#the way simon is just. standing there

[magstorrn]

simon stride's commitment to being a hater has to be commended tbh. not only did he decide henry jekyll was his mortal enemy, he a) told jekyll's soon to be father-in-law that jekyll should die, b) made the board meeting entirely personal even though he was there in a professional capacity, and c) when jekyll turned into hyde at the wedding reception he made it his foremost priority to point this out to lisa. just to be vindicated. legend

[3amfanfiction]

Thinking about Simon who’s always used to men and women giving way to him. If he says something, it’s obeyed. Whether there’s nervous fluttering at first or what.

But then he meets you.

And at first it’s exactly like he expected—he pushes and you bend. It’s all stuttering words, darting eyes, wringing hands. But then things line up just right where he hits one of your ‘absolutely not’ buttons with no idea.

Maybe you had been arguing about him inviting himself into your life. Assigning himself the role of boyfriend without ever thinking to get your approval. And you’re trying to be firm, really you are! He’s so intimidating though.

But then he says something just wrong right.

And like the flip of a switch you won’t put up with any of his bullshit.

Maybe he says something like, can’t have pets in military housing while looking at your sweet angel hiding around the corner and you’re all there ain’t no way he just said that.

Cue your expression evening out and your words becoming steady as you tear into him, reading him for absolute filth before giving him third degree karmic burns.

I think that would be a really interesting dynamic

TLDR:

He tries to pull crap and you knock him down a peg or three

[bobmckenzie]

a quick isaac sketch today~ 💜 just letting my bestie chill in my lap haha this means nothing for either of us (<- lie)

used this pose from mellon_soup as a reference! <3

[birb-boyo]

It’s not fair why can’t I kiss Simon😭

At the very least I shoulda been able to kiss him after he comes back after the broadcast

Like, the hug was everything to me BUT I WANT THEM TO KISS😭

Simon deserves a kiss

[dragonnarrative-writes]

GhostGaz Week - 2nd chances // road trip

This one is more of a dialogue based character study than anything else, I think. I felt unhinged writing it even though very little happens.

@ghostgazweek

CW: use of cigarettes, littering, discussions of gender and sexuality, past dating experiences, brief reference to simon riley's terrible awful service experiences

Gaz doesn’t hate land transport, but he’d much rather be on a helicopter than in this silent car with Ghost right now. He’s viciously bored. If it was Price, he’d know how to carry a conversation. But fresh off his third milk run with Ghost, he’s floundering. He checks the clock and groans. There’s another hour before they hit the tarmac and head home.

Desperation for something to talk about makes him blurt, “You ever been in love?”

Ghost doesn’t give much indication that he’s heard, eyes never leaving the road, hand relaxed on the top of the steering wheel. Sometimes Gaz wishes he was a photographer. The Ghost in the driver’s seat would make a great campaign poster. He’s bulky with all his gear. Solid. The picture of a man. This is the guy protecting the innocent by risking himself. A skull faced badass.

“Take the wheel,” Ghost says.

Used to the routine by now, Gaz leans over the arm rest to hold the car steady while Ghost pulls pulls a cigarette from a pack and lights it. But where he usually only lifts his balaclava over the bridge of his nose, he reaches up to take the whole thing off. It’s the work of a moment for him to light the cigarette and open the window. Gaz finds himself looking between the empty road and Ghost’s scarred jaw and the shape of his nose.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Gaz says, settling back into his seat. He tries not to stare, but it’s hard. Without the mask, Ghost is still the picture of a man. Just... different.

“Why’d you ask?”

“Huh?”

Ghost tilts his head to make brief eye contact, then looks back at the road. “Why’d you ask if I’ve ever been in love?”

Oh. “Just… curious, I guess,” Gaz flounders. “I feel like we should know each other better by now.”

The silence is near painful as Ghost takes a drag from his cigarette, and then another. Gaz can’t decide what’s worse - if he’s being ignored or if Ghost is actively offended. He’s about to apologize when he gets an answer.

“Been in love a few times. Puppy love 'fore I joined up, told myself I woulda proposed to ‘er if things were different, but probably not. Was all over the place.” He takes another drag, exhales as he talks. “Had a crush on another private in basic, gave it a go when we graduated. Dated in secret for about a year before I broke things off. Hurt a bit but tha’s a part of it all, yeah?”

“Why’d you break up?”

“Didn’t like being his secret,” Ghost says around another puff of smoke. “He didn’t like my daddy issues.”

Gaz feels his eyebrows crawl up beneath is cap. “Didn’t know you liked men.”

That makes Ghost - Simon? - laugh. “Yeah, well, now we know each other better, I guess.”

Gaz's ears burn a bit. Into the silence, he offers, “Me too. I mean… I’m… not strictly heterosexual…?”

“You askin’ me?” the man snorts a laugh. “’ve seen your beauty serums, Gaz. I know you ain’t straight. Best egg in the carton.”

Gaz scrunches his nose, he can't help it. “What does that even mean?”

Ghost grins that grin. The one that makes Price shoot his whiskey. “You ever have dreams where you’re a girl?”

“What?” Gaz blanches. Five years ago, he’d have answered, doesn’t everybody? But he’s learned his lesson since then. “No.”

Ghost’s grin doesn’t falter. “I do.”

“Bullshit,” Gaz says, because what? What even is this conversation?

“Third love of my life made me go to therapy,” Ghost continues, like he didn’t just rock Gaz’s world on its axis. “Learned a lot. Admittedly before the Ghost thing. Broke up because the therapy was working. And then all the Ghost shit happened.”

“Of course.” What else is there to say?

“Flirted with someone a couple times in the last six months, but either I’ve been too subtle or they’re not interested.”

Gaz gropes around for an appropriate response because I've only ever seen you stare silently at people feels a bit rude. “Maybe it’s the mask? You’re hard to read.”

“Maybe so,” is the answer he gets. “What about you? Ever been in love, Garrick?”

The question shouldn’t startle him, but it does. He stumbles over his answer. “I dunno. Maybe. Had crushes when I was kid. Dated in sixth form, but I don’t know if that counts.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I was a kid, yeah? Everything feels intense when you’re young,” Gaz shrugs. “Doesn’t mean it’s love.”

Ghost is quiet for a moment, nodding to himself. Finally he says, “M’ therapist says that just because it’s a kid that feels it don't make the feelings less valid. If anything, feelings are more intense for kids. Puppy love is still love.”

