ྐ ❦

𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓹𝓮 𝓓𝓲𝓮𝓶

[mostholy]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Open for Commissions °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

oc from @seleneeswonders

₊˚ෆ⊹₊ ⋆ 𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃ᡣ𐭩·⁀ ༄.°₊˚ෆ⊹₊ ⋆ 𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃ᡣ𐭩·⁀ ༄.°

₊˚ෆ⊹₊ ⋆ 𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃ᡣ𐭩·⁀ ༄.°₊˚ෆ⊹₊ ⋆ 𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃ᡣ𐭩·⁀ ༄.°

[lesserthan-3]

reader who is, unfortunately, a “too honest for their own good” kind of drunk who gets dragged to the bar with tf141.

“kyyyle,” you slur, leaning over the table to which Gaz cracks a smile. “so pretty…anyone ever tell you you’re pretty? like ‘men should be buying you dinner’ pretty.”

soap snorts, an amused smile on his lips. “Ya don’ even get a handsome, just fuckin’ pretty.”

“oi, piss off, soap,” replies gaz with no real heat behind it. “and you,” he starts, bringing his attention backed to your slumped form, “are a shitty drinker.”

you giggle, barely lifting up your head from the table.

price shakes his head, taking a large swing from the pint. “kids these days.”

the laughter dies down, everyone enjoying the relaxing ambiance that’s been so hard to enjoy with missions on end these days. that is until-

“ugh- I’m so horny.”

the table stills, all eyes landing on your slumped form before soap bursts into uncontrollable laughter. his fist slams the table as gaz tries to still the man who’s slightly tipsy and leaning back in his chair.

“bloody hell,” ghost mumbles, crossing his arms. “you’re one them, huh? those honest-to-god-drunks.”

“you shouldn’t be saying those things out loud,” advises price, knowing full well that it’s going to go unheard seeing as you’re shit-faced drunk right now.

you groan, forehead connected with the table again. “you don’t get it. you’re old- probably have the sex drive of a tumble weed.”

gaz and soap have a poor attempt at stifling a laugh and even ghost cracks a small and an unseen smirk at your comment. price doesn’t bother with a retort, knowing you’ll have your regrets when they tell you about this conversation in the morning.

soap puts an encouraging pat on your back. “aye, cmon lass, if ya wanted to get laid, all ye gotta do is ask.” it’s clearly a joke but your head perks up anyways.

“don’t tempt me, cause I’ve thought about it.”

“you don’t say…” his eyes light up with interest.

ghost interrupts with a warning tone. “don’t encourage her, Johnny.”

“too late, LT.” soap stalks around your chair, sliding his arms ‘round back. he leans in close till you pick up the scent of beer on his lips. “tell me, what d’ya think of?”

you match his lean with one of your own, eyes blown wide and curious. “are you rough in bed? tell me you’re rough in bed.”

soap smirks, flashing a charming wink. “aye, lass. why? want my handprint on your ass?” ghost flashes him a stern look but soap merely shrugs unapologetically.

you groan at his answer, “god, I hope I remember that in the morning.”

“we get it. we get it. you’re horny for soap. let’s stop before I hurl.” gaz puts his hand on your shoulders, urging you to drink more water.

“dont be jealous, gaz. you’re in there too.”

and suddenly, the angel on his shoulder disappears. “oh yeah?”

“god, you have no idea how hard it is to work with hot men all day long. takes everything in me to not just give up on the mats and let you just pin me down.”

by now, soap has his phone out, recording this for evidence when you’re inevitably going to try to walk back on your words in the morning.

“would love to be bent over a desk, don’t even care who’s behind me. or who’s the biggest? LT? probably not you then- at least not first.”

you ramble on and on… about how you could get off to the gruff sound of your captains voice alone, or how sometimes you’d be soaking wet through your panties if they praised you enough.

and it’s not until you go into an explicit and ultra-specific scenario that involves all four men, some rope, vibrators, and a blindfold, going to ultra-specific detail about soap in your pussy, price in your mouth, and how maybe you’d even let someone in your ass, does someone do the sensible thing of slapping a hand around your mouth.

