#riley makes rice

[thefirsthogokage]

I struggle getting myself fed due to a combination of anxiety, depression, ADHD, and chronic pain. I cannot exaggerate what a fucking life saver my cheap, simple rice cooker has been. I think my rice cooker is six cups, so this won't work in a two or four cup one. I got my Oster one from Target, off sale it was $25, I think right now it's on sale for $15.

(FYI I googled "Oster zionist" and nothing came back connecting the two.)

I don't know more beyond the one simple recipe I use for it, but it's been emergency food multiple times the past few months. It's for coconut jasmine rice.

As someone who doesn't like coconut, I love this recipe.

Ingredients:

Jasmine Rice - 2 rice cups

CANNED Unsweetened Coconut Milk (possibly in the Asian foods section), about 13.5 ounces

1 Teaspoon of Salt

1 Teaspoon of Sugar (I think I use some sort of sugar substitute and it works fine)

1 1/4-1 1/2 normal cups of water

You will need one of those wire mesh strainer things (pictured), a can opener and a rice cooker, of course.

Steps:

1. Measure out two cups of rice into the strainer, then thoroughly wash rice until the liquid is clear. It doesn't take too long and I promise this is the most laborous part. When done washing, put the rice into the cooker.

2. Pour your water, coconut milk, salt and sugar into the rice cooker. Stir.

3. Hit start, wait for it to cook. Give it 10-15 minutes when finished cooking. Open it, stir it, if it's too wet for you, press cook again. My rice cooker just does an additional 3 minutes on its own when I press start, it doesn't do the whole time over again. Press start again if it needs additional time after that.

That's it! Feel free to eat it with some other stuff. Stir fry some frozen veggies to add in if you like. Eat it with your favorite style of cooked egg or some other protein.

I hope this can help someone like it helped me.

I also just learned how to make meatballs and it was shockingly easy and unstressful, so anyone would like me to talk you through that as well, I can. Fun fact: there are gluten free bread crumbs, so meatballs can be gluten free (if you don't want to use just egg). I also have my Bolognese cheat on here too...somewhere.

[crsssie]

lunch break - professor!simon riley x professor!reader

"Hey, stop—" You stab at Simon's fork as he tries to steal another piece of food from you, huffing. "I'm already barely eating anything."

"'M hungry."

"You have snacks in the desk."

"That's not food, luvie." He mumbles.

"Yeah, but I gotta eat."

"The rice roll in your fridge begs a notice."

"It's not even a rice roll. I finished that last week. Yeah, don't we have food in my fridge?!"

"You want to walk back to our shared office and make me late to class?"

You bring the food to your lips, rummaging through your bag as you hand him another sandwich. "There you go. Can you stop stealing mine?"

"Luv ya."

"You literally stole my afternoon snack. I don't know what else you want from me." You finish the rest of your rice, biting on the tip of the utensil as you close your lunchbox. "You owe me coffee."

"It's the start of the semester. That's when the bribes come in." He hums. "Though, I know you won't like the mooncakes."

"No thanks. We still have all of the homemade ones in the fridge. I wish John would've taken more." You sigh.

"I can send more his way."

"Nah. It's fine. I'll hand it to my students." You mumble. "My office hours are in person for once."

"You don't get lonely?"

"Of course I do. I'm a professor." You deadpan, turning to stare at a couple of students. "They yours?"

Simon turns to stare, brow raised as the group scrambles. "Sure are."

"Can't wait to see what you end up seeing in the gossip section of your class discord."

"I'm not on it."

You grin at him. He doesn't want to know how you got the link.

"You got rice on your stubble. Again." You reach over, fingers gentle on his skin as you scrape at it. "Tsk tsk."

"Oh, so y'a don't even want me anymore?"

"Oh, Simon." You mumble, getting the last of the white off his chin. "Haven't shaved lately?"

"Hectic week. Also, you said ya liked it."

"I do." Your thumb brushes at the stubble, humming at the texture. "Feels lovely."

"You're better, luv."

"You really ought to stop reading my publications."

"You love it."

The grimace on your face makes him chuckle, leaning against your hand.

"Can't wait to check your class discord."

"Luv, can we drop it."

You only grin.

[ilium-ilia]

calyptra thalictri

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | "single mom" au | masterlist

slip

tw: stalking, abortion mention, anxiety, implied misogyny

In the beginning, Simon had his doubts about choosing you to be the mother of his child. 

He needed someone soft spoken—a sweet damozel without the connections of a lover, without something to hold her back. When he first laid eyes on you, he could see the prints in your skin. The divots left behind from the feet that have walked all over you, tread marks scarring your epidermis without any guarantee of fading. He watched those prints manifest before his very eyes in the pub he first saw you in as you laughed at your friend’s jokes, too gauche to share how uncomfortable it truly made you. 

Following you home was an easy feat when your friends were too inebriated to care about your well being. To give you a ride, or accompany you to the tenebrous corner. You were timid like a newborn fawn unsteady on their feet—too anxious to look over your shoulder at the large brute who had been tailing you for the last block and a half. There is no self preservation instinct. You let both friends and life alike drag you where they wish. 

Everything else was easy after that. Making a copy of your key, spiking the tea you always drink at night before bed, breeding you like the good bitch you are—but there was still doubt. Could something as pathetic as you ever make it as far as he needs you to? Would you suddenly grow skittish and flee the moment you knew you were with child? Could you ever be cruel enough to purge the foetus before he was finished with you? 

All his qualms vanish the moment he catches you in the grocery market. 

It’s truly by accident. A meeting planned by fate. He rounds the corner into the aisle of packaged bread and he sees you, trolley half full, teeth biting into your knuckles. Freezing, Simon’s eyes widen as he soaks you in—even the prospect of choosing between brands of bread troubles you as you inspect the shelves with narrowed eyes. Lips parted, free hand resting on your growing stomach, his mind reels. 

The sonogram in his wallet begins to burn a hole through his pocket. Its warmth is hardly matched by the blazing fury of the sun itself, but he revels in the sting. He gets to witness without a shred of doubt that he’s made the right choice. Look at you—pathetic, alone, in need of someone to take care of you. Scared. Worried. Struggling to hold back the frustration that boils just beneath your skin. In need of someone. 

In need of him. 

Simon tails you for a little while longer through the store, clandestine as he browses various canned goods and sacks of rice. His act isn’t needed, it seems, as you are utterly oblivious to the savior lurking in your shadow. Like a scientist watches a specimen squirming on an examination board, grotesque limbs pinned by unkind needles, he witnesses with avaricious delight as you stumble upon the baby food section. Small jars of puree carrots, peas, and bananas look up at you from the shelves with curling grins. Even from a distance he can see the way your throat bobs. How you attempt to be brave and reach for a jar only to pull back at the last second, unable to stand the heat. 

If only you knew how soon he would be there to swoop in and kiss the aches. To smother everything that ails you—to save you from this strife. 

These last few weeks have left his skin itching. Scarabs nettle beneath his flesh, scurrying on spindly legs, whispering with gnarly teeth into the shell of his ear telling him to take, take, take. Take you—wrap you up in the blankets you hide yourself in while you sleep and bring you home so that he can finally have the life he’s coveted since he’s seen the way bullets tear through bone. He often finds himself standing at the foot of your bed, watching you. Hands wandering to your stomach to feel, to press, to simper. He’s witnessed you swell—the child grow—his dreams manifest before his very eyes. 

He can’t wait—he can only hold this accismus for so long. 

Your gaze adverts from the baby food and you return your trembling hands to the trolley before continuing down the aisle. More often than not, your heart is like a hummingbird these days. Wings flapping too fast, beak darting, begging for sustenance, begging for anything that might free you from the bars keeping you caged; keeping you isolated. 

You’ve gotten good at pretending as if you meant for this to happen. This wretched state of your body—of this fatigue, of your swollen abdomen, of your dither. Though no one could look at you and realize that you don’t know the father of this creature growing inside of you, the gaze of the clerk has you believing otherwise. His eyes linger on your stomach for far too long as if he ponders how much red he could see if he cut you open, or the taste of ichor when licked off of his own fingers. 

He gives you a courteous smile as you pay for your groceries, then leave. Automatic sliding doors squeak as you push your trolley outside into the dying carotene puff of the setting sun, and you waste no time trudging along to your car. Its fragile, beaten exterior greets you flippantly with a simple beep as you unlock the boot and begin to pile everything inside. Milk, bread, eggs, apples, avocados—all things your doctor told you would be good for the baby’s development. 

Then, something rips. 

One of the bags tears open on the corner of the trolley, sending items tumbling free from their confines and onto the cracked asphalt at your feet. Doxylamine clatters to the ground and stares up at you. It grins. It’s goading you into doing the thing that seems to be increasingly difficult these days—bending. Crouching. Stooping low enough to grab something all while carrying the weight of some sick sin. 

Just as you go to reach for the box, a large hand swoops in and eats it. 

Blinking, you watch as the box slowly rises from the ground before it’s being held out for you to take. Scarred knuckles scream at you as they slice along pale skin, but your eyes follow the lines like words of a book—a story you’re waiting to peel back and uncover. 

“Doxylamine is alright, but I usually go with Diphenhydramine.” 

The voice that speaks to you is thick. Viscous like syrup—like cruor. Your gaze follows the invisible line that traces his arm, paying attention to the niello ink that permeates the skin just around his wrist as it peeks out from beneath the sleeve of his jumper. His palm is fat. Wide enough to smother a football with long digits that are so meaty they could pop it with a single hand. Then, there’s his height. This stranger towers over most, broad shoulders competing against even the most spacious of doorways, and the hood on his head coupled with the work boots on his feet give him an extra inch. 

Then, there’s his eyes. Inky. Pitch dark like the shadows the monsters in your closet used to hide in when you were a child. It’s impossible to see through him—to poke and prod your way into his mind. Something stops you just short of diving into the depths; a wall you can’t quite push through. 

Shaking your head, you knock your thoughts free from your mind. “What?” 

“Diphenhydramine is a better antihistamine. For allergies. Though, it makes you tired,” the man says bluntly. Once more, he shakes the box in his hand, and you bring yourself to look at it. 

“Oh.” You take it into your grasp, fingers not even coming close to brushing against his. “I don’t take it for allergies. It’s for… morning sickness, technically.” 

Your hand spreads over your stomach, almost lovingly. Almost as if this were planned—as if this is what you want. You feel this stranger’s gaze wander, just like everyone else’s always does. You’re a spectacle. Woman contorted into a show for all to witness. 

He hums in response to your unwarranted explanation before turning his attention to your trolley. Wordlessly, he begins to unload the basket. Bags slipping into his arms, you watch as he yanks them free and gently places them in the back of your car, piled neatly next to the few you had managed to load before making a mess of things. 

“Oh—uhm—you don’t- you don’t have to do that,” you stutter. 

“I know.” 

