anangelwhodidntfall

[anangelwhodidntfall]

simon loves everything you do during sex. when you clench your cunt around his cock and make him see stars, the pretty noises you make as he stretches you open on two thick fingers, the way you taste when you gush all over his tongue- everything.

but his favourite thing? when you scratch down his back while he's pounding you into the mattress. the way you desperately claw at his shoulders as he shoves his cock deep inside you. he's reaching places you didn't know could be reached and you need to grab onto something- anything to cope with the overwhelming pleasure he's bringing you.

the first time you did it he was caught off guard, his hips stuttering in their rhythm as your nails raked along his back, leaving a streak of red irritated flesh in their wake. you noticed the way he hesitated, noticed the groan that left him, and the way he adjusted his pace of his hips against yours.

you force your hands off him, opting to tangle them into the sheets instead. simon scowled- actually looked visibly upset, and a moment later he was grabbing you by the wrist, placing your hand onto his back again. you were confused now- you thought he didn't like it.

you couldn't have been more wrong.

he leans down so his mouth is pressed right next to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "keep doin' that," he groans, tilting your hips so the tip of his cock grinds against the squishy spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head. "keep doin' it and don't you ever fuckin' stop- y'hear me? want you to mark me up, yeah? want everyone to know i fuck you so good you start clawin' at me."

please leave a comment/reblog if u liked this!!! it means the world & keeps me motivated!!! <3

[anangelwhodidntfall]

“Hey Simon.”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you think you can get me those night vision goggles you wear?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, luv?” Simon asked groggily, and tiredly, as he rolled on his side to face.

He had just came back from a long deployment some days ago and all he wanted was sleep. And quiet. Except you, his partner, was a chatterbox. A annoying lovable chatterbox.

He saw you looking all shy and embarrassed. You shrugged.

“You know, to see in the dark-“

“I know what they are for.” Simon cut you off. “What’s the real reason?��

“I am scared of the dark.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. He forced his eyes to be focused on you and to not drop back down. He stared at you and your flushed face.

“Uh. That explains a lot.” He grunted. “Okay, luv, I will bring you some.”

“You promise?”

“On Johnny’s Mohawk, Price’s cigar and Kyle’s cap.” He replied with a slight chuckle.

“What are you on? Did you smoke?”

“Just- go back to sleep, luv. If a monster arrives, I will take care of it.”

“I really want those goggles, Simon.” You muttered before closing your eyes and attempting to sleep.

[anangelwhodidntfall]

Simon Riley who gets back from a deployment just as a new batch of recruits are doing their tap out ceremony.

He watches with mild interest, looking at all these newbies who are so hopeful and full of light, contemplating how long it's gonna take for that spirit to get crushed.

He feels a twinge of jealousy as he watches these recruits get tapped out by family and friends, has fleeting memories of standing for an hour after everyone else left before his drill sergeant took pity on him and tapped him out.

He watches idly as people start filing out, not needing ti get to his transport for another hour.

And then he spots you, standing straight in the middle of the crowd, clearly trying not to cry as you watch your fellow soldiers get lead away by family you don't have.

You clench your jaw, refusing to let the years fall. You're so focused on not crying that you don't notice the behemoth of a man coming up behind you until his hand is on your shoulder.

[anangelwhodidntfall]

Seth Rollins' MITB cash-in belt-spins WrestleMania 31 (2015) // SummerSlam (2025)

[anangelwhodidntfall]

Love when he does this shit

[anangelwhodidntfall]

i thought he was gonna drop the crutches when he was facing us and was fully upset when he turned back around AND THEN THAT BITCH DROPPED THE CRUTCHES AND TOOK OFF THE BRACE

SETH THEY COULD NEVER MAKE ME HATE YOU, YOU ABSOLUTE DIVA

[anangelwhodidntfall]

Nsfw

just a thought bubble I had in my head that grew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Simon watching his girl beat the shit out of someone for groping her.

Simon didn’t even get the chance to move, she was already walking towards the prick. Fucker turned around all cocky and proud, but the smug look gets wiped off his face almost as soon as it appeared.

Then the drunk asshole is on the ground, failing to defend himself from a woman who could actually fight back. And she was being easy with him.

Simon just watches, making sure no one tries to intervene before she’s done with the shithead on the ground, or any of his mates try to jump her.

Dick hard the whole time.

When’s she’s finally done, she stands straight, ignoring the crowd and walking back to her spot under Simon’s arm. Mood ruined, they finish their drinks and walk out the bar, leaving a mildly bloody and groaning mess behind.

They don’t make it to the bedroom of their apartment. Clothes stripped off and thrown to the ground as soon as the door shut. He has her ride him on the couch, a perfect position to grab her hips and watch her come undone on his cock.

