Content Masterlist <3
JAMES POTTER
POLY!MARAUDERS
SIRIUS BLACK
CALL OF DUTY
ROMAN GODFREY
Oneshots: Roman Godfrey x wife!Reader
KYLO REN
Oneshots: The Dream : sub!Kylo

#extradirty

No title available

@theartofmadeline
KIROKAZE
sheepfilms

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
almost home
Cosimo Galluzzi
styofa doing anything
art blog(derogatory)
ojovivo
h
RMH

roma★
No title available
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
occasionally subtle
Stranger Things
noise dept.
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from India
seen from Türkiye

seen from Brazil
seen from Brazil

seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Spain

seen from United States
seen from Netherlands

seen from Taiwan

seen from Romania

seen from United States
seen from Mexico

seen from Türkiye
@starsnblue
Content Masterlist <3
JAMES POTTER
POLY!MARAUDERS
SIRIUS BLACK
CALL OF DUTY
ROMAN GODFREY
Oneshots: Roman Godfrey x wife!Reader
KYLO REN
Oneshots: The Dream : sub!Kylo
Damsel in Distress - SugarDaddy!James Potter x Reader
Warnings: none
Summary: You meet a nice man accidentally when he saves you from a horrible evening. You think that is the end. You were wrong. As you slowly build a connection with him, something happens that threatens to bring it all crashing down around you. Again.
3.3k
AN: gang I swear this is still a James Potter blog too. This has been sat in my drafts for ages cause I got enthusiastic and wrote a couple chapters and then lost all motivation. Anyway I cut my hand twice at work the other day, fingers covered in blue plasters, I looked like a right nob.
You spent the better part of your night holding back tears. Mostly because your mascara was expensive but also because you were in public and you were ashamed to reveal how much your heart hurt.
Product Testing - Simon Riley x Reader
wc: circa 650
AN: I am melting in this UK heatwave everyone, its not fun. A short one because I keep starting new ideas without finishing the old ones :(
Simon gulped. Hard. This activity was going to kill him. Slowly and painfully. Forget all the battle fields and war zones he’s been shipped out to. No, in his own sitting room was where he would perish. And you were only on the second one.
His eyes stayed firmly locked on you as you jogged around the coffee table, testing the security of your new sports bra.
Hiiii, just wanted to say I love your fics and read them constantly. 'The Watcher' is incredible. No pressure at all, but if you're ever open to it, I would love to see a part 2. Thank you for sharing your talent!
Thank you so much! I really do forget that there are real people on the other side of the screen reading my stuff and I don’t just post it to the black hole of the internet.
The Wanker - James Potter x Reader
Part 1/Part 2
3.4K
Warnings: Male masturbation, James being a weird stalker, panty theft.
Summary: James finally gets himself where he wants to be: your bedroom.
AN: Guys I won’t tell you how patient this anon has been with me whilst I got this second part out, just know they’ve been waiting a long time and I do apologise.
Home he went, dragging his feet with every step, unwilling to leave. But he couldn’t sleep outside, much as he would have liked to. No, he would be missed at home.
It was a brisk fifteen-minute walk between your place and James’, or a slow twenty five with a whole minute dedicated to dodging puddles. The latter was how long James took to reach his own weatherbeaten front door. The day was quite mild, all things considered, so he took his time, feeling the wind ruffle his hair lightly, brooding. He got back, opened the door and immediately had to hop to avoid tripping on his housemates’ shoes scattered across the hallway, the shoe rack sitting innocently empty. The slam of the door alerted them to his homecoming.
Sirius instantly appeared in a doorway, a giant bowl of popcorn in his hands, “Heyah,” He said lightly between mouthfuls, “Where you been?” James was still slightly in a daze from the sight of your tits; he muttered out a quick lie of “Gym,” before hurrying off upstairs, Sirius’ shouts of “Film starts in five!” Echoing in his ears, chasing him up each carpeted stair. His head was still in too much of a whirl, he didn’t know if he’d be able to sit still all the way through a film, he was already chubbing up again.
