.

"i'd say. she's been waiting for you to come home for 3 hours. wouldn't even eat her dinner." (name) replies with a soft chuckle. "you're home now. that's what matters. i made us your favourite too. i kept it warm in the oven."

simon nods as he places juniper down on the floor and discards his boots, placing them on the shoe rack beside the door.

"thanks, luv." he replies, standing back up straight and making his way over to (name), wrapping an arm around her waist. with his arm around her, simon began making his way towards the kitchen, excited to devour the meal his lovely girlfriend had made. juniper on their heels as they both sat at the table.

simon truly couldn't ask for anything more than his 2 ladies.

[od4saku]

Gojo Satoru wakes with a start.

His skin is hot with emotion but the air in the bedroom is cold. Wind whistles high and sharp outside the window: a song of storm. It's wintertime in Tokyo. He thinks it may snow soon.

He's sitting up in bed, at some odd hour of the morning. And it's not unusual for him to be unable to sleep, or even to be plagued by nightmares like the one that'd just awoken him, not in the slightest— but it's different kind of restlessness that plagues him tonight. A kind that he fears not even your company can cure.

You lay so peacefully in bed, occupying the space beside him. One hand is slid beneath your pillow, and the other is reached out. Like you're trying to touch him. Hold him. His heaving chest and harsh, hollow breathing have not roused you. The blanket is not over you, rather it rests at your hips; Satoru wonders if you are cold. With gentle, quiet hands, he slides it up from your waist to cover more of you.

Satoru has mastered the art of silence. It's something that comes hand in hand with solitude, and he is all-too-familiar with solitude. Raised to be his own god, he has never not been alone. A shrine is a lonely place at night. He sits for a moment. Stares. Your chest rises and falls like ripples on a lake. The clock on the bedside table next to you reads 2:23 AM; he will not be sleeping again tonight, Satoru decides. He's quiet as he stands, shifting to the door of the bedroom— he's about to open the door when your voice cuts through the cool stillness of the air.

"S'toru?" A yawn. "Why are you up?"

He freezes. He's usually more careful. You usually don't wake up.

He has a quiet tendency of sorts, to pull away into himself. To hold it all back. There are people who love him; there are people he loves. But on nights, these lonesome nights, it all fades into the back recesses of his mind. This same tendency tells him to ignore you, or dismiss you back to your own dreaming. He wants to push you away. He wants to tell you to go back to sleep. His eyes squeeze shut, and his fingertips ghost the cold metal of the doorknob. His nightmare comes back to him in pieces. A faceless girl; the bullet that pierces her skull. Her white headband turning red. His best friend— the hole where his heart used to be. Your body gutted, like a dead animal on the side of the road, and the powerless man who'd done it coming for him next. This dream isn't so much fictive as it is macabre pieces of his past, stuck together like tracks burned into a CD that plays on loop in his mind whenever he shuts his eyes.

It's a subtle ache. It's an emptiness that lingers, persists. It's one he knows. Satoru is familiar with his own pain. He's never been able to shake it. It's a piece of him, the other half of his heart. He is stained blue. If he turns around to face you, he will not be able to leave. He will not be able to spare you of his own pain. He'll burden you with all that he feels, all that he is, more than he already has. If he walks out the bedroom door now, he knows he'll be okay— he always is. That's what he's always done. He's always walked out. He's always faced it all alone.

"Satoru?" You call for him again, voice raspy with sleep, and his resolve crumbles.

He's always faced it alone— but he doesn't have to. He believes it when he looks at you, head propped up with a hand, sleepy gaze fixed on him. Your eyes widen when you catch the look in his eyes. He's sure they betray how he feels. He always had a hard time lying to you.

You've known Satoru since high school. Everything he's been through, you've been through with him. You'd nearly died by his side, at Toji's hands, all those years ago. You'd stood by him when Suguru left. You'd given him space when he needed it, and gifted him with your company when he'd wanted it again. His love for you is something soft like fresh snow. Renewing, beautiful, and chilling, right down to the bone. He knows you love him, too. He sees it in you constantly. He recalls a memory from only a few months back; you'd gone out on a 'girl's night' with your friends and returned wasted, hardly able to stand, heels in Shoko's hands as she dropped you off to his apartment with an amused smile.