“I’m gonna take my hand off’ya, and you’re gon’ be quiet, yeah?”

your eyes glance up to a stone cold stare behind a mask, meeting his gaze before you nod. “good girl.”

his hand slowly withdraws and you’re silent. it stays that was for a moment, everyone unsure how to break the tension left in the air after your revelation…that is until-

“aye, what’s that LT?”

and that, would be the stiffy that’s hardly concealed behind his jeans- perhaps he needs to buy baggier clothes from now on.

you stare at it. then you stare at him. “god, I knew you were big.”

[rawme-price]

Imagine ringed seal!reader being a recent rescue from a boating strike, placed in leopard seal!ghost's pool, right?

Because you're the only two seals in the sanctuary, and ghost has been struggling without a pod, stuck away from his own while he's in recovery.

When you first meet ghost, all you can think is that he's scary. Huge, bigger than any seal you've met and so so dangerous! He could tear you to pieces if he wanted! You expect him to do just that when the mer circles you, chuffing and churring, the tip of his tail grazing along your own curiously.

He opens his mouth, sharp teeth on display and coming right for you—

...nothing. no...no pain, no bite into flesh. Just...soft pressure?

You peek an eye open to find the strang scary seal gently gnawing on your fin, exploring it with his mouth. Only then do you see his heavily scarred hands. It must be difficult using those.

So you lie still and let him chew on you...just a bit. It is scary, but when you bark at him he instantly backs off so...not that scary.

From then on you and ghost are inseparable.

...which becomes an issue when ghost fully recovers and is set to return to his pod in the wild, revolting when he realizes you aren't coming with him.

[rawme-price]

Ghost who gets relentlessly bullied for bringing in a tea from a little cafe to a meeting, why? Because it's clearly from the expensive cafe a bit aways from base. Not the normal expensive, but the why the hell would anyone pay that much for a drink?? Expensive.

Ghost scoffs at soap's and Gaz's impulsive spending habits, he buys second-hand clothes and used everything until it needs to be tossed out.

But ghost...insists it's not expensive. Raises his brow at the sergeants and says "i can afford a two quid drink every week, you cunts. I'm not that bad."

Gaz stares at ghost for a solid two minutes before pointing at his cup "sir. That tea is twenty-eight pounds."

....ghost has been buying tea from the cafe you work at shop for literal months now and has never once realized you heavily discount his drinks in an attempt to flirt.

Upon connecting the dots, the sergeants tear into him for that too.

[elysianightsss]

Something something becoming an accidental prostitute for Simon lol.

Hear me out though, you’re at a bar. You’re making out, you’ve had a little too much to drink. Not enough to be completely gone like you’re sure Simon is but enough to be making out with a stranger.

Then you’re back in his truck, he’s practically begging for you to let him fuck you and you say no. You ‘don’t do that type of shit, one night stands and all that’ you say. Simon’s next thing is to beg for a blowjob, you again say no. ‘Part of the boyfriend package’ blah blah blah.

Then Simon delivers his final offer. He is so desperate he offers to pay for a handjob, he cringes after the words come out of his mouth thinking you’d be offended. But to his surprise you say yes. You need the money, and want him to feel good so why the heck not.

And it’s the best damn handjob he’s had in his life.

He drives you home and soon enough after a few days he’s at your door offering more money for another handjob. You feel a little dirty but when his calloused hand slides up your thigh and his hot breath is fluttering on your neck, the feeling fizzles away into something else.

Seeing him come undone with just your touch drives you wild, it becomes increasingly difficult not to do more for him. So when Simon comes over again, this time you kneel in front of him watching as his dark eyes widen when your knees hit the ground.

And just like your handjobs, it’s the best damn blowjob he’s ever had in his life. All sloppy and filthy, not like he imagined but so much better.

