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f1cflcfic · 4 months ago

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Won't Say I'm In Love (ft. Lando Norris) - part iii

pairing: lando norris x tennis player!reader (fem!y/n); past carlos alcaraz x tennis player!reader (fem!y/n)

summary: As a general rule, y/n does not date athletes. You've been there, done that - would not recommend. Besides, you definitely don't do love. There's no time in the world for complicated feelings when there's a career Grand Slam to be won. But what if your heart just refuses to listen?

genre: social meda/mixed au, friends to lovers

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons

A/N: a little bit late but I got very worried about accidentally jinxing the Aus GP haha, and then when it all worked out I thougth I might as well use some most recent photos ;)

series: part i, part ii, part iv

1st week of March, 2025

[Excerpt Daily Mail] Tennis player Y/N L/N stuns on red carpet and confirms single status

The current #2 on the WTA rankings enjoyed some time off prior to Indian Wells, as she attended an Oscars Pre Party over the weekend. As a newly minted ambassador for the Dior brand, which she's also repping on court, the athlete was sporting a pink custom gown by the fashion house.

After a short-lived relationship with fellow tennis player Carlos Alcaraz, 21, the 26-year old arrived to the party alone. Speaking to journalists on the red carpet, L/N once again emphasised that she likes being single both on and off the court.

"I really think that it's nice to just focus on myself, you have to be kind of selfish if you want to thrive in such an individual sport," she stated.

While she might be done with tennis players, the star has been spotted spending time with F1 drivers Carlos Sainz and Lando Norris. However, she made it clear there's no room for romance there. For a segment with E! Entertainment, L/N was asked to rate their charisma and started laughing instead. "Carlos is a smooth operator, and therefore also very much taken. But charisma? Norris? He's an awkward little duckling. No, he's a great and dear friend, though."

Norris might not score points with Y/N L/N, he is hoping to make a bid for the WDC this year. The McLaren team has been looking extremely strong during testing, and with the first GP coming up, all eyes will be on the 25-year old British driver. Perhaps him winning will impress L/N enough to make her change her mind, though he'll have to compete with an Oscar nominee.

"Look, all drivers are charismatic in that they're ambitious and talented and that's attractive. Or at least, it's attractive to me. But I just don't really have silly little crushes. The only celebrity crush I've ever had is Sebastian Stan. So if he's single, tell him he can hit me up."

2nd week of March, 2025

[Excerpt WTA content "Jenga Challenge"] Y/N grabs the first block with determination, lodging it out of the Jenga tower with ease. "What is your favourite song right now?"

"That's a really good question for me, because I love listening to music before my matches. I think currently I've got JADE in my playlist, with Angel of My Dreams."

The next couple of blocks also dislodge quite easily, and Y/N throws a triumphant smile to the camera every time she gets a step closer to victory. Twisting the blocks around, she reveals new questions.

"Do I have a nickname? It depends who you ask, I suppose. Some of my friends just shorten my name."

Someone off camera asks after the 'birdie' nickname. "Oh yeah, so my best friend calls me that because of a golfing incident when we first met. No further comment on that haha. You'll have to ask him."

"What's my favourite sport aside tennis? Can I cheat and name other racket sports? I also think it's different when it comes to watching versus playing other sports. I don't really watch that much sports on tv or anything, but I like going to real games and matches. Like I saw the national football and hockey team, I've gone to see a few basketball matches as well. I'll play golf with friends, but I'm not very good at it."

The tower wobbles with the next block, but it holds on in the end. "That was close! Okay, let's see. This one says - what do you do and eat on your days off? Hmm I'll try and go catch up with friends. My favourite food? Chocolate for sure, but I like to have a lot of my favourite meals as healthy options throughout the week anyways. I've worked it out with my nutritionist."

The next question she gets asked is about her idols. "God, well I think for one Serena Williams of course, and my own coach Kim Clijsters. Then there's the other women in my family. I think my idol right now is my baby niece who reminds me to just always look at the world in wondrous appreciation. And that it's okay to have a good cry when things get overwhelming."

On the last question, the tower falters once, twice, before fully collapsing. "Oh I guess you'll never get to hear the answer to this question, then. What's your favourite on and off court friendship?" Y/N winks at the camera. "I think you know, anyways."

3d week of March, 2025

[Excerpt BBC Sport]

Sabalenka defeats L/N in easy sets at WTA Tour

In a somewhat shocking turn of events, Aryna Sabalenka didn't even need 90 minutes to beat Y/N L/N to the BNP Paribas Open trophy. Dropping only 4 games in total, Sabalenka absolutely dominated the match, forcing L/N to continuously having to play catch up.

The defending champion didn't seem to know how to respond to Sabalenka's powerful returns and short volleys, even though their track record of meets speaks in L/N's favour.

The reigning Grand Slam winner later stated that she was just not able to get into her game, and Sabalenka rightly profited off of her lack of focus and concentration. "I just wasn't able to deliver what was needed, and Sabalenka was clearly performing at her best. She deserved to win this one, but I of course hope to turn the tides for Miami."

