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#simon riley fluff
miserycanary · 1 day
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DEFINITELY NUTS ᡣ𐭩
pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & model!fem!reader
synopsis: Ghost mentions you but 141 doesn't believe that he got a wife
tags: crack (well, attempted), fluff
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Ghost’s strict rules for privacy are something the 141 has known for years now. He’s not the type of person to blab about his personal life and often chooses just to keep quiet. So, imagine their surprise when he suddenly says that he’s going to take a day off because his wife asked him to watch a play. 
“Price, ‘am not gonna be here tomorrow. Got a date with my missus.”
All eyes are on him, everyone stills. “WIFE? Since when?!” Soap exclaimed, finally breaking the silence. His eyes were almost bulging out his eyes. “Never told you about her?” Ghost hums, unamused by the Scottish’s exclaim. “Johnny here does have a reasonable reaction. You never tell us anything ‘bout you, mate,” Price joined, chuckling and pulling out a cigar. The man just contemplates before brushing it off and bidding farewell, leaving the group confused. 
“Ain’t no way he’s telling us the truth. That man ain’t got no bone in his body to bag someone,” Soap voiced out, looking for anyone to support his disbelief. “I mean..” Gaz whistles out, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head as if he’s agreeing to some extent. That’s when, unbeknownst to Ghost, he got the reputation of being delusional and a liar. 
Soap, still doubtful days later, watches the lieutenant with a vision like a hawk. “Hey, lieutenant.” Ghost snaps his head up, looking at him. “How was the date with your wife?” Immediately, everyone else stopped what they were doing, silently listening. It was obvious he was baiting Ghost, emphasizing the wife as if putting on quotes. They weren’t as nosy as Soap but each one of them still held a bit of doubtness that the brick wall of the team managed to get a girl, and even marry her.
“It was okay. The missus had fun,” Ghost chuckles, fondly remembering how you were beaming on the way, rambling about the plot of the play. “Can we see pictures?” Soap smirked thinking he finally got the lieutenant but was taken aback when Ghost only shrugged and pulled out his phone before freezing. “Ah, we didn’t take pictures yesterday. Said she wanted to live in the moment.” 
Soap whipped his head to signal to Gaz, seemingly saying ‘See? He’s definitely lying! How convenient he has no pictures.” 
“How about just a picture of your wife?” Kyle suggested, now invested while Price seemed to be shaking his head in the corner. “I have none with me but..” With a few clicks, Ghost holds up his phone for everyone to see. Like birds, everyone flocked around him, curious to see. For a while, everyone was surprised and sure the man was lying. I mean, he just showed them a picture of a drop-dead gorgeous model from a magazine! 
‘He's definitely lost it’ everyone seemed to think, offering pity glances at the man who had this prideful shine in his eyes. Walking up to his superior, Soap patted him on the back. “It’s fine, mate… we understand how difficult it must be.” ‘not having a lady at all’
Thinking Johnny meant about your hectic schedule, he agreed. “It’s quite tough but we make it work,” he chuckled which made everyone wince.
‘Definitely nuts!’
Weeks passed after that and the topic never got brought up, until Ghost came in with a bento in hand covered with a handkerchief with frilly ends. When asked about it, he replied, “Ah, wife’s testing out recipes for an upcoming TV show. ‘S been practicing and asked me to bring one.” Once again, he was given pity glances and even heard a defeated sigh from Soap. 
‘He’s too far gone’
“How’s work?” you ask, dazedly paying attention to the movie you guys put, more invested in burying your face in Simon’s chest while he drapes both arms on your waist, completely engulfing your torso under his muscles. “Been getting a few weird stares,” he mumbles, playing with your hair and pressing kisses on your forehead. “Why?” you peer up, resting your face on your chin. “I don’ know, princess.”
Meanwhile…
“Should we just… finally set the lieutenant on a date? I feel bad. I mean, he even lied about his “wife” making him lunch,” Johnny sighed.
“Probably the best idea,” Kyle nodded.
Now Price… he knows the truth. He met you before when you dropped by, asking for Ghost— which ended horribly— but he’ll lying if he said he’s not getting a kick out of this.
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꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: probably won't be posting for a while :] Did you guys notice the hint to my previous work? Please do. 😔
dividers by @cafekitsune
Please reblog!!
check out my other works: ⚝!
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alwaysshallow · 3 days
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simon doesn't do holidays. none.
partly because of his trauma, partly because he doesn't really see a point in spending them. alone? with task force 141 out of pity? nope, not an option. so, he just treats holidays like it's another simple day in the calendar.
and then, when he eats a meal on christmas day at your diner, something breaks in him.
you're so bubbly. warm. welcoming to everyone, no matter how they look or how they are towards you (he skips the part where he wants to rip the guys throat out of the place just because he's so fucking rude to you. and you still manage to be the nicest human being to him.)
he wonders what are you doing here instead of being with your family. do you have a family? or you're all alone? maybe something happen? he doesn't know, but he wants to know. he wants you to be interested in him, too.
he's... so mesmerised. he pays way more than he should after you come with a bill, asking if he needs something else. if you can help.
he just gruffs something under his nose as an answer. he doesn't need help because he exactly knows what he wants.
so...
no, simon riley doesnt do holidays.
but he could think of doing them with you, when he leaves your diner. knowing that he's gonna come back.
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blingblong55 · 2 days
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Landslide -Simon "Ghost" Riley
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Based on a request: I was talking about military father-daughter balls with a coworker and as a fluff request to also cleanse your asks: How about Simon walking into his daughters room wearing his suit, going to ask his wife to do his bow tie because he's never been one for formal occasions and sees R/N is getting their daughter ready into her dress and doing her hair.
---- F!Reader, fluff, dad!Ghost, father-daughter moment ----
It's an old tradition that dads did with their daughters, something he never expected to attend and here he is, getting in his dress uniform. His ribbons, medals and the tight berret all decored him. As he was about to put his last medal on, he remembered the stupid tie. He was good at tying ropes but stupid ties that made him forget everything he learned were just…ugh where is his darling wife when he needs him?
"Bloody thing-" he gets cut off by a giggle from his daughter. Oh, that sweet sound that made him retire years ago. As his daughter giggles, he finds himself smiling and forgetting about the tie and the one woman who knows how to tie one is his sweet wife. Slowly, he finds himself walking to the bedroom, looking down as he tries to figure out how to tie this without looking and feeling dumb.
"And then daddy will dance with me?" your sweet daughter says and you nod. "He will and you best be on your best behaviour, okay?" You say as you fix zip her dress up and smile. Simon leans on the doorway and smiles. This is the life any soldier like him ever dreamed of.
He doesn't want to interrupt, this is a special moment after all and he hopes that this becomes a tradition. One that he can continue even with the little one in your soft belly.
Your daughter with a small pout asks if she will always be as pretty as she is tonight and before you can answer, Simon does it for you. "Your daddy's little princess, of course, you'll always be as pretty– no, you'll always be as beautiful and elegant as tonight, just like your mum," he smiles and winks your way.
He always has a way with words and always knows when to compliment you and your princess.
"Now sit still, I have to finish this braid," you softly say and smile. Your little girl is as eager as ever to go out with her dad tonight. And as you do her hair, Simons sits on the edge of the bed, watching you both.
He went from guns, infiltrations and bombs to having pink stickers, toys, dolls and bows all over his home and he will never complain about it. It's beautiful really. He knows that the change is so different but it's so good, he likes the car rides to and from school where he has to play two certain songs over and over. And Soap may laugh at him anytime he gets in the car after a night out and the radio station is on a kid's station but he is a dad and fuck does he love being a dad.
Once you place the last bow and apply the glitter to her hair, Simon is next. Here he was, standing like a little kid to have his mother help him with something. "I just don't get it, love," he says as he lets you tie the tie. You smile, tightening and adjusting his shirt, "Just takes time, Si," you kiss his cheek and chuckle a little as you have to clean his cheek from the lipstick stain. He smiles like a lovesick fool.
A cheeky smile appears on him as your daughter takes his hand, "We'll be late daddy." she reminds him and he smiles. He taught her well, that time management was always important and if he had to arrive at an event at a certain time, he was always there 10 minutes earlier and now so will his daughter.