You don’t ask for anything but after Simon has kissed you goodbye -(after he’s done begging to let him make you cum)- you turn to find a stack of cash on the coffee table, almost double the amount he’d given for the handjob.

It’s not long after that, that you give in and let him spend hours between your thighs. He even pays you for that, mumbles into your cunt that it’s just as good as your lips around his cock as he ruts his hips into the mattress. You don’t see it until later, long after he’s left, but there is a triple stack of cash on your nightstand.

A day later you receive a text from him saying he’ll be gone for a couple of weeks on work but he can’t wait to see you when he’s back. You feel a strange fluttering sensation in your tummy that makes you feel sick. You thought Simon was the type to hide his feelings and be more stoic and blunt so seeing that message from the hulking giant has your stomach in knots.

It stays that way, you can’t rid the feeling so much so that when he finally shows up at your door you tell him whatever it is between you had to end. It was certainly not the welcome Simon was expecting after dealing with a gruelling mission with nothing but men for weeks on end. He feels something snap in his mind and suddenly he’s throwing you on the bed, gripping your jaw, brown eyes glaring into yours as he speaks, “I’m not goin nowhere sweet’art.”

You ‘fight’ with him blah blah blah but let’s get real you let him finger fuck your pussy until you go cross eyed. You let him fuck you into the mattress until you can barely remember your own name. You let him kiss your neck until the sun starts to rise. And you let him pull your body into his as you both drift off to sleep together.

In the morning you hear the envelope, heavy with weight to it, placed down on your nightstand. Then Simon kisses your forehead and whispers he’ll be back later to take care of you.

Then, the money stops appearing but he’s still fucking you. Soon the rent is paid in cash by an anonymous ‘good samaritan’. And before you know it, you’re waking up with a glittering diamond on your wedding finger and a swollen belly that moves when Simon says I love you.

[cupid-grl]

18+ mdni.

simon “ghost” riley is absolutely the type of man to fall asleep while giving head.

dooon’t care what anyone else has to say. i know he’ll come home, exhausted and sore everywhere. he doesn’t even have the energy to pound his meaty cock into your tight little precious cunt. all he can think about is having you lie back, and bury his head deep into the softness of your thighs and eat you whole.

he’s lapping at your folds like a starved man, those half lidded eyes looking up at you as your face is glistening with sweat and your cheeks are all red and hot. his hands grip onto the sides of your ass so tight you wanna cry but he feels so good, you can’t tell him to move. he’s too pussy drunk to realize his grip is gonna leave purple hand marks on you tomorrow.

and you’re so focused on trying to reach your high, that when you finally look down the valley of your stomach, realize that simon had stopped working his skilled tongue on your pussy. his eyes closed, lips squished between your folds and he’s.. snoring?

poor baby was so tired, he tried to please you and himself the best he could. but you were so soft and so warm he couldn’t help but doze off on the comfort of your warm, wet pussy.

but don’t worry because when he wakes up, still half asleep, he’ll lazily begin drawing circles around your swollen clit with his warm tongue, before the twitching inside his trousers wakes him up and he’s back to tongue fucking you so good.

[tojisteddy]

Uncle!Simon is sending you dick pics fyi.

The type you have to have your phone on you at all times and no one can use your phone unless you’re watching them because he sends them at the most random times.

It’s in the middle of his work day he’ll in uniform, holding his heavy length that’s throbbing, pre spurting out and coating his cock, ‘Thought of you Dovie. Have a good day x’

Or it’s late and your having dinner with your family, your phone will chime, you absentmindedly will tap on the notification just to check what it is under the table, eyes practically going out of your head before you slam your phone face down in your lap.

Putting your face in your hand to hide the embarrassment, heat rushing through your body as you think of the pick.

“What was that?” You mom asks amused.

“Just- somethin stupid a friend sent.”