Stoic. Stale. No room for argument. Anxious fingers tap against the box of drugs as you watch him move your groceries for you. He’s not old, but the scars on his face age him. They settle into the lines of his face, deepening them until his skin is permanently creased. There’s a bump on his nose that you don’t think was there when he was born, and a rosy scar to accompany the ridge. His lips are tight. Thin, stony—as if he’s holding back something. 

A secret. A thought. 

“Well, thank you…?” Your tone curls. Your grace turns into a question, and you’re not even sure what you’re asking until he answers. 

“Simon.” 

Strong. Simple. Fitting, for a man like him. 

“Thank you, Simon.” 

He pauses when you speak his name—back turned to you, hands full of bags, he loads the last few into the boot before sneaking a piece of paper out of one of them. You open your mouth to protest until you notice it’s only your receipt. 

“It’s not right, havin’ you out here like this by yourself,” he tells you. 

Disbelief settles deep in your bones as you scoff. “Excuse me?” 

Not looking at you, Simon fishes a pen from his deep pockets and begins scribbling something on your receipt. “A woman in your condition shouldn’t be doing such heavy liftin’ on her own. You need someone to take care of you.” 

“What makes you think I need help?” you ask, brows raised. 

The pen clicks. It’s sharp. A shot ringing throughout the air. Simon’s eyes settle on you, and the weight constricts around your chest. They’re… eerie. Adust, like the lowering countryside right before a storm hits to wipe the earth clean. 

“You walk like you’re guilty. You’ve got some weight dragging you down, and I don’t think it’s the baby in your tummy doin’ that, love. When you look at people, you’re already apologizing. Can read it all over that sweet face of yours. Besides, there’s no ring on that finger. Means the dad isn't all that serious ‘bout you.” He holds the folded receipt out for you to take, but all you can do is stare at it with blank eyes. “Or maybe you don’t even know who the daddy is at all.” 

His impudence is jarring. Shame gnaws through your intestines straight into your womb where it grows. He’s read you to filth. Swallowing, you look at him, throat tightening. 

“Have we met before?” Your question flows from your mouth like blood from a wound—already apologetic for the damage. “You just… seem familiar.” 

All Simon does is stare. 

“I think I’d remember meetin’ someone like you.” 

He’s scribbled your receipt with his number, and before leaving he tells you to call him if you need anything. Stilted as ever, you stiffly thank him before shoving it into your pocket and climbing into your car, silently telling yourself that you’d never reach out to him—that you’d never drag anyone else into this… situation. Least of all someone like him, a stranger who can read you better than you can yourself; better than your own friends can. 

When you arrive home, it takes you much too long to load all your groceries into your flat. The stairs leave you huffing, and by the end of it, your knees clatter together so viciously you fear you may collapse. Instead, you endure. Unpacking items, shoving them into the fridge, the pantry, into cupboards—you think about how soon your space will be invaded. High chairs and puree food, bibs and swaddle blankets, toys to trip on. Another mouth to feed. 

Or not.

As you place the milk in the fridge, you think about how you could put the child up for adoption. Push it out and send it off into the world for you to never lay eyes on it again. You don’t have the stomach to terminate it, but you can stomach this. Sending them off to live with real parents. Someone better. 

Your thoughts freeze the moment your hand wraps around a box of toothpaste. 

Brows furrowing, you look through the contents of your final bag to find items you don’t remember buying. Aftershave. Protein mix. Soap. 

Sighing, you tilt your head back to look at the ceiling as your palms rub at your achy, swollen eyes. Simon’s phone number whispers to you from your back pocket, and you grit your teeth as you slip it free from your jeans. This grocery mix up feels like a seed—carefully planted and watered. 

Now, it’s germinating.

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[kissitbttr]

nobody understands how you did it.

how you managed to swept him off his feet, breaking the walls he had built pieces by pieces, how the fuck did you get him to be comfortable with you? to be open with you? and only with you.

‘never seen him this happy or loose in a long time, lass. what’s your trick, eh?’ the captain pulls a joke, making the rest of the team laugh. ‘i think I speak for everyone when i say, he never brings a girl out. let alone introducing her to us.’

that one is true. years of being friends with ghost, the captain nor his closest friend ‘soap’ has ever seen him out on a date. they encouraged him though, since there have been so many women tried their ways to get close with the big guy, yet none of them succeed.

the masked men would often just shrug them off and give one hard cold answer. they would back away immediately

“guess i just have my ways” is what you always say. even soap couldn’t register how it happened. he couldn’t figure it out himself, he knows the lad way longer than you do.

they don’t believe you. because there is no way in hell that all you did was to bat your lashes, show him your adorable giggle and he was in. there’s gotta be more to it.

so what is it about you that draws him close? what is it about you that makes ghost’s eyes light up each time you step into the room? what is it about you that makes ghost’s heart skip a beat every time he talks to you?

certainly not because how you’re so patient in getting to know with him, right? not because how you trace his scars ever so lightly and call them pretty every single time he’s doubtful about himself. not because how you console him with ‘I’ve got you, baby’ each night a nightmare comes back to haunt him while rubbing his back soothingly. not because how you shower him with soft, gentle kisses to remind him that your love for him is bigger than anyone could have offered. not because how you understand why he can’t say the three letter words to you, just yet. still, you stick around.

definitely not, right? there’s no way. he’s simon ghost riley. no one or nothing could ever be good enough to make this man come out of his shell. it’s impossible, right? you’ll need a miracle for that.

“love?” you hear a voice calls, along with the sound of keys being tossed into a ceramic bowl. heavy boots thumping against the marble floor,

you step out of the kitchen. long hair tied up into a messy updo, clear frame glasses perched on the bridge of your nose. dressed in one of his favorite sleeping gown as your eyes locked with his brown ones. the balaclava still attached to mask his handsome face.

scarred lips stretch into a smile the moment his beautiful fiancé emerges from the kitchen.

he drops his bag onto the floor, pulling the mask off of him slowly. revealing his disheveled blond hair as he takes slow steps towards you.

“hi, baby” your voice brings him home. no soul could ever take away from him. he longs for that angelic tone each time he gets deployed. three or six months without listening to you speak to him is just insanity.

he’d rather lose his hearing entirely than not having to hear you at all.

he’s quick to embrace you in his arms. your face hiding in the crook of his neck, inhaling that signature scent of his that you had missed, dearly.

“what are you making?” he mumbles into the crown of your hair, giving it a peck before pulling away slightly to take a good look at you. “it smells good”

“your favorite” you kiss his chin, causing his cheeks to redden at the affection. “i even bought those lumpias down the 112th street. i know how much you love them. pretzels bites from the deli for snacks aaand, black pepper beef with rice for your dinner. sounds good?”

simon leans against the doorway as he watches you plate everything. rambling about everything. his smile widens even more at your domestic antics. the way you talk with your hands as you mention another annoying co-worker that keeps bugging you and the way you roll your eyes when a splash of gravy spill from the plate.

truly is a sight.

“why are you looking at me like that?” your lips raise into a curious smile, finger moving a dark lock that sticks into your forehead,

he gives you a small shrug. gaze not leaving you neither does his smile.

“you’re just so beautiful”

something so simple yet it makes your stomach fills with butterflies.

you chew on your lower lip to prevent you from smiling too much, but a hint of blush is dusting your cheeks betrays you.

“come, papi… don’t want the food to get cold now, do we?” you change the subject while you nod your head towards the empty seat across. “eat with me”

the two of you sit there while making a small talk. stealing glances every second. feeding each other’s food. soft laughs fall upon both of your mouths when one make a terrible joke.

something you’d see when two people are in love. c

so yes, the answer to that question. it is possible. because you made it possible. you made it possible for him to love again. even if he had to start all over. you made it possible for him to be vulnerable. you gave him a purpose the moment he thought things were looking bad for him.

he found a solace within your existence.

only you made it possible to bring the simon in him.

vbecause you. are his home

[ceilidho]

big boy neighbor ghost anon here

simon "wears his food" ghost riley, who is a messy eater and has you lick up his fingers to clean them afterward. who has you lick up your own slick from the corners of his mouth after he eats you out. who eats as much as he can of everything you make him because who else is gonna make him a homemade meal?

ghost's favorite meal you make him is coq au vin because it's hearty, and he eats 3/4ths of it while you have your 1/4th of it. simon cuts your meat for you, and he also loves it when you make whisky brown butter cookies for dessert.

sorry cooking is my love language and i hold big boy hefty eater characters very close to my heart. hope u have a good day pookie wookie

just thought of Simon saying “clean me up, pet” while holding a finger to your lips and staring at you while you lick it clean and then my legs gave out and I collapsed in a heap onto the floor.

not a military au, but construction worker!ghost showing up to work with a big ass cooler full of his lunch that you prepared him the night before and when his guys asked him where he got all of that, he just goes, “my girl” before shovelling more rice into his mouth. does NOT fucking share if someone asks him for a cookie. he gets sooooo testy and mean when someone asks him to get you to make something for them.

[sheepispink]

Distance makes the Heart grow Fonder ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Chapter 6 of my Sweet As Sugar Series (baker!reader x lt ghost

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Summary: Simon leaves in deployment, though just before he goes, your father unintentionally sets a fire alight in Simon’s chest, one he’s never felt in years. It brings him to a realisation he didnt think was possible.

Prev Next

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It’s surprising; in Soap’s entire career, he never thought he’d see the day that Ghost actually looked reluctant to come back to work. Usually he was the one to complain about everything he missed, especially in the mess hall when they grabbed their meals together. Though today Ghost’s eyes were particularly downturned, and he hadn't interrupted Soap once to tell him to do less speaking and more eating. “Ye not gonna tell me to shut up today?” He tilts his head towards the masked man before promptly shoving a bland potato in his mouth, chewing it without a care in the world.

“This tea is horrible; that's why.” He grunts, placing the cup down onto the table with so much force the liquid almost splashes out of the cup altogether. “Thought ya didn't care about the taste?” Soap raises a brow, even more confused. When had his Lt thought twice about how good his tea tasted? Sure, he’d been bragging about the cafe in town for a while now, but he didn't think anything would sway Riley this much. He’s only seen the man this annoyed that time he was given rice instead of pitta when they grabbed their post-deployment kebab.

“My standards have been raised.” Ghost scoffs a little, watching as Soap gulps down a large swig of his strong coffee as always—licking his lips from the three sugars he had just stirred in. “Are you going to finally tell me who that lass was now? Gaz is dying to know too.” He rests his elbows on the table, grinning cheekily at the man opposite, who only shoos him back and narrows his eyes in a faux glare. “You told Gaz?”

“Wait till Capt’ comes back–”

Ghost wasn't sure how to feel about his team’s sudden interest in his private life, but he supposed it seemed natural given that he wasn't one for making friends, let alone getting close to the baker girl in the town they frequented off deployments. “She works at the bakery, that’s all. I helped her with some heavy things.” He chooses to omit the part where he had willingly joined you on a mini road trip and spent time with you at the winter market. Soap will definitely never know about the incident at your apartment either.