The realization that Ghost is a romantic snaps into place. He sits with that for a beat before saying, “Well, she cheated on me with my mate, so that ended. Took a long time for me to get over that one.”

“That’s shite,” Ghost mumbles. “You datin’ now?”

“Not much time for a civilian relationship,” Gaz admits with a shrug. “And I’m not… out on base. I’m not not, just… I don’t really care to have people in my business.”

“Fair,” Ghost answers. He flicks his cigarette out the window. “Well, if you ever do think about dating on base, keep me in mind.”

Gaz might pull something in his neck, he snaps to look at Ghost so fast. “Huh?”

Ghost just laughs.

[asexualsimonsnow]

A Shortened List of Simon Snow's Autistic Traits

because a full length list would be too long of a post.

1. His love of magic could easily be interpreted as a special interest

“No ones loves magic like I do,” (Carry On, page 9).

2. He is shown to have poor spatial awareness

“That’s when we hear the first scream. I stand up, knocking the table over and breaking the teapot more conclusively,” (Carry On, page 235).

“...before she starts treating me like a Great Dane who can’t help knocking things over with its tail… You’d have to be incorporeal not to knock anything over,” (Carry On, page 267).

3. He is always interpreting things literally

“‘Let hardship sharpen your blade, Simon.’ I thought he meant my actual blade… Eventually I figured out that he meant me,” (Carry On, page 9).

It even affects his magic: “And sometimes when [Simon] casts metaphors, they go viciously literal,” (Carry On, page 119).

4. He has his whole thing with lists to help him process things

“I keep a list—of all the things I miss most—and I’m not allowed to touch it in my head until I’m about an hour from Watford. Then I run through the list one by one. It’s sort of like easing yourself into cold water. But the opposite of that I suppose—easing yourself into something really good, so the shock of it doesn’t overwhelm you. / I started making my list, my good things list, when I was 11, and I should probably cross a few things off, but that’s harder than you’d think,” (Carry On, page 11).

^ Not only is the list thing autistic, struggling to take things off because he's grown used to the list as it is is autistic.

5. He has difficulty with verbal communication

“Half of Snow’s sentences are shrugs,” (Carry On, page 354).

“I’ve never been good with words,” (Carry On, page 107). They mention this like a million times.

This is the bit that really convinces me: "I don’t remember when I learned to talk, but I know they tried to send me to specialists… I used to see a counselor and a speech therapist. ‘Use your words, Simon.’ I got so bloody sick of hearing that. It was so much easier to just take what I wanted instead of asking for it. Or thump whoever was hurting me, even if they thumped me right back," (Carry On, page 108).

“Simon seemed conscious, but wasn’t saying anything. And he wouldn’t make eye contact,” (Carry On, page 427). The eye contact thing in here is also pretty autistic.

6. He does a lot of stimming

“Simon groans and rakes at his hair,” (Carry On, page 362). He messes with his hair a lot.

“Simon was pacing around my bedroom, swinging his blade,” (Carry On, page 454).

“I intentionally slam my shoulder into the wall next to the door. (People who tell you that slamming and bashing into things won’t make you feel better haven’t slammed or bashed enough),” (Carry On, page 274). This one especially stands out to me.

Again, just a short list. There are plenty more quotes for these traits, and other autistic traits that Simon has.

[chipmunkweirdo]

I was able to collect about 20 minutes of Alvin 2.0 hints from only seasons 1 and 2.

IT’S ALL FITTING TOGETHER!!!

I’m excited to take on 3, 4, and 5 because the hints just keep coming more frequently there.

[kkusuka]

pt. 2

your roommate was a strange man.

can you even really call him a roommate if he's only home for one week every few months? but when he is home, simon riley is a pretty good roommate.

he fixes the heater that's been broken for two months, he replaces the faucet after it drenches you for turning it on too quick, he even takes a look at your car when you mention how your breaks have been squeaking. but other than his penchant for whiskey and the color black, you really don't know much about the man you've been living with for more than a year.

he's in the military, you know that for sure. he works with a team because he tells you that you have a striking resemblance to a man names "soap"? you take that as a compliment even if he didn't really mean it to be one. he wears combat boots even when he's off, you buy him a pair for his birthday that he doesn't take off until soles wear out. but all of these are merely observations, you don't actually know anything about him.

and it's not like you don't try to find out more things about him. you search his name on google- nothing. you ask him about his social media- 'don't got any'. you never ask about family because he never brings them up. all you have is a phone number and the license plate on his beat up dodge charger.

so, getting a call in the middle of the night, three months after you'd last seen simon, about a mission taking a bad turn and simon taking a bullet for an american private. all you really manage to catch after that was the hospital's address and a room number to ask for.

you feel like you're in a trance as you pack yourself an overnight bag, then move to simon's room and just start grabbing the softest clothes you can find and a bunch of snacks from his side of the pantry, then you're off.

you didn't want to see desperate or overly worried about a man whose favorite song you don't know but you're pushing into the high 90s on your way down. and your mind isn't clear until you're standing in front of a tired looking nurse in sanrio scrubs.

"um, i need to get into room 1206?" you barely choke the words out before she's getting up to lead you, "oh! mrs. riley, they told me you were on your way."

"oh-i'm, well" and if you hadn't watch so many hospital shows where they don't let anyone but family into the room you would have just told her the truth, but you just shut your mouth, give her a tight smile, and follow her down the hallway.

the room doesn’t take long to get to, but the door is shut and you can hear the people inside talking. but the nurse doesn't even hesitate to swing the door wide open, "mr. riley, your wife is here."

and then there are four sets of eyes trained on you, but all you can look at is the hulking figure of your roommate sat up in his comically small hospital bed. and all you can muster up is a slight smile and a small wave in his direction before the bags you're holding fly straight onto the floor.

"oh, shoot- i'm sorry. i didn't know if you needed anything so i just grabbed some things from your dresser- and some of those granola bars you like, and there should be a gatorade somewhere in there. and, oh my god, i'm sorry, how are you? i came as soon as they called, and they said you got shot, and-"

"calm down, sweetheart, or yer gonna be the one that needs a hospital bed." ok, simon could still speak that was good, and he was conscious and remembered you.