It’s ridiculous if anything, an HD picture your fucking uncle’s got your underwear is soaked in cum and wrapped around thick member, veiny and strawberry red, the tip brushing against the pillow he knows you love to use at his place. The message after, ‘Miss you kiddo, see you this weekend. X’

a/n: can’t scroll down cause some of them dicks, think of my parents going through my shit or whatever Doja said

[nottsnymph]

Lieutenant!reader, who gets called in to help the 141 with an extremely taxing operation, after Laswell insisted that your set of skills will be extremely helpful for the following missions. Price accepted the temporary addition to his team immediately—an extra set of skillful hands was always needed.

Upon your arrival you greeted everyone accordingly, settling into the barracks. For the rest of your first day Soap kept attempting to get to know you, but hell you were even less talkative than Lt, just nodding along or dryly responding to his questions, your face emotionless for the entire duration of the small talk.

Then, Ghost mutters a single dry comment from the corner of the room and you smirk—fucking smirk, nearly chuckle too.

After that, Soap couldn’t stop noticing the tension between you and his Lieutenant.

The lingering eye contact during briefings. The arguments that felt too personal. The way he would stand just a little too close beside you during training, gloved hand brushing your shoulder as he corrected your stance.

“You’re overcompensating,” Ghost said one afternoon behind the shooting range.

“I’m adjusting for wind.”

“You’re adjusting badly.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. “Funny coming from someone who missed center twice.”

Soap felt like he was interrupting something with the way the two of you stared each other down like the rest of the world had vanished.

Later that night, he cornered Ghost near the armory.

“What's going on between ya too?”

Ghost didn’t even look up from cleaning his rifle. “Nothing.”

“Oh, piss off,” Soap scoffed. “It’s bloody obvious.”

Ghost reassembled the magazine with slow, deliberate movements. “You imaginin’ things.”

“I’m telling you, Lt, every time she walks into a room, you both look ready to either kill each other or tear each other’s clothes off.”

That finally earned him a glare, “Drop it, Johnny.”

Soap did. Technically.

But over the next ten months, things only became more suspicious. Ghost always sat beside you during briefings. You always looked for him first after nasty fights out in the field during missions. Neither of you were affectionate, but somehow that made it worse. Every interaction carried this unbearable intensity, like a live grenade with the pin halfway pulled.

Then the operation ended with the enemy successfully neutralized.

The team crowded into a dim pub near base, Soap sat across from you and Ghost, still mentally trying to solve whatever strange thing existed between the two of you.

That’s when he noticed the silver ring on your finger, he could swear it wasn't there before.

He blinked. “Ye married?”

You took a sip of your beer. “Yeah, for a few years now."

Soap stared at you in disbelief. "Ten bloody months and ye never mentioned that?”

You only shrugged, amused, "I don't really talk about my personal life at work, MacTavish"

“What’s next?” he laughed, turning toward Ghost. “You married too, Lt?”

“Yeah,” Ghost answered calmly.

Soap barked out a laugh. “Aye, right.” He took a sip from his whiskey, "Good one, Lt"

“He’s not joking,” you said as a matter-of-factly.

Soap looked between the two of you slowly.

Everything clicked into place at once.

The staring. The arguments. The tension.

Soap rubbed his temples with one hand, speechless. “Steaming Jesus.”

Ghost leaned back in his chair, unfazed. “Took you long enough.”

[adelineriley999]

simon accidently yelled at you

The apartment had gone unbearably quiet after he yelled.

Not the comfortable kind of silence either. Not the kind Simon liked after long missions where the world finally stopped demanding things from him.

This silence was wrong.

You stood by the stove with your back turned, shoulders tense, blinking rapidly like if you just tried hard enough the tears would disappear before he saw them.

Too late.

Simon stared at you like he’d just watched himself pull a trigger he couldn’t take back. His chest rose once. Heavy.

“...Fuck.”

The word came out under his breath, barely audible.

You wiped quickly at your face. “It’s okay.”, you whispered , hurt and embarrassment blooming in your chest.

