#simon riley imagine

[yawnderu]

You can never take the military out of a man. Not when that man lost so much thanks to it, giving it his very own soul to serving the Queen and saving the world. Not a single thought about retirement ever going through Simon's head, fully accepting and embracing the idea of dying on the field, of having a warrior's death, fighting tooth and nail until someone gets lucky enough to finally put him down— until you came along.

Simon Riley is a proper lad now, well in his 50's and on his fifth year of retirement, strands of grey adorning his dark brown hair, a thin layer of fat covering his bulging muscles that seem to be getting bigger by the years, never one to stand still for too long and secretly loving the way you praise his body like he's a God.

He looks down at you with half-lidded eyes, another deep moan dragging its way out of his throat at the way your hand wraps around his thick cock with a vice-like grip, your warm tongue circling his leaking tip, his salty precum mixing in with your saliva.

“Like tha', baby.” Simon whispers, his hand wrapping around a fistful of your pretty hair the moment you lick a teasing stripe over his bulbous, pink tip. His free hand quickly replaces yours— something you're too familiar with after being together for so many years, your hands resting on his thick thighs just to feel the way his muscles ripple beneath your soft palms.

“Open your mouth.” It's not an order, it's a plea, his gravelly voice becoming slightly whiny with each deep groan leaving his lips as he wanks over your face, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each deep breath he was forced to take. Your lips part with no hesitation, the warmth of your breath as your tongue pokes out of your mouth is what sends him over the edge, ropes of thick, hot cum landing in your mouth with an accuracy that could have surprised you if you weren't too busy being enthralled by your husband.

Simon looks like a fucking painting, the light coming from the ceiling giving his bulging muscles the perfect shadow, his thin lips slightly parted and a light stubble adorning his pale cheeks, half-lidded eyes staring down at you with blown pupils as he mindlessly smears his hot, creamy cum all over your face with his sensitive tip, just as enamoured as you are.

[angelltheninth]

Hi ! I’m not sure if you still take requests for CoD but if you don’t then feel free to ignore this! But if u do could I plz request/get your opinion on what it would be like cockwarming konig and ghost. Not at the same time, but like what each would do because reader is being needy (and maybe annoying) and they’re busy doing something for work but reader is just so impatient so they start to tease them or SOMETHINGG IDK,, I can’t stop thinking about it. Love your writing btw!

I'll never dtop writing for CoD don't worry.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost"Riley, König x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, cockwarming, size kink, clit stimulation, teasing, nipple play, overstimulation, neck kissing

A/N: Wanna highlight some of the differances between these two big men.

SIMON

Keep you still with his big arm but tells you to keep clenching around his cock. You're so tight around his dick and he didn't even do anything to you, he's just sitting there minding his own business. He won't touch your pussy no matter how much you beg, but he can touch you in other places. You feel him smile as he kisses hit the back of your neck, hot and intense but there's no sucking.

The only harder stimulation is that of his fingers pinching your stiff nipples and then pushing his fingers into your mouth to make them wet, slowly tracing them back to your breasts. It's enough to make you come, of course but it's not from what you wanted, it's not from him fucking his cock into you so you're not happy yet.

KÖNIG

You couldn't even keep your legs closed long enough for him to finish cleaning and putting his gun together. How are you so impatient, so needy, so wanting of a good hard fucking. This isn't exactly what you had in mind though, not him still cleaning his gun while pushing his cock deep into you, the tip right against your cervix while you grip the table for balance. Don't expect him to be nice this time.

One of his fingers is constantly rubbing your clit in small circles, tight and deliberate to keep you coming around his dick for as long as it takes him to finish his task, not easy when he has to take constant breaks. But this is what you signed up for when you wouldn't leave him alone, to be overstimulated almost to the point of passing out and crying.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[Rambling Something in Few Sentences - Angst version]

TF141*Reader, I promise there will be a fluff version I promise. I know I love to make these men suffer esp Simon Riley I just can’t help 😖

Price

“May I have the pleasure to dance with you, Love?”

“Of course, John.” He watched your glistening eyes contained endless love for him.

...

“May I have the pleasure to dance with you, love?”

“...”

He watches your photo, lights up a cigar, starts the music on his player, and sways to the music alone in the house that used to ring with your laughter.

Soap

“Stop drawing me, Johnny, you already have tons of sketches of me, draw something else!”

“Journal is for the beautiful things, aye? how can I not draw when the prettiest lass is beside me?”

...

“Why I never see you draw people? Soap?”

“Because the most beautiful person doesn’t exist now, there’s no meaning to draw people anymore.”

Gaz

“Hey babe, time to get up for breakfast!” He yelled from the dining room, only to hear your hoarse and languid voice coming from the bedroom.

“ten more... minutes... come wake me up... “ He smiled to your response, and took a look at the clock, reminding himself to go find you later.

...

“Babe, time for breakfast!”

“...”

“Shit” He stares at the breakfast for two people placing on the table, curses under his breath.

“always remembered to wake you up 10 minutes later, always forget you aren’t here anymore.”

Ghost

“Talking to a doll is fucking stupid.”

“Hey, it’s a daily ritual for good luck, okay?” He stood there, huffed out a laugh when you gave the shark plushie a kiss. “Bye sharkie, wish me luck, We’ll be home soon!”

...

“Hi, sharkie.” He wakes up when the sunlight pours into the room, and what he sees first is the shark plushie lying beside him.

Brushing his teeth, brewing a morning tea for himself, he comes back to the bedroom one more time before he leaves the house.

“Bye sharkie, wish me luck, I’ll be back soon, yeah?”

The necklace you used to wear after he gifted to you now is secured around the shark’s body, reflecting the sunlight and shining when he speaks softly to it, as if answering him for the sharkie, and you.

[midnightcrw]

Awake

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Summary: Daisy won't fall asleep

a/n: I just slept 20 hours straight due to stress and anxiety, breaking my own record with that. My life is also in shambles right now, and I feel like shit because everything is stressful. Also, finals are coming up in a week and a half, which is just perfect timing. But do you all know what this means? You all get a one-shot from me because I always write either when I'm inspired or when I'm in a bad mood, and unfortunately, it's the latter. This one-shot is also extremely short, which I'm very sorry for, but it's been a while since I've written anything.

It was dark outside and only the moon was the current source of light.

Simon had kissed your forehead and told you to go back to sleep when Daisy's cry woke you up.

You had done so much already and Simon wanted you to finally rest as you accepted and closed your eyes.

Now it was just him sitting in the dark in front of the window with Daisy in his arms as she finally calmed down from her crying fit.

Daisy's big doe eyes were still a little glassy and her chubby cheeks were red from crying, but for Simon this was still the most beautiful sight.

If someone had told him that one day he would hold his daughter in his arms and feel like everything was finally okay, Simon wouldn't have believed them for a second.

But that's where he is now. With his daughter in his arms and you sleeping in the bedroom.

"Still not sleepy?" Simon's gruff voice broke the silence as he looked down at her tiny frame that was currently snuggled in his big arms.

And even though Daisy couldn't answer, he knew that she definitely wasn't going to sleep now, as she babbled mindlessly while holding her dad's index finger, sometimes even trying to bite it, while the corners of Simon's lips lifted at the sight of her.

He leaned down and planted a kiss on her little forehead as she giggled at the sensation.

"You should sleep, little rascal," he whispered, trying his best to get her to sleep as he slowly rocked her in his arms, but it didn't seem to help as she let out another giggle, making Simon roll his eyes.

"Giggle all you want, you're still going to bed whether you like it or not," Daisy only cooed when she heard that.

Simon just shook his head as he continued to rock her, "Never change," he whispered softly as he looked out the window at the empty streets, hoping that all the memories he had made with you and Daisy would stay with him forever.

[simonzmama]

your fingers dig n tug into his pretty shoulder length locks, head falling back slowly as the back of your skull presses into his feathery pillows, eyes rolling back with it.

a soft groan can be heard from the man between your legs, his fingers digging dents into the hot fat lining your plush thighs. his tongue suckles at the swollen nub of your clit, fingers teasing your sweet cunt open.

simon hisses when you fist his hair in your palm, nails dragging deep into his scalp before you’re pulling and dragging his mouth further between your legs.

his palm slides up your belly, letting his fingers squish at the thick skin before he’s tapping at the valley between your raising breasts.

you peer down at him slowly, jaw falling open as you stare down at him with your wide, sparkling teary eyes.

“up, need it up, mama,” he breathes out against you, his warm breath raising goosebumps over your shaking legs, nipples perking up.

your hands shake, fingers stuttering over the back of his head as you pull his hair up to the round of the back of his head. your hands threaten to fall, the locks of his blonde hair tainted dark brown with an essence you don’t need to question.

his tongue swirls, flicking and teasing your clit as he smirks slyly. his fingers hook between the crease of your ass n thighs as he spreads you further, tongue delving into you like dessert.

your back locks, arching up as you fight to get his hair tie wrapped around the wavy strands of his hair, soft whimpers rolling off the tip of your tongue. n when you finally succeed, your head’s hitting the bed, vision dizzy as you almost slip off that sweet euphoric edge.

“that’s it, mhm, thank you, baby.”

thank my segzzy lil mutual for dis one 🙏 womens got some head 😉

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Part 5 of Truth or Dare Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Things are getting complicated, truths are being revealed, and a decisions are going to have to be made regarding the future. So much hangs in the balance and emotions are high as reality makes this about no more games.

Word Count: 9.8 k

Warnings: light mentions of smut (nothing explicit), pining, mutual pining, heavy angst, forcing a decision

Captain Price bristles at the private’s words, taken aback by this impromptu revelation, but he hides it all behind his usual stone cold stare. A gruff exhale exits his lips as he runs his fingertips over the perimeter of his mustache. “Don’t care ‘bout what happens on off hours,” he says full of contempt at being dragged into this bullshit. “It’s none of my business and it’s none of yours either, so best just drop it private.”

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go; the captain is supposed to march over to the lieutenant’s quarters and break up your little lovefest right this second at hearing his confession. At least that was what the private was hoping for when he decided to make this visit. He needs something more. 

“But sir,” he says more exasperatedly, “it isn’t just after hours. The first time I caught them, the lieutenant and sergeant were going at it in the munitions depot when I walked in; you remember that day you sent me to fetch Lt. Riley. They’ve even been engaging in activities in the field as well. During our mission they neglected their watch duties to screw around like some fucking teenagers. Is that what you call acceptable, sir? Is this how you run your operations?”

Goddammit, now it is Price’s problem. Messing around when off duty or on leave is one thing that can be easily overlooked as you are both adults who are engaging in activities with consent, but risking it all when out in the field is another matter altogether. There are protocols and you are supposed to be professionals. And if this bit of information gets out it could have dire consequences for the validity of this task force. 