"i'm sorry. i just got worried, and-" simon knew you well enough to know that you'll worry yourself to death if he lets you keep going, "nothin' to worry about, sweetheart, pull up a chair, you've 'ad stressful few hours."

you practically fell back into the chair that the man with the kindest brown eyes you've ever seen pushed towards you. and for the first time since you arrived, you took a deep, long breath. hand clasped in your lap as you take simon in.

"feeling any better, mrs. riley?"

"she's fine, garrick." 

'garrick' seems utterly unphased by your roommate's- husband's? you can address that later- tone and just continues to smile at you.

"c'mon simon, we just wannae ken 'bout the bonnie lass yer hidin' from yer pals. ye 'aven't even introduced us." you're glad the scot waited until you'd calmed down to start speaking because it took you at least 30 seconds to realize he was even talking about you.

"sweetheart these are the boys, boys this is sweetheart, now fuck off before you scare 'er away"

they didn’t seem like they were going to leave until the older man practically dragged them out saying something about the heaping loads of paperwork they had to do. so will a little wave and a cheeky smile, they were gone.

"so, um, ho-how are you feeling? they, uh, said that you got shot?"

" 'm fine, sweetheart, better knowing i've got a bird at home who'll come runnin' cause she thinks 'm hurt, yeah wife?"

yeah, maybe you'll let the mrs. riley thing go on for a little bit longer.

idk i just really like the idea of simon just picking someone random and being like 'yeah this is it, you're mine now' and they have literally no idea

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

Imagine accidentally walking into a military dive bar by yourself, not knowing that the customer base was mainly military folk, and just kind of rolling with it

Imagine you dressed cute, your hair was done, and it had been a long week- you deserved a good ol' night on the town, damnit, and you didn't want to pay another Uber to go to another bar

Imagine you making your way up to the bar to order your first drink of the night and when you order a simple cocktail, the bar goes quiet for a split second because who orders a cocktail in this place?

Imagine not knowing that since the second you walked in that door, you've had eyes on you. Of course you've had eyes on you since you walked in, but one pair in particular stayed glued to your form as you walked through the bar

Imagine looking around after getting your drink from the bartender to see where you'd try to sit for a bit to sip on your drink

Imagine there being an empty table near the far end of the bar that you decide to claim as your own as you continued to scope out the bar patrons

Imagine finally locking eyes with the one man that has had his eye on you since the minute you walked in the door

Imagine freezing as you look into his eyes from across the bar, suddenly aware that this huge, masked military man had been looking right at you

Imagine deciding after a second fuck it and you just gave him a smile and a small wave before sipping your drink. After all, he had been looking at you first, right?

Imagine seeing him look away briefly after your wave and you finally turn to look around the bar again, idly sipping at your drink

Imagine not even a minute later, that very same man is now standing right next to you- how the hell did he get there so fast-? And so quietly-?

Imagine the silence that ensues, neither one of you wanting to say the first word (well, it was either not wanting or not knowing what to say)

Imagine the first thing you speak to Simon 'Ghost' Riley, unknowing who he is or what his reputation was, being, "So, uh... Come here often...?"

Imagine that really being your best line for this strange man

Imagine Ghost letting out a soft grunt as he nodded, "Often enough. Never seen you here before."

Imagine you giving him another smile, this one softer and more genuine as you reply, "I didn't realize this was so... Military oriented. Am I even allowed to be here?"

Imagine hearing a small huff from the man, his eyes indiscernible as he says, "Course you're allowed. I'd like to see them try to kick a bird like you out."

Imagine giggling softly, "A bird like me? What's that supposed to mean?"

Imagine all the while, Simon 'Ghost' Riley's teammates are still sitting at the bar, watching this all go down like it was a soap opera. It was, wasn't it? Their Lieutenant going out of his way to flirt with the little bird who accidentally wandered into a military-centric dive and still ordered the little cocktail you liked.

ugh just imagine

masterlist

[duchessbird]

thinking of old, retired!simon riley who hangs out pubs in his free time. he’s a tank of muscle, with a soft layer of fat over it all. he’s got the peak dad bod, and he’s a bit tanner than he was from working in his back garden. his tattoos are lining his body and he is scrumptious.

and he meets you. young little thing, sweetest bird he’s ever seen. shining, soft grins and plump, curvy edges.

he nearly drops to his knees to pray for you to grace him with your presence when you do it on your own volition. he forgot he was even playing blackball, the cue still held tightly in his hand. he was just practicing, just a hobby.

“mm, can ye teach me how to play?” you ask, and you’ve got a thicker accent than he does. he drinks it up, with a straw and all. he nods, handing you a freshly chalked cue.

you struggle enough to learn the mechanics for him to decide to stand behind you, front pressed to your back as he bends you over with his body weight — one hand on your waist and the other steadying your cue as you aim to break.

fuck. he’s so hot, burning even through your skimpy dress. his voice rumbles in your ear,

“c’mon, birdie, just steady y’rself. even out yer breathin’.” he instructed, as patient as ever.

you beat him when you guys actually started playing! yay! and then… you decided to make a silly little bet.

“if you can beat me,” you whispered in his ear, liquid temptation mixed with the way you were pulling him by his shirt collar down to your level — you knew he could easily beat you — “i’ll go home with you.”

simon has never won a game of blackball so fast.

[circe69]

simon riley is simon fucking riley.

why would he need a secretary?

it was price's idea to put up the "help wanted" sign, even though simon never agreed to it. he was completely capable of going through life "assistantless", he had made it this far, hadn't he?

but the way you greeted him, placed your manicured hand out for him to envelop it with his, was something he wasn't prepared for in the slightest. simon found himself whispering your name to himself as he walked to lunch, stapled papers, shaving his face.

you were a phenomenon to him, a spiritual experience that he just didn't recognize yet. and even though he was slowly coming around to this whole thing, the truth was, he'd always be a bitter man.

"sir, I was placed here for your benefit. trust me when I say, whatever you ask of me, I will do-"

"I don't need your fuckin' help, y'hear me?" simon would respond with a bite, even though his words only encouraged your crush more.

and his eyes spoke words his mouth couldn't. they casually wandered down the length of your body, and he took it upon himself to memorize the sight of you. sitting, standing, bending over.

how could he not? the way your plump ass sat in that stupidly tight skirt, how the buttons lining your polo were just seconds away from flying across the room with the help of your black push up bra, it was just too much for him.

every single morning, without fail, you waltzed right into his office. his space, unsolicited. carrying your unnecessarily large purse and an iced coffee, your soft voice rang and bounced off the four walls, "good morning, sir."

you might as well just bow down to him while your at it, with all that sweet talk you give to simon, all the shy little nods and waves you bid him throughout the day, and he ate it right up.