"Where are we, Ieiri? T's not my apartment," he had heard you slur as he opened the door. It was late. He'd predicted this outcome, and he smiled when he saw you clinging to Shoko's arm. Your nails were sure to leave indents.

"You need your babysitter tonight," she replied, gesturing to where Satoru stood in the doorframe. With a slight delay, your eyes widened when you saw him and you let go of Shoko, surging forward into your boyfriend's arms.

"'Toru! I didn't know you'd be here!" You were hardly intelligible, as you began to press scores of kisses to his face. They were open-mouthed and heavy, leaving lipstick stains on his cheek, jaw, chin, nose. Every time he would try to get a word in, you'd plant a clumsy kiss to his lips, silencing him and sending him into bouts of laughter. Shoko waved him off, and he'd helped you inside, where you promptly passed out in your dress. But not before telling him about how much you'd missed him. He'd slipped your dress off with gentle hands and helped you into warmer, more comfortable clothes, and carried you to bed.

That blatant show of affection, the way your love spilt through the cracks of your porcelain mask— he knows you care for him, too. He thinks about that night now and feels it again. The ghost of your lips and hands and warm, soft kisses. The bubbling laughter that escapes your throat, the slew of “I love you’s” that you don’t even try to contain. He believes in your love for him. He believes in it more than anything. So when you tilt your head with worry and ask him, "is everything okay?" Satoru lets himself shatter, then fall apart in front of you without thinking twice. He's always faced his pain alone— he doesn't have to. You love him. You are willing to hold it all for him.

He chokes in a harsh, strangled breath, and you’re up on your feet before he can inhale again.

“Hey,” you whisper as you place a hand on his shoulder, and your voice is so soft, so sweet, so real, he can’t help how he slumps into your body. You welcome the added weight, rearranging your hands so that one falls to his neck and hair and the other is draped around his waist. “It’s okay. What’s wrong? It’s okay. I’m here.”

He can’t speak. Doesn’t trust himself to. Satoru settles for letting breathing into the crook of your neck as you rub his shoulders comfortingly, whispering sweet words he can’t quite understand into his scalp. He feels the ache dripping off his bones with every circle your fingers trace across the small of his back. He feels the rot dissolve. He tightens his hold on you. He loves you. He will let you hold him.

A sudden fear grips him. The insecurities of his dream come rushing back at full tilt. His hands squeeze the skin you’ve offered, so tight that it might bruise, and he looks into your eyes. They shine with something unsaid. He refuses to listen his grip, to let you go— if he does he fears that you won’t come back.

It’s a common theme in his life, for those he loves to banish, just like that. The minute he allows himself to care, they’re gone. And what of this love, like no other he’s felt? If he releases you, if he leaves, you’ll be gone, too. He can’t have that. Can’t handle it. The thought of your absence is more than he can bare, so he lets his head fall to your shoulder again, maximizing the contact between you and him. If you feel him on you, if you feel his touch, his love, you can’t leave. You won’t. He won’t let you.

Satoru’s truth is that he is selfish, disgustingly so. His hands hold and don’t let go— they grip, grasping onto whatever they can— loose fabric, fingers, trailing up to the nail, roots of hair, a forearm— he can’t let go. He won’t. Like a little boy holding onto a toy, tightly, so tight. White-knuckles and glossy eyes, he holds on. Oh, he’s selfish. He’s selfish with the way he clings to a memory long past, meant to be forgotten. But Satoru holds all the same, like a lifeline, like a priest holds a bible. A religious devotion, a saint’s zeal.

He holds onto you for what feels like ages but must only have been the better half of an hour before you ease him back onto the bed, so he’s lying curled into your lap. He won’t let you move, let you stop touching him. He fears you might disappear. But you don’t move, either.

You remain still beneath him, present with your touch. You’re still murmuring things too quiet for him to hear over the sound of his heartbeat in his throat, but your tone is soft and soothing. Like cool water being poured over a hot open wound. Like a salve. You don’t leave, not when his heavy breathing turns to shallow gasps, not when his shallow gasps turn to the quiet sounds of sleep. When he wakes, Satoru will find you asleep in the safe position he’d remembered you in when he’d drifted off.