His girl, who could take care of herself just fine, who didn’t need him, but chose to stay with him despite everything. Who saw right through him and met his darkness head on.

He made sure she came at least twice before he did. His arms tight around her, hips slightly lifted as he came deep inside her while aftershocks pulsed through her cunt. He could feel her breath on his neck, sharp intakes while she recovered.

This was the real treat, the aftermath. Connected like they were the same being, happily whole. He swore he could feel their hearts beating the same rhythm, perfectly synchronized.

“You get that out of your system?” She asks him, still out of breath.

“Did you?” He fires right back, knowing she understood what he was referring to.

She gives him a little lopsided smile, proud of herself. He’s proud too, and he knows she knows it.

“I’ll do it again, too.” She lays her head on his shoulder as she says it. He knows she would, and he wouldn’t stop her. Bastards deserved to get humiliated for putting their hands where they didn’t belong.

Neither of them move to get up for some time, just enjoying the closeness and warmth of the other. The memory of his girl flooring someone bigger than her playing in Simon’s head. A few minutes later he was hard again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I like to think Simon would have a thing for his partner being capable of defending herself. A little peace of mind, even if he still worries about her safety.

This was literally just a thought I had after doomscrolling a bit. Not sure where I was going with this. Good writing exercise I guess.

[anangelwhodidntfall]

 “Had to practice”

Simon “Ghost” Riley x You

Domestic!Simon | Soft!Simon | Hair braiding tenderness

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

You’re halfway through rushing out the door when you realize your hair’s a mess.

One hand scrapes it into a ponytail, but strands keep slipping out – the back of your neck hot and bothered from the unevenness, the flyaways. It’s been a long morning. You're tired. And if one more thing goes wrong–

“Come here.”

Simon’s voice is calm. Low. One that cuts through the chaos with unexpected gentleness.

You blink. “What?”

He’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed – not with irritation, but… focus.

“You’re stressin’ yourself over that,” he murmurs, nodding toward the tangled strands at your neck. “Let me.”

You hesitate. You’ve seen those hands break down rifles in seconds. Pull triggers without tremble. Touch only with purpose.

You’ve never seen them… do hair.

But something in his posture – his eager eyes – the way he’s already ready and waiting – makes you turn around without a word. Sit at the edge of the bed.

He steps behind you. His fingers brush your nape.

They pause. He mutters: “Tell me if I’m pullin’, yeah?”

You nod.

And then he starts.

His fingers thread through your hair, slow and surprisingly gentle. He’s learning as he goes. No rush, no shame, just pure concentration. You hear his breath steady, feel the subtle tension in his shoulders.

“…Didn’t expect you to be good at this,” you tease softly.

He snorts. “Wasn’t. Had to practice.”

You frown. “Practice?”

A pause.

Then, quietly:

“Watched videos. While you were gone last week. Thought maybe you’d let me try one day.”

Your chest squeezes. You bite your lip, not to cry, but just to contain it.

He finishes, palms smoothing down the braid, and leans close – nose grazing just behind your ear.

“All done,” he murmurs. “Looks good on you.”

You twist to look at him. “Really?”

He hums. Doesn’t back away.

“Softest thing I’ve touched in months.”

You smile. Kiss him before you can stop yourself.

And he kisses back like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Fingers still curled at the nape of your neck, holding not just your hair, but every piece of you.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[anangelwhodidntfall]

omg, I just realised my last ask was like, half-finished. Uhm, anyways, don't mind me, I had the male/gn reader trying on fem clothing (the witchy skirt)

I was thinking that like, Simon goes shopping with Reader and is a little surprised, but he's more than happy to tell Reader just how pretty they look.

sorry again for the multiple asks, I don't know how I managed to do that??

-🦴

Hi babeee!! Don't worry ab the multiple asks 💛

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Simon's holding your hand, just enjoying your company when he feels you stop. He glances back at you.

You're standing outside of a clothing shop. You're staring at the mannequin wearing a gorgeous long skirt, flowy and layered.

You glance at him, realizing he's caught you looking and you blush slightly. “It's a pretty skirt,” you say as form of excuse.

“Uh. Yeah, I guess it is,” he says, his eyes falling to the skirt. He's a little surprised by the way you look at it longingly. He's never seen you wear skirts or he interested in them. But your pretty eyes are on that skirt and he recognizes the look in them. “You should try it on,” he urges.

You glance at him. “Really?”

He nods. “Yeah, c'mon. If you really like it, I'll buy it for you.”

You grin at him, delighted, and just about drag him into the store. He loves this, loves seeing you happy, loves making you happy. It's what he lives for.

You find the skirt in your size and hurry off to the changing rooms. Simon waits outside for you, patiently. When you step out, a little shy in the skirt, his heart melts.