Both players are set to play the tournament that traditionally kicks off right after Indian Wells, also named the Sunshine Slam. It's one of few stretches of the tennis calendar that sees both male and female players compete at the same courts, outside of the Grand Slams.

L/N previously dated and even competed in the doubles with Carlos Alcaraz, who lost the men's semi-final one day prior. Even though no questions on her previous relationship were allowed at her exit presser, L/N's poor performance casts doubt on whether or not she's struggling with increasing external pressure and her ex' presence. Coach Kim Clijsters responded to reporters questioning L/N's aim of winning all four Grand Slam tournaments in a year. "Red clay has always been her best surface. We're already shifting gears with that in mind, so Miami is more so a way to keep routine and conditioning going. I have no doubt that she's got what it takes to win this, both in terms of physical and mental fitness. But sometimes it seems the media sees it as their responsibility to keep on being as invasive as possible, just to see how much someone can take. It's not your job to test a player's resilience, just because you can."

March 15-16, 2025

♥ likes, comments, reblogs and asks are always very much appreciated - i love chatting! ♥

Next part is available here

Sorry for the extra long wait, but we're back to regular programming now!

taglist (open): @linnygirl09 @julesbog @midnight-and-books @sarx164 @obxstiles @freyathehuntress @vhkdncu2ei8997 @berrnuu @lightdragonrayne @glow-ish @batsratswrites

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rainswriting-blog · 5 months ago

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Never Push the Ghost

Summary: After six years of marriage to Simon “Ghost” Riley, you’ve learned to navigate his temper carefully, but today, you’re done playing it safe. What begins as a frustrated outburst over his bad habits quickly spirals into a charged confrontation, where tempers flare, boundaries are tested, and passions ignite. As the tension between you and Simon peaks, one thing becomes clear: he always knows how to handle you, even when you’re determined to push his limits.

Warning(s): P and V pentation physical restraint, including choking, pinning, dominance, power dynamics, punishment, consensual rough intimacy, emotional intensity, teasing, role-specific, minor injuries during physical interactions, Aftercare. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Reblog’s and feedback are appreciated. 18+ minors do not interact

After six years of marriage to Simon “Ghost” Riley, now 40 and still serving in the British SAS, you’ve learned to tread carefully around his temper. At Mid twenties, you’ve always been mindful not to push his buttons. But today? Today, you’d had enough.

It started innocently enough—his boots. Always in the way. You tripped over them for what felt like the hundredth time, and this time, the frustration boiled over. He was sitting there, unmasked for once, watching TV as if everything in the world was perfectly fine.

You snatched up his boots and hurled them toward him, voice sharp with irritation. “For fuck’s sake, Simon! Stop leaving your damn shoes everywhere. I keep tripping on them!”

His head turned slowly, disbelief flickering across his features as he rose to his full height. His imposing frame towered over you, and his voice, low and deliberate, sent a shiver down your spine.

“Did you just throw shoes at me?” he asked, stretching as he stepped toward you, his tone more curious than angry.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to back down. “Yeah, I did,” you shot back, your words laced with sass and defiance, despite the undeniable power he radiated.

He moves swiftly, his hand wrapping around your throat as your back meets the wall with a sharp thud. Your head connects with the surface, leaving a dull ache, but his thumb brushes against your bottom lip in a startlingly gentle contrast.

"You better be careful what you say next," he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "If it’s not an apology, I don’t want to fucking hear it." With that, he releases you, his hand falling away as if daring you to challenge him.

Glaring up at him, you rub the back of your head, fury bubbling to the surface. “You literally made me hit my head on the wall,” you snap. “Fuck you, Simon.”

Spinning on your heel, you stomp toward the stairs, heart pounding. You make it halfway up when you hear it—the quiet, deliberate sound of him following you. His footsteps are almost too soft to detect, but you know him too well.

“Oh, shit,” you mutter under your breath, the realization sending adrenaline coursing through your veins. Without thinking, you break into a run, bolting up the stairs as fast as your legs will carry you.

You barely made it a step past the doorway to your shared bed when Simon closed the distance between you. With swift precision, he tackled you—not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to bring you down to the floor.

“Simon, stop it!” you protested, your palms landing on his chest in an attempt to push him away. But he didn’t budge.

“You want to be a fucking brat? Fine,” he growled, his voice low and steady as he pinned you effortlessly. His muscular legs straddled your hips, holding you firmly in place. “Then I’ll show you how brats are punished.”

Before you could protest further, his hand captured both your wrists, bringing them above your head in a single, controlled motion. His grip was unyielding but not cruel, a balance of dominance and restraint.

“Let me go!” you shouted, your legs kicking out instinctively, but it was no use. He was stronger, his weight and precision leaving you at a clear disadvantage. You glared up at him in his brown eyes, heart pounding as adrenaline and frustration warred within you.

Simon’s grip tightened just enough to make his point, his voice calm but unyielding. “I’ll let go when you stop acting like a child and throwing fucking shoes at people,” he said. With a swift motion, he rolled you onto your stomach, keeping control as he got to his feet, now towering over you.

