Rere

[satorus-princess]

“uh… why is sensei doing push-ups?” yuji asks, when he, nobara, and megumi enter the classroom.

satoru’s pushing himself up and down with one hand because, according to you, normal push-ups weren’t enough. but even then, he’s barely breaking a sweat. and he’s grinning, while you stand over him, watching with your arms crossed.

his uniform jacket is folded over the back of a chair, leaving him in his compression shirt, arm bulging and back tensing with each lift and fall of his body.

“i upset my-- hah beautiful, smart-- hah strong, gorgeous, perfect wife,” he pants, “punishment fits the crime.”

he really is right where he wants to be.

megumi doesn’t even bat an eye - this was the least unusual thing that you and satoru do. he slides into a chair with a sigh.

“how many does he have to do?”

“a hundred,” you say. satoru lifts his head to look up at you, mouth parted, little pink hearts in his eyes peering at you over the rim of his glasses. “he’s on seventy-two.”

his grin widens. “you know, this isn’t a challenge for me. why don’t you sit on my back, sweetheart?”

you crouch down in front of him and his eyes light up. “i know what you want, and you don’t deserve my touch.” you push his head down so he’s facing the floor again, and he grunts when you press extra weight, forcing his body down. “only twenty-three left. you can do it, my love.”

if his heart wasn’t beating fast enough before, it definitely was now. especially with the saccharine tone you used at the end of your sentence.

god, was he down bad.

“… call us when you’re done,” megumi says, already out of the classroom.

silly thought inspired by this video HAHA can you tell he makes me a little a lot insane

[litchiberry]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

꩜ When your eight-month old suddenly spikes a fever, Gojo swoops in while you panic.

𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝: gojo satoru x female!reader; modern setting - no curse; established relationship; kid fic; nothing, just a mom feeling guilty for no reason; slight angst and fluff; domestic gojo; (1.1k words) 𝐚/𝐧: hi! wow, thank you so much for all the follows! 😭🤍✨️ i honestly wasn’t planning on posting anything until may, but hitting this milestone sooner than expected made it impossible not to share something. so here’s another dadjo fic from my drafts while i work on the follower special 🙏

The fever hits fast.

One minute Shiro is dozing against your shoulder, warm and milk-drunk, the next he’s too warm, his skin flushed, damp, his tiny breaths uneven. You notice it before the thermometer confirms it, before the panic has a chance to fully bloom in your chest.

“Gojo,” you say, and your voice already sounds wrong, too tight, too thin.

He’s beside you instantly. “What’s up?”

“He’s burning.”

That’s all it takes. The night shifts. Lights flick on. The calm, lazy quiet of your home turns sharp and urgent. The thermometer beeps, and you don’t even need to look, you already know it’s high. Your hands start shaking.

“I need to change him,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him. “Lighter clothes, we need to cool him down.” You lay Shiro on the bed, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his onesie. They won’t cooperate. They just won’t.

“Hey.” Gojo’s voice is softer now, closer. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” you snap, except you’re not. Not really. Your chest feels tight, like something is sitting on it. Shiro whimpers, a small, miserable sound, and it sends your thoughts scattering.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” you whisper, but your voice trembles so badly it doesn’t sound reassuring at all. Your fingers slip again on another button. You hate this. You hate how useless your hands feel, how your brain knows exactly what to do but your body won’t follow through. You’ve read about this. Prepared for this. You should be handling this. Instead, you’re having trouble undoing a few buttons.

“Hey, hey.” Gojo gently nudges your hands away. “I’ve got him.”

“I can do it,” you insist immediately, even as your fingers curl in on themselves.

“I know you can,” he says, already working the buttons open with steady ease. “But you don’t have to right now.”

You freeze. That shouldn’t make your chest ache the way it does. He moves much more efficiently, carefully peeling off the too-warm clothes, replacing it with a lighter, breathable fabric. His movements are calm, practiced, not rushed, not panicked, not like yours. Shiro fusses, but Gojo mutters something soft and nonsense-like, and it helps.

You stand there, feeling useless again. “I should,” You swallow. “He needs milk. But I feel—” You feel empty, drained almost.

Shiro roots weakly when you try to bring him close, but he doesn’t latch properly, doesn’t suck enough to trigger the flow. Frustration and fear twist together until your eyes sting. “I can’t,” your voice cracks. “He’s not latching, Satoru.”

Gojo looks up at you, immediately reading everything you’re failing to say.

“Get the stash,” he says gently. “I’ll keep him settled.”

You hesitate. “But—”

“Go.”

It’s not harsh. Not even impatient considering how bad you’re fumbling. It’s just firm enough to anchor you, enough to make you settle, and so you move. The kitchen light feels too bright and the freezer too loud when you open it. Your hands are still shaking as you grab the stored milk, as you try to remember the steps you’ve done a hundred times before.

Why does everything feel so much harder right now?