"I finished the spreadsheets you asked me to compartmentalize. will that be all for today?" you'd say, leaning over his mahogany desk as your cleavage spills out of your top. simon was about to lose his cool.

"that'll be all, luv." he cooly spoke over his computer, trying to regain his composure.

it wasn't until a few days later, when you were struggling to put a stack of files on the top shelf, that simon's self control went out the window. he watched as you stood on your tiptoes, losing balance trying to place the items. and he couldn't help but come up behind you, placing a large palm on the small of your back to steady you.

a small gasp came from your throat at the gesture, "easy, luv, just me." he whispered back.

simon was so close, close enough to the point where you could study his face, watching his eyes squint at the effortless reach it took for him to stack the files.

the eye contact alone led your mind astray, and as his hand drifted away from your back to the fat of your hip, your eyes fluttered down to his lips, then neck, then shoulders.

that was all it took. what started as a something simon hated became something he lived for. the hand around your hip pulled you closer to him as the other cradled your face.

"tell me to stop." he whispered, nose rubbing against your own, causing your eyes to flutter shut.

you smiled at the outrageous thought.

"never."

simon's lips crashed against yours in an instant, a clash of teeth and tongue, slow licks and harsh nips were quickly causing your legs to give out beneath you.

he picked you up instantly, "mm, I gotcha,"

that's how you found yourself laid all pretty on his desk, legs up on his shoulders. the slight curve of his dick and veins you could feel with every nerve in your body only created shudders.

"mmhmm, mm, y-you don't hate me?"

you said, interrupting the lewd sounds of him slamming into you, the squelch of the two of you joining made you tighten around him.

"fuck, no. no, don't hate you, lovey,"

and of course, simon being the pussydrunk that he is would casually slip this in,

"love you, fucking love you."

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆

[daemonbrain]

Part 2

1.8k, cw: ghosts a pervert, smut, readers husband is piece of work, not proofread.

Simon Riley who first saw you at the butcher's shop on the phone. 

You were a pretty thing. Wearing a pink little yoga set, one arm holding your mat and the other holding your phone to your ear as you wait for the butcher to bring out your cut of meat.

Which was taking a long time

Simon would’ve had it chopped and packed to go by now. Though, he can’t complain with the view he has of your ass- you. The man was touch starved. He hadn’t been back home in a while, back-to-back deployments keeping him occupied. His only company being his calloused and scraped hands roughly jerking himself until he came, bordering on unpleasurable. Not what some could consider enjoyable, but try being in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere for weeks on end and see if you care so much about gentle.

The borderline perverted look you were blissfully unaware of was tracking down your form. He stared at the way the material tightly clung on to every bit of you in a welcoming way, a second skin. The sweat on you from your little session.

Just how flexible does yoga make a bird like you?

It was only when he heard a grating sound come from your phone that he snapped out of his trance. Even with his bad ears from all the bullets whizzing past him, bombs going off within meters of him, and the usual shit show he did for a living he could hear the voice which bled through your phone's speaker.

"Get me a steak this time. Nonna that nasty shit from last time!"

You hurriedly turned your volume down as it blasted in your ear, startled by the voice. Chewing on your lip you pivoted towards the counter to see if your order had been brought out; the motion to no avail as the employee continued chopping away in the back room.

It was only when your other hand came into full view from the motion he noticed the absolute rock on your finger.

"Honey, I thought the salmon was pretty good." That prick clearly firing something back as you winced away from your phone once again. Gritting your teeth as if biting back your arguments, looking around to occupy your time as the man on the phone continues to speak. "I know... I'm sorry. Don't worry, it'll be ready by 7." You placatingly cooed.

"Listen, I have to go. I love y-" You began, but the moment the words tumbled from your lips you pulled the phone fully from your cheek to see a blank screen with the time staring back on you. The asshole hung up!

What a fuckin tosser.

Simon hears the butcher finally call your name with familiarity and with a sigh you step towards the counter. 

He leaned on to the wall further as he had been the entire time. Silent. Unsettling. A stark contrast to your bright appearance in the shop, the larger man brooded in his corner waiting his turn.

“See ya’ next Friday!” You still managed a bright smile at the butcher who handed you your meat.

A mild thing like you really shouldn’t be talked to so thoughtlessly, some guys are fuckwits though. He never liked the type. Why lock a bird down with a ring if you were gonna be mean to her?

“S’cuse me sir, i’m just gonna push past you here” You asked. With widened eyes, Simon gruffly mumbled a “Yeah,” out before creating a stupidly small space.

Maybe he really did want you to push past him. Or just push up on him but oh well.

Sweeping past him, you give him a toothy smile as you had so sweetly done to the butcher, as if you hadn’t got yelled at less than five minutes ago. God you really have no common sense, beaming up at the lurker in the corner at least twice your size. A girl as pretty as you should really stick to herself.

From that interaction on, Simon found himself being guided by the memory of you back to the butcher shop the next Friday.

And the next…

And the next.

Every week progressively standing closer and closer to you as you picked up your usual order. One day you had taken the liberty of starting small talk with him after recognizing his unmistakable stature. After all, there were only so many people you had seen in this shop and none so… large.

You could not deny you found this mystery man disquieting. Always dressed in dark colours, not so much as a word coming from him. Like clockwork you would come in after hot yoga, greet the butcher, he would come in, silence would ensue as you both waited for your meat, and you would leave with a quick smile.

It was rude. He had never even said a simple hello to you! Though, you suppose that it could be due to your own curt exits. The thought of the unkindness you might’ve exhibited subconsciously sent your mind into a spiral, leading to your abrupt introduction.

After all, who were you to judge! Kindness is and should always be the response in your books.

At this kindness, Simon swore he had to take a breath in as you politely outstretched your hand and spoke your name casually. Tilting his head down to your face he raises a brow skeptically, and then firmly shakes your head.

He failed to hide the shudder which wracked his body. The way your hand effortlessly slipped into his. Soft and manicured engulfed in his.