You stayed there, catching your breath, until his next words broke the silence. “Take off your pants,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Why?” you shot back, twisting your head to look at him.

His gaze was steady, unwavering. “Do it, or I’ll do it for you.”

Reluctantly, you complied, fumbling to unbutton and slide them off. Before you could ask what next, his voice cut through again. “Panties too.”

You hesitated, but the look he gave you made it clear he wasn’t asking twice. Sighing, you obeyed, sliding them off before he snatched both garments and tossed them down the hallway, the sound of fabric landing echoing faintly in the quiet room.

Without warning, his hands gripped your sides, lifting you effortlessly by your armpits. “Simon, what the hell?” you protested, but he ignored you, carrying you over to the bed.

He positioned you carefully, ensuring your body lay across the edge of the mattress, your hips and butt perfectly displayed for him. His grip was firm yet controlled, a calculated dominance that left you breathless. You squirmed, but it was no use—he had all the control.

Simon reached for his belt, pulling it from the dresser with a deliberate motion that made your breath hitch. He folded it over in his hands, the leather snapping sharply as he tested it.

“You’re going to count to 26,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “And you better not forget what number you’re on. If you do, we start over.”

Before you could respond, the first strike landed on your bare cheeks with a sharp crack. A startled scream tore from your lips as the sting spread, your fingers instinctively clutching the sheets beneath you.

“...One,” you managed to gasp, voice trembling.

“Good,” he said, his tone almost approving, before bringing the belt down again. The sound and sensation mingled, sending a rush of heat and embarrassment through you as you clenched your fists.

“Two,” you whispered, bracing yourself for the next strike.

The pattern continued, each snap of the belt prompting you to grit your teeth and call out the next number, your voice growing steadier as the count rose. His measured strikes and unrelenting focus made it clear—he wasn’t stopping until you finished, no matter how much you squirmed or protested.

By the time the 26th strike landed, your body trembled, and tears streamed down your face, soaking into the sheets beneath you. The sting of each strike blended together, leaving you raw and overwhelmed. Between sobs, the apology tumbled out of you, sincere and desperate.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” you choked, voice shaky but genuine. “I’m so sorry.”

He immediately set the belt aside and knelt down beside you, his hands warm and steady as they guided you up into his arms. His chest was solid, comforting, as he wrapped you in his embrace. One hand gently rubbed your back, the other cradling the back of your head as he held you close.

“Shh,” he murmured, his tone soft now, the sharpness of his earlier discipline gone. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

His words soothed you as his touch anchored you, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you in the moment. He stayed with you, murmuring quiet reassurances until your tears slowed, your breathing evened out, and the tension began to melt away.

As your breathing steadied and your tears finally subsided, Simon leaned back slightly, his hand brushing gently over your cheek to wipe away the remnants of your tears. His voice softened, a teasing edge creeping into his tone.

“Do you want your reward now?” he asked, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver through you.

You blinked up at him, still catching your breath, his words cutting through the lingering haze of emotion. His thumb traced soothing circles on your shoulder, waiting patiently for your answer.

You nodded, the weight of the moment leaving you breathless. Simon didn’t hesitate. With practiced ease, he lifted you in his strong arms, carrying you to the middle of your king-size bed. He laid you down gently, his hands lingering on your sides as his eyes searched yours for any hesitation.

Pulling his shirt off in one smooth motion, his toned chest and arms were on full display, the raw strength in his movements evident. He reached for your legs, guiding them open as wide as they could go, his touch firm but careful.

Then, without warning, his mouth found your core, warm and commanding. The open-mouthed kiss sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, your back arching slightly as a soft moan escaped your lips. Your fingers instinctively tangled in his messy brown hair, gripping it as the sensation overwhelmed you. He hummed in response, the vibrations sending waves of warmth through you as he worked with unrelenting focus, every movement designed to unravel you completely.

Between gasps and the waves of pleasure coursing through you, a laugh bubbled up, light and breathless. You tugged gently at Simon’s hair, your fingers still tangled in his locks as you managed to speak through a moan.

“This is one of the reasons I married you, Si,” you said, your voice a mix of amusement and bliss.

He paused for a moment, glancing up at you with a cocky smirk, his lips glistening. “Is that so?” he teased, his voice low and rich, the warmth in his tone matched only by the glint in his eyes. “Guess I’ll have to keep proving you made the right choice.”

Before you could respond, he resumed his focus, his touch and attention reminding you exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place.

As your body trembled under his touch, your voice came out in a breathy whisper, the words tumbling out between moans.

“Another reason is… you’re so good to me,” you managed, your fingers tightening in his hair as the tension in your body coiled tighter. “Even though I’m a brat sometimes… you still love me.”

Simon’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, a soft, almost tender smile playing on his lips even as he kept his focus. “Always,” he murmured against your skin, the vibration of his voice sending you closer to the edge.

His words, paired with the intensity of his actions, sent you spiraling, your climax crashing over you in a wave that left you breathless and utterly undone.