By the time you come back, Gojo is pacing slowly with Shiro in his arms, whispering quietly. Meanwhile, Shiro’s cries have softened into weak, hiccuping whines.

“You’re doing great,” he says when he sees you. The words hit weirdly. You don’t feel like you are. You pass him the bottle, watching as he takes it, tests it, adjusts without hesitation. Shiro latches onto it more easily than he did with you, and something in your chest twists painfully again.

“See, bud?” Gojo whispers to Shiro this time. “There we go.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at your hands. They’re still trembling, just a little. “I didn’t even—” you start, then stop.

Gojo glances at you. “Didn’t what?”

“I didn’t do anything.” Your voice comes out small. “You did everything. I just...froze.”

He doesn’t answer right away, but Shiro’s sucking slows, his body gradually relaxing as the fever begins to ease, helped by the medicine Gojo had given him earlier. The room grows quieter again, the urgency fading into a heavy, tired calm.

When Shiro finally settles completely, Gojo carefully climbs onto the bed with him, moving slowly so as not to jostle the tiny body. He cradles Shiro against his chest for a moment, still speaking softly, before leaning closer to you. “Here,” he says gently, tilting Shiro toward you.

You take him, and he immediately clutches at your shirt, nuzzling his warm little face into your chest. The weight of him, so small and fragile, feels grounding. His tiny hands hold on like he never wants to let go, and finally your hands stop shaking.

Gojo shifts closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, another hand coming up to cradle your head. “You’ve got him,” he whispers.

And you do. You hold Shiro close, feeling his soft warmth, his steady little breaths, and the faint, sleepy sighs as he nuzzles deeper into you. You let yourself melt into that moment, resting your head against Gojo’s chest now, knowing he’s right there to hold both of you steady.

And just like that, the tears spill over. “I’m supposed to know what to do,” you whisper against his shirt. “I do know what to do, but I couldn’t, Satoru. I couldn't. I just stood there and—”

“Hey.” His hand slides up and down your back in slow, steady motions. “You didn’t just stand there. You noticed the fever first. You called me. You got the milk.”

“That’s nothing.”

“That’s everything,” he corrects gently.

You shake your head. “It wasn’t enough.”

“It doesn’t have to be enough,” he says. “We’re a team, remember?” The words settle into you, warm and quiet. “You don’t have to do it all on your own, especially when you’re scared.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I hate feeling like this.”

“I know.” His voice softens even more. “But feeling like this doesn’t make you a bad mom.”

You press your face closer into him, while Shiro curls his legs in your arms. “He wouldn’t even latch properly…”

“He’s sick,” Gojo says simply. “That’s not on you.”

Silence stretches between you, but it’s no longer sharp, no longer suffocating.

“He’s okay now,” he adds after a moment. “And so are you.” You nod weakly. Gojo’s fingers gently trace stars on your back, before he presses a kiss to your hair. “You did good.”

This time, you don’t argue. You just stay there, tucked into his side, letting his warmth steady you, letting his presence fill in the gaps where your strength had faltered. Shiro sighs softly against you, and for the first time since the fever hit, your chest loosens, even if just a little.

[fireflyschiikawa]

husband!sukuna: since baby!yuji started walking

sukuna has had no personal space.

currently he’s waking up to a pink haired blob tapping his face.

“hiiiiiii” his one year old speaks, chubby cheeks pulled into a smile.

sukuna groans swatting yuji off of his face.

yuji just giggles rolling over to do the same to you.

pat.pat.pat.

“mamamamama” you wake to your sons incessant babbling.

you smile up at him through slitted eyes still filled with sleep.

sukuna rips your son off of you only holding him by his back collar in the air.

“it’s too early for this” he grimaces at yuji.

yuji just kicks his legs smiling and clapping at his achievement of rousing the both of you.

you tut at sukuna for handling your baby like a parcel and grab yuji bringing him into your arms.

“how did you get here baby?” you question.

yuji being at that stage where toddlers converse yet make no sense rambles on about his secret heist of sneaking in here.

“yeah yeah gonna bite our ears off this kid” your husband rolls his eyes laying back down on his stomach.

yuji crawls out of your lap and climbs onto sukuna’s back patting his face harder than before.

almost smacking it.

you hold back a chuckle behind your hand.

sukuna narrows his eyes at you dramatically pouty and then in a few motions he’s got baby yuji beneath him.

your husband with his strong tattooed arms starts play fighting with his son and blowing raspberries onto his stomach muttering dangerously,

“you want a fight tough guy?”

yuji erupts into giggles shooting his arms and legs back up as if truly in a wrestling match.

you smile glancing away to look at the time.

6.00 am.

sigh this kid does not rest.

firefly; overdosing on that dad!kuna pill ❀ུ͏  

series mlist.