Frustrated he rushed into his room, slammed the door firmly behind him and flung his things away, uncaring when they landed in a dusty corner. He tugged on his hair before collapsing onto his bed, shifting his hips to get his jeans off and his dick out. There was no time to waste. He was hard again. He began to roughly jerk himself off to you, imagining it had been your hand in his hair coaxing him onto the bed. He grunted quietly as the memory of you swarmed in his head, framed in that fucking window, his hand moving at a steady pace, thumb brushing over his mushroom head, unsure of how much time he had before Sirius came knocking. But he was already finding it difficult to work himself up properly, frustrated at having come so close, so close to you only to have to turn away again.
He closed his eyes, immersing himself in his little world of you built on memories of scent, flashes of skin, echoing giggles and the blurry outline of your body everywhere. That helped. His hand moved faster, squeezed harder, as he submerged himself in all his favourite things, letting them swirl and build around him until he could feel his release tingling away, building below the surface of his skin. He gritted his teeth, gripped even harder, ignoring the callouses on his own rough hands, imagining them away to be softer, smaller. He worked the head of his cock again, sensitive, dripping in pre-cum, rubbed harder, chasing his release. He was so close, his climax at his fingertips as he imagined you under him, tits bouncing, your own face, shiny with sweat screwed into the picture of ecstasy as he made you cum over and over until the only name on your lips was his. He felt his balls twitch in anticipation, hips thrusting up into his own hand, so close, so-
A loud bang. “Jamie! Get down here, NOW! Or Rem and I will eat all your food!”
Gone. His felt his climax slip teasingly away no matter how much he chased it. Scrunching his face up as he held in a yell of frustration he let his hips drop back down to meet the duvet, aware he was not going to find release tonight. He let go of his cock, still hard, and mentally cursed Sirius and everything about him.
“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER, your excuses are useless! Watch the bloody film!” The creak of the first stair revealed how serious Sirius was, threatening his ascent. Muttering even more curses, James shouted back a slew of insults and heard Sirius’ steps padding back towards the sitting room, the sofa and his boyfriend. He tugged his trousers back up, ignoring his arousal, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done so before. He plodded downstairs, unhappy and unsatisfied. He promised himself, as he flopped onto the sofa in the dark living room, TV illuminating Sirius’ and Remus’ faces glued to the screen, that things wouldn’t go on like this. He would not have to shamefully fist his cock to an unsatisfying release before he was interrupted. With each handful of popcorn he ate he concocted a promise to himself and to you, that he would do something about this whole situation. So of course, he did.
A few days later James walked free of the shackles of his lecture hall to be met with brilliant sunlight filling his retinas, the first real bit of sun this term. He basked in it, feeling like a tropical lizard, while its warmth brought with it the promise of nicer days to come. He squinted as he descended the stone stairs, vision even more impaired than usual as he jogged spryly down, backpack jolting gently against him, thinking about what to have for dinner when- “Oof!” Something squishy and soft and warm collided with his front.
Still blinded by the sun he instinctively reached out to grab the thing, steadying them both. He heard apologies flowing from a warm mouth and his heart skipped a beat, stuttering in its steady rhythm as his brain caught up with the situation he found himself in. How often had he fantasized about that voice, heard it ringing in his ears as he painted his own hand with his release. How often had he wished it was real, right there beside him, ready and willing to help? How perfect was this?
He blinked away glaring light and into his field of vision came something even more breath-taking. You.
You stood there, in front of him, real at last and warm and blissfully within arms reach. Dressed in a decidedly unremarkable outfit, he would disagree entirely, a generic hairstyle, makeup-less, backpack straps digging into your shoulders with the weight of your laptop and your books; you had only come to campus on a short errand, expecting to be in and out in half an hour. You had been shocked to run, literally, head-first into James Potter, but you supposed the universe worked in mysterious ways. Or should you say university, this was a small campus after all.