It wasn’t okay.

And Simon knew it immediately because your voice did that tiny shaky thing it only did when you were trying very hard not to cry.

He felt sick.

The kind where the person you love looks hurt because of you.

Simon took one cautious step forward. Then another.

“Love.”

You shook your head without turning around.

That hurt more than the tears.

Usually when he came home, you gravitated toward him automatically. Hands on his chest, arms around his waist. Soft little smiles like he was something worth waiting for.

Now you were standing as far away from him as the kitchen allowed.

Because he yelled.

Because he came home carrying all his anger and dropped it right at your feet.

His jaw clenched hard enough to ache.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly.

“Do what?”, you mumbled, trying to smoothen your voice.

“Stand there acting like you deserve that.”

You finally turned a little at that, eyes glossy. “Simon-”

“No.” He scrubbed a hand down his face harshly. “No, don’t excuse it.”

You went silent. He looked wrecked now. More wrecked than when he first walked in.

Rainwater still clung to his jacket. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, but guilt sat on him even heavier.

“I came home to you,” he said, voice rough. “Warm flat, food on the stove, you waiting for me.” He laughed once bitterly at himself. “And first thing I do is bark at you like some miserable prick.”

Your lips parted slightly.

Simon looked away, jaw flexing.

“Spent two bloody weeks thinking about getting back to you.” His voice got quieter. “Then I walk through that door and make you cry inside five minutes.”

The tears you were trying to stop spilled over again.

The second he saw them, he looked genuinely devastated.

Not angry. Not frustrated.

Devastated.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

He crossed the room immediately then stopped himself halfway, hesitating.

Simon Riley, who would walk through gunfire without blinking, suddenly looking uncertain about whether he was allowed to touch his own wife.

“You don’t have to comfort me,” you whispered.

That nearly broke him, his eyes shut briefly.

“Christ.”

He finally stepped closer carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. His hands settled lightly on your arms, almost tentative.

“I’m sorry love,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. Ever.”

You looked down, vision blurring, “I know you’re tired.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I wasn’t trying to annoy you-”,you huffed ,choking slightly on the tears.

“I know.” His voice cracked slightly then steadied. “I know you weren’t.”

The guilt in his expression got worse somehow.

“You were taking care of me,” he murmured. “That’s all you were doing.”

You tried to look away again but Simon gently caught your chin before you could.

“Look at me.”

You did. Big mistake.

The second he saw how hard you’d been trying not to cry, his entire face softened into something painfully guilty.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”, he murmured ,gently cupping your face.

“You never yell at me.”, you sniffled.

That one hit directly to the ribs.

Simon actually flinched.

His thumb brushed carefully under your eye, wiping away a tear with absurd gentleness for a man built like a concrete wall with emotional constipation.

“I swear to you,” he said quietly, “the second it came outta my mouth, I wanted to take it back.”

You could hear how honest it was.

Simon wasn’t good at pretty apologies. He wasn’t poetic, wasn’t smooth. But guilt made him painfully sincere.

“I hate that you looked at me like that,” he admitted softly.

“Like what?”

“Like you were trying to figure out if I was angry with you.”

His voice nearly disappeared on the last part. Because that was the thing eating him alive now. The fact that for even one second, you’d looked at him uncertainly instead of safely.

Simon pulled you against him suddenly, firm and desperate, burying his face into your h.air.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly against your temple. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You felt the way he held you tighter after every apology, like he was trying to physically make up for it.

“I missed you,” he admitted in a low murmur. “Missed you so bad it felt wrong sleeping without you there.” His arms tightened. “Then I come home and act like that.”

Your hands slowly curled into his shirt. Simon exhaled shakily at the feeling.

“There she is,” he whispered, relief and guilt tangled together. “Thought I fucked this up properly for a second.” he mumbled ,inhaling the scent of your hair.

“You didn’t.”

“Nearly did.”