[jujulvtsu]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . | you like putting your fingers in yuji’s mouth

- .✦ ݁˖. -

cuddling with yuji was one of the things you loved doing with him besides sticking your fingers in his mouth. he didn’t mind, he wasn’t bothered by it, and he often thinks about sucking on the pretty nails that were coated in gel nail polish. not like it was a fetish; just to tease.

your head laid on his chest, your hand holding your phone and your other hand tickling his tongue. your pretty fingers clung to his teeth or fidgeted with his tongue, there was no in between.

yuji hovered a manga over his face, letting your fingers play with his gums. he liked when you pulled on his lips softly with no silly intentions. he liked when your fingertips grazed over his teeth, or when they just sat there over his bottom teeth. he was careless of what you did with his mouth.

his tongue wrestled against your pointers, coating them with saliva. his teeth weren’t clamped down on your digits, his mouth was slightly open but not weirdly-looking open; basically just allowing you to invade his mouth.

out of being bored, yuji silently sighs softly but quickly contains himself when he feels the need to bite down on your fingers. there was no thought process—something that was normal for yuji—and his teeth chomped down but was sure to be gentle.

“yuji!!” you yelp as soon as you feel his teeth harding down on the bones. you quickly pull away and sit up, scoffing.

yuji’s hands pulled down his manga to look at you. his clueless eyes gazed at your face, his expression oblivious. “what? I didn’t bite hard.”

“you don’t bite at all.” you’re quick to correct his ignorant actions. “we talked about this,” you add on as you laid your chin on his chest and your spit covered fingers laid near his mouth yet aware to not enter his mouth.

“yeah, I guess we did,” yuji lazily agreed, lips slightly pouting and almost touching your fingers.

you adjust your phone that had still been in your other hand. your pointer and middle finger caress over his bottom lip as you proceed to ask, “you’re not gonna bite?”

“nope.”

your fingers come back in his mouth and swirl around his tongue. your phalanx was being fondled by his top and bottom row teeth, and while you were quick to trust, you feel his teeth clamp down politely.

“yuji!”

“sorry!”

[bluukive-deactivated20260523]

⚓︎ hi I drew Toji

[sweetpianoxoxo]

I've been getting a lot of positive feedback and love on the food insecure Simon and John Price's Missus, so imma delve more into it, but headcanon style!!

Implication of eating disorders, angsty

So more about what simons mindset around food is:

Hes never had amazing access to food, and growing up it was mostly freezer meals, snacks teachers would give, and the free school lunches. When he made food at home, his father insisted on them eating together, because his mother would insists had she been around (she wasnt dead, she had left his abuse. Somehow Simons father still finds a way to always make himself the victim)

So when they would eat at these family dinners, his father criticized everything. Either he wasnt eating enough protein, or he was eating 'too much'. The meals 11 year old Simon made weren't nutritious enough, or weren't portioned right. No matter what, there was a problem, and it was Simons fault.

So when he joined the military to escape, and he had access to a canteen filled with healthy food, and enough money to buy more then the three dollar meals he'd buy with what he could get growing up. He could get whatever he wanted, but it was too much choice all at once.

Thats what the best part about missues little lunch boxes was. He really didnt need to choose, especially at first. She made whatever she felt like, the same way she would a kindergartener who didnt really have a choice, but ate what they liked.

He didnt even really know what his favourite food was for a really long time, but as the lunchboxes continued, he learned he liked a lot of things. His favourite fruit was mango, followed by strawberries. He didnt like oranges or tangerines.

He really liked spicy foods, but he learned his absolute favourite meal that missus made was a hearty oxtail stew called Rabo De Toro.

One day, when John handed off Simons lunch box to him, and Simon sat down for lunch he saw a note on top of the lunch box.

"What're your favourites that I've made? Meal planning for the next week xx Missus"

Well, he really didnt know how to answer that. I mean, everything shes made was great, but what if she was offended if he chose something over another? Beyond that, he didnt even know what certain things were.

He acted like he didnt see the note, never wrote back. Not that he didnt appreciate the food, or the effort for his input, he just didnt know.

The next day, he got another note, but this time, it was a lot easier to answer.

"Dinner: Pulled Pork Burger / Biryani

Lunch: Pho / Mac & Cheese

Circle one for each meal, I'll make the other ones the next day :) xx missus"

(He didnt know what Biryani was, but he chose that, along with the mac & cheese)

Eventually he was able to give his own suggestions, even once wrote that he'd really enjoy some cheese and crackers in his next meal.

It was when an acquaintance, another sergent from a different unit, made and offhanded joke about how it looked like a kids lunch box, did Simon start reverting back.

It was a sort of embarrassment. Not at being told he's treated like a kid, but at the prospect that he enjoyed it. He liked being taken care of and he was worrying that was too infantile for him to crave anymore.

When he rejected the lunch bag from price one afternoon (hadn't been able to give it earlier) and he told the missues what happened, she decided he needed a talking to.