His love is selfish. His mind is a mess, mayhem. He is greedy and cruel and tortured, and you will stay through it all, he realizes that morning, as he watches your chest rise and fall from your lap. For all of Satoru’s burdens, and all his doubts, for all the pain that weighs him down and sinks him like an anchor to the bottom of his own brain, you will stay. You will stay, you will stay, you have stayed. The familiarity of you is chilling in the most comforting way. It’s nostalgia. The emptiness still lingers, but it lessens. The dull ache still makes its home in his chest, but there’s something new, now. Something he thinks may have always been there, but he’s been too blinded to realize it until now. There’s you, too.

(Outside the window, snow falls silently. Satoru will have no bad dreams when night falls.)

“There were all my secrets, spread out on the table. Like someone had taken my insides and scooped them out for everyone to see. Look, here are her stupid hopes! Look, here’s her dumb soft heart!”

Carol Rifka Brunt / Tell the Wolves I’m Home

[princessbrunette]

rafe definitely would be the type to get his fwb pregnant, ghost her for a while, and then come back with his stupid shaved head and his hands in his pockets like ‘when’s the next appointment’. he has to take a little panic time to come around to the idea and remember that it takes two to make said child, and then the fear of being like his dad and neglecting his firstborn kicks in and he pops back up ready to sort shit out and attempt to be there to the best of his ability in his own way cause it’s still rafe and he’s not perfect ykwim. definitely could heal him though 🙏. Waddle around in those flowly little dresses cause they’re all that fit in the late stages but cause of the belly it makes them shorter than they already were and he’s a man starved.

GODDDDD this makes me go crazy😀

you’re by no means a pogue but your place is still just small enough to make rafe turn his nose up at it if you remember correctly, proving his disapproval of it when he shows up after a few months, a few shades tanner, buffer, with a buzzed head. he looked older, more mature— but the way he stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, staring unabashedly at the bump that had only just broken into vision, it was clear he was the same old rafe.

“so uh, y’know if it’s a boy or a girl yet?” he wanders, slowly pacing your kitchen whilst you brew him a coffee.

“no, rafe. i’m keeping it as a surprise.” your voice is quiet, untrusting. it makes him resist a sigh, scratching at his cheek with a look of discomfort. he just wants his girl back. he wants his family.

“right, right.” he nods, watching you for a moment. he supposes its true what they say about ‘pregnancy glow’ because you look fucking stunning. “baby, i’m really sorry.” he drawls and you flinch a little at the nickname. it’s been a while since you heard that. you turn to him, giving him a chance to explain himself.

“i freaked. i’m— i’m a fuckin’ coward and if you hate me, cool— alright i get it. but whether you like it or not, that’s my baby in there. and, and i’m gonna be apart of it’s life. just… let me take you out of here. we’ll start again. tanny hill’s all mine now, can set up a nice little baby room, paint it any colour you want, n’you can stay there too, with me—” he pauses, watching your unsure expression, not quite knowing how you feel about sharing the bed with rafe cameron once more. “…or sarah’s old room. up to you.” he adds reluctantly but gives you the option anyway. he does seem to really want this, and whilst you were mad he just up and left, leaving you to deal with the start of your pregnancy alone you could never resist him. you didn’t want your baby to grow up without a dad, not one bit.

“what’s wrong with my place?” you frown at your shabby little apartment your parents had set you up with.

“this place… tanny hill.” he holds his hands out mimicking a tipping scale, a cheeky smile growing on his face, voice still being gentle with you. that was the rafe you liked.

with his baby inside you, and the two of you spending all that time together, you didn’t stand a chance. you’d wondered how the two of you had ever commit to just being friends with benefits when it’s clear you had great deals of love for one another. he constantly doted on you, spoiling you and buying you whatever, if anything annoyed him he’d remove himself from the situation instead of getting mad like he used to, didn’t let you even walk anywhere alone despite telling rafe it was fine, jumping up to guide you with an arm around your waist once you got more swollen. he was treating you like you were made of glass, even showing reluctance to fucking you when you’d begged him, telling him how the pregnancy hormones were driving you mad and you missed his dick, the blue eyed man furrowing his brows in concern asking whether this could hurt the baby.

once he was passed the concern though, rafe couldn’t help sate his arousal almost every time you’d walk around in stretched out little nighties, swollen tits practically falling out of the top. he’d still be real gentle, don’t get it twisted— opting to grind his cock into you instead of thrusting like a madman remanent of your past with him. he’d stroke your clit with his thumb, your legs spread with his cock burrowed inside you, panting. “its true what they say, pregnant pussy is wetter. didn’t think you could get any better, baby.” he groans, your walls clamping down around him, crying out at his vulgarity.