“Maybe I should bring my concerns up to someone higher,” the private mutters in the silence that follows as Price mulls over everything in his mind. 

“What did ya say?” the captain fires back as he rejoins the conversation, his firm glare boring holes into the private.

Immediately the young man regrets having uttered it aloud, but there’s no going back now. “I just… I-if I need to, I-I will have to go above you, sir,” he stammers out as he tries to maintain his resolve.

Fuck, this is bad.

Price sits forward in his seat, his eyes never leaving the private even though he tries to divert his gaze; each time he brings it back Price is ready to meet it head on. “You will leave this be private,” Price threatens, his voice firm. “This is not under your jurisdiction, nor is it in your ability to decide who needs discipline in these matters. I will take care of it as I see fit; I am the one in charge, not you. Do you understand?”

“Sir, I should at least get to know that you are going to do…” the private tries to argue some more, but the captain is having none of it.

“You’re dismissed,” Price barks as he points a steady hand towards the door.

“But sir…” he tries to protest again and again he is cut off. 

“I said, dismissed private, or would you rather I start my disciplining with you,” Price says unyieldingly, staring him down with a glare that means he is seriously done with this conversation and with being disrespected. 

Quickly the private gets up from his seat with a furrow-browed nod and a rushed, pointed ‘yes, sir,’ that he mutters through his gritted teeth before he turns on his heels and stalks to the door to fling it open and stomp off into the night, leaving Price alone in his office once more as he slams it behind him. 

With the immediate quiet that follows, all Price can think about is what the private has revealed to him. To have the highly trained professional that is Simon Riley abandon everything to mess around with anyone during a mission is unheard of, but it being you makes this even more complicated. This is territory he has no prior knowledge on; something big must be happening for everything to be turned on its head and he doesn’t know what the fuck he is going to do about it all.

Though he knows he cannot just let this go. At least he has the weekend to think it all over, but he knows come Monday he is going to have to act or risk too much because that private is not going to let this go, that much is clear.

The captain decides that that is enough for the night and packs it up to head out. As he leaves out and turns to get back to his own quarters, his eyes linger over to where a specific officer is housed. “What the fuck have ya done Simon?” Price questions aloud to himself as he steps off into the darkness with much weighing on his mind, pondering the next steps of what actions must now be taken.

Back in the lieutenant’s room, hours pass in the blissfully exhaustive ecstasy produced from your union. Both of you slumber on peacefully, wrapped in one another, entirely unaware of anything outside the confines of the mattress until something unfamiliar makes Simon stir awake.

Intaking a full, deep breath, he fills his lungs with a flood of air as he comes back into consciousness, his eyes fluttering open in a mild panic from movement at his side. It takes him a moment to realize that it is you rolling back over to face him that has caught him off-guard; he forgot that you would still be in his bed. Mystery solved, he calmly settles back down into his pillow and watches the slow rise and fall of your chest, admiring how tranquil you look as your dark eyelashes rest delicately against your cheeks.

It’s been a long, long time since he’s slept beside anyone; he’d almost forgotten how comforting it can be to have another laying beside you. A weak smile spreads across his lips as careful fingers reach over to the side of your head so that he can tenderly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

God, you’re beautiful just like this. How did he get so god damn lucky to have something so pure sleeping soundly next to him? You let out a whispered sigh and suddenly he is caught up in a whirlwind of feelings that have been in hibernation for years as his fingertips linger delicately against the soft flesh of your cheek a moment more. He wishes he could kick himself for not trying to get closer to you sooner, if only to have you here lying next to him as if it has always been this way.  

Those copper eyes drift to the plain black and white standard government issue clock tacked to the wall. It’s nearly five in the morning; still too early to be conscious just yet, but once he’s up there’s no going back down. He takes a few more minutes to silently appreciate your sleeping form by capturing the image of you like a polaroid in his mind and then decides to just let you sleep until the last minute before he wakes you up to send you safely on your way.

Who said you needed to rush off anyway? 

As carefully as all 6’4” of him can, he eases his way out of the bed and creeps bare-arsed to the en suite bathroom so that he can grab a quick shower, though he’d like nothing more than to keep the scent of you on him a little longer. It won’t do him any favors to go around base today with the fragrance of sex covering him like a beacon to draw people’s unwanted attention.

Cautiously he eases the bathroom door to where it is slightly ajar, not risking shutting it since he knows how bad the damned thing squeaks, and only then does he flick on the fluorescent lights to illuminate the space. Blinking to adjust his eyes to the harsh brilliance, he opens them and immediately catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror that faces the door.   

Even though he still carries the signs of sleep in his distinct features, he can already tell that he is different somehow and he walks closer to his reflection to get a better look. Everything is exactly where it should be, but his eyes seem brighter, more full of life… as if he is happier than he has been in recent memory. He stares back into them as if he is looking at a different person, a reunion with an old friend he hasn’t seen in a long time.  

And he doesn’t know what to think. It is a gift from you, after all…though you don’t even know you’ve given it to him yet.

Simon shakes his head and chuckles to himself, not fully ready to accept this drastic change to his appearance just yet, as he pulls from the mirror and walks the few steps to the shower to get it going. The pipes running to the showerhead squeak to life as run for a few seconds when without warning he feels a pair of arms wrap around his waist from behind as a warm, naked chest presses into his back. It momentarily takes him by surprise as he is still getting used to having someone around, but he eventually settles into your embrace. 

“Was tryin’ not to wake ya yet,” he mutters as he runs his hand over yours that is against his stomach.

“Heard the shower kick on,” you murmur sleepily into his shoulder as you place your lips to the smooth skin near his shoulder blade, “thought I could do with getting clean myself, so I wanted to join you.”

It isn’t a total lie, you do need to wash up after the mess from the night before, though you wish you could be honest and say that you just wanted to be close while you still can. You know you are going to have to leave soon if you want to make it back to your quarters without detection, but it doesn’t stop the feeling of disappointment that looms like a gray cloud at the back of your mind that you will have to part ways. 

Simon holds your palms pressed rigid and flat against his abdominals so you can’t let go as he leans in to check the temperature of the water with his free hand. The heated liquid rains down onto his palm perfectly warm, but not too hot, and being satisfied he pulls you both inside the cozy oasis. 

He moves you in front of him so that your back is directly under the shower head, letting the heated water run through the length of your hair and down the curves of your bare back to keep you warm. It feels like you’re still in a dream the way the steam rises around your bodies in the tight space, the condensation clinging to your skin like a warm blanket. Maybe you are still asleep in his bed, you feel barely awake as it is, and if that’s the case you hope you don’t wake up cause you don’t want to leave the fantasy just yet. 

The soothing water lulls you into a drowsy calm as Simon holds you close against him while he naturally rocks you both back and forth with slow, easy movements as he gently tries to help you wake up. He cannot help admiring the flush in your face brought on by the heat or the way the droplets trickle over your soft, delicate skin. Reaching out, his hand connects with your cheek as he strokes his coarse thumb over your jaw and up to the corner of your mouth before dragging it heavily over your bottom lip until he has them parted. 

“I swear you’re a fuckin’ dream, pretty girl,” he whispers as his hand on your face brings it in towards his so that he can gently connects your lips. 

Memories of confessions from the night before spring back to the surface, admissions of possession that he doesn’t want to take back even though that mind-numbing haze from being inside you is gone. You can hear him sigh heavily as he breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against yours.

If only he could wake up like this every day. Could that even be a possibility for someone like him? Inside the steam-filled oasis that cloaks you both from reality, he allows himself to fantasize just a little. Maybe…maybe…

Simon lets you go only to grab the soap from its place sitting on the edge of the tub, ready to clean up the mess he made. Taking care of someone other than himself is an oddly comforting sensation to him and even though you try to protest that he doesn’t have to, he still takes the time to wash you down anyway before tending to himself. 

He leaves you inside the shower to finish up as he steps out into the bathroom, wrapping a towel securely around his hips, making sure to leave a towel for you as well before he heads to the mirror. His rigorous actions between your legs last night left a rather rough patch against your thigh that he caught sight of in the shower and checking his face in the foggy bit of glass above the sink, Simon decides it’s about time to shave.

…cause he is definitely going to get between those legs again soon. 

A bag of random toiletries lies at the edge of the sink and he rummages around in it until he locates his razor. He steps up to the counter and turns on the sink just as the creak from the shower handle rings out and the water is shut off. From the mirror he can see you step out and wrap the towel he’s set out for you around your chest. 

You ring out your hair behind you before you move to his side and turn to rest your butt against the edge of the countertop. Looking down, you spy the shaving instrument in his hand.

“Gettin’ rid of it?” you ask with a hint of disappointment as you reach up and run your fingertips over his jaw. The steam from the shower has already softened the hairs so they don’t prickle roughly against your touch as you outline his face.

Suddenly he can’t find his voice; every single time you touch him it’s like the first time all over again and it makes his head spin. Clearing his throat he looks down at you. “It’s a bit too rough, innit?” he says, tapping at your thigh with the abrasion on it. “Don’t wanna hurt ya again.”

Why did it sound more deep a sentiment than it should have been? A lump wells in your throat as you realize he is doing this for you and you alone; it’s just a shave, but to have him care about your wellbeing is very special to you. Especially after the confessions from the night before; clearly he has meant it: you belong to him now.

“Well, if you must…but, I wonder. Can I?” you ask with a smile as you reach for the blade in his hand.

Simon pauses before giving it up to you. This is a new one for him and he is a little unsure, but curious enough to see where it leads. You move your body between him and the counter so that you can hop up and sit yourself in front of him. Opening your legs, you pull him in close.

“You trust me, don’t you?” you ask barely above a whisper as you situate him in the middle of your legs. 

More than anyone, he thinks to himself as he silently stares back into your eyes. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t have to, he just drops his hands by his sides and tilts his jaw up.

Your ankles link behind the small of his back as your hand grasps his chin to keep his head steady so you can place the razorblade to his cheek. The sharp edge of the blade pushes into his skin and is dragged slowly down the line of his face until it reaches your hand where you pick it up to move on to the next section. It’s like an intimate dance, the risk of it all as the blade continues to pass over his skin, but you skill keeping him safe from cuts, making his heart race so you can feel his pulse under your fingertips.

“Just hold still,” you say as you feel the sensation of his hands moving up your bare thighs, running up towards your hips that have peeked out through the slit in the towel. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Ya won’t,” he says in that gruff tone without hesitation and you can feel the warmth rise in your face. 

There is steam still lingering in the air from the shower; it is fogging the mirror and adds a filmy haze to the atmosphere. The aroma of his soap is strong between your bodies, both of you coated in his usual plain, clean scent. It’s nice just being here like this with him. 

