So thanks to @nightunite this simple concept has absolutely spiraled into something bigger, so instead of having a pinned masterlist that is 15 miles long, I'm making a more condensed one here. Each boy has a different reader that has their own 'call sign', but they are all part of the same universe.
Simon and his reader are the pacing vehicle to how everyone gets introduced, but once they're introduced, I want to try to explore the different relationships.
Please know I am very open for asks, I crave them. Like Minerals
My Hard Limits are still as followed; Piss, Scat, Animal Cruelty, Knife/Blood Play, Rape (cnc toes the line), Wanting to do Actual Serious Harm to your Partner. (This list is likely to expand as I think of more things)
Neither enemies to lovers nor slow burn but a secret third thing called Schrödinger's intimacy. We are in love and we are not in love do NOT open that lid I swear to God.
the oldest reblogs for this post that i can find are from january 2nd of 2013. this can has been getting kicked around tumblr for almost 13œ years now
So...this is the second part to In Da Clerb...and umm...well I'm 99% sure this is not what anyone was expecting. I started out thinking it was going to go one way and it went the complete opposite direction.
Fair warning; Ghost.
MPS Masterlist
Ghost & Thimble masterlist
Actions had consequences. Simon knew that. Yet it hadnât stopped him from leading you onto the dance floor, or pulling you close. It certainly didnât deter him from finally getting his hands on your body and feeling your nails scrape against his back as you held onto his shirt. Â
He wasnât thinking of consequences when he had leaned in and-No, he wasnât thinking, and clearly neither was Gaz. Â
Over the time they had worked together, Simon had seen Gaz learn and adapt. Heâd gone from always biting for a chance to prove himself to taking his time, looking for an opening to use to get him the results he wanted. Â
And by the looks of it, this bar fight was not fitting into the category of âexploiting openings for your own benefitâ. At least not from where Simon was quickly approaching. Having the height and build made it easier for him and Price to cut through the crowd that was starting to form a ring around the fighting pair. Their sole objective was to get to Gaz before the bouncers could. Well Priceâs was. Simon had the added goal of getting to you after you had darted off straight for the action. Â
Because of course you did. Â
He understood that this âDoveyâ person was your best friend. Heâd heard plenty of stories about the escapades the two of you had gone on. He could even appreciate the support you had given in each otherâs lives. But your mother had a point about how you had blinders on when it came to this best friend. He doubted that sheâd approve of you diving head first into this kind of mess. Â
Thankfully as they got closer Simon could see Soap closing in from his other side, the Scot giving him a brief nod of acknowledgement. He didnât know where Rudy and Alejandro were but worst case theyâd just phone them from outside. He really doubted theyâd be allowed to stay. Especially when just as he and Price broke through the last of the onlookers Gazâs opponent took a wide clearly drunken swing at him. Â
It would have been easy enough for Gaz to side step it. To let the man stumble past him and into the pair of probable goons that were coming up behind him. But for whatever reason Gaz wasnât stepping aside, instead he was leaning in to deliver his own blow. Even from the sidelines Simon could tell that Gaz had the harder hit, the other man stumbling back as blood ran from his nose. Â
The stunned shock that followed was enough for Simon to come up from behind and grab the drunk, arm coming around tight across his chest to keep him from moving as he put pressure behind his knees. Didnât need him trying to rear up on him. While he was doing that Price was getting in between them, probably giving Gaz either the âpissed COâ or the âdisappointed COâ glare. Â
Simon couldnât fully hear what Price was saying to Gaz, too busy looking for where you were and keeping an eye on Friend One and Two of the drunkard. They both looked pissed, but thankfully before they could step in Soap, Ale, and Rudy were sliding in front of them, making a barrier to try to keep things from escalating. Unfortunately the drunkard in Simonâs grip didnât feel the same way, giving the shit he was spouting out. It was enough to have Gaz lunging at him, only stopped by Price physically stepping in the way to grab him. Â
Finaly the bouncers had finally made their way to the commotion, pushing past people and shouting to break it up. Nice of them to step in once all the hard work had been done. He hadnât wanted to release the guy he had a grip on, but he also hadnât wanted to make further trouble as the clubâs security told him to let go. Whatever let him be their problem now. He had other things to worry about. Namely you and wherever you had gone to. Â
Unfortunately it didnât seem like he was going to be allowed to do that either. He actually almost started his own fight when one of the bouncers, a man that almost matched his stature, wouldnât let him move any direction other than towards the exit. Even when they were chest to chest and Simon considered dislocating a shoulder and ripping his head off. Man had guts at last. The only thing to save him was Price grabbing his shoulder, near ordering him to back off to rendezvous outside. Price still had to tell him twice before Simon allowed himself to be pulled away.Â
Despite the fact that he wouldn't be able to hear at all inside of the club, Simon was still calling your cellphone, feeling impatience eat at him as it rang and rang. It went to voicemail as soon as they stepped outside. Â
Fucking Christ. All Simon had wanted was to take his wife out to go watch her have a nice time. Was it really so hard to ask for?Â
He didnât focus on the group as they started to ask Gaz what the hell had happened, instead standing a few feet away as he tried to call you again. Why werenât you picking up? He knew you never let your phone die since it was what was operating your CGM and pod. Would you have stayed inside? But then you would have felt the phone vibrating. Â
With a growl he was punching out messages as quickly has his thumbs would let him. Each and every one of them only read as delivered, not a single one read. Â
He almost wheeled around to lay into Gaz himself, the frustration of not knowing where you were burning hot in his chest. This felt different than when watching someone night stand he barely remember try to mess with you. That had been a low simmering annoyance, a frustration at his past coming to bite you. This was white hot fury at the thought of losing you and leaving you to fend for yourself. Â