“get used to this life, sweetheart, ‘cos i don’t think i’m ever gonna be able to stop fucking babies into you.”

[crystlizabeth]

Her ༉‧₊˚.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Stallion!Wife!reader

Summery: nobody expected Simon to walk into the ball with his women. His women who stood at 6’4 next to him in her red bottom’s.

Warnings: slight suggestive themes, cursing, reader is blackcoded! As always not proofread!!

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

Simon had mentioned and even talked about his wife multiple times, shit the team has even seen pictures of her. Yet when Johnny and Kyle watch him walk into the hall with her damn. Her arm linked with his as she stood next to him standing the same height as him, yes she had heels but danm was all those two boys could think their jaws dropped. And like I’m the pictures she was pretty, gorgeous to be expected, her confidence radiated off her. The black silky dress she wore falling down to her feet but stood off the floor a slit on the left side, her hair long falling down to her butt. Yes her hair she bought it that lace was secured and transparent shit she looked good and she knew it. And Simon on her arm shit.. nobody could touch her or her man.

“Close y’er mouth.” Price elbowed Kyle in the side.

Kyle looked over at his captain then back at the couple who made their way over. Up close Kyle would be lying if he said he wasn’t just a bit intimidated, she stood tall and next to his lieutenant yeah he might piss himself.

The boys turned their attention towards Simon and his wife her arm still intertwined with his her hand holding Simons bicep. Her nails freshly manicured and with the looks of it Simon didn’t mind spending his cash on her just from the look of her rings, engagement and wedding. Johnnys eyes met hers first after being introduced,

“I’m John, but LT calls me-“

“Johnny,” she chuckled a bit her lips curling into a toothy smile, her voice was smooth and on the deeper side.

Johnny smiled a bit wider not minding the look from his Lieutenant. “Yeah, so he talks ‘bout me yeah?”

She nodded moved her hair over her shoulder “mmhm he dose, I heard a lot about you.” She spoke taking Johnnys hand shaking it.

He watched as Simons hands snaked around your waist, his eyes looking back up to his LT a cocky smirk on his face only for Simons to roll his eyes.

Price and Kyle introduced themselves a bit of conversation continued before Johnny couldn’t take it and more and finally ask her “How Tall are you?”

“Bro.” Kyle groaned becauseto him you cant just ask that.

She smiled her eyebrow raising “You look like you’ve been wanting to ask me.”

Johnny nodded “I have but I gotta be polite ya know.”

“I’m 5’11- 6’0 foot on a good day.” She answered leaning into Simon.

“No f’ckin way.”

She nodded, “Alright McTavish you can stop slobbering all over my wife yeah?” Simon spoke his hold on her hip tightening.

She watched as the two men began to bicker nothing foul but just fun. As the night went on people started to leave and eventually Simon said his goodbyes as did she.

Walking out the clod air hit her arms so she cuddled up to Simon as they walked “Told you they like ya.” He said.

“I wasn’t to worried I’m good with people, did you see their faces when I walked in with you. Did you not tell them.” She asked.

He shook his head opening the passenger door of his truck, “Didn’t feel the need to.” He said his hands falling on her waist. His head tilting and he looked at her his eyes going down them back up he looked like he could devour her right there.

“You lookin at me like that but we both know danm well there ain’t enough room in that back seat for us.” She teased pulling on his belt.

“I’ll make room trust me.” He whispered pressing his body against hers her boobs spilling over the top of her dress.

“Mmhm you said that last time and I ended up with bruises.” She hummed her hands running up and down his arms.

Simon smirked, “one day.”

“Fo shore.” She laughed, leaning forward her lips meeting his.

His fingers dug into her flesh pulling her closer as her hands held his face kissing him.

“You can have all this when we get home. Just keep yo hand to yo’self yeah? You think you can do that big boy?” She teased biting her lip her dark eyes looking at his face. Simon breathless with snugged gloss on his face.

“Yes Ma’am.” He nodded.

“Good.” She finished kissing his lips once more before tapping his hands.

Simon lifted her into the seat, his hands soon starting on her heels taking them off putting them in the back seat. He kissed her calves “Thank you baby.” She smiled stretching her feet.