"Alright, c'mon," he picks her up and kisses your cheek. "We'll be home at 10:30, alright love?" he brushes your cheek and kisses your forehead. "You and the little lad stay warm," he says as he closes the front door.
The whole night was amazing for them both. She received flowers when she got to the car because gentlemen should always give flowers on special nights and she always danced with him all night.
It is a night for the years to come, a new tradition that will heal the old wounds of an old soldier.
Tags: @liyanahelena @uniquecroissant @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @Krinoid24 @iruzias @frazie99 @night-mare-owl-79 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @Juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @defnotlpuluvyou @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @nellsbobells @willowaftxn83-87 @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @pbcartii @Llelannie @Macnches2 @bbyfimmie @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @@konigssultwithghost @pinkblossomsworld @kaoyamamegami @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @@foxface013 @anonxasian @born4biriyani @thegreyjoyed @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @@sleepyycatt @believeinthefireflies95
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dmitriene · 11 hours
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cw: mentions of groping and attempts at harassment, reader stays her ground, simon falls in love and kind of a horny mutt, smut is not the main curse.
simon keeps his distance from relationships, he has enough problems of his own, he rarely stays in one place because of deployments, and very often risks his life.
until simon observes a situation in a bar that turns his world upside down, making him feel a prickly warmth in his lower stomach and a whirlwind of thoughts consisting only of the same words
— “she's gonna be mine„
it was so easy, you only had to go to the bar for the first time in a long time to unwind, only to get caught by an annoying, nasty guy who didn't want to stop trying to touch you and whisper nasty compliments to you like — “your tits looks so good in this shirt„ “wanna get out of here with me?„ “don't play hard to get„
until it all turned into screams and pig squeals, as soon as you poured the drink from your hands on his gross self, ruining not only his clothes, leaving them sticky, but also his image, attracting the attention of almost all the customers and also the bartender, a clever one who immediately called for help to get the man out before he did anything worse, not to mention his squeals about — “fucking bitch! that how you react to some attention?!„
it's really easy, responding with rudeness to rudeness and not tolerating humiliation just for the sake of saving face, not even yours, in public, instead keeping your nerve and addressing rude people in their own language, before wiping your hands with a napkin and going back to relaxing by ordering another drink.
and simon is not at all ashamed to admit to himself that the whole performance, carefully followed by his thawed chocolate eyes, not only made him aroused, which caused him to fidget in the seat, spreading his legs wider and squeezing the prominent bulge in his pants, tenting against the fabric of the black jeans —
but also allowed him to imagine how it would have been in different circumstances, yelling at him about completely different things — while being on top of him, riding his fat cock with rough rolls of your round hips and loud slaps of your plush ass against his relaxed, muscular thighs, the warm, gummy walls of your cunny clench around his meaty cock so good, making him go delirious with just one imagination how hot you would sound with his name and orders slipping past your soft, bitten from his hungry mouth, lips — “h — haa, yesyesyes, simon! stay just like that, s' good!„
it's all enough to make simon break out of his habitual image in which he tries to keep a low profile, he calls the waiter to ask him to extend your drink at his expense, and it's really more than enough for simon, because you don't hesitate to find his gaze among the numerous tables when you're told that another cocktail you didn't ask for is a compliment from another customer, and simon doesn't hide his communion either.
he catches your gaze back, feeling a thrilling shiver in his body, and raises his glass of bourbon to the thin line of pale lips that spread into a smile of their own, accord when he sees your biased squint, but even though his slightly intimidating balaclava and broad physique, you nod, thankfully, your lips moving in silent gratitude — “thank's, sir„
that was his green flag, to sit in the bar until you were about to leave, leaving the room and his line of sight, slipping out if only for a moment, because simon couldn't let you go home alone after all that, coming out after you and as gently as possible touching your shoulder to make you turn, your gaze falling onto his warm eyes before processing the hoarse words he said
— “le' me wolk you home, hm? nothing more, jus' a safe wolk, lovie?„
and will you refuse? after all, no matter how hard you try to think otherwise, something in his whole form inspires of unexpected safety, so maybe he's the one who will be your normal company tonight.
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gloomwitchwrites · 2 days
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Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader
Chapter Specific Warnings: swearing, brief mentions of terror, domestic!Simon, intimacy in the shower, hand job, vaginal fingering, brief oral sex (female receiving), non-penetrative sex, the mask comes off
Word Count: 5.8k
A/N: Part Fourteen of Ink & Needle
Simon doesn't see you again for two weeks. Amelia intervenes. Simon removes his mask in front of you.
Chapter Thirteen
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist
Repetition.
Fingers counting bottles. Counting colors. Counting labels.
White paper. Blank spaces. Pencil. Graphite tip.
Breaking. Breaking. Over. Over. Over, again.
Blue ink. Red ink. Black.
Simon counts the little rows, falling deeper into distraction. It’s a way to quiet his mind, to turn off the fucking noise that’s buzzing there in the back like an annoyingly curious bee. But all this inventory counting isn’t working. Nothing is keeping his thoughts at bay.
A week has passed. An entire fucking week and your absence is a festering wound. Simon isn’t taking it personally. Really. He isn’t. But fuck he misses you. Part of him blames himself, insisting that your distance has to do with something he did. It’s not entirely far from the truth. While Simon hasn’t exactly lied to you, he has omitted crucial information.
British Intelligence may very well be coming to call, but Simon doesn’t know that information explicitly. The situation is precarious. Delicate. The information Simon shifted through with Price, Kyle, and Johnny unnerved him.
Kit Walsh is not your local nationalist prick who spouts shit off in chatrooms or on social media for influencers to stitch. Kit Walsh moved beyond that. Beyond walking in to corner stores or a school or a church for innocent people to understand his lead-drenched wrath. Beyond a week or two of media frenzy. Beyond mugshots and a jury sentence.
This man moves between. One minute he’s supplying arms to opposing sides in another country to destabilize a region, and then turns around to whisper in some politician’s ear to convince them to “intercede” on the behalf of “global peace.”
He pushes weapons, pushes people, pushes drugs.
But he’s not a businessman. That’s just a front for his true intentions. Kit Walsh thinks on global levels and how he intends to make the world into his image. He takes his time. He observes and then moves.
It makes the man more dangerous because he also understands that acts at the local level are just as or even more powerful than the global ones. Nothing is more terrifying than when your own neighbor turns their words of hate into hateful actions.
Kit Walsh knows this.
Which is why Simon didn’t give a fuck when he received all those injuries. He thought he took the fucker out for good. That Walsh was a burnt-up corpse. Simon rarely considers any of his scars to be marks of pride. Yet the ones he received when he shoved his knife into Walsh’s chest were ones he didn’t mind having.
But none of that matters now.
Walsh is alive. And he might have fucking blown the back of Lord Archibald Williams’ head off. For what? Simon doesn’t fucking know. Price didn’t know either which means that British Intelligence likely doesn’t.
And you don’t need to know any of that. Why burden you? Why put any of these worries and issues on your plate when they might not land there at all? Why exhaust you further?
When you brought up Archie, Simon panicked, knowing you were already tired—already stressed. It’s not right that this happened to your friend, but Simon truly believes there isn’t anything to particularly worry about at the moment. That is reason enough not to dump this on you.
Simon’s fingers hover above the lid of an ink bottle. He pauses there, thinking, forgetting the number he just uttered.
Lost count. Starts over.
Blue ink. Red ink. Black.
“Fuck!” shouts Simon, his tatted knuckles turning white as the pencil clenched in his fist snaps in half.
Simon stares at the broken pencil. At the fractured graphite.
Sighing heavily, Simon drops the clipboard and steps away from the storage cabinets. He’s fucking distracted, and it’s not only because of the shit he read in Price’s file. Simon hasn’t seen you—hasn’t touched you in almost a week. Somehow, the separation is difficult, more frustrating than Simon previously thought.
He went three years without knowing your touch. But a week is now too much?
Simon clenches his fists. Releases them. Inhales deeply through his nostrils and exhales slowly through his mouth. He repeats until there isn’t any tension in his limbs and his mind quiets. Using the silence, Simon takes notes of the aches and pains. The leg that always gives him trouble isn’t hurting much today, but that might be a different story tomorrow. Everything else is dull and fine, better than it has been.