Another pass of the blade and more of that thick stubble comes right off under your careful hand. You move the blade over to the sink to rinse it again and that’s when you feel it, a stabbing against your thigh from within the confines of his towel. His damp, hair-covered chest rubs against your forearms as he moves in even tighter to you.

“Like the way ya look, all serious like when you’re workin’ hard at somethin’,” he says in a breathy whisper as you finish another swipe of the razorblade across his jaw. “Didn’t know how good you’d be with a sharp object in your hand.”

“Well, if you keep moving I might not be so precise. I’m almost done,” you scold him, but Simon isn’t deterred just because you have something sharp in your hand. He has something just as deadly prodding into you too.

His strong fingertips jab themselves into your hips, stabbing into the meat hard through the towel as he presses himself into you and suddenly it feels like you can’t quite catch your breath. He hums deep in his chest, a low, guttural sound that makes your clit throb as those long fingers of his twirl the loose, wet strands of your hair between them.

“I’ll give ya ‘bout another minute to get it done,” he says as his gaze lingers longingly on your mouth. “That’s all I can wait.” 

Suddenly the room isn’t the only thing that is obscured in a haze; your mind is misfiring terribly now as you hurry to finish the job while also being sure you don’t miss any spots. You rinse the blade for the last time and quickly check him over, flashing him a satisfied smile at your handiwork. 

“I thought we just got clean for the day?” you ask as he takes the blade from your hand and sets it on the countertop beside you.  

He doesn’t answer the question with words, instead letting his mouth do something else to convey his thoughts. His kiss is softer now with the missing stubble, though just as passionate as it always is and it takes your breath away. 

“I like the way you kiss me,” you murmur against his lips. 

“Good, cause I don’t plan on stoppin’ anytime soon, sweetheart,” he groans as his fingers reach up to your chest to find the edge of the towel; with one small tug he has it undone. It drops down around the sink as he leans in more aggressively to capture your mouth.  

There’s still enough time for another shower, right? Fuck, at this point he’ll make time.

Dawn is just beginning to break its first soft light over the base as you step out of the shower for the second time and hurriedly get dressed. Simon meets you at the door with a knot in the pit of his stomach; time’s up whether he is ready or not and if you want to make it back undetected it has to be now.

“Got plans later tonight?” he asks as he pulls you to him one last time.

You look up into his face and shake your head. “Not that I know of. Gonna be a light day today. Why?”

Simon pins you against him with his arm around your waist as he tilts his head down to kiss your lips. “Just thinkin’ ya might want ta be in later,” he says, giving one last peck before he opens the door and you immediately take off in the direction of your personal quarters.

He keeps his eyes on you till you’re out of sight, trying to wipe away the slight upturning of the corners of his mouth. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he grumbles under his breath as he shuts the door.

The rest of the day is spent in a blur, punctuated by the few times you just happened to catch a glimpse of Simon through the days as you go about. Your mind constantly wanders back to what he meant by you might want to stay in later, so when Soap asks if you’re gonna come hang in the rec with them for a bit of Saturday fun, you decline and stay put in your room instead.   

It’s a little after 9 o’clock when there is a heavy knock on your door, loud raps that echo through the room and make you put away the book you are failing to distract yourself with under your bed. You hop off the mattress, your heart fluttering in your chest. Making it to the door and pulling it open you immediately come face to face with the person leaning against your door frame: Simon. 

“Ya gonna let me in, luv?” he asks. “Or ya just gonna fuckin’ leave me out ‘ere all night?”

You cross your arms and furrow your brow as if you are agitated, but it doesn’t last more than a few seconds before you are breaking character. “Couldn’t stay away for one night, could you?” you pick back.

There is a visible smirk beneath the thin fabric of his lightweight balaclava. “ ‘S part a my routine,” he says as you grab his hand and drag him inside. “Too used to it now.” 

“Well far be it from me to stop you,” you say with a smile as you shut the door and bolt it behind you both while Simon quickly rips off the mask and pulls you into a kiss. 

“Knew you’d cave,” he breathes against your mouth.

“Maybe I like you around,” you say back.

Maybe I like bein’ around, he thinks as he kisses you back harder as you lead him over to your bed. 

Sunday evening is spent in the same vein except with you both switching off again so that you are the one to come over to his to spend your evening together. Cause he is right, this arrangement has become routine now and your day just doesn’t feel complete without seeing him. Unfortunately though, it being Sunday you both decide to call it earlier as your duties will call you to work early in the morning.

One lingering goodbye later and Simon is once again watching you walk away, secretly making a wish that maybe you’ll get the chance soon to spend more time together when something breaks him out of his thoughts. As he shuts the door behind you, suddenly he can hear a distinct buzzing coming from somewhere near his bed. He knows that sound; it’s his cellphone. It’s late and he never gets a call at this time, so quickly he grabs it up off the nightstand near the bed and as soon as he is able to get a look at the screen, his heart sinks into the floor: Price is the one that is calling. 

He picks it up. “Yes, sir,” he answers in his usual stern tone.

There is a pause over the line before the captain speaks. “Lieutenant,” Price says, “I apologize for calling, I know it’s late, but I need to see you in my office tomorrow morning. 0800 hours. There are some things we urgently need to discuss.”

This strikes Simon as odd; never has the captain called him this late to inform him of a meeting the next day, so why would he be doing it now? Something feels off about it all and though he has no information other than that his presence is needed, there is something in Price’s tone that has his blood running cold. 

“What’s this about, sir?” Simon asks, keeping his voice metered as his heart begins to race. 

Price sighs. “I would rather wait till the mornin’ to talk further as this is something that needs to be discussed in person.”

“Yes, sir,” Simon agrees.  

“That is all lieutenant, enjoy the rest of your evening,” the captain says in a rush and with that the line goes dead, leaving Simon confused and slightly worried.

Time seems to drag on endlessly as anxiety keeps him up the entire night tossing and turning as he stares into the ceiling. He thinks about texting you just to see if you’re up, but he talks himself out of it. His needless worries shouldn’t bother you, even though he knows you’d answer him in a heartbeat. No, he just needs to get through the night and then in the morning everything will be settled; it’s going to be fine.

An hour before he is supposed to meet the captain and Simon is already up and dressed; his office is less than a ten minute walk from Simon’s, but he wants to be early. It’s better to just get this over with so he can enjoy the rest of his day and make plans to see you later. With twenty minutes still to go he heads out and makes his way across the base. 

With a knock on the door, he waits until Price looks up before entering the office. 

“Early as usual,” the captain greets him.

“Better than late,” he says, before nodding back behind him. “Ya want me to shut the door?” 

“Not yet,” Price says and Simon leaves the doorway to take his seat in one of the chairs facing the large, wooden desk.

He’s sitting for just a few minutes before Price’s eyes dart up to the door and he can feel the shadow of another person standing there. “Ah, yes, come in and shut the door. Now that you are both here, we can get started,” he hears the captain say as he turns his head to see who it is that has arrived; he had been under the impression that this was a solo meeting this whole time.

Suddenly his heart stops as the person comes into his line of sight. It’s you, the blood draining from your face as you see him sitting there. It’s clear you have been caught off-guard by this as much as he has. The atmosphere becomes tense and strained as you take a seat next to Simon. Captain Price sits tall with authority as he stares back at the pair of you, a grave look in his gaze. 

“Do you know why I’ve called you in here?” Price asks, looking first at you, then the lieutenant.

Neither of you feel keen enough to say anything, but you finally speak up first, if only to break the anxiety bubbling under your moderately calm surface. “No, sir.”

Price takes a hesitant breath. “I have been informed over the weekend about you both engaging in acts of misconduct,” he says firmly. “You’ve been seen cavorting with one another on several occasions. Now, there are things that can be overlooked and if it were up to me I woulda simply turned a blind eye and pretended to know anything, but it has been brought to light that these ‘activities’ were done while out in the field on your latest mission. Is this true?” 

The hair on Simon’s arms is standing on end and he feels like he is about to be sick, the bile violently churning in his stomach as his worst fear is realized. Instantly he feels guilty and begins to blame himself; this is all his fault. After all, he was the one to break protocol back at the safehouse. His careless actions have caught up to you both and now you will have to face the consequences.

Price turns his attention to you as there is no hiding the guilt on your face like Simon can behind his mask and though neither of you have spoken yet to confirm, there is no need. Your body language mixed with his lieutenant’s silence alone tells him that the accusations that were made are indeed true.  

“You both understand that this is out of my hands,” Price emphasizes the point. “If this reaches anywhere outside this base my authority will be brought into question and this operation cannot afford that. Not to mention that I risk the possibility of losing either one or both of you if things escalate. What the hell were you thinkin’, doin’ that while deployed?”

The lieutenant doesn’t have an answer, at least not one that will make this all go away. The problem is that he wasn’t thinking; all he knew was that for the first time in a long while he wanted something so bad that the consequences didn’t matter in that moment. Now he has to pay for them and unfortunately that means you do as well…and that is what is breaking his heart. 

He has dragged you into hell with him.

“You both have crossed a line that I can’t pull you back from,” Price continues with a defeated exhale. In all honesty, he wants nothing more than to let this go, but there are too many variables at stake. “The one who reported this is threatening to take this up the ladder as far as they need if I do nothing. My hands are tied on the matter.”

“Sir, if you’ll let me explain, perhaps we can come to an agreement…” you try to reason with your captain, but that is not how this will go.

Price can hear the tremble in your voice and he knows he’s struck a chord. The look he gives you is one full of remorse. “But in the end we’re all adults here and that means ya have a say in what happens to yourselves. If you want to request a transfer or, hell, apply for a discharge, I can’t stop you; that is a decision you have a right to make.”

The wind feels like it has been knocked from Simon’s lungs and though he can see Price talking, his mind will not allow him to fully comprehend what is being said. 

Amidst the stunned hush that has fallen over the room, Price slowly pushes his chair out from the desk and makes his way to stand. “I know I’ve sprung this on you both without so much as a warning, so I’ll give you some time alone to make your decisions. Otherwise, I will have to make them for you and that is something I want to avoid.”

With that he steps out of the office, closing the door behind him, and thrusting you both into an uncomfortably tense stillness. It lingers for far too long as Simon battles internally with what to do, struggling to accept that his happiness has imploded as it always does, but one thing he keeps coming back to is the fact that no matter what, you will be forced to separate if one or both of you decide to stay in this line of work.  

The taskforce means everything to you just as it does him and this is so much bigger than simply exploring the depths of a crush. This is your entire life, all the blood, sweat, and effort you’ve both put in to be here; it’s all you’ve worked so hard for. It is all you both have ever known. 

Can you really give that all up? It’s too soon to be having this type of life-altering conversation.