”Wait, she’s the one who makes those pastries your unit had? We ‘ave to pay her a visit too. I mean, my mouth watered when i smelt ‘em.” He laughs, remembering the time he had begged Ghost to let him try just a tad of the cookie you had graciously provided him once. He’d take the death glare, especially since after he ate half, he had easily decided it was the best one he’d ever tasted. Besides, he wanted to see what had caught Ghost’s eye to the point he spent more time off base than on. Unfortunately, the masked man had caught onto it quickly, standing with the tray in his hands. “Yeah, you go spillin’ crumbs on yourself in the middle of the briefing we have in ten.” He rolls his eyes, already expecting the alarm in Soap’s eyes as he quickly stands and throws his tray away too—he always had a tendency to rely on Ghost as a personal reminders app.

————

The meeting seemed to last forever, and he had to adjust himself to stand straight every so often just so his mind wouldn’t wander off with the memories of only last week. Though, he couldn’t keep them away for much longer since as soon as he was on the treadmill, everything in his mind was let free. The thing was, even though he hadn't said it directly, Johnny was right—you had caught his eye in a way that he couldn't even figure out himself. From the day he saw you in that shop, dancing along to a song that you embarrassedly shut off as soon as he entered, to the pretty smile you flash every time he enters the shop. In fact, your demeanour seems to light up without you even realising; it’s adorable, really. He notices the pep in your step, the slightly higher pitch in your voice, and even the way you greet the customers with happiness just ‘cause you’re eager to draw your doodle on the side of his coffee cup again. Maybe if he had a little more experience in all of this, he would’ve teased you about it all, or he would even go as far as to admit that you’ve made his heart thump more than any life-threatening situation will. Though, if he told you that then you might just force him to a doctor out of sheer worry.

What if you don’t even see it the same way? What if you’re just being friendly and he’s acting like a creep, reading into all of your actions? He ramps up the speed on the treadmill a little more, his thighs starting to burn the more forceful his strides grow. It’s empty in this room, no sound around save for the heavy thump of his boots bouncing off the walls. He’s heard female soldiers complain before; they huff about how the younger soldiers ogle, and the older lieutenants shamelessly give their remarks. What if he ruins everything and makes you uncomfortable? He’s not even sure he can handle a relationship; he always thought he could never commit to it, nor did he think he could put the constant energy and thoughts into caring so much for somebody. But with you, it just comes so naturally; he barely has to think twice when he converses with you, even less when you chatter to him about something that happened the other day. Relationships always seemed like obligations to him, even if the girl was nice or sweet; something always sucked the life out of him dry until he broke up with them just for their own sake. He didn't want the same to happen to you; no he wouldn't dare hurt you in such a cruel way.

Then what, should he just pull away from you altogether?

That thought alone stills him, the idea of never seeing you again making his body still like a bucket of cold ice dumped over his head. His feet falter as his heart stammers, and his hands can only graze the handles before his knees hit the floor with a painful slam—sliding off the treadmill altogether in a heap of limbs. He looks down in shock, more so down at himself as he sits on the floor in front of the treadmill he had accidentally pushed to the maximum speed. Damnit; he really has fallen for you.

————————-

The little bell rings as he pushes the glass door open; it’s the day before he leaves for deployment, and he was hoping he’d see your grin one last time before he goes. To his dismay, you’re not on shift today, likely doing a grocery run or something similar. Today, your parents are handling the shop, and although you informally introduced him once, he’s almost sure that they don't approve of him. It’s not like they’ve made it obvious; it just seems inevitable due to his chosen attire and his line of work. Naturally, he hadn't expected your father to smile at him widely and know his order before he could say it.

“Flat white or black today? No tea today, unfortunately.”

Simon can only blink in surprise, clearing his throat in hopes he doesn’t sound too hoarse. “Flat white. I’ve got deployment tomorrow, so I'll have to indulge now rather than later.” He doesn't usually add on detail, but he feels like he’s obliged to, just for the sake of seeming a little better towards your parents. Thankfully, there’s not a hint of the disdain he expected on your father’s face; he only laughs, ringing in the order whilst he turns to make the drink for him. “I’d hardly call a flat white an ‘indulgent’, kid.”

Simon barely gets the chance to acknowledge the fact someone just called him ‘kid’ before he’s talking again, and he feels himself stand a little straighter to make sure he doesn't look like some sleazy boy.

“She’s gonna be upset, y’know? Maybe you’ll be better off paying a stunt double to take your place instead of saying you’re on deployment.” The man chuckles again, his face lighting up the same way you do, and you’ve clearly learnt his technique of pouring the steamed milk too.

“I’m sure she’ll forget by the second day; the other customers will have to suffice with all her stories.” Simon brushes off your potential reaction, almost positive that you wouldn't even lose sleep on the matter. Besides, you’re plenty more friendly than he’ll ever be; he’s sure you’ll make quick friends with the other regulars.

“Forget? I won't hear the end of it until you return. I don't know what you did to that girl, but she’s been as bright as the sun since you showed up.” The older man pressed the lid onto the cup, turning around to hand it to Simon. “We’re grateful, y’know? She had a tough time when we first opened; it didn't help that we couldn't afford her further education.”

“I.. didn't know that.” He can't say much else, the words spilling out and surprise evident in his tone.

“We travelled a bit before buying this bakery, so she’s never had many constant friends; it was out of our control.” The man packs up a small bag, placing it on the counter for Ghost to take as well before giving him a grateful smile. “She’d have come around eventually, but the point is, she’s very fond of you. Always makes sure she has your favourite biscuits restocked too.” He chuckles, and Simon stares down at the bag, the faint outline of chocolate bourbons inside. He truly was a lucky man.

———-

Ghost had a hypothesis, and that was that the simplest missions were always the longest. Well, not literally, but they felt as if they dragged on forever. He was positioned up in these mountains to scope the area prior to his team’s entry; however they wouldn't be here for another two hours anyway due to unforeseen circumstances. That meant that for the meantime, he was a sitting duck. It also gave way to the thoughts he hadn’t been able to consider ever since he first processed them, promising himself he’d debate it later after this all blew over.

The thing is, he couldn't fathom the idea of you feeling low or even having a few friends. He considers himself to be on the loner side, considering most people perceived him that way, and he didn't exactly contact anyone outside of the military save from his old boss when he worked as a butcher—he always said happy new year to him. The difference is, he kind of liked it that way, but clearly you haven't been given a choice in that matter. It fills him with an urge, one that’s a little out of place for him yet fits perfectly in his chest. He wants to make sure you’re happy, well, as far as he can do so anyway. And on the off chance you do get upset, he wants to be the one to cheer you up after.

It’s weird to him, having someone that needs him as a presence in their life, someone who’ll miss him when he’s gone. But what’s worse for him, is that he realises now that he misses you every time you’re gone. He thought he had gone crazy the first time Johnny went on deployment without him, and he had to listen to Gaz talk about the latest football game all lunch— not that Johnny usually had anything better to say either. He had only realised he missed him when Soap described the same feeling when Gaz had left for deployment. He figured it comes with working closely with others very often; after all, being forced out of a routine would never feel right. So, he was even more surprised when he had only spent a month and a bit getting to know you, but somehow every moment away just seemed duller.

That night the evac trucks take him home quietly, along with the rest of his team. They’re exhausted, Soap and Gaz more so than himself; they're practically nodding off beside him. Not that he minds being their pillow for the ride, but he does stop to wonder what it’d feel like if your head was the one on his shoulder. He’d probably wrap an arm around you—if you’d allow him, of course—and maybe just sit in silence whilst a movie plays. You’d be happy with someone around, he’d be happy to have a quiet night in, and maybe a quiet sleep again.

That’s the moment he decided what he was going to do and what he’s currently doing right now. It’s two am, and he’s just got back, barely even washed up yet. His phone is in his hands, your little profile picture grinning at him cheekily as he stares at the unsent message.

“Are you free for dinner on Wednesday? My treat, and an apology for leaving you for so long.”

—————————-

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Sweet as Sugar Masterlist

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Taglist:

@hidden-treasures21 @bieberismysoulmate @gallantys @tessakate @galactict3a @krispymagazinepizza-blog @silas-aeiou @kupids-arrow

[tojisun]

thinking about the way he’d pick you up from uni, looking too damn good in nothing but his plain black apparel – not like you’re really shocked, after all, that body could make a sack of rice look good.

“what the hell?” you gasp out, blinking up at him.

he had been MIA for a few months now and you know it had to do with his job, the specifics lost on you given how secretive he always turned into whenever you prodded and asked. you had been waiting for his return, your heart brimming with impatience and helplessness because it wasn’t like you could track him down – he made sure that you couldn’t.

so finally seeing him again, after the trickling time, feels so surreal. like he is a mirage that your sleep deprived mind conjured up because you couldn’t stop aching for him.

“hey, sweetheart,” he says like he didn’t just rock your whole world. his voice is deep and gruff in the way you always knew it sounded like but just hearing it again sends tingles running down your spine.

christ, you really missed him.

he walks up to you, tentative in his steps – not born from hesitation, but an olive branch; he’s giving you the authority to call the shots. he’s giving you the room to walk away if you need to, but there’s something in his gait that tells you that he’d run after you anyway. that he’d take on your anger and your frustrations, and melt them away with his affection.

you swallow the lump in your throat, closing the distance between you with shaky steps. you stare at him, your heart thudding in your chest, before reaching to grasp at the hem of his jacket. his eyes crinkle in fondness and you ignore the burning of your cheeks at seeing just how tender he’s become.

“you, uh, you staying?” you ask, biting the inside of your cheeks in anxiousness.

you don’t want him to leave yet, to leave so soon after he’s just come back to you, but duty calls. and he has always been the best at what he does, or so he says.

“yeah,” he replies, his hand coming up to brush your hair away from your face. “you’ll get sick o’me soon.”

“never!”

you sniff in embarrassment at your sudden exclamation, but he just continues to look at you with reverence behind his eyes. god, you can already feel the butterflies in your stomach smothering you.

“good,” he says. “now c’mere an’ give me a kiss.”

you jump in his arms with a giggle.

— toji, ghost (riley)

[yellowf1nch]

Minors: Do Not Interact

Note: a bit long for a quick idea, but mentions of slightly dubious intentions, though nothing explicit described. Gender neutral terms/second person and no physical descriptors but size (you are three inches tall)

Hmmm.....

What if [intelligence!reader] was subject to some kind of shrinking technology? And when suddenly Captain Price is looking for his favorite *behind the scenes* coworker, and Laswell mentions they're "incapacitated," he's suddenly trying to get the proper clearance to get to them... And maybe he does, as a captain, and is brought to an observation room where [intelligence!reader] is wrapped in a handkerchief, three inches tall? He'd stand there speechless, stunned, first thoughts going to what kind of new hell has been unleashed on the world, and is then asking the doctor about the science of it... Is it reversible? How was this done?

