#or that simon learns to let go? or both of them do

[astearisms]

but it ain’t called love without a little tragedy 🍁

[kenmaspuddinghair]

Honorably discharged partially disabled Simon, who swears he is perfectly fine and capable of doing everything himself. But it doesn’t really matter what he thinks says because Price sees differently. He sees the way Simon’s hands shake and how he’s started fidgeting when he’s never done that in the past, he can see Simon’s right side, the side that was crushed under rubble during an attack, he sees it shake and almost falter every time Simon puts even a little bit to much weight on it, but what worry’s Price the most is when Simon zones out and stops paying attention to his surroundings or whatever he’s doing. Not to mention now Simon has to go back and live in civilization, when all he’s known is military life since he was still a teen.

So although Simon claims he’s fine, Price gets him live-in-help, you. You’ve been with him the past week and although he rarely talks you’ve learned a few things. The blinds always need to be fully open unless he’s sleeping, he needs to be able to see what’s happening but it’ll keep him up when he’s trying to sleep, so they close at night. He gets very tense when he can’t see your hands, it hurts you a little to know he doesn’t trust you but you understand. He can't cook at all, unless you prepare food for him he’ll only eat a prepackaged dinner nothing else, of course that isn't healthy so you've started fixing him both breakfast and lunch which he accepts with a grunt but he doesn’t eat till you’ve started. He never takes off his mask around you unless he's eating and even still only up to his nose. Lastly you've noticed something always sparked in his eyes when you called him Simon, you haven't been able to figure out what it is so instead of risking offending him or something, you've stuck to calling him Ghost.

Price chose you for two reasons, you were quite, something he thought Simon would like, he was very wrong. It’s probably the oddest thing about him, he doesn’t like when you're super quiet you've learned it cause he doesn’t know where you are or what you’re planning the other reason is Price hired you is because you were a military nurse for quite a bit so you would always be there for Simon. This was something Simon actually did like it meant he didn’t have to leave his flat just to see a doctor, what he didn’t think about though was the cut and bruise on his face that he would have to remove his balaclava for.

“Okay Ghost” you paused not sure how he would react to having to take his mask off “I-i need you to remove your mask for me please” almost immediately he grunted out a why “because you have a cut and bruise on your face and I need to make sure it’s healing properly” Simon stilled completely for a few seconds before he slowly pulled the balaclava completely off. You took a second looking over his entire face before you brought your hand up inspecting the area “your bruise is completely gone” you whispered slightly surprised it had only been a week, you went to write it down but the moment your hand left his face he spoke up “it’s still ere, jus can’t see it” carefully your brought you hand back to his face to carefully push on his check “does that hurt” “bit” was all he grunted out, you hummed to yourself as you removed your hand and started writing, but had you been looking at him you would have seen the almost pout gracing his face.

Once you finally looked back up, placing your hand on his face “okay let’s finish this quickly” you say looking over his scar “I know I’m not that pretty but you ain’t gotta rush” he said in the quietest voice. You looked up into his eyes quickly only to find them looking back at you with what you could only describe as curiosity mixed with need “Gh-Simon that’s not what I meant, your very beautiful I just thought you wouldn't want me touching or looking at your face any more since you always hide it behind that mask” he never replied to you, just kept staring with that look in his eyes. Finally you peeled your eyes away, finished writing whatever you needed to in your book then you got up and walked away “I’m gonna fix us some lunch, okay Simon?” you called from in the kitchen already, and that’s when Simon managed to place the feeling he had been having every time he saw you. He liked you, he had a crush, a crush! “Simon?” You called again “yeah okay” he called back, he wasn’t gonna fuck this up, not when he thinks he might have found a new purpose in life.

pt 2 here

[sab0dssey]

NewlyDad!Simon who is completely lost in panic and joy. When he first found out you were pregnant, right after he returned from a mission, it hit him like a wave. He was over the moon, but also overwhelmed. Simon had never been a man with many words; he was always terse, practical, and to the point. But this news? It was different. The moment he learned, his entire world shifted. His usually steady hands trembled as he looked at you, his eyes wide with disbelief and awe.

For a moment, he just stared, not knowing what to say, his mind racing. Then, before either of you could react, he pulled you into him—his arms wrapping around you so tightly, it was as if he never wanted to let go. His head buried itself in your neck, as though it was the only place he could find any grounding. It was so quiet between you both, just the sound of his breaths and the weight of the moment hanging in the air.

He stayed like that for what felt like eternity, unwilling to move. You could feel the warmth of his tears against your skin, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t make a sound. He knew you could feel the silent sobs, the emotion he didn’t want to let out in front of you, but he also knew you understood. He didn’t want you to see him like this—vulnerable and unsure. Not yet. But still, he couldn’t bring himself to let go, not even for a second.

NewlyDad!Simon never lets you do anything on your own. Never. You’re reaching for the remote, and it’s just a foot away? Don’t bother standing up—he’s already got it. You’re thinking about cooking? Forget it. He won’t let you. He’ll either cook for you himself or order your favorite meal—just so you don’t have to lift a finger.

NewlyDad!Simon is like a clingy little puppy—he just can’t keep his hands to himself. At home, he’s glued to you, constantly cuddling, wrapping himself around you like a human blanket. Outside, his hands always find their way to you—resting on your baby bump, the small of your back, or your waist. He just can’t help it.

Even when you’re relaxing in the tub, basking in the candlelit warmth, Simon refuses to let you have a moment alone. He pulls up a chair beside the tub, work files in hand, pretending to focus—but his hands betray him. One moment, they’re on your bump, the next, tracing lazy circles over your shoulder. He’s not letting go anytime soon. Not now, not ever

NewlyDad!Simon who loves to talk with his baby. His hands, large and gentle, find their way to your growing belly with a tenderness that surprises even him.

Every chance he gets, whether it’s in the quiet moments of the day or just before sleep, his hand rests there, as if the touch itself is a promise. He caresses your belly, his fingers lightly tracing the curve, his palm pressed against you like he’s trying to connect with the tiny life growing inside. It’s almost as though he can feel every tiny movement, even when it’s just a flutter.

He talks to the baby—quiet, low words that are almost a whisper, but they carry so much weight. His voice softens every time he speaks, and it’s a tone you’ve never heard before, one filled with a raw love that only a father could express. “Hey, little one,” he murmurs, his fingers rubbing slow circles against your skin, “can’t wait to see you, to hold you in my arms.” His eyes never leave your belly, his expression a mixture of awe and tenderness.

When he thinks you’re not looking, his lips brush against the top of your stomach, a soft kiss meant only for the baby. “I’ll protect you,” he says quietly, the words meant for both of you but carrying an unspoken promise to the child. “Daddy’s gonna make sure you’re safe, always.”

His hand stays there, lingering, as if he’s trying to convey everything he feels through the simple act of touching. Sometimes, he talks to the baby about what he hopes for their future—what he dreams they’ll be, but more often, it’s about how much he already loves them. How proud he is.

No matter where you are, he finds the time to remind you both of that, as if the baby can hear every word, every heartbeat, every promise. And each time he touches your belly, he’s not just caressing you—he’s speaking directly to the child, forming a bond that’s already so deep.

NewlyDad!Simon who had never been one for big gatherings or being the center of attention, but tonight, he was doing it—for you, and for the baby.

His teammates had insisted, as had your friends, that you both needed to get out. A little normalcy, they said. A dinner with the people who supported him through everything. But Simon? He was already on high alert the moment you stepped out the door. His hand was constantly on your back, gently guiding you, his eyes scanning the room, always aware of your every movement.

The restaurant was bustling, a little louder than usual, but Simon barely seemed to notice the chatter around him. His attention was split between you and the people he trusted—his team. His arm would sometimes drift to your waist, his fingers brushing against your bump, as if to reassure himself that everything was okay. He didn’t let you stray far, always within arm’s reach, his protective nature wrapped around you like a shield.

At the table, he was engaged, nodding along to conversations, but his focus was never fully on the group. When someone leaned in a little too close, his eyes would flicker to them, silently warning them to keep their distance. When Soap tried to crack a joke about fatherhood, Simon’s lips twitched upward in a brief smile, but the moment the laughter died down, his hand found its way to your stomach, his thumb brushing over it lightly.

He’d occasionally glance over at you, catching your eye, as if asking silently if you were okay, if you needed anything. He knew you could take care of yourself, but tonight? Tonight, he wasn’t letting his guard down for a second.

When dinner came, Simon was the first to help you with your plate, carefully cutting your food or offering you bites from his own. He made sure you were comfortable, always attentive, his eyes never straying too far from you. He wasn’t one to show weakness, but with you? And with the baby? His vulnerability showed in the way he constantly checked in, in the way he’d rather have his hand on your bump than anywhere else.

His teammates had known him as a man of few words, but tonight, they were learning a different side of Simon—one who would move mountains to keep his family safe and happy, even in a simple dinner setting. They could see it in the way he watched over you, in the little touches he gave you when he thought no one was looking. He may have been the strong, silent type to everyone else, but to you and the baby? He was all heart.

As the night wound down, Simon was already thinking about how soon he could get you home, make sure you were settled and safe. He never stopped being the protective husband, never stopped being the father-to-be, and he certainly never stopped being the man who would give up everything to keep you both safe.

[beloveds-embrace]

(non-sexual smell kink with simon riley 🙂‍↕️)

Simon wasn’t used to softness.

His life had been a long stretch of damp alleyways, stale cigarettes, and the kind of bars where the floor stuck to your boots if you stood still too long. Even the so-called clean places had a lingering scent of old beer and sweat, clinging to the air like a bad memory. He’d spent years thinking that was just how life smelled- musty, metallic, a little rotten around the edges.

Then you came along.

Simon never thought of himself as a man who cared much for scents, but you ruined him without even trying. It started with something small- your presence shifting the air in a room before he even saw you. A whisper of something clean and soft, clinging to your skin like an invisible halo.

You used body powder, he’d eventually learn, the kind that puffed into the air like smoke when you dusted it over your skin, leaving a faint, lingering trail wherever you went. He’d caught the scent of it the first time he stepped into your space, expecting the usual mix of cheap air fresheners or laundry detergent. Instead, he was hit with something warm, almost nostalgic, like fresh linens and a touch of vanilla.

It drove him mad in the best way.

Simon found himself leaning in when you passed by, subtle at first- just a slight tilt of his head when you moved close enough for your scent to brush against him. Then, less subtle- pulling you against his chest after long missions, face buried in your neck, inhaling deep enough to burn the memory of you into his lungs.

“You smell so good.” He muttered once, almost embarrassed by the admission.

You’d laughed, fingers brushing against the back of his head, free of the mask. “Yeah? What do I smell like?”

He hesitated, unsure how to explain it. Saying soft didn’t make sense. Neither did safe, even though that’s what it felt like. So he settled for: “Just… really good.”

You didn’t tease him for it. Just smiled, pressed a kiss to his jaw, and let him breathe you in.

And the first time Johnny met you, he almost had the same reaction.

Simon had warned him ahead of time- half because he wanted Johnny to behave and half because he wasn’t sure how his best mate would react to seeing Simon with someone so different from everything he’d ever known.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Simon had said.

Johnny had grinned at him. “Wouldd nae dream of it.”

You’d met at a quiet pub, one of the few places Simon could tolerate. Johnny had been his usual self, easygoing and full of charm especially for Simon’s missus, but the moment you’d leaned in to shake his hand, his expression shifted.

“Steamin’ Jesus…” Johnny blurted out, blinking at you.

Your brow furrowed in confusion, and your eyes shifted in hesitance towards Simon. “Uh. Nice to meet you too?”

Simon sighed, already knowing where this was going.

Johnny sniffed the air- actually sniffed- then gave Simon a look of utter betrayal. “You never told me she smelled this good.”

You let out a startled laugh. “What?”

Simon groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t encourage him, lovie.”

Johnny, the bastard, ignored him completely. “I mean it, love, you smell incredible. It’s like-” He inhaled deeply again, thoughtful. “Powdered sugar. Or fresh sheets. Or- hell, I dunno. Just really, really nice.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Well, I do use a lot of body powder.”