Simon stood, his movements deliberate as he shed his pants and boxers in one swift motion. His toned physique, now fully bare, radiated strength and confidence. His eyes roamed over your body, taking in every curve and detail as he leaned down, tugging your shirt off in a fluid motion, leaving you completely exposed beneath him.

Hovering over you, his warmth enveloped you as his lips captured yours in a deep, heated kiss. The intensity of the makeout session sent your head spinning, your hands exploring his firm chest before sliding down, wrapping around his sheer size. Your touch elicited a low groan from him, the sound rumbling against your lips as you slowly pumped him, feeling his weight and heat in your grasp.

Breaking the kiss, his mouth moved lower, finding your tightened nipple. He flicked it with his tongue before sucking gently, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. At the same time, the head of his cock teased your folds, sliding along your sensitive skin in slow, deliberate strokes, building anticipation with every movement. The combination of his touch and his skilled attention had your body arching toward him, craving more.

As the teasing continued, the overwhelming need to feel him took over. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, trying to pull him closer and push him inside you yourself. The desperation in your movements made him chuckle low in his throat, his tone dripping with amusement.

“So impatient, love,” Simon said, shaking his head slightly as a playful smirk curved his lips. His hand moved to your breast, delivering a firm yet playful slap that made you gasp, the sting mingling with the pleasure coursing through you.

“You’ve got to let me enjoy this,” he teased, his voice low and husky as he leaned down to brush his lips against yours again. “I’ll give you what you want, but only when I’m ready.”

Simon took his time, exploring every inch of your body with a precision that left you trembling beneath him. His hands, lips, and tongue traced over your skin, drawing out sounds you didn’t know you were capable of making. He seemed to revel in your every reaction, taking his sweet time, teasing and testing you until your body was wound so tight it felt like you might snap.

What felt like hours later, when you were on the edge of begging, he finally positioned himself at your entrance. Without warning, he thrust into your core in one smooth motion, filling you completely. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, your back arching as the overwhelming sensation took hold of you.

“Finally,” you managed to whisper, your hands clutching at his back, nails digging into his skin as he stilled for a moment, letting you adjust to the sheer intensity of him. His eyes locked onto yours, a mix of satisfaction and desire flashing in his gaze.

“Worth the wait, wasn’t it?” he murmured, his deep voice sending another shiver through you as he began to move, setting a rhythm that left you breathless.

Your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping him as you locked eyes with him, his big brown eyes dark with intensity. Your voice came out low but firm, trembling slightly with anticipation.

“Now choke me, Si,” you whispered, the request hanging heavy in the air between you.

His movements paused for just a moment, his gaze narrowing as he studied you. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, the edge of dominance returning to his expression.

“You really are a brat, aren’t you?” he murmured, his tone teasing but laced with that familiar authority. His hand moved up, brushing against your throat before settling there, firm but controlled, his thumb grazing your jaw.

“Say the word if it’s too much,” he said, his voice dropping lower, the weight of his care evident even in his commanding tone. When you nodded, his grip tightened just enough to leave you breathless, amplifying the sensation of everything else as he moved with unrelenting purpose, his eyes never leaving yours.

Simon’s grip on your throat tightened just enough to send a rush of heat through your body, amplifying every sensation. Without hesitation, he began thrusting into you rough and fast, each movement deliberate and powerful. The sudden intensity had you arching beneath him, your hands clawing at his back as wave after wave of pleasure consumed you.

Your cries and screams filled the room, raw and uncontrollable, mingling with his low, guttural groans. The overwhelming sensations blurred the line between pleasure and pain, leaving you trembling and completely at his mercy. Tears streamed down your face, not from distress but from the sheer intensity of the moment, your body responding to him in ways that left you utterly undone.

“Look at you,” Simon growled, his voice thick with desire as his hand on your throat loosened slightly, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “Screaming for me like this… you’re perfect.”

His words only heightened your arousal, your body tightening around him as the pleasure built to a breaking point. You could feel the tension coiling in your core, ready to snap as he continued his relentless pace, determined to push you completely over the edge.

Your second climax hit like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as the release came with a splash. Simon pulled out briefly, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the sight—your release coating his thighs, cock, and the bed beneath you. A proud, satisfied smirk spread across his face as he ran a hand along your trembling body.

“You really are full of surprises, love,” he murmured, his tone filled with a mix of amusement and desire.

Your body trembled uncontrollably, your mind still hazy from the intensity, but he didn’t give you a moment to recover. Without hesitation, he pushed back into you, filling you once again as he resumed his relentless movements. His pace was just as intense, if not more so, driving you higher despite the overstimulation.

“Not done with you yet,” Simon growled, his voice low and commanding as his hips snapped against yours. His hands gripped your waist, anchoring you in place as he continued to take you apart, determined to wring every last ounce of pleasure from your shaking form. The overwhelming sensations left you gasping, your mind spinning as he pushed you toward yet another peak.

Your body gave in entirely to the overwhelming sensations, trembling uncontrollably as you couldn’t stop squirting with each relentless thrust. The bed beneath you was soaked, your cries filling the room as overstimulation consumed you. Tears streamed down your face, the intensity leaving you shaking and gripping onto Simon like a lifeline.