Once you had gotten over your initial shock, you felt your cheeks flush and you crossed your arms protectively, embarrassed at making such a show of yourself in front of a person with no obvious flaws at all. “Oh James, I’m so sorry,” You said, apologising when it was not your fault. James said nothing, staring at you with his mouth open like he needed to be switched off and on again. You were minorly concerned. “Er, James?” You repeated, confused. He blinked, rebooted, closed his mouth and brought a hand up to sweep distractedly through his hair. “Oh hey,” He said, entirely too casually for someone who had just bodied another human being, “How are you?” You opened your mouth to reply but someone bumped into your shoulder before you could. James glared daggers at the passerby but it reminded you that the two of you had stopped in the middle of the pavement, being a blockage to the flow of foot traffic. “Here,” You said, tugging on his sleeve to go round to the side of the building, out of the way. You were lucky you had your back turned to James because he had a full-body shiver at the feeling of your hand on his wrist. He was fighting a losing battle to keep his cock restrained.
Once you had squirreled the pair of you out of the way, retreating to the side of a building, you resumed your conversation. It was all small talk, how’ve you been, how are your lectures, any essays coming up, the usual boring basic stuff but James made it out to be the headline news of his week. He knew how important your essays and your grades were to you, he watched you put in the effort. The smile never left his face, hair as unruly as ever and his eyes shining brightly even without the sunlight, as he angled his body towards you, making sure you knew you had his full, undivided attention. Not even a meteor strike could pull him away from this. From you.
“And that’s all, really.” You finished up, trying to surreptitiously check your watch, aware that you had been chatting for sometime. James hummed, noticing. When you realised he wasn’t going to say anything else, that this conversation was fizzling out you made your excuses to leave. “I should get going,” You said, a polite smile stretching your lips, “It’s spaghetti night and we’re making the pasta from scratch.” James grinned back, less enthusiastically than you had, his smile slowly disappearing from sight as he realised your time together was not eternal. “It was nice seeing you, James.” You said honestly, quietly slipping away. James’ brain froze, traumatised by the sight of you leaving again. He couldn’t let it happen, not when you had fallen so perfectly into him.
You had barely taken two steps, about to replay your entire conversation in your head to see when you could’ve made some wittier remarks, when a small, meek voice sounded from behind you, “I love spaghetti.” You paused. Had he just? Turning again, your eyes met his own, decidedly sadder ones. Despite you only travelling a meter or so away from him, James had deteriorated rapidly from the separation. He stood hunched where you had left him next to the grey building, alone, and he seemed to be wilting. He looked abandoned, unwanted, like the last dog left in the shelter. You felt bad.
Where had this come from? You knew he had plenty of friends, it was a wonder you had bumped into him alone, he was practically always with one of them. You certainly wouldn’t describe him as lonely. But then again, one could never assume about someone else’s life. Here he was after all, standing all by himself, brown eyes staring hopefully into your own, looking like a child who had been promised ice cream, only for the adult to take it away.
“Oh,” You said softly, uncomfortable. You struggled for something to say for a second, your mind working fast. Sympathy was coursing through your entire body, sadly familiar with the feeling of being left out, having nothing to do while watching others enjoy themselves. Surely your housemates wouldn’t mind if you invited James, they wouldn’t mind another set of hands. Plus, it was James Potter, campus celebrity. They’d never say no and he would be your responsibility anyhow. You just hated the thought of leaving him like this.
And James knew it.
”Would you like to come? To dinner, I mean.” You clarified quickly, mortified. James however, appeared to have been injected with some sort of drug. The speed at which he perked up should be studied. “Yeah, please, if it’s not too much trouble.” He said, the happiness audible in his voice. He started towards you without waiting for a reply. A panicked smile crossed your face before it was gone, placed with as genuine a grin as you could manage as he fell into step beside you. You were trying to calculate if you had enough ingredients to last this dinner but James had already started chatting about something else, so you were a little distracted as the two of you began to head for your place, James in the lead.
As soon as you had returned home and dumped your things you were rushing into the kitchen to double check the ingredients again. Assessing them you worked out you would have just enough for James to join in, thank goodness. Turning around, you saw that James had followed you in and was appraising the crappy kitchen of your even crappier student housing. Embarrassment crept up on you as you took in the overflowing bin, the stained floor and the crumbs scattered everywhere.
“Sorry,” You said sheepishly, “I thought my housemates would’ve been back by now.” ‘And cleared up this mess so we don’t look like slobs’ you finished the sentence in your head. James didn’t seem bothered. He just shrugged, moving deeper into the room towards you.