“Where do you get it?” Johnny asked immediately.

Simon shot him a glare. “…Why?”

Johnny grinned, waggling his brows. “So I can get some for myself, obviously.”

Simon muttered something under his breath that made Johnny laugh, but he ignored them both, turning to you instead. “Sorry, love. Just didn’t expect my best mate to be walking around smelling like a bloody bakery all the time.”

You smiled at Simon, amused. “You didn’t tell him?”

Simon crossed his arms, feeling warm in a way that had nothing to do with the pub’s heating. You looked lovely. Content. Happy, leaning into him without fear. “Didn’t think it was relevant.”

Johnny scoffed. “Not relevant? if I had a lass smellin’ this nice, I’d be bragging all day.”

Simon just shook his head, reaching for his drink. But later that night, when it was just the two of you, he tucked you against him and pressed his face into your neck, breathing deep.

You smelled like home. Like warmth. Like the one thing in his life that had never felt dirty, no matter how much blood and grime he carried with him.

And he would never, ever get enough of it.

[readwritealldayallnight]

Learning

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 1k words

warnings/tags: fluff

“Said it would’ve made too much of a mess. Waste o’ his money.” Simon says, slopping another spoonful of pumpkin guts into the large bowl in the middle of the kitchen table. Your usual table cloth has been switched out with an array of this weeks newspaper, the black and white print covered in the sticky remnants of your idea of fun on a Friday before Halloween.

“Not even one?” You attempt to pose the question casually, hoping to disguise the sadness in your tone, concealing the way your heart breaks at the thought of a young Simon Riley having never carved a pumpkin, his father not even allowing him to partake in that simple tradition so many others enjoy.

“S’alright, lovie.” He says, seeing right through you and recognizing the hurt you hold for him, an indication of your longing to only see love and joy in his life. If only you knew that’s everything you give him. “Did watch a mate o’ mine shoot his pellet gun at some pumpkins one year, if that makes you feel any better.”

You roll your eyes at his attempt to make you laugh, digging your spoon a little harder into the sides of your own gourd as if it were the one to have wronged you.

“Well then I’m glad I ignored you and got them anyways.” You declare, giving each pumpkin a loving little pat on its side. Simon had told you outside the grocery store, seeing your eyes land on the bright orange displays outside the shop, that they weren’t necessary.

But the both of you knew he would never deny you anything you wanted, and so he ended up carrying the two large pumpkins under each bicep and to the car himself, not letting you lift a finger.

“How’s the inside of yours looking?” You ask him, coming around to his side of the table, affectionately running a hand through the strands of hair at the base of his skull, glancing into the pumpkin he tilts in your direction for you to see. You can feel a shiver go through him at your touch, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

You’re glad he’s home with you, where he can relax, allow his biggest stresses to be his girlfriend ogling his arms as he carved open the tops of pumpkins and gutted them with efficiency.

“You’d have to tell me, love, but I think that’s as empty as it’s gettin’.” He emphasizes by tapping his spoon on the side of the sphere, listening to the dull, hollow echo it gives.

“Looks perfect. Nice work, Simon.” You tell him, planting a quick kiss to his cheek before hopping back over to your seat, leaving him looking a few shades redder than before. “Know what you’re gonna carve?”

“It’s- it’s just a face, innit?” At your question, Simon finds himself pausing. He might have had a different childhood than most, but he wasn’t daft, he knew what a jack o lantern was supposed to look like. Carved eyes, a wicked grin or large frown, sometimes even a nose in between them both.

He didn’t consider himself to be a crafty person, but he’d been a butcher for crying out loud, he could carve some shapes into a pumpkin until it resembled a face, no problem. So why are you asking him about what he’s going to carve.

“Well yeah, that’s the go to, for sure. A classic.” You reassure him, noticing the slight tension returning to his shoulders. “You can carve a face, my love. Some people just do different, they get creative with it.” Shrugging, you grab the marker you’d set aside, beginning to map out the lines for where you plan on carving your own design. You’re distracted, eyes darting between your sketching and your phone where you’ve got the inspiration photo pulled up for reference.

You don’t notice Simon’s eyes squinting ever so slightly at you before darting to the pumpkin in front of him. ‘Get creative with it’? Is that what you’re doing? Is that what you’re expecting him to do? Hoping he’ll do? He glances over at you again and notices you’ve got a bloody reference photo and everything??

He finds his cheeks beginning to burn for a different reason now, feeling stupid over not realizing you could carve more than the standard jack o lantern faces as a tradition. Obviously, you can carve anything you want into a fuckin’ pumpkin, he just didn’t know, he hasn’t done this before, and now he’s gone from feeling almost confident to worried he’s about to make a fool out of himself over something as childish as this.

“Simon.” You say, always more in tune with him than he realizes. “It’s okay, carve anything you want. I’m excited to see what you make.” You smile warmly at him across the table, a small socked foot going to nudge his ankle as well. “Believe it or not, this is supposed to be fun.”

He scoffs at your joke but doesn’t fight the smile that etches onto his face in return. He accepts your distraction when you ask if you should put on some music in the background, walking towards the record player. As he flips through the stack of vinyls, he thinks about just that, what he could possibly carve into that bloody orange sphere sat on his kitchen table, that would be fun.

Searching through any memories he considers as being ‘fun’, he finds a common factor: you. And there’s one more reoccurring element sewn into the fabric of those treasured memories as well: your laughter.

With that in mind, it’s actually quite easy for Simon to decide on what he’ll do finally. And almost an hour later, after you’ve put your blood, sweat and tears into your own pumpkin carving and deciding that the results ended up being just meh, Simon has decided that he’s undeniably the winner of the evening when he spins his creation around and has you nearly crying with laughter, insisting between wheezed breaths that he’s going to make you pee your pants, only leading to Simon’s own laughter bellowing out.