Of course he keeps it under wraps, only telling his most trusted brother-in-arms Lieutenant Riley (off the record)... And of course Ghost keeps it a secret because he knows how to keep secrets until he lets a little something slip about the whole ordeal to Sergeants Garrick and Mactavish, who then go smugly to Price because they know something he shouldn't have let out... So then the three of them are also pursuing proper clearance because when they get it and pay [intelligence!reader] a visit, it's the collective turning to Laswell with "maybe we could watch them, ay?" "They could use the company, practically torture to keep 'em locked up all alone after what they've gone through," "we've got enough time between ops to help 'em be more comfortable and keep a record of status for the doc," and honestly it's not the most outlandish argument to make... Maybe it wouldn't hurt, after all, you were still *you* just much smaller...

Much smaller and to your coworkers-turned-acquaintances-turned-guys-you-hang-out-with-sometimes-turned-caretakers, much less capable of doing much of anything. There's the simple things, like helping you move around by placing you in a hand, on the shoulder, or in a front breast pocket. Not to hard to deal with, and the boys certainly enjoy toting you around (even if some wouldn't admit it)... Then there's the ingenuity they seem to enjoy in trying to work out how to make things for you, small sized. Small chair and table? Starts with a small plastic container and an overturned ashtray. Food and drink? They start with already small foods like rice and shredded cheese, maybe some canned beans that you can eat each piece one at a time.

But then there's the point where you honestly become like a *pet* to them. Exacerbated when Johnny seems to remember his sisters having a doll set that they grew out of, and really it's the perfect size! And Kyle saw some videos online of people making tiny sized pancakes and pies for their hamsters, how cute would you look then? Simon, well, he gets a little tired of you trying to work on paperwork and such; all this energy you need to get out, just use this rodent wheel and you'll be ready for a nap in the nest he made for you... Oh, Price? Well, he sees how excited the boys get, and knows how much they think about you out in the field-- really, this was an unexpected change and of course you're upset but maybe it's for the best? But it's been a while since you had a wash, what with being afraid of showers and sinks, so what if he's got a teacup that he "definitely doesn't use anymore, dearie," with little portions of shampoo and conditioner, a little chip off a soap bar for you to wash with and a washcloth for you to use as a towel-- but he needs to keep an eye on you, so you don't get hurt or in case something goes wrong?

And if you turn back to your normal self, but they seem... Disappointed? Or maybe they continue patting your head and trying to do everything for you like you can't do it yourself... Or what if this is unfortunately a permanent fixture?

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

Lay my burdens down (goap as Catholic priests)

Johnny always felt guilty. Just a part of being Catholic he supposes. He remembers telling his mother about stealing a candy bar when he couldn't've been more than seven. She had him kneel on rice and recite the Hail Mary until supper was ready; it was noon when he started. He prayed until his voice was shaky and hoarse, eyes puffy from tears, knees bled and were beyond the point of pain. Sometimes now when he kneels, his knees still ache. A reminder that Absolution is paid in blood.

The hassock he prays on creaks as another person settles next to him,

"Good morning, Brother MacTavish."

A soft voice greeted him.

"Good morning, Brother Garrick."

Johnny's hand grips his rosary tighter. Kyle props his arms up on the pew, his elbow touching Johnny's. They silently recite the Benedictus together, he stays next to Gaz even when he finishes his morning prayer.

The day goes by without incident, just some gardening while the priests tend to the community,

"So you are going to be a priest soon, that's exciting."

Kyle smiles while watering some tomatoes.

"Yes, I'm looking forward to it."

Johnny likes to keep conversations with Garrick short. Actually, he likes to keep conversations with all of the parish short. Desire runs rampant in his heart. He thought if he dedicated himself to God enough, these thoughts would quiet. That seemed to only make it worse. Being in such close quarters with these men have only made the thoughts much, much louder. There are nights he would hear soft moans coming from the next room, he knows it is Kyle and another party lost in ecstasy. He's not sure which of the two other men in the parish it was. He bit his lip, fucking his fist desperately. Groaning as low as possible when he hears Kyle finish, joining him shortly after. Guilt washes over him immediately after the act. Obsessively prays on his knees until they ache. Please please please, just make it go away. Some nights he even cries, frustrated and ashamed.

~

"Good morning, Brother MacTavish."

Johnny tensed up, squeezing his eyes tight, afraid to look up.

"Good morning, Father Riley."

He hears a grunt while the pew rocked, their bodies nearly touching when Simon finally settled in next to him. There were a few moments of hushed prayer between the both of them.

"When's the last time you've confessed, Johnny?"

Simon's voice is steady as ever, confident in himself as he is in the Lord.

"Too long Father. Much too long."

In all honesty, confession with either priest made him sweat. There were long pauses that made him uncomfortable. Words and tones always had an underlying tone that made him choke. The sound of clothes rustling on the other side that made his imagination run wild. A strong hand clasped at the back of Johnny's neck yanks him away from his train of thought, his eyes snapping open. He looks up to Simon, a towering figure doubly so now that he's standing in front of Johnny.

"C'mon."

Simon says, almost alluring. Johnny's skin prickles where Simon rubs his thumb against the nape of his neck. He stands up so quickly, he nearly knocks the hassock over. That earns a hum of approval from Father Riley,

"Good boy."

Johnny's clothes feel restricting and hot. The bench in the confessional booth too hard and uncomfortable. He crosses himself and starts,

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been... a month since my last confession."

He can hear Simon tut from the other side.

"I have..."

Johnny racks his brain, desperately trying to avoid speaking on his most obvious misdeed.

"I hold resentment in my heart for others that live...more freely than I do."

Simon hummed in acknowledgment, waiting for him to continue. Johnny's leg bounced nervously, shaking the booth slightly. It was a long moment before Simon spoke up again,

"You do know withholding a mortal sin in confession is a transgression against God himself, Brother MacTavish?"

Johnny's mouth dried up, his chest got tight. He nervously rubs the beads on his rosary,

"I have harbored hate-"

"Try again. Johnny."

Simon's voice is low and tense, a warning. Poor Johnny is shaking all over now, the wooden bench under him squeaking with each bounce.

"I've been indulging in the pleasures of the flesh, Father."

Johnny looks at the screen between him and Simon, wishing he could see his face, gauge his reaction. The sound of fabric shifting comes from the other side.

"Continue."

Father Riley replied curtly. Johnny stammered,

"I, wha-well,"

"Perissology is unbecoming of a priest, MacTavish. Excessive speech should be a sin in and of itself."

Of course Father Riley thought that. The man is laconic and enigmatic by his very nature, the complete opposite of Johnny's disposition. Johnny's mind was going a mile a minute, he wound his rosary so tightly around his fist, it would surely leave dents on his skin.

"I do not control my thoughts or imaginations. I am not chaste, I-"

His jaw locks up, the word refusing to leave his throat. Simon gives an admonitory grunt before Johnny continues,

"I stimulate myself."

"How often?"

Simon's response was quick, like he already had the question lined up for him.

"Every night."

"What do you think about?"

Johnny doesn't want to answer that. To even think of it is an affront to all he believes in. Father doesn't skip a beat,

"Johnny."

Johnny chews his lip, Father Riley was someone he held in very, very high regards. Looked up to him in a way that boarded blasphemy. If he wasn't already serving another God, he'd be at Simon's feet with no hesitation.

"Kyle...John...You..."

Each name came out slower than the last, he always thought confession as something that took a weight off his chest, but right now his heart is as the heaviest it's ever been.

"What about us?"

It was like Simon enjoyed making him suffer. It is only right, Johnny thought to himself, it's a part of his penance. In a sense, Johnny enjoyed suffering at Simon's hand, seemed like he was the only one to give him the proper punishment for his transgressions. Actually made him feel like he properly attoned for his sins.

"I think of touching them. You. This is all I can remember. I am sorry for these and all my sins"

Johnny doesn't fight with himself telling Simon everything he wants to know now. Father would get the truth out of him one way or another eventually. He was nearly omniscient in that way.

"Hm."

Was all he heard from the other side of the booth. It was silent aside from the occasional sound of breathing from either side of the confessional.

"Father?"

Johnny, as untouched as a priest nowadays could be, couldn't fathom the idea of Simon, the man that he held closer to his heart than God himself sometimes, doing something as blasphemous as fucking his fist in one of the most sacred places of this church to the thought of one of the Deacons he prays with every day.

"Penance. Right."

Simon clears his throat,

"I will guide you through prayer in my office."

"Office, Father Riley?"

"Father Price has to take confession in the next 5 minutes."

The office is nothing to write home about. A little stuffy thing with a wooden desk, two chairs in front of it and a larger, plush chair behind. It doubled as the library as well, the old books permeating that signature musky, almost floral scent. Johnny stood in front of the desk, crossing himself before bowing his head.

"Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body."

Simon recited, walking around him to get to his desk. There was a pause, an indication for Johnny to start praying,

"I beseech Thee, O Lord, to grant us the pardon of my sins,"

There was the sound of a drawer opening and some shuffling of papers. Simon opened another drawer,

"Continue."

"For Thee have tried to keep the purity of my body, and to Thee have I entrusted my soul,"

Johnny was almost tempted to look up from prayer to see what the small thud from Simon was.

"If you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live."

Simon said. Johnny furrowed his brows, keeping his head down,

"Yes, Father."

There was a click, the opening of a box. Then, the unmistakable jingle of what could only be chains.

"Head down, MacTavish."

Simon always knew what Johnny wanted to do next. Sometimes it felt like Simon knew him better than he knew himself. Slow, heavy steps approached him, they stopped right behind him. As Simon reached around him, he held his breath. A cold metal pressed against his neck, it made him jolt, his eyes snapping open.

"Relax."

Johnny straightened up, the metal dug into the tender flesh of his neck.

"A cilice. Originally made of horsehair, it has evolved to be more effective in the way of mortification."

A glorified prong collar. Simon clipped it closed, giving it a gentle tug that made him gasp,

"Proceed."

"Uh- I,"

"Johnny."

Simon growled, threatening to tighten the device.

"W-wherefore, preserve Thou Thy lamb, O good Shepherd,"

Johnny nearly blacked out when Simon pushed his back, making him prop himself up by his hands on the desk in front of him.

"Do not permit-"

His voice was barely above a whisper. Simon, slipped a finger under the back of the chain and tugged,

"Do you believe in God, MacTavish?"

"Of course, Father."

"Then pray like you do."

Between the spikes digging into his neck and blood rushing to his dick, Johnny was feeling faint,

"Do not permit the beast which seeketh to devour me,"

A moan was ripped right out of his throat when Simon, grabs his hip and grinds himself against Johnny. Tears welled up in Johnny's eyes while Simon pulled at the collar harder,

"To consume me,"

Struggling to get the words out. His knees nearly gave out when Simon reached around, undoing his pants, shoving a cold hand down to grip him tightly.

"To consume me,"

Johnny repeated. A calloused thumb worked his precome over his sensitive tip. He nearly whimpered when the large hand pulled away from his shaft. He did whimper when a foot pushed one of his to move to the side, opening his legs more. Behind him there was a spitting sound before a smack to his entrance made him dig his nails into the desk that supported his weight.