And judging by the way he kept pressing little apologetic kisses into your hair like a man trying to repent for his crimes against domestic peace, he was going to spend the rest of the night making absolutely sure you knew he regretted it.

lol yeah i'm procrastinating my long fics TT

[shymagnolia]

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

[shymagnolia]

okay so i just got my dream job??? a week after applying to it?? and now i’m thinking….maybe this is the good luck post

[flagellant]

…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment

likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post

[coffee-or-hot-cocoa]

i need all the help i can get for finals

[finnglas]

Hey so

the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like. 

So you know. 

This might be the real one, y’all.

[avhira]

I could use some luck

[mrgrungusthefrog]

i could too

[rawme-price]

No thoughts just retired!ghost truly being a pathetic dog of a husband...

He lives off the money he hoarded during his working years, never needed to spend much when he was always leeching off base or on missions anyways. Ghost has no need for a job and finds them more frustrating than good when they don't stretch the itch the military does.

That doesn't stop you from having a job, though, something your husband ardently supports yet loathes at the same time.

Because ghost gets so lonely at home.

Nevermind the fact he owns a car and could very well do stuff, he would rather mope around waiting for you. His team allot him all of ten minutes of him whining on call about missing you before they hang up.

Which is how you end up with an armful of giant, three hundred pounds of middle aged man in your arms the second you walk in the door. Ghost practically envelops you the way he holds you so tight, the same way he hold you every time, whining "I missed you, lovie. Don't know what to do with myself."

"Aw, missed you too, si." You smile into the hug, turning your head to kiss his neck and watch how he blushes down to his chest like he's your highschool boyfriend.

"Made you dinner." ghost informs you, taking your bag and coat off. He forcefully sits you on the stool when you try to take your shoes off, grumbling "no. Let me. Worked hard enough as is, yeah?"

Ghost, your beloved husband who's knees ache in the cold, kneels on the hardwood floor to slip the shoes from your feet. He kisses your knees while he's at it, then shuffles closer to rest his head against your stomach, all soft and love-sick.

"I missed you." He repeats.

You never tell him to stop. You know how important this is to him. You know he's scared of you not coming back om day, of there being a second urn on the mantle next to Johnny's.

"I love you." He says. And you hear the silent please don't leave me.

[fairywritinggarden]

A/n: a rewritten drabble for a previous fandom that I re made for Simon Riley instead. I reworked some things around to better fit him, and i hope I did it well. — no warnings, just all pure fluff. Please follow me over at my main account linked in my pin post.

Simon is definitely not a morning person at all. You learned that very early on when you would spend the night at his flat when he would be back home from another months long mission. You'd wake up bright and early wanting to make coffee for the both of you.

You shifted slightly, trying your best not to wake him, but his arm around your waist tightened. He moves his body closer, so he's somehow almost laying on top of you. You can hear him grumble something, but it's muffled by his face buried in your neck.

"Si, let me up. I wanna make coffee." He doesn't respond. Instead, he just makes an annoyed grunt wrapping his strong leg over yours. Completely caging you in, and the heat from his body alone is becoming unbearable.

You wiggle around, fighting and squirming as best you can to get out of Simon's hold. Somehow, you managed to break free of him after you tickled at his side. He desperately reaches out for you, trying to pull you back into bed with him, but he's too slow. As you make your way to the kitchen, you can hear him huff and complain as he tosses himself around the bed.

"Daaarling, please come back to bed. I'm cold, an' its still early." He calls out in his deep, raspy morning voice.

You pressed your lips together in a fine line to hold back a laugh.

You eventually rejoin him with two cups of coffee in hand. When you walked back into the bedroom, he looked aggravated, and his eyes were puffy from sleep. His short brown hair is a mess. A small cow lick can be seen on the back of his head, and his dog tags are tangled over his shoulder.

"Hey, grumpy, I made you coffee too." You cheerful spoke with a mug outreached towards him. He huffed again and sat back against the headboard with his arms crossed over his chest with a hmph.