You look perfect. The skirt fits you perfect and now that it's on you, it looks gorgeous. It had looked so simple on the mannequin, you make it look ethereal.

“Wow,” he says quietly. “Love, you look amazing.”

You blush, smiling. “Yeah?”

“So fuckin' pretty.” He nods as he approaches you, putting his hands on your hips, feeling the material of the skirt under his fingertips. “Take two of 'em.”

You look up at him, frowning slightly. “Why would I take two?”

He leans down to whisper in your ear, “So you still have one left after I rip the first off you.”

---

Simon Riley masterlist

[anangelwhodidntfall]

꣑୧ angel touches ─ simon riley

you were perched on top of simons lap. your hand was placed under his chin, tilting his head up just enough so he could meet your eyes.

he let a soft smile break on his lips, his cheeks rosy hues of pink. he loved having you feel him like this.

your fingers traced his scars in his face before dipping to his neck. you tugged on the neckline of his shirt and he took it as a way of you saying you wanted his shirt off.

his hands left your hips and he pulled his shirt right off, exposing himself to you. there were so many scars. all different shapes and sizes.

you traced your fingers over each one, loving the feeling of the rugged skin under your finger tips.

simon let out a sigh, his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of your touch. it was moments like these that he could live in forever.

you tilted his head back up, kissing the scars in his face. one on his cheek, the other on his temple. your soft lips traced the scars softly, letting your love pour out on his skin.

your lips found their way to his nose, pressing an affectionate kiss on his nose. a chuckle broke the silence. you looked down to meet simons eyes, they were already on you.

"it tickles." he said in the softest voice known to man. his lips grew into a crooked smile, one you so desperately loved.

"love your scars." you whispered against his cheek. he knew you loved them but something about hearing you say it caused his heart to race.

he had grown used to your affection, or at least he thought. every moment of soft intimacy made his heart turn to mush. you were so soft and loving to him, something he never had before.

his hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him. your chests pressed together as you whispered sweet nothings into his neck.

simon held you close, drawing small shapes on your back. he pressed a kiss to your temple before whispering, "i love you."

need a boy i can be soft with :( thinking a certain someone

[anangelwhodidntfall]

Johnny wakes up at 7 o'clock sharp. It's his day off, so he has time to run his errands. He has a little list on a sticky note so he doesn't forget anything.

Get the mail

Get gas for the car

Pick up my prescription

Grocery store!! Need bread and eggs!

Getting the mail is easy. His mailbox is just at the end of his driveway. He has the paper, junk mail, a bill, a letter from his sister, and... a light blue envelope. The envelope has a dark blue wax skull stamp on it. Johnny tucks the rest of his mail under his arm, cracking the wax and pulling the card out.

"You are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. Simon Riley and..." he mutters. "No fuckin' way!! I told those bloody arseholes! She's real!"

Johnny turns the card over in his hand, a picture of you kissing Simon's cheek, both of you dressed in black. Johnny's surprised Simon let his face be on this. Even though your eyes are closed, he can tell that you love him more than anything in the world.

"Good for him." Johnny grins. "I better be the best man."

He hangs the card on his fridge, marking the date down in his calendar on his phone. The rest of the day seems mundane now.

--

Kyle has been putting off getting the mail for about two weeks now. His little P.O. box is flooding with papers of all shapes and sizes. This morning, he finally picked it up. When he gets back to his apartment, he flops onto the sofa and sorts through it.

"Junk, junk, junk, bill, magazine, coupon, coupon..." he mumbles, tossing each item into its respective pile. "What's this?"

In his hands - the last thing in his absolutely monstrous pile of mail - is a baby blue envelope. Sealing the envelope is almost a TARDIS blue wax seal. The seal depicts a small skull with its mouth open. He gently opens the envelope, brows furrowed. Inside is a black card with gold lettering

"You are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. Simon Riley..." Kyle reads aloud. "Holy shit. Soap wasn't lying!"

He flips the card over, only to see a picture of a beautiful woman kissing the bloody Ghost! Kyle can tell by the light in Simon's eyes that he has found someone who truly loves him. And she's just as pretty as Soap said!

"Good for them," he chuckles, pinning the card to his corkboard. Kyle scrawls the date down on his calendar, smiling the whole time.

--

Price needs to go through the mail. It's been sitting on his kitchen counter for three days, accumulating more and more shit. He doesn't know why he even gets half this shit. It's all ads, ads, ads. Ocassionally, he'll get a useful coupon here and there. He likes Go Outdoors coupons the most. He needs a new hat, he thinks.