Checking his scheduling book, Simon pulls up the name of the next client, retrieving the sketches and preparing the stencil. This is work he knows. This is work that’s natural to him. Safe and secure. When the client arrives, Simon shifts into work mode, slipping into his professional mask, dipping into his creativity.
For these few hours, Simon doesn’t think about you at all and he certainly doesn’t think about Walsh. He’s only thinking about the tattoo and the client and the goddamn inventory sheet that looks ready to slip right off the desk.
But when Simon’s client leaves, and he is left in an empty shop with a snoozing Bravo, thoughts of you come roaring back to the forefront of his mind. There really is no reason to worry. It’s not like Simon is only receiving radio silence from you. You just haven’t been with him. That’s all.
The two of you have talked. Well—not extensively. It’s only been flashes of conversation, brief texts and even shorter phone calls. It is the tiredness and exhaustion that Simon hears in your voice every time he speaks with you that worries him. He knows why you’re staying away, and it’s not because of him. At least, that is what you tell him.
Yet Simon cannot help but linger in those spaces, questioning whether or not he somehow messed up. That he didn’t do enough. Worse, it’s not fair to you to think this way. You have been clear about why you’re not around, but it still chews at him. Simon stills wants to see you, to hold you close even if it’s for a fleeting moment.
He knows there is a baby. He knows you have responsibilities to your friend. He knows and yet Simon is fucking selfish because he wants—no. Needs to breathe you in even if it is just the sweet scent of your skin.
But evening comes as Simon closes up shop for the night, and there is not a text or call from you.
There are none the next day or the day after that.
By Sunday morning, Simon is boiling from the inside out, gripping his phone like a goddamn lunatic.
He hasn’t heard from you, and the few calls and texts he’s sent have gone unanswered. If he were his old self, he’d have already gone to your place demanding to see you. But things have changed for him in some respects. Simon is trying hard not to fall into old habits and behaviors when it comes to you.
Simon has failed on several occasions, but he’s trying to be better. He’s trying to be better for you.
The decision he makes is like pulled teeth. Necessary sometimes but fucking painful without the proper numbing. Simon does not go to your place. Every step he takes in the opposite direction of Amelia’s home are dull razors against the skin. He forces himself to leash Bravo, to go to Dancing Faun, to sit down on his usual fucking stool and pretend that everything is fine.
Routine is good. Routine is comfortable.
Simon is going to leave it—leave you—and give you some needed space. There is a newborn in Amelia’s house, and the last thing Simon needs to do is to barge in and step all over that dynamic just because he hasn’t seen you in a few days.
“Look who it is,” chuckles Ben, the owner of Dancing Faun. He sets down a newly polished pint glass. “Thought you forgot about me.”
Simon grins behind the balaclava, the familiar face a much-needed welcome. “You’re forgettable. But your wife?” Simon whistles and settles on his usual stool.
Ben guffaws and wags a finger in Simon’s direction. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’d leave me in an instant if you asked.”
“Better ask her then,” replies Simon, pretending to get up.
“Oi. Sit down,” mumbles Ben, shaking his polishing rag in Simon’s direction. “Cheeky bastard.”
Ben leaves and returns with Simon’s usual full English and tea. The two of them chat, Ben forgetting not to talk politics on Sunday while Simon listens and shakes his head, knowing the big guy does it on purpose to mess with him. After breakfast, Simon starts with a pint of dark amber ale, moving on to a second as the first customers begin to trickle in.
For a few hours, Simon forgets about the outside world. He watches a rugby match. Drinks a third beer. Considers whether he should switch over to whiskey. It’s just like all his other Sundays since retirement.
Routine is good. Routine is comfortable.
Simon lifts the pint glass to his mouth, downing the last of his third drink. He sets it down on the bar top, unsuspecting of the coming intrusion.
Reality is such a fickle thing. Sometimes it is a clawing, creeping blob that lurks in the corner of a dark room. Sometimes, it is an abrupt shaking, as if hands are on you, imploring you to look.
“Amelia!”
Simon’s stomach flips at the sound of Ben’s voice calling out to the older woman. Glancing away from the television, Simon turns, seeking you. Hope expands in his chest like an inflating balloon. Sparks pop off in his head with the belief that you will enter in behind Amelia. That you will walk through the door and Simon can finally see you again.
But you’re not here.
You’re not with her.
It’s just Amelia.
Her cheeks are rosy from the November cold, and her coat swallows her up.
“I have photos of the grandbaby,” she says, voice cheery as she removes her leather gloves and stuffs them in her coat pockets.
Ben’s smile widens. “Congratulations.”
Several patrons around the pub hold up their drinks in salute, echoing Ben’s initial statement. Without taking off her coat, Amelia travels from person to person, her wire rimmed glasses hanging on the tip of her nose as she scrolls through photos on her phone. She lingers with each person, telling the same story, showing the same pictures.
Simon patiently waits because that’s all he can do. Inside, he’s boiling in an agonizing twisting of alertness that pulls every muscle in his body taut with tension.
Is she doing this on purpose to mess with him? Did he really fuck up and this is her version of punishment?
When Amelia finally approaches Simon, some of that tension evaporates. Her smile is genuine. Soothing. She’s not upset with him. If anything, Amelia is relieved to see him.
“Morning, Simon,” she sighs, her shoulders sagging slightly.
“Morning,” he replies, not recognizing the gruffness in his voice. Simon swallows, tapping the side of his empty glass with a single finger.
Amelia holds up her phone. “Interested in seeing pictures of my grandbaby?”
Fucking hell, he can’t say no to her.
Simon only nods because he cannot trust his voice. Is he fracturing? What the bloody hell is wrong with him? Is it this distance? Does Simon truly miss you so much that it’s causing him to slip?
Amelia settles herself on the stool next to Simon. Bravo’s head doesn’t even lift in greeting. The German Shepard is out, completely relaxed and dozing on the floor. With phone clutched in one hand, Amelia begins to scroll through multiple pictures. Most of them are just of the baby asleep or cradled in someone’s arms.
“Her name is Lillian,” says Amelia, smiling fondly. “Named after Archie’s younger sister. Poor thing didn’t even get to see the age of three.”
The mention of Archie’s name twists Simon’s stomach. The file, its contents, and the conversation he had with Price, Johnny, and Kyle comes creeping back, wanting to sink its claws in.
“This,” and Amelia brings her phone a bit closer. “Is the day we brought her back.” Amelia hums softly. “So rosy cheeked.”
Simon grunts in agreement. It’s not the kindest response but it’s not because he doesn’t agree. Lillian is cute. She is rosy cheeked. Simon is good with kids and he likes them. But he just wants to know what is happening with you.
Amelia slides her finger across the phone’s screen only to reveal a glimpse of a possible answer to all of his questions.
This picture is one of you. In your arms, you are holding Lillian. This wasn’t taken at the hospital. This is at Amelia’s home on the sofa. Simon recognizes the fucking fabric. You’re smiling down at the girl as if she’s the most perfect thing you’ve ever seen.
At first, Simon’s mind is steady. Resolute.
But then, it drifts. Keeps floating. Floating further away until Simon is imagining that you are not holding Amelia’s grandchild at all. You are holding your child. The one you might have with him.
The thought—this image of you—is sudden and fierce. Simon cannot shake it. His mind fixates on this future as if it’s a completely plausible thing. It sticks to him like honey. Like tar. No fingers can dig in and scrape it away. No cleaning solution could scrub it off. There is no box or hole or wasteland that Simon can hurdle this idea into in the hope that he might forget it.
It has bloomed. Flowered. Roots sinking between the soft folds of his brain.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
“She needs a break,” says Amelia, her tone drifting to a far-off place, pulling Simon from his wayward dreaming.
She is looking down at her phone. She is looking at the photo of you. Amelia glances up at Simon, her features softening into gentle sadness. “That’s really why I came. Hoped you’d be here.” She shrugs.
“Here I am,” replies Simon.
Amelia nods. “Here you are,” she echoes.