After a few moments, Simon reluctantly takes the cup and sips at it slowly as you watch him with a slight smirk.

"Mornin," he grumbled with a glance your way.

"....someone's a bit moody." You snorted, pointing out the obvious.

"Woulda' rather have tea instead." He knew he was being a bit of jerk and would apologize later on for it.

You didn't have to make him anything. You were the coffee drinker in the relationship, yet you still thought of him.

You shook your head and continued slowly sipping your coffee. "You're welcome."

There was no denying his grumpiness was a bit amusing when the whole reason he's upset is because you left him in bed for a short while. You had to fight off the urge to tease him a little more, deciding on leaving him alone for now. He caught you, staring and rolled his eyes, making you giggle. Simon bit his inner cheek to hide back a smile, but there was a faint smirk spreading across his face. After you both finish your coffee, he immediately falls back asleep and snuggles up tight against your side.

[amaranthinespirit]

husband!simon riley when you've gotten comfortable

before you got married, you always demonstrated the more polished side of yourself. dolling yourself up for dates, wearing the prettiest outfits, and doing your hair in your favorite styles. you kept lipgloss on you at all times, the plumping kind so you'd always figure out when simon got to curious and tried it for himself (he always had to pocket it for you).

simon loved that side of you. the soft, feminine and put together side of you. the one that simon wanted to protect because more often than not, he looked more like a guard dog rather than your boyfriend.

but things changed when you married and moved in, and you weren't put together all the time. you wore baggy clothes you'd stolen from simon, your figure lost in the fabric that fell to just above your knees. your hair tied lazily, or most of the time just a straight mess. your skin void of any makeup, and you just lounged around the house because simon paid all the bills.

and simon fucking loved it. seeing you in a natural state that you trust him with turns him on more than he can admit. he's the type of guy to pause as he passes the couch, shake his head with an accusatory finger jab, mumbling "you tempt me," and walks off like nothing happened.

more often than not, he's taking you to bed. splitting you apart on his cock while you wear his shirt, hair getting even more mussed against the bedding. all while grunting and groaning about how you tempt him every time he enters the house, resisting the urge to bend you over every available—like he doesn't already.

[warmfrequency]

you know when men slap their dick on your pussy a few times before they put it in? i feel like the 141 each have their own ritual.

simon? he slaps with weight. his cock is heavy, girthy, and he sort of just lets it drop against you, wet, blunt smacks across your lips and clit until you’re slick enough that every smack sounds obscene and you’re whining for him to just put it in already.

price slides his. he doesn’t tease so much as he just wants to watch his cock coat with your come. dragging the length of himself through your lips slowly, getting himself nice and wet until his fat head finally catches at your entrance on its own.

kyle’s the kind to feed you only the tip just to pull it out and drag the whole length of his cock up to your clit and back down, notches the head in again, pulls out, drags it back up. he’ll get lost doing it too if you let him, ten-fifteen minutes of it.

johnny slaps your cunt with his cock because he likes to watch. eyes locked on the way you twitch every time it lands, bringing it down in quick, smacking succession. distantly wondering where the hell he left his phone.

[dwidkwite]

sunday afternoon with simon, rain is pouring outside and you are cuddled up on the couch.

your favorite movie is playing on the big tv and your head is resting against his chest, your legs intertwinning. you watch contently, his soft heartbeat beating on your temple.

simon on the other hand, his eyes are on the tv but he's absolutely not paying attention, he doesn’t even remember the first scene of the movie. his eyes are glued on the pixelated screen as his arms are wrapped around your frame.

he's thinking. hard.

and tears are damping his lashes and blurring his vision, he's not sad nor happy. feels like pain, recognition and maybe denial. spending his whole childhood being scared, alone, rejected ; then got accepted into the army after painful school years, wanting to numb the wound as much as possible. he became a soldier, a killer, who presses the trigger when told to. sleeping on base and being involved in missions to prove that he could be useful, that he could be something.