"And grant me to prevail over,"

An undignified moan came from Johnny and a hiss of a sharp breath came from Father Riley while his fat, drooling tip pushed into Johnny.

"Simo-"

"Keep going."

Another tug of the collar and the dam broke, rivers of Johnny's tears rushed down his blushing cheeks. His words warbled,

"The evil desires of my flesh."

A hum of approval came from behind him while Simon's hips met his. There was an approving pat on his hip,

"Good lad."

Johnny chewed his lip; it hurt, it was hell, it was agonizing. Then Simon rocked his hips.

"Fucking hell, Simon!"

Simon kisses his teeth disapprovingly, yanking the cilice to past the point of pain. The small metal spikes threatened to break skin. Johnny's back was now pressed up against Simon's chest. By the grace of God, or Father Riley, he started off with slow strokes, letting Johnny adjust to the size of him. There wasn't really a way to adjust to Simon's size though, especially for the inexperienced. There was only enough pleasure to push through the pain and ask for more. And Father Riley, the gracious man he is, gave him more. Gave him more until Johnny's spend shot up in thick ropes, staining his collared shirt. Gave him more until Johnny's voice was hoarse from repeating his name. Gave him more until Johnny had no more tears to cry. Gave him more until Simon's spend was running down his leg. Only then did Father Riley grant Johnny the relief to breathe again. While reciting the prayer of Absolution, Simon cleaned up the scene. Cilice undone and set back in its box. Boxers pulled up and slacks buttoned up. A sigh came from Father Riley when he stepped back to look at Johnny,

"Straight to the priory, can't let anyone see you like this."

Simon straightened out Johnny's collar and ran a hand through his hair, gripping it lightly to make him look up, planting a rough kiss on his trembling lips,

"Go in peace."

"Thanks be to God."

Johnny responded, not too sure which one he was thanking.

[iplayghoul]

wet pussy crybaby .ᐟ simon 'ghost' riley

a/n: 2.1k words.. gun play/gun kink, masterbation descriptions, nudes, use of food for sexual innuendos, simon is a bit mean & strict, use of "doll" "sir" "daddy." an excerpt of da roleplay fic which may remain unfinished sorry yall 🫶🏽

"Please, Simon, c'mon," You beg sweetly as the man mentioned cooks you dinner. You're bouncing on the balls of your feet, anklet jingling and glossy lips pouted. It was actually out of character for you to beg despite the kind and lovely person you were, but you really wanted this. Your strong, buff husband continued to make the creamy alfredo sauce, "Sweetheart, we spoke about this. Not gonna' happen." His rumbly accented voice tells you.

When Simon's not on deployment, you both like to spend your days wasting away in the comfort of your cozy home.

The shared space was like a pleasantly sized cottage, garden overun with an array of several differently coloured rose bushes, a gorgeous pond and vegetables planted out; many were gifted by Simon's co-workers who knew you loved gardening. The inside of the home reflects the softness and brightness of the outside too! Often you'd be baking sweet treats: cakes, double chocolate chip muffins, churros and rice crispy edibles (sometimes, even brownies!). Watching cartoons, old movies, decorating with soft pinks, greys and browns, to your delight. The entire home looked like an explosion of marshmallows and chocolate; evidently an outward reflection of you that Simon enjoyed.

But, when the big, strooong man comes home, he's often marching through your garden: rushed. He's clad in all black and dark army greens, balaclava snug above his nose, brows furrowed and eye-paint still darkening his complexion. You're quite sure he remains suited up because he knows you like it, considering that he could always change before! It's a sight to see surely, and you can't help but remember that this is the same man who watches the little videos you make and the photos you send.

You imagine him clad in his bulky gear, sitting behind his desk. Just back from a mission and receiving word that you'd supplied him with a letter. Among the words you take the time to write out each letter of a couple links, not too sure how else your man will access them. Simon's heart beats like the bass of an R&B song, with every click clack of his keyboard. Typically, on his screen will pop up a video of you: pretty puffy pussy spread wide and leaking. Your fingers achingly stuffing your cunt desperately, sloppily stroking in and out while seeping cries of his name. Your voice was thick and creamy, satisfying to his ears much like the endless stream pouring out your pussy like silk.

Ghost. It's what you've been calling him in the videos you send while he's away. And each time you say it, he can't help but stare at your clit, your cunt like a juicy chocolate covered strawberry dipped in whipped cream; each chant of 'Ghost, Ghost, Gh- ah Ghost!' was the quicker you played with the soft sensitive mound at the tippy top of your pussy.

Considering this, it was no surprise to Simon when you'd asked him to get all his gear on and fuck you with his fat dumb dick. But, he enjoys depriving you of what you'd like, waiting for you to become impatient like you are now. You'd deflated. "C'mon Si', pleaaase?" You drift from around the edge of the kitchen island to wrap your arms around his waist. He drags you like light weight behind him as he pours the pasta into the pan, finishing up dinner and continues to ignore your request. "Please, please, please," you beg once more, pushing your pout out as much as you could and batting your eyelashes up at the man as he turns to face you beneath your grip, leaving your chin propped against his pecs.

He draws a hand behind your head, slipping his hands into the roots of your braids and tugging lightly to keep your eyes on him. "You're such a doll, you know that?" He lets out a chuckle. You nodded but huffed. He was always so... mean n' proper n' teasing! "Simon Riley, answer me right the fuck now." You blinked up at him, and he only purses his lips with a soft smile before releasing your hair and removing your arms off him. "Why don't you be a patient little thing, hm?" He rubs his hands on your hips, moving to grab your plates to serve dinner. "Wait 'till you've stuffed your stomach full. Okay love?" You squint a little, "Know I'mma hold you to that, right?" And he nods.

Dinner goes by silently. And you're beginning to think you're going insane. The reason being, your clit is fattened and pulsing in your panties. Your relatively good mood is being slightly dampered and the pout returned to your lips due to the ache. Your panties uncomfortably stuck between the lips of your pussy! And with each bite of the ooey gooey pasta, you're attracted to the way it slithers and slides between your lips. You can only imagine it as Simon shooting sticky strings of his cum onto your pussy. It's soft n' mushy on your tongue and oh, you think you should suck Simon's cock good just for making this yummy meal. Does your pussy feel this warm n' sloppy n' slippery on Simon's cock? You ache. "You alright, gorgeous?" He queries, gathering up his dish along with yours and taking them to the sink for washing, you get up quick and follow him. "Lemme wash it up, baby. You done did all the cookin'."

Simon observes you curiously, noticing the way that, despite your busy body cleaning up his marvelous work: your thighs were pressed together tight. Folding his arms, he leans back on the counter behind you before his deep voice sparks you out of your dream world when you finished up the dishes. "Alright mama, how about you head upstairs and wait for me while I get changed, hm?" You stop and stare— Do you focus on his orders, or the way that familiar petname sounded in his accent? Then, shuffling towards him, hopeful. "Wait–? Don't play w'me right now. You're gonna do it?" Eyes blown wide like Bambi as you peered up at your husband who remained stoic. "Ass up. Face in the pillows, understood?" You swallowed the cherry-like lump in your throat, tummy tingling while you struggled to find the words to respond. Simon pushes himself off the counter, straightening his height above you, his hazy eyes hold a thousand words. "I said, is that understood?" What feels like sparkles prick about your body and you whisper out, "Yea- Yes, Sir." Then, quickly finding yourself where Simon wanted you.

With long, honey blonde braids splayed across the pillows, your eyes were closed on inhaling Simon's refreshing scent. You're not sure how to describe it really, it was a pleasant musk he just had on him, whenever he got out of the shower, perspired, or just didn't wear deodorant: the yummy scent of him stuck to his skin. Surrounding you and Simon's pillow however, were the several Sanrio plush cushions he'd purchased for you. You enjoyed the comfort they brought to the bed and they all smelt like you, so who was Simon to complain. The more you layed there, ass arched up into the air you began to realize you should've stripped down. "No fuckin' way, man," you mumble beneath your breath and make moves to get up and strip out of your white cropped tank top and black fuzzy shorts that rode up your thighs and into your ass. Much like your pretty patterned panties.

As quickly as you got up, you stuffed yourself back into the pillows, the sound of heavy weighted, steel tipped boots bouncing off the walls and gracing your ears. Eyes screw shut and you feel your clit throb, hard. Your mind follows his footsteps as the beat against the tile floor. You lick your lips, by now every glob of peachy lip gloss was gone. You feel some objects drop onto the bed and you flinch, gripping the pillows a little and peaking an eye open. Hard hands grip the fat of your thighs, squeezing 'em tight, moving up to your shorts, then gripping onto the soft material at your hips. Simon's fingers tickle you and you're holding your breath. He pinches at the material, slowly peeling the shorts off you and you notice his hands are gloved when they brush against you.

Cold air meets the roundness of your ass. You weren't wearing a thong, but your panties exposed the majority of you. They'd stuffed themselves between your ass and suctioned itself to your sticky cunt. There wasn't a doubt in your mind that Simon couldn't see the wet patch. A gloved hand massages the fat of your ass, slightly pulling on the hem of your panties. He'd rip them off you in a swift motion. Except, the only thing that was swift was the loud crack of his palm, stinging your ass. You whisper a squeal-ish 'oh my god' when you hear the smack split the silence in the room. Eyes wide, already springing tears but you choose to withhold your sounds as much as possible. Simon was finally giving you what you wanted, you weren't about to ruin this shit.

Soon comes another smack, smack, smack on your ass. And with each one you let out a strangled moan with a sniffle; tears kissed your pretty cheeks and your ass has the darkest shade of red imprinting itself on you. Simon moves slowly, giving your pained ass a pinch. He then hooks his fingers under the hem of your panties again, sliding them off you slow. You hear a low groan come out if him as you feel him peel it away from your pussy. The sound gracing your ears almost makes you yelp. Like a starved little thing, jumping at the slightest crumb he gives you.

With your pussy exposed, you feel him shuffle off the bed, walking around a few times. Like he was observing you, then pressing back onto the bed. Then a rough hand collects your braids off the pillows. His closeness almost got a whimper out of you but you didn't dare try to look at him. Holding your braids in hand, he ties them up to a loose bun, your head jerking roughly with the manhandling. As if at once he's pulling your body up by your hair, unclothed nipples below your tank top hardened and printing out perky. Your back is uncomfortably pressed up against his uniform or... whatever equipment he was wearing. "S– Simon," You breathe out raggedly, not sure what to do with your hands given your exposed position. "Is that my name?" You hear his voice rumble deeply right above your ear, it's slightly muffled too and you don't know what to think anymore, looking up at the ceiling that seemed interesting. "Ghost, please." You mutter out, and that's when you feel it.

"What is it? Do you want dick? Is that it?" There's a long, cold metal barrel dragging up the bottom of your thigh and pushing at the fat of your ass. "Y– Yea... yes daddy, that's what I want." You can only think it's his gun thats touching you.