Locking her phone, Amelia exchanges it for the gloves in her pockets. Simon glances over at Ben and lightly moves his empty glass in the man’s direction. He comes over and retrieves the glass.
“She’s working herself to the bone. Doing everything for Evie and I when it’s not necessary.” Amelia taps her gloves against her open palm. “And she’s too stubborn to hand the reigns over to me. The woman needs a break. Away from all of us.”
Simon understands. You’re too selfless to step aside. You need to be forced or prompted. Amelia knows this too which is why she came searching for him. Hearing that you’re overworking yourself displeases him, but he’s also bloody fucking happy that he can have you to himself for a bit.
“For how long?” asks Simon, smothering the hopefulness that wants to burst forth.
Amelia frowns in thought. “A few days. Maybe a week. If she accepts that.”
Oh, you’ll accept. Simon will see to it.
“Another drink?” Ben meanders over from the other side of the bar.
Simon shakes his head. “Paying out, Ben.”
Amelia smirks and slips on her gloves as Simon hands off what’s owed. The tension and confusion from earlier are now raw energy, pumping through his loins like electricity. The entire walk to Amelia’s is easy, all the aches and pains in his body suddenly silent as if they too are excited to see you.
When Simon enters Amelia’s home, he finds you sitting on the floor in the living room. You’re surrounded by piles of laundry. Closest to Simon are small stacks of papers. They’re scattered off to the side in some sort of organized chaos that he can’t figure out. Your laptop is open in front of you resting on an ottoman. You’re reading emails while folding laundry.
Bravo stands to the right of Simon but doesn’t move in. He’s waiting for Simon’s command but even he can feel the dog’s excitement to greet you.
You haven’t noticed Simon yet but he certainly notices you. While he’d love to stop and just bask in your beauty, there are so many other things catching his attention that give life to what Amelia was telling him.
Tiredness covers you like a weighted blanket. You’re slouched forward, each movement accompanied by a sigh and a delay that Simon doesn’t like. His gaze focuses and it is then that he sees the slight tremble in your hands as you smooth the top of a folded towel.
Behind Simon, Amelia shuts the front door. The sound of it closing jostles you. Your head snaps in his direction.
“Simon.”
It is a relief. A surprise.
The exhaustion in your voice is cold and palpable like butter right out of the fridge. You’re ready to fall over. Simon doesn’t need to guess because when you attempt to stand, you wobble a bit, reaching out to steady yourself on the sofa.
Amelia is right. You are overworking yourself.
It takes Simon three strides to get to you. Placing a hand on your shoulder, he lightly presses, indicating that you should sit back down. Without protest, you follow his silent command, and Simon sinks to your level.
“What is all this?” he asks, keeping his tone calm.
Beneath the mask, Simon is furious. Not with you but with himself. He should have listened to his instinct. He should have given in to those old impulses. If he had, he could be helping you right now and perhaps you wouldn’t be so goddamn tired.
The sigh you release if heavy like a boulder. It presses on Simon’s chest. His hand on your shoulder shifts, cradling the side of your throat, his thumb brushing against your jawline. You don’t say anything. You’re too defeated—too exhausted.
Bravo cannot reach you with Simon in the way. The German Shepard opts for the ottoman, resting his head on it, ears drooping slightly.
“Simon is going to take you for a bit.” Amelia’s voice drifts over Simon’s shoulder and your eyes widen as you glance at the woman.
“But—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” snaps Amelia. “You’re doing far too much. Let us help.”
That’s a fucking understatement.
Simon presents his other hand and you take it. His hand on your neck slips away to reach behind you to help you guide you to your feet.
 “Go pack a bag,” murmurs Simon, his palm splaying wide across your lower back. “You’re staying with me.”
Your lips part as if to form a protest but Simon isn’t having that. He arches a single eyebrow, daring you to question what he’s told you to do.
Your mouth snaps shut.
Simon leans in. “Good girl,” he whispers.
This time when your lips part, it is with surprise. You blink, a bit stunned, and then a flood of warmth rushes up your neck and cheeks, your gaze dropping to the floor, face turning away in embarrassment.
Your reaction is something. It is something other than tiredness. Other than exhaustion and weakness. This is a piece of you he’s seen before and wants to see again. You shouldn’t be shoving it away to take care of others.
Against his chest is your flattened palm. Your fingers curl inward as your embarrassed demeanor turns into observance. You’re staring at the laundry, upper body twisting back and forth as you look for something.
“What is it?” prompts Simon, following your movements as if he can read your mind and know what it is you’re searching for.
Reaching down, you toss a few unfolded pieces of laundry aside to reveal your phone. Retrieving it, you glance down at the screen.
“Shit,” you mutter. It doesn’t light up. Your phone is dead. No wonder you haven’t been answering him.
“We’ll worry about that later.” Simon nods toward the stairs. “Go.”
Back at his flat, Simon takes your packed bag and drops it off in the bedroom. You stand in the space between the living room and kitchen, lingering with your hands clasped in front of you.
“Sit. I’ll make us something.” Simon gestures toward the couch and you slowly unfurl, nearly falling into the sofa once you get there.
Simon rummages around in his pantry and fridge, knowing that it’s best to find a snack for you to munch on while he cooks dinner. When is the last time you ate a real meal or fucking slept? Would you even admit the truth to him?
He eventually brings you tea and a variety of crisps. Your “thank you” is slightly slurred like you’re close to falling into the lands of Morpheus. Bravo curls up next to you, one paw touching your thigh while the rest of his body reclines away.
Simon stays in the kitchen. When he emerges to bring you food, he finds you asleep, grasping one of the bags of crisps against your chest. The opened end is facing Bravo and the poor dog is having an existential crisis on whether or not he should stick his face in or leave the bag be.
He should let you sleep, but Simon also knows you need to fucking eat something.
Gently, Simon places your plates on the coffee table. He removes the bag of crisps from your arms before rousing you. The meal is devoured. Tea is had. Simon throws on a movie, and you snuggle up to him, sinking into his warmth.
 This is how it should be. With you in his arms.
Twenty minutes in and you’re asleep again. Simon doesn’t care at all. You are here. You are close. You are safe. Like this, Simon can protect you. He can take care of you. Simon finishes the movie by himself, deciding that only after he’ll carry you to bed.
As he shifts to lift you, you awaken slightly, arms sliding around his neck to snuggle closer. Simon turns his face into you, breathes you in, allowing your scent to fill his lungs. You’re drifting off again as he adjusts his grip and stands. His bad leg wants to give out but Simon bites back the quick flare of pain.
Fuck that. Simon is stronger than that.
In the bedroom, Simon bends at the knees, thighs straining as he tosses back the covers on one side of the bed. Sliding you underneath, he tucks you in. You turn over to face the opposite direction, arms curling around his pillow like it’s him. He watches as you bring it closer, nostrils flaring as if you’re inhaling him too.
Simon changes into more comfortable clothing before sliding in next to you.
For him, his sleep is absent of dreams.
There are no shadows or fire. No memory. Just blankness. Nothing.
He wakes early, well before the time he actually needs to open up the shop for customers. Simon doesn’t want to. He’d like to stay in bed all day with you, but he also knows that trying to rearrange today’s schedule just for a bit of personal gratification is a fucking rude thing to do.
Simon stretches, all the joints in his body popping as Bravo’s head appears above the end of the bed. The dog tilts his head and Simon gestures toward the door. Bravo takes off, heading outside to go guard the place from squirrels.
Shifting to the edge of the bed, Simon rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. More popping but the stiffness quickly recedes.  Glancing behind him, Simon finds you still asleep. Things have changed though. The bedding is twisted around your body and you’ve removed some clothes in the night.
He cannot help himself. Simon’s gaze glides over all the exposed skin. The itch to reach out and run just his fingertips across the curve of your hip is unbearable. Simon has to clench his hands into fists just to stop himself from touching you.
Pushing off from the bed, Simon enters the bathroom, seeking a hot shower. All his clothes including his mask go on the floor. He is aching between his legs, all the blood in his body rushing happily to his quickly swelling cock.
“Fuck,” he mutters, stepping under the water.
Wrapping his hand around the base, Simon begins to stroke. The small bit of underwear he kept as a token is still tucked away in his dresser, but he doesn’t need it. Not anymore. He now has the memory of you, and the fact that you are currently in his bed. It’s enough to drive that pulsing desire higher.
