Hi sorry... Wanted to let you know you do have minors interacting with your stuff... Best you double check who is following and interacting with your things.
I appreciate you bringing this to my attention.
This is just a reminder that this page is not for minors, I'd prefer that if you are under 18 that you do not interact with me, or that you interact with any of my posts, whilst not all of the things that I have written or will write are rated for mature audiences, as an adult myself I'd prefer avoid any interaction at all with anyone who is not over the age of 18.
Unfortunately, I am aware that I cannot fully enforce anything because it is the internet, but I will do what i can such as than blocking any ageless blogs and those which are labelled under the age of 18.
As I am still new to this, as I've only been writing on this account for around a week, so I am still learning to tag my fics properly. However I realise this is something I should've made clear from the first post I made.
Simon Riley who refuses to give you any space at all when you come off of missions, desperate to see that you're not harmed and can keep going. He knows it's not appropriate to do so whilst you're in the helicopter after camping out for an extraction, so he always bides his time listening to whatever spiel Soap is on, leg bouncing impatiently up and down whilst he waits to land. All he wants to do is to take you to medical for your immediate clear. He does this because it eases his own heart and mind, the panic that settles in when something could be wrong, everyone knows that he does this because he cares about you, one day when he has the cohrage he'd like your dogtag to be engraved with Riley on it rather than your maiden name that's currently occupying the slot. He spends hours laid on the bed in his barracks with you, just burning your face, your smile, the scent of your definitely not regulation soap into his memories. He doesn't want to lose you too. He can't lose you, not until you're retired and it's old age that gets to you both. You spend hours tangled together on and off base, just basking in the company of each other. Neither of you fond of using words, afraid they'd ruin the temporary serenity of your nights. He thinks you're drop dead gorgeous all the time, but nights where you're not on edge and you're content with eating a shitty store bought pizza and napping with him, you've never looked prettier.
Simon knows you're strong, he understands and knows you can do what he does whilst simultaneously in heels and on your period. He never makes you feel less than him, always bragging about the things you do on missions.
There's been too many times where he's scolded you for close calls, like that time you accidentally left the safety on your pistol and tried to shoot someone, allowing them the time and space to get a harsh kick to your stomach and knee. He watched you beat the man to death with your fists for winding you, but it should've never happened in the first place. There was another time where the communications got jammed between you and base and leavingyou stranded, badly out of position, coming under fire for a full 20 minutes, you were incredibly lucky that the three bullets that hit you only scraped your thigh. He delicstrly traces the scars left there as a reminder that you're capable enough to deal with these things, that your training and sheer determination to live pulls you through, but also to remind himself that you're only human. You live and breathe the same oxygen as him and if he wants you to be his 'blushing bride' he'd need to be ready to catch you if you fell.
So when a mission goes sideways and he's left exhausted carrying your seemingly lifeless body aside from your breathing and your pulse into one of the extraction helicopters himself, hands gripping your skin uncharacteristically in a harsher way as if to beg you to stay here on the mortal plane with him. He's angry, fuming even, that you would push yourself past the breaking point on a mission. He knows their target would've escaped if you hadn't done what you did, but you were told to fall back, told to leave it and months of work from multiple teams spent tracing this man's loaction only for the mission to be a bust. If he knew what you were going to do he'd have pulled you away himself.
He thinks you're reckless and stupid. You took an amazing shot, he'll commend you for that, 100 metres down range and you got enough of a shot to render the target still valuable, currently being questioned in an undisclosed location. Yet, that shot cost him you, when the shot was fired your location unknowingly got revealed. When you hit the shot you turned to him with a smile, only for a bomb to drop and your body to end up mangled and crushed beneath the weight of rubble. The scream that leaves his body being the last thing you hear as the rubble covers you. He desperately clawed at the bricks and dirt, his attempt at dragging you out of the mess he let you create, covering him in the settling dust from the concrete.
When Simon is finally able to rip your body out from underneath it, he feels the whole weight of the situation finally on his shoulders. You're not conscious, which he supposes is a lot better than if he pulled you out and you were dead. He instantly your pulse, two fingers checking your neck and wrist to be sure. he's relieved when he finds that you're still alive and breathing, for now. He grios you tighter to himself, knwoing full well when you wake up you're going to have a nasty concussion, steels himself for the journey back to base. He has to move, now. He's carried you for long distances before, just to prove he can do it, but your life is in his hands this time.
"Yer not dyin' 'ere." He carries you in a crude variation of bridal style all the way to the helicopter, he doesn't dare let go. When he gets there he gently loads you onto one of those shitty stretchers, fastening you to the ground so you can't get hurt badly during the travel. He has an oxygen mask covering your fsce, happy that you're still breathing. He finally tries to asses the damage, you're bleeding slightly from gashes all over your arms. At least two of your ribs look fractured, and your left leg is completely crushed. He swallows thickly as Price is frantically arranging a specialist medical tesm for when they land. He sits directly next to you, Soap and Gsz talking his ear off about something he doesn't give a shit about.