today he doesn't feel scared anymore, he's not afraid of returning home like his young self was. with you he became simon, he's a human being capable of making mistakes, he's much more than just a ghost mask and an assault rifle.

fat tears are rolling on his cheeks, and he closes his eyes hard when he sees you turn to look at him, less painful to see the dark than your worried face. as you always did, you don't make fun of him, you're not scared ; you sit up on the couch and make his head rest on your shoulder, your hands keeping him grounded.

and simon breaks, for the first time. he let everything out, the sorrow after all the violence he endured and the mourning of his loved ones, all of it rolling down his scarred face as you remind him that you will always be here for him.

simon understands it now, how people can become so dumb for love, so weak. he used to make fun of them, but he understands it now.

[dwidkwite]

simon riley was truly a simple man.

after having your first baby, he simply felt like he lived in a dream ; simon never thought that he'd be capable of being a father, a truly loving father. he quickly adjusted to the dad's life, trying to let you rest as much as possible.

you on the other hand, was completely living a nightmare. of course you couldn’t be happier to have you and simon's first child, but you couldn’t help but feel disgusted by your own body. the love handles, the cellulite and even the acne, without talking of your never ending appetite.

however your vision changed when you noticed your husband's attitude, he was completely at your mercy. he couldn’t help but lightly smack your ass as you walked past him, or even grasping your thighs as you were watching a movie on the couch.

he was absolutely starving.

his big hands would keep your thighs tightly open as he would bite your skin, his tongue licking vividly your folds. he would get so horny at the sight of your skin trapped under his harsh hold, but also by the way your breasts would roughly jiggle as he slammed his cock in your cunt. he didn’t like the way you'd hide your face, seemingly embarrassed, he wanted you to see how you were making him feel, how hot you were.

simon couldn't help but snicker when you showed him a positive pregnancy test a few months later.

[graywrenhart]

Three guard dogs might’ve been overkill. 

Simon Riley’s never thought that before—until they’re barreling down his driveway, barking up a storm at you. A pretty thing in the neighborhood, pushing a stroller. 

He follows after his stubborn German Shepherds, gruffly ordering them to heel. They won’t hurt you, of course, but you don’t know that. He braces himself for the screams when he rounds the mailbox. A terrified mother and her child, chased by three trained-to-kill dogs and a masked man—

Laughter stops him in his tracks. 

Cap, Kilo, and Mac are planted on their asses, tails wagging, tongues hanging out. Your toddler’s giggling so hard she’s nearly tippin’ out of her seat as she yanks on Mac’s ear, earning a face full of slobber for it. 

And you—you’re bent over, one hand holding Cap’s paw, the other scratching behind Kilo’s ears. 

“Cute pups,” you say. 

Cute...what? 

You look up at him, past his mask and into his eyes. He freezes. But you just smile. 

“You military?” 

He ends up not replying, because the setting sun catches in your eyes and his brain is temporarily short-circuited. You’re not deterred, however, your chin tilting to the gun holstered at his hip. 

“My husband was, too.” Your gaze drops to the paw in your hand. “He did an op down in Coal Ridge last year.”

You don’t have to say anything else. Everyone knows what went down in the ridge.

Ghost tries to find something—anything—to say. Condolences would be a start. But nothing he thinks of is good enough, or sounds right in his head. So he just stands there, looming over you, watching you pet his assassin dogs. 

And then—it hits him in the chest like a bullet. 

You’re all alone in that house at the end of the street with your little girl. 

Something rears its head under his ribs. A protective urge so strong it’s almost staggering.

“Well,” you sigh, straightening and offering him a playful, cute little salute. “Have a good one.” Your eyes flick to the insignia on his sleeve. “Lieutenant.”

As you stroll away into the setting sun, Simon watches you go, and the ‘cute pups’ whine at his feet as you leave.

And suddenly, three guard dogs don't seem like enough after all. 

He might just have to become one himself.