Simon rests his forearm against the shower wall. He leans forward, his forehead coming into contact with that arm. He’s so fucking busy stroking his cock, that he doesn’t hear the opening of the bathroom door.
He doesn’t hear it close.
Nor does he hear the shower door.
It isn’t until your hand slides over his that Simon realizes what’s happening.
Your other hand rests against his back, splaying wide, moving up and down in gentle passes.
“Let me,” you murmur and Simon releases himself, only for you take his place, stroking him perfectly in utter pleasure.
A shiver rattles up his spine. You’re not looking at his face. You stand off to his right, face lightly pressed against the right side of his upper back near his shoulder. Lips move against skin, leaving kisses behind. You give Simon these small gifts with each stroke of your hand along his shaft.
Do you know that your mouth and hand on his back are caressing his scars? Do you know? Because Simon does, and it make him feel unworthy. Those are no longer earned marks but ones of failure.
But it’s not like you know that.
Over the scars is ink. Black ink. Perhaps you feel their lines and ridges under the tattoos. Perhaps you don’t. Yet Simon knows, and he doesn’t hate the touch. Other people he’s fucked have touched them, commented on them, tried to even sexualize them.
You’re not touching the scars. You are but you aren’t. You’re touching him. Touching Simon.
With a gentle twist of your wrist, you glide down his cock and circle the head with your thumb. Simon groans, leaning into your hold. He imagines you sinking to your knees and taking him into your mouth. He imagines you spreading your legs wide in open invitation. Of him sliding into you, watching himself disappear into your welcoming body.
Your pace increases slightly, just enough to drag Simon toward his end.
He bursts, his release marking the wall, but Simon is already grabbing your wrist, twisting around to face you.
You’re fast. Already, you have one hand thrown over your eyes, a playful smile plastered on your face.
Simon doesn’t care. Not really. The mask is just habit.
Gently, Simon guides your hand away from your face and yet you still keep your eyes closed.
“Don’t want to look at me?” he asks teasingly.
You giggle. “Feels a bit wrong.”
Simon smirks and then grabs your shoulders, turning you around to face the shower wall. He leans down, pressing his lips to your ear. “Your turn.”
Your hands go out to steady yourself as Simon slides his hand between your legs. He moans softly at the contact. You’re already wet for him, and it’s not because of the water. You’re fucking aroused. Needy. All Simon can think about is fucking you with his fingers before he fucks you with his tongue.
Simon wants to give you more but that has to wait. When he takes you like that, he needs to have all of you. Without interruptions. Without distractions. That’s how he wanted it to be three years ago at Riot Room. He wanted to take you home and fuck you on and over every surface in his flat. He wanted to make you scream his name until your voice went hoarse.
He circles your clit with his thumb a few times before testing with a finger. It slides right in and Simon feels the gentle flutter of your pussy adjusting to him. With his other hand, Simon slides it up your body to grab the front of your throat, holding you still. He presses his lips to the top of your head, not caring that the water is close to running into his eyes.
Simon begins to thrust and swirl, inserting a second finger quickly, wanting to feel how you’ll stretch for him. You whimper when his thumb makes another pass over your clit. It is sweet and Simon grins against your scalp, drinking in your little sounds.
But you are also reaching for him, left hand dropping from the wall to move behind you, palming his cock back to hardness even as Simon’s fingers fuck your pussy. You rock back, indicating what you want.
Simon nearly loses it right then.
He nearly snaps.
All he has to do is arch your hips a bit, maybe bend slightly at the knee. He’d fucking slide right in. He could fuck you right here against the shower wall, watch you whimper and beg, pinned between two hard surfaces.
You arch your back. Rub against him. His cock slides against the spot where your cunt and his fingers meet.
A vision of you clawing at the shower wall as he fucks you senseless clouds his mind. It infiltrates. Digs its feet in.
Simon nearly gives in right then as you orgasm, squeezing around his fingers. He nearly breaks the promise to himself.
But he somehow controls himself. Instead of giving in, Simon removes his hand from between your legs and twists his fingers in your hair, tugging to arch your back and bend you enough so he can reach that gorgeous fucking mouth.
His lips come down on yours and you moan against him. Simon’s hand at your throat eases, slips away, trailing over breast and waist and hip before stabilizing on your lower stomach. With this support, Simon slides his cock between your legs.
He does not penetrate, just rocks back and forth. With your thighs pressed together, and the slickness of your orgasm freshly coating your sex, he can pretend he’s inside you. Simon knows it isn’t enough but it’ll have to do for now.
The hand on your stomach sinks lower, shifting to your pelvis. His fingers find your clit. You’re already so sensitive from the previous orgasm that the second takes moments to come to life. Simon savors it, allows it to feed his own movements until he cannot contain his own. Pressing on your pelvis, Simon keeps you in place as finishes, his cock soaking in your juices.
The water is growing cold and Simon is fucking smug.
Slowly, he eases his cock from between your thighs, perfectly content with what just transpired. But his cum is fucking everywhere. It’s literally dripping from your sex.
“Fuck,” murmurs Simon, gently wiping some of that away with water.
That’s something the two of you need to fucking discuss. The first time the two of you had sex, there was a condom. This time, Simon doesn’t want there to be any barriers, but that cannot fucking happen without birth control. You might not be on it, and if that’s the case, the two of you will have to figure something else out.
You press into him. “Simon,” you groan, lips parting in wanton need.
A growl leaves his throat as he gives you what he wants. He nips and sucks on your bottom lip before drawing away, leaving you to face the shower wall. Simon shuts off the water and lightly tugs on your hand.
“Come on.”
He tugs on your hand again but you don’t move. Frowning, Simon grabs your shoulders and forces you to turn.
He blinks and then bursts out laughing. “What are you doing?” Your eyes are closed and your mouth is a thin line. “You can look at me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Simon chuckles, releasing your shoulders. He places one hand flat against the shower wall. Leaning in, Simon drops his voice to low purr. “Think I’m monstrous?”
With his words come the pebbling of your skin. He watches in real time as it fans out across your body. He grins in triumph.
“The very worst,” you reply softly.
Pushing off from the wall, Simon stands tall, shoulders squared, chest forward. “Look at me,” he says, and this time it’s a command.
You suck in a breath before one eye opens. It’s more of a squint but then you open the other, blinking a few times.
For some stupid fucking reason, Simon is a bit nervous. He’s never been nervous like this. Not when it comes to his face.
At first, your eyes widen, and Simon’s chest clenches tight as if a ribbon is twisted around his ribcage. Then, your brow softens, and your mouth forms the most gorgeous smile he’s ever seen. Your hands instantly reach toward his face in eagerness only to pause just before making contact.
The retreat is shallow. You’re asking permission.
“It’s okay,” murmurs Simon, because it is.
You close this distance and Simon turns his face into your soft hands. Your thumbs stroke over his cheeks. Your fingers trace his brow and nose. Every touch is exploratory and gentle, but fucking bliss.
“Hiding all this from me?” you tease. “You’ve been holding out on me, Simon.”
He chuckles, happiness vibrating in his chest. Clasping your hands with his own, Simon brings them down to his chest. In one motion, the two of you are coming together, lips meeting. This is all softness. All tenderness.
Simon draws back, licks his lips. “Will you go away with me?”
“On a trip?”
He nods, stealing one more kiss before continuing. “Next weekend? I can move a few things around.”
“I’m not sure,” you say slowly.
“If you say no I’m telling Amelia.”
You laugh, almost snort, and shake your head. “Fine. Where to?”
“It’s a surprise,” whispers Simon.
You pull back slightly, an amused expression on your face. Simon grins and steps out of the shower, bringing you with him. With towel in hand, Simon soaks up the droplets on his skin. He never takes his eyes off you as you dry yourself. The moment you’re done, Simon snags the towel from you and tosses it to the side.
“Come here,” he growls, needing you all over again.
You playfully bat at his hands but it’s all for show. You easily give in to him, allowing Simon to drag you onto the bed. He sighs as he pushes your legs wide, settling between them to drape one over each of his shoulders.