Not too bad for his first time learning.

~~~~~~~~~~

(The kind of pumpkin I’ve decided Ghost would carve 😂)

[yeyinde]

(sighs dreamily) i loooove the way you write fucked up and gross simon. the size kink and somno drabbles have been living rent free in my mind for almost two weeks now. the recent stalker piece was also so deliciously terrifying, i actually had a dream/nightmare today that was a mixture of stalker!ghost and not-dog!soap 😭

are you planning on writing any more for either of those?

ahhh thank you!!!! this had me wondering how i could maybe blend the two and this happened.

stalking. HEAVILY implied noncon somno. size difference.

Simon decides your dog, your baby, needs a man in the house. and since you like to call yourself his 'mama,’ then it’s only right that he becomes the daddy both of you need.

Your dog does not like strangers.

He's a rescue and the sort of life he lived until now, until you, is mostly a mystery. You found him on a rainy day, panting under your awning - a gnarled mess of matted fur glued to bone. Too skinny to survive another winter. You took him in right away and gained his trust. His love. But whatever he had left to spare (lots, it seems) is strictly reserved for you. Everyone else is a threat, a worry. Even the vets he's known since you found him all those years ago still get the same wary glances, the same growls then they lean in too close to whisper something in your ear.

He's just—special. The sweetest thing ever when it's just you. Your baby. People joke—slightly nervous—that he treats you like his mother. Following you closely with his big, glossy eyes tilted up to stare at you. Loving. Cuddly. Rests his big head on your lap at night with a great, big sigh. Tired from a long, hard day of protecting his house from squirrels and the stray delivery driver.

But when it comes to others—anyone, really—he’s aggressive. Territorial. All the vets and trainers say that it's his breed. That he just needs to be trained. Exposure therapy. Behavioural. And it works for all of two weeks before he's back to his stubborn self. Snapping at anyone who gets too close to you.

You post warnings on your fence. Your front door. Take precautions when you walk him. Warn anyone who gets close that he doesn't like anyone. Full stop. No exceptions. And it works. Helps ease the stress. He still goes to therapy. To training lessons. But he's smart enough to trick them into thinking he's learning.

And it's fine. People can't get too close to you. To his house. His territory.

Or so you thought.

But he's been acting strange lately.

You caught him barking at something through the fence a few months ago; spittle flying from his muzzle as his lips peeled back, snarling and vicious. If the fence wasn't reinforced, you think he would have broken it down to get at whatever was behind it.

It continued like this for a few days. Each time you went to check and see what was there, all you find is littered cigarettes. The teenage son of your neighbour, you think. He likes to hide in the dense woods so his parents can't find him. You'll talk to him about it later. Ask if he can do it a little further away from the fence so he isn’t disturbing Baby. 

As the days grow, his growls and snarls diminish before stopping outright. In the interim, your unease grows.

It's small—at first. 

He wants to be outside more. Always whining at the back door, scratching at it with his paw. When you let him out, he runs right to that spot by the fence. Sits down, and just stares. When you go out to look, there's nothing there. Just a dark, sprawling coppice. Cigarettes on the ground. But something catches his attention. Keeps it. Holds it.

He leads you to that spot sometimes, too. Nudges you with his big, furry head to your thighs. Shepherding you to the fence, and then sits back, clearly preening. Proud.

"You're mama’s silly boy, aren't you?" you coo, scratching his ears. It must be the neighbour. Maybe a stray deer wandered by. You catch a flash through the tree line. Twin puddles of black peering through the tangled weeds. Your dog perks up, looking towards it. A deer, you think. A stray buck. You huff, patting his head. "Made a new friend, huh?"

But you can't shake the feeling that something else is out there. That something is staring at you.

Nothing, you tell yourself, fighting off a shiver. It's fine. Fine. He sneaks off at night sometimes. You hear him playing in the hallway. Wandering around the house. The tack-tack-tack of his nails against the hardwood as he walks back to your bedroom lulls you back to sleep. You feel the bed dip. Something warm against your back. You sigh, melting into the sheets—

There's nothing to worry about.

He'll protect you.

But the next morning, you find him locked outside. The patio door shut. The deck is dried from the sun, but his fur is wet. It rained last night. You drifted in and out to the patter of it on your window. The soothing weight of his body curling around you—

He must have gotten out in the morning. Rolled around in the grass. But when you put him in the tub later to scrub the rainwater off of his cost, his belly is dry.

It's nothing. He was in bed with you last night. It's fine. Fine. Everything is easy to explain away as coincidence. Nothing usual. The feeling of being watched. The missing food from your fridge. The creaks of the old house at night. Things shifting around—keys missing only to turn up somewhere else. Rodents chewing through your landline. 

The panties you shed, tossing into a corner before getting into the shower going missing—

They’re just—lost in the wash. You must have thrown the leftover food away when you cleaned earlier and forgot. The lingering scent of cigarettes. Smoke in your bed. The cloying scent of loam, humus. Fresh dirt. The stains on your bed. The strange smear in the gusset of your panties when you peel them apart.

Something thick, firm between your thighs—

Fine. You tell yourself. Everything is fine. At best, it's a gas leak. At worst—well.

Baby will protect you. 

Always. 

But the next day, he brings his favourite toy to the back door, asking to be let out, and this isn't—

It's not normal.

He's possessive over his toys. Keeps them on his daybed and refuses to let anyone touch them. Only you. He doesn't bring the. Outside, either.

But when you peer outside a few minutes later, the toy is lying by that spot near the fence. He's sitting down, tail wagging. Happy. Excited. It continues like this for the next few days. He brings his toys to the fence, coming in later, licking his lips. When you brush his teeth at night, you smell something gamey on his breath. Meaty. 

Getting out of bed a few hours later and playing in the hallway. Going to sleep with you at night, but somehow getting out in the early hours of the morning, waiting for you on the patio when you remember the huff of his breath over your neck less than an hour ago—

No. You're just—

Getting the time wrong. It's fine. He'll protect you. He doesn't like anyone but you.

You hear footsteps in the hallway at night next to the click-clack of his nails. When you jump out of bed to check, it's just him. Sitting by the back door, head craned over his shoulder when he heard you coming. His favourite toy is sitting on the ground in front of him. You fight a shiver. The feeling of eyes burning into you churns your stomach.

"I'm going crazy, sweetheart," you coo, but feel the threads of your sanity begin to snap one by one. "But you'll keep me safe, right?"

His tail wags. You pretend not to notice the gap in the patio door. Opened just a crack. You shut it, forcibly telling yourself to remember to close it next time and fight the memories of locking it before settling on the couch to watch old re-runs. You drag him back to bed, burrowing your head into his fur, listening to the thud-thud-thud of his heart in your ear. 

When you dream that night, it's of a big, scarred hand making its way between your thighs. A rasping, masculine voice in your ear commanding you to be good—

You wake up with your thighs sticky, wet. Your cunt pulsing. There's an ache there; a sting. It twinges when you move, tapering into a sore throb as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, woken up by the strange dream—fingers between your thighs, a head resting on your belly, calling you a good girl—and a noise.

A low murmur comes from the living room. You wince with the first several steps, forcing yourself to ignore the uncomfortable feeling between your thighs. The wetness that drips down your leg, some of it already dried, sticking to your skin. It’s fine. You just had a—

A wet dream.

—everything is fine. Fine. Your heart lurches. Lodges in your throat. Each beat feels like a fist against your tissue trying to break down the prison of your flesh to flee. 

You slowly inch toward the hallway, the sound, making excuses for the fear that curdles in your belly. The itch in the back of your head that calls you stupid. Demands you go back to bed. To sleep. You’ll wake up in the morning to Baby slobbering over your chest, drooling as the time ticks away in a slow crawl towards his usual breakfast. 

It’s tempting. The sleep congealing in the corners of your eyes, weighing heavy—molasses-thick—over your sense of awareness: cobwebbed in that strange, uncanny realm of sleep and wakefulness; hypnagogia turning shadows on the walls into human shapes. The whisper of wind into the brassy drawl of a voice. 

Through it all, the prickle rears. Says something isn't right. Hasn't been right for a while now. It's fine. Everything is—

It doesn't make sense at first. Your brain tries to wrap around the images your eyes feed it. Untangling the dizzying sense of confusion that runs along your hindbrain like a jagged knife; grazing tissue, scraping over nerves. The picture comes together quickly. There's no misinterpreting the shapes.

A man is lounging on your couch. Legs kicked up on the coffee table, ankles crossed. The remote is held in one hand as he lazily flicks through the channels on your television screen. The picture of ease. So relaxed, so comfortable in your space, that you begin to feel a little bit like an intruder. A voyeur peering between the curtains.

This feeling is reinforced when you peel your eyes away from the horrifying mask on the man's face—a black balaclava—and find your dog lounging beside him. Resting with his head over this stranger's thick thighs. His head perks up when you approach, tail wagging, but he doesn't get up from his spot. Content to bask in the half-hearted attention the man doles, a hand buried in his fur. Dragging over his ears. Down his back. Monotonous flicks of his thick wrist, nearly the same width as the barrel of a baseball bat.

And that just trembles down your spine in the worst way.

He's the same height as you are sitting down. Takes up two cushions on the couch with his absurd bulk. Massive, you think. And then it all rushes through you. The knife slips into your cognisance.

There's a man in your house. Petting your dog,

your dog who tries to bite the same vet he's had for years. Who trusts, who likes, no one but you—

You make a noise. Something strangled in the back of your throat. Muffed, unable to escape through the clot of your heart getting there first. It tangles around your pericardium and is too late to take back. To swallow down. 

It doesn’t matter, though. 

The man has been watching from the beginning. 

Dark eyes (a dark, black flash between the leaves—) drill into you. Staring. That familiar, unease feeling is back again, creeping up your spine. It's been him the whole time, you know. The thing behind the fence. Must be. The same brand of cigarettes you found on the opposite side is sitting on your coffee table, right beside his feet.

His chest expands with his inhale. You smell stale smoke. Something wild. The scent of the forest after a summer's rain shower.

"Finally up, are you? Thought you were gonna sleep all day." His voice is deep. Brassy. The growling roll of an approaching thundercloud. You shiver. Jerk back, but—

Baby growls.

He's never done that before. Never barked. Never snarled. Never nipped.

But right now, his teeth peel back, muzzle wrinkling as he lifts his lips. And you know it's playful. Seen this look on his face when you throw the ball across the yard. It's just him being his silly self. He won't attack you. Won't maul you. 

The man lifts his hand and your dog limbers up. Shakes. He jumps off the couch and trots toward you. Nothing is threatening in the way he moves. It's the same lumbering gait, the same happy wag to his tail, but he moves himself around you. Stands between you and the only escape.

"Baby—?"

"Taught 'im a few tricks," the man drawls conversationally—like he wasn't a stranger in your house. "Got a good boy on your 'ands. Jus' needed a bit o'trainin'—”

He snaps his fingers and Baby moves. Bumps his head into the back of your thighs. Pushing you. Nudging you toward the man. It’s so horrifying familiar that you find yourself moving without a thought. Following along. 

"He jus' needed a man in the house, didn't he? A father figure—" 

You're going to be sick. Think you would have been already if your heart wasn't lodged tight in your throat, keeping everything down. 

The man lifts his hand. Curls his fingers. 

"C'mon, mommy," he taunts, voice a derisive roll. "Come sit on Daddy's lap. It's movie night tonight."

Baby pushes you forward happily, tail wagging, wagging—

Happier than you’ve ever seen him as this stranger reaches out, grabbing your waist and hauling you onto his lap. You think about fighting immediately, struggling to get out of his hold, but he moves back and the unmistakable, blunt press of a gun sends shivers rolling down your spine. You still instantly. Back drawing tight. Fear is a wet, hot pulse behind your ribs. 

“Don’t fight it, birdie—” You feel the warm, damp press of his mask against the shell of your ear. The ridges of his lips move beneath the fabric as he speaks. 

You hear him inhale, drawing in the scent of your shampoo—your fear: an oily thick miasma pooling behind your ears, against your nape—and feel tears pool against your lashline when a surge of familiarity wells up at the solid, firm weight of his chest against your spine. His thigh slips between yours, spreading them wide over the arch of his muscle. Limp, dizzy, you fall back into his chest when he pulls you in, slotting a burly arm over your ribcage. Locked in tight. A shackle. 

“Ain’t go’ nothin’ t’worry about,” he continues, hips shifting. Moving. And—

It’s a not gun. You know it isn’t. When you whimper, it throbs—

There’s the echo of a groan in his voice when he huffs, lips pursing into a kiss. “Nothin’ at all. C’mon, Baby—” 

And Baby obeys eagerly, jumping up on the couch beside him. His snout is warm, wet, when he presses it to your arm, sniffing. Please, you think, staring into his eyes as tears swell, pooling down your cheeks. Please—

But the man lifts his arm, and Baby circles the cushion before falling against his side with a deep, content sigh. Hope is snuffed out of your chest in an instant. The man’s hand falls to his head, rubbing his skull affectionately. 

“Good boy.” Baby perks. His happiness is a palpable thing that swells around you as he melts, eyes slipping closed. “Gonna be a good boy while mum an’ dad spend some time together, ain't you, boy?”

His arm tightens around your waist. Chin notches over your shoulder as he shifts back, legs kicking out to spread your thighs further apart.

"Now," he drawls, hand sliding down to the mess between your thighs. You shiver against him, toying with the idea of running, fleeing—but he must know. Senses it, maybe. He lifts his hips, pressing the gun into your spine. A threat. A warning. But with the way he swallows you up—broad chest closing in on you, trapping you on all sides—you know it's futile.

He has you.

Your submission makes him purr.