Out of the turmoil in his mind, he hears you calling his name. “Simon? Hey,” you call out to him again to get his attention; it feels like he is a million miles away even though he is still sitting right beside you. 

He can’t bear to look you in the face and keeps his eyes locked on his shoes; his gaze is so avoidant that it is painful, especially after how close you both have become. Still, you try your hardest to lighten the mood even through the ache making your chest tight. 

“Not the best way to start the morning,” you chuckle uncomfortably. 

More silence follows, more agony. He’s going to have to say something at some point and when he does it’s all going to come crashing down. As long as he is quiet he can suspend the moment for as long as possible. 

“Listen,” you say, “I know this sounds bad, but we can figure it out. I mean, I don’t have a problem with requesting the transfer if I have to.”

That’s the last thing he wants; you can’t leave. If you leave it will kill him. “Sweetheart… don’t…” Simon speaks up for the first time since you entered the office and it sounds like he’s being tortured. 

“Would a transfer really be so bad? Who knows? It could just be for a short while until everything cools off,” you remark, still hopeful, but he simply shakes his head.

Simon pauses. “No, ya can’t do that,” he says and you can feel a lump forming in the base of your throat that makes you almost gag.

“Isn’t it my decision? Don’t I get a say in what I do?” you push.

Another drawn out pause. “Ya don’t wanna do that, I know ya don’t.”

“Don’t speak for me,” you say harshly as you know where this is headed and you can’t stand even the thought of it. “I can choose to do what I want.”

“I can’t let ya do that,” he denies you again, his words firm. “I can’t let ya fuckin’ give up everythin’ for me, no matter how much I may want it. Ya forget I read your personnel file when ya arrived, I know ya worked your ass off ta get ‘ere. You made it all the way ta sergeant by the sweat of your brow. Don’t fuckin’ throw it all away jus’ for somethin’ so new.”

More pauses. Why is there so much silence present now? It hurts to have all that quiet be filled with sadness where it was only comfort before. 

“So, this is it then?” Your heart is shattering into pieces, you can physically feel it crumble as you suffocate on the sadness. When did this get so god damn complicated?

Simon bites the inside of his cheek until he can taste copper. “I don’t know what else ta fuckin’ do…” he says quietly. “This is all so sudden, I don’t ‘ave a plan. I just know ya can’t leave and I need more time.”

He’s not as quick to act on this as you are and you can’t fault him for that. In all honesty he isn’t wrong; this is all happening so fast that it’s overwhelming and nothing really feels like the right decision. So, even though it pains you to concede to his argument, you do and the heartbreak wins. Yet you cling on to the hope that maybe there is a way out of this. He did not say outright that he is completely done, only that he needs time to think. 

You can give him time, right?

“Please, Simon, just look at me.”

Those brown eyes drift up to meet yours and the agony of this whole fucked up situation is written in his gaze. This is supposed to be something wonderful, not something that has casualties, and he is being ripped apart by duty and what he wants most. He wants to scream, beat his fists, break anything, but it won’t do any good; he is like a man cursed…somehow this was always going to happen.

“ ’m sorry,” he says and a heavy bit of silence follows as you sit there just looking at one another. 

Overcome with emotion, you swallow hard. “I know,” you retort as you reach out to take his hand in yours. “I know.”

Simon slides his long fingers in between the spaces in yours and holds on so tight to your hand it’s almost painful. Irrationally he thinks that maybe if he squeezes hard enough not even fate can take you from him, but that isn’t the case. There is no stopping what has to happen and though you both can prolong the moment, you can’t stop time. 

Releasing his grasp, he lets you go and all at once you feel like you’re drowning. He leaves your side only for a moment to reopen the door as a sign that a decision has been made. Several more excruciating minutes pass, but eventually Price reenters the office and again takes his seat. There is a gloom that sits in the room now like a fog and he knows without even having to ask that a decision has been reached and it is one that clearly was not reached happily.

“It’s over, sir,” Lt. Riley confirms with the short response; any more than that and he may fall apart.

Price nods in acknowledgement. “In that case, I think it best to send ya both out on separate missions very soon. It’ll show that action has been taken in case anything else comes from the allegations. I appreciate your cooperation in this matter; I know it could not have been easy.”

You nod back firmly in agreement and Lt. Riley does the same. 

Price quickly dismisses you both and you immediately bolt up from your seat to make it to the door in a flurry of quick steps, too overwhelmed by your emotions to sit still another second more beside the one thing you can no longer have. You can’t seem to catch your breath and even though you make it outside of the stifling atmosphere inside the office, it does not lessen. 

Your feet carry you forward to where you have no clue; there is no rational thought left with you right now. All you know is that you need to put distance between everything and everyone that you can before you shatter because it hurts like you are being torn in half from the inside and if you are going to rupture you want to do it where no one can see.

But grief is a volatile and disastrous thing; it consumes and destroys and confuses. Right now, your mind is scrambling to feel something other than the pain of your loss, any other emotion it can experience that won’t murder it and it settles on the emotion that is the opposite side of grief: anger.

Halfway across the site you spot that familiar mohawked head near the mess hall and a rage builds in you. You and Simon had speculated before about Johnny’s knowledge of your situation, what if he was the one that told Price? Intentional or not, what if he is the reason all this is destroyed? There is not a shred of proof, but your brain is desperate to find someone to blame, anyone to throw all your anger on and that just happens to be him. Before you can stop yourself, you are already bounding his way. 

Johny looks up as you come within earshot, turning his back to the building. “Hey, stranger, ‘aven’t seen ye ‘round much this weekend. Wonder why that is?” he says with a knowing smirk, but it drops from his face as he sees the look on yours. 

Without warning you grab Johnny by the collar and manhandle him until you are able to haul him forward and slam into the wall behind him, knocking the wind from his lungs as you crush him up against the concrete. “Was it you?” you spat the question with fury into his face. “Tell me now or so help me God…”

“What the fuckin’ hell are ye talkin’ ‘bout?” he asks back as he struggles under your tight grip around his collar. “Have ye lost yer mind?”

Blinded by rage, you pull him back only to shove him harder into the wall. “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you say, the venom in your voice full of acid. “Were you the one that ran like a bitch to tattle on me to Price? You better have a fucking good reason why.”

Johnny pauses and stops struggling against your grip, confused. “Wait, what?” he asks. “Someone’s gone te Price ‘bout somethin’? Ye gotta explain everythin’ cause I don’t get it; seriously, what’s this about?”

The tone of his voice causes you to really discern the look in his eyes: he is genuinely confused by your statement. “You really don’t know what I’m talking about?” you question.

He shakes his head. “No and I’m bein’ serious.”

In the time you’ve known him, Johnny has always been straight with you and you do genuinely trust him to tell you the truth. He may be a pain in your ass sometimes, but honesty is always something that you have shared. If he says he doesn’t know, he must really not know.

“Tell me, what’s happened?” he asks, his brows drawn together as he stares back at you with serious concern. 

You choke back the emotion gathered in your throat as your eyes sting. No sense in hiding anything; he’d probably find out eventually anyway if gossip gets around. Besides, keeping this inside makes you feel like you’re rotting. “Price knows about what me and the lieutenant have been doing in secret and what we did while we were on our last mission,” you admit as you hang your head. 

Johnny is silent for a moment. “I fuckin’ knew it,” he says with a chuckle, which he immediately regrets as you pop your head up to give him a heated glare. “No, I… look, jus’ listen ta me for a moment.”

Releasing him from your grasp you take a step back, the anger subsiding to be replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread. Tears burn around the rims of your eyes at how lost you feel and how easily you are flying off the handle; it makes you worried. How are you meant to control this? How are you meant to survive?

Johnny straightens himself up and continues. “Yes, I knew ‘bout ye and the lieutenant…cause I was the one that orchestrated the whole setup. I seen tha way ye two kept eyein’ each other an’ I decided that ye both needed a push in tha right direction. Why the hell would I get ye together only ta get ye in trouble with Price?” 

You divert your gaze again. “Well, it’s all over now,” you can barely say aloud; just hearing yourself speak it into existence feels like being stabbed in the chest. “Whoever ratted us out is threatening to go above Price’s head if they need to. There’s nothing left for us to do, but end it or shit’s gonna get worse. It’s already done.”

Fuck, you can’t hold back for much longer and the last thing you need is to cry, but a pair of strong hands clasp around your shoulders to bring you back from the brink of your sadness. 

“Look,” Johnny tries to reassure as he is genuinely worried about your wellbeing. “I’ll figure out who it was that stuck their bloody nose in it, alright? Jus’ leave it ta me; I’ll get ye a name and hell, I’ll help ye gut the bastard if ye need. We’ll figure it out, honest.”

Somehow you don’t think anything will come of it, but at least it is something. Right now hope is a drug you have to take just to get through.

Days pass the same way with little variation in your mood. You try to stay as busy as you possibly can, filling your schedule to the brim with as much work as Price can give you. He doesn’t mention it, but everything he assigns you seems to keep you from even crossing paths with your former lover and for that you are grateful. Then a few days become a week and a week becomes two, but time does nothing to stop the ache in your chest and at the end of each day, when you return to your room and the quiet hits you, it’s impossible not to shed a few tears into your pillow as you pine for the company you once had. 

Thankfully mission assignments finally go out and you can spend your time consumed in preparation to depart to fill the void that settles in your chest. It’s a couple of days before you are meant to leave and information makes its way through the grapevine that Lt. Riley is headed out tonight with his team and god if it doesn’t kill you not even to get the chance to say goodbye.

You can’t even finish your lunch today; you are so upset by the news that you quickly toss your food into the trash and head out. You’re so wrapped in your thoughts you don’t even hear Johnny calling to you until he has caught up to you outside of the mess hall and is grabbing your elbow to drag you alongside him. Where are you going? You have no clue.   

“What are you doing?” you ask with annoyance, not up for whatever bullshit he’s trying to pull today. 

“Jus’ keep walkin’,” he says, his head constantly on a swivel as if he is looking for something. You try to protest, but it gets you nowhere as he keeps booking it across the base with you in hand until you both reach the munitions depot where he finally comes to a stop and lets you go. 

You look up at the building. “Why are we here?”

“Keep yer head and jus’ go inside,” Johnny says as he gives you a shove towards the door. “Ye only got a couple minutes, so ‘urry the hell up.”

You stare at him with a raised eyebrow. What the hell is he talking about? You really aren’t in the mood for his shit, but you also don’t have the energy in you to fight him on it; you let out a weighted huff and grab the handle, pulling it hard so that the door swings open and you head inside. 

“What the fuck am I supposed to be looking for?” you question yourself.

There is movement and you hear the sound of boot steps. “That would be me,” a gravelly voice sounds at your side, making you jump.  