While he's idly looking through his mail, he spots a blue envelope. It has a wax seal on it. Price narrows his eyes at the envelope. He doesn't recognize the address, but it has Simon's name on it. With little ceremony, he opens the envelope. He pulls out a gold-on-black card. "You are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. Simon Riley," he grunts. "Well, shit. I owe Soap an apology."

On the back of the card is a gorgeous lady kissing Simon's cheek. Simon's brown eyes are shining with pride, and he can see the woman is hiding a smile. Price rarely sees Simon without his mask on, but he seems to do it so freely with this girl. "Good for the bloke," he chuckles, putting the invitation on his office desk.

Simon deserves something good in his life, Price thinks, a hint of sadness behind the thought. He's had the hardest life out of any man Price has ever met. It's about damn time something happy happens to him.

--

"Simon, I cannot believe you didn't tell them about me until we sent out those invitations!" you exclaim, swatting his thigh.

Simon shrugs. "I was protecting you. Didn't want the bad guys to find my lady, now did I?"

"Well, I think you should have still told them!" you huff, crossing your arms. "It's a lot to drop on someone, you asshole. If one of my friends suddenly sent me a wedding invitation when I thought they were single, I'd have a bloody cow!"

"It's different for men, love," he replies softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your crown. "I didn't even know Johnny had sisters until a couple of weeks ago."

"That's ridiculous," you scoff. Simon pulls you into his lap, smoothing his hand over the curve of your spine. You melt immediately, resting your chin on his shoulder. He kisses the side of your head, which makes you go even softer.

"I think I would've kept you all to myself forever, if I could have," he says against your hair. "But I think being able to call you my wife outweighs that."

You sigh softly. "I still think you should've told them."

He chuckles, a low rumble deep in his chest. "I think it's more fun this way."

"Maybe," you giggle. "I hope they liked the invitations."

"They were perfect, baby," he promises, kissing the corner of your mouth. "You did a good job."

Part I

Part II

Tags: @ax-alienated, @despairinglakepasta, @tessakate, @yourfavgaygaijingal, @btsgangleader, @adalia-lovelace, @kodokunarisu-blog, @dreamienebula , @cece2608, @hangingmooncloud, @cantfindmelol, @annnnnnnnnac, @trashaccount19, @harringtonsbowgirl, @yuki2129, @julys-mistake-the-second, @arabellatreaty, @herefor-tojis-tits, @h0lydrag0ns, @xylov, @just-lilita

[anangelwhodidntfall]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭….. 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒚 + 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒂𝒈𝒆 tags: fluff, meet-cute-ish?, fem!reader

simon, who eyes the box on his bunk like it might detonate in a second.

the box has his name on it. but it’s definitely not his.

a tiny heart over the ı in “s. riley” gave it away.

the base’s postal clerk didn’t comment. just handed it over without so much as a glance.

probably didn’t dare to ask.

simon, who rips the box open. either it’s a prank, or whatever’s inside will tell him who it actually belongs to.

the second the seal breaks, a feminine scent curls into the air. something that doesn’t belong in a room that reeks of gun oil and dried sweat.

besides the obviously-not-his-size sweater, hot chocolate mix, and a strawberry-shaped compact mirror, he finds a note.

just in case this doesn’t reach sierra riley, pls text me!

he grumbles, already planning to track down whoever this other riley is first thing in the morning.

but at 02:56, when sleep won’t come with that bloody comforting scent still clinging in the air, he types:

next time you send something, put a proper name on it. could’ve ended up in antarctica.

a flood of sheepish apologies lights up his phone when the sun rises. he leaves them on read.

simon, who tries to let the whole thing slip from his mind.

but somehow, the note ends up folded between the pages of the book he's reading.

and every now and then, he swears your scent still lingers in his room.

until one afternoon, gaz leans into the rec room doorway, eyes twinkling with far too much glee.

“LT, someone’s got a package for ‘riley’ here.”

he doesn’t look up from pouring his tea. “wrong riley.”

“nah, she said the grumpy one. figured that narrowed it down.”

a meek voice comes from behind gaz. “but i didn’t say—”

simon, whose head snaps up. neck creaking in protest at the speed.

price’s beard twitches over his mug. “you sure that’s the riley you’re lookin’ for, miss?”

despite the wide, panicked eyes, you quickly nod. hands tightening around the box clutched close to your chest.

soap whistles low, leaning out of the couch with far too much interest. “a lass actually seekin’ out for LT? christ, the world is endin’.”

simon steps forward. slowly. eyes fixed on you even when the others are trying to rile him up.

he never expected you to exist beyond a scribbled note and a faint trace of scent.

you offer the box with both hands, words tumbling out before you can stop them.