The only thing saving Gaz from Simon was a familiar voice cussing someone out with a ferocity that Simon only knew when he really tested your patience. He didnât even wait to see if anyone else followed him as he stalked towards the sound. Rounding a corner of group of gossiping girls, Simon started seeing red. Â
The bloodied nose bastard was there, screaming into your face as you stood between him and some woman. He had your arm in his grip, and given the twist of your mouth, he wasnât being gentle either. Before Simon could shout, to tell the man to let go of you, you were spitting in his face. Simon could see your lips moving, undoubtedly insulting the man, but his hearing faded out as he watched as your captor reeled back, fist coming up to clearly swing down on you. Â
You both could see the intent, Simon watched as you tensed for the blow. He had to insure that it wouldnât land. There was nothing more satisfying that feeling the bastardâs cheek give under his fist. Actually that was a lie, the second hit he followed up with was probably better, as was the third. Before he could land a fourth hit in though, he felt arms wrapping around one of his. Head whipping to the side he was ready to snarl out for whoever it was to back off, only to come face to face with you. Â
It was like a bucket of cold water had been poured into his veins. Simon always knew he wasnât good enough for you, but now he had just given you a front row seat as to why. Simon wasnât a good man. He had too much of his father in him, and it went beyond having the same build and eyes. Simon knew that sooner or later youâd see the ugly that lived under his skin. Simon knew that itâd drive you away one day.Â
But Ghost could live with that ugliness. Some days he communed with it. It had been his constant companion, and it always would be. Actions had consequences after all.Â
Ghost secured the enemy, keeping the man immobilized on the ground, though he probably wasnât going to be much of a threat now what with the way he was groaning on the ground. Heâd wait for Price and let the captain decide extract. He didnât pay much attention to the civilians, instead on the look out for any incomings. Â
Price and the others were quick to join him, and the report Ghost gave was short and to the point. He didnât really want to pay attention to whatever you were saying. He knew what had happened, he didnât need to hear it again. He tensed as he noticed the targetâs companions zeroing in on them, and it rippled out to the rest of the group. Ghost didnât react when out of the corner of his eyes he could see you step behind him. It didnât matter to him. Â
Ghost watched with detached interest as Price stepped forward to try to deescalate the situation. Made sense, none of them were really fitted for a scuffle, though it seemed pretty obvious to him at least that they had the manpower. He barely felt the sting in his knuckles as his hands flexed. Regardless of what he wanted, it seemed that Price was making it work. Ghost didnât want to release the target he had, but the captainâs stare made it clear that it was an order, and he wasnât going to repeat it. Fine. Â
There was a cruel satisfaction at tossing the man to his cohorts and getting a good look at the damage he had done. There was no way he was seeing the next morning without a swollen face and raccoon eyes. Good. He fell into line as Price ordered for all of them to file out, ignoring the threats that were being shouted behind them. Â
A bunch of MPâs, big whoop. Ghost was sure that Price would be able to wave it away, what with them disturbing the peace first. Â
It wasnât until they were back at the vehicles that Ghost realized three things. One, the woman from before was with the group now, eyes wary as they darted from him to the others. Two, this woman was going to be going to yours, and three apparently you thought he was going with you too. That was a negative. He didnât need to go back to the base house. Â
The others must have seen something in his face, because they were stepping between the two of you before you could insist otherwise. Soap was quick to insist that Ghost go with him, and he could hear Alejandro say something about driving âthe ladies homeâ. Heâd be a better fit anyways. The Vaquero had softer edges anyways, made him better with the civilians. Â
Ghost followed Soap in his truck, following the sergeant back to his apartment off base. Thankfully the man didnât ask any questions. Instead he simply offered Ghost a bottle from his fridge. Not that he felt like drinking it. It dulled the senses. Plus he didnât feel like sleeping that night, and another beer wouldnât help that. Â
The next morning Ghost knew he was going to need to at least go to your house on the base to pick up his things. He waited until he was sure youâd be out of the house, better to make it a quick in and out mission. Make it like he was never there. Who would want to live with a ghost anyway? Â
Only he must not have known you as well has he thought he did, because you were still there when he stepped through the threshold. Concern tugged at a part of him seeing the bags under your eyes as you sat on the couch, watching the front door. You couldnât have waited for him. Â
Ghost didnât say a word as he walked by you, ignoring whatever you were saying. Get his stuff and go. In and out. No need to make you live with a monster. Ghostâs office was always tidy, heâd just grab the important things. The important files. Not the shelves of kits you had gotten for him, or the photos you had insisted on putting in frames. His clothes he could replace. The book you had insisted on lending to him wasnât that interesting, regardless of how far the bookmark was. Â
Ghost just had to get his paperwork and go. Â
Ghost was stopped by you blocking the front door. Â
âMove.â Â
âNo.â Â
Ghost could move you. Itâd be simply enough. He knew he could lift you. And yet he couldnât make himself do that. Â
âI said move.â Â
âI said no.â Â
There was a bruise on your arm, the shape of a manâs hand already turning a dark purple color. It made Ghostâs stomach twist. Â
His stomach never twisted like that. Â
âSimon-â Â
âDonât.â Â
Ghostâs voice felt like a bullet leaving his mouth. He expected to see you flinch from him. You didnât. Â
Youâve never flinched from him. Â
âSimon.â Â
Ghost watched you as you watched him. Why didnât you flinch?Â
âPlease.â Â
There wasnât any fear in your face as you reached out to him. You didnât hesitate to touch his hand with scraped and swollen knuckles, taking grip of the bag handle he had.Â
âDonât go.â Â
Later as you both stood in the kitchen, Ghost watched as you dabbed at his knuckles with ointment. It was silent work, a task you put all of your focus into. Â
No this is not part two of In Da Clerb. I have no regrets.