"Baby's sleepin', so now let daddy take care'o mommy—"

[chaoticwriting]

Gotham's New Rouge 5

Part 4

-Watchtower-

The Justice League is having their weekly meeting today and as always, Batman is reading the reports for global events that the others already read but Batman says that he is sure some of them Barry and Hal don't.

So here they are, bored out of their minds when suddenly, an alarm went off. Not the 'Oh no the apocalypse is happening' alarm. More like ' Oh no something big is happening' alarm.

Cyborg clicks some buttons on his arm and a hologram appears on the table. The hologram shows a livestream with a kid wearing a half mask that has a big red creepy smile on it plus his weirdly glowing green eyes. Both Barry and Hal shudder when they see the eyes of the kid. Suddenly, the kid starts to laugh while greetthe viewers.

Trickster: Hello, everyone! Today, I have a very special livestream. I am doing an interview!

The kid turns the camera into a view of 2 men in white suits being hung from the ceiling staring intensely at the kid.

Trickster: Presenting our guests for today. Would you like to introduce yourselves?

Agent P: Fuck you! You ghost scum. Just you wait until I get out of these restraints.

Agent Q: Release me you bastard! You wouldn't get away with this!

Trickster: Oh yikes. Our guests today are quite violent aren't they? Anyway, let me introduce them. Over here are Agent P and Agent Q or Simon Hawk and Larry Rose. They are members of the now infamous Ghost Investigation Ward, a secret government branch that focuses on "researching" and "developing" weapons against ghosts.

Agent Q: We develop them to fight against scum like you. You evil scheming bastard.

Trickster: Now, that we talk about it. Here is their research conclusion. *Pulls out a stack of paper* *Takes out a pair of glasses and wears them* Ehem Ehem. Ghost or ecto entities are defined as creatures that are made of or heavily contaminated by ectoplasm. Ecto entities are non sentient nor sapient. They take on the form of our loved one to deceive us and kill us. They are evil and must be destroyed.

After Trickster finishes reading the document out loud, he takes off the glasses and puts down the document.

Trickster: Anyway, I'm pretty sure I am sapient and sentient because I have been thinking real hard on what is the next prank is going to be. And I'm also pretty sure that I am not a ghost, at least not fully since I don't know who I am supposed to impersonate except myself.

Agent P: Shut up! We all know that you ghost scum all tell lies. Deception is in your nature from the moment you are born.

Trickster: Racist much? Heh, if I am capable of lies then, I am sentient and sapient but if I am not sentient nor sapient, I shouldn't be able to lie. Make it make sense people.

Agent P: You liar! I've seen what your kind has done before this. That Phantom scum is lucky we didn't catch him or else we would have cut him open and torture him to death.

Suddenly, Trickster stalls at the words. The viewers can see frost starts to form around the room as ice slowly crept up the two agents' legs. An alarm suddenly turns on and Trickster suddenly wakes up from his budding rage.

Trickster: Well well well. It seems we have visitors. Off you go.

Picking up the two agents, Trickster throws them into a portal that he opens as Nightwing and Batman appears on the scene.

Batman: Where did you take them?

Trickster: Sorry, but I ain't gonna tell you. I have a special game for this type of person.

Nightwing: Wait! Trickster, I know you are a good kid. We can talk about it. You can still stop before you do something you might regret.

Trickster: You know, Nightwing. I used to have so much mercy. I let them live. Time and time again. No matter what they did. I forgave them. I let them go. I believe in the preciousness of human lives. But I am not 14 anymore. I can't stay positive and expect them to one day turn to the good side. Not when they don't learn anything from their wrong doing. And I will teach them that every action has consequences.

Nightwing: Wait!

Batman throws a batarang at Trickster but he easily blocks it with a wall of ice. Nightwing tries to rush after Trickster but the portal has already closed before he manages to catch up to Trickster.

The two of them stare in silence as the only thing left of Trickster is the camera that he used to livestream.

Part 6

[rememberwren]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Third time’s the charm. Simon/fem!reader. Handjobs, edging, cumming untouched, thigh riding, femdom behavior, somewhat submissive!simon, literally tried to cure my depression with this (did not work)

-

“You said you usually go three times in a session. We should try one more time, shouldn’t we?” 

Ghost looks at you like you’ve grown an extra set of eyes. He shakes his head a little, his eyes hard and disbelieving when they meet your own. “Have I not embarrassed myself enough for you?”

“Not really—? I mean—fuck,” you fumble, running a hand down face. “That didn’t come out right. I just meant that I don’t feel like you have any reason to be embarrassed.” 

He stares at you, through you, like if he looks long and hard enough he’ll be able to see your truth straight down to your bones. Well let him look. He hadn’t exactly bared his soul during the few weeks you had spent discussing this before meeting in person, but he had told you plenty: his issue had cost him relationships. It had cost him jobs thanks to lack of focus. Friendships thanks to neglect. You couldn’t imagine anyone willingly choosing something which gave them so much suffering. His lack of complicity cleared him of any blame in your eyes. 

At length, he must see that there is some honesty in you. Looking like it pains him, he nods his head, hulking shoulders deflating a little. “Fine. One more time. I’ll need a few minutes though.”

“That’s fine,” you offer, and it is, or at least it would be if it meant you both didn’t have to sit in complete silence, Ghost uneager to offer up conversation topics and you too awkward to try. 

He keeps staring at you, too. Or more specifically, your breasts. You’re wearing a simple t-shirt, but the effect is aided by one of your prettier bras. You had worn it unsure if Ghost was serious in his insistence that there would be no sex taking place between you both 

It seemed a pity for it to go to waste. 

“Do you want to see?” you ask him, fingers finding the hem of your shirt and gripping it tightly, folding it a little anxiously back and forth like an accordion’s bellows. 

“See? What? No—!”

“I don’t mind, honestly.”

Ghost reaches up a hand to rub at one eye like a headache is forming behind it. His mouth never abandons its signature frown, even as he says, “If you want? Jesus, fuck. I don’t know. I’m not going to stop you.”

You find that you do want. You kneel up, take the hem of your t-shirt into your hands and work it up over your breasts. For all his lack of enthusiasm, his eyes crack open straightaway and glue themselves to you, widening a little at the sight of your strappy, lace-laden bra. 

“I know you didn’t fucking wear that for me,” he says, sounding winded. 

“I’ll be honest, I thought this was just a ploy to hook up. I wore the matching panties too, do you—“

“Stop—talking,” he mutters, closing his eyes. His hand reaches down towards his (valiantly hardening) cock, but thinks twice, turns into a fist, and comes to rest at his side. “And under no circumstance should you take your pants off.”

“Got it. Pants stay on.”

Ghost sighs. “I’m ready. Let’s get it over with.”

That’s the spirit, you think to yourself dryly. You lift your hand to your mouth, creating a little cup with your palm and to spit in, your eyes locked on his own. You hear the click as he swallows, but it’s progress that he doesn’t cum, right? That must mean that he had experienced some level of desensitization, either to you as a partner or to the specific stimulus or a mixture of both. 

But that’s not how this is supposed to work. The whole point is to help him learn to last when he’s as desperate as possible, hoping that edging when he’s truly suffering will lead to a more satisfying orgasm and therefore a need for fewer of them. 

You lower your hand instead of spitting and grip the hem of your shirt, tugging it off over your head altogether. Ghost can’t seem to find his tongue, staring at you with dark, huge eyes as you reach around back and fumble with the clasp of your bra, but at last that comes undone, and you peel it away from you, letting it join his jeans and your shirt on the floor. 

His eyes rake over your naked breasts, mouth forming a curse that he lacks the breath to whisper. His cock is so hard and heavy that it lays against his belly, thick and twitching. 

You shift and straddle his thighs just proximal to his knees. He fists the bedsheets, abs tensing sharply as he watches you with silent awe and trepidation. 

“What are you doing?” He whispers. 

“Getting comfortable?” you suggest. 

Now you cup your hand and spit into it. Then you offer it to him, holding out your hand expectantly. Looking wary, he leans up onto his elbows, ducks his head, and spits into your hand too, quite delicately for being a giant of a man. 

You take your hand and place it palm down against where his cock lays on his belly, slicking the underside from top to bottom. Ghost groans, a low sound torn deep from his chest. He collapses off of his elbows and onto his back, hands finding his eyes and palming at them again while you slick his cock all over with a delicate touch, barely more than a tickle. 

“Are you teasin’ me?” he grits out. 

“I would never.” The tips of your wet fingers trail down over his balls, tight and drawn up against his body already. He hisses through his teeth, cock flexing. You fight a grin. 

Taking him firmly in your hand, you give him a series of smooth, slow strokes, your hand loose and gentle where it is cupped around him. His body writhes against the sheets. 

“Stop, please stop,” he gasps, and you do, letting his cock fall to rest against his belly with a soft thud. He opens his eyes, takes one look at your tits, and squeezes them shut again. ”Fuck, can’t believe you took your shirt off.” 

“I can put it back on if you want.” 

“Really don’t want that. Really fucking don’t. Just—sit there. Please,” he tacks on to the end like an afterthought. You’re grateful to have received a please at all. He takes deep, slow breaths, his nostrils flaring as he strains for air. 

When he gives you a curt nod, eyes still firmly closed, you reach down and use one hand to grip the base of his cock. The other you place toward the head so that you can softly drag your thumb over the deep red tip, tracing the sensitive ridge and over the leaking slit. He whines, honest to god whines, a sound which you feel viscerally in your belly and lower. You shift on his thighs, wondering if it would be so bad to just straddle one, to get some pressure right where you need it most. It’s not like there’s any sort of propriety in a situation like this. He’s getting his, why can’t you get yours? 

You use your thumb to trace a vein up the length of his shaft and smooth the slick over his tip, polishing it softly. 

“Fucking—! Stop! Stop!” 

You stop, and you swallow an unhappy sound. Things had just been getting fun—for you, at least. Ghost looks like he’s being put through the wringer, redness creeping down his neck to disappear under his shirt, knuckles white where he grips the sheets, breaths rapid and shallow. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. He laughs a little, a self-deprecating, unhappy sound. “You’re too good at that.” 

“Good with my mouth too,” you say on a whim. 

His eyes flash open, wide and surprised (and narrowed in on your mouth), his lips parted in a look of near comical astonishment. His hand scrambles to grip around the base of his cock, squeezing painfully. “You—you’re enjoying this aren’t you?” 

“Way more than I thought I would,” you admit. “An obscene amount, honestly—I’m so wet—“

Ghost releases his death grip around his balls and strokes his cock, once, twice, thrice, quick little strokes as his face crumples, as he gives up on the whole fucking thing. You can see it in his face, the defeat, the submission. He’s going to jerk himself off to a quick, unsatisfying release—but it doesn’t seem fair. 

“Stop,” you hiss, reaching out to grip his wrist. He lets go of himself like he’s been burned, immediately obedient even as his face twists with fury. He pulls away from your touch but watches as you shift until just one of his thick thighs is between your own. 

You give a soft, gentle sway of your hips against him. His face is so fucking expressive, his eyes and brows and mouth telegraphing his every little thought and feeling. He watches you with something like tortured awe, eyes flickering towards where your clothed pussy rubs against his bare thigh. 

“Don’t touch yourself,” you breathe, pleasure zipping up your spine at the friction against your cunt. “I want to see if you can cum like this.”

“Came went you spat in your fucking hand,” he breathes, abs tensing, cock twitching as precum pools in his happy trail, watching as you get yourself off against his thigh. “Can cum like this no fucking problem.” 

“You’re not as sensitive now,” you pant, planting a hand against his tensed chest to gain the leverage you need to lengthen the rolling of your hips. 

“Am too.”

“We’ll see.”

His face twists. “Will you—keep going? Even if I do?”

You consider for a moment and then shake your head, breaths too shallow to make words properly. You feel saturated, swollen and sensitive. Every drag of your hips sends muted pleasure up your spine. Normally this would take you ages to cum, but you haven’t been this worked up in a long time. Watching Ghost’s cock turn shades of red and plum is like live pornography, obscene and arousing. Feeling a little cruel, you tell him: “Gotta hold it.”

He tenses his thighs, heels digging into the bed. It does something to the muscle pressed against your cunt and makes your nails dig into his chest. 

He’s shaking his head. “No. Negative. Can’t.”

“Hafta.” 

“Can’t—fuck, I—“

“Goddamnit Ghost,” you whine, hips working feverishly against him. “Hold it and let me cum.”

He really can’t—really and truly. His cock spurts against his belly, a pitiful amount of pearly cum as he groans low and long, moan forming half-hearted, breathy apologies: sorry, ‘m sorry, couldn’t hold it—

You groan, a sound more frustrated than aroused. Your hips slow and stop, and your mouth fights to make a pout. You will it away. It really isn’t his fault. 

“You…you don’t have to stop,” he says, a little shyly. 

You shift off of him and swallow your own sigh, feeling sticky and unsatisfied. “It’s okay,” you reassure him. “Maybe next time I’ll get my pants off.” 

His cock, spent, still twitches against his belly. 

[unreliablesnake]

Simon wasn’t the jealous type. He knew you loved him, and his size alone was enough to scare away men who tried to make a move on you. Easy. But then your childhood best friend announced their return from abroad, and he was shocked to hear it was a guy, but he never let it show.

Jealous!Simon who one day casually asked you if he had a girlfriend. Secretly he was hoping you would say he was only into men, but you went into details about how his last relationship with a lovely girl ended a month ago. “Tragic story, really,” you said with a sigh. “Sometimes I think he’s secretly in love with someone else.”

Jealous!Simon who had to bite his tongue for weeks after the announcement, having no choice but to silently tolerate your constant chatting with him either via calls or messages. Every time your phone went off with a notification, he felt like taking the device from you and throwing it against the wall.