She actually decided her home was a better enviorment. It was close to base, so on a weekend she had Price get someone to take him here (so he didnt really have a choice), and made a nice lunch spread.

Simon walked into what looked like a lunch scene in Bridgerton, small sandwiches of all kinds were out on display, soups, and a couple desserts. There was also small portions of other foods like deviled eggs, prepared fruit and veggies, etcetera. He could hear the kettle hissing and saw two tea-cups and a couple teabag options layed out.

"Choose a tea Si! Im just finishing up in here!" Missues called our from the kitchen, so ne took off his mask and shoes, placed them in their rightful places, and went to the table. He picked earl grey.

Mama came into the room carrying a tray of chocolate chip cookies. "Aw si you look great! That ointment been working for your scars? Not stinging too much?" She asked conversationally, and as the minutes passed Simon's nerves began to calm.

"Did John tell you why I asked you here?"

"No." He felt more like a kid in the principals office, rather than a grown, brute of a man sitting infront of a kind older lady, who he could realistically kill in seconds.

"Foods coming back uneaten. Are you not liking it?" He stayed silent as she moved around the table and placed a napkin on his lap before sitting down.

"Is it not warm by the time lunch comes?-"

"'M not a kid."

"Pardon?"

"'M not a kid. Don't need all my meals made for me."

"... Oh." Simons heart crushed as he looked at the older woman infront of him. The one that had been so kind to him. Treated him like her own, and now he was being so rude, so disrespectful.

"I wasnt trying to infantalize you Simon." She muttered, a bit quieter, and Simons eyes raised up high. "You're a grown man, but you take care of everything but yourself. Just thought not having to worry about meals might help, I'm sorry."

She whispered out that last little bit and Simon almost let out a squeak.

"No, no Ms Price thats not what I meant-"

"It's okay Simon, I apologize, thankyou for telling me. Just finish up here and if you want to take some home you're more then welcome."

Her voice was cut short, and she seemed like she was trying not to cry. Simon wanted to fix this, to explain that he loved having his lunches made but he didnt want to be extra work, but he didnt know how to. So he stayed silent.

[rawme-price]

No thoughts just pigeon!reader meeting crow!gaz and being thrilled to have a flock!

It's a new type of freedom in being understood the first time when you chirp, coo, or flap your wings. No need to translate yourself when most avian hybrids are familiar with others unique quirks. Gaz even goes out of his way to mimic some of your coos just to make you feel safe!

You fit right in with them, making a lethal member of the team in your own right. You and gaz are a duo people learn to fear, able to hunt and chase targets through most terrain. It's likr bonding for you two, hardly even a chore.

There's just....one thing.

"No. that is not a nest." Kyle narrows his eyes at the thing you've proudly proclaimed as your nest. "I don't know what that is, but no. Absolutely not."

"What?" You frown, wings drooping as you look between gaz and your nest with confusion. "It's a good nest! It's perfect, even!"

"It's made of what seems to be half a cardboard box and two socks." Gaz waves his hand at your nest, wings flaring in indignation "there's not support walls! No comfort! You don't even have a blanket!"

You tilt your head "why do I need that?"

Gaz screams of frustration echo down the hall.

He bans you from nest making when the inevitable happens and you move in together. You sleep in his fancy comfy best because it makes him happy. Little does he know, you've still got your own nest too!

....gaz knows about the two socks and a coat hanger that's at the bottom of your closet. He thinks it's just clutter and not a nest until he accidentally cleans it up one day and comes back to you sobbing over your lost work.

From then on you get a designated nest area marked in yellow tape on the floor, otherwise no one else would realize its your nest.

[yasmbaile]

dad!toji x fem!reader

summary: megumi has a friend!

Both Tsumiki and Megumi had been picked up from school and given a bath, their hair still wet as they sat quietly at the kitchen island, working on their homework while you prepared dinner. You placed berries in front of them and pressed a kiss to their cheeks.

“Thank you mommy,” Tsumiki said kindly.

“Do you need any help?” you asked. Megumi shifted slightly in his seat that was his way of asking. You moved closer, leaning down beside him.

“Which one, baby?” you murmured. He pointed at a problem, struggling with addition.

“Start by adding these,” you said, pointing at the numbers, “Then move on to these.” He followed along carefully, and when he got it right, you smiled and kissed his cheek. “Good job, my smart boy.” He gave a shy little smile.

“You can ask me too.” Tsumiki added. “I’m in third grade, you’re in first so I can do those.”

Megumi frowned slightly. “Mommy is smarter, Tsumiki. And you don’t explain it well.”

Tsumiki’s brows furrowed. “Maybe you’re just too stupid to understand.” she shot back, annoyed. The moment Megumi turned to look at you, you were already looking at them. “Hey,” you said, your tone firm. “Don’t talk to your brother like that, Tsumiki. We don’t use that word in this house.”

“Dad says it all the time, mommy,” she defended herself. You paused for a second, mentally cursing Toji.