“sorry again for last time. sierra said you actually went out your way to find her and gave the box, so uh…i thought i should make one for you too. you know, for the trouble. since i was already dropping hers off anyway.”

a beat passes. the others watch the exchange with interest.

then simon reaches out, gloved hand brushing yours as he takes it.

but his hand lingers half a second too long. thumb brushing your knuckle in what might be a mistake. or not.

you don’t seem to notice.

but they do.

gaz blinks. soap’s mouth hangs open. price lifts a brow.

“...thanks,” simon says quietly.

and for the first time, maybe ever, he looks at someone like he’s not waiting for them to leave.

like he’s actually hoping you’ll stay for a while.

⤷ MASTERLIST

[anangelwhodidntfall]

MDNI 18+

— you asking simon riley to chase you and fuck you in his black skull balaclava

cw: rough dom! ghost, dub con (??? idk tbh), vaginal sex, unprotected, degradation

you’ve always seen simon riley, but not ghost. not the ghost that dominated the missions, the one with lethal stealth that could kill his enemies in silence, no. you only knew simon. the man who kissed your shoulders in the morning, giving you a massage before preparing your breakfast, making you your favourite coffee even though he is a tea person. simon riley.

though your curiosity piped when simon came back from his mission late at night. you never knew when he was going to return, where you would roll to the other side of the bed and then realise that he was finally back.

except, that night he returned you couldn’t sleep awake as you sipped on your herbal tea, when you went down to the kitchen after hearing the door open, only to find simon walking into your house with his balaclava and gear. his pants fitted tightly around his large thighs with straps that seemed to only emphasise them even more, his shirt straining against his chest with a large vest.

simon knew you were a light sleeper, hence why he never turned the lights on when he returned.

despite your sleepiness your mind couldn’t help but to wonder to the foulest of thoughts.

him chasing you with his balaclava and taking you.

the next day you suggested the idea, despite his initial hesitation, you didn’t miss the way his eyes seemed to darken ever so slightly, his gaze calculating as if he was imagining it.

and now here you were running up the stairs, where simon, now ghost was chasing you in his uniform and balaclava.

you couldn’t help but to giggle as you hurried up the stairs, your breaths coming out in small pants as you ran down the hallway, ghost’s heavy boots following you.

he wasn’t even running and was only a few steps away.

he tried his best to give you the performance you wanted, a cat and mouse game, but with the current strain against his pants around his crotch area, his resolve was slowly crumbling.

before you could turn down the hallway, he lifted you up effortlessly, placing you in his shoulders as he turned to your shared bedroom.

“and where do you think yer doin’ pretty girl?” his accent thick as he threw you onto the mattress, admiring the way you stared at him with the most loving eyes despite never seeing ‘ghost’

“you know i don’t like trouble,” his large calloused hands pulling you to the edge of the bed with ease. “and i don’t like brats.”

his gaze lingered in between your legs, specifically your glistening cunt. no panties.

“runnin’ away from me when yer wet like that?” his hands trailing around your legs, heading towards your inner thighs.

“thought you like a good chase mr riley.”

his eyes sparkled, “it’s ghost for you.”

his thumb gently rubbed against your clit, your arousal dribbling down his fingers before seeping into the fabric of his fingerless gloves. “so messy,” he cooed before shoving his fingers into your mouth. “clean up yer mess.”

usually, simon would take his time, gently kissing you and praising you as you slowly took him, but he wasn’t simon anymore.

hastily, he unzipped his pants, before fisting his cock in between his hands when he tugged his boxers down. he shoved your dress to where it was bunched up around your stomach, before slapping his tip against your clit.

“gotta be quick, i don’t have much time when im in the field.”

he didn’t fuck like simon, no, he fucked like ghost.

he didn’t give you kisses or words of reassurance when he slammed his full length into you, instead he gripped your hips tight enough to where it made small little red crescent marks.

a small hiss escaped his lips, “fuckin’ hell, so tight.”

his thrusts were fast and powerful, your body bouncing against him as the bed shook, him manhandling you with ease.

“such a pretty little thing aren’t yer? letting me corrupt you.”

his cock made a small bulge in your stomach, his large hands now moving up to squeeze around the area. “see how deep i’m in you swee’heart? yer lettin’ me use you like this?”

you sobbed from pleasure, his fat tip nudging against your sensitive spot as your gummy walls clenched around him. “who knew you were this fucking easy?”

he was in fact not fast, but took his time corrupting every part of your body, making you lay on the bed all sweaty and breathless with his cum dribbling out of your puffy cunt.

[anangelwhodidntfall]

The Spider Incident

Husband Simon Riley x wife reader

The scream that echoed from the bathroom was not the kind of scream Simon Riley typically heard from his wife.

It wasn’t the “I found blood” scream, or the “someone’s in the house” scream. It wasn’t even the “you forgot to take the laundry out again” scream.

This one was worse.