Dragging you to his mouth, Simon forgoes all teasing and closes the distance. Your back arches off the bed, hands flying to his head as his tongue penetrates your pussy.
It is morning.
He’s simply enjoying his breakfast.
And Simon won’t leave the table until he’s finished his meal.
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vhsgoghs · 12 hours
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roommates (Simon Riley one shot)
Simon "Ghost" Riley x female reader
Summary: Simon is jealous that his roommate dates other guys TW: none word count: 1966 note: English isn't my first language but i have done my best, sorry for any mistakes.
★ masterlist here
★ spanish ver on wattpad (vhsgoghs)
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It was a stupid fight as always, the last few weeks they had been fighting as if they were a divorced couple that had ended up on the worst possible terms.
And she hated it, she hated fighting with him because it wasn't easy living with a person who seemed to hate you one day and be his favorite person the next, but here she was, in their third fight of the week, feeling her face burn with a mixture of anger and sadness.
"I already told you no!" she yelled desperately.
She had completely forgotten the initial fight, now they were simply arguing about whatever came to their mind, as if they were both bringing out those misunderstandings that they had kept inside for weeks.
But this time something was different, there was something different in the conclusion that Simon had reached in those moments.
"It seems disrespectful to me and my sleeping hours that you arrive at whatever time you want." She rolled her eyes and looked away, but she could feel Simon's eyes on her. "You come late at night and it wakes me up."
"Does that wake you up? You sleep like a bear." she said annoyed.
And (Y/N) could lie about many things, but right now she was right, the only reason Simon heard her every night was because he just wouldn't close his eyes until she walked through the apartment door, no matter how long ago he had gotten into bed, he just didn't.
Simon felt the anger vibrate in his body, he had looked for every possible way to put that fight aside, but he simply ended up shouting whatever stupidity made the fight continue and it was his fault, it was his fault for not measuring his words and it was his fault for not closing his mouth and asking for forgiveness.
He wasn't even a violent person, he considered himself quite calm and, at some point, patient, but the last few weeks his emotions had been all over the place and he felt overwhelmed.
(Y/N) was not responsible for his anger. It was true, she could date any boy who crossed in front of her and that shouldn't be Simon's problem. He had never cared about it, but something had changed in the last few months and it could all be resume in one damn word: jealousy.
"That's not the point!" He sighed, it was becoming difficult for him to hide his anger, his tone of voice was not cooperative at all.
"You're an idiot." She muttered. The tone of her voice wasn't annoying, there was a small hint of frustration, but no more than that.
And (Y/N) didn't know what it was like to be angry with her roommate. Simon was a pain in the ass sometimes, but most of the time they both knew how to handle things. They had a good friendship, but Simon's attitude was starting to cause problems.
They were both silent for a few seconds, she looked away and waited to hear something from him, but she knew him, he wasn't going to take the first step or that's what she thought, because Simon always planned to take the first step if it came to someone who he cared.
"I'm sorry" his voice was soft when he spoke again. The girl raised her face and stared at him, she waited for her to give him some more information about his apology. "I'm sorry, I know I've been an idiot and it's not your fault."
"I'm sorry too." She nodded. "I know it's not nice to be so late."
Simon felt guilty and quickly shook his head, it wasn't her fault that he didn't know how to control his emotions. He had thought about it more than once, he tried to find a way to explain his behavior without telling the truth, but it was impossible, everything sounded like a cheap excuse, which in reality, it was.
"I'm jealous." He finally admitted and that felt like the worst hit to the chest, especially when he heard the giggle coming from the girl.
Simon looked at her confused, his brow furrowed at her laughter, which stopped immediately as soon as she saw the seriousness on his face.
"Are you serious?" He nodded and she suddenly felt guilty for laughing. For a second she thought it was one of those things Simon always said to lighten the mood. "I… Why?"
He sighed, what was he supposed to say to her? That for some reason, after drinking a couple of beers he realized that he had feelings for her? That was the only truth, but she was afraid. He looked like a teenager who didn't know how to ask a girl out on a date. He wasn't a teenager, he was an adult… who didn't know how to ask a girl out on a date.
"Listen, we've lived together for a long time." Simon took a couple of steps towards her, he could almost swear she had tensed up. "And I think… I have feelings for you."
(Y/N) pursed her lips and tried her hardest not to yell in his face, not because she was angry, but this had taken her by surprise and she simply didn't know how to respond.
"When you say something, you mean like when the milk runs out and I'm not going to buy more?" Simon giggled and shook his head, his little laughs in the middle of a conversation were one of her favorite things when she was talking to him.
"I think you're pretty and we'd be a great couple."
"Of course not." She shook her head although she couldn't stop that smile that escaped her lips. She was starting to feel nervous because she didn't know how to handle that situation. "Don't you think living together will ruin us?"
"Of course not." Simon reduced the distance even more, making her feel even more nervous, however, she was still there, in front of him, completely motionless, without showing her true feelings towards him. "I know how messy you are in the mornings, but when you come back at night it bothers you to see the mess." She smiled, it was totally true. "I also know what you eat daily, but on the weekends you always change your diet, so I could take you anything for dinner and you won't say no."
"Are you going to invite me to dinner?"
"Yes, and you will accept."
She narrowed her eyes. She hated that know-it-all attitude…actually, she liked it. She had always made fun of girls who had intense reactions to that kind of attitude and now, in those moments, she completely felt like one of those.
Her mother had told her, she knew Simon, she liked him, and she had mentioned that his feelings for her were too obvious. However, (Y/N) had only laughed at that and completely denied it because she always thought it was impossible for her roommate to have feelings for her.
But now she was here, with him in front of her, after confessed his feelings in the most direct way possible, something she appreciated, even if she hadn't said it out loud.
"I think… maybe I'll accept." She nodded. She was beginning to feel the nerves prickling at the tip of her stomach. She had never felt so nervous around Simon, maybe the first time she saw him shirtless, but that had been an accident.
Simon thought about it for a few seconds, but finally wrapped one of his arms around her hip. He didn't hold her too close to him, he held back, he wanted her to feel safe with him, but (Y/N) already felt too safe with him. She trust him enough after living together for so many years.
In her head, just for a second, she thought he might be going too fast, but he wasn't a stranger. If they hadn't fought so much in the past few days, she would even dare to call him one of her best friends.
Simon and (Y/N) had gotten used to having dinner together most nights, but that night was different, everything felt different, neither of them were at the other end of the couch, watching the television in silence.
No, Simon had discovered that he didn't care at all about personal space when he practically found himself with the girl on top of him, the TV didn't seem to matter right now, their conversation seemed much more interesting than even dinner.
"What about that time you said the guy I was dating seemed married in secret with three kids?" She put it on a list the boys she had dated in the past and about whom Simon always seemed to have something to say.
"Well, that wasn't jealousy, he did seem married with three children." He wrinkled his nose remembering that boy who was not at all attractive in his opinion. "Did you go on a date with him again?"
"Of course not. If my roommate, who is also my friend, says he seems married with three children, he is probably married with three children."
Simon laughed. He had never purposely ruined her dates, for many months he had kept his distance, watching the girl he loved date someone else, however, there were certain comments that had come out of his mouth without thinking and probably had more impact on the girl's decision than he thought.
"I'm not just your friend and roommate anymore, right?"
Ella entrecerró los ojos. Pensó en hacer una broma y tal vez jugar un poco después de todas las peleas que le había hecho pasar, pero Simon no era alguien que se expresara con la misma facilidad que lo había hecho ese día, así que no iba a arruinarlo.
"No, you certainly aren't." She murmured.
They were both silent for several seconds, he was attractive, too much. She had never denied or hidden it, she had simply tried not to see him that way, she liked living with him, changing the way she see him would be a big problem for their coexistence.
Simon leaned towards her and she could feel his breath brush against her lips, making her more nervous than she already was. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to keep his gaze. Under other circumstances, she would have already pulled away, but she wasn't going to be the first to take a step back.
"I want to kiss you."
"Why do you announce it?" Her brow furrowed slightly. Any other boy wouldn't even have taken as much time as he was doing right now.
"Because I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."
(Y/N) felt like she stopped breathing for a second, she nodded slowly, silently giving him permission. For a second she hated him, because how could she not be attracted to this man who not only knew her well, but made any other man look like nothing next to him?