“Simon.”

“Well it’s good to meet you Simon” With the twinkly little smile you would grace him as you hauled it out of the shop. He felt the shiver go down his spine a second time when you spoke his name for the first time.

And then- it happened.

You giggled. A soft thing, no doubt intended to be small. It wasn’t to Simon though. It reverberated throughout the room, rang so prettily in his ears. Fuck. He would remember that sound later on tonight.

“Are you cold? You keep shivering. It’s pretty harsh out there right now.”

“Nah. Not really.” His accent thick as he shrugged.

Letting out a little “mhm” you nod and look back to the counter.

“I was freezing outside! Usually I walk home-” Simon already knew that “-but today I called my husband to come grab me! Way too cold!”

That visibly made him stiffen. Of course. Perfectly normal that guy is coming to get you, he’d be an idiot to leave you walking home alone in the cold.

If you were his girl, Simon wouldn’t have let you out of his sight. Fuck sakes you practically had “come mess with me” written all over you. There were creeps all over the place nowadays, (thought the creep).

He would’ve carried everything for you, scarfed down whatever the hell you had taken the time to prepare him. That husband of yours doesn’t like your salmon? Simon would. Hell if he didn’t, he’d cram it down his throat with gratitude anyways. He doubted anything could be worse than some of the rations he’s eaten on duty. 

That train of thought is pretty redundant when he takes note of how you wouldn’t be able to leave the bed to make anything.

Maybe you’d cram something of his down your throat in gratitude.

Shaking his head subtly, he hears the bells of the store door opening. He watched your face fall as you step away from him and it’s when he sees your husband's look of complete irritation he understands why.

You had grabbed your order swiftly and with a quick wave goodbye you were on your way back to your husband. Simon could only register your husband's whisper-yell as he disapprovingly glared his way. “The fuck are you doin talking to him?”. And with that you were hurriedly ushered out.

You deigned it necessary to continue greeting Simon, have little chats about the weather, any plans he had for the weekend. Tossing in your stupid jokes that he would laugh at. You interpreted it as something closer to a breathy snort-hopefully positive- and it went on as such for weeks

And every time he returned home Friday night, he came home with only one thought after. You.

As he laid in bed the same thought persisted as he slipped his cock out of his boxers, red and weeping for some sort of stimulation. He took to his usual harsh pace. You’d be so much softer.

You’d be so nice to him wouldn’t you? Coo some compliment as he lets you tug at him. Fuck he wouldn’t know what to take first.

Would you give him a blowie or a hand job? 

No. You wouldn’t be on your knees- not yet. If you’d let him have you, you’d be on your back in an instant. He’d rip the stitches of those leggings right down the middle, your panties next.

“Fuuuuuck” he moaned into the quiet of his room. He’d stick it in slow, he’d try. It would be torture not to ram himself right up to the hilt, but he’d do it for such a good girl.

That’s what you were, weren’t you? Always a nice word for someone? What would you say to him when he began to rut into you like a madman. When you would feel the pummeling intrusion, his head knocking into the deepest parts of you.

He’d be able bend you into so many different positions that you’d better hope that yoga has taught you well. Split your legs open to accommodate his imposing body size as he’d take purchase between them. Then you better hope your cunny can accommodate his other size when he spears you open on his cock.

Would you take it smiling? Would your tears roll down your cheeks, the prodding bordering too much? You’d take it either way, he knew you could. He’d rub at your clit with such tenderness he never afforded himself (as gentle as he could anyway). He’d make sure you begged to stay on his cock forever, fuck himself so deep you would be too stupid to pull away unknowing of where he ended and you started. Not that you’d have to care.

He’d flip you on to all fours and rip away your clothes entirely, pounding you from the back and instead of just his own labored breaths, the sound of skin slapping together would ring out.

In silent stoicism, he feels his balls tighten up at the thought of your perfect face stuffed into the pillows screaming your thank you’s. You probably were just as nice with someone stuffing themselves into your pussy.

At both his ruthless ministrations and boundless imagination, his release spurted all over his hand with a breathy sigh. When you were here he’d make sure to slam his hips to yours and keep them flush against you, coat your insides in hot cum better than your limp-dick husband ever could. That man wouldn’t be able to fuck you the way Simon knew he could. You deserve someone who could make you go stupid on his dick, not cry of frustration like you probably did everytime that knob who thinks himself a man rolled over after finishing himself off.

Not that you’ll have to worry about that soon

…

He wouldn’t be around for much longer anyways.

[random-thot-generator]

Ghost decides after one blind date that you're going to be his.

>>>>>

Simon isn't used to dating. A quick hook up in the loo, sure. A drunken one night stand? He's had too many of those to count. But proper courting? Hell, it's been years, maybe a decade, since he's taken a bird out on an actual date.

It's probably going to be a disaster, but he gave Johnny his word he'd go out with his bird's best friend, so he can't back out now. He'll just have to grit his teeth and power through it.

His sour outlook for the evening is forgotten the second he sees you walk in with Johnny's bird. You're no tipsy tart on the pull, like the birds he's used to dealing with. You're a proper lady, dolled up nice for your date with him. It makes his chest feel tight when he gets a good look at your pretty face and nervous little smile.

His usual gruff manner is obviously not going to fly with you, so he quickly tries to recall the mannerisms he's seen his captain use around women. He gets to his feet with Johnny when the two of you reach the table, trying his best to look less intimidating.

Johnny introduces the two of you, and Simon melts inside when he takes your soft little hand in his for the first time. His brain goes fuzzy, dark eyes glazing over, and he's not sure what he says when he greets you, but it earns him a smile.

"It's really nice to meet you, Simon," are the first words you say to him.

Your voice is soft and sweet, and the way you say his name? Oh, he's gonna need to hear more of that, and often.

For the first time in a long time, Simon's worried about what someone thinks of him. He's worried he'll put you off with his harsh manner. So, he minds his words and gentles his tone. He slows his steps to match your pace and tucks your small hand at his elbow to keep you close and safe. He's holding doors and pulling out your chair. He compliments your dress and hair.

And when your heel catches on the sidewalk and you stumble, he doesn't bark a laugh or say something mean, wouldn't bloody dream of it. No, he catches you before you fall, and all that softness in his hands makes something shift in his brain. You're such a fragile little thing, delicate as spun sugar. You need a big nasty mutt like him to protect you, take care of you, and he's more than willing to do the job.