This takes place before Christmas. I giggle knowing Thimble would call Simon out for his taste in fashion.
Simon and Thimble Masterpost
MPS Masterpost
Desperate times called for desperate measures. Thatâs what you told yourself as you marched into the main offices on the base. It was for the good of everyone that you completed this mission. You werenât confident in your success but you had to try. So with squared shoulders and a stiff upper lip you confidently breezed into the office that had been quartered off for the 141, laying eyes on your target. At least you thought it was your target. Â
The man sitting at the desk was the same build as Simon. He had the same hunch in his shoulders as he sat, looking over a laptop. Same dark brown eyes that seemed to bore holes into whatever he was looking at as he glanced your way. But instead of the dirty blond hair and black medical mask you had grown used to, the man at the desk wore a balaclava with a skull printed or maybe sewn onto the upper half. You suppose anyone could find the sight frightening, run the risk of making someone scream. It seemed like the man at the desk was preparing for that as you opened your mouth. Â
âWhy the fuck do you look like an edgelord?âÂ
âWhat the âell are you doinâ here?â Â
It was good to know that it was indeed one Simon Riley you were questioning, familiar voice assuring that werenât insulting a random man who decided wearing a human skull was the peak of fashion. No instead you were simply married to one. Â
âI asked you first.â Â
âAnd I askâd second.â Â
âThatâs not how it works.âÂ
âIt is in my office.âÂ
God could the man be any more annoying? He acted like any time you asked him something it was an affront to him and god.  Rolling your eyes you deposited your pay load onto the desk; one plain black lunchbox. Youâd of thought youâd placed a bomb there with the way he eyed it warily. Fucking men. Â
âWâatâs this?â Â
âA lunch bag.â Â
âI can see that.â Â
âThen youâve figured it out Sherlock.â Â
At least you could get some satisfaction knowing you made Simon roll his eyes as often as he made you roll yours. You watched as he gingerly opened the bag, looking down at what you had packed in it. Again, like he was handling an IED, he picked out the things, setting them on his desk in a neat line. Â
First an apple, then an orange, a bag of trail mix, and finally the tupperware. Â
âWâats this?â Â
âEggplant lasagna. Made it last night.â Â
Youâd spent the better part of the day prior roasting the eggplant slices so they wouldnât be slimy. Hours were spent rendering down the mushrooms, the peppers, and onions to add flavor to the marinara sauce. Youâd started prep the night before soaking white beans so they can be added in. You calculated all the ways to add protein and fiber so ensure that it would be fulfilling and nutritious. You were rather proud of it. Â
ââM not eating it.â Â
E-fucking-scuse you. Â
âYes you are.â Â
Simon looked up at you like youâd insulted him when you told him that. It was like he couldnât believe you had the audacity to tell him what he was going to do. You had not only the audacity, but you were going to force it down his gullet if you had to. Â
âWhy would I do that?â  Â
âBecause that you do to my bathroom on a near weekly basis is diabolical.â Â
It honestly truly was. Any and all windows had to be opened to air out the place and at least one can of air freshener had to be deployed. So many scented candles had already fallen in the line of duty, and you were over it. It stopped nowÂ
It seemed that your restroom related distress didnât ruffle Simon in the least, what with the way he leaned back into his chair, arm crossed in front of his chest. Â
âNot âappening.â Â
No one would blame you if you made yourself a widow, surly no one would. Theyâd all understand. But if you got caught you wouldnât be able to keep the boys...Â
Taking a deep breath you decided to let go of plans of any mariticide and instead attempt some reverse psychology.  Entering into a silent battle of wills with Simon you tried to stare him down, to not back down first. Or at least make it look like you were trying to win it. You knew you were never going to out stare the master of staring. The man really did have a problem. Â
Once enough time had passed for it to be believable, you gave a big sigh, making a production of putting everything back into the lunch bag. You let Simon bask in what he thought was victory. Oh if he knew, if only he knew. Â
âFine.â Â
You made sure that the bag was shut and safely in your hands before taking the shot. Â
âIâll just find someone who can appreciate your wifeâs home cooking. Iâm sure Johnny would like it.â Â
Oh the way Simon seemed to go slack in disbelief was delicious. Utterly delicious. You couldnât bask in it for long, turning away from your slack jawed husband so he couldnât see the smirk on your face. Youâd just made it to the door, starting to pull it open when it was pushed shut by a force behind you.Â
âGive me the bag.â Â
âNope. You blew your chance.âÂ
Turning around you leaned against the door, making sure to hide the bag behind your back. Simon loomed over you, skull mask boring down. It could be likened to an angel of death. You could understand how it might strike terror in the hearts of those on the battlefield. But this wasnât his battlefield. Â
âYou would be much more intimidating if I didnât know you struggle to shit.â Â
You couldnât stop yourself from laughing at Simonâs silence. Giggles spilled from your lips and they didnât cease even when the man leaned in closer to you. In fact if anything they only got worse. Â
That was the price to pay for being known. Â
Before anything else could happen the door behind you jarred, someone on the other side trying to open it, just for Simonâs weight to keep it from moving. Much to your delight a familiar accent spoke out. Â