“Always love.”

Simon was down bad for her. He would do anything and everything she asked but he also knew she would so the same.

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

I know this isn’t much but I have plans for Stallion!reader and ofcc take requests from y’all what do y’all wanna see?

Tags: @hollyjollybakanigga, @twdhtgawm !!

[hsunrry]

lesson // one shot

harry styles x fem!reader

summary: based on this request.

|| masterlist ||

words: ~700

warnings: smut18+, jealous!harry, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, masturbation (m, not Harry), threesome (kinda i guess?), praise

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“do you know why you’re here, Jacob?” he asked, looking at him. he was sitting on the armchair in front of Harry’s desk.

“not really, no.” he mumbled, fidgeting with the material of his pants.

“because y/n told me everything.” Jacob looked at him like he just saw a ghost. “do you think my girl wouldn’t tell me, that my assistant is hitting on her?”

“i- that’s not what i-“ he stuttered.

“shut up.” he stated. “go to that room over there and wait for me.” he pointed black doors with his head. Jacob only nodded, getting up from the armchair and going to the room. to his surprise there was only one armchair in this room and some kind of bed, but without any sheets. he raised his eyebrow. the doors opened and he watched you and Harry walking inside.

“okay, what’s going on?” Jacob asked confused.

“this will be your lesson.” he said, placing his hand on your lower back. “you’ll learn that my girl is off limits for everyone. especially you. that she belong to me and only to me.” he pointed to the armchair, signaling him to sit down. he quickly obeyed. his eyes widened when you started taking off silk bathrobe, revealing black laced lingerie set on your body. he licked his lips, looking back at Harry.

“what is this dude? a fucking threesome or what?” Jacob asked and Harry only scoffed.

“you would like that, i know that much. i’d fuck her and you’ll watch. you can jerk off, i don’t care about that. don’t think you’ll see her naked tho, she’s staying in that.” he said, going with his hand up and down your waist.

“is this some kind of joke?” he looked between him and you. Harry shook his head, looking at you right after.

“let’s show him who you belong to, shall we?” he smiled, kissing your temple. you nodded, going down on your knees in front of him. you unbuttoned his jeans, sliding them down along with his boxers. Jacob already could feel his pants getting tighter. you took your boyfriend’s cock inside your mouth. he grabbed your hair, looking from you to him. “you like that view, fucking asshole? you can only imagine her sucking you like that. i see your small dick is already standing. pathetic.” he looked back down at you, groaning. “just like that baby, i love you so much.” you moaned around his cock, looking up at him. he smiled. “come on sweetheart, we’ll show him how your sweet pussy will take my cum.” you stood up from, going on your knees and hands on this ‘bed-looking-thing’. he went behind you, putting your panties aside and lining himself with your entrance. he pushed in slowly, causing you both moan.

“fuck it.” Jacob mumbled, taking himself out from his pants. he started stroking himself slowly.

“she’s so fucking tight, you can only imagine.” he gasped, gripping your hips and moving fast. you moaned, clenching your inner walls on him already. he groaned, picking up pace. “oh my god, baby.”

“fuck, Harry.” you panted. he grinned.

“that’s right sweetheart, look at this pathetic little boy, who’s jerking off to us fucking and say my name again.” you quickly obeyed, looking right at Jacob, who was stroking himself faster with each second.

“Harry.” you whined. “just like that Harry.”

“i’m so close honey.” he panted, gripping your hips tighter. you nodded breathlessly, since you already knew, that he knew damn well you were close as well. after his few thrusts you came around his dick, milking it with your juices. “fuck, baby.” he moaned, painting your inner walls. he looked at Jacob. his hand and t-shirt covered with his own release, looking at you and Harry in disbelief of what just happened. your boyfriend scoffed. “now get the fuck out of here, i’m gonna lick clean my girl and take care of her. hope you enjoyed what i’ll have for the rest of my life, that you have no chance to ever have.” Jacob quickly nodded, embarrassed. he put himself back to his pants, speeding to the doors. you chuckled.

“i love you.” you smiled, looking at him over your shoulder.

“i love you more, sweetheart.” he kissed your shoulder, finally pulling out.