When the date is over, Simon sees you home, and you kiss him on your front stoop. It's not all groping hands and tangling tongues. It's a gentle press of lips, his big hands cradling your face, the sweet intimacy making his eyes flutter shut. He's floating when he finally gets back in his truck and drives himself home.

Instead of going to bed, Simon begins to formulate a plan of strategy. He figures it'll take a few more dates before you invite him into your flat, and several more after that before you invite him into your bed, then eventually into your life. It might take months, even a year or more. That's alright, though. If his years in the military have taught him anything, it's patience.

Simon knows how to play the long game. He'll go at your pace, let you get used to having him around, then make himself indispensable to you. No one will treat you as good, meet your every need and desire the way he will. He won't stop until he is your world, your reason for being. Your everything.

And when enough time has passed, he'll claim you completely as his. He's going to put a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly, then tuck you away safe and sound in one of those cute country cottages he looked up online. You'll be his little missus, and he'll be your tamed beast, keeping his teeth and claws hidden but at the ready.

By the time he arrives at your flat the next evening for your second date, he's already got your engagement ring in his safe at home and the names of your future children picked out.

And when you text him the day after to invite him for dinner, the new name he replaced yours with pops up on his screen.

It says 'Missus Riley', of course.

-

[khioneee]

tap out.

simon doesn’t expect anyone to tap him out. a ritual where loved ones step forward to release a soldier from duty, creating a chance to reconnect.

based on this.

simon stands in formation, a soldier among countless others, each bound by discipline, each carrying their own story beneath a stoic exterior.

in the unyielding line, he’s silent, gaze fixed forward, while around him, families reunite: sons embraced by tearful mothers, women lifting their children into their arms, couples lost in long-awaited kisses. joy and relief fill the air, carried on quiet laughter and murmured words of love.

but simon is an orphan now.

there’s no one to step forward for him, no one to break his stance. he watches it all, standing alone, feeling like a stranger in this crowd of reunions, this world of connections he never belonged to.

over the years, the military has stripped him down, rebuilt him into something hardened and unbreakable. this new self is his armor, a wall between him and the life he left behind.

the tap-out tradition is a formality he’s only ever heard about, something he’s watched from a distance but never expected for himself.

he stands motionless as soldiers around him are tapped out by loved ones. he watches quietly, feeling a distant sense of satisfaction for them, grateful that they have that in their lives.

maybe soap would tap him out after he’d seen to his own family.

no matter how many times simon tried to keep him at arm’s length, he’d come to accept that soap wasn’t leaving him behind. coerced into the friendship or not, soap was a friend. until soap has been tapped out, there’s no one in simon’s life to come pick him out.

still, simon knew he was alone in ways he couldn’t change. or so he believes.

then he feels it—a subtle shift in the air, hesitant footsteps halting just in front of him, carrying a weight he doesn’t understand. his breath catches, but he doesn’t move. he’s trained to hold his position, but something in him almost falters as he senses a presence just inches away. slowly, he lets his gaze shift, barely, enough to catch a silhouette he thought he’d left behind a lifetime ago.

it’s you.

you. his childhood best friend. the love of his life.

you. the only person he thought of when he escaped his broken home. you. the guilt that wracked him when he ran, unable to say goodbye after the night he barely escaped after being beat nearly to death. you. the only reason he wanted to be alive, and the person he hadn’t been able to look back for.

—you. you. you.

and now here you are, standing before him, eyes wide with hope and uncertainty, tears gathering at the corners like unsaid words held back for too long.

he doesn’t understand, not fully. he thought he’d locked that door, left that part of him sealed away. and yet, here you are, holding everything he thought he’d left behind.

you hesitate, the weight of the years pressing down between you, unsure if you’re allowed to do this. if you can reach out to him after all this time, to be the one who taps him out.

he senses your uncertainty, feels it as if it’s his own, and in that moment, he lets a flicker of vulnerability break through—a slight furrow in his brow, a subtle nod. silent permission.

and you know, in that instant, it’s okay.

with a trembling hand, you reach forward, closing the distance. your hand hovers over his shoulder for a heartbeat, the air between you heavy with everything left unsaid.

then, gently, you tap him out. a simple touch, light and fleeting, yet it breaks something open in both of you.

in an instant, simon moves. his arms come around you, his grip unyielding as he pulls you close, lifting you off the ground. the soldier falls away, and he’s just simon again, holding you as if you’re the only real thing in a world that’s constantly shifting.

his head lowers, his face buried in your shoulder, and he breathes you in, lets the walls he’s held up for years fall away.

‘you’re here,’ he murmurs, voice rough, thick with emotion he can’t hide anymore.

his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, each touch soft, a silent promise. the weight of years and regret presses against him, but he holds you tighter, as if to make up for every moment he was gone.

you feel the warmth of his tears against your shoulder, silent and raw. he pulls you closer still, as if afraid to let go, his voice barely a whisper as he breathes, ‘i’m sorry, lovie. i’m so damn sorry. i’ll never leave you behind again. i promise.’

and in that moment, surrounded by echoes of lives left behind, he’s just simon again, the boy who belonged with you.

. ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ an. i know the tap-out tradition isn’t common in the uk and is usually done at the airforce but oh well. read part 2 here.

[elysianightsss]

Something something becoming an accidental prostitute for Simon lol.

Hear me out though, you’re at a bar. You’re making out, you’ve had a little too much to drink. Not enough to be completely gone like you’re sure Simon is but enough to be making out with a stranger.

Then you’re back in his truck, he’s practically begging for you to let him fuck you and you say no. You ‘don’t do that type of shit, one night stands and all that’ you say. Simon’s next thing is to beg for a blowjob, you again say no. ‘Part of the boyfriend package’ blah blah blah.

Then Simon delivers his final offer. He is so desperate he offers to pay for a handjob, he cringes after the words come out of his mouth thinking you’d be offended. But to his surprise you say yes. You need the money, and want him to feel good so why the heck not.

And it’s the best damn handjob he’s had in his life.

He drives you home and soon enough after a few days he’s at your door offering more money for another handjob. You feel a little dirty but when his calloused hand slides up your thigh and his hot breath is fluttering on your neck, the feeling fizzles away into something else.