âUh-eveâythinâ alrighâ LT?â Â
Good olâ Johnny. Right when you needed him. Â
You didnât let Simon answer, instead turning back to the door and trying to open it yourself. You had an easier time as Simon actually let you, the man taking a step back so he wasnât directly breathing down your neck. Â
The Scott seemed surprised to see you as the door opened, brows raising as he glanced over you and the man behind you. You ignored the questioning look, instead side stepping to let the man come into the office space. Â
âHello Johnny.â Â
âHiya Thimble...ah, whaâcha doinâ here?â Â
Oh poor Johnny. He seemed so confused and you were only going to drag him further into the middle of this. Â
âI was just dropping off lunch for Mr. Edgelord over here but it seems he-â Â
âHeâs going to take his lunch and Mrs. Edgelord is going home.â Â
You couldnât help but pout when the bag was plucked from your hands. So mean of him to take advantage of an opening. Though you did reach your objective. Which meant time for you to go home. You had fried chicken waiting for you.Â
With a quick bid goodbye you left Simon at the mercy of Johnny and his inquisition on why Simon got meals and he didnât. Â
Maybe tomorrow youâd drop off something for him as well. Â
Mean girls, Goggles, Goggles, did I mention Goggles? Also Simon Riley's eyes.
Out of all the places you thought youâd be on a Saturday night, the middle of a busy club was not one of them. Yet there you were. Though you could admit that you were having more fun than you had originally anticipated. You hadnât known what to expect when the news that friends from Mexico were visiting. It wasnât as if Simon was the most forthcoming about any of his past experiences, and Johnny tended to exaggerate things. Alejandro and Rudolfo settled somewhere in the middle of no information and the tall tales you had been told. Though given the easy smile and corny kiss on the back of your hand âAleâ had given you upon introductions, it did bring to question how much did Johnny really exaggerate? Â
When the suggestion of clubbing had been made you hadnât thought you were included in the affair. It had come from Kyle while they all lounged in the living room after dinner the night before. You and Simon had been washing up when he had nudged you, catching your attention as you dried a plate. Â
âHmm?âÂ
âWanna come?â Â
For a moment you hadnât known what he was talking about, just letting the sounds of the conversation wash over you. When it clicked what was asked you had looked over your shoulder to find the rest of the men waiting for your answer. How was the best way to politely say that you would rather file your taxes in a foreign language? Given how you didnât drink, clubbing became an uninteresting attempt at an anthropological study of those who imbibed a little too much. Â
âOh I wouldn't want to impose on a boyâs night or anything.â Â
You must have been imagining the disappointed look in Simonâs eyes at your decline. You certainly didnât have to imagine the protests coming from the living room. Â
âCome on lass, ye wouldnâ be a bother-â Â
âYeah itâll be fun-â Â
âYou donât have to but-âÂ
âWe need to thank you for the delicious meal-â Â
The clamor of it all hadnât sounded like polite insistence. Though Alejandro certainly knew how to drive a bargain, given how he seemed to know exactly how to catch your interest. Â
âYou canât deny Rudy and I the chance to dance with you, weâve seen your salsa linda.â Â
âHow did you-â Â
âGhost sent us a video.â Â
It was a miracle you didnât pull a muscle in your neck the way your head had snapped to look at Simon, who was very intentionally not looking at you while he had been putting plates away. Too bad for him he couldnât control the blood flow to his ears or hide the rosy hue of them. Â
âHe did did he?â Â
He must have known that ignoring the situation wouldnât have worked for him, instead choosing to take a nonchalant tone. Â
âYouâre good. Figured people should see.â Â
Oh. You hadnât been expecting that. Suddenly your own face had been feeling warm and the dishes very much needed attending to. It didnât matter that your husband had sent a video of you dancing to his friends. It was completely normal. Nothing out of the ordinary about it. The not shyness you were feeling was only overshadowed by the feeling of all the eyes on you as the men had waited for your response. Â
âFine. Guess I can tag along if youâre all so keen on it.â Â
And that was how you had gotten talked into going clubbing on a Saturday night. Thankfully it had only taken hours of doom scrolling social media, one almost botched DIY sewing hack, and an afternoon nap to get you there. But now that you were? You could admit you were having a good time. Between Rudy and Ale, youâd barely had enough time to get a sip of water, let alone be pestered into drinking anything harder. It was fun to be twirled and passed between the two as they seemed to skip from one dance to the next.Â
Of course Simon had chosen to stay at whatever table Kyle had managed to secure, keeping watch along with John while the two sergeants had disappeared somewhere. Last you had seen between a hammerlock and a side wave Johnny had been doing something with a woman who seemed vaguely familiar. You would have called it dancing but it seemed much too aggressive and Johnnyâs chest was seriously being groped. Thankfully he seemed to be into it, possibly? Honestly you couldnât have helped with how you had been whisked away. Â