You are thrown into respiratory distress as you turn around where you’re greeted with that familiar mask and its wearer is just standing within reach. “Simon,” you breathe his name like a prayer, forgetting decorum.

“Wrangled Mactavish inta helpin’ me, said he’d bring ya and guard the door,” Lt. Riley says as he stands there, unsure of what to do with his hands. “I-” he sighs, “I had ta see ya ‘fore I leave.” 

Suddenly the room is spinning and you can’t figure out which way is up. After the agonizing chasm of space that has been put between you it is disorienting to be this close again and you aren’t sure what to do. Do you run into his arms? Do you keep your distance?

It doesn’t make sense.

“I know I shouldn’t have brought ya ‘ere like this,” he says, “but I…missed ya.” He pauses and sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose through the mask. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doin’. I’m supposed ta follow orders no questions asked, but…” 

Standing there, waiting on bated breath, you stare back at him with those big doe eyes until you are able to speak and break the silence. “But what?”

More silence follows your question as he steps closer and closer and closer. Then he stops and there are only inches between your bodies. He reaches out his hand and the backs of his gloved fingers brush against your own with a touch so delicate it doesn’t seem humanly possible, most of all from someone like the lieutenant. 

“Priorities are changin’,” he admits as he takes your hand into his grasp hesitantly, eyes unable to look anywhere but at the connection as if he isn’t sure if he should touch you at all. “I never experienced somethin’ like this before. I don’t know what the fuck to do.” 

“Are you saying you want to go against Price?” 

His sight lingers on your conjoined hands as his jaw shifts under the mask, struggling to find the words. As he clears his throat, his gaze finally draws back to your face to meet your eyes. He doesn’t have to say anything, you can read the sentiment in his gaze: he is being tortured by being forced to choose between his duty to this task force and what he wants above all else. 

“Listen, yeah? As long as we follow orders, we get ta stay near each other. Fight it and who knows what the fuck’ll happen. I…” he pauses, the pain of confession hard to stand, “I don’t know if I can risk not bein’ able to see ya at all, sweetheart. Even just a glimpse cross the way.”

“You think that is better than one of us leaving?” you want to ask, but the question dies on your tongue and in its place is only a bitter taste in your mouth. 

You know if you say anything at all it’s only going to make it harder- for the both of you. You are just two soldiers bound by a need to do what is right and nothing is going to change that. Fuck do you want to scream, to rage at what you are being strong-armed into doing against your will, yet your exterior stays a calm mask against the storm inside. The situation puts you between a rock and a hard place and though you don’t want to admit it he is ultimately right; if all you get is to have nothing or what you had before all this mess started, then you would choose the latter.

At least you can still be around one another; at least you can still see him. Even if every time you do it is going to shatter your heart all over again.

Lt. Riley feels like he is being ripped apart as he catches the agonizing pain in your eyes. “I need ya ta know, if circumstances were different…” 

You stop him before he can say more by gently placing your hand against his covered lips; you cannot bear to hear anything else about ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’. It’s too painful right now to dream. Accepting reality is the only thing that is going to help you survive now. The lieutenant’s eyes drop to the floor as he comes to terms with the fact that some things are better left unsaid. 

Removing your hand from the fabric of his mask, you can feel that recognizable mass welling in your throat and you know you are going to have to leave soon or risk him seeing you cry. That is an image you don’t want to leave him with, not if this is what he has to see before he goes.

“I’m glad I got to see you before you leave,” you say while forcing your best smile for him. “It was hard thinking you’d leave and I wouldn’t get to say goodbye at least.”

He nods as he cups your cheek. “Ya be safe, yeah?” 

You lean into his touch and close your eyes; god, it’s hard not to enjoy his touch. “You too.” 

Time is slipping away fast like sand through a sieve and he knows that you only have a few short minutes left that you will go unnoticed so he blurts out the question that sits on the tip of his tongue and he can’t stop it from coming out. “One last kiss?” he asks, though he hates himself for doing so.

A ragged breath is pushed out of your lungs as your eyes flutter open. The question is surprising, but you already know the answer; you can’t say no because to deny him would mean denying yourself and your heart won’t let you. His hands paw at your face as his eyes beg. 

Your heartbeats mesh together as you press your body against his until they become one rhythm. He keeps his hands locked to your face as you reach up and slip the bottom of his mask up over his lips and rest it on top of his nose. It feels like you are holding your breath and time stops as you again capture his unwavering stare.   

“Make it count,” you breathe.

You can feel the shudder from his desperate inhale as he collapses into you like the burst from a dying star, crashing his fiery kiss onto your mouth with an intensity that makes your knees buckle, but he has you. His arms keep you up as he aggressively steals your lips over and over again, pinning his mouth on yours until it burns, stealing your breath, tasting your kiss, letting that gnawing ache that had been festering in his heart eat him alive.   

His intensity is matched with your own as you kiss him back with everything that you have. You need the feeling of his lips to be imprinted on yours for as long as they can and you push so hard he cannot catch air. But just as quickly as it started, it has to end.

“Eh, ye need ta ‘urry guys,” the sound of Soaps voice calls from the door, forcefully thrusting you both back into reality. Lt. Riley grips around your biceps and pries himself from you with everything he has and with that he bounds away as you fall to your knees and enfold your arms around yourself like a hug, the tears streaming down your cheeks in heavy, engorged droplets. 

He is gone.

The time away does nothing to ease the pain of your separation. Being off base makes your absence in his life even more prominent. You are in his head constantly after that last kiss, haunting him like a ghost that he cannot get rid of and though he knows he should, part of him won’t let go; he can’t. No, that’s not entirely it. Even if he could let go, he won’t.

The lieutenant’s days spent on assignment pass by agonizingly slow and he begins to realize that as much as he enjoys what he does, that it is no longer holding the same importance in his heart as it once did. That feeling has been replaced by something else and that is the way he felt with you. He had thrown everything outside of work to the wayside because never believed that he would get a chance at bits of normalcy in his life. Until you…

What if he is throwing away something that could fulfill him more than his work with the 141? Could he live with that? Whenever he finds himself with a free moment, he spends them silently contemplating that question, mulling it over incessantly in his mind even though he keeps returning to the same conclusion: he can’t live with it. 

He would rather regret leaving all this behind if it meant he could be with you than to regret letting you slip through his fingers. And he desperately wants to tell you that he finally knows what to do.

The thought eats at him until one night, as he lays awake staring at the pitch black ceiling, he can no longer take it and without thinking he is digging through his pack to grab his cell phone and just like that the small, square device is in his hand and he is turning it on. As the light pierces through the darkness, missed call after missed call pops up on the screen all from… Mactavish?  

It’s only been off for a few hours. What the fuck is going on?

Lt. Riley hurriedly moves himself into a quiet corner away from the others sleeping and quickly redials the number. The repetitive ringing continues until they instantaneously stop and the young sergeant answers with an urgency in his tone that makes the lieutenant’s heartbeat pound in his ears.

“LT, fuck, been tryin’ te get a hold a ye fer a while now,” Soap says over the receiver. “Don’t ye ever answer yer god damn phone?”

The lieutenant tries to speak quietly so that he won’t draw any prying ears into eavesdropping on this conversation. “What the hell sergeant? Ya think I just have all the fuckin’ time to chitchat?”

Soap ignores the lieutenant’s agitation; this is more important and he is risking a lot by even having this conversation at all, so it’s gotta be quick. “ ‘Ave ye spoken te Price? Laswell? Anyone back ‘ere?” he asks as if insisting on a swift answer.

“No,” Lt. Riley confirms. “Haven’t had a need. Why?”

“Fuck, so no one’s said anythin’ te ye yet?” Soap questions as if the fact is distressing him.

“ ‘Bout what? Today, Mactavish,” Lt. Riley says with a hint of unchecked panic in his voice. Nothing about how Mactavish sounds is making the lieutenant feel any better, not the way whatever it is has him flustered like this. 

“We ‘ave a situation,” he says firmly and what comes out of his mouth next makes the usually calm and collected lieutenant nearly drop his phone as his entire body goes numb. “The sergeant and her team deployed right after ye, as ye know… all was fine until a few days ago.”

Simon can’t breathe as Soap finishes his sentence. “...we’ve lost contact…they’re all currently MIA.”

Tag list: @flameohotpotatooo @shadowtfpcod @xnyx1n @igotmajordaddyissues @essentialbeats-blog @mishaglass

[milf-murdock]

Tw: references to Simon’s past

Simon’s not sure how you convinced him to tag along to come see your best friend’s new baby. But somehow he finds himself seated next to you on the couch as you play with the newborn and offer your friend the opportunity to catch up on some much needed rest.

The next thing Simon knows you’re pressing the little bundle into his arms, insisting he simply must have a turn holding the baby boy.

“Make sure to support his head there, and watch his little hands so he doesn’t scratch himself, oh and make sure—”

“I know how to hold a baby, love.”

“Oh because you’ve spent so much time around babies, yeah?” You teased, a smile on your lips as you playfully rolled your eyes.

“Yeah…I have.” Simon’s voice was suddenly quiet. You caught him looking down at the child, a sadness in his eyes. True to his word, he seemed at ease holding the babe in the crook of his arm. This clearly wasn’t the first time he’d done this.

A quiet “oh” was all you could manage in response.

Simon couldn’t take his eyes off the little one. He looked impossibly tiny curled up against Simon’s large bicep. The baby let out a fierce yawn, eyes falling closed and snuggling into the crook of Simon’s elbow as Simon gently bounced him in his arms. In that moment, he looked so much like Joseph it nearly took Simon’s breath away.

Simon felt a hand on his upper arm, turning away from the baby to find you looking up at him, face full of unspoken concern.

You recognized the haunted look in Simon’s face that took over every so often. Leaning forward, you pressed a tender kiss to his cheek. “Love you, Si. Come back to me.”

Simon took a deep breath, grounding himself in the present, mentally shaking off the ghosts of his past.

“I’m here, love.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

Break Up with Your Toxic Boyfriend (Bonus)

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Find ALL the Break Up with Your Toxic Boyfriend Fics HERE

This bonus material is brought to you by @darkangel4121 (who wanted to see the toxic boyfriends get what they deserve)

I took some liberties with the prompt since I wanted to keep them short. There are two drabbles (100 words each) and two double drabbles (200 words each). The commonality is that the toxic boyfriend always receives a punch to the face. :)

Content Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, minor violence, brief blood

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // break up with your toxic boyfriend masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Best step back, mate.” Kyle extends his arm, blocking more of your view.

Your now ex-boyfriend glowers, lips turned downward in a frown. “She’s mine.”

“I broke it off,” you snap over Kyle’s shoulder.

“I’ll handle this,” whispers Kyle, shaking his head.