It was the “something ungodly and possibly venomous has entered my space” scream.

Simon had just sat down with a cup of tea. It was a good tea. He’d been looking forward to it.

Now it was on the floor.

He burst down the hall in two long strides, bare feet silent, war-trained reflexes engaged. He half expected to see Y/N bleeding, injured, or in the middle of a fistfight with a shadowy intruder.

Instead, they were…

Standing on the closed toilet.

Towel wrapped around them like armor, one hand gripping the shower curtain like it was a lifeline, and the other pointing. Trembling, toward the corner of the bathroom ceiling.

Simon stared. “…Seriously?”

“DON’T MOCK ME,” they snapped.

He followed their finger. “That? That’s a spider.”

“It is not just a spider!” their voice cracked. “That thingwent up the wall in seconds. It looked at me, Simon. It made eye contact!”

He raised an unimpressed brow. “You’ve fought trained mercenaries and you’re scared of Greg the bathroom spider?”

“Greg?!” they snapped again.

Simon leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “He’s been paying rent. Good lad. Keeps the bugs out.”

“He IS a bug!”

Simon took a step in, and Y/N shrieked.

“Don’t get too close! What if it jumps?! What if it runs?!”

Simon sighed and grabbed a glass and a piece of junk mail. “You realize I’ve been shot for less than this, yeah?”

“Simon, if it crawls on you, I'm burning the house down with you in it.”

“Duly noted.”

He moved with the ease of a man who’d breached doors with live flashbangs. Casually trapped the spider in the glass, slid the paper underneath, and carried it to the window.

“Tell your cousins to stay out,” he muttered, flicking Greg into the night air.

He turned back just as Y/N finally stepped down from the toilet, still wrapped in their towel, still visibly shaken.

“I want it on record,” they declared, “that I would’ve handled it if I had shoes. And pants. And possibly a flamethrower.”

Simon grinned. “You handled it brilliantly, love. Like a proper assassin.”

“Shut up and go disinfect that corner. It saw me naked.”

“You’re the one who flashed Greg,” Simon said grinning.

“I will end you.”

Simon laughed, an actual laugh, the rare kind that made his eyes crinkle, and grabbed a towel to dry the floor. “You want tea?”

“I want that spider to know I have diplomatic immunity and a kill count.”

“You want honey in the tea or just rage?”

“Both.”

~

Later that night, as they settled into bed, Simon pulled the covers up and murmured, “I’m sure he’s gone?”

Y/N squinted at the ceiling. “If I wake up with one more leg in this house than I went to sleep with, I’m burning it down.”

Simon, nearly asleep, mumbled, “Don’t forget to evict the ants too.”

“Oh, I will. Them and their unlicensed colony.”

~

Thank you for reading!💚

Tag list✨

@emilyyyyyys-stuff

[anangelwhodidntfall]

The first thing Simon noticed when he stepped inside Y/N’s flat wasn’t the weapons case by the door or the neatness of the place, though it was spotless. It was the way the air shifted.

Like the space had been lived in. Owned. Protected.

And then he saw the Doberman.

She stood tall and alert in the center of the room, dark eyes locked onto Simon with razor-sharp focus. Her ears perked, muscles coiled, already halfway to deciding whether he was friend or threat.

“Eros,” Y/N called calmly from behind him, as they shut and locked the door. “Stand down. He’s fine.”

The Doberman didn’t move for a long moment. Then, almost reluctantly, she backed up a step and sat, never once breaking eye contact.

Simon gave a low whistle. “She’s protective.”

“She’s a menace,” Y/N replied fondly, pulling off their jacket and tossing it over the arm of the couch. “But only to people she doesn’t like. Consider this a neutral greeting.”

Eros padded closer, sniffing at Simon’s boots with the silent precision of a trained soldier. She gave a short huff, then moved past him and curled up near the window, one eye still on him.

“Charming,” Simon muttered.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Y/N added, walking toward the kitchen. “You haven’t met Mop yet.”

“Mop?” Simon echoed. “What the hell kind of name is…”

A loud thump interrupted him as a large, orange ragdoll cat flopped down dramatically onto the armrest of the couch, blinking at Simon like he’d just interrupted a sacred nap.

The cat stared at him. Then yawned.

Simon stared back. “…That’s a mop with attitude.”

“Told you,” Y/N smirked, sliding a bottle of water across the counter to him. “He’s fat, lazy, and he runs this house.”

Mop hopped down from the couch, walked directly to Simon, and after a long, deliberate pause. Rubbed against his leg once before plopping onto the floor with a groan.

Simon blinked. “I’ve been accepted?”

“For now,” Y/N said. “He’ll revoke it if you sit in his spot.”

“Jesus. How do you live like this?”