Eventually your dance partners let you have a break after a decent amount of begging for a chance to catch your breath. You were certainly getting it as you waited at the bar for the busy bartender to notice you standing there. You couldnât blame them, it was packed with patrons who wanted a drink that wasnât technically free. It was just a shame that it was really taking so long. You could feel the giddy joy starting to fizzle, until it completely vanished with someone pressing up against your back. Before you could firmly suggest that they step away with an elbow to the gut, two arms were caging you in, a familiar voice filling your ear. Â
âYou doinâ alrighâ?â Â
The way your heart was beating in your chest was simply because you were out of shape. No other reason. Nothing to do with the solid warmth you could feel as you instinctually leaned back.Â
âOf course. Why you ask?â Â
âSeem more red than usual.â Â
The on-brand bluntness made you laugh. Right, this was Simon. Usual everyday Simon. Â
âItâs hot in here. Just gotta get something to drink...â Â
Your words trailed off as you turned to look at your husband. Somehow he was even closer than you thought, head ducked to be able to speak into your ear. It practically brought you face to face. The only thing stopping you from feeling his breath was the medical mask he insisted on wearing before and after the bouncer had cleared him. The way he was looking at you reminded you of the night you had accidentally seen his face. Like he was trying to see every thought inside of your head. Maybe he would have been able to tell you what was in there, because at that moment it just felt like it was white noise and cotton. Â
âWhatever the lady wants is on my tab.â Â
âWha-â Â
You turned back around to see that the bartender had finally approached you, drawn by the cash Simon so casually held between two fingers. Before you could insist that it wasnât necessary the cash was gone, along with your shadow. Well if Simon wanted to pay...Â
âDiet coke please. If you have it.â Â
It wasnât the most hydrating but if Simon was willing to feed your aspartame addiction, you werenât going to argue it. As you always said, there were worse things to be addicted too in life. Unfortunately before you could enjoy your sweet sweet chemicals, there was another body colliding into yours. Thankfully the damage was minimal with most of the mess landing on the floor, though your chest did end up the splash zone. Â
Apologies fell from your lips as you looked up, but whoever the other person in the collision was, had seemed to vanish. Well it was better to deal with the soon to become sticky mess than try to find someone who didnât stay long enough to offer their own apology. Only once you were in the club bathroom, you werenât alone. It was practically like a horror movie the way you went from being the only person in your mirror to having someone pop up behind you. No you didnât shriek, you simply squeaked. A wheek if you will. Â
The other woman was easily gorgeous, looking much like the influencers you had doom scrolled through earlier that day. Assuming she needed the mirror you side stepped with an awkward smile, still trying to wipe at your cleavage with a wet paper towel. Â
âLet me get out of-â Â
âWeâve fucked.â Â
Wha-Huh? While you certainly werenât straight, you know you would have remembered having sex with someone who looked like that. It was the kind of effortless pretty that you knew took so much more effort than anyone would know. Add in the way her clothes accentuated her body and the assets she had, forgetting was impossible. Â
âWeâve never met before.â Â
That was clearly not the response that was expected, given how your pretty accuser huffed and rolled her eyes. Again in your defense you would have remembered if you had fucked. Â
âOh my god. The guy buying you drinks. We've fucked.â Â
âThe guy buying...you mean my husband?â Â
âDuh, why would I want to fuck you?âÂ
One, ouch. Two, that made much more sense. So this was what Simonâs type was? The man had good taste aesthetically you had to give him that, though bitchy wasnât really your taste.Â
You didnât know what she was expecting you to do after that admission, though you could take a guess at the way she stared at you with a self satisfying smirk. She probably had this expectation of shouting and crying. That youâd deny any chance that Simon had cheated on you. Probably had some grand plan of staking her claim or something. Points for the drama. Too bad you were more focused on cleaning up. Â
âWell someone had to I guess. Thanks.â Â
Clearly that was not what Miss Tryst was hoping for given how the smug look dropped. Oh to be thrown off oneâs grove. Maybe you could both laugh it off and youâd get another soda. Â
âWhat?â Â
Or not. The tone she took was very defensive, arms coming to cross in front of herself. Were you seriously going to have to explain your sexuality to a stranger in the middle of a club bathroom? You really should have picked the taxes. Â
âListen. Sex isnât really my thing. So if the guy wants to get his rocks off he can, we have an agreement, so thanks for the charity?â Â
Well that really wasnât what she had wanted to hear. Or maybe it was more that she didnât know what to do with that information. Which was fair, it wasnât like it was every day someone confirmed that a man actually had a hall pass. Though perhaps being called charity wouldnât sit right with her? Â
âWell itâs not like heâd want someone like you anyways.â Â
Oh yeah, she didnât seem to appreciate being called charity at all. Before you could try to dig yourself into a deeper hole and a possible cat fight, two arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind, someone making themselves comfortable against your shoulder. What was with people coming up behind you tonight?Â
âWow this is giving some real pick me energy. Itâs kind of desperate baby girl.âÂ
Looks like you didnât need to bring a shovel to your own hole digging. Joy. And with the way that your defender(?) had her arms wrapped around you it wasnât like you were able to get out if someone decided to flying. Double joy. Â