Jealous!Simon who gave you a lift to the airport to pick him up. “I have time, it’s not a problem,” he told you, but the real reason was quite simple. He wanted to make sure that guy understood you had a boyfriend. A boyfriend who was committed, a boyfriend who loved you very much, a boyfriend he had no chance against.

Jealous!Simon who began to feel like a third wheel in his own home whenever your friend came over. A photo of him was probably placed next to the word perfect in the dictionary. He was younger than him, skin immaculate and missing the scars he had after long years on the battlefield, had a proper white collar career like you, and he still remembered little things about you, like what your favorite chocolate flavor was.

Jealous!Simon who got harsher in bed as his frustration began to grow. You didn’t complain, but he knew you were aware of when his behavior in bed usually changed. So you started to do little things for him, like baking his favorite cookies or learning how to make his favorite cocktail to make him feel better.

Jealous!Simon who overheard a conversation your friend had with someone, telling them about how you had a scary guard dog who made it impossible for him to get you in his bed, and how stupid you were for not seeing you deserved better. He had pulled out his phone at the beginning of the conversation to record it as evidence, and he was smiling to himself the whole time knowing you would probably go no contact with him after the way your friend talked about both you and him.

Happy!Simon who stood by your side with his fingers laced with yours and a satisfied smirk on his lips as you showed the video to your friend in your living room, watching him with an angry look on your beautiful face. When he tried to explain himself, you just raised your hand and told him to get the fuck out of your apartment.

Happy!Simon who finally fell asleep with you in his arms without worrying about that idiot.

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 3)

When you woke up, it wasn't that much later. Maybe an hour later at most, which was normal for you. You weren't a heavy sleeper, but to be fair, hard to find any heavy sleepers in the foster system. You also hadn't moved an inch from your position during your light sleep. The bed almost looked like it was made, except for the small imprint of a person on top of the soft blankets.

The room was the same as it was before, the door was closed and the curtains drawn, none of the foster parents came into the room after they left you to unpack. Well, "unpack". You didn't really do that, you kept your clothes inside your backpack and the backpack safely tucked under the bed.

Just... precation.

The house was quiet. So quiet, in fact, that you immediatly shuffled over to the door and opened to try and pin point where anyone could be. It wasn't hard, you could faintly hear low voices downstairs, where you think it's the kitchen. You don't really remember much from the tour.

You weren't sure what to do now, but you just closed the door behind you quietly as your feet, padded by only your socks since you left your sneakers by the bed, gently made their way back down stairs. The voices only got clearer as you made your way down, getting closer to the kitchen that smelled extremelly good, close enough, in fact, that you flinched for a second as soon as you heard a loud, booming laugh.

"Oi, ya prick!! Stop that!" The scottish guy, the werewolf, yelled, laughing.

"Shhhh, the chick...!" The harpy quickly reprimended, even tho he was also laughing, much quieter.

"Not a chick, are they, Garrick?" A low, low voice sounded it out, and due to process of elimination, it could only be the wraith. Simon, if you remeber correctly. He looked so serious when you first saw him, but his tone now sounded just amused.

"Oh, please, you get what i mean..." The harpy scoffs, sounding amused as well. "What do you call a human chick?"

"Not a chick, that's for sure." Johnny laughs.

"Isn't it just like, 'baby'?" John suggests, apperantly shrugging a bit.

"I'll call 'er pup!" The werewolf immediatly ignores John's words, only for them all to start laughing.

"Such a little fledgling..." Simon sighs after they all quiet down a little. "I'm not sure how to take care of a human..."

"Ey, big guy, we'll learn!" Johnny smiles easily, giving one of his mates a heavy pat on the back. "I mean... wee lass looks frail as hell, but... we had babies before. Be a bit more confident!"

"No, I get Simon. I'm worried we might overlook their needs accidentaly." The dragon sighs. "I think I got it, but it still worries me."

You fidget a little on the wall you were leaning against. You wish you could sooth their worries. You didn't really need anything special, humans were adaptive. Very adaptive. You'll fit in, one way or another.

"You heard the social worker." Simon grunts, the sound alerting you for a second. "Call if we need anything."

You can hear the loud scoff John lets out at that, and for a second, the smell of smoke reached your nose.

"I don't need help to take care of my hoard."

The growl made your body instinctively lock up, quiet breathing catching on your throat as your eyes widen for a second. It's only when Johnny and Kyle laugh that you manage to calm down a little.

"Daddy Price is not one to take advice from others, huh?" Kyle laughs quietly, smooth and gentle voice that only makes the provocation sounds worse.

"Bastard never was." Johnny laughs back, shaking his head in amusement.

"That's it, shut it, the both of you." John growls once again, quieter this time, not really mad, just annoyed at best. "Besides, apperantly, i do know better. That woman brought the hatchling here in this cold wearing only a fucking light jacket."

"Dinner is ready." Simon's heavy voice announces, interrupting the banter. "Who's gonna call the fledgling?"

"Me!"

"I can go."

Both Johnny and Kyle glared at eachother as they spoke at the same time, which only made Simon grunt.

"Kyle can go. Fucking mutt being all loud like this is gonna scare off the fledgling."

Another growl sounded out, this one, different from John's. This one was Johnny's, and made you terrifed all the same as you made your way to the living room on the other side of the stairs, your pace just a little bit desperate thanks to the growl and the fight.

Thanks to your human nature, you couldn't really tell it was more of a playful growl than an annoyed growl. (They were also not figthing, that's just the way they spoke with eachother, but you just got here, don't expect to know that yet).

Your eyes fell into the cozy living room. It looked... mostly like normal living rooms, but you could still see some kind of... nest thing to the side, close to the fireplace, with confortable pillows and blankets. The couches also had a lot of them. You didn't know they liked confort that much, but you suppose it's not... a bad thing.

"They're not-!"

You startle immediatly at the half-shout, turning around to make eye contact with a slightly desperate Kyle, giant wings opened in despair as his feathers perked up. As you both stare at eachother in alarm, his wings started to close behind him again, feathers still looking just a bit frazzled.

"Oh, hatchling, don't scare me like that..." He crooned softly, crooned, eyes going all gentle as he approached.

The croon caught you a bit off guard as you kept your guard up, eyes wide still looking at his direction. You didn't hear these weird noises often, even if you had basically only hybrid classmates at school. The croon sounded weird, but also... soft. Conforting, you could say.

"I though you had left." He murmur quietly, kneeling in front of you to try and get closer to your height. It didn't work very well, as he was still bigger even tho he was kneeling. If anything, it only made you more scared. "You're a quiet little thing, huh? Don't be scared, baby, i'm safe..." He crooned again, all soft and gooey.

Like he wasn't being all snarky and ironic with his mates just seconds ago.

Freaking... wolf in sheep clothing........... and he's not even the werewolf.

You finally managed to calm down a bit, as you breathed in quietly and nodded at him, curling just a little bit into your own body. You could see his wings shuffling at his sides, hands opening for a second before they were forced into fists quickly (before they could reach for you).

"We have dinner ready, sweetie. You'll like Si's food, he's a very good cook. Well, we all are." He smiles a bit, like he was boosting himself as a little joke. "It's cold, so we made stew. It's chicken noddle stew, do you like it, baby?"

The... baby voice, the very subtle baby voice was certainly... embarrassing. Tho, you still nodded quietly at his gentle and quiet tone, making him smile a bit bigger.

"Let's go eat then, uh?"

He murmured gently, giant hand with talons closing around your much smaller hand, so small it was completely enveloped by his warmth. You didn't really want to hold his hand, but he didn't give you much option, as he got up, still slightly bend down, and gently tugged you with him to the kitchen.

You followed.

Part 2 / Part 4

[astearisms]

catalysts, protectors

[just-some-thoughts-maybe]

Pictures

How the 141 boys got their favorite picture of you + where they keep it when they’re away on missions.

Wc: 1.9k

Simon “Ghost” Riley-

You had been taking pictures all day on your date. Blown through at least 100 pieces of film. After all, the zoo was quite the place.

Decidedly, your favorite place had been the reptile house. You stayed in there longer than any other exhibit. While you were watching the reptiles, Simon was watching you. The way your face lit up when you found a hidden snake or learned a new fact about them. The way you’d laugh at all the stupid jokes the staff put up around the exhibits. He stared at you like he was trying to memorize every detail of the day.

Before you left, he bought you a snake plushie. It was long enough to wrap around you, very soft, and a little weighted.

When you got back home, Simon decided to stay for a bit. He sat in your computer chair and talked to you. You sat on your bed, your head hanging off the side, just flipping through the pictures you had taken, admiring your trophies. The snake plush lay behind your neck and off your shoulders.

After thinking back on the day and how much he wanted to remember it, Simon had gotten an idea. “Gimme tha’ camera”

You sat up, moving so aggressively the plush almost fell off your shoulders. You put it back. “Why? What's wrong?” You handed him the camera off the bed. He took it and looked at it, trying to figure out how it worked. Once he was confident he knew, he turned it on you.

“Go on, lovie.” you look at him “What do you want me to do, Si?” you sit criss-cross on your bed

“Pose for me” he mutters. You tilt your head, scrunch up your nose a bit and giggle. It's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, no matter how many times he's heard it.

Flash.

You raise your eyebrows as he takes the picture and begins shaking it. After a moment he looks at it, pausing before… “That’s the one.”

“That's the picture?” You raise your eyebrows, “I didn't even get to pose” you whine. You try to take the picture from him, but he won't let you get it. He holds it above your head and shakes it more, hoping to make it finish developing faster. When it does he looks at it.

“Nah, ‘m gonna keep it. ’S wha’ I want to remember.” after he chuckles, and it’s deep and rumbly.

Simon keeps the picture in the right side of his vest, always keeping you close to his heart. It’s the first thing he looks at when he wakes up, and the last he looks at before he goes to sleep.

Captain John Price-

John was always excited to come home to his wife after a particularly taxing mission. You were in bed, cuddling and talking about whatever was on your minds when you both heard a crash. John was instantly on edge, ready to investigate.

He signals for you to stay in bed and be quiet while he looks.

When he gets back, he’s less stressed and more sad. “ ‘m sorry…” he holds up your broken Polaroid, the same one he'd gotten you for your birthday a year ago.

“No…” you whine, more than a little upset. You look from the device to him. “I'm sorry John.”

He sighs deeply and looks back at you, putting the camera on the desk before crawling back into bed, and pulling you against him. “I have the day off tomorrow…maybe we could get another one?”

In the morning, you guys go shopping at the mall. The first place you go is the shop John had gotten your camera from last year. After getting it, you immediately open it and load it with film.

The camera and film were the only things you had gotten before going home.

“This is exactly like my last one,” you say, sitting on the couch, playing with the camera. John sits next to you settling into the comfort of your presence. “Yeah? Is that alright?” you pull the camera away from your face, looking at him. “More than alright. It's perfect.” you say before backing up a little bit before snapping a picture.

“Wh-what was that for, darling?” he asks, still blinking from the flash

“Just to have…” you say, shaking the picture. You put the camera on the couch between the two of you before looking at the picture. While you were distracted he picked up the camera and turned it around on you.

“Hey-” he calls out, trying to get your attention

You look at him.

Flash.

You blink away the spots in your vision before finally seeing him again.

“And what was that for?” you ask. There's no accusatory tone, only curiosity.

“Just something to have…for when I'm away from home.” He looks at the picture before handing it. “If you don't like it I can take another, but….” you take the picture and look at it. It wasn't that bad. You hand him the photo back. “If it's the one you want, who am I to deny you?”

You pause and smirk a little “Maybe I'll let you take another to keep you better company on…lonelier nights.”

“Tha’ right?” he asks, already dragging you to the bedroom.

He keeps it on the inside of his hat. When he first got the picture soap annoyed him for looking at it so often.

Johnny “Soap” Mactavish-

You first came to the base to help the 141 with paperwork and clerical tasks, soon you became a very valuable member of the team, and a friend to most on it. Johnny especially had taken great strides in ensuring you felt as welcome as possible. This would include sitting with you in the cafeteria, sitting in your office during the long nights, or just talking when you needed a distraction.

Soon, daily walks became a habit. He would meet you at your office on your lunch break, and the two of you would just walk and talk. It was during one of these walks that you got the text Price needed you to look over something in his office. Johnny decided to walk with you there.

The two of you made haste, but you stopped before a seemingly impossible choice, either you take the elevator, or the stairs.

“You want to risk the elevator today?” You look at him, truly leaving the decision up to him. You were in heels that made going upstairs hurt, but the elevator was super sketchy with a tendency to break down…it also had some really weird stains.

He thinks for a moment. “Aye, let’s dae that” you hesitate, glancing between him and the rickety elevator. He tilts his head a little “Should be fine, eh?”

“Apparently they just fixed it…so maybe?” you look at him, then to the stairs. “I’m following you, Johnny.” you say to the Scott. He nods at you, a smile flashing across his face.

He gets on with far too much confidence, almost a scary amount. You follow him, being sure to avoid those stains that definitely look like blood, but Johnny swears aren't.

When you get in and the doors shut, Johnny, ever the prankster, decides to mess with you. He looks you in the eye. “Hey, lass.” You look at him. He has a mischievous smile. ”Johnny, I don’t know what you’re planning, but no.”

“Don’ worry, Bonnie, we’re fine.” He smirks