The hours go by in a blur, all he can think of is you smiling back at him as he screams for you to get down or to cover your head. It plays over and over in his head whildt the doctors tend to you. He can barely even think about leaving the ward, running on empty until he gets the news you're ok. He can't bear leave you alone, not when he allowed this to happen. When he's alloeed into the room he looks at the amount of bandages plastered on your skin, the shitty cadt encased around you leg that you're definitely going to beg the doctors to allow you to take off early because it itches, then frown when they don't let you.
He takes your hand gently, rubbing his fingers across the soft skin, he's always loved that your hands which do the same work as him always managed to stay softer than his, probably those expensive creams you use on an evening. He's just glad he can feel the warmth of it. He looks at you, in the white hospital gown, not at all the white dress he's imagined seeing you in so many times.
It takes three agonising and sleepless days for you to wake up. Body finally feeling rested enough to even dare open your eyes. The bright white lights of the sterile room blinding you, you can't have died you think, and you're pulled back to reality when you notice a weight on your left side. A man with a scarred face, sleeping upright in a chair whilst holding your hand. He senses you stir and is awake in seconds. A light in his eyes that he hasn't had for days returning.
"Do i know you?" You ask quietly. You don't recognise this man at all, so youre confused as to why you're in his company.
"Don't mess aroun' with me Darlin' please." His voice is quiet, and youre just even more confused. You notice how he scans your face in utter disbelief and you stare at him
A doctor comes in to check on you, and all Simon can think about is how you forgot who he is. He knew you didn't really protect your head when the bomb dropped, but he wasn't expecting any amnesia at all, a slight fogginess maybe, but not the complete removal of him from your memories.
regularly scheduled reminder that I hate AI, I don't consent to any of my art being used for AI whether that's for chatbots or generative AI, I've never used ChatGPT or Claude or Gemini or Grok or whatever the fuck in my life and never will and I do think that makes me a better person than people who do. also if you're a "fan" of mine and willingly use AI, I think you're actively making the choice to hand over all brain function to companies owned by billionaires who hate you and humanity, which makes you pathetic and embarrassing.
Mercenary! Simon Riley who's never really had a moral compass, someone who would rather consider himself to be a sell sword than an oath bearer, like those fancy armour wearing knights. Anything for a bit of coin to line his pockets. When you're as known (read feared) as him it doesn't really matter what you do and don't do, nobody bats an eye, too scared to. so it's not really a surprise when he ends up taking a commission to capture a princess from a neighbouring kingdom. he's not bothered when you kick and scream, and he's definitely bothered when he carries you on his shoulder the sheer strength of his arms makes it feel like you're wrapped in those steel bars you imagine in the dungeons of your palace. at first he was gruff, quiet even, not muttering a word to you, yet after days of being carried, tied up to camp and then back up bright and early you wear him down. he's not even bothered once you offer him a higher amount of gold, tells you to "try again little dove," but when you offer your own hand in marriage, fat tears streaming down your face as you beg him so prettily to let you go he figures he could settle down in a nice estate out of the way and it wouldn't be so bad. to have land and a wife to protect, things he never really cared enough about to want yet now that he's sat and thought about it, he has enough money for you to be comfortable with your silks, and your frilly gowns and your elaborate jewellery that he really couldn't give two shits about when you offered it to him. he wants to taste you, defile you, wonders how your pretty little face does something other than scowl at him. in his own twisted way he's completely and utterly enamoured with you. when you finally get married at the altar, it becomes apparent that he does have an oath to keep, one to you.
Simon Riley who loves that you hate his guts. Whenever youre in the same room as him your blood begins to boil, he has no idea why you don't like him, you just genuinely seem to want to claw his face to pieces, what he understands well enough, is that you and he were close, then all of a sidden you were putting a distance between the two of you. When he gives you orders, you still follow them, but the compliance is never without some bite or a smartass comment, he's not sure why he's attracted to you, he thinks you're such a brat after all, but there's something in the way you bare your fangs at him that reminds him of the wandering cat back at his apartment off base. The kitten that always comes in for food and warmth but is so quick to put up a wall of defenses and hiss that you'd think he'd been caught poisoning the milk.
He loves that smart mouth of yours, talking back to him, a commanding officer, if it was anyone else he'd have had them sectioned and probably sent off base. He notices how you're all smiles for everyone else, laughter so loud and pure it fills his chest with an indescribable warmth. You never put up a complaint when Price asks you about something, you laugh at Soaps jokes, hell you even banter with Laswell, but Ghost? You act like want to gauge his eyes out. Other members of the 141 unit laugh at his misfortune, Soap and Gaz doubled over laughing about how their lieutenant has a crush on a woman who 'genuinely wants to spill his guts.'