Your ex guffaws. “You cheated. Shacked up with this wanker.”

The muscle in Kyle’s jaw twitches.

Your ex sneers at Kyle before turning his best smile on you. “I’ve been so good to you. And we both made mistakes.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Won’t happen again.”

“You’re a liar,” you hurl, voice quavering. “You’ll do it again.” And then, more softly. “I didn’t cheat. I left you.”

Your ex takes a step closer, and Kyle matches his movements.

“Back off,” hisses Kyle, shoulders tensing.

“Or what? What will you do?” He keeps moving toward Kyle, nostrils flared, face becoming red with anger. “What will you—”

Kyle swings. He’s so fast you don’t even see his arm move. All you see is the spray of blood and the sudden drop of your ex’s body to the ground.

Your hands cover your mouth. There is silence. Stillness. Then your ex groans, waking, pushing off the ground.

“Piss off,” murmurs Kyle.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny is gonna lose his head if this wanker doesn’t leave.

“She told you fuck off.”

Your ex remains still, not glancing at Johnny. He steps to the side intending to walk around him. Johnny growls. Following.

“Just want to talk. Give me a chance. I’m good for it.”

“You have no right to speak to her,” snaps Johnny.

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

The crunch is loud as Johnny’s fist makes contact. Gratification rolls through Johnny as the man collapses to the ground.

The fucker groans, clutching his face. Johnny grabs your hand, stepping over the guy, leading you away.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The words don’t make it out of your ex’s mouth.

Simon swings. It is brutal. Raw.

You see red seconds after the crunch. Something is broken. Your ex hits the ground. Simon is already on him, hauling him up by the collar.

“Fuck off with your apologies and sweet talk,” growls Simon. “She’s not taking you back.”

Your ex’s gaze is lucid from Simon’s punch. “If you try to speak to her—fuck, even look at her, I’ll break more than your nose.” Simon shakes him. Your ex groans. “Got it?”

He nods and Simon shoves him to the ground.

John Price

John and your ex are in a standoff.

“Leave,” says Price. “I won’t ask again.”

Your ex rolls his eyes and turns to address you. He always returns with sweet words and kind gestures to lure you back. But not this time.

You’re done.

John grabs him by the throat and shoves him up against the wall. “I told you to leave.”

“You with him now?” your ex says to you, accusation in his tone. “While we’re still together?”

“We’re not together. You abandoned me.”

His lip curls and you know the word he wants to say. It’s sitting on his tongue. He’s used it before.

“She’s not yours,” growls Price.

“Fuck you.”

John drops him, and before his feet hit the ground, John swings, sending your ex’s body spinning into the wall. He hits plaster. Collapses.

“Oh my god.”

John grabs him by the back of his shirt and drags him to the front door. He starts to stir. Kicks out. John kicks him right back, sending him sprawling out onto the front stoop. Your ex sways on his feet, one finger pointed in accusation.

“You—”

“—Are done here,” finishes Price, slamming the door in his face.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie @tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair @nomercyforthewarrior

[seresinhangmanjake]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is afraid to propose to his girlfriend (reader)

notes/warnings: fluff, angsty-ish, cursing, typos i'm sure (i wrote it in like an hr and then lost all energy to closely proofread. sorry)

words: 1367

Simon Riley Masterlist

Forty-Two months. You’ve been together for forty-two months, and Simon Riley is no fool. He knows what he has. Through every imaginable horror, you’ve been by his side. You’ve held his hand, kissed his forehead, brushed your fingers through his hair, let him lay on top of you after a night of sex when he’d just needed to feel you and know that you’re with him. You’ve cried with him and for him. And when it’s asked of you, you’ve waited for him. 

You’re absolutely everything. Of perfect quality despite your flaws. A reminder that things in this world are soft, beautiful, gentle. When he loses faith in the concepts of decency and humanity because of the things he’s seen, you refuel what has been depleted. You make things make sense in a cruel existence. And yet, he hasn’t asked you to marry him. 

Ok, maybe he is a bit of a fool.

For forty-two months you’ve watched your friends get married, cousins and second cousins, and even your mother and your aunt—all of whom began relationships with their new spouses long after you and Simon declared yourselves officially together. You’ve taken Simon to so many weddings in the past three and a half years that you’d both agreed you’d had your fill. But Simon is under no illusions that if it were for you and him, you’d manage to find the energy for one more wedding. 

You don’t pressure him or drop painfully obvious hints, and if he’s honest, that almost makes it worse. Price and Gaz and even Johnny have faced threats of their own in the past by the women they’ve been with, with varying results. Price was happy to agree. Gaz a little less, but his lady was pregnant and it was the right thing to do. But Johnny…Johnny wouldn’t marry his current broad if it meant a quick death. You, though, are a gift. Better than all of them in Simon’s eyes. You deserve to have the man who loves you acknowledge that love by asking you to be his wife. Simon just can’t bring himself to ensure that that man is him.

He attributes that roadblock to your relationship not being equal. He doesn’t provide you with everything you provide him. While he does his best to be supportive and loving and comforting, you’ve mastered those skills and he can’t compete. And how is it fair to ask you to pull that weight for the rest of your lives?

It doesn’t stop him from wanting to ask, but when the question is on his tongue, he can’t get it out. However, because you’re stronger than him, more open and sure of what you want, it turns out he doesn’t have to.

—

“Simon, will you marry me?”

You’re not looking at him. You’ve been spooning on the couch for the last three hours watching mindless TV, and he’s refused to let you up from your spot. At the question, his hand under your shirt that has been lazily fondling your breast freezes. He’s half hard and was about thirty seconds from trailing that hand down your body and into your sleep shorts, but now he can’t. 

Simon swallows. “W-What?” he asks, though he absolutely heard you. Does anyone mistake those words for anything other than what they are? 

His pounding heart clogs his ears, but to his surprise, his cock gets a little harder. 

After too many beats of silence, you guide his hand out of your shirt, and with a sigh, you stand, round the couch, and go into the bedroom. In your absence, he sits up, running a hand through his hair and blowing out a breath. 

What just happened? He thinks. And what the fuck did he just do? He didn’t answer the way he should have and now you’re gone. He’s hurt you, and he’s so focused on his fuck up that he doesn’t notice you come back until you’re standing directly in front of him. 

A black band is trapped between your thumb and index finger. You’re not smiling. There’s no glimmer in your eye. You simply hold the ring, staring at it. 

“I just want to marry you,” you say, your voice dripping with the disappointment he knows you’re expecting. “And you haven’t asked me.” 

“Love–” he starts, but then you drop to your knees, calves folded under your thighs. 

His heart cracks right down the middle, jagged and splintered. A few pieces fall into his gut. You still won’t look at him, so he reaches out a hand, cups your cheek, and turns your face up to his. 

“You don’ kneel to me, Love,” he tells you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone.

Half-heartedly chuckling, you say, “Sometimes I do.”

Simon lets his lips curl into a slight smile because his girl is still in there. Despite the forlorn look on your face, he didn’t completely break your spirit with one unanswered question. And thank fuck for that.  

He doesn’t mean to, but he forces you to sit in limbo as he thinks. The woman he loves is on her knees asking for something that she so evidently believes she isn’t going to get. And yet, it’s from that risk—that display of your love for him and the leap you’re willing to take to prove it—that Simon snaps out of every negative thought that has held him back. 

Hand dropping from your face, he rises from the couch and, just as you had, makes his way into the bedroom. He has no idea where you’d hidden his, but yours has been in a dresser drawer for nearly a year, tucked behind the socks that are never worn because he has too many pairs. 

When he returns, he stops dead in his tracks because you’re still sitting there but your head is down again and a teardrop falls onto your bare thigh as you fiddle with the ring, and that is unacceptable; his behavior is unacceptable. And now he’s more sure than ever. 

Simon discards the box and goes to sit back on the couch. Your embarrassment is palpable, and he hates himself for yanking that out of you. Shame is the last thing he has ever wanted you to feel in his presence. 

Ring between his fingers, Simon lowers his hand until he’s sure the diamond is within your line of sight. 

Your gasp is faint but he catches it—a master at catching every little sound you make and savoring his ability to have you make them. Your head shoots up, eyes wide as they connect with his. 

With his free hand, Simon brushes away the tears that have yet to fall from your cheeks. 

“Switch,” he says. 

“What?”

He takes your hand, pulling you with him as he rises to his feet, and turns your bodies. “Sit,” he says, and you do. Then he eases onto one knee, ignoring the crack of his bones, and holds out the ring. “I’m so sorry it came to this, Love. I didn’—” he shakes his head, “’s my fault.”

Your head cocks to the side. “Your fault?”

“My fault,” he nods, his brow pinching as he decides how to say what he needs to. “You’re my wife,” he says. “I know you’re my wife—I’ve known it—but I get in my head and I start going through the list of things that I don’ think I deserve, and you’re the Queen of that list, Love. You make everything else on that list seem so unimportant that they have no right bein’ there.”

“Simon…”

“But I’ll make you a deal,” he continues. “I’ll marry you, if you marry me.”

You snicker and, excluding the tears he’d caused, your face does exactly what he’d hoped it would do wherever he imagined proposing. The only detail unaccounted for is your answer, which he supposes is fair. He hadn’t directly given you one either. 

But then you say one the best damn things he’s ever heard leave your mouth. 

Your pretty lips part and you tell him: “Yes.”

A/N: I don’t think love has to be affirmed in the form of a proposal and wedding, but for the sake of the fic…

[flowerbedbaby]

"I don't get nighterrors" Simon Riley

Simon is a military man, he's seen a lot of horrible things. He's going to have nighterrors at the least.

I'm just picturing that it's maybe 3am, you're laying in bed with Simon, and he starts having a panic attack in his sleep, naturally you get closer to him to try and help, but in this terrified state of confusion, he holds onto you, but really tight, like leaving bruises tight. He never ment to, you're his precious gem, why would he ever hurt you?? He'll wake up for a moment mid attack, not realizing what's happening, but you don't care, you love him too much, you need to make sure he's okay. After you calm him down, and talk things out, the both of you fall asleep, you don't even worry about the dark bruises forming from his grip. When morning comes, Simon is the first to wake up, so naturally he looks at you when he does, but this time he notices your shirt pulled up a little bit, and that's when it all comes crashing down. How could he do that?? Will you hate him? What's wrong with him? Why is he so evil? He starts bombarding his own mind with these questions. He wakes you up in fear and constantly apologizes for hurting you so bad, you constantly have to remind him throughout the day that you still love him and he did nothing wrong.

~a little something I was thinking about hehe

[themotherofhorses]

"Simon Riley is toxic," "Simon Riley is a cold and distant man that enjoys inflicting harm on others," and "Ghost is a red flag."

Yada yada yada. Anyways.