Famous last words.

He jumps in the elevator, as soon as it starts moving. If it were anyone else, it probably would’ve been fine, but his 200 pounds of muscle might have been a little too much for the poor elevator.

There’s a loud SNAP and the elevator jerks up. You stumble, but Johnny catches you.

I pull back quickly when you realize how you’re looking up at Johnny right now.

You make a terrifying realization. The elevator is not moving anymore...

You two were stuck on the elevator for 4 hours. Of course, it was during this incredibly opportune time that he decided to ask you out.

When Price texted Johnny, asking if he had seen you, Johnny took a selfie with you and sent it to him explaining that the two of you were stuck in the elevator.

Three months later, you're his girlfriend. And that selfie? It’s a keychain that’s attached to Johnny’s belt loop. Easier to look at his Bonnie lass that way.

And the elevator? It’s been closed since.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

This dinner had been planned months in advance. It was one of the nicest restaurants in London and he would sooner cut off his hand than forfeit the reservation.

It was your anniversary, and he would be deployed…or so you thought. Turns out, the mission ended early, at least that's what he would later tell you, and he was already on his way home to you.

You were sitting on the couch, watching TV when there was a jingle of keys at the front door. You were immediately on alert, no one has keys to this place other than you and Kyle, and Kyle was supposed to be gone…right?

You watch as the door opens, the fear immediately dissipating when you see that familiar hat accompanied by the smile that made you swoon. Instead, your fear is replaced with an overwhelming joy. As fast as he gets the door open youre barreling towards him. He catches you into a crushing hug, laughing into your hair and giving you kisses on the crown of your head, muttering about how he missed you too.

He checks the time, cursing under his breath. “You need to get ready, love.”

You look at him for a few seconds before you remember what the day is.

“Kyle, you’re probably tired…I don't want to-” Kyle cuts you off.

“I slept on the plane. We're going.” he says with an air of finality.

You try to argue more, but he's ignoring you and shoving you towards the shower.

When you finally get to the restaurant, you realize how much planning Kyle had put into this. He has specifically reserved the table you had ranted about to him on one of your first dates. He also made sure they had your favorite wine, which was put down as soon as you sat at the table.

When you look at him, it's nothing but stars in your eyes, and that to him makes everything worth it. Everything he had to do to get home, to get to you. (even if that does mean he owes Soap a favor now.)

As the night continues, you notice his usually calm demeanor change to one a little more on edge. You've never seen him this nervous, not since he first asked you out anyways.

Finally, after a couple of hours, the desert gets brought out.

Written on the plate, in curly, chocolate writing was a single question that would forever change your life.

Will you marry me?

You look at Kyle, he's holding a ring box, looking especially scared, his eyes only daring to meet yours when you place your hand on his.

When you nod with tears in your eyes he stands up, hoists you to your feet, and brings you in for a kiss.

Little did you know, right then, there was a picture taken by the restaurant staff. The picture would quickly become his favorite. He printed it before his next deployment to keep with him.

He keeps it right under the Union Jack velcroed onto his vest to remind him of what he's fighting to return to.

(Just a little Drabble while I work on my larger projects- got some bangers coming out in February if I do say so myself- Hope you enjoy!)

[girlfromflor]

idk if this makes sense but i couldn't stop thinking about it. omega!reader x pack!141 but simon and reader have a backstory. part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (coming soon)

you were rescued by los vaqueros. that was all anyone knew about you. there were no files, no archives, no photos, no information at all that you were indeed a living person. the ones who believed you were real were the ones that had seen you. but that's it. the only proof that you existed came to those who stared into your lifeless eyes and got a glimpse of your seemingly cold, distant demeanor and sharp, almost unnatural reflexes. almost is the key word, because they were in fact the most natural, primal form of your being. your omega.

it has barely been a week since you were rescued and they haven’t let you stop for a second. the higher-ups transferred you from place to place. from the local hospital to the base's medical center, back to back like you were some important patient even though there was nothing wrong with you. they just had no idea what to do with you. you were a deceiver. they had no trust in you to “allow” you to the outside world because that would mean a threat to civilians. and there was no locking you away either because they liked to pretend they weren't just as worse as the ones who kept you locked in some dirty dungeon far away from humanity.

they couldn't figure out what to do. you had a way of controlling your scent with such expertise that wasn't known to trained military soldiers. most of the time you masked your omega scent well. you didn’t smell like nothing at all, a neutral almost non existent aroma lingered around you. it wasn't very different from when someone would use scent blockers and they wondered how did you learn that in the first place. it took them seven long days to get you to let go and allow an omega specialist to get a sniff of your natural scent, no manipulating involved. 

just as you could mask your scent to a non existent one, you could also make it more appealing, more seductive. it was a problem, really. it brought alphas and betas to a dizzy haze where they felt like they had to do what you wanted so you could allow them closer for as long as it was possible. you made them submit in your own, fucked up way. even the elite forces couldn't help but give in to you. you lured people in, just to whisper your way into their hearts and minds to have what you wanted. and all you ever wanted was to survive, no matter what. always.

it wasn’t long before word spread and you were faced with the reality that your future once again was stripped away from your hands and put into the care of others. people you didn’t know and that you didn’t want to be forced to get to know. people you didn’t want to meet in the first place. and you were prepared to stand your ground. you were ready to do whatever it'd take for you to feel like you took back at least a bit of control of your life. the one you've long lost. the one you so deeply yearn to have back. even if it meant war. hell, you'd chase a way to feed your needs even if that meant death.

you waited patiently, sitting down on the hospital-like bed in one of the many rooms in the base's med center, playing with your fingers to pretend you had something to do other than think. you let yourself daydream from time to time, usually you fell in the arms of your very vivid memories from the last place you used to live in – the place you've been kept pretty much your whole life, but not anymore. you weren't given options, you knew you were going to be handed to someone only for this person to decide what was going to happen. the lack of opportunities to give consent and to have control over your own life were both things you never had the privilege to have. you caught yourself overthinking more often than not. it was a cruel habit, of course, but one you rather have over suicidal ones. you used to have those too, you recall. 

you never indulged in self harm of any kind, but suicide was a regular thought of yours before you met simon. your dear, cherished best friend who you kept well hidden somewhere in the back of your mind. the last time you saw him you were helping him escape the grey walls and steel gates where you were trapped for years. the place was supposed to be a orphanage. and it was, for a while. the younger ones were adopted by loving families and, eventually, moved on from the cold, creepy place. the ones who weren't chosen, the neglected and overlooked like yourself, were left behind to grow older and to grow wiser on their own. they were left alone with the slow understanding that if they weren't picked by the time their adulthood came, they would be sold somewhere else. 

you were a teenager by the time you stumbled upon simon. the tall, threatening young alpha who seemed to be older by only a few years, maybe months. alphas and omegas were kept in separate places of the building, so imagine your surprise when you were met with his warm chest, your cheek knocking on the fabric of his hoodie as you walked without looking forward, and rather to your right where anyone could appear at any moment. it was late, probably past midnight and you had the habit of sneaking around the building to find its secret places. simon never questioned where you were really going that night, you never explained yourself either, that would feel much too forced. after a while you didn’t have to either, because simon got to know you all too well, he was glad he accidentally caught you when he did.

after a few days of pining over each other's company, you sat down beside simon during lunch. none of you said a word but it became a routine. before either of you could realize a few months had passed and you saw each other every day, the two of you developed a very deep friendship filled with care and mutual understanding. lunches turned into whole days together, the days turned into months and as you grew fonder of each other you also realized there wasn't much time left. that’s where it all started. it was you who told simon to run away, it was you who said that he could make it, that he’d find a pack, a family, a home. you showed him every single one of the alternative exits around the building, you wrote down by memory the schedule of every security guard that worked on the big gates that kept you inside. you ran with him and you fought with him – you fought for him, because when the plan went down, you gave up on your own attempt of running away to be sure that he would make it out. you did it for him, for the love you found with him – one you only ever saw in books, one you never knew you'd ever be able to experience.

the place was huge, to this day simon doesn’t know how you managed to know it all so well to help him out. he later in life realized why it was so big. the place had a hospital-like facade only to be a lot of other things from inside. it was a reformatory to the kids who were sent there to be lectured, the ones like simon. it was an orphanage to others, but he only realized that when he met you. he still remembers that night, even with all the heavy emotions that came with it. he had been woken up by a nightmare and decided to grab something to eat from the kitchen – which was forbidden, but he really didn't care –, only for his idea to be totally forgotten when a smaller being collided with his chest. after that night his nightmares seemed to be slowly but determinedly replaced by images of you,  after a few days he didn’t have sleepless nights anymore and when he realized both of you had come to terms with the fact that you were in fact friends, he didn't even have nightmares at all. although, by the time he was out of the steel gates, hidden behind a tree, scared and panicking as he watched you being dragged back to the stone cold walls of the place he knew you likely wouldn't escape any sooner, he knew he'd never sleep as calmly as he did when he had you. 

it wasn’t long before he was found. price took him in and took care of him. they had a weird alpha to alpha relationship at the beginning, but it was more than simon could've ever asked for and as he grew used to long conversations and talks about his past experiences, simon finally felt like he belonged somewhere. as he joined the first project of task force 141, simon learned how to care for others. he only ever had you who was a fragile, delicate little omega – in his mind, at least – that he avoided hurting at all cost, which meant he avoided you altogether. you cared for each other but it was you who called the shots, it was you who laid boundaries and limits, it was you who took care of him. not the other way around, like it should be – like he wanted it to be.

as the task force 141 became a solid and stable unit, it also became simon's pack. he loves john with all he has, he’s always ready to follow him to the end of the world if that means they’ll still be together. john taught him how to love kyle – sweet, loving kyle who is too kind for his own good –, in a way that felt natural. kyle deserves all the love in this world and simon slowly learned how to give that without feeling like he was going to mess everything up. it was too bad that simon only realized that he was in love with you after he met johnny. johnny came like a hurricane and brought all simon’s walls down one by one. it was johnny who helped him with the nightmares he had of you, johnny was the only one who knew the whole story – how you sacrificed everything for simon, and how he would never allow himself close to another omega who weren’t you. you were probably dead, most likely gave in to the insane torture they must have put you in and either died from it or went into distress and had to be put down somehow. he couldn’t live with any of it, he never forgave himself for what he did – he left you behind, what type of person does that? it doesn’t matter that you were both young and scared for your lives. it doesn’t matter that you purposely threw yourself on the guard that was almost catching simon, only so he could escape and you would be the one captured and dragged back inside. johnny always tried to get simon to get back to the institution and look for you, but simon always sank so fast in the idea that you were already dead that johnny stopped asking, stopped questioning. both he and kyle did a great job at keeping simon’s mind out of bad thoughts and john was there to catch him if he ever fell. now, after so many years, the only reminder that you were part of his life was the nightmares he had of the day he left you, the ones who haunted him every other week.

caught up on reminiscing about your past life, you don’t acknowledge the opening door and the heavy steps that make their way inside of the room you're currently located in. you also don’t realize someone is talking to you until a hand touches your shoulder. you are shaken back into reality at the movement, your body reacting involuntarily and getting on guard and wary for a second. it was a soft touch that you knew meant no harm, but you were distracted and vulnerable. but then again, when weren’t you vulnerable? you look up from your fingers as you quickly take in the person of you, a woman – a beta – she is pretty, with kind eyes and kind intentions. her black skin is as beautiful as the night sky. you can see right through her, she’s scared you will think she has any other intentions when she actually only wants you to have some peace of mind. you can see it in the slight frown of her brows and pressed lips, the edge of an overbearing desire to comfort you well masked, only the soft and comforting beta scent more apparent – if you weren’t so good with scents, you might have missed it.  

“okay…?” she takes her hand away as she asks you, the british accent catching you off guard because most of the people you came in contact with since arriving from the hospital were either mexican or american. you’re not sure what she means.