When you're assigned a cleaning duty in the barracks after having some loose lipped phrases thrown at Simon, all of which were ever so unfortunately overheard by Price, you just continue to curse him out under your breath whilst you're sweeping. A slam of the door of the room you're cleaning pulls you out of your thoughts and you look up to see Simon stood right in front of you. You roll your eyes.
"What do you want Ghost?" the use of his callsign sounding very similar to a slur when it leaves your throat. He offers no response but a small grunt and you feel your blood beginning to boil over, the once calm atmosphere of the room now seemingly filled with a red mist. "This is my fucking problem with you. You're so damn rude, barely listening or responding to people. You should be considered to be too quiet to be ranked so highly because it is so frustrsting trying to understand if you know what I said, and I can't even see your facial reactions to information because of your shitty balaclava-"
"Shut up." He says firmly. Your face seems to form a more extreme scowl. You roll your eyes.
"You're quiet enough for the both of us." You mutter under your breath. You turn your back to him, you couldn't give two shits, sooner yoh finish cleaning the sooner you can go home to get into bed.
"Heard that. Sent by Price, somethin' about wantin' us workin' out our differences."
"There's nothing to work out." You stare him down as he takes a step closer to you.
"Clearly is. You don't seem to like me very much."
You fold your arms, the task of sweeping long forgotten. "What of it? Not like it's bothering anyone. Doubt you're bothered at all, your eyes are always shifty when you're too close to me."
He sighs, realising it's going to be a long back and forth between the two of you if he doesn't steer the conversation in a different direction. He remembers when you used to seek his company out of everyone's on the task force, at least till a mission went awry and he was hospitalised for weeks due to a bullet lodged in his shoulder. "Darlin' if this is because of some guilt you have for missing one angle on a clear on your first mission with our team-"
"You nearly died Simon." For once you don't spit his name like you're drolling an oily rag, the air in the room shifts. You're no longer angry, you feel the twisting feeling that's gnawed away at your stomach and made you so angry at him for taking the bullet that you should've taken. You haven't ever been able to meet his eyes.
"Didn't."
You cross the space between you, just about ready to slap him. "The doctors had you in surgery for hours."
"No, Darl wasn't surgery. That wa' Price askin' for 'em to take longer, wa' fully awake whilst he told 'em to make it take longer so you can understan' the consequences of not fully clearing. Bullet just scraped my shoulder." He starts to take off his shirt to show you the scar so you'd believe him. "Hurt like a bitch, but didn't nearly die at all."
"Put your shirt back-" He grabs your hand and forces you to trace the scar it left behind on his shoulder. You feel the subtle bump as you study the rest of the scars he has, none of them as fresh as the one you gave him though, a lot more faded.
"I'm right here Darl, not goin' anywhere." He gently puts your hand on his heartbeat, so you can feel how real it is.
Simon Riley who doesn't get mad if you're not feeling great, you started your period and he's well aware that it makes you grumpy because you're in a lot of pain with cramps and the chronic back pain. He just wants you to feel better.
He doesn't even react when mess of the sticky redness appears between in the middle of the night, getting onto the bedsheets, staining them. He knows you're absolutely mortified, he just carries you to the bathroom and begins to fix it for you, he puts a wash load on, not caring that its the middle of the night, he hands you a fresh shirt of his, and a different set of your pants, helping you change into them, reassuring you that it's ok, kissing your temple and forehead gently.
"it's alright baby.. I see blood all the time at work, doesn't bother me.." You still can't get over the fact that it appeared early so it was out of nowhere and has ruined the sheets. He senses this, "Not ruined sweet'art, it'll come out." He keeps consoling you, pulls you into his lap. You let him hold you as the feelings of shame die down.
"Si.. what time is it?" You ask him with a yawn. The shock wearing off and allowing your tiredness to creep back in.
"Think it's about five. Wan' go back to bed luv?" He asks, he think he knows you want to go to bed but not to sleep, just to cuddle for a bit. "Let me get those new sheets on for you." He gently puts you on the floor, kisses your cheek and then starts making the bed. You stand up to help but he gives you a stern look and you stay put. Once the new and fresh sheets are on you're lifted up and plopped down. He turns the tv on and hands you the remote, letting you pick whatever you want.
Simon Riley who's a gentle giant outside of his work life, especially when he's staying with you. He loves your place, a cosy little cottage that's nestled away far enough away from the neighbouring city to be quiet but it's definitely not rural enough to be considered too far away from civilisation. It's settled in a nice medium ground. What he doesn't love however, is how far down he has to duck to get around it. There's been more than one occasion where he's banged his head on a solid wood door frame and instinctively you've come to kiss it better each time.