When he finally pressed his lips against hers, her breathing actually hitched for several seconds. Simon was gentle, setting a slow pace and for a second she felt like she had never kissed anyone in her life and was completely inexperienced.
His arms slid around her waist slowly, pulling her towards him. For the first time, she felt Simon's arms completely surrounding her.
She felt a little disappointed when he pulled away from her, breaking the kiss, and her lips itched for more, but she noticed that for the first time, a boy had been able to make her blush and feel completely nervous.
Her mother was right when she said she was going to end up with the boy she shared her apartment with.
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moonlight1110 · 3 hours
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Thinking about bf!simon rn
This is a quickie bc i just love him
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Simon, who knows you aren't in an established relationship, yet he can't help the jealousy that creeps up his back and latches on like a parasite every time he sees you talking with another man, especially when you give them a smile, and especially when you laugh at something they say because in his mind, only he can make you smile like that.
Simon, who knows he doesn't have the right to tell you to stay with him but he just can't help it. "Can you make me some tea, love? Feeling tired tonight", anything just to get you to stay even for a few minutes more because he enjoys your company, but most of all, he enjoys seeing the way your eyes light up when you look up at him.
Simon, who so desperately wants to reach out and grab your hand when you walk alongside each other down the hall. He wants everyone to know who he belongs to and where his loyalties lie, but he just can't do it despite the aching desperation that claws at him every time your hands brush against each other, even for a moment.
Simon, who's unsure if he should actually pursue a relationship because he doesn't want to ruin your friendship. You have a good thing going between the both of you, why would he want to ruin it?
Simon, who seeks advice from the rest of the team and gets a rough talking-to when they scold him for holding in how he feels all this time, but they also encourage him to go for it. "The worst they can do is say no".
Simon, who finally gathers enough courage to finally ask you to talk, but he's so serious about it because he has never done this before and he doesn't want to mess it up. You think something has happened, so when he asks you to talk in private, you don't ask any questions and follow him, concerned that something bad happened to him.
Simon, who stutters and mumbles when he explains how much he likes you and how sorry he is for being so bad at words, but he tried his best and finally asks you if he can be your boyfriend.
Bf!Simon, who's eyes widen when you say yes and he almost can't believe it. He's immediately reaching for your hand, and when he finally gets to hold it, its like his love for you just tripled.
Bf!Simon, who doesn't get as jealous anymore when you talk to other men because at the end of the day, he knows he's the one you look for and the one you seek comfort it. He trusts you, he knows he can.
Bf!Simon, who still asks you to stay with him for your company but he doesn't do it as much anymore. He knows when work is over, you'll be waiting for him with open arms, ready to cuddle him and ease the stress of the day. He has you at the end of the day and all the comfort and company he could ever ask for.
Bf!Simon, who gently caresses your hand when he holds it as you walk down the hallways, everyone knows who he belongs to now, and he wants it to stay that way. His hold on your hand is gentle, loving, and warm. He loves feeling your hand in his and intertwining your fingers together as you walk.
Bf!Simon, who is so much more secure than he was before, he knows that he made the greatest decision of his life now that he has you by his side.
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iloveoldermen-posts · 14 hours
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Peace
Ghost: Danger is just around the corner darling, 'cause it lives in me.. Y/N: I'll give you my sunshine. Ghost: Would it be enough if I could never give you peace? Y/N: I'd sit with you in the trenches. Simon: You paint dreamscapes with your love.
Check here for my masterlist.
ASKS ARE OPEN!
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faverec · 10 hours
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NOTE
if you do not allow your works to be recommended please msg me or send me an ask and i’ll remove it immediately. ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀
ONE SHOTS :
MONSTER - @rowarn ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀
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2024 faverec. | do not translate, copy, steal or claim my work as your own and do not repost it anywhere.
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peaches-creek · 3 months
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“You are squishing me.”
“I’m afraid you will live.” He bluntly says.
Simon was currently draped across you on your shared bed, essentially pinning you to the mattress. His eyes were closed as his head lay on your chest. He just came home from a mission, only to start a new one: snuggle with his lovie AKA you. Lucky for you he stopped to take a shower. Anyways, here you were, glued to the mattress as Simon just breathes you in.
“Was it a tough one?” You ask.
“Always is rough when I can’t see you for a month.” He huffs.
“I’m sure you did a great job, Price told me last time I saw him that he always is proud of how hard you work, he tries to tell you but you don’t let him.”
“He’s a sap.” He says. You only laugh, turning your head to kiss his head.
“Well Mr. Riley, I say we call it a night.”
“Mrs. Riley, I have been waiting for you to say those words.” He grunts, lifting his hand up to pull the light switch off.
“I love you Simon, I’m glad you are home.”
“Me too, lovie, me too.”
He presses deeper into your chest, giving it a small kiss. You begin to rub his back and neck, putting the 6’3 military man to sleep just about instantly.
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miserycanary · 2 days
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MY HELL FOR YOUR LOVE ᡣ𐭩
♡⃛ ‘A Fixed Heart in Your Hand' alternative ending
pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & fem!reader
synopsis: alternative ending because I feel bad for hurting y'all
tags: hurt/COMFORT, fluff
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"Sir? Sir!”
Ghost flinches as he realizes he’s been spacing out, the florist now looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. “Are you going to buy something or not?” she snaps, motioning at the display of bouquets. “Uh, yeah. Give me something with hyacinth and baby breaths,” he mutters, handing her a 100 bill. “Hyacinth? Never thought I’d see a day where a man knows a different flower aside from roses, tulips, and sunflowers,” the vendor chuckles, arranging the flowers neatly and covering them with a brown printed paper tied with a twine. “Ah,… if I know something, it’s about her.” The florist smiles, handing Ghost the bouquet and his change while saying, “Well, I can see that you love her dearly.” With a soft smirk, he replies, “That I do.”
You’ve always had a love for flowers. Going as far as to even beg him to make you a flower bed. Ghost didn’t like doing physical labor with him already getting beat from training at the base, yet when you flashed him that smile (and gave a toe-curling blowjob), how could he refuse? Since then, flowers as gifts have been rare between you two. Instances where he’d give you one are when you’re on a terrible period day or during milestones (the flowers coming from the patch he secretly planted months before).
It’s been two days since you’ve left the apartment, staying at your friend’s house, but Ghost insists on having you keep some of your stuff in the unit because, “well, you technically have ownership of the place since we shared the payment for this month.” It was a poor excuse, really, but it worked. Ghost knows you well enough to know that you haven’t broken up with him despite what you said. Leaving and staying somewhere else is something you do when you’re hurt and need space, and he knows that deep inside, you’re waiting for him. 
Don’t get him wrong. He doesn’t think you’re “easy to get” and he did really regret everything. The last 2 nights without you knocked some sense into him. The night felt colder, somber, and… lonely. Something he thought he would never complain about. I mean, this man has been through worse situations and he prefers solitude, but not if it’s solitude without you. You’re the one thing he can’t live without.
He has sent you multiple voicemails, messages, and even money as an apology. He’d always drop off by your friend’s place with some poorly attempted home-cooked meal of your favorite dishes. Sometimes he’d be able to steal a glance at you when he saw you coming up to the unit right before he arrived, sending flutters to his heart and butterflies in his stomach like a high school boy with a crush.
Now he stands by the door, hoping he’d leave the place with you in his arms, and him in your heart again. Three knocks (you always say less or more than that are for psychopaths) and a call of your name. Simon couldn’t help but chuckle when he heard your familiar cry, probably from rushing and stumbling. The wooden door cracked open, and the adrenaline that rushed through his nerves just from seeing you again could knock the man dead. He couldn’t even say anything except literally melt and give you the warmest smile. “Hi,” he softly greets, pulling the bouquet out of the paperbag and handing it to you with another gift. It was a charm... a tree bark with your initials engraved. You chuckle, pulling out the letter sticking out. 
One thing you learned about your Simon was that he’s not entirely good at conveying his feelings. I mean, that’s literally the reason for this fight. Yet he got out of his comfort zone, wrote you a fucking letter.
You look at him, tears in your eyes before jumping into his arms.