“Well, your dad is a grown up and I warn him too, Sumi,” you said smoothly. Good save, you thought.

As you turned back to cooking, the front door opened quietly. Toji had come home without a sound. He winked at the kids and brought a finger to his lips, signaling them to stay quiet. Before you could notice, his arms wrapped around your waist from behind. “Fuck!” you yelped, jumping slightly in surprise.

A low chuckle vibrated against your back. “Miss me?” he murmured, his voice warm, amused.

You exhaled sharply, placing a hand over your chest. “Toji, what the hell-” you started, but he just laughed softly, resting his chin on your shoulder like he hadn’t nearly given you a heart attack.

“Language,” he added casually, glancing at the kids.

Tsumiki and Megumi burst into laughter. “Yes, mommy, language,” Tsumiki said, mocking her father also maybe you a little?

You let out a small laugh, turning your head just enough to press a quick kiss to Toji’s lips. He chuckled against you. “Yeah mommy, please,” he teased, leaning in to press quick kisses to your cheek, nose, jaw.

You laughed, pushing his face away lightly. He kissed your temple, completely unbothered. A second later, he let go of you and moved toward the kids instead. “Now what are my favorite kids doing?” he said, effortlessly lifting them up with his arms.

“Dad, we’re the only kids you have!” Tsumiki laughed, her voice high as he lifted them into the air.

“You think so, Tsumiki?” he said, raising a brow slightly. “You sure about that?”

She laughed again, wrapping her arms around his neck, while Megumi quietly snuggled closer into him.

Toji just chuckled softly, a rare expression crossing his face as he pressed quick kisses all over their cheeks. “We had a bath, daddy,” Tsumiki said proudly, informing him.

“You did?” Toji hummed, leaning in to sniff dramatically. “That’s why you smell like a princess, huh?” he added, tickling her sides until she burst into laughter.

He walked back over to you, pressing a quick kiss to your neck. “I’ll take a quick shower, then we’ll eat, hm?” You nodded, smiling softly.

The kids finished their homework, you set the table, and by the time Toji got out of the shower, everything was ready. Soon all of you were sitting together, eating.

Tsumiki talked the entire time; about her friends, the games they played, how her birthday was still two months away but how she wanted her party, which friend she definitely wasn’t inviting, and everything in between.

Toji chuckled every now and then, nodding along, letting her ramble. You were just about to get up when-

“Mommy can I say something?” Megumi asked suddenly, voice small. You turned to him, nodding quickly.

“Of course, Megumi.”

He hesitated for a second. “Can my friend Yuji come over tomorrow?”

Everything stopped.

Your head snapped up. “Your friend?” you repeated, your voice barely steady.

Megumi nodded. “We’re in the same class, mommy. And he said he wants to come to my house.”

Your eyes filled instantly. For a moment, no words came out. You just stared at him.

“I-I of course, Megumi,” your voice broke.

He kept looking at you with those big eyes, confused, trying to understand your reaction.

“I just- I need to get something,” you said quickly, standing up. “From the bedroom, I’ll be back.”

Before the tears could fall, you walked out, fast. Leaving behind three confused faces at the table.

A few seconds passed. Toji cleared his throat lightly. “Okay,” he said, standing up. “Finish your plates. I’ll go check on mom.” He paused, then added, “Yeah. I’ll help her in the bedroom.”

He walked down the hall and knocked softly on the bedroom door before stepping inside. “Sweetheart?” he called gently. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, hands covering your face.

He moved closer, sitting down beside you. You pulled your hands away, your eyes still wet, but you were smiling.

“He has a friend, Toji,” you said, your voice shaky with emotion. “A friend. And he wants to come to our house.”

Toji let out a quiet chuckle, leaning in to kiss you softly. “I told you it’d be fine, baby.”

You wrapped your arms around him, holding on a little tighter than usual, trying to calm yourself down. His hand came up to your back, tracing comforting circles.

“Come on,” he murmured. “They’re waiting.” You nodded.

He reached up, wiping your tears away with the back of his hand before standing, offering you a small, amused look.

*‧.₊˚*੭*ˊᵕˋ੭.* *‧.₊˚*੭*ˊᵕˋ੭.* *‧.₊˚*੭*ˊᵕˋ੭.*

The next day, you had been up since early morning.

Cleaning, cooking, checking everything twice.

“For what?” Toji muttered from the couch, watching you move around for the hundred time. “Is the president coming over?”

You shot him a look. “Megumi’s friend is coming.”

“Yeah,” he said, unimpressed. “A kid”

You ignored him, fixing the already perfect pillows.

“Kid is not even going to sit here.” He chuckled at you.

A knock came at the door. You locked eyes with Megumi.

Then slowly, Megumi walked to the door and opened it.

“HI!” the boy on the other side beamed, way too loud. He threw himself onto Megumi and gave him a big hug. “MEGUMIII!” he yelled in the hallway.