âIâm just saying-â Â
âAnd Iâm just saying I watched your ass get rejected already.â Â
Well, that was, uh, awkward? You looked at how Miss Trystâs mouth twisted like she had sucked on lemons. It did help highlight how young you were realizing she was. God she couldnât be older than what, twenty three? You could remember your early twenties and the dumb choices you made then. Â
âHeâs just playing hard to get. He wants me.â Â
âHe wants nothing to do with your desperate ass. We both know he couldnât take his eyes off of his wifey here.âÂ
What? That seemed...a little exaggerated. Simon had probably just been doing his usual gloomy stare into space hoping no one would interact with him. There was no way he had been watching you more than he normally did. It was you. And it was Simon. The small spiral you sent yourself on had you missing out on whatever the rest of the conversation was because the next thing you knew Miss Tryst was storming out of the bathroom with a huff and the clack of her heels.Â
The woman on your back snorted, loosening her grip enough to come stand beside you, letting you see who it was. Â
âOh, youâre the groper.â Â
Yes, out of context it sounded bad, but she had been literally groping Johnnyâs chest not too long ago. Plus she looked proud of herself. You shouldâve been worried about that, probably. But well, hey Johnny was responsible for his own chest. Â
âNormally I go by Goggles. Lieutenant in the Ordinance Corps.â Â
That was how you recognized her. You must have crossed paths somewhere on base before. Â
âIâm-â Â
âThimble. Ghostâs girl.â Â
The bewildered look on your face made Goggles laugh as she dropped her arm to go lean against the sink. Â
âHeâs talked about you on base.â Â
Oh. That...was normal. Spouses totally talked about each other at work. It was fine. You were strictly ignoring any implications that were made by Gogglesâ tone. You still had soda on your titties. Thankfully your savior didnât seem to want to point out any heat in your face, though she didnât leave the bathroom either now that you were no longer being confronted. Instead she seemed happy to hang out as you finished drying yourself. Until...Â
âEven though he isnât my type, I donât really get why youâre not bumping uglies with him.â Â
What was it with people and their commentary on your lack of a sexual relationship with your husband? Before you could tell Goggles that it wasnât any of her business she simply pushed on forward. Â
âI mean I wasnât lying about him not taking his eyes off of you. Plus everyone could see the way you two were practically eye fucking at the bar. Probably why the hussy spilled  your drink on you. It was some intense stuff.â Â
It always annoyed you when people pointed out things that had the possibility of being true. It meant youâd have to acknowledge it eventually, and so far itâd sacrificed a diet coke! Â
âThatâs being dramatic. Simon has a staring problem and the best way to handle it is just to stare back.â Â
No, you didnât sound flustered as you washed your hands again. Nor were you avoiding looking at Goggles in the mirror as you checked to make sure you didnât look like a mess. It was a coincidence that you saw the way she rolled her eyes. Â
âYeah and I bet you twenty bucks heâs staring at the bathroom door like a pointer dog waiting for you to come out.â Â
That seemed...excessive, even for Simon. Â
âI doubt heâs doing that.âÂ
You were mostly sure of that at least. Goggles didnât seem as confident in the statement, brow raising in question as a smile tugged at her lips. You had no idea what she found so amusing and you were getting a suspicious feeling you were better off not knowing. You watched as she pushed away from the sink, sauntering towards the door. Â
âRight, well I have a Scott I need to bend over.â Â
You thought you were finally free and clear as she opened the door, but she paused to look over her shoulder, the music almost drowning out her words. Â
âIf I were you Iâd finally go and get me a bite of that bigass wall of brisket.â Â
And with that piece of advice(?) she was gone. The mean spirited part of you hoped that Johnny ran away from her. Itâd probably be for his own good anyways, given how she seemed happy to make things up. Clearly thatâs what she had been doing, what with the implication that Simon was interested. Man simply had a staring problem and as you said, the only way to combat it was to stare back. Â
You knew this, and yet once you left the bathroom you felt yourself freeze realizing that Simon had in fact been watching the bathroom door, and now he was watching you from a spot at the bar. A spot he hadnât been in before, but would give a clear line of sight. God he was such a creep, and you werenât any better seeing as you couldnât bring yourself to mind it. Â
No the only thing you could seem to do was focus on the implication running around in your head. An implication that couldnât possibly be true. Because it didnât make any sense if was. Right. It was time for a dose of reality. Nothing delivered that like a good olâ rejection, and you knew exactly whatâd do the trick. Â
With new found confidence in your failure you made your way over to Simon, ignoring the way your palms seemed to get clammier the closer you got to him. Itâd be fine. Youâd ask, heâd say no, and everything would go back to normal. You tried to remind yourself that when you finally made it to Simon, but the fact that you had to stand chest to chest with him to even be heard was making it rather difficult. Â
âDance with me.â Â
It was meant to be a question, but the near order slipped past your lips with no way to pull it back. Instead it made its way to Simon, tilting his head in consideration. Â
âWhy would I do that?â Â