You hear the gun click and shut your eyes, assuming that meant it was ready to be shot when the trigger was pulled. Your cunt was cold and lonely exposed to the air. Whatever slick had built up before was almost gone, but it only left you aching for more. Then you felt the tip of the gun press to your temple. And you could see more of Simon than you did before, because now his entire, huge arm was basically in your view as he held the gun up to your head. "G- Ghost?" You can only stutter out, feeling a sob begin to grow at the bottom of your throat, and it took everything in you to resist putting your hands up to hold his arm. His tattoos, peaked through the black uniform, but your eyes were trained on the hand holding the gun above your eyes. "Don't you think you have to work for it?" He grumbles. And he moves his hand from your braids, your body drops to the bed but he's already roughing you back into the position, holding you by your neck this time. Now you can fully see the gun and your tears continue running freely.

He brings the heavy metal weapon up to your face again, tapping it against your lips like it was the tip of his dick. "I asked you a question, didn't I? Aren't'cha gonna' work for this cock?" Suddenly you're all wet again. "Yes, Ghost." You speak out slowly. "Open your mouth then." And you do, plump lips drop open, eyes remaining trained on the gun.

annddd thats all i got 🤭 DONT BEAT MY ASS YALL LMFAOO

[kagooleo]

I’m happy that fluffyrice has been received pretty well! these two thirty-somethings have been getting me through (hopefully) my last year of college, so I’m glad I’m able to share them :]

[shotmrmiller]

i can‘t find this anywhere but possibly anal…? like you‘re fucking and he unexpectedly does it.

you got it.

1.5k words

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x AFAB! Reader

TW: explicit smut, p in v then anal. MDNI 18+ ty

Holding on to the back of his shirt, you bite the inside of your cheek nervously. Now you've done it. You'd been wanting to see just how much of your bratty behavior Simon would tolerate before he snapped— and what better time to test that limit than on a night out with your friends?

Dressed in a little black number that left your back completely exposed and cat eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man, you set out with purpose. You knew he'd be at the bar. Somehow, you'd always see him in the corner of your eye when out at a bar. Maybe it was a complete coincidence, or maybe Simon was keeping an eye on what's his— who knows? All you know is that that's what you're banking on.

Separating from your friends, there's an impish smile on your gloss-covered lips as you let strangers buy you drinks. You force a laugh out at a terrible joke that some nobody says when you feel a burning gaze at the back of your head, sending a prickling sensation curling up your spine. Hook.

The stranger tells another weak joke and you cover your mouth as you laugh, putting your hand on his forearm. Line.

You lean forward, a complete invasion of personal space, with a sultry smile and glittering eyes. The stranger picks up on your mood and lowers his head to get closer to yours. Sinker.

"I'm very sorry for what's about to happen," you murmur.

Before he can even process what you've just said, he's grabbed by his hair and flung to the ground, away from you. You wince at the sound his body makes on impact.

Simon stands with his broad back towards you, looking down at the poor victim of your choice. Lowering down to his haunches, he gives the stranger a real good look at his skull balaclava and grinds out, "That cat there," as he nods in your direction, "is taken."

The man is shaking as he stammers out, "I swear I didn't know! She didn't say anything about—"

Simon cuts him off with a flick of his hand.

"If I catch you anywhere near her again, you'll be digging out your own grave."

With an erratic nod, he drags himself backward, away from the both of you. Standing up, Simon turns to you with an inscrutable look. You just look back up at him doe eyes.

In a sudden movement, he takes his jacket off, wrapping it around your waist, before he picks you up like a sack of rice— tattooed forearm across the back of your now-covered thighs, and storms towards the exit. He opens his truck door and drops you on the leather passenger seat before grabbing your face with an almost painful grip, forcing you to look at him.

"Actions have consequences, pet."

He steps away and slams the door closed.

--

Simon all but drags you into your flat and straight to the bedroom.

"What was that little show today, eh?", he says as he takes off the balaclava before turning to look at you.

"I'm not sure what—" and Simon cuts you off.

"The only time you get to act stupid is when I'm fucking you stupid."

You squeeze your thighs together at his words.

"On the bed then." You turn around and reach up around your neck to undo the strings of your dress when you're pushed harshly, ending up on all fours on the mattress. Pulling your dress over your hips, he slaps one arse cheek before soothing the sting.

"I said on the bed," giving you another sharp slap.

"Do I not give you enough attention?" He strikes the other cheek, then lowers his hand to cup your clothed pussy.

"Do I not give this greedy cunt exactly what it wants?" He slaps it and you whimper— the pained pleasure makes you wet.

"It's clear you need a reminder of who you belong to." He spanks your arse with both hands for a final time before grabbing your ankle and yanking you to the floor.

"On your knees."

Your reaction is visceral and you're kneeling with your mouth open, tongue sticking out and hands clasped behind your back.

"Atta girl," he purred.

Unbuckling his belt, he takes his erection out. A solid 8 inches, deliciously thick and heavy, curved upwards, your mouth waters at the sight. Shuffling closer, you look up at Simon for permission. He nods and you take him in your mouth, tongue stroking the vein on the underside of his cock. You bob your head a couple of times before he stops you with a grip on your hair.

"Say you're sorry," as he pushes your head, and you choke around his manhood.

He reiterates. "Say you're sorry or I don't fuck you. I'm more than happy to shoot my cum down your pretty throat."

You pull away, a string of saliva connecting between your mouth and the tip of his cock.

"M'sorry, Si. I was just," and you give him a cheshire grin, "limit testing."

Simon tsks twice before releasing an exasperated sigh.

"And here I thought you were ready to behave." He pauses to scratch his jaw then firmly grips your upper arm to pick you up and bend you over on the bed once more.

"If you're not going to submit, then I'll just have to fuck you into it."

Pulling the gusset of your knickers to the side, he presses into you. Closing your eyes at the stretch, he gives you just one second for your walls to acclimate before he sets a furious pace. Every thrust punches the air from your lungs and the little grunts Simon lets out tightens the coil in your stomach— making you drip onto the back of your thighs and the front of his. How were you so close already?

Switching up his rhythm, once every few thrusts Simon stops and grinds deep into you— pressing firmly against the entrance of your womb— and it aches. You whine at the discomfort, and he taunts, "What?" and presses his hips flush against your arse, pushing his cock into the depths only he can ever reach, "Is this not what you wanted?" and then he spits into your other hole before pressing his thumb inside slowly, to the knuckle. That almost pushed you over the edge and you're wailing— you feel so full.

"I'm just showing you who," press, "you" press, "belong" press, "to." and with that last grind, you shatter around him. Gummy walls tight around his cock, he continues to fuck you through your orgasm as he pants out, "Like that, baby. Just like that." Not having come down from your high, your mind is so gone that you don't feel when he pulls out before slipping his suddenly lubed-up length into your other hole without warning. Luckily it had been slightly stretched out from him taking you there a couple of days ago, but it still burns at the intrusion, and you hiss loudly.

"Deep breath, baby. Ah— fuck me. You're so tight, you're just about strangling my cock."

He pulls back, watching the ring of muscle pull back with him, and lets out a loud groan at the sight before pushing back in.

"Christ, sweet girl. You're sucking me right in."

He smacks your arse again, leaving behind sticky residue from the lube.

"All of your holes are for me to use as I please, aren't they, pet?" and you can't help but nod dumbly. He could ask you anything and you'd comply right now— he feels incredible inside of you, filling you to the brim.

It felt like he was thrusting into you for hours until he snarled, and with one large hand, pushed your chest flat against the mattress and pinned you down. Hammering into you. Truly fucking you. You're powerless under the weight of his body, feeling sweat drip onto your back. His thrusts send a jolt of pain up your spine from the sheer force of them, and it couldn't be more perfect.

After a dozen thrusts, you squeeze your walls and feel him swell, and with a sensual, loud, moan— he stills. His cock twitches inside of you, coating your insides with his come.

He finally moves, pulling out and you both hiss. Your limbs are heavy with fatigue, unable to move, so Simon grabs you by the shoulder to flip you around and face him. Your half-lidded eyes take in his appearance. Leaning over you, his forehead is dotted with sweat, dripping off his chin, and landing on your collarbone. Cheeks mottled pink and quick, ragged breaths leave his slightly open mouth. His eyes though— they're clear, staring right at you, adoring. He lowers his head and purposefully bumps your nose with his before slanting his mouth over yours, kissing you languid and soft. It's moments like this that are your favorite. He fucks you like he hates you but is so delicate with the aftercare that it makes your eyes sting with tears.

With one last kiss, he slowly gets you in a seated position before putting one arm under your knees and the other behind your back— carrying you to the bathroom.

"Let's get you in the bath, love. I'll make us some tea."

A/N: Do NOT do what was done here. If it's goin in the backdoor, you absolutely use a condom. It is not safe. UTI's are painful and it's almost a guarantee that it'll happen if not protected. And you should NEVER just full thrust into someone’s back door hole. Because you can and probably will causing tearing there. It can happen. Genuinely be safe between you and your partner.

[lululandd]

(unfair);

simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

You were lounging on the sofa when you heard the door open. Simon carefully ducked under the frame, avoiding hitting his head as he had twice before.

“Hey.” He greets you in a tired voice, duffel dropped and forgotten by the shoe rack as he takes off his boots.

“Hey.” You replied as neutrally as you could. He shuffled into his room and you asked, “Chinese?”

“Fried rice please.”

“Pork?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t come out to get his food as it was delivered, in fact you think he fell asleep in the bath. You left the food on the table and continued watching your program.

You had a terrible dream of being trapped under a landslide, panic starts settling into your psyche as you begin to have trouble breathing. Opening your eyes, you had a moment of confusion as to when you had decided to turn the tv off and fall asleep. Unable to will your arm to grab your phone, you thought sleep paralysis had taken hold; but with a little look around reveals Simon lying on top of you.

“You’re heavy.” You hear yourself say.

His reply was immediate. “Yeah.” He wasn’t asleep.

The silence feels like it stretched on longer than it actually is. “You wanna say a thing or two about work?”

“Sucks.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No. Go back to sleep, love.”

You hated this. He blurs the line between roommate and something significantly more. You try to ignore the painful thoughts, opting to let sleep overtake you again.

The alarm startled you awake this time. Disoriented and confused, you couldn’t remember when you moved to your bed from the sofa, but the heavy presence behind you answered the question.

“Stay.” he mumbled onto your skin as you tried to dislodge yourself from his hold.

“I got work, Simon.”

“And I just got home.”

“Is that how I’m supposed to call it in today? Sorry guv, can’t make it this mornin’ cos my roommate’s home from deployment. Cheers.” 

“Quit.” He murmured, into your hair this time, his hold fastening against your torso and getting very close to cupping your chest.