[artdcnaldson]

Alllll I can think about is the changeover au SO I had a thought, art having bragged to Patrick about all the little things he had picked up that make your eyes roll to the back of your head and body tremble during your “relationship” and and and Patrick being a sly fucker and not telling you about it but doing them to you when you eventually do fuck and secretly thanking art in that moment for the tips !!!

this is part of my changeover au :) you can read that here

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: Angst, SMUT (mild descriptions of p in v), post changeover pt.1

Summary: It’s been months since you called things off with Art, but Patrick still can’t stop thinking about the two of you together.

A/N: This was supposed to be sexy and fun, and I turned around and made it depressing 💔 my bad!

Patrick shouldn’t have been thinking about Art.

In fact, he’d been trying very, very hard to stop thinking about Art lately. Missing him felt like having a phantom limb, like a part of him was suddenly cleaved and his entire body expected it to still be there.

But that was different from the way he was thinking about him then. With you, laid out for him on the hotel sheets, your body gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat after a day watching tennis matches. You’d been a perfect little cheerleader, just like Art had told him that first time.

I mean, Jesus, you’d homemade the tightest little shirt that said ZWEIG across the tits. You wore it beneath a modest white cardigan, since it was a nice country club he was playing at, but still.

“You played so well today, Patrick,” you’d said sweetly after the match, holding his hand while you walked with him to the locker rooms.

“I played like shit,” he said with a huff. Frustration was welling up within him. He wanted to smash a racket, or pick a fight. “I should’ve beat that asshole.”

“There’ll be other matches,” you reassured, brushing a sweaty curl from his forehead. “Go shower, and when we get back to the hotel, I’ll make you feel better.”

And you were doing your very best to make that happen. It would probably be perfect… if only he could stop fucking thinking about Art.

It had been a problem each time he’d seen you since March. It was fine, until he got you in bed, then the fucking blond was all he could think about. Memories of Art talking about fucking you, all the times he’d gone on and on about just how good you could take it.

He supposed he deserved it. He’d gone on tangents about Tashi more than enough times, and it probably drove Art crazy, knowing what he couldn’t have. Maybe he wanted Patrick to feel the same way, so jealous he couldn’t stand it.

But now you were the one beneath him, moaning as he bottomed out within you, filling you up completely. Your hair was sticky, plastered to your face with that thin sheen of sweat.

She likes when you’re nice to her. She gets off on the compliments. It’s Art’s voice he hears in the back of his mind, almost a year ago now. Like a perfect recording.

“You feel so good,” Patrick murmured against your ear. He felt your cunt clench around him as your nails dug into his shoulders. “So good for me.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist— pulling him closer. And your pretty, wet lips panted out little gasps right by his ear. Thank you thank you thank you, over and over and over.

He moved his lips to a spot just beneath your ear, sucking and licking at the soft skin there until you moaned, growing louder as he laved your throat with bites and sloppy kisses. Art had given him that one too.

And he knew he was making you feel good— knew that without fail, you’d wind up as putty in his hands. But he wondered if you thought about Art too, if you missed the ways he would treat you reverently, with that gentle, sweet way he always got with girls. If you would go back to Art if you ever got the chance.

Patrick had long since decided not to bring up Art while he was fucking you, or when he was with you at all. Instead, he lingered like a ghost in the recesses of Patrick’s mind, and probably in yours.

“Close,” you gasped in his ear.

He pulled back, kissing you deeply. Licking into your mouth like he could somehow erase the memory of Art’s tongue there too. Because Art was the one who told him that you liked being kissed when you were right on the edge, that you got super clingy like that.

When you came, you always made the prettiest sounds— like you came straight out of a porno or a wet dream. Art hadn’t warned him about that. He didn’t last much longer before he finished too, panting and sweating on top of you.

You smiled and pet his hair, scratching your nails against his scalp as he kissed the soft skin on your shoulder. You used to do the same thing to Art, playing with his hair after you’d fucked. He knew that too, and it made his chest ache.

He wondered if he’d ever have anything with you that Art hadn’t had before.

He shouldn’t have cared that much. He would’ve been happy sharing Tashi with Art, back in that hotel, back at Stanford. It wasn’t that he didn’t like that Art had you before, it was that he missed Art now

Thank you for reading!! Sorry this is so depressing, I couldn’t make it sexy no matter how hard I tried. I had to lean into the angst and pining from Patrick over Art

If you have any Changeover au thoughts or requests, please feel free to send them my way :)🩵