Why wasnât he saying no? He was supposed to give a gruff âI donât danceâ and then insist you go entertain yourself with one of the others. Youâd planned on it. You knew him and his responses, as well as you knew your own. Â
âBecause I want to dance with my husband.â Â
What were saying? Why were you goading him on? It felt like someone else was in control as you met his gaze with a tilt of your chin, challenge in your tone. Â
âUnless you canât and I should just go find Rudy. Maybe even Ale...â Â
Simon was supposed to tell you to go do that. He was supposed to let you down easy. Say no and then have everything go back to normal. Â
But he didnât. Â
No, instead without a word you were being lead to the edge of the dance floor. You had no idea what song was playing, your heart beat too loud in your ears. You couldnât tell what everyone else was doing, your vision was filled with broad shoulders. Was it an accident of the crowd that pushed you into his chest or was he pulling you in? Did it matter as his hands settled on your waist? Â
Whatever madness that had taken over didnât let go. Instead it held you tight in itsâ fist, pulling your arms around his shoulders. Like this you were pressed against every inch of him, able to feel the subtle push of his hips into yours. His thigh slipping between yours felt like heat settling in your stomach.Â
You had to twist your fingers in his shirt to keep grounded, the fibers soft. Â
God did he have to look at you like that? Eyes lidded and gaze heavy, like he didnât want to look away. It made it impossible to look away from him. His eyes were so dark, you were falling into them. Into him. Â
Then his eyes dipped. Where was he looking? Your mouth? The ghost of what his lips looked like flashed in your mind. It was enough to make your eyes flick to where they were hidden before returning. He caught you. Â
His mask was rough against your skin. When did he get so close? Or did you lean in? Did it matter? The only thing stopping either of you was the mask. Was it actually going to stop you? Â
You didnât think it would. Â
You were on the verge of madness. About to open a box you wouldnât be able to shut. Â
Vile and terrible salvation came in the form of a gruff voice. Â
âSorry to interrupt, but we got trouble.â Â
Before you could even begin to understand how to ask what was going on, a commotion was finally reaching you. Reality came crashing back harder than an avalanche as you turned to watch a fight start to break out from where you had come. Â
Your lapse in sanity could wait. It looked like Kyle needed to be stopped from making bad decisions and...wait was that? Â
âDovey?â Â
Author's notes;
There is most likely going to be a part two, but do not expect it any time soon.
I fucking hate Gen Ai. The Ai that is being fed stolen content. And you should too. Because thereâs work that I want to post because I want to share it, to get opinions, but itâs special to me and the thought of it being fed into a LLM like ChatGPT makes me not want to ever write any of it because my soul may actually die a little.
Sure Iâm just one person, but how many other people who could be writing and sharing feel the same way? How much creative wonder has been stolen by us by selfish people?
I was missing everyone's favorite slow burn duo and thought of this funny scenario.
Fair warning it's got a little spice, but really it's mild.
MPS Master Playlist
Simon and Thimble Playlist
Content warning;
A little self love, a little voyeurism, Simon is a naughty boy, and masochist, roses
"Fuck."
Simon can only watch the way you lounge back in your bed, thighs spreading lazily. His eyes trace the soft slope of your legs, following the way they lead to the apex hidden by the shirt you still have on. You're wearing his shirt again. Only his shirt.
He can't see what your hand is doing as it slides down your body to that shadowed area, but he can tell everything he needs to know. It's in the way your back arches as you moan. Even without the muffled vibrating sound it's obvious.
He doesn't know if you know he's there, but he's too selfish to say anything. He wants to keep watching as your writher against the sheets, heels digging in as you find the perfect angle. He watches as your breathing speeds up, small sounds escaping your throat.
You're close, he can tell. Just a little more and you'll-
Simon Riley was not a snoop. He wasnât. There was a perfectly good reason as to why he had been looking into your nightstand drawer. Youâd texted him from work, asking him to check for some envelope you were convinced youâd left there. Something to do with something that he was completely paying attention to when you had first explained it to him. You were convinced youâd left it at home, claiming it had to be either in the kitchen or somewhere on your nightstand. And it hadnât been in the kitchen. Only the envelope hadnât been on the nightstand, so the logical next step had been to check inside the nightstand. So he did, and came face to face with that.
Both of you were adults, Simon could recognize that. And adults could have adult needs. He understood that. He wasnât judging by any means. He wasnât a prude. He just wasnât expecting to see several toys innocently sitting in your nightstand is all. He couldnât say how long he was standing there, staring at them. Honestly he wasnât sure he really wanted to know.
At first heâd been confused. He couldnât think of a reason as to why youâd have some blown up plastic plant in your nightstand. Then he took in the rest of it. A sudden recollection of Soap talking about some new wonder gizmo came to mind. Theyâd been in the middle of a short mission and the Scott wouldnât shut up about how some rose had his latest conquest singing for him. Again, Simon was not a prude, but he highly doubted that Maize from the armory wanted the dirty details spilled.