“i’m sorry, i don’t think i heard a word you said…” you answer matter-of-factly with a chuckle, wanting to ease her nerves if that meant she’d stop projecting her scent to try and calm you down. you didn’t need that.

she chuckled as well, and you could see her shoulders relaxing a bit as her hands found their way to rest inside the front pockets of her cargo pants. “you seemed distracted, so i don’t blame you,” she jokes back, the atmosphere getting easier to deal with as you both settle in a normal conversation, despite the unusual circumstances. “i said that i’m here to make sure you’re okay and see if you’re ready for the meeting.”

oh, yes, the meeting. it was the usual power speech, they made you feel like you had the opportunity to choose if you want this or not. neither you nor the pretty beta in front of you fall for it, of course. because you aren’t ‘ready’, and you don’t get to voice it. she knows that as much as you, but you know she still wants you to be okay. so you sigh, stepping out of your bed and answer, “yeah… yeah, i’m ready.”

the walk was kind of long, but it was the first time you got to walk around the base, so you took your time watching your surroundings. you realize very quickly you’re wearing a uniform, given that the plain shirts and cargo pants were a very common occurrence – the only difference was that yours were a slightly different colour. you were silently thankful for the break from the hospital gowns you had to wear for the past week. you also thanked the discreet clothing they chose, despite you being a civilian, that way you could blend well among the soldiers and, with your scent masking skills, you became so normal you almost disappeared.

it took two busy days for you to fully comprehend everything that had happened. the orphanage where you grew up was in england. you stayed there most of your life until the day – about six weeks ago – that you were transferred to las almas. a place that stayed just on the border of mexico and the united states, which meant you were transported to the other side of the world without your acknowledgement – an information now known to you, because you were told after you were moved to the base’s med center, three days after you were rescued.

“i’m sorry if that’s, uh… crossing a line… but, what is your name?” you ask the beta that is walking by your side. she hadn’t said anything since you left your previous room, so you guessed maybe she had orders to not talk with you. but that was quickly proved wrong when she gave you a quick glance and a smile formed on her lips.

“i’m sorry,” she starts, seeming like she was trying to hold in a laugh. “i was so nervous i forgot to introduce myself…” she says with a shake of her head, and you wonder if she’s a new recruit or something to be acting so sincerely. “i’m natalie, but you can call me nat.”

“shouldn’t i address you with a respectful name?” you ask, genuinely confused at the intimacy she was allowing. she then lets out a giggle.

“i’m just a recruit with superiors who get me to do their work. i guess you could say they trust me a lot.” she answers in a nonchalant, calm voice. giving you another glance as she guides you inside of a building. she gives you a wink and points to a door by the end of the hall and you understand immediately what it means. you try to keep at least some of the good atmosphere that surrounds you and natalie as you approach the door and she knocks at the wooden surface. 

there’s a moment of silence before some chairs are moved and a deep, masculine voice calls from inside for you to come in. natalie steps in first, holding the door open for you to walk right after. the wave of mixed scents knocks you out a bit, but it’s manageable. the meeting room is just what you expected, plain and organized. practical. there are three chairs being occupied around the long table. you recognize two of them. natalie walks towards the third person, who was sitting at the head of the table – a woman but an alpha, nonetheless  –, they exchange brief greetings before natalie moves to stand behind her. you try to take in her scent alone, distinguishing some floral notes under a smoky cloud, like smelling a flower while standing in front of a bonfire. it’s a pleasant mixture, it brings a sense of warmth without the uncomfortably intense scent of domination alphas usually had. her blond hair was well tied, except for her bangs that covered part of her eyebrows. she had more of a relaxed appearance compared to the other two.

the shortest one was sitting at the woman’s right, closer to the door. a beta like natalie but a man, he was the doctor that accompanied you during the week that had passed. he was polite but very reserved, he asked you to call him doc but never indulged in any other activity to help you feel at ease. you didn’t hold that against him, you rather enjoyed the silence and peace that came with it. the other one, sitting on the left side of the woman, who had an imposing figure and hard stare, was the alpha that took you away from the dirty and dimly lit basement you were being kept in. his name was alejandro, by what you remember from that day. he seemed all too eager for this meeting to be over, while the doctor remained as unfazed as he had been while treating you.

the woman offers you a seat beside the doctor, and you realize he’s only there to ease the tension of you being an unclaimed omega sharing a space with two alphas, maybe that’s the reason natalie is still here too. you take your seat, wondering how long you could keep a neutral scent of your own – it was safe but it was tiring, much like having to keep a raised arm or leg up for too long, it’d eventually give out.

“i’m kate laswell, i’m sure you’ve already been introduced to doctor ortega and to colonel alejandro vargas,” she starts, her tone purposeful and assertive, everyone in the room had their eyes on her. “i know you already answered everything you could, so i’m not going to repeat that,” she says more to ground you for what is to come. she goes through a few papers on her hand but you know she’s trying to buy time, you can smell it in the anxiety that sours the edges of her floral notes – and the worst, the empathy that causes it. “we thought of this with much care considering your situation and with unwavering intentions of solving the undeniable problem caused by our lack of success in keeping you safe as a nation and armed forces,” she takes a pause and you know she is not only talking about las almas, she is talking about your whole life. even if she wasn't part of the british military. after a sigh, she finishes. “and we’ve decided that you’ll be moved to live under the care of trained soldiers who volunteered to take care of your needs, keep you safe and offer the comfort you seek not just as an omega or an addition, but a part of the pack. if, of course, you decide to accept their offer. if you don’t, you can simply share their spaces for a while and whatever happens in the future is up to you and them, rather that is you moving on alone and starting a new life or staying with them.”

it is too much, everyone in the room knows that. you blink slowly trying to take it all in, soldiers volunteered to take you in? what kind of people do this? you can’t decide if they’re too good or too evil. your scent wavers in the air as you start to grow tired from having to deal with so many thoughts in a day. you try to appear to have some inner control and voice out your doubts. “i’m sorry ma’am, who are those who volunteered?”

“there are two packs who stepped up in your regard,” she says, eyeing the alpha on her side. “los vaqueros, which you may remember from the day they helped you out…” she says, eyes roaming your face looking for any sight of a reaction. you stayed as expressionless as you could, but your eyes flickered towards alejandro, who was already looking – boring his eyes – at you. after a pause laswell continues her small speech, “the other pack you haven’t met yet. they’re called task force 141, an elite unit just like the one who saved you, but they’re from england.”

your ear immediately perks up at that, what are they doing so far from uk? you tilt your head only slightly, lips parting to start your questions. she nods in understanding, letting you talk. instead of wasting time with non-important matters you ask what has been burning in your mind. “so, if i choose to stay with los vaqueros, we go to mexico… and if i choose task force 141, we go to england…?” you ask, sounding unsure despite the firm tone of your voice. laswell only nods, already knowing what you’ll choose. you grew up in england, after all. you turn to look at the alpha on the other side of the table, eyes full of honesty as you speak, “i’m grateful for what you did, despite knowing that it is your job…” you watch him nod, knowing what will come next. he doesn’t seem mad, he doesn’t smell angry either, so you turn back to the blond woman, her hands are grabbing the papers sprawled in the table and putting them on a pile, but her attention is on you. you eye natalie behind her, she has a small smile adorning her lips. when she notices you looking at her, she gives you a reassuring nod. you take that as a cue to voice your decision. “i’d like to go with task force 141, please.”

the plea comes involuntarily, a habit you were taught since you were very young and never really had the chance to grow out of it. laswell smiles though, happy to know you actually chose something for yourself, other than choosing the alpha who had saved you like you had something to pay back. because you felt like you did, but you also didn’t want to lose the opportunity to go back to england, even though there wasn’t home anymore. no where was, really. 

you didn’t even think about who this pack is. why they volunteered and what it meant. at least you knew alejandro had helped you, but you knew nothing about this new group or what they wanted with you. you don’t get time to panic over it, though, because the second after you finish your statement kate is muttering a ‘very well, then’ and you are being moved out of the meeting room by natalie, who says that now you’ll just have to wait a few hours before you get to meet them and that your flight to london is going to happen in a week from now – and that’s when you realize that maybe you didn’t really have a choice, because they knew from the start that you’d pick england.

a/n: let me know if you liked it! <3

[imagine-you]

If I Open the Door To Heaven Or Hell 2/? [Wally Clark/Reader]

Summary: Something Wally mentions in the meeting with Maddie's friends catches your attention. Word Count: 1.8k Author's Note: The new episode gave me ideas. I have no one to blame but myself. Spoiler alert...it's body shots.

Read on AO3 // Part One // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five

What you had with Wally was new and exhilarating and sometimes terrifying. You were learning new boundaries and territory, seeking places to step where you couldn't before. You hadn't told the others about your relationship, because you didn't want them to scrutinize it, but you knew it was only a matter of time before someone found out.  

Secrets had a bad habit of coming to light when you were dead. 

Now that the dam had broken, it was like you couldn't get enough of each other. You were both focused on helping Maddie, but whenever you got a spare moment, you found each other. Wally had taken to surprising you by pulling you into classrooms and making out on desks. You made use of janitor closets and locker rooms and on one memorable occasion, the rooftop of the school.  

You felt breathless as you stared up at the night sky with Wally's fingers intertwined with yours. You hadn't bothered to put your shirt back on, sure no one would manage to find you up here.  

You turned your head to see Wally already watching you. Besotted was the first word that came to mind and you felt like you were floating.  

"We've got to go soon," Wally reminded you.  

"I know," you sighed, turning towards him so you could hook a leg around his and wrap an arm around his waist. You let your head rest on his shoulder, your fingers tugging briefly on the drawstring of his sweatpants. "What do you think it'll be like? Trying to talk to Maddie's friends?" 

"Weird," Wally responded with a laugh. "Worst game of telephone ever." 

You had to concede he had a point. Telling Maddie to tell Simon to tell whoever what you said did sound a bit tedious. But it was the only connection to the living you had and figuring out how to get Janet back to the school so Maddie could get her old life back. You would do anything to help Maddie get the opportunity you would never have, even if it meant rolling away from Wally's warmth and touch to grab your shirt where he had thrown it earlier in his haste to get it off you.  

You held Wally’s hand up until you were right outside the auditorium. You let his hand slip from yours, sending him an apologetic smile, before you opened the door. You walked into the auditorium to see chairs set up on the stage. There were four arranged off to the right that had pictures of Charley, Wally, Rhonda, and you taped to them. There were another three chairs set up and then two others off to the left that you assumed were for Simon and Maddie.  

"Aw, come on," Wally groaned when he saw the layout of the chairs. "We're not even sitting next to each other." 

"We'll survive a few minutes apart," you promised him before sneaking a quick kiss. "Let's just do this." 

Wally nodded his head, already trying to get his head in the game, before he bounded up to the stage.  

You sat beside Rhonda and enjoyed her sarcastic remarks at the expense of Maddie’s friends, even adding in some of your own just to get her to laugh. You knew she was having a hard time after visiting her scar and getting her to simply smile felt like a personal triumph.  

You noticed Wally glancing over at you from time to time, but you were worried if you looked at him that you wouldn't be able to stop.  

The group was trying to decide how to get Janet back to the school. You thought about it for a moment before leaning forward in your chair.  

"What if we tell her Mr. Martin is gone? I mean, we're pretty sure that's what happened, right? If she knows he's out of the picture, at least for now, maybe she'll come back here." 

"Oh, uh, Y/N is talking now," Maddie informed Simon, pointing helpfully at your chair.  

Simon squinted, as if he was trying to see you, and nodded his head. You knew he couldn't see you, but his eyes were fixed right where your chest was, and it made you just the slightest bit self-conscious.  

"Hey, dude," Wally interrupted, snapping his fingers at Simon. "Show some respect! Stop staring at her y'know," he said, gesturing towards his own chest.  

Charley glanced over at Wally in surprise, but Rhonda turned and arched a brow at you.  

"Interesting," she commented.  

Maddie relayed your message to Simon before she changed the subject, leading to other ideas being presented. Xavier brought up salt as a way of creating a barrier to keep Janet contained.  

"He's clearly the brains of the operation," Rhonda observed with an unimpressed roll of her eyes.  

"Salt's not going to do anything," Charley added, looking like he wanted to laugh. "Unless you plan on doing body shots with Janet and hoping she cowers in fear." 

"Damn, I miss body shots," you heard Wally chime in and you finally ended up glancing over at him in surprise.  

Your surprise turned into contemplation and from there a plan hatched.  

The next evening, you waited until Wally was distracted by the others before you left in search of what you needed. Typically, you would have grabbed a bottle of tequila, some salt, and limes. But you were stuck inside a high school, so you would just have to settle for the best you could find.  