Toji burst into loud laughter.

this nothingburger…. just a midnight thoughts sorry also i literally have nothing in my mind pleaseeee send some requests 😭😭😭 thank you so so much for reading

[rezijellyfish]

Baby Yuuji🥺

[0-pepites-0]

Captain . . . You seem to have lost your T-shirt.-

(And we lost our underpants haha)

[bittersweetlyblue]

lieutenant simon ghost riley x subordinate!reader

simon who keeps things strictly professional at first — calls you by your last name, voice clipped, tone neutral, like you’re no different from anyone else on the team because he keeps trying to convince himself you're not.

simon who notices you anyway — how you move, how you think, how you react under pressure — and starts assigning you to his side more often than necessary.

simon who tells himself it’s because you’re reliable, not because he trusts you more and definitely not because he prefers you there — under his eye.

simon who stands just a little closer to you than anyone else during briefings, like it’s coincidence — but it happens every time and definetly does not escape neither soap nor price's eyes.

simon who corrects you in the field with that low, steady voice: “focus,” “watch your six” never harsh, but always right there in your ear.

simon who doesn’t praise openly, but you’ll hear it in quieter moments “good work” said lower, meant only for you.

simon who starts using your name differently, less sharp, less distant, even if he doesn’t realise it.

simon who steps in immediately when something goes wrong around you, faster than he does for anyone else like it’s instinct, like he doesn’t even think about it.

simon who notices when you’re injured before you even say anything, grip firm on your arm as he checks you over, voice dropping— “why didn’t ya say somethin'?”

simon who gets quietly irritated when you brush it off, jaw tightening behind the mask, because you should’ve told him.

simon who starts giving you orders that sound a little too personal“stay with me,” “don’t move unless i say” and you listen, even when you don’t fully know why.

simon who lingers after missions when everyone else has cleared out, like he’s making sure you’re okay without actually saying it.

simon who has that one moment where your hands brush—passing gear, steadying each other—and neither of you pull away immediately.

simon who pulls back after that, creates distance. goes colder, more formal again — calls you by rank, keeps conversations short — because he knows exactly what that moment meant.

simon who watches you more after that, though, from a distance. like he’s keeping himself in check.

simon who gets that edge in his voice when someone else gets too close to you, even if it’s just another teammate joking around.

simon who doesn’t like how distracted you make him, how his attention shifts to you without permission.

simon who reminds himself constantly— you’re under his command. this is a line he does not cross.

simon who almost breaks that rule more than once. late nights. quiet moments. when it’s just the two of you and the tension sits too heavy in the air.

simon who finally snaps one time — not loudly, not dramatically — but quieter, more dangerous.“you need to stop looking at me like that.”

simon who regrets it the second he says it because now it’s out there.

simon who then does not regret it when you lean forward and kiss him.

[lil-yearnings]

Simon Riley would be the type of boyfriend who likes nobody, except you, and his mates.

When he's forced on leave, before and after you come into his life, he holes himself up in his flat, sustained by a diet of tea and beer, only moving from the couch to grab another can. He almost never meets up with the team on leave.

He's "Busy."

Busy doing nothing.

Because nothing was a luxury activity.

With you, his habits aren't as self-destructive. He no longer drowns himself in alcohol, and actually gets up and walks around the flat, just to look for you. See what you're up to. Other than whatever football game is on, he's more interested in your own hobbies. What's going on in your games, luvie? What're making now? Is that a new recipe? Johnny's missus taught you, that right?

He even forces himself relents to go outside.

It's a big reason why the 141 likes you. You get their friend to come out of hiding and breathe some fresh air. With you, they could almost see the man they could call a brother begin to recover. Be normal.

It's Kyle that notices first. The men (plus you) are left alone at the quaint little pub John's selected, a feat accomplished by Simon's wicked RBF. You ask Sergeant MacTavish a question, and Kyle finally understands why people wrote "his gaze softened."

John catches on, too. The "normalizing" effect you had on his Simon. Your look, your voice, you were by no means a siren who made Simon lose control, but an anchor that rooted a ship to a safe bay, despite a raging sea.

Simon opens up more to the 141 whenever you're around. He responds in sentences, orients his body to you when you speak, and even cracks some jokes.

He's even more relaxed once you head home. His whole body is turned towards you, and there's even the beginning of a lazy smile on his lips as he listens to you talk.

[crashingcryptid]

"Nikolai? Uncle Nikolai?"

Nik pulls himself away from the helicopter he's working on to look down at you. "Ah, hello, mini Price. What brings you all the way out here?" You huff quietly at his nickname as he climbs down. "Well? Going to pout or tell me what you need?"

"I need help in my robotics class. I have everything else fine! The joints move, and the outer pieces connect perfectly, but every time I wire it, it shorts out!" You pull a scrappy, homemade compact computer out of your bag. "I need this up and running by Monday, and I'm all out of ideas."