You had some adult toys. Several of them. With varying levels of infamy. So what? It wasnât like that mattered to Simon at all. It didnât. You could do whatever you wanted. It wasnât like he never wanked one out. (Simon would never admit how the fact that you rubbing the pearl somehow felt earth shatteringly different) It was with a slow, measured, and calm demeanor that he shut the drawer and made the conclusion that no, the envelope was not near your night stand at all.
âSimon Riley, you fucking dirty sneak.â
He isnât expecting the heat in your eyes as you stormed towards him. Itâs like flint sparks flying, seeking out whatever tinder is available to catch. Simon swears he can feel flames licking at his skin where youâre grabbing his face, thumb and fingers pressing into what little give his jaw has.
âYou like looking into a ladyâs drawers?â
This aggression isnât like you, but Simon canât say he minds it. Instead of making his hackles rise it makes him pliant. Makes it easier for you to shove between his legs and into his space. The hand on his inner thigh feels like a branding iron. His blood is roaring through his veins, pounding with a base urge.
âYou do, you little pervert.â
The twisted part of him likes this. Likes the demeaning tone you take, the way you talk down at him. He craves the rough way you grab him, grip firm even through his sweats. His world narrows down to you and the way you sneer at him.
âNasty pathetic man. You get hard thinking about it?â
Youâre stunning like this, commanding and powerful. A deity ready to deliver punishment. Youâre making his heart race.
âGot nothing to say?â
His words are locked in his throat, a glutton begging for his penitence. His pleads are met with your nails digging into his jaw.
âAnswer me Simon. Admit youâre a filthy little boy. Go on Simon. Do it Simon.â
âSimon?â
He came back quick, blinking away his vision. You werenât clutching his jaw, dead set on making him bend to your will. Your eyes werenât full of fire and glee at his misfortune. No you looked concerned, paused in making whatever cabbage rolls you were insistent on trying that week.
How long had he been lost in thought?
âHnn.â
His responding grunt didnât seem to assure you. Your hands didn't restart the quick tuck and roll rhythm you had built as you had gotten used to the action. Instead you let the leaf unroll, abandoning it to come closer to him.
"I said I'm sorry I had you search the house. Didn't mean to bother you on your day off when I ended up having it the entire time."
Shit. Now you looked contrite. Sure it was a little annoying to have to search high and low for no reason, but it's not like he spent the entire day doing it.
"Not an issue."
You didn't look convinced, but thankfully you didn't push the issue. Instead of letting it linger, Simon looked for any distraction he could find, locking back onto the little green rolls you had been working on.
"What flavors are these suppose to be anyways?"
To Simon's relief you turned back to your culinary project, explaining the flavors and techniques you were experimenting with. Honestly he could have cared less about a 'cheeseburger roll' or one with the crab filling you were obsessed with from the Chinese takeaway shops. He just wanted your attention off of him and the way he watched your hands.
âS-Si-â
The satisfaction at hearing you moan his name feels like a battlefield victory. Like heâs finally found his target and all thatâs left is to close in. Getting closer to you is all Simon wants.
Youâre already under him, caged between his arms while your thighs cradle his hips. Every thrust jostles you, your chest bouncing with the movement. Thereâs a flush that starts from there and makes its way up your neck to warm your cheeks. Itâs all begging for his mouth. To lean in and taste the rosy hue.
You whimper, nails biting into his back as he nips at your throat. Heâs determined to leave a garden of love bites, each bloom a reminder to everyone who it is you share a bed with. The sting of your nails pairs with warmth of your body mimics that of chocolate and wine. Decadent and heady.
He savors it as he works his way up to kiss you, to finally give in. Simon can just feel the words youâre whispering against his lips.
âBeep. Beep. Beep.â
Reality came crashing down on Simon like a wave of cold water. It was with a frenzied force that he slammed down on the alarm clock. Fuck, he'd tried to let it go after dinner. Had tried not to think too hard about if there was ever a time you had used your toys while he was home while you both sat on the couch watching some new documentary he could care less about.
He'd tried not to wonder if you had ever forgotten to change the sheets after. He hadn't tried to test that by seeing if your scent was on your pillowcase. He certainly hadn't been disappointed when it wasn't.
Simon Riley was not being consumed by the thought of you making yourself cum over and over again in the bed that you two shared. He wasn't wondering what you sounded like...or looked like...or even tasted like. He was unaffected by those thoughts of you.
With a futile look down his body he saw the truth.
I love that the modern-day tumblr post equivalent of chain emails only requires me to reblog a relatively pleasant image instead of forward an email to a bunch of my friends and family members to quell my raging anxiety.
Look. I didn't want to say anything because it's kind of a touchy subject, but the dragon doesn't actually take these "brides" back to its lair full of riches and add them to a harem. Okay? It's a big fucking lizard with a brain the size of an orange, it just roasts and eats them.
Now come on, get those chains off. Where did you even get these? Oh you made them? See that's the kind of craftsmanship the village needs you for. We'll have a big orgy after the ritual and if you want a bunch of us will dress up as dragons and take turns having a go at you. It'll be nice, you'll see.