Come to think of it, where were your housemates? You took out your phone and began to ring them. The ensuing phone call was very informative. They had gone to get some essentials, “We’re out of wine!”, and had gotten stuck in traffic on the way back, “I think there was an accident, there are blue lights everywhere and nobody’s moving.” Sending your condolences, you promised to have food on the table by the time they got back and hung up.
You assumed James had heard everything, he hadn’t given you any privacy by leaving the kitchen, so when you turned and told him the two of you had better get started he didn’t seem too fussed. Not that he wanted to let onto you of course, but he was the furthest from fussed he’d ever been in his life. This couldn’t have gone better had he planned and executed the whole thing; he was glad he didn’t have to anymore. If he thought about this situation hard enough it was definitely, by all definitions, a date. Your first one together. You were alone, in a private space, in the evening and food was involved. He was much more than fussed. He was focused.
You cleared the place up a little whilst directing James to get all the ingredients out and ready. He was attentive, executing your instructions to the letter and you were pleased and impressed. Once you’d deemed the surfaces usable you and James got started weighing out the flour and cracking the eggs to make the pasta. You’d never actually done this before but the recipe seemed simple enough and, though you wouldn’t admit it to yourself, you wanted to look cool in front of James. He was such an interesting person himself that anything you could do that was edgy and different was sure to gain you brownie points with him.
You and James chatted merrily over the pasta dough, swapping jokes and funny tales as you kneaded, rolled and cut the stuff, the radio on some vintage music channel in the background. The ambience that gave, plus the dim lighting and the decidedly domestic situation you found yourself in meant that whenever your bare arm brushed James’, sleeves rolled up for protection, butterflies went swirling through your tummy. The innocent, girlish kind that signalled a schoolgirl crush rather than whatever chaos was swimming in James’ body. Opposingly, every time he felt how soft your skin was he had to swallow back a groan, imagining how soft your nipples would be under his thumbs.
With the pasta finished and cooking you sent James off to wash his hands and brush his jumper free of flour whilst you started on the sauce. You directed James to the bathroom you shared with one other girl so he wouldn’t disturb anyone else’s things. Unfortunately for you, that bathroom was right next to your room, which James took full advantage of disturbing.
The thrill of knowing that, only meters away, you were so carefully cutting tomatoes and dicing onions for him to enjoy while he was tiptoeing around your room, finally in the space he had only seen through the window for so long. It was smaller than he had imagined. Careful to keep an ear out for the repeated sound of the knife hitting the chopping board he sat gently on your bed, reverently wafting his hand over your pillows. This was where you slept. Where you touched yourself, hopefully to thoughts of him. He lent forwards and quietly sniffed your pillow, drowning himself in the intoxicating scent of sleep, shampoo and you. Shivering, he pulled back before he got too invested, unwilling to lose sight of his main goal. Standing again, he had it in his sights. Your laundry basket. An old blue thing he’d seen you balance on your hip a hundred times before, only this time its contents were ripe for the picking.
He moved over, mindful in case any of the floorboards creaked and reached it. For a short second he stood over it just basking in the fact that he was standing over a treasure trove and he could do whatever he wanted, take whatever he wanted. It was euphoric. He bent down, studying the way that the clothes on top were arranged before he carefully stuck his hand in, rooting around, trying to find what he knew was buried in there somewhere. Then his fingers brushed again something incongruously soft and lacy and his hand clenched into an unyielding fist. He’d found it. Your underwear. Your used underwear. Something he had fisted his cock raw over. If he’d wanted something clean he could’ve gone to the nearest shop, no, he wanted them dirty. He wanted them to be yours.
Pulling his hand back out, he discovered he had caught a pretty pink pair, all frills and bows. He shuddered again and couldn’t stop himself. He found he didn’t want to stop himself. He brought them up to his nose with one hand, the other brushed over his hardening erection. His eyes rolled, his mouth opened in a silent groan, ecstasy rushing through his veins, making his heart thud against his ribs. He was sure he was in heaven, he had met his maker. He stayed still for a while, content to breathe in your scent and tease himself, but he was brought back to reality with the crashing thud of your spoon against the pot. Shit. He was running out of time. Still in some sort of half-daze, he reached in again and this time pulled out a much more simple pair, white with small black flowers, that he took without a second thought. It was nice to have the variety.