Nik clicks his tongue as he takes the device. It's impressive work, especially for a freshman in college. "I see where the mistakes are. Sit at the work bench. I will get us something to drink." You shuffle over to the desk, moving papers and gadgets carefully out of the way to make room for yours.

Three hours and two cans of coke later, your miniature computer is up and running. "Uncle Nik, thank you!" You hug him tight around the neck, squeaking when he lifts you into his arms. "Nik!! I'm not a baby anymore!" You huff, but the protest dies in your throat when you see his eyes, just slightly misty with tears.

"Uncle Nik?"

"I remember that. When you were a wee babe. Fit you in just one arm, barely bigger than my hand." He whispers fondly, patting your cheek. "Your Papa left you with me a lot when he was busy. Read you all of my manuals when you got fussy." He quickly wipes a tear away, kissing your head before he sets you down. "Come see me again, mini Price."

"Okay. I will." You promise, taking your little computer with you as you leave. You'd have to stop by next week and have dinner with him in the garage like you used to after school.

[hellounicetomeetyou]

"She and I are married" Ghost said firmly, silently proud as he checked his coffee, Gaz stopped reading, Soap stopped drinking (miracle), to look at him and Price stopped smoking, looking up at Ghost interested.

"Yeah and I'm the king of Spain" Soap teased, gaining a chuckle from Roach across the room.

"I meant it, pal, we're married" Ghost deadpanned and the room went still.

Soap looked at him like he grew another leg and squealed.

"BUT DIDN'T SHE LIKE, THREW YOU A CUP AIMED TO YOUR HEAD THIS MORNING"

Ghost's expression turned into a dizzy grin and smitten expression

"Yep, good times"

"And didn't she try to shot you twice" Roach added raising an eyebrow.

"it's her love language"

"Love language?!, Soap did you put drugs on his coffee again? Roach sighed

"what do you mean again?-" Price slowly asked while he got up.

"Nevermind-"

"SOAP GODDAMIT"

"Please find help" Gaz whispered, slowly extracting himself of the room , which quickly erupted in Soap's panicked squeals, Price going after him and Ghost smiling lovestruck at the thought of you his perfect, crazy and beautiful wife.

[chanterelle-megaton]

grocery shopping with König but he keeps wandering off and coming back to ask you ‘Schatz can we get this? Schatz? Can we get it? Please?’

ohohohoh i love this so so sooo much anon... i work in retail so i think about this often... grocery shopping with the big blorbo... thank you for the ask!!

⚠︎ cws: a little bit of denglish. sorry.

könig had just gotten back from a deployment, and, as usual, he is refusing to leave your side. he doesn't mention it, but it is so obvious. almost painfully. fumbling with his hands, standing just too close, leaning into your direction like a magnet. silent like a wall, eyes hopeful as he glances at you, your body, like you hung the moon and stars. like you're the most beautiful, heavenly, jaw dropping person ever. to him, you are.

when he has been home for a few days and it comes time for your weekly shop, you let him know before hand, “baby, i’m going shopping tomorrow.” when könig's sad, blue eyes meet yours, you speak again “you can come if you want.”

he’s so polite, really. waiting for permission, like a big, well trained dog. he doesn’t need permission, you tell him over and over. but he still waits for it, face expectant, body slighly tensed like you'd refuse.

at the supermarket, he almost regrets his decision to come with you. almost. there are a lot of people, there is music, and lots to keep track of. you both have learned long ago that when könig is off the field he is a bit... tunnel visioned. but also easily distracted, somehow.

you give him the very important job of holding the basket, which is loaded with veggies, some yogurt, bread, and some chocolates you noticed were on sale. you don't notice how easily distracted he is until you're looking at pasta shapes, trying to decide if there is a substantial difference between fettuccine and linguini, and he comes up beside you.

"look what i've found," könig says, holding something out to you. "they're chips, but made of seaweed. can we get them, schatz, please? i promise i'll eat them."

oh, how can you refuse when he looks at you like that? big wide eyes, hidden underneath the brim of his hat, so expectant, so excited. you put them in the basket without a second thought, and it is all paid off when he leans in and presses a shy kiss to your cheek in thanks.

the next time it happens, you are looking at soap. deciding which is better value, which will smell better, which will last longer. you feel könig gravitating away from you again, his big, warm presence missing for a moment before you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“schatz, look at this soap. african black soap. can i get it? please please please?”

you want to slap him for being so cute. curse his puppy eyes, you sigh as you put it in the basket. it sits perfectly next to his seaweed chips. pop music plays in the background, ads for foreign foods and the chain store’s jingle distract you, and the next time your big dork wanders off, it is much longer.

you don’t worry. könig is a grown man, an adult, a soldier, he knows what he is doing. on second thought, does he? he can't tell left from right most days and when you first got together he put a spoon in the microwave. sometimes you can't be so sure.

the shelves of bread all blend together. gluen free, seedless, seeded, white, wholemeal, sourdough, pre sliced, unsliced, light and dark rye, it's a nightmare. the decision is too much, you lament, looking around to see if your big boyfriend has returned. to your dismay, he is still loose around the store.

his next strange, childlike request, you're sure will give you a migraine. sometimes you wonder how he even made it through basic, let alone became a colonel. life is full of mysteries, you repeat to yourself.