They shrugged. “Keeps me on my toes. Besides…” they glanced at Eros and Mop, both now settling into their preferred spots like nothing had happened. “They’re family.”

Simon looked at the cat snoring under the heater, the Doberman watching the door like a soldier on guard, and Y/N, still watching him carefully, like his reaction mattered more than they wanted to admit.

And then he just said, “They suit you.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “That a compliment, lieutenant?”

“Dunno,” Simon muttered, scratching behind Mop’s ear. “You lot are intense, dramatic, and territorial. But I think I like you.”

~

BONUS

~

Waking up the first thing Simon became aware of was weight. Significant, fuzzy, smug weight.

He blinked awake, disoriented and still half-tangled in the sheets of Y/N’s bed. His arm was draped loosely over their waist, the soft rise and fall of their breathing against him like the world’s most dangerous lullaby. The room was warm, dimly lit by the gray crawl of dawn.

And then…

Something moved on his chest.

Simon groaned, craning his neck just enough to see a dense, orange fluffball planted squarely over his sternum.

“Mop,” he muttered, voice rough from sleep. “You’re lucky I won't throw you across the room.”

Mop blinked once, unbothered. Then stretched, settled deeper into Simon’s ribs, and purred louder, as if to say this is my spot now, human.

Simon sighed, glaring at the ceiling. “You weigh more than a bloody vest.”

He tried to move his hand, just to adjust his position, when a new sound broke the sleepy quiet: a low, menacing growl.

His eyes shifted instantly toward the doorway, where Eros stood like a sentry, shoulders stiff, eyes locked on the bed.

More specifically: on him.

Simon glanced down. His leg had shifted in his sleep, knee pressed lightly between Y/N’s thighs, and his arm still rested protectively across their stomach.

“Shit,” he whispered.

Eros took a slow step forward.

Simon froze, whispering low to the Doberman, “Alright, alright. We’re just sleepin’.”

Y/N stirred beside him with a groggy hum. “Simon…?” they murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Why is my dog growling at you?”

“Because your cat is a possessive bastard,” Simon whispered, “and your dog thinks I’m trying to cop a feel.”

Y/N cracked one eye open, took in the sight. Simon flat on his back with Mop sprawled across his chest like royalty, and Eros glaring murder from the doorway.

They laughed, the sound muffled into the pillow. “You’re not winning them over, are you?”

“Didn’t realize I was tryin’ to,” he muttered, gently lifting Mop and placing him on the other side of the bed. “I’m not fighting a cat and a Doberman before breakfast.”

Y/N rolled to face him, their eyes soft with affection and just a hint of mischief. “Maybe they’re just protective.”

Simon glanced from them to Eros, who had finally stopped growling but hadn’t taken her eyes off him. “Yeah, well,” he grumbled, “they’ll have to get used to me.”

Y/N smiled and rested a hand on his chest, over the place where Mop had been seconds ago. “They will.”

A beat passed.

“…Eventually.”

~

If y’all ever want a version with more gender-neutral pet names, breeds, or pronouns, just let me know—I’m happy to tweak it. I don’t really have folks to chat with, so honestly, hearin’ from y’all (even if it’s just fixin’ my mistakes) means a lot.

Thank you for reading!💚

[anangelwhodidntfall]

headcanons: price’s wife & the task force 141

price’s wife is the only person who can make captain john price relax after a long mission. she’s his safe place, and everyone in the 141 knows it.

soap calls her “mrs. p” too but deep down, he sees her as the closest thing to a mother he’s had in years. he tells her about his new tattoos and jokes that price will never be as cool as him.

ghost is surprisingly protective of her. he never shows his face, but he’ll let her touch his arm or shoulder when she’s trying to comfort him. she’s the only one who can make ghost eat properly when they’re home.

gaz adores her cooking. he always compliments her and says she’s “the heart of the team.” he helps her set the table and carries heavy groceries like it’s a mission objective.

whenever the boys come back from a mission, price’s wife hugs them all, no questions asked. ghost stiffens at first, but he secretly loves it.

soap teases price saying, “you’re lucky she said yes to you, cap. i’d have married her if i’d met her first.” price just rolls his eyes but hides a smirk.

she sends small notes or snacks in their gear bags before missions—like “stay safe, lads”—and ghost once kept one tucked in his pocket the whole operation.

price calls her “love” or “darling” in front of the team, and soap pretends to gag every single time, just to annoy him.

when someone gets hurt, she’s the first to scold them gently, like a mom. even ghost listens when she says, “sit down and let me see that wound.”

gaz loves how she listens to him talk about random things, like his favorite music or football matches, and she always remembers the little details.

price trusts her with his life, and the team knows she’s the only one who can pull him out of a bad mood.