You started in the principal's office where all the best contraband was stashed. You didn't find tequila, but you did find an emptied water bottle that had been refilled with vodka. Next, you tried the cafeteria and found lemons and a knife. Salt evaded you, but when you tried the teacher's lounge, you did find sugar packets. It wasn't the best combination, but it would have to do.  

Either way, you were sure Wally would love it.  

You reconvened with the others and sidled up to Wally.  

"Meet me in the auditorium in fifteen minutes," you whispered to him before making your exit again.  

There was a booth at the back of the auditorium where the light and sound control boards were kept. It was half past six and the drama club had already vacated the premises, so you were guaranteed to be left alone. The whole reason you picked it was for its promise of seclusion, but also the couch that was tucked into the corner of the booth. You had stolen a blanket from a teacher's classroom and draped it over the floor. The vodka, sugar, and lemons were spread out on the blanket like an offering.  

You waited on the couch until Wally found you twelve minutes later.  

"Hey," he started, looking from you to the blanket and contraband on the floor. "What's all this?" 

"Well," you said, standing up and approaching him. "You said you missed body shots, right? So, I thought..." you trailed off, letting him put the pieces together himself.  

Even in the dim lighting of the booth, you could see Wally's eyes darken with want. Before you knew it, he was crowding into your space, cradling your jaw in his palm, and pulling you into a kiss. The kiss grew heated and Wally had your shirt rucked up under your arms, his hands holding you at the small of your back and between your shoulder blades, keeping you close to him. 

"Wait," you gasped, breaking the kiss.  

Wally groaned, letting his head fall to your shoulder. He pressed a light kiss to the crook of your neck.  

"C'mon," you coaxed, trying to usher him over towards the couch.  

"Right," Wally agreed, letting you push him down onto the cushions. "Just got distracted," he admitted with a grin up at you.  

You felt yourself flush before you turned and grabbed the supplies. You handed him the lemons and knife. "Cut those for me," you instructed him while you grabbed the sugar packets and vodka.  

You joined Wally on the couch, reaching out to grab the blanket and drape it over your laps in case you made a mess. Wally dropped the knife on the floor and then handed you a lemon wedge. You gave him a sugar packet in exchange. Before you could put the lemon wedge in your mouth, Wally was in your space again. He nosed along your jaw before finding your neck and licking up from your collarbone to just below your ear.  

You shivered, feeling want surge through you, before he gently tipped your head to the side.  

"Got to make sure it sticks," he murmured, before he opened one of the sugar packets and let it pour over your neck. You felt some of the granules tumble down and land on the blanket, but most of it stayed where Wally intended.  

He was quick to fit his mouth to your neck again, eagerly lapping up the sugar and even taking a moment to suck a kiss into your skin.  

"Wally," you breathed, knowing that you were on a tipping point. Either Wally would take a shot or you would abandon the plan and let him have you now.  

"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all, before he twisted the top off the bottle and took a swig. He hissed before letting out a delighted laugh when he noticed you put the lemon wedge in your mouth, the rind smooth and bumpy against your tongue. He fit his mouth to yours, pulling the lemon into his mouth and sucking on it, before he spit it out onto the blanket.  

Before you knew it, your back was on the couch and Wally was over you. He kissed you, letting you taste the tang of lemon and sharp sweetness of the vodka and sugar as he licked into your mouth.  

"So good," he groaned into the kiss. "You're so good to me," he whispered before trailing his kisses back to your neck. You could feel him trying to get all the sugar free, chasing the sweetness stuck to your skin. "Can't believe how lucky I am." 

You grinned helplessly up at the ceiling of the tech booth and let your fingers run through Wally's hair. You tugged playfully at it and he nipped at your skin in retaliation, sending a shiver down your spine.  

You let Wally continue until you knew you were going to have one hell of a mark high up enough on your neck that you would have to find a scarf somewhere to cover it up.  

"Come on," you said, pushing lightly at his shoulders. You had let Wally have his fun and now it was time to have yours. "It's my turn," you told him when he refused to budge.  

That was enough to get Wally up and reaching for a sugar packet. You couldn't help but laugh watching him so eager to let you reciprocate.  

Wally might have felt like he was lucky, but you were the one who had truly lucked out with him. As you grabbed the lemon wedges where they had fallen to the floor, you hoped you would get to show him every day of your afterlife just how much you really loved him. 

Author's Note: If you would like to see more, have something you would like me to write for this 'verse, or want to be tagged in future updates, please let me know!

[cntloup]

RetiredHusband!Simon x Wife!Reader HCs

18+ MDNI fluff, nsfw, pregnancy

After he retires, he'd settle at home. He does most of the housework when you're at work, but you love the times you spend with him doing mundane stuff, and you'd feel bad if you left all that work to him, so you have a laundry day when you both work together, but it almost always ends with you on the washing machine and him between your legs. Or your elbows on the washing machine and him behind you. 

He's a great cook. He makes some simple but exquisite dishes. In the military, he had to tolerate the bland MREs (idk how they taste but they look awful), so when he was back home, he'd learn to make some tasty meals for himself when he was living alone. And then for you when you came into his life. Your mouth starts to water at the delightful smell the moment you walk into the house. If you mention that you've been gaining some weight because of his delicious food, he'd honestly love it. He'd constantly touch the plush of your hips and belly, lightly squishing them with his hands while kissing you. He's happy that you like his food and you're well-fed and healthy.

Maintenance and repairs. He's excellent with his hands and understanding how things work, so the moment you notice something needs fixing, he’s on it. Most of the time you don’t even notice it cause he’s already done it when you were gone. He wouldn’t let it bother you even a second. If you ever find him working under the sink or in the garage working on his car, you’re in for a show. The way his muscles flex while working with a wrench, or when he manhandles a heavy object, his dirty greasy hands, sweat dripping down his forehead and his shirt sticking to his body, his pecs and abs visible to your hungry eyes, get you drooling and squeezing your thighs together. He gets super cocky if he notices (he always does), even more than usual. 

He makes sure to always have some fresh flowers on display in the living room and your favorites on your vanity table. Sometimes he stands by the door with a flower behind his back to give it to you when you walk in. He even learns how to make flower crowns and how to braid hair with flowers from youtube videos. After a few hours of grunting and groaning in frustration when he messes up, he finally masters the art. Only for his lovely wife.

At the end of the day, if you're both in the mood and not too tired, he makes love to you while holding your hand, your wedding ring glinting in the moonlight, a pillow placed under your hips so you'd feel more comfortable and he'd be able to hit that sweet spot inside you that makes those beautiful moans which he adores tumble through your lips. He praises you throughout the whole session, soft I love you's falling from his lips and calls you "my wife" and "Mrs. Riley" while slowly rolling his hips into yours.

He always cums inside. You love the feel of his thick warm cum inside your womb, and the thought of carrying his child makes you go absolutely feral. He'd love to have a family with you, the image of your belly swollen with his child stuck in his mind as his thrusts get harsher and more erratic, grunting out how he's gonna breed you. Your pussy flutters and tightly clenches down on him as the words leave his mouth.

After you announce your pregnancy, he’s glued to your side. And more handsy. He's always got a hand on the small of your back, your belly, randomly kissing your temple and forehead. He's just so happy to have you. And now you’re having a child?! He's over the moon! He's always by your side when you need him, rubbing your back and holding your hair out of the way when morning sickness kicks in, holding you in his arms when you cry, reassuring you and softly cooing praises into your ear if you’re nervous about giving birth and being a good parent. 

If you still go to work while pregnant, he’s got everything ready for you at home. All the housework is done, your favorite food is ready on the table, bath is also ready with your favorite oils and bath salts. You won’t lift a finger at home. Not on his watch. When you walk through the door, exhausted and body aching, he’s there to carry you to bed for a massage. He'll rub the sore muscles of your feet and gently massage your swollen tummy. If he feels a kick, he’ll grin so wide and rub your belly to feel it again, but he stops if you wince in pain, mumbling “sorry” and kissing you so sweetly. He'll give you a bath, delicately washing your tired body, his hand resting on your belly and placing soft kisses on your lips in between your rants about work and what a tough day you had. He watches you with so much love and adoration evident in his gorgeous eyes while you talk, admiring you. He's just so happy to have a little family of his own :) 

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥ 

divider by @saradika-graphics

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Convincing Them To Get A Pet

⊱⊰ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, Hesh Walker, Logan Walker, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

You kept bringing stray cats home

Every time you walk through the door, hands buried in the pockets of your tightly wrapped coat, John turns his head and asks "What've you got in there?"

"I don't know what you're talking about" and a meow can be heard coming from inside your coat

He makes you take it off to find a cat and her kittens snug and warm in the inner pockets

"They were cold..." you say sheepishly when he sighs

Ghost

He has to take care of you and now you want a pet??

Says he has enough on his plate with just you

You’re blowing up his phone sending him videos of animals or shoving the phone in his face

“Simon, Simon! Look at this! We should totally get one.”

“…That’s a spider. Why would you want that?”

Soap

He had also been wanting a pet for some time now, he had an exotic animal in mind until you got chickens

"...Are we going to eat it?"

"Johnny, no."

Now he has to wake up early and feed them every day when the sun rises to when the sun goes down

The chickens have grown on him and he's even named them, gets upset when you or someone jokes about eating them

Gaz

Is totally fine with any pet as long as it’s nothing too out of the ordinary, so you got bunnies

You'll let them roam around the house sometimes and Kyle hates when you do that because they tend to chew things and it's somehow always his things

Imagine Kyle falling asleep in your bed with the pink comforters and the adorable fluffy baby bunnies (yes i'm making a reference to that one tiktok)

Roach

Unfortunately for both of you, you are weak when it comes to animals

You’re both fawning over the cats and dogs in the animal shelter, cuddling with the baby goats at the local farm even if they’re chewing your clothes and head butting you

Together you’ve owned your weird assortment of pets; ducks, goats, spiders, snakes etc.

I headcanon Gary is a nerd when it comes to snakes and bugs

Alejandro

In the moment, you manage to convince him pretty easily, until you actually bring home the dog you wanted

Pretends he doesn’t like petting it or getting near it

Even curses when he has to get up at night to let it out for it to use the bathroom

But ofc within a month he’s totally smitten over your pit bull

Spends money on buying it nice collars and food, taking it out for a drive in his truck frequently

When cooking on the grill he always buys extra meat just for your dog

Phillip Graves

I like to think he has a soft spot for animals and agreed to going along with you when deciding what animal to adopt

What he didn't expect was to be pulling into a ranch and looking at horses

He expected to be looking at dogs or cats or a fish even

Now he's helping you muck out the stall for the beautiful pinto you bought

Helps brush her down and keep its mane and tail smooth to enter it in shows and competitions

Keegan

He knew you'd been wanting a pet for a while now because every time you visited someone who owned a pet you'd asked if you could play or pet them

You probably spent longer bonding with animals than with humans

Decided to surprise you with a talking parrot

Every now and then he'll teach it cute phrases like "I love you", the parrot will sometimes pick up some colorful language from Keegan

Hesh Walker

He caved in and originally thought of gifting you a pretty Siamese cat before thinking he'd like to play a little prank on you

As a joke, he gave you two rats, each with a pink bow on them

David would've started laughing if it weren't for you growing attached to them, eventually he did tell you he intended to buy you a cat

The rats were quite intelligent and learned tricks fast and frequently played games so both you and David decided to keep them and forget about the original plan of getting a cat

Logan Walker

He could never say no to you

However, you had owned a dog before, Logan wasn't fond of cats and you didn't want something like a lizard or a fish that would stay inside a tank all the time

The perfect opportunity came up when you had the chance to adopt a baby cow, a calf who had lost its mother

You both agreed, there was extra unused backyard space

The calf was named "Moonpie"

König

You really wanted a pet, but König couldn't understand why

"We already have a pet"

It was an iguana, which König already owned when you moved in with him

You weren't very fond of it because of an anecdote that occurred the first time you were over at König's place; you had seen a long tail in between the couch cushions and thinking it was a stuffed animal or a toy you pull at it only to see the iguana moving

It still freaks you out to this day when you remember how flaky and weird the scales felt

Horangi

He agreed and suggested he be the one to go pick out a pet from the shelter

You stood at the door when you heard his car ready to meet your new pet only to be met with a plastic container

Upon opening the box you're shocked to see he brought home a snake, he just snickers as he picks it up, holding it as the boa wraps around his arm biceps

"You wanted a pet, didn't you?"

Nikto

You had spent months trying to convince him to get a pet, to which he kept saying no to

"Come on Andre, a dog wouldn't be as bad as a kid"

He had no reaction other than just a grunt, but next time he came home from deployment he set a portable crate down

You rushed excitedly when you heard squeals thinking it was a puppy, after three weeks you notice the brownish fur begin to lighten and spots appearing

"Where did you say you got the dog from?''

"Did I ever say it was a dog?"

Post inspired by this cutie:

Everyone say "Thank you Corazòn"