Time seems to slow down for Simon as you untangle yourself from his hold. It was borderline painful for him to feel your small fingers dig into his bigger ones as you set yourself free. He watched you in muted fascination as you go about the room to get ready, the elaborate way you clip your hair up before going in the bath, how your arse comes in and out of view as you washed your face in the tiny bathroom sink, the way you shyly go about the room to get dressed; as if Simon hasn’t seen it laid bare underneath him.

He knows its unhealthy, but he stays even when he knows it’s hurting you. The man has wasted money paying for his own flat and half of yours. The kitchen sink in his flat drips, his bedroom light flickers, and the front door creaks badly. He makes sure everything in your flat works though. Your dishwasher no longer makes squeaking noises, he tightens your wobbly ceiling fan, and religiously checks the locks on the doors and windows. He would be lying if he said he hasn’t tried to go and live on his own place only to come running back to yours even before the night is over.

Life seems to be simpler with you around, his thoughts easier to manage. There's something addicting about your presence, your warmth, and your smile that he would never admit aloud.

His heart dreads the day you would ask him to clarify his boundaries, and selfishly hopes it would never come.

[glittercake]

one from The First Gentleman too before i knew how I wanted to end it:

Everyone’s meeting at Sarah’s restaurant for the final election results. Realistically they know, given her divorce and the controversy surrounding it, there’s a chance Monica won’t win it, won’t serve her second term. They plan to celebrate either way. 

Joaquín’s been up early to help Sarah and Cass hang up banners and string up lights, scrub the deck clean and stock the fridges. Sam’s been frying up shrimp and rice, and getting a bonfire going outside to keep the guests warm. Monica and Natasha had spent the last two weeks on holiday in Louisiana and Bucky offered to drive them to the spa this morning. Last Sam heard they’re getting bubble tea and are on the way back.

By the time they arrive, the sun has dropped to the lip of the horizon and the sky is peach-gray above them. Bucky pulls Sam close and kisses him when he reaches the deck. Sam pointedly ignores Monica’s fluttery eyes and Nat’s kissing noises. They’re actual children. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky says and smiles.

“You get your eyebrows done?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “No.” But he smells like coconut.

“Yeah, he did!” Nat calls out and when Sam gets a closer look, pinching Bucky’s face between his hands, he laughs. 

“You did! I like it. I’ll book us a day too. Get you the whole nine yards, huh? Pedi, mani, facials.” 

“Shut up,” he says and kisses Sam. “Come on. Let's get this thing going.” 

Monica greets the small crowd, happy to take pictures with everyone; they’re ecstatic that their president is spending the holidays here with them. Inside Steve greets her at the door, and Sam doesn’t know if things have progressed in any way between them or if they’re on a slow train to somewhere but Steve can’t wipe the smile off his face and Monica glances at him like a schoolgirl at her crush, takes his hand when he helps her up the stairs and holds on tight. 

Sam hooks his arm through Bucky’s on the way in, and Bucky turns his face to look at him. Smiles when he sees Sam’s already looking. 

“You look nice in green,” Bucky says.

“You look nice with nothing on,” Sam dead pans, waving at someone, then stopping to take a picture. 

Bucky snorts, head dropped as he tries to hide a laugh. “I’ll give you that one.”

“Yeah?” Sam says, purposely squeezing closely past Bucky on the way in, looking up at him with a grin. 

Bucky nips his lip between his teeth. “Yeah, honey.”

The TV’s already on, two columns displayed with Monica in the lead by quite a bit and Hayward struggling to catch up but winning small states easily. Everyone’s gathered around it, a drink in hand and passing snacks around while the numbers roll in. Two large states to go and either could flip her chances. 

She doesn’t look all that nervous, if she is she’s hiding it well. 

Just then Joaquín lets out a loud whoop and shouts, hands in the air, “We got Colorado!” 

“Yes!” Bucky shouts too, kisses Sam. 

Monica lets out a deep breath, smiles nervously over at Sam while Steve pours her a glass of wine. 

“She’s got this, I know it,” Sam says, nerves frayed for his friend. 

“Yeah she does,” Bucky says, “She’s just like your husband. One hell of a guy, one hell of a woman. Hayward ain’t got a chance in hell.” 

Sam smiles at him. “Yeah she is.” 

“Hey,” he says, giving Sam a quick kiss. “Let me get the warmers out for that.” 

At which Sam remembers he can’t just stare into Bucky’s blue eyes all goddamn night; he’s got food to make, people to feed. Thankfully Joquin throws a Chubby Checker bop on the stereo this time and it lights a fire under Sam’s ass. He gets back to his pots, finishes up the shrimp and rice then takes the pots over to the warmers Bucky had set up near the sideboard. 

In passing, he kisses his fingers and taps them to the glass, greeting his husband, and catches Bucky smiling at him.

Bucky lifts his hand in a salute to the silver box filled with Riley’s ashes and Sam’s heart feels like it’s bursting at the seams. It’s good, now, to finally love both of them fully, the way he always wanted to. He’ll never stop loving Riley, never be over him, but there’s something growing in his chest now, something with Bucky’s name all over it, something so wild and solid he can hardly breathe. 

“Fuck!” Steve says and when Bucky looks over at the TV he sighs and grabs the tequila bottle. 

As they watch, Texas flips red. Monica is the first to take a swig from the bottle Bucky’s holding. 

“Fuck,” Bucky says too, then pours some down his own throat. Hands it over to Natasha.

“We knew that would happen,” Natasha says and squeezes Monica’s shoulder then downs a sip. 

They keep the food warm until the final results are in, there’s no way anyone’s eating before that. And in the meantime they pass the tense hours playing poker at the dining room table. 

A little after Texas, Oregon flips blue and everyone cheers so loud Gary starts screaming and racing around the porch like an F1 car, sending them all into a fit of hysterics during which Nevada flips in favor of Monica too and the laughter turns into another round of raucous cheering.

A couple of minutes later Alaska flips red and by now they’ve forgotten all about chickens and tequila and are all sitting on the edge of their seats. Natasha’s clutching a bottle of vodka, Steve’s incessantly rubbing his beard, Monica’s sitting with her hands behind her head and a deep frown between her eyes. Joaquín’s on the kitchen counter and Sam’s clutching Bucky’s hand for dear life. 

[dragonnarrative-writes]

WIP Wednesday!

It's been a long time since I did one of these! Have a little bit of the Simon Riley x Pregnant Reader (featuring her Auntie B, Simon's neighbor) that has possessed me the last week or so. Currently it has 8.9k words and they haven't kissed yet sobsobsob

No Pressure Tags: @sentientcave, @stellewriites, @gemmahale, @disgustingtwitches, @391780, @mortuarywriting, @angelcqre, @pfhwrittes and anyone who is looking forward to spring.

Simon is a soldier, B tells you when he leaves for the groceries. He’s gone for weeks to months at a time. When he’s around he restocks her heavy groceries and does anything around her apartment that needs doing. He’s a bit of a homebody. He likes to read on the couch while B watches Family Feud.

“Why do you have a white man hanging around on your couch?” you stir the rice and peas before covering the pot again.

B scoffs from where she’s sitting at the table. “You keep a man on the couch, you don’t have to go looking for him when you need him. I don’t have to go calling after him at all hours-”

Oh here she goes. “Auntie, I’m not trying to keep Brandon.”

“And that’s your problem,” she counters. “If you’re not trying to keep him, then you need to get rid of him.”

“Those are the two options, huh? I can’t even want to have fun with him?”

“There’s plenty of men to have fun with. It doesn’t have to be that one.” She stands up to check on the stew again, even though you just stirred it. Her bony fingers grab your elbow with surprising strength as she turns you to face her. “You know I’m not going to tell you what to do. But you and I both know that bumbaclaat man-”

A knock interrupts her, and she gives you an irritated “tuh!” as you go to open the door. The sight of Simon on the other side nearly evaporates your irritation. You hate to admit it, but you can see the appeal of a man at the door with three full grocery bags and two cases of water bottles. Convenient indeed.

He doesn’t even let you take a bag, just toes his shoes off and strides into the kitchen. “Smells good.”

“Necie’s a decent cook,” B says. “Burns the rice every time, though.”

“Take it off the heat!” you yelp, dodging around the big man to turn off the burner. Luckily, it’s not actually ruined, just a bit brown at the bottom. “Why do you try me? Next time don’t tell me to make dinner.”

“Set the table,” she says imperiously. “Simon, put the groceries away and go wash up.”

“Yes’m,” says the giant. And then he just does what she says.

[mar3ggiata]

the night of the tarantula - 8

simon riley x oc

'In another life, you don't know who I am. That's why you want me.'

She ran home and she wanted to throw herself off a bridge. It was all so… too much. She felt like laughing out loud, she giggled by herself in the car, it was absurd, come on! What in the hell? What was happening, was it real? Hey mom, guess what, your traitor daughter is coming back home after 7 years and she demands you get her back in your arms and in your business. Be happy and don’t shoot her!

And her ex, her ex boyfriend, her secret - not so secret -relationship from 10 years ago, again? What? Befriend him, fuck him like a whore? What?

It was her fault too for thinking she could have a new life, for believing things were going to be different and for sending that fucking message to Maria Adele, God what was she thinking? Everything, everything was too much, the interrogations, her family, the deal, Simon, ballet, her fucking patients and all the meetings she had to cancel, Snow Queen, all of it fuck, fuck, fuck.

How in the fucking world did she end up in that situation?

She opened the door to her apartment and Jinx greeted her. Poor neglected baby, poor baby, she pat his head and responded to his excitement by bending down to kiss him. Salvo was at her house. She said hi to him, he was cooking. He was taking care of the dog while she was away.

Salvo asked how it went, and she didn’t reply. She said she wasn’t really hungry, he scoffed and responded he didn’t care, she was gonna eat. She looked up from kissing her dog and she saw a strange, circle spec of light in the corner of her eye. A small aura of light.

She blinked, it didn’t go away.

A migraine. An incoming migraine.

She should have seen it coming.

She raised herself, legs heavy and she tied up her hair in a bun. She announced she was gonna have a shower and that he could eat if he was hungry. To which he asked what had happened, since she was so grumpy. She spoke Italian, something along the lines of ‘they’re insane, they don’t know what they’re asking, I don’t want to hear about it nor be involved.’

Thankfully, Salvo didn’t reply.

The steam made her feel dizzy, the hot, boiling hot water cut her skin and lulled her in a trance. She decided it was time to get out of that soft bubble when she heard Jinx scratching the door and whining for her. She rinsed off the body wash and got out, putting on a robe. She went out to the kitchen to discover a bowl of rice, salmon and greens on the counter. Salvo was putting on his shoes.

'So, you're being arrested, or…'

She sighed, sat on one of the stools. 'No…', she spoke with her mouth full, the fishy smell of the dish made her nearly throw up, 'I don't know, I guess I could say-'

She was cut off by a knock on the door. Nobody was ever at her door.

‘How do you know when you’re ready for her?’

Price raised his eyebrows as if he didn’t expect the question. As if he wasn’t dying to have that conversation with him, he had been waiting for this for months.

‘I’m not sure I know what you mean...’

‘Fuck off’.