Seeing him come undone with just your touch drives you wild, it becomes increasingly difficult not to do more for him. So when Simon comes over again, this time you kneel in front of him watching as his dark eyes widen when your knees hit the ground.

And just like your handjobs, it’s the best damn blowjob he’s ever had in his life. All sloppy and filthy, not like he imagined but so much better.

You don’t ask for anything but after Simon has kissed you goodbye -(after he’s done begging to let him make you cum)- you turn to find a stack of cash on the coffee table, almost double the amount he’d given for the handjob.

It’s not long after that, that you give in and let him spend hours between your thighs. He even pays you for that, mumbles into your cunt that it’s just as good as your lips around his cock as he ruts his hips into the mattress. You don’t see it until later, long after he’s left, but there is a triple stack of cash on your nightstand.

A day later you receive a text from him saying he’ll be gone for a couple of weeks on work but he can’t wait to see you when he’s back. You feel a strange fluttering sensation in your tummy that makes you feel sick. You thought Simon was the type to hide his feelings and be more stoic and blunt so seeing that message from the hulking giant has your stomach in knots.

It stays that way, you can’t rid the feeling so much so that when he finally shows up at your door you tell him whatever it is between you had to end. It was certainly not the welcome Simon was expecting after dealing with a gruelling mission with nothing but men for weeks on end. He feels something snap in his mind and suddenly he’s throwing you on the bed, gripping your jaw, brown eyes glaring into yours as he speaks, “I’m not goin nowhere sweet’art.”

You ‘fight’ with him blah blah blah but let’s get real you let him finger fuck your pussy until you go cross eyed. You let him fuck you into the mattress until you can barely remember your own name. You let him kiss your neck until the sun starts to rise. And you let him pull your body into his as you both drift off to sleep together.

In the morning you hear the envelope, heavy with weight to it, placed down on your nightstand. Then Simon kisses your forehead and whispers he’ll be back later to take care of you.

Then, the money stops appearing but he’s still fucking you. Soon the rent is paid in cash by an anonymous ‘good samaritan’. And before you know it, you’re waking up with a glittering diamond on your wedding finger and a swollen belly that moves when Simon says I love you.

[readwritealldayallnight]

The men working on his crew today are too loud, too boisterous, too young, too content to stand around blabbering, taking the piss instead of doing their actual jobs

Getting into construction work following retirement from the SAS wasn’t exactly the idyllic image of sipping a daiquiri on the beach that his thick stack of discharge papers had painted in his head

But it kept his hands occupied and his mind busy, his daily stressors having shifted from cleaning blood out of his gear and patching broken bones every other day, to instead complaining about the rising price of lumber and pulling splinters out on occasion

Trading in his AR for a nail gun, swapping his tac vest for a tool belt, even turning in his skull mask for a hard hat, was surprisingly an easier adjustment than he’d predicted, the long hours and physical work meant he was too exhausted by the time he got home to spend much time doing anything other than preparing for the next day, a never ending cycle that kept him from being still for too long

It might have been some time since Simon Riley was on a battlefield, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still play the hero every once in a while

He’s stood at the top of a ladder, wiping the sweat off his brow as his other hand pats agains this tool belt, searching for the one tool he’s certain he forgot to bring up with him

“Pass me the claw head hammer will y-” Simon cuts himself off from asking the lad stood below him, when he notices he’s only talking to himself. Squinting through the glare of the afternoon sun shining in his eyes, he glances around the job site until he spots most of his crew gathered near the front gates

He rolls his eyes to himself as he begins making his way back down to solid ground, having spotted what had the men so distracted : a pretty bird stood on the other side of the fence

Simon can admit to himself, even he likes to partake in the occasional bird watching, he is just a man at the end of the day, but not when there’s work to be done, and they’re already more than a week behind on this job

“Alright you tossers, back to it!” He shouts to be heard over the group of men, a chorus of groans and grumbles echoing out before they’re slowly dispersing

“Ach, we were jus’ helpin ‘er out, sir!” A man who sounds like he’s been smoking all his life croaks out as he walks by

“Here, miss. He’s the one that might be able to give you an answer.” One of the younger men on the crew says, pointing a gloved hand in Simon’s direction

He follows the younger man’s gaze, expecting to find another curious bystander peeking at the work, perhaps a nosy neighbour who wants to know why such a mess is being made, hell maybe even one of the hens from the nearby college stopping by for a quick flirt

He’s prepared to offer a professional nod, maybe even a begrudging ‘Alright?’ if it appeases them, before he’ll be excusing himself back to the job, uninterested in getting home any later tonight than he already has to just to entertain some stranger

But of course, he doesn’t end up doing so, does he? Not when his hand comes up to block out the sun, his gaze peering through the chain link fence, and it’s you that his eyes land on

You, with your wide eyes fighting to appear confident, though the controlled panic running through them is clear to see from where Simon stands a few feet away from you

Your body tense as you push a small pram in place back and forth, back and forth, your attention jumping between the men and whoever must be tucked up under a pile of blankets in the stroller, presumably also the reason for your enticingly large cleavage, he allows himself think for a split second before averting his gaze

Simon sends the younger man away with a quick jut of his chin, before he’s taking a careful step towards you

“Wha’ can I help you with?” He tries in vain to mask the usual harshness in his tone, but with such a quick switch in his emotions it doesn’t come out sounding quite how he’d hoped, yet you don’t flinch away from him either

“I know-” you let out a frustrated breath, readjusting your grip on the pram’s handle as you steady yourself, locking eyes with his once again with a new vigour behind them this time around. “I know this is so silly of me, and I’m sure you’ve had lots of people botherin’ you, so uh, sorry for bein’ one of ‘em, but here I am.”

You let out a small chuckle to yourself, more self deprecating than anything else, but Simon finds himself offering the slightest bit of a smile in return, if only to ease your nerves

“Anyways, I can imagine you’re probably not allowed to tell but, uh, people have been saying this might be a daycare you’re building here.”