Your nails dug into his back, leaving red trails and even drawing blood in your desperation to ground yourself amidst the overpowering pleasure. He didn’t seem to mind—in fact, your reaction only spurred him on. His groans grew deeper, rougher, as he chased his own release, his movements becoming erratic.

Finally, with a guttural growl of your name, Simon thrust deeply one last time, his release surging into your womb. His weight pressed against you as he buried his face into your neck, his breathing ragged and heavy. The warmth of his release filled you, and he stayed there for a moment, letting the intensity of the moment settle.

Still trembling, you clung to him, your body utterly spent. His arms wrapped around you protectively, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered softly, “You’re incredible, love. Always.”

Your trembling arms wrapped around Simon’s neck, holding onto him tightly, as though letting go might make the world fall away. Your body shook with aftershocks, your breath uneven as you clung to him, seeking comfort in his warmth and strength.

Simon’s hands roamed over your back, soothing you with soft strokes and murmured reassurances. “It’s okay, love. I’ve got you,” he said gently, his voice low and comforting as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

Carefully, he shifted, pulling out of you with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity you had just shared. A soft whimper escaped your lips at the sensation, but he was quick to gather you into his arms, cradling you against his chest.

“Shh, you’re okay,” he whispered, holding you close as he ran his fingers through your hair. His other hand rubbed soothing circles on your back, grounding you as he kept you wrapped in his embrace.

You buried your face in his neck, unwilling to let go, the scent of him and the steady beat of his heart calming the storm inside you. He stayed there with you, his presence steady and unwavering, letting you come down at your own pace, his love and care wrapping around you like a cocoon.

Simon held you close for a moment longer before his voice broke through the haze, soft but firm. “Love, we gotta get up,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “I need to clean you up… and we need new sheets,” he added, his gaze drifting to the mess between your thighs and the soaked bed beneath you.

You groaned softly, nuzzling into his neck, reluctant to let go. “Can’t we just stay like this a little longer?” you whispered, your voice still shaky.

He chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring as he gently stroked your back. “As much as I’d love that, we’re not exactly in the best condition to keep lying here.” His hand moved to your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “Come on, love. Let me take care of you.”

With a soft sigh, you nodded, though your arms stayed loosely draped around his neck. He kissed your forehead before carefully helping you sit up, his hands steadying you as your trembling body adjusted. “Let me grab a warm cloth and something for the bed,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on your knee before moving to take care of things.

You stayed where you were, your legs still open, trusting him completely as he knelt in front of you with a warm, damp cloth. His touch was gentle as he began to clean you up, his focus intent on being as careful as possible.

A small whimper escaped your lips as the cloth brushed over your sensitive skin, and you looked down at him, your voice trembling. “Si, careful… I’m so sensitive.”

He glanced up at you with a soft, apologetic smile, his brown eyes filled with tenderness. “I’m trying, love,” he said gently, his voice calm and soothing as he continued his careful work.

His free hand rested lightly on your thigh, a grounding touch meant to steady you as he moved the cloth over you with deliberate precision. Despite your sensitivity, his care and attention helped you relax bit by bit, his patience and love evident in every motion.

“Almost done,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before finishing, ensuring you were comfortable and clean before setting the cloth aside. “There we go. All taken care of,” he said, his voice filled with quiet satisfaction as he stood, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

Simon froze mid-step, his eyes widening as realization struck. “Oh, fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“What?” you asked, suddenly alarmed, your body tensing at his tone.

“Johnny,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “He was supposed to be here an hour ago.” Grabbing his boxers, he quickly pulled them on and strode to the bedroom door, which had been open the whole time. Your stomach sank as you watched him leave.

In the living room, Simon stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Johnny sprawled on the couch, his face a mix of mortification and sheer disbelief.

“Johnny,” Simon began, his voice low and cautious. “What did you hear?”

Without missing a beat, Johnny’s eyes darted to Simon, then quickly away, his ears turning bright red. “Everything,” he said, his voice flat and tinged with awkwardness.

Simon groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced over his shoulder toward the bedroom, then back to his visibly uncomfortable friend. “For fuck’s sake, Johnny. You couldn’t knock or announce yourself?”

Johnny shrugged, clearly struggling to maintain eye contact. “Didn’t think I’d need to, mate. Thought I’d be welcomed like usual—not treated to… that.”

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath, “Brilliant. Just brilliant.”

Annoyed that Simon hadn’t come back, you walked out of the bedroom, forgetting—or not caring—that you were still completely naked. The moment you stepped into the living room, Simon and Johnny’s heads whipped toward you, both sets of eyes widening in shock.

“Bloody hell!” Johnny exclaimed, immediately covering his face with his hands, though the damage was clearly done.

Simon’s reaction was instant and instinctive. Without saying a word, he bolted toward you, his expression a mix of frustration and protectiveness. In a flash, he scooped you up, throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“Si!” you yelped, your fists lightly pounding his back in protest as he made a beeline for the stairs.