But now he had a much bigger problem. His cock was straining against his jeans, unapologetic and absolutely noticeable. James decided there was only one thing for it. Still holding the pink pair to his face, he tugged at his zip and freed his cock before half walking, half waddling over to your drawers, where he opened one after the other until he found your underwear. Bras and panties, matching and odd ones, obviously new ones and older ones that had stretched and faded. He saw them all, admired each in turn as he imagined you modelling them for him, smiling happily as your tits bounced out of the lace and your hips swayed from side to side-
He had to shove the pink fabric into his mouth to muffle his moans as he came into his hand after a mere few strokes. He had to work on that, he realised, if he wanted to impress you. He couldn’t be a two-minute man. But the thought of you in your underwear just did it for him. Still, he thought, cleaning his hands with some tissues he’d found, he could practice. He threw the tissues into the bin with a wild air, thrilled at the thought of you finding them. He rearranged your laundry basket to how he had found it. He shoved both pairs into his pocket, needing something to practice with.
He stood in your doorway, mourning the short time he had had in there, vowing that he would return next time with you in his arms. He pulled the door to, and walked back to the kitchen, looking nonchalant and calm as if he hadn’t just jerked it to your old sports bras. “Oh James, you’re back!” You exclaimed. Fuck, he’d do anything to have you say his name again. “Here,” You said, holding a small spoon out to him with a little sauce on it. “Try.” You held a hand under his chin to make sure nothing spilt onto his clothes as you brought the spoon to his mouth. James ducked slightly to make it easier for you to reach. He licked it clean, keeping eye contact with your own concerned pair, letting the rich taste blossom on his tongue, covering up something else. “More salt?” You asked, worried. He smacked his lips and grinned.
“Don’t think so, love. Tastes perfect to me.”
Masterlist<3
Simon Riley and the dog he didn’t want
1.4K
Simon Riley was fucking fine, everyone else just needed to get off his back. Leave him alone. He was a fully grown man who was absolutely capable of taking care of himself; he regularly bought lettuce at the supermarket for crying out loud.
And yet ever since he’d been discharged Price had been on his arse about seeing a shrink. ‘Lonely,’ He had said, ‘Gotta talk to someone who isn’t a cashier Simon.’ Simon merely grunted and blinked at his superior, indicating he was done talking about this. ‘Waste of time,’ Simon called it. Price could only sigh and look disappointed, something Simon abhorred.
Have you seen those pelvic floor exercise reels on Instagram?
Anyway the 141 and your pelvic floor exercises
Ghost will absolutely give a dead-eyed stare, holding a stop watch almost menacingly to time how long you squeeze for. “Only eight seconds love, yeh were meant to do ten.” And his favourite phrase “Again.”
Gaz would be the kindest, reminding you to breathe while holding the long squeezes, squeezing your hand in time with the pulses and counting aloud so all you had to do was focus on your exercises. “Keep breathing love, keep going, doing so well.”
Soap would be the most enthusiastic, offering to watch your muscles squeeze and relax “tah make sure yeh’re dooin’ it right.” Always reminds you to do them at the most inconvenient times, like right before bed.
Price is no-nonsense about them, he never lets you skip a single night. His resolute gaze meets your pouty one. He is unmoved by your whining. “Thank me later doll, do them now. And squeeze for two, three, four,” He does the hand gestures to make you feel less alone.
All of them will ask you to squeeze mid fuck to test your progress.
Which one which one which one
Warnings: None, pregnancy talk, allusions to abortion, implied older man/younger woman
Summary: You're pregnant, hurray! But your father, Price, is furious with your baby's father. The only question is who is that, exactly?
1.2K
AN: I had a dream the other night that I was pregnant but I don't think that will come true anytime soon because I was also a fairy. Also while I do subscribe to the ‘Price is a shit dad mentality’ I cannot bring myself to write it.
The only reason you knew people couldn’t die of embarrassment was your own current experience.