Simon Riley LOVES cats.

When she first read his personnel file, her eyes immediately took notice of one certain detail, jotted down on a little yellow sticky note, in red penmanship. Price’s handwriting, she believed.  “Enjoys tattoo art & animals.”  SilentDove smiled at that. Simon Riley, 6’4” and with a fearful reputation that always preceded him, possessed a soft spot for animals — cats, she soon learned. He never spoke about it aloud, but there were signs: the small glances toward a stray kitty sunbathing on the sidewalk; his blue eyes softening the moment they caught sight of the kittens at the local petshop, and all the cat videos he pretended were not clogging up his YouTube history.  Yeah, there were countless signs. 

“Saaayyyy….you ever wanna adopt a kitty-cat, Lieutenant?”  “That’s above ya’s pay grade, Reyes.” 

Three months later, Dove tried again.  "A little brown kitten, Ghost, with pink beans on its toes! Imagine that!" She was holed up in the Lieutenant's office, pestering him with pictures of cats she found on Pinterest. "Brown kittens are super duper rare, y'know that, right?" she asked, showing him a cute brown cat with amber-like eyes. "Look, even the nose is brown!" But all she got in response was a stupid grunt; he didn't even look up from the paperwork he was filing out. Stubborn bastard, Dove thought to herself with a sigh. She fell silent for a moment until Simon suddenly spoke up. "I'd like a Norwegian forest cat," is what he muttered, peeking up to look at Dove. His bright, baby-blue eyes met her dark ones, and the Native American could see a certain softness pooling inside them. A smile twitched on her lips as she sat up straighter.  "Yeah?" Simon hummed. "Damn things are beauties. Ever seen one?" He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Wanna get me one once I retire from all this shit. Name him Shiloh, get him a bell and collar." "Shiloh," Dove breathed out, nodding. She liked the name; it sounded nice on her tongue. Shiloh…c’mere, Shiloh! "Didya know that Viking brides were given Norwegian forest kittens as a wedding present?" as her chin came to rest atop her palm.  His gaze dropped to follow the slight movement before flickering back to her face. "Is that so?" His voice dropped a little, suddenly taking on a huskier tone, instantly sending a small flutter of butterflies inside her tummy. Dove swallowed with another nod.  "Mmmm, in honor of Freyja, the goddess of love. According to the mythology, her cart was pulled by cats; Vikings loved cats, and it was a sorta…good luck for brides to have a kitten in her new household." Dove paused before adding, "—when I get married, I'm gonna ask for a kitten as well. No fancy pots, pans, or cutlery. A cat, one that I'm gonna name Ésevone." "Ésevone?" Simon repeated, cocking his head to the side.  "Buffalo in the Northern Cheyenne language."  "Ah. Ésevone," he rasped again, this time with a nod of his own. "Ésevone and Shiloh. Not bad."  A few seconds of (comfortable) silence fell over the two before— "—Y'know, Ghosty, you actually look like a TOTAL cat dad. Like you got the entire "cat dad" aesthetic down to a T." "Shut up, little bird." 

note: just a small snippet as i try to dive back into writing :D

[sinon36]

Husband!Ghost x teacher!reader HC - Part 2

Part I

Author's block and tummy aches don't make a great team. Apologies that it took some time to post this. Enjoy!

Warnings: none other than mistakes, it's fluff.

-

Being a primary school teacher is far from easy. From the endless hours spent correcting homework or grading tests to preparing visual materials, your work never ends. Maybe you should listen to your colleagues and double down on the work you put into this. But you can’t deny the satisfaction you get from seeing your students get excited in class even when you assign extra work for them over weekends and holidays. But now that you came down with the flu, another downside of working with kids, you couldn’t care less about the little punks.

You lay down in bed covered in the thickest of blankets, shivering and barely able to breath. The house is empty and you’ve never felt so alone. You wish Simon would walk through the door and snuggle you until everything is better again. He was deployed again, and in the past few months you managed to talk to him for a total of 10 minutes. He’d call you to check on you and let you know he was fine, but he’d be quick to tell you he can’t say more about his whereabouts.

Being married to him brought a hell of a lot more stress than you could have imagined. Not knowing where he was or what he did was eating you on the inside. You worried about your husband’s well being but you always reminded yourself not to pester him too much. His job is stressful as it is, no need for you to put anymore pressure on him when he was home. You painted an image of his coworkers through his brief comments on what they did on base. The most you heard about was the Scot, Johnny, the young lad had made an impression on Simon. Even though he’d complain that Johnny was a ‘pain in the arse’, you couldn’t miss the small chuckle he let out whenever he spoke of him. You concluded that this young Scottish man was the closest thing to a friend your husband had.

The clock on the nightstand reads 2AM. The fever and headache are back. Your body hurts everywhere. you stand up readying yourself to leave the warm cocoon of the blanket and go to the kitchen to make some tea and take some more medicine. The otherwise short trip to the other side of the house seems now like an endless maze, it’s dark and you can barely see; you keep one hand on the wall just to be safe if nausea takes the better of you. You take a seat at the dinner table as the kettle starts warming up.

There is a faint click at the front door, so soft that at first you believe you imagined it. But it turns out that it was real, that the sound was a key turning the lock and the knob twisted, and the door opened. You watch everything as in slow motion, your brain too fuzzy with the flu. The massive body dressed in all black walks in illuminated from behind by the street lights, leaving their shoes on the rack. It’s Simon…. He’s home but you don’t have the energy to move. In the still and quiet atmosphere of the house the bloody kettle lets out a blood curling whistle signalling the water is boiling. Simon’s eyes dart towards the kitchen space, not having noticed you until now.

  ‘What’re you doin’ in the dark, love?’ he chuckles coming over to you. He’s becoming suspicious when you don’t make a single move to get up and greet him as you would. He first reaches for the knob to turn off the stove, then he pulls off the balaclava, reaching down to your sited position to kiss your forehead. ‘You a bit warm…’ he hums and you nod sniffling your runny nose. The rest is a blur, you can faintly remember him pouring the tea for you and handing the medicine. Next thing you know strong arms carry you to the bedroom, the same arms you fall asleep until morning.

Simon is trained in the art of staying still no matter what waiting to get a clear shot of the enemy. But since he met you, that skill has been put to a better use. He had no qualms with becoming your body pillow over night. He just loves the feeling of you pressed so closely to him, head rested on his peck near his beating heart. He would gladly stay there for an eternity is you asked him.

Anything for you. Always, no matter how costly or how small, he’d do anything to see you happy. That’s his love language, while he struggles to word it he makes up with his actions. And you’d never trade him for anyone else in the world. The following days are spent with him not leaving your side, pampering and loving you the way you’ve never been loved before.

Once you feel better, he asks you to go on a date just like first time he asked you accepted with a school girl giggle. It’s safe to say you’re in love. The date goes well and you find yourself walking through the park like two hopeless romantics, talking and laughing. He tells you that Soap caught a whiff of him being married to you and now he won’t stop pestering him with questions about you two. ‘Maybe you should invite him to dinner… if you want to.’ You smile at him. ‘Maybe’ he grunts not looking at you. Bringing Johnny to your house, to meet you, it involves risks. But he knows that he can trust the sergeant with his life, so what if his only friend meets his wife. Nothing can go wrong, right?

Bonus:

On base, Ghost approaches Soap in the armoury, making sure no one is in ear shot. He gives the Scot a date, time and the name of a bus station somewhere in suburban Manchester. At Soap’s questioning look Ghost lets out a grunt ‘Wife wants you to come to dinner.’ At that Soap grins and accepts politely which prompts the lieutenant to threaten to kill him if he tells anyone about this.

The day when Johnny arrives at your doorstep comes faster than expected. You open the door and greet him, rather warmly which is a stark contrast to your husband’s harsh demeanour. Opposites do attract, he supposes. At dinner you listen to him talk, about their time on base, stories from missions, nothing too detailed though, and about his own family. He shows you pictures of his sisters and his nieces and nephews. They’re cute. You talk about your pupils, sharing stories of your own. Johnny perks up at the knowledge that you are a primary school teacher. He asks if he can have your number in case he needs help with their homework. You gladly give it to him, asking in return to keep an eye on Simon for you. He accepts your deal.

Johnny leaves after a couple of hours, going back to the hotel, even though you insist he can take the couch. But you know that Simon is glaring at him over your shoulder daring him to accept. Once he left you turn towards your husband hugging him and kissing him. You thank him for letting you meet his colleague, and he reminds you that he’d do anything for his lovely wife.

A couple of weeks go by. You’re in bed with Simon having a heated kissing session when your phone rings. Groaning you pull off from him and grab it. Johnny’s name lights up the screen and you answer. The conversation is short, something about math and how to use the graphic method to solve a problem. Simon listens intently seeing you smile conspiratorially. When you end the call, he grabs you and pushes you underneath him, trapping you between his body and the bed. ‘Why does Johnny have your number?’ the low rumble pulls a laugh from you. You know you have no chance to lie to him, he’ll see right through. You explain to him that he wanted it so he can ask you whenever he doesn’t know how to solve his nephews’ homework. He watches you not really convinced by your answer. ‘You hate talking to parents on the phone. What did you get him do? Spy on me on base and report back to you?’ Busted. You laugh and let out an even more unconvincing ‘no’ for an answer. He knows you too well.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[Always By Your Side] (TF141*Reader)

you can decide which TF141 men he is, but I imagine he’s Ghost (I’m truly sorry Simon). A short drabble you can read when u are sitting on the toilet for 1 minute/j.

word count: 414

He’s not good at this, but after you leave, He starts folding the origami stars just like you.

His hands are big, clumsy, the paper slips out of his hands tons of times, but he searches the tutorial, redoing it again and again.

The first few stars aren’t good, crooked edges, uneven portions, unlike yours you gave him.

He doesn’t give up, carefully folding the stars, and they become better each time he finishes one.

The stars start to make into a pile. He puts them into a glass jar just like how you stored them.

“It’s beautiful, right? watching different colors cluster together, just like the rainbow.”

He recalls the memory whilst doing another star.

The times he’s not training, supervising or on missions, he locks himself in his quarter, creating those little stars that he used to sit beside you, looking at his phone while you fixated on making them.

Finally, he watches the jar being filled with the stars, mostly your favorite color, and he puts his jar beside the one you gifted him.

- - - - - -

“Paper stars?” He hears the clerk mumbles when she is scanning the barcode on the paper strips for checkout.

“Oh, it’s just rare to see someone making these nowadays.” She sees him blink at her with confusion. “years ago young girls love to make them, there’s a saying that if you fold 1000 stars, the wish you wrote inside will come true.”

The words after that fly over his mind, he rushes back to his car, tapping at the steering wheel when all he can think about now is—

You said you were making 1000 stars before.