“Not a fucking chance I’m letting Johnny get another second of this view,” Simon growled, his voice low and clipped. He carried you back into the bedroom, kicked the door shut behind him with a firm thud, and set you down on the bed with an exasperated sigh.

“What were you thinking, love?” he asked, hands on his hips, though his tone was more amused than angry.

“I was wondering why you didn’t come back,” you replied with a shrug, though a flush crept across your cheeks.

“I wanted more cuddles, Si,” you say, pouting as you sit on the bed, watching him with big, pleading eyes.

Simon sighs, a soft smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. “You’re unbelievable, love,” he mutters, walking over and pulling you into his arms. “But I’ll give you all the cuddles you want—after I deal with Johnny.”

Simon strides back into the living room where Johnny is still sitting, clearly trying to process everything he’s just witnessed. Simon waves a hand dismissively. “Sorry about that, Johnny. Do whatever you want—I need to get back to Y/N. She wants more cuddles.” Without waiting for a reply, he turns to head back upstairs.

“Uh, LT,” Johnny calls out, his voice laced with concern and disbelief. “Your back is bleeding. What the hell did she do to you?”

Simon glances over his shoulder, smirking slightly. “It’s part of the territory, Johnny,” he says nonchalantly before disappearing upstairs, leaving Johnny sitting there, dumbfounded and speechless.

Taglist

@aasouthteranoswife @edgarapoecolouredglasses @jovialbluebirddragon @soapsrubberduck @coqwuette

#modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley #modern warfare x reader #modern warfare ii #modern warfare smut #simon ghost riley smut #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish

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neil-gaiman · 2 years ago

Note

Hello Mr Neil,

I want to share how I feel about Sherryl the supermodel from Good Omens. You've answered a question previously when someone felt that her representation was lacking empathy (re the visual effects note in the script book, although the scene was cut), and I want to offer my thoughts to help people who felt that way about Sherryl.

The book (Good Omens, not the scripts, which I haven't read) plays with dark topics and makes them absurd and fun, aiming the jabs at the systems that (mis)guide or harm people (there are Beliefs, the People who Believe them, and the odd ways of living that make sense to them). Famine's D-Plan sums up the diet industry and a culture of starvation: of course we don't laugh /at/ Sherryl, we understand (because of everything the novel sets up) that like every other human she does her best with the frameworks she's got. It's empathetic, because that's what Good Omens is. Understanding that let me reframe the knee-jerk reaction I had on my first read of the scene in the book.

[For the TV show, though, as you've explained in the past, certain things had to be adapted to the time. I wonder sometimes - because I know that you do these things well - how you felt about approaching Sherryl nearly 30 years later.]

I think the trouble for me was that the scene in the book felt cruel at first. Now, I think 'A skeleton in a Dior dress' beautifully sums up the sacrifice of her humanity to become New York's top model. It's death dressed up - that's how such extremely-ill supermodels *should* appear to us if only we were unblinkered. One should see plainly the actual violence in an emaciated person's appearance. Maybe growing up with early 2000s aggressive body-shaming British TV shows and an overweight mother of Sherryl's generation as well as personal experience of anorexia made the 'skeleton' image feel cruel, now-overdone and recognisable to the nastiest unhealed bits in my psyche.

I think the frightened human animal in me initially recoiled from the dehumanisation. The pit of me jerked at the descriptions of Sherryl that felt like real insults, pulled straight from mainstream body-shaming media of my formative years. Of course, Good Omens predates this - thin was in, religiously, and the scene was subversive then - but that was my initial bodily feeling, not a thoughtful response. I describe it to illustrate where the challenge was, after we've gone from skinny worship in the 90s, to domestic skinny enforcement, to skinny shame, to wherever we are now in the popular orthorexic fitness culture and clean-eating minefield etc etc. Starvation dehumanises, and Sherryl was sick to the point of being inhuman - the scene under a microscope might feel complicit in dehumanisation to the sensibilities of teens and young adults today (for the same reason that people in Trafalgar Square can't see England), but within the book it humanises Sherryl by showing you plainly what awful thing has happened to her.

What the book did for me was let me delight in a sense of humour that makes difficult things totally absurd and therefore perfectly understandable. It told me, everyone is doing their best (to the best of their understanding), and when the fun-poking poked at my own pressure points, it said, lovingly, yes, you too. Many things about the book are like laughing with a friend or receiving a warm hug - it makes the big things so silly, and shared, and okay.

Thanks :) x <3

I am glad that is how you saw her. That is how we saw her. (I'm reminded of the only time I was ever at a high fashion event, where I found myself profoundly shocked by the incredible thinness of the models, and how sorry for them I felt, and how I wanted to feed them soup and stew and sandwiches. And of a high fashion model I knew a little, when she went out with a friend of mine, who told me that some girls she knew used heroin to stop the hunger pains, injecting themselves between their toes, and later I learned that my friend broke up with her when he learned she was a heroin addict.)

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primadonalover · 4 months ago

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Hello darlings! I've been away for some time now, but I have returned 🩷

Anyone fancying more Larry/Laurence Durrel content?????