Sat on an uncomfortable wooden chair in a stuffy office, head down, fingers clenched in your lap, cheeks burning red, throat tight, you were hoping the floor would just open up and swallow you whole. The protection your father believed he was offering you was doing little to help you relax. He stood like a barrier in front of you, hands actually on his hips, shielding you from the other men in the room who were undoubtedly feeling as uncomfortable as you, probably worse. His anger was visible from outer space, if the heavy breathing hadn’t given it away already. Your father had his back to you, choosing instead to face his team with whom he was furious.
A Sunny Afternoon - James Potter x Reader
Warning: 18+, oral sex, female receiving.
“Is that all you’ve got Prongs?”
James glared up at Sirius from between your legs.
Afternoon light was streaming in from the window onto James’ four-poster, over which he was currently sprawled with you sat comfortably on his face. Sirius, also straddling James’ torso, was pressed up against you, propping you up and providing general structure to the mess of the afternoon.
Panting slightly, you moved your hand from where it had been resting on James’ chest to run it through his hair; “You’re so pretty” you murmured, hips rocking gently against his tongue. It was true, sunlight was falling on his face, streaking through his hair and revealing the honey tones in his eyes.
He groaned into you, those eyes staying fixed on your face and your praise, even as your head fell back against Sirius’s shoulder, moaning lightly, eyes closing under the growing pleasure. Your other arm was flung back around his neck, fingers holding onto the hair at the nape of his neck.
James’ arms tightened around your thighs as Sirius sniggered, his own eyes seeking James’ as he nuzzled into your neck and his hands smoothed up your body from your hips to tweak your nipples.
“Gonna make your girlfriend cum or what?”
Masterlist<3
Forgot to do this on the proper anniversary :( but Happy First Birthday to my first ever post! 🎉🥳I have officially been writing for a year and I’ve loved every bit of it. A huge thank you to everyone that has interacted with my blog, it really makes all of this 10x better. Hugs and kisses xxxx
Taking Good Care - Task Force 141 x Reader
Warnings: Heavily 18+, fmmm, light bondage, light name-calling, praise, fingering, oral sex female male receiving, overstimulation, squirting, vibrators, piv, voyerism, camera and recordings, anal adjacent, creampie, fishhook, male masturbation. Porn-what-plot.
Summary: Simon has one request for his team whilst he is deployed and of course they deliver.
AN: I am ovulating so this is filthy filthy. I expect to see you all in church.
Simon had asked his team to do one thing while he was deployed. One thing.
So of course they had to go and make a big deal out of it.
hello!! i like your james fics :) are your reqs open? also do you write for other marauders/golden trio era characters like reg or barty or harry??
Hey there! First of all thank you for your support <3
Secondly my requests are indeed open! I know I don't advertise them but you can assume they are always open, unless I post otherwise.
I am happy to write for other Marauder characters, I have dabbled in a Sirius fic, but ideas for the others don't come to me as innately as my James ones do, but that shouldn't stop me.
Regarding Golden Trio I'd be up to try to write for the more 'mainstream' characters if that makes sense, ie Harry etc. I wouldn't mind trying a Regulus fic but I'd probably include James somehow because I'm much more comfortable writing with him, so he's a bit of a safety net in this way I suppose as I'm not up to date with Regulus.
Barty has been mentioned but I confess I know nothing about him as a character or as a fandom character. I have gathered that there is a community for him and a couple other characters who are usually written about together as friends, their names escape me but I think they're all Slytherins?, but because of my lack of knowledge and I'll be honest my minor disinterest for them I'd be reluctant to write about them until I've investigated further.
Hope this answers all your questions :)
Hugs and kisses xxxx
Over and Over Again - Simon Riley x Reader
Warnings: none, angst and then fluff galore
Summary: Simon’s worried he’s lost himself after a particularly long deployment. You reassure him he hasn’t.
1.9k
AN: Completely based on the song ‘Would you fall in love with me again?’ from Epic the Musical. Highly recommend a listen before reading.