He stumbles back to his quarter, doesn’t care about the recruits’ curious eyes as he shuts the door behind him, taking your jar and opening it.

Every star was obviously made with patience, shaped in a perfect pentagon, that’s why he never dared to touch them, afraid of ruining them.

but this time, he picks one up with trembling fingers, and slowly unfolds the purple star.

“I hope I can live long enough, staying by his side until we both become old, if I don’t, I hope these stars can help me protect him.”

He stares at the words neatly written on the inner of the paper, and tries to focus on the handwriting, but all he can do is just letting his vision become blurry, choke back a sob as he grasps the star and slumps to the floor.

Not killing Reader in my fics: mission impossible

[chaosandmarigolds]

Ok so I was casually listening to the new Taylor Swift album as I study for one of my billion finals

ANYWAY OK SO I KNOW I SAID I HAVE FINALS BUT SCREW THAT BC SO LONG LONDON???

I mean if you were in a relationship with someone from England (coughSimoncough) and you move there because that’s his home and everything is all perfect with the world

….

Until Johnny shows up at your doorstep with Simon’s mask in hand

did I break my week long vow of silence for this? Yes now I shall run away again

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Simon Riley was a man who hardly praised anyone. As a man of few words, a simple nod was all he’d give to anyone who managed to impress him.

At first, you were no different. Even when it came to sex, the most you’d ever get from Simon was a soft smile, or the occasional grunt and groan that he let fall from his lips.

That was, until one night, when Simon was balls deep inside of you, a simple “good girl” escaped from his lips. He didn’t miss the way your pussy tightened around him, the soft mewl that fell from your pretty little lips at his words.

“You like that, huh? You like being called a good girl?” Simon teased, stilling his cock inside of you. He watched with a grin as your eyes fluttered open, your bottom lip pouting out slightly.

“Simon.” You begged, tightening your hold on his shoulders. “Please.”

“You do, don’t you?” Simon cooed, sliding his cock out of you painstakingly slow. “Are you my good girl?”

You gave a lazy nod, causing your lover to chuckle softly. You felt a kiss pressed to your temple, as Simon’s cock rammed back into your tight hole once more.

“My good fucking girl, always taking me so well.” Simon chanted, relishing in the way your walls squeezed around him yet again. “This pretty little cunt was made just for me.”

It was as if that night had awoken something within him, and the soft praises continued to fall from his lips from then on. Simon found that he fucking loved to praise you, his pretty girl.

After all, you were his good girl, and you deserved to be treated as such.

[milf-murdock]

Your writing is literally phenomenal - sincerely, someone who just binged your entire masterlist!! 💗 If you’re interested in this, I’d love to see dark!simon doting on reader when she’s finally pregnant 🤭 I’m sure he’d wait on her hand and foot, soothing and comforting her, but also being so smug because he’s literally a mastermind who’s been planning this for ages

Thank you so much for the kind words, love 🥹🥹 Comments like this mean the world to me and inspire me so much to keep writing 🖤

I fucking loooooooved this ask. When I tell you my brain was instantly just braining. However, I must be fully honest with you 😔 This is so fucking soft. Just. Wildly. Absurdly. Tooth-rottingly sweet. It turns out once dark!Simon actually gets her pregnant he just melts into the sweetest softie ever (shh don't tell anyone). Thinking about writing another part that's filthy smut with dark!Simon and his pregnant girl but I was just so excited about this fluff I wanted to share it lemme know if anyone would want to see that tho

Anyways, here's Simon helping her with morning sickness, Simon hearing the heartbeat for the first time, and Simon feeling them kick for the first time 🥺

Warnings: pregnancy, female reader, mentions of doctors offices, morning sickness, vomiting

Part 1 can be found here and Part 2 (NSFW) can be found here

Simon’s eyes blinked open as he registered your movements. The sound of your footsteps on the floor echoed through the room as you raced to the bathroom. His response was automatic as he rose out of bed, blinking the last dregs of sleep away as he followed your steps to find you kneeling on the cool tile in front of the toilet, dry heaving into the porcelain bowl. It seemed more often than not your mornings started this way. With no hesitation he knelt down on one knee beside you, pulling your hair up and away from your face into a loose pony tail held in his hand. His other hand rubbed soothing circled on your back, gently stroking up and down as he murmured soothing words. 

“I’m sorry, love. ’M sure this bit’s almost over.” 

As if on cue, you wretched once more into the bowl and Simon grimaced at his own poor timing. With a gasp you laid your head on your forearm against the toilet seat, eyes closed while you struggled to catch your breath, one hand rising up to flush the contents down the drain. Simon released your hair and rose to grab a cloth from the cupboard, running it under cool water and wringing it out. 

“Remember, doc said this was all completely normal. Good even, really.” Simon’s voice was nearly as comforting as the cool washcloth he pressed against the back of your neck. “Means the baby is developing and your body’s changing and whatnot.” You finally raised your head up, taking the cloth from Simon and running it over your face. 

“Yeah, still fucking sucks though,” you muttered before leaning back into Simon, his strong arms wrapping around you to pull you into him. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head as one hand snaked down to rest against your abdomen. 

“It’ll pass, babe.” Simon pressed another kiss to your temple. “Besides, you’re still stunning.” 

You raised your head off his chest, shooting him the most menacing glare you could muster. “Not in the mood for your sarcasm, Si,” you grumbled. 

Simon brushed a strand of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. “Not sarcasm, babe. I mean it. You’re glowing.” 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the soft smile that tugged at the edges of your lips. “Whatever, you’re gettin’ soft.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Simon agreed, pressing another kiss to your cheek before rising and helping you off the floor. “Come on, I’ll go make us a tea.”

___________

It was a well known fact that Simon hated hospitals. And doctors. And, well, really any kind of medical setting. Simon shifted anxiously in the uncomfortable plastic chair next to your exam bed. The sterile smell of medical suite was practically burning his nostrils. His leg bounced up and down at a rapid pace, one hand gripped tight on his knee and the other gripping yours in a similar hold. He looked around the room, taking in all the infographic posters explaining the various stages of pregnancy, health adverts, and more.

“Si.” Your gentle tone pulled Simon from his thoughts, his eyes drifting back to your face. “Relax,” you reminded him softly. “It’s okay. I’m here with you.” You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. His eyes drift from yours down to your abdomen. He swore you were beginning to show, just the barest hint of a swell to your belly. 

There was a knock at the door and then the friendly technician entered, introducing herself to you and Simon before placing a paper drape over your lap and having you lay back. You shifted your shirt up whilst she set up for the ultrasound, giving Simon an excited smile as you settled in.

“Oh that’s warm,” you commented as the tech squeezed a light gel onto your bare skin. 

“Yeah, we have a little warmer we keep it in, just something to help make the mum’s a bit more comfortable,” she commented as she started pressing the wand to your belly. 

Simon’s eyes flicked to the screen, the waves of black and grey indecipherable as the tech  moved around your stomach. 

“Ah, there we go. See? Right….here.” The nurse tapped to a black shape on the screen as she pressed the wand a little deeper into your skin. “There’s your baby.” She tapped a few buttons on her keyboard, taking a picture. “Would you like to hear the heartbeat?” 

You nodded enthusiastically, but Simon couldn’t even get a word out. His own heart was racing so fast, his eyes staring at the screen, taking it all in. His baby. There were no words to adequately describe the pure joy, excitement, and absolute terror he was feeling. Y

You and Simon clung to each other, your joined hands serving as a lifeline for you both, tethering you to this moment. You and Simon each hold your breath, unsure what you’re waiting for. 

And then there’s a whoosh, and the sound of a steady heartbeat fills the room. Tears instantly filled your eyes. “Oh my god, Si,” you whispered. “That’s their heartbeat.” 

Simon’s own eyes were misty as he took it all in. “Yeah, babe. That’s our baby.” He blinked the tears away, internally urging himself to keep it together. He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. “There they are.” 

______

Simon was upstairs tackling the crib that he had been so fucking sure he didn’t need the fucking instructions for, only to find out that the damn pieces weren’t locking into place the way they were supposed to. “Bloody hell,” he growled, tearing through the mess of cardboard and styrofoam to find where he had tossed aside that bloody manual. 

A shout from downstairs had him freezing in place, his blood running cold as the bottom dropped out of his stomach. 

“Simon! Come here! Quick!” You shouted from your place on the couch, urgency in your voice. 

Simon dropped the drill to the floor, racing down the hall and flying down the stairs as fast as his feet could carry him. His mind spiraled, thinking through doctor’s numbers, fastest route to the hospital, or should he call an ambulance? No, he was positive he could drive faster. He rounded the corner, eyes wide and fixed on you. 

“What’s wrong? What’s happened? Are you okay? Is it the baby?” His questions rushed out like word vomit as he strode to your side. He dropped to one knee, a protective hand resting on your pronounced bump, eyes flitting from you to your stomach. 

“What?” You asked, brows furrowing in confusion at the panic-stricken man panting before you. “No, I’m fine Si, just…here…feel,” you commanded, grabbing his hand and moving it to the lower left side of your stomach. “Wait for it…” you muttered. Simon was still trying to calm his racing heart, trying to take in the fact that you seemed perfectly fine. In fact, if anything, you seemed slightly annoyed. 

“Darling, what—” 

“Shhh!” You snapped. “Wait for it.” 

And then Simon felt it. A little force pressing against his hand, a fleeting sensation that was over as soon as it started. 

Simon’s eyes widened. “Was that?” 

“Mmhmm,” you squealed with a smile. 

“They kicked,” Simon laughed, pure awe on his face. He pressed his hand a little harder against your swollen mound, moving his hand just slightly to the right. He lowered his face to your stomach. “Come on, love, let’s see that again.” As if on cue, he felt a swift kick to his palm. Your laugh mingled with Simon’s as the radiant joy overtook you both. 

“He likes your voice,” you commented, smiling down at your bump and placing your hand atop Simon’s. 

“Of course she does,” Simon teased back. You weren’t finding out the gender in advance, wanting to be surprised. You each had your own suspicions though. At the sound of his voice, another kick hit his palm, harder than both the previous ones, causing you to wince. “Oi,” Simon jokingly chided, giving a stern look to your bump. “Take it easy on your mum. She’s working hard to grow you nice and strong.” Another strong kick. 

“Looks like we have a future football star on our hands,” you commented was you rubbed a hand against your sore swollen side. 

“Maybe they’ll play for Man U.” Simon pressed a kiss to your bump, right where the last kick was before rising off the floor to sit next to you on the couch. His lips found yours, kissing you with a fierceness that took your breath away. “Thank you, love.” His voice was soft as he pulled back from the kiss. “For this. For all of it. This is the greatest gift.”