Request your imagine ideas!

#the durrells #x #x reader #british tv #larry durrell #josh oconnor #challengers

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nightlyrequiem · 7 months ago

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So I was thinking about this for a while but, what if the reader is Valeria's ex wife that had been together for almost a decade (dating included) and as a result the 141 and Los Vaqueros basically come snooping around their house searching for answers and interrogates them, hoping that they would help but realizes that's it's a dead end because Valeria always shielded them from anything that she did.

Oooh interesting concept 😍

So interesting that I kind of didn’t know what to do. I wrote an outline, changed the ending, then changed the ending again. Little bit of a challenge but challenges are a good thing 🫶

Tags/Warnings: WLW, Violence, 141-Vaqueros Appearance, Very Minor Angst

Interrogation

Promising forever doesn't actually guarantee forever. Valeria has come to learn this. A thick bitterness has coated her heart in your absence. Eating away at the organ like an acidic parasite. It's been years since your divorce, but Valeria still misses you deeply. You took something from her when you left and she knows she'll never get it back. The worst part is, she can't even really blame you for leaving. For the majority of your long relationship she was dishonest about who she was and what she did. You eventually put the pieces together, even if the picture was never whole, and figured out she wasn't good. Valeria tried to spare you as many details as she could. Knowledge is power but ignorance is safety. To your credit, you had tried to make it work. However it proved to be too much for you. The danger, the lies, the late nights. You served her the papers and left soon after.

The divorce wasn't easy on you either. You spent just shy of ten years with Valeria. Building a life with her only to find she wasn't who she said she was. A house built on a weak foundation is doomed to collapse, and leaving her was one of the hardest things you've done but you couldn't stand it anymore. Couldn't stand wondering if she'd walk back through that door each night. The moral implications were eating at you as well. Whatever it was she was doing was bad enough for her to not tell you.

It's another lonely night in your apartment. The silence feels mocking. It's one of the rarer nights where you don't have music or the TV playing. Just you in your chair with a book you've already read. You struggle to focus. Having to reread the same paragraph twice because you're just not absorbing the words at hand. Leaving Valeria was the right thing, you tell yourself. But life is so... quiet without her. A heavy knock on the door interrupts your thoughts and you realise that you yet again didn't actually read anything. Sighing, you put the book down and get up. Your legs and back are sore from sitting in the same position for too long. You silently walk towards the door and peer out through the glazed window. Making out the shapes of men.

The sight makes your skin prickle, but you unlock the deadbolt - not the chain - and pull open your door, wincing as the hinges cry out in protest.

"Can I help you?" You ask quietly, brows pulled low. You see there are five men in total, all clad in military gear.

"Hello ma'am, mind if we come in for a few moments? We have a few questions for you." The blond one asks. There's something about his voice you don't like. Under that American accent is something smug and violent, like he's used to getting his way.

"Um... no thank you." You respond. Like hell you're letting five strange men into your home.

"It won't take long, it's about a woman." The one with the mohawk speaks. You're caught off guard because this one has a Scottish lilt to his voice. Looking closer, you see a little British flag sewn onto the chest of his vest. His friend beside him has one sewn onto his as well, contrasting with the light blue button up.

"No, sorry."

"Her name is Valeria Garza." He continues, looking you dead in the eyes. You stiffen at the name. Fearing the worst. Has she been caught? Is she dead? You're torn between slamming the door and letting them in.

The latter wins and you unlatch the chain, slowly pulling open the door to face them.

"... What about her?" You ask carefully.

"Why don't we come in to discuss this, huh?" The blond man pushes his way in before you can protest. Putting you off greatly. The others follow suit like sheep to their shepherd. The blond man looks around, eyes raking over your home. He turns that blue gaze back to you. "So, to my knowledge you were... close to Valeria."

"I... suppose so." You reply. Close isn't enough to describe what you had. A roaring forest fire that died out too quickly.

"You used to visit her often, back when she was still in the special forces." One of the other men pipes up. He has the saddest downturned eyes you've ever seen on a human, but his voice is firm.

Everyone is looking at you. You don't like their scrutiny. Like you did something wrong.

"...Yeah? So?" You internally facepalm at the defensiveness in your voice. These men are dogs and they'll pick up on it.

"Well, according to some official government documents, you two used to be married." The blond says. Smug, like he caught you in a lie. You have the strongest urge to punch him in the throat. Or maybe give him a new facial scar.

"We were married for a few years, yeah." You say. Voice strong because you're not ashamed or embarrassed. "We divorced a while ago though."

"Why?" The man leans forward, beady eyes narrowed.

You hesitate. "She never made any time for me." You say. That and you never actually knew her.

The blond looks over to one of the men at the back.

"Alejandro, you're familiar with Valeria and by extension her wife-"

"-Ex wife." You correct.

"-Help me out here."

The man, Alejandro, comes forward. Hands held onto his vest. His gaze is severe and alight with a distaste that makes your skin prickle. "What did Valeria do for a living?" He asks. The way he asks tells you he already knows.

"She ran a business."

"What kind of business?"