It was dark outside. Late. Cold. But you were still awake, the walls of your shared Manchester flat keeping all of that outside where it couldn’t hurt you. Inside you had made it warm, cosy, quiet and clean. All ready for the long-awaited return of your husband. Everything chosen and groomed to provide maximum security and comfort to him, things he didn’t normally get every day.
This reunion was by far the most long-awaited between you two; Simon had been away for over a year, blowing God knows what up in God knows what forsaken place, you weren’t allowed to know. All you got was sporadic phone calls, whispered professions of love and promises that he would come back, he would. The only way you knew he had kept this was that no one came to your door with their hat respectfully in their hand, following the script of ‘I regret to inform you that…’
Concerning Sleeping Habits
James has finally put his foot down and taken drastic measures to turn the bed into something that resembles a baby’s cot, all because he was seriously worried you would end up accidentally smothering yourself one day.
Too many times he’d woken up in the morning and rolled over to find you with only your hair visible. Your face was always buried in your duvet, your pillow, your arm, his arms, or some combination of all of them. You always ended up covering your face in some capacity, citing it necessary in order for you to sleep well.
Whenever James brought up his concerns you always brushed him off, saying that this was normal. That you always slept like this, with no part of your face exposed. You liked the darkness and the warmth it brought, finding it comforting.
He found it anxiety-inducing.
He went the whole nine yards and reduced the bedding to the bare bones minimum. You both had sleepsacks instead of a duvet and absolutely no blankets or anything you could get over your nose and mouth. If you were cold, you wore more pajamas. He eventually gave you an eye-mask to combat the light problem only after you’d been good and not argued for a month but you had to beg him to give you your pillow back; at least in the sleepsack you were easier to roll over if you did end up face first in the pillow.
James still got a mini-heartattack every time he saw how you slept. He could never wake up peacefully anymore as his first thought was always how to twist you over so at last your airways were free.
You adored his concern. He thought he would go grey prematurely.
Masterlist<3
Watching - Simon Riley x Reader
Warnings: stalking, suggestive themes, you need to close your curtains
Summary: Ghost catches sight of you whilst on a mission. He never wants to lose sight of you again.
AN: god I love stalker Simon
1.7k
Ghost couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this entertained on a simple observation op.
That’s not your name, love - James Potter x Reader
Warnings: 18+, fingering, praise
Summary: You and James get into a silly fight from which James has to come out victorious.
2k
AN: rediscovered Minecraft and having a great time
The fight was pointless, you knew that, but you were also not going to relent. It was over the TV remote and, if you were going off technicalities, technically you were right.
It was a running joke between you and James that neither of you could ever find the remote when you wanted it, only for it to turn up the next morning in the fruit bowl or some other miscellaneous place. Neither of you would own up to remembering putting it there. It was funny, but not hilarious which is why you came up with the idea of putting the remote on a lead. You would physically tie it to the sofa so as not to lose it. Problem solved.
Problem not solved.
You’d asked James to do one thing, which was actually the last step. ‘Tie the remote onto the string’ you remembered saying before you left for work that morning, James having the day off. You also categorically remember him nodding his ascent, that he would. Foolishly, you thought your husband would do as you asked, seeing as you had produced the lead, and attached it to the sofa.
So excuse you if you had flopped down that evening, tired as hell, ready to start a new episode of your new show whilst James found the take out menu for you to peruse. Rather smugly, you picked up the lead, ready to congratulate yourself on how well your invention worked, only to follow it to the end and find -nothing.
James had not attached the remote like you asked.
Annoyance bloomed in your chest. You wasted no time. “James!” You shouted. You heard him coming towards you so you simply held out the end of the lead in all its remote-less glory. James stopped short once he saw. Sheepishly, he tried in vain to pat his hair down, a nervous habit, but you only raised an eyebrow at him. “Sorry, love, I swear I really meant to do it.” He apologised. “Sorry is not going to magic up the remote James,” You snapped. He nodded, a little put out and you instantly felt bad. It was only a remote after all.
“Just, find it.” You ordered gently, “I will order the food.” You really did not feel like getting on your hands and knees to check under the sofa right about now. You passed him in the doorway on your way to the kitchen and made sure to brush his hand with your own so he knew you weren’t really mad.