[anangelwhodidntfall]

CW: Married sex, couch sex

"Simon! Simon, Simon, Simon!" you call out when you get home. "Simon!"

"On the sofa, love," he responds, turning to look at you. You rush to the living room, buzzing with excitement.

"I got a tattoo!" you exclaim.

Simon quirks a blonde brow at you, looking at the skin you have showing. Carefully, he asks, "Where... did you get a tattoo?"

You drop your sweatpants - which is like flashbanging your poor husband - to reveal a tattoo on your upper right thigh, close to the curve of your hip. "See? It's you! Isn't it cool?"

The tattoo is a skull, no bigger than three or four inches. It's nothing special to most people. In fact, the tattoo artist said that people get skulls like the one you have all the time. Little did he know that this... this will remind you of your husband for the rest of your life.

"Come closer," he commands, his voice dropping an octave. You do as he says, shuffling a few steps forward until your naval is eye-level with him. His brown eyes are locked on the little skull, still healing with a sheen of protective coating on it. "Jesus Christ, love," he murmurs. "This is gonna haunt me."

"Do you not like it?" you ask with a pout on your face.

"I bloody love it," he corrects, his voice growing (somehow) even huskier. "We're already married, but this?"

You shift awkwardly. "I wanted to get something that reminds me of you..."

"You're gonna kill me, baby," he grunts, pulling you straight down onto his lap. You yelp, hands flying to his sides for support. You can feel he's hard underneath you, painfully so.

"I thought it would be cute," you mutter sheepishly.

"It is cute," he assures you, gently rubbing his thumb over the covered tattoo. "Fuck, I love you."

"I love you, too," you giggle, kissing his crooked nose. "'S why I got the tattoo."

He captures your lips in a heated kiss, cupping your face with big, calloused hands. You lean into the kiss, smoothing your hands over his shoulders and grabbing his biceps. His muscles flex beneath your palms, hands trailing from your face to your waist. The kiss deepens, his tongue finding the seam of your lips. "Fuckin'... getting a tattoo for me," he growls, hooking his thumbs in your panties. "Gonna drive me crazy, Mrs. Riley."

Simon manhandles you into position, lying you on your back and pulling your panties off your bare legs. "Simon," you whisper breathlessly. "This is not what I expected."

He looks up at you from between your legs, those brown eyes boring into your very soul. "Then you don't know me very well," he chuckles, kissing the inside of your thigh.

You squirm under him, anticipation building in your core. He pulls off his own sweats, revealing his thick cock. Of course, he isn't wearing boxers today. You can see a bead of pre-cum at his head, threatening to fall onto your sofa. You spread your legs even further, fisting his shirt and pulling him on top of you. Simon happily obliges, kissing the hollow of your throat.

"Mmm, I can't believe I married a man as big as you," you murmur, moving one of your hands down to circle your clit.

"As big as me, eh?" he repeats, nudging his nose against your jaw. Simon lines himself up with your entrance, barely pushing the tip in. You moan, the sound leaving your throat like it can't wait to escape. "Already moanin' for me."

Simon pushes forward, knowing that you need him to go slow at first. You stretch easily around him, like your body knows how to drive him insane. His tip hits that spongy spot inside you, eliciting a sound that is music to his ears. "Simon," you mewl, arching against him.

You slide your hands under his shirt, hands finding the beautiful muscles of his back. You drag your nails down his skin, each thrust driving you higher. He's a goddamn good lovemaker. Simon knows exactly what you need. "'Atta girl," he praises, trailing kisses up your neck and to your mouth. You're both panting, desperate for each other.

Heat floods your body, building higher and higher in your belly. The sound of skin against skin fills your living room, only drowned out by your moans and little grunts from your husband. "Si- Si, I'm gonna- I'm gonna-!" you exclaim, scratching his back as you try to ground yourself.

"There we go," he murmurs, grinning when he feels your walls pulse around him. "Got that bloody tattoo, thinkin' it wouldn't drive me insane?"

"Simon! Simon, it's- it's too much!" you gasp against his neck.

"You can take it," he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. "You're always so good for me."

Simon's movements become increasingly erratic as he gets closer. You are hanging on for dear life, pleasure flooding your senses. Tears prick your eyes as he drives into you. "Simon!" you almost scream. That's what does it. With one final thrust, he spills inside of you. Simon collapses on top of you, knocking the wind out of your lungs. He presses a loving kiss to your cheek.

"It's a nice tattoo," he whispers, hands squeezing your waist lovingly. "I can't wait to kiss it."

You sigh softly. "Gotta be patient, baby."

"I know," he whines. "Tragic, really."

"We'd better take a shower," you note, kissing his nose.

He shakes his head. "No, let me stay like this," he mumbles. "Perfect in every way, you are."