"I don't know."

He raises a thick brow. "You don't know?"

"No." You grit out. "I don't know, she never told me."

"And you didn't think to ask?"

You frown at him. Obviously you asked. Many times.

"Okay. I did ask. She wouldn't tell me." You snap. "Why are you bothering me about my ex-wife? I haven't even spoken to her in years."

The blond man shoulders past Alejandro. "So you didn't know about her connection to the cartel?" He asks.

"No-"

"You didn't know your wife was a narco?" He presses, drawing closer.

"No I didn't know-"

"You didn't think to question where her wealth came from? I bet the ring she got you was nice and pricey."

It was. A shiny, sturdy diamond ring. It makes you feel a little unwell that it might've been paid for with blood.

"I don't know anything." You growl. "Are you even allowed to do this? Barge into my home without a warrant? I think you need to leave."

"We're just trying to get all our facts straight." Alejandro replies. You focus your glare on him.

"Go get your facts from someone else. Leave." To your surprise, they do. They turn and walk right back out your door and you slam it behind them.

A few hours later there's another knock on your door. Setting your nerves on fire. You're still unsettled by the impromptu visit from those men. You get up from your spot at the table and check out the peephole, expecting to see them again. It's Valeria who is darkening your doorstep this time. A stony look set upon her features. You debate not opening the door. You don't really want to see her much either. However, you know Valeria and she knows you. She won't be leaving until she gets what she wants. The door creaks open, deadbolt and chain unlocked.

"What do you want?" You surprise yourself with the hostility. You are rattled by the men and they were only here because of her. Therefore, in your mind, she's to blame for you being unhappy.

"We need to talk." She says. Pushing past you and entering your home uninvited. Seems to be the trend this evening.

You close the door and turn to her, feeling annoyed.

"I think everything that needed to be said was said a long time ago."

"It's not about that." She stands in the hall menacingly, backlit by a lamp. "You had visitors today. What did they want?"

"Oh so you're stalking me now?" You snap.

"What did they want?" She repeats sharply. "What did you tell them?"

"I didn't tell them anything. I don't know anything because you never fucking told me!" You feel angry. More than that. All Valeria did was hide things from you and stress you out. Now she's waltzing into your home like you owe her anything.

Valeria turns away, trying to reel in her temper.

"I was protecting you." She grits out.

"Some good that did, huh?" You reply sardonically.

She glares at you. "Are you injured or in jail?" She scoffs. "No, I didn't think so."

"No but because of your actions I had five men force their way into my home and interrogate me about you, practically accusing me of working with you."

The room goes quiet.

"... I'm in the cartel." She says. You roll your eyes.

"Yeah, I guessed."

"No, I'm really in it. High ranking, powerful." Valeria says firmly. "While you were waiting up for me at home, I was killing people trafficking drugs."

A response dies on your tongue. In a way, you always knew. To hear her admit to it is both cathartic and devastating. "... Why are you telling me now?"

Valeria's frown softens into a more familiar look. "Because you deserve to know." She says. "Did they hurt you at all?"

"No." You reply. But you didn't exactly feel safe. "They were a little... intense. It upset me."

Valeria looks at you for a few moments then nods stiffly.

"Okay." Is all she says before she's gone again. Leaving a messy pile of conflicting feelings in her wake. You catch a whiff of her perfume as she passes by you, and it reminds you of late morning cuddled in bed. She's stuck to the same scent since you two met. Nine and a half years spent together and now you're strangers. Yet you know what her go to scent is, that she doesn't like lettuce, the exact shade of the pink she paints her nails, when she got her first tattoo. The story behind each and every scar. You shut the door, cutting her off from your view.

Alejandro steps outside for a quick smoke break. leaving behind the lights and the noise. As he lights his smoke he spots a figure, barely illuminated by the yellow lights spilling from the canteen. It starts walking towards him. The lack of a greeting unnerves him and he shifts his hand to rest on his holster.

"Nice night, eh?" He calls out. No response. The figure steps out of the dark and he stiffens at the sight of short dark hair and narrow features. He unholsters his pistol. What is she doing here?

She stops abruptly and looks at him. Distaste evident on her face.

"I'm all for playing your little cat and mouse game but leave my loved ones out of it."

He frowns at her. Sizing her up for any visible weapons. "This is about the visit we paid to your ex wife."

"You did more than visit." She replies dangerously. "Don't speak to her again. Don't bother her again. Don't even visualize her again. I will kill every single one of your men and women, and then I will go after their families."

"What are you-"

Alejandro doesn't get to finish his sentence as the canteen behind him explodes. The sound bursting his eardrums and sending him flying forward.

Beneath the ringing he's able to recognize confused shouting and pained screaming. A hand grabs ahold of his hair and yanks. Pulling loose a few strands. Valeria stares at him with absolute hatred.

"Our word is our worth, cowboy," She whispers. "so take my word for it."

#valeria garza #cod mw2 #valeria garza x reader #modern warefare ii #valeria garza x fem!reader #valeria garza cod #cod mwii #cod x reader #valeria garza x you

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