You took your time looking over the menu of the new takeaway place you were trying, attempting to pick the best combination possible. James had already written down what he wanted, ready to order. Then just as you had decided, the dreaded shout came. “Babe, I can’t find the remote!” All the minor frustrations of the day suddenly came together under your skin; you could practically feel your blood beginning to boil. Whose fault was it that the remote was nowhere to be found? Certainly not yours.
Eerily calm, you ignored James’ shouts for now in favour of picking up the phone and placing your order; the last thing this situation needed was hanger too. “And a name for the order please?” came the polite voice on the other end of the line. Your reply was automatic, yet you paused after your first name. You debated it for all of a second before giving a last name too, which you could hear them writing down. You put the phone down, satisfied. James would be picking up the order.
You told him so and sent him out on his walk. You felt you needed some space to search for the remote without him breathing down your neck about it. Ten minutes later saw you dusty and irritated, remote in your hand. You had discovered it on top of the fridge, somewhere you needed a chair to access. It was obvious who the culprit was this time around. If you had had any qualms about what you’d done, they vanished the second you came into contact with the plastic in a place you couldn’t easily reach.
Satisfied, you brushed yourself down, gathered some drinks and went into the sitting room, setting up the coffee table in preparation for your incoming food. Another ten minutes later and you heard the front door slam, a little harder than usual, James kicking off his shoes and stomping down the hallway. Obviously, he had worked it out.
Into the room he came doing his best impression of a storm cloud. He plopped the bag down in front of you with all the grace of a hippo. “What’s this then?” He asked, throat tight. You let your eyes lazily look over the brown bag, seeing the logo and the receipt stapled to the top. You saw the name of the card that had paid, MR. J. POTTER, and you also saw the name you had given for the order written on the top. Your name and your maiden name. No Mrs, and certainly no Potter.
You shrugged, playing dumb. “The logo’s nice.” You said vaguely, choosing instead to open the bag and dig out your food. “Don’t you see anything wrong, nothing at all?” He prompted, eyeing the diamond sitting on your ring finger. You squinted at the receipt. “Nope.” You said lightly, dishing everything out, “Looks about right to me.” You heard James mutter a string of something under his breath before he promptly took the food out of your hands; a dangerous move.
You swung round to face him, annoyed. “That’s not your name, love. You’re a Potter now,” His voice was low and quiet as he insisted, “I married you and everything.” The disappointed look on his face was melting your heart, but you had enough sense not to give in immediately. “I don’t think I want to be a Potter if they can’t even do what their wives ask of them.” You said delicately. You took the food back from him and finished dishing out your portion. Reflexively, you also began to fix him a plate.
A small, quiet whine followed by a disappointed voice came from behind you. “Don’t you love me?” You had to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes at how silly he was being. You finished his plate and placed it in front of him. You met his eyes, smiling somewhat, “Of course I love you, you idiot,” You said, and took great pleasure in watching his face reanimate at your words, “I’d just love you more if you stopped losing the remote.”
That got a pillow launched at your head. You managed to dodge it just in time, only to be pulled into James’ lap and smothered in apologetic kisses; you were both laughing, the food forgotten, the remote lost once again in the chaos. Eventually you managed to extricate yourself from James’ hold, which felt like saying goodbye to an octopus, not wanting your long-awaited meal to go cold. James, however, clearly believed in the power of microwaves and did not let you get very far.
“Now now love, I think you need to show me you know your name.” He said, wrestling you into place. You shrieked, trying to fight but James could move you like a marionette when he wanted. You found yourself sat with your back to his chest, your legs encased with his, your arms wrapped around his own.
“But-” You began but he shushed you quickly, choosing instead to run his fingers teasingly up your leg until he paused right below where you wanted him most. “James,” You gasped out and you could hear him grinning behind you. “Yes, that’s mine, my name,” He said condescendingly, “What’s yours?” You were not given the chance to answer as he simultaneously, finally, slid his hand under your waistband, past your panties, letting it rest against your warm flesh, right above your clit. He didn’t move.
You wriggled. You squirmed. You shimmied. You shuffled. None of which convinced him to move an inch. You gave up pretty quickly, “Please,” You moaned out