He treats you like you could break, like you're made of glass so fine even a slight breeze could cause it to shatter, essentially because he knows himself better than anyone, and knows the things he's capable of. He knows what he's done with his hands and that those actions are things that he never wants to bring home, he never ever wants to bring it to you. When he's not in his mask, he's not the revered Ghost of task force 141, he's just Simon Riley, and to you, he's just Simon.
His touches are gentle, hands carefully placed so that he isn't gripping you too harshly. He allows himself to be soft with you, cuddling you, kissing your plush lips like you're a delicate flower who's petals will wilt if you're too rough. He would never lay his hands on you, not after what his own old man did to his mother and how he broke her, he could never dim your light like that. Even the thought of it twists his stomach into a painful knot. Never in his life has Simon smiled as much as he has when he's with you.
Textbook princess treatment is what Simon provides. When the flowers bloom in the well loved garden you tend to, he cautiously asks if he can pluck a few, just to weave them into your hair, tucks them behind your ears just to see you smile. His lockscreen is a picture of one of those occasions, but he'd never admit that even when you confront him with his phone in your hands showing it one day.
When it comes to your sex life with Simon he's so tender, hands touching places so delicstely with his giant calloused hands, he always acts like he wants to commit your body to memory for when he's away. Desperate to remember each curve and dipof you, kissed every mole or blemish you think you have. You can't complain, he's gentle, you always get to have at least one orgasm, but his treatment of you feels like he believes you're a porcelain doll, going to crack and snap at any and every touch, and quite frankly it pisses you off, you just wish he wasn't so hesitant and careful witb his touches, wishing he'd just take something from you rather than dance around you with fleeting or careful touches.
He overhears you talking to a friend about it on the phone, military level silence coming into play whilst he hears your conversation. He doesn't want to spook you after all.
"Don't get me wrong, it's amazing, I can't really complain.. it's just he seems uncertain about placing his hands on me.." You trail off. "No, I'm not asking for him to throw me around and manhandle me. I just wish he was more.. I dont know how to word it.. assertive?" You let out a sigh. "I don't want him to be aggressive with me but I also don't want him to view me as something like a prized possession you dare not to breathe on."
After your call is finished he goes back to the sofa and waits for you to come down to watch your show together. You notice how his touches are a bit more firm and present, rather than the feather light ones from before. There's more confidence in his touches, more of an assertiveness and you think maybe he's just gotten a slight bit more comfortable with you.
Simon Riley who loves to pamper you and make sure you're well taken care of. It took him about six months to convince you to move in with him and let him take care of you. His exorbitant wages weren't getting spent on anything unless he really needed it, so any disposable income he has he loves to spend on you. He's a simple man, loving to spoil you, he thinks all men should do that for their partners and they really wouldn't struggle with what to do in the future.
When he's home he plans your dates so you don't have to lift a finger. The new restaurant that opened whilst he was deployed? There's a reservation with your name on it. He spends a long time helping you shopping, considering it quality time.
Even though you have a job, he doesn't demand a penny of it towards the bills, groceries or even the furniture you both picked out together in an IKEA. He doesn't even want you to lift a perfectly manicured finger as he builds it himself, putting on a show with his skilled hands.
"Si, you spoil me." You mention one evening whilst you're in his arms watching a movie you told him he needed to watch after he mentioned he'd never seen it.
"I don't spoil ya at all. If I was 'ere more ya'd get so much more." You don't dare to question him why. You don't need to. He does this because its his way of loving you, and you settle back against him in a comfortable silence.
He's never asked for you to pay anything back. Hell, hes never even asked you to pay for anything. The only times you've ever been able to get away with buying stuff with your own money is when its for his birthday or for Christmas as you wanted to surprise him. He keeps tabs on what you spend on his card, he just wants to make sure you're spending his money and not your own, so it'd ruin the surprises of his gifts if he knew.
Simon Riley has a fixation for you sitting in his lap. he feels the comfort of your warmth, your breath and your weight on top of him and it settles his head. calming the storm of thoughts that he's constantly burdened by.
watching youtube or doomscrolling on your phone? youre in his lap. he makes a passing comment about some of the things you watch, or he'll even watch it with you.
just got out of the shower? he'll dry, brush and maybe braid your hair whilst you're sat in his lap.
if you're sat on the sofa watching tv, you're sprawled across his lap.
He loves to have a hand placed on you, it grounds him to you and he's grateful that you stick around even when he's away for weeks on end without contact.
his favourite thing to do is have you sit in his lap facing him, he can see your face that way, can see what he comes home to every time he's been on a shit mission. he loves when you rest your arms on his shoulders and just talk to him.