“I fucking missed you, pretty girl,” he mutters, holding you up by your ass and pressing a deep kiss on your lips. God, you taste like heaven; you taste like salvation. He tangles his fingers in your hair and pushes you closer, afraid you’ll slip from his fingers again. 
From that day on, Simon learned one thing. That he would rather go through the depths of hell (talk about his feelings) than go through a day without your love. 
| The letter: 
‘To my darling flower, I’m sorry for even hurting you. I’m sorry I was a shit-ass about how I processed my emotions and got you involved. You’ve always told me that you’re there for me but I didn’t want to burden you. I always want you to be happy but my actions just did the opposite. I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything that day. That I didn’t even ask you to stay. I’m sorry for being a coward. I’m sorry that I let you go. 
With this letter, I ask for your forgiveness and for you to have me back. I will be better because I cannot afford to lose you for you have my heart and soul. You are my whole life. You are the thing that makes surviving each day worth it.’
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꒰ა ☆ ໒: Now you guys know why Ghost calls Y/N ‘flower’. This the comfort alternative ending because it was also requested. 📩
dividers by @cafekitsune
Please reblog!! Ask is open!
⟢ taglist: @softestqueeen
check out my other works: ⚝! I’m taking in requests.
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truetogaia · 2 months
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just thinking and crying over the way simon would continue to refer to you as “his girl” even after your sudden passing.
he would talk about you as if you were still alive whenever relationships came up in conversation. and he’d be so reluctant to allow anyone, even his respected comrades, to try and comfort him.
“yeah, me n my girl have been together for years now. she’s everything. all i’ve got, ya know?”
he would make sure to always keep your resting place full of life. Whether that was by planting your favorite plant, and naming it after you, or always keeping it filled with bouquets of your favorite flowers. and he’d always take your beloved pet that you left behind to go see you.
“did you miss mommy, p/n? i bet our girl missed you so much.” and he’d smile sadly when your baby showed signs of recognizing your grave. his heavy hand petting it comfortingly “so excited to see her today, yeah?”
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blingblong55 · 2 days
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Keep Driving -Simon "Ghost" Riley
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Based on a request: When or if your requests are open can you do Ghost taking care of hungover f!reader please? Thank you <3 ---- F!Reader, fluff, established!relationship, hangover, boyfriend!Ghost ----
You were out with your friends tonight at some pub. The night was more than great, and it's been so long since you got to go out and catch up with your friends. Simon stayed back and was just your designated driver for the night and when you called, he excitedly drove to you.
Within ten minutes, he was there, getting out of his car and with a soft and warm hug, he guided you to the car. "Had fun, lovie?" he softly asks and you nod. Before you reach for the handle, he swats your arm away. Always a gentleman, his mum would remind him. He laughs when you pout, something so adorable but so funny to him. Once in the car, he notices how you were falling asleep and he knows a thing or two about falling asleep after drinking, so he won't let you fall asleep so quickly. "So, what did you talk about?" he asks as he keeps his eyes on the road. "…Old drama from school…with updated news," you mention and smile. Always the gossiper, you and he the listener to those stories.
"Any updates on that girl from science class?" He had to admit, he was invested in that story from day one. "Yes, and it gets better," you say and he nods. The whole ride home, the rundown of the drama was given to him.
Once he got you home, gave you something to eat and then made sure you got cleaned and into your comfy clothes. His big shirt on you and that warm and soft blanket that you like. Your head hurts as you begin to sober up. Simon knows this and he sighs, "You can drink the pill so your head doesn't hurt, lovie," he mentions and kisses your forehead, you groan.
"Si, I don't want to drink some pill," you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest. A low chuckle escapes his lips, "Lovie, you need it, or else you'll cry like last time," he brushes your hair with his calloused fingers. "I hit my head while walking in, that doesn't count," you mumble and he smiles. Stubborn little thing you are, he thinks.
Was it scary to think he loved moments like this?
By morning, as he slept, he heard and felt you trying to get up from bed. But his strong arms snake around your body. It was like they were meant to hold you this way.
Your head hurts, your mouth dry and your eyes barely tolerate the light from the early sun. "Fuck, what did I do," you curse under your breath and just on cue you hear his laugh. "Told you so," he mumbles into your neck.
"Shut up," you lean into him. His body getting comfortable in this position.
"Pancakes?" he asks and you nod. "extra syrup please," you ask and he kisses your shoulder, a small yes from him.
It was his cure for hangovers. Maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two, hash browns because you loved them and his terrible jokes.
The whole day, he kept himself beside you. Not a clingy man when he's home, yeah…sure.
It's a sunny day in Manchester, weird but beautiful that it happened today and what's more nicer is the fact he and you get to eat breakfast in the backyard. The warm sun and those yellow sunglasses of yours complement this great day.
He stays shirtless, his soft muscles letting the sun hit them. You, still in his shirt look at him. It was as if a symphony started playing when your eyes met his body. He is handsome, beautiful even.
Oh…you fell in love, didn't you?… Is that why your heart is beating fast? why now the sight of him has you blushing like a school girl? Why do you feel so many beautiful things for him? It's love, it's him, it's unique and peaceful.
For him, it was three days ago, when you two had gone on some road trip and instead of going home, you turned to him and said, "Keep driving, Si." That was how you ended up in his arms at some petrol station, blushing as you heard him whisper words he meant at that exact moment. "I'm falling in love with you, Y/N- what i…what I mean is…I love you," a nervous chuckle escapes him as you so gently kiss him.
Tags: @liyanahelena @uniquecroissant @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @Krinoid24 @iruzias @frazie99 @night-mare-owl-79 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @Juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @defnotlpuluvyou @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @nellsbobells @willowaftxn83-87 @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @pbcartii @Llelannie @Macnches2 @bbyfimmie @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @@konigssultwithghost @pinkblossomsworld @kaoyamamegami @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @asianbutnotjapanese @a-goose-with-a-knife @@foxface013 @anonxasian @born4biriyani @thegreyjoyed @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @sleepyycatt @believeinthefireflies95
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victoryverse · 2 months
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simon can't get over the feel of how tight your cunt gets everytime he comes back from a mission. it's not been stretched in a while, your little fingers or toys are nothing in comparison to his fucking thick length.
"shit" he curses with every thrust, "how do you get so fucking tight every time? jesus christ. just squeezing me, aren't you?"
your mouth would be dropped open, pleasure and pain mixing together, your tight pussy opening up to take him in.
again and again, rough, full thrusts that make you run your nails down his back. he doesn't even react to the pain of that, too focused on opening you up for him.
"shit. gonna have to fuck this pretty cunt every day"
he smirks as he sees you gasp and writhe beneath him, too fucked out to reply.
"multiple times a day too, yeah?"
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yawnderu · 3 months
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''You're doing the thing!'' Your excited expression causes a small smile to tug at his lips, his warm hand pressing on the back of your head as he settles you down on his chest again.
''Don't know what you're talking about.'' He forces you to keep your head on his chest to stop you from seeing the way he's trying not to laugh, playing dumb.
''Go back to sleep, love. 'S making you delusional.'' You roll your eyes yet still decide to listen to him, letting your body relax and take in the warmth that comes from his bare body. You're about to drift off to sleep before you feel it against your cheek— his chest flexing, pecs tensing up and becoming more defined under his skin a few times until he releases the tension with a stifled chuckle as he feels you trying to look at him.
''You did it again!''
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bagofshinyrocks · 4 months
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Government name vs Military callsign
Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?
Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader
Word Count: 0.9k
Warnings: none
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John Price
Government name.
Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.
“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”
Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.
“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”
“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”
He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.
“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”
When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.
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Simon Riley
Military callsign.
When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.
“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”
“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 
Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.
“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.
“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”
Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 
A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.
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Kyle Garrick
Government name.
He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.
“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”
Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.
If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?
“Kyle Ga-”
“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”
You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”
He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”
“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”
He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 
“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.
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John MacTavish
Military callsign.
He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.
Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.
“SOAP!”
Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.
“JOHNNY!”
“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.
“C’mere, c’mere.”
He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”
You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”
He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”
“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”
“You called me Soap.”
“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”
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Posted: 2023 Dec 10
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