"schatz! look! they have lego minifigures! i want to get some, please please? can i? i'll pay with my own money, i brought cash!" in his big, scarred hands, you see about 4 boxes of lego minifigures. instead of acting dissapointed, this time, all you can do is laugh.

"baby, do you need more lego? you still have like, three unbuilt sets!" you tell him, shocked by his ability to simply collect.

"ja, what if i get bored? plus, these are only small, so it is not a set." you swear you can see him roll his eyes, a subtle way of teasing you. "doesn't count."

"you're such a child."

"i am not. lego is for all ages." könig dumps the minifig boxes in the basket, next to his seaweed chips and african black soap. könig, the big dork he is, doesn't even wait to get home before he opens his legos, over the moon excited when he doesn't get any double ups, showing you the minifigs and letting you hold them.

safe to say, your shops get more expensive when konig tags along. but the joy in his eyes makes the extra $20 worth it.

sorry if this is kinda nothingburger... i've been so preoccupied with my second job i just wanna sleep all the time, but i have to lock in for my fans!!. i love this ask so much, and i took all these random items he asks for from the store i work at. thank u my job for making me better at fanfiction!! have a nice day/ night anon!!

[katabby]

Cuddling up with Simon. He's watching some shitty tv, the first channel when he switched it on, while you soak in his warmth, slowly drifting to sleep. You look up at his steel gaze, wondering what could possibly be going through his head. Is he thinking of you? The characters? His friends? Trauma? God, you wish you knew.

You curled up a little tighter, poking a little at his stomach. He glances down, putting his hand over yours with a huff. You look down at his palm encompassing your entire hand, when you suddenly blurt.

"Do you hate me?"

He stares at you for a moment before holding your face in his hands and kissing you. His little cleft lip brushing against yours and you could feel the torn skin on his lips from him biting. He wraps his arms around you, holding you as though you might fade away.

"I don't know what's going through your head to make you think that, but I could never hate you. You ever see me without my mask around anyone else?"

You shyly shake your head, burying your face in his chest. He doesn't force you, but guides your chin up to look at him.

"Keep looking, wanna make sure you're hearing me. I love you, dear, and it hurts when you don't believe that sometimes."

[ilylovelyz]

simon bought a nice house with a nice pool.

it was very, very expensive.

maintenance of the pool gives simon a migraine—he's like a territorial dog when it comes to his house, he'd rather die than let some strange man come into his house and fix whatever needs fixing, professional or not. so often simon finds himself putting his back into the maintenance.

but good lord, when he works up a sweat and finally sits back on a baby pink sunchair, he finds it allll worth it.

from his view of the sunchair, does simon see you rise from the water like a pretty little mermaid, water droplets running down your skin that's beginning to tan from the many days you spend in the sun, in the pool.

sexy, sexy thing you are. you have on this tiny little bikini, so you have the most exposure to the sun as possible. "i'm trying to get a tan for the summer!" you said to him when he bought you it. simon actually didn't give a fuck what you wore to swim, he would prefer you even swim without anything on at all—now that would be something he could watch for hours.

"simon," you call. simon instantly redirects his focus on you, seeing you bat your pretty wet lashes at him. "yes, lovie?" he immediately answers. what do you need? a drink? another ice cream? lord please ask him to rub on some more sunscreen on you.

"can i have a sip of your lemonade?"

simon deflates. but instantly perks up because what his lady wants she gets. he rises from the chair he's been sitting in for hours and walks to the edge of the pool, squatting and lowering down his cold glass of lemonade that has a pink straw in it. you made the lemonade of course, so it tastes good naturally 'cuz everything his lady does is effortless in his eyes.

he gets hypnotized by the way you move in the water. nice and slowly. you grab onto the ledge, pulling yourself up and wrapping your lips around the straw, closing your eyes taking a nice relieving sip.

simon takes a greedy look of you now that you're upclose. he himself is turning red from sunburn but you look delectable; his eyes closely follow the droplets that run down the valley of your breasts and neck, and finds fascination in your new tan lines.

"ah," you sigh, unwrapping your lips from the straw. you look back up at him, crinkling your eyes as you smile more warmly than the sun has ever felt on simon's skin even in the sweltering heat of afghanistan.

"thank you!" you chirp, then turn around and begin to paddle back to your waterbed for some more tanning.

this pool is the best investment he's ever made—right next to mesh bikinis he's about to buy you..