He knew what your question was going to be long before you’d opened your pretty mouth- everyone and their mother had been asking about the project

Limited childcare in the area meant that as soon as the first whispers of a new daycare being built had started to spread, parents and even parents to be had been poking their noses before shovels had even hit the ground

Opening his mouth to give you the same answer he’d given everyone before you, Simon finds the words dying on his tongue as the unmistakable sound of an upset baby comes from the pram, and a very small baby at that

“Shh, shh darling. It’s okay, baby. You’re alright, shh.” He can’t find it in himself not to step closer until he’s practically got his nose poking through the fence to get nearer to you both, eyes glued to the way your lips formed the sweet soothing words, peering towards the increasingly squirming bundle tucked away in the pram

“Tha’s a tiny one.” Simon practically whispers to himself, though he knows you’ve heard him when your eyes glance up to meet his. “Can’t be very old.” He remembers how small his nephew had been when he’d been born, and recognized that distinct newborn cry instantly.

“Just turned eight weeks.” You answer with a ghost of a proud smile dancing across your lips quickly as you gaze at your bundle of joy, a tidbit of information you would expect a new parent would be all too happy to talk about, though the elation quickly disappears from your face. “Unfortunately my job is uh, I have to go back to work soon, I’ve just really been needing to find a spot for her somewhere.”

“Have you told your boss to sod off?” He asks, biceps bulging as he crosses his arms and leans a shoulder against the fence. He doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like the idea of a pretty little bird being all worked up and stressed about finding her new little baby bird somewhere to stay because her job is trying to force her to come back so soon

He also recognizes the fact that he doesn’t know you, that you’ve been a stranger to him up until about 60 seconds ago, and that he shouldn’t go involving himself in things that don’t regard him, but there’s something about this, something about you, that has him asking more questions that he should

Simon hardly realizes the corners of his mouth trying to smile along when you let out a small chuckle at his question, before your answer has him set back into his usual scowl. “No, I wish it were that simple.” you try to laugh again, though the sound doesn’t quite reach your eyes as you push some hair out of your eyes, Simon’s fingers twitching at his side

“No, they’re not forcing me to come back, it’s more of a- I need to work again. Money doesn’t exactly make itself, and it’s just me and her so…” you trail off, offering a meek shrug before you avert your gaze from his and go to fiddle with the baby blankets. “There- there just aren’t any daycare spots anywhere, and the waiting lists are months if not years long. And she and I just don’t pass through this neighbourhood often, so I’m worried that once that sign goes up announcing this is a daycare, that the spots are going to be taken up before I even have a chance to-”

“S’alrigh, s’alright.” Simon interrupts your rambling, a hand raised slightly in the air as though you were a spooked animal he hoped to calm. having heard everything he needed to hear. You look up at him with such sincerity in your eyes, he can tell you would do anything for that baby, that you likely aren’t above begging and pleading at this point, alone with a baby and short on options, he knows what he’ll do. Had pretty much made up his mind soon as he saw you, but now he’s decided.

“Just you and her, you said?” He asks quietly, absentmindedly nodding along with you when you confirm his question. “Well, I mean, I can tell ye that yes, this is meant to be a daycare ‘ere.” He speaks hesitantly, watching as the hope builds in your eyes at his words. He brings a sweaty palm up to rub the back of his neck as he breaks the news to you.

“But I couldn’t tell ye anythin’ about who we’re buildin’ for, love.” He continues, the term of endearment slipping past his lips unconsciously. “They just give us the blueprints and we do our part. Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout what or who’s takin ownership.” He watches that same sliver of hope that had started to grow quickly be snuffed out as you take in what he means.

“Oh. Well, I guess it makes sense.” You reply, evidently disappointed but too kind to push, too used to the recent defeats to expect anything else. “Thank you anyways, really. I appreciate you-”

“I’ll find out.” Simon says quickly, preventing you from bidding him whatever goodbye you were about to give him, keeping you here just a little longer.

“W-what?”

“I’ll find out. Who we’re building for. I’ll find you a name.”

“I- I- I don’t even- you really don’t have to do that!”

“Doesn’t matter what I have to do. I want to. So I will.”

He watches your face carefully now, seeing how you glance up at him with a different sort of apprehension in your gaze, almost like you’re truly taking him in for the first time, discovering something you weren’t expecting to find in him.

“Well, thank you. Truly.” You tell him, a smile so genuine gracing your lips that Simon finds himself choosing to smile back at you. The moment doesn’t last long however, when the baby starts to fuss again, your attention being drawn back to her. “I know baby, I know. I’ve got to feed you soon.”

Simon can’t help the deep blush that creeps up his neck and across his cheeks, unsure if it’s the way he enjoyed hearing you say ‘I know baby, I know’ a little too much or the idea of his own lips helping to ease that heavy ache in your swollen breasts that has him momentarily flustered.

“Maybe I could-” he clears his throat, pointedly avoiding looking at your chest and maintaining eye contact instead. “Maybe I could get your number or email or somethin’, to get back to you that is.”

“Oh! Yes of course! Here,” you say, digging through your pockets until you fish out a wadded up receipt. Simon pulls the pencil that’d been resting over his ear down and gently slips it through the fence over to you, watching with rapt attention as you bring the tip to the paper and write down what might be the most important numbers Simon ever learns. “There’s my number.”

He takes the pencil back from you and carefully accepts the paper you hand him, looking down at the name and smiley face you’ve left as well, whispering your name to himself before meeting your eyes once more. Before he can change his mind, Simon is tearing off the end of the receipt that’s still blank, and begins writing down his own name and number on it.

“If I don’t get back to you by the end of the week, you use tha’ to knock some sense into me, alrigh’?” He asks, slipping you the paper. He knows there isn’t a chance in hell he would forget about reaching out to you, about following through on this, but again, there’s something about you he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Thank you, Simon.” You answer, reading the name off the note he’s just given you, a small chill running down his spine at the sound of his name leaving your lips, the way you say it like it’s a name worth knowing. “Seriously, I can’t even tell you wha-”

The both of you can’t help but chuckle together when the baby’s cries cut you off again, you offering a sheepish smile in apology along with a small shrug of ‘what can you do?’.

“I’ll let you go, someone needs you more.”

“Well, we’re both very grateful to you, Simon.”

He stands there longer than he really should, watching the two of you walk off until you’re out of sight. The note you slipped him though? Well, that he holds onto until he’s clocking out, and maybe on the drive home as well, and maybe it’s the first thing to ever be hung up on his fridge in his flat, that little smiley face reminding him why a little bird watching isn’t so bad after all

I dunno ladies is this something???

Edit : you all decided this was something so here’s part 2