He scoffed, and shook his head. Simon was young. He wasn’t really, Price was only 9 years older than him. He always thought it was his trauma, making him kinda… unsuited for normal life. Unsuited for casual situations, for anything that wasn’t rough and tough and hard to manage. He only knew how to solve complicated problems, to manage accidents. Fighting his way out.

He wasn’t used to simple things, he over exaggerated things, he complicated them. Not in the field, that is. In normal life, he wasn’t used to things being nice and simple and just straight forward. Like him and Eva, they were so simple. As the captain saw them, that is. It was pretty simple to him.

They once had a fight about uniforms. Simon didn’t like the colour of the trousers, he refused to wear them. They had fights about missions, a lot. Simon never questioned him, he just had opinions and he was incredibly vocal and proud to let the captain know what he thought. They fought about leave days, the holiday Simon didn’t want to take. One time they had a convention to attend to, a million years ago, Simon really didn’t want to go and blamed it on the menu. Argued for days. Said he didn’t like scallops. The new additions to the team, Simon never liked new faces. He had a lot to say about potential candidates.

This was the same. The captain wasn’t blind, his lieutenant was stubborn. And childish at times...

‘How do you know when you can… you know… trust.’

He took a long drag of his cigar. He didn’t want to sound like he was underplaying his feelings. They had never ever had that conversation about anyone else.

‘I believe you already know’, he said. ‘You wouldn’t be asking me these questions if you didn’t already know you can trust her. And that you’re ready.’ Simple.

Simon’s heart skipped a beat at the thought. So he was ready, indeed. So he didn’t have to wait, he didn’t need to wait and see and let her prove herself more. He could just… he was ready if he wanted to… I don’t know, be with her? Why did that sound so absurd? Wasn't there a test of some sort? Didn't he need to wait a bit more maybe, he felt like he hardly knew the girl. She was imprinted in his mind every second of every day, yet he felt so distant.

‘Do you think she would... lie again?’

Price raised his eyebrows. Wasn’t easy to say, but still he didn’t want to discourage him. He had been worried a little for him, cause he saw how much he liked her and how disappointed he got when they found out… you know. But still, that didn’t change what they might have had before that, or that she could change in the future. And anyways, no matter how much Simon tried, he hardly resisted from getting close to her, being in her space, and didn’t complain when she was the one to look for him. So, who was he kidding. He was indulging in her more and more as time went by. And Price knew and everyone knew it was a dance, a discreet yet perfect dance in which they looked for each other, found each other's eyes, they seemed close in each room they were in even if Eva was by the door and Simon sitting at the table. They disappeared sometimes and God knows where they went, even just metaphorically speaking. All it took was a glance, a nod of the head and they knew. They communicated, they saw each other.

‘You know her better than me by now.’ The captain responded. ‘I think she wants you by her side.’

Simon was glad the conversation ended on a positive note. The captain wasn’t done.

‘And by the way, getting played is also part of the game.’ He said. ‘Accept the risks if you really want her.’

‘Enough.’

He heard the captain laugh when he left the room.

Nobody was ever at her door. Her eyes shot up, Salvo immediately froze and gave her a sign not to move. She placed the fork on the plate, trying to do so quietly. When Salvo peeked through the peephole, however, his shoulders relaxed slightly. She waited for what felt like an eternity for him to look at her, with eyes wide and brows furrowed.

'What?' She asked.

He shook his head, 'It's him.'

She knew how he was talking about, no need to specify. Blood rushed to her ears, her heart jumped. She instinctively pulled at her robe, Jinx was going mad sniffing the door and stomping his paws. Even the damn dog was excited.

He showed up at her house. Uninvited, not for duty she guessed.

He had called for her a few days back, you can't keep me from her, he had said to Salvo. There he was, again.

'Apri', she just said. She walked to her room to put some clothes on.

'Are you insane?'

She gave him a look before closing the door and he knew what the look meant. Don't question me, that was the meaning. You heard me the first time. If this was going to be a catastrophe, Salvo didn't want to be involved. She wanted that monster inside her apartment, she was feeling pitiful, good for her. He was probably furious at her for lying and leading him on or some shit and wanted to pick a fight, but showing up at her house at night? Another level of creepy.

He did open the door, proudly. He stood in the middle of Eva's small living room and didn't leave him room to get inside. Don't get me wrong, Salvo wasn't worried Simon could take his place, Eva and him had a strong friendship. And he wasn't worried she would be hurt by the things he might have had to say, she was a strong woman and she loved to argue. But still...

Jinx was all over him like they had been friends for a lifetime. Wagging his tail and turning and turning in circles to get pets. Ghost, Salvo had never in a million years would have thought to encounter him in such a circumstance, barely acknowledged him. Well, he did cause he looked at him, he was wearing a mask and a baseball cap. He soon forgot about Salvo, concentrating on the dog who was drooling on his boots. Salvo got a closer look. Some of the lieutenant's blonde hair were sticking out the cap. He wore casual attire, he was very pale. He had clearly pet Jinx before. He must have followed Eva soon after she left the interrogation. 'Followed', he knew where she lived. He had been invited to that house. What did she see in him anyways, the hulking figure perhaps, the physique, cause his personality sure wasn't appealing, and she wasn't one to seek out problematic men anyways…

'Gonna move?' Ghost asked.

Salvo seemed to regain consciousness, and moved slightly to let him in.

Was it infuriating to see him and not Eva answering the door? Yes. What was he doing there, was he gonna spend the night, did he move in? Was he about to leave, he had sneakers on. Where was she, what took so long to open the door, what was she doing? The house smelled like food, though she had just came from the interrogation, so Salvo had probably cooked. He scanned the room. Blanket on the sofa, bowl on the counter, the fork was dirty. There were books, pens and a few mugs on the coffee table. The bathroom door was opened, the mirror foggy. The thought of her showering seconds prior to his arrival made him nervous. She was changing, in her room. That's where she was. Was she going out, or just to bed? Was he bothering her when she wanted to sleep?Jinx's bowl was empty, he could feed him, did he need to go on a walk? When was Salvo gonna leave? Speaking of…

'What do you need?', Simon heard him say from behind his shoulder.

He nearly knocked him out there and then. So that he could finally be alone with her. Fucking idiot, always lingering around…

'Weren't you about to leave?' He turned around and gestures at his shoes.

Salvo seemed offended. His brown curly hair were slick back, he was so different from Simon. His skin was glistening and tan, he looked peaceful, he looked comfortable and secure and relaxed. Simon envied the way he stood tall and calm. Young, smart and funny too. And protective of his friend, she didn't need protection. He looked smug about it too, both of the men knew Eva's favourite (at the moment) was definitely Salvo. He knew his way around that apartment, he was guarding the door.

He knew his way around Eva and her heart.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘You’re not addressing me like that Sargent, you-‘

Salvo did something nobody ever did, he interrupted him. And he turned around to face him, Simon fully turned around. He was brave, the boy. Or stupid.

'We're not doing that here, come on.' He said, smiling. 'You're not here for work.'

Simon felt exposed. Like his little secret was out. Did Eva tell you anything, did she tell you, what, that we went out, that I was here for dinner, that I asked her out? How much do you know? He felt vulnerable and he hated it. You're not here for work, no… He was there for himself, it was true. This new part of his life, this new secret he kept from everyone, hell, even from himself, Salvo could see past it somehow.

'That's none of your business', Ghost asserted.

'It is, I'm her friend.'

'I don't care.'

'But it's the truth.'

'Listen, that's enough, I-'

'What's going on?'

The voice of an angel. Hers. Simon's head shot left, he didn't hear the door open. Maybe she had been there the whole time, she was a ghost, a mirage and a presence in the back of his mind. She had a simple white t-shirt on, she had no bra. She wore sweatpants, grey. It was absurd how she would make even a t-shirt look elegant and classy. She looked like a dove, like a flower gently resting in a pond. Like spring. She had her bathrobe in hand, she wore fuzzy socks. She looked calm, yet cautious. Did he think she was gonna be happy to see him, fool. But she didn't look mad, either. He felt like he didn't belong there, but neither did Salvo. Simon's nostrils were filled with her scent, as she slowly moved behind the kitchen counter, a wall physical and psychological between them. She smelled like coconut, something floral, fresh. He got kinda used to analysing her features when she wasn't wearing makeup, her eyes looked tired, the skin around her nose red. She was pale, all colour from her cheeks drained upon seeing him. He realised he really didn't know how to justify his presence at her house, not without endangering himself by revealing some kind of hidden feeling for her.

Anger, longing, lust, fear and despair. All of those.

'I wanted to talk'. He said.

She didn't flinch, didn't smile. She wasn't impressed.

'Alright', she just said. Small, compliant, hurt. Did I make you feel this bad, he asked himself.

Salvo spoke from behind Simon's shoulder, in Italian so only she could understand. What a dick. 'Sei sicura?'

'Penso di si, dovremmo…'

'Non ti sentire forzata.'

'No, non è quello…'

'In English, maybe?'

Eva didn't really care for either of the men in front of her (a lie, but still). She wanted silence more than anything and you could tell by the way she spoke. A calmness that wasn't usual for her. Her voice small and sweet, from her parted lips came small exhales of air. She felt tightness in her chest and trouble breathing. Anxiety. Maybe cause Simon was there. There was no questioning his feelings anymore and he was a fool if he thought she didn't notice. He was mad and yet here he was. Came back to her with his tail between his legs. To talk, he said, about them probably, about the date. There was no questioning there was something there, something lingering in the air between them. Yet, they had never been more far away.

She surely wasn't in the position to judge him. She wanted this. She wanted him to come to her, she wanted to tell him everything. If it meant having him close to her again then yes, she would tell him. Even just for tonight, just once. Then he would leave, disgusted by her. At least he would be with her for a few hours.

She missed him. She wanted him.

'Vai Salvo, non ti preoccupare', she said and went to the bathroom to hang the robe. She told Salvo to go and not worry about her. She was happy he did worry, but she could defend herself from Simon's insults. Or she guessed he would insult her, she didn't know. She watched Salvo tie his shoes, reluctantly put on his jacket. He gave Simon a look, a look men give each other when they want to be intimidating. She rolled her eyes and Simon didn't seem to notice him anyways. He was looking at her, waiting patiently for her friend to get out of the apartment. He wanted a moment alone with her, he wanted privacy.

She thought, in another life we're sitting on the couch. This is our house, Jinx is our dog. I don't know what you do, you think my family is dead. I eat my dinner without crying, you don't wear the mask, you're not scared. Salvo likes you cause you're friends, he doesn't need to spend the night to shake me awake from nightmares cause you do it, Simon. Only you, Simon. You do it, it's you and me.

In another life, you don't know who I am, that's why you want me.

Just not this life.

notes: I'm alive and I lied! nothing happens in this chapter I just love to yap ehe. fluff in the next chapter, no kiss, but still they're being sweet and all. and after this hopefully they're gonna be more affectionate. does it make sense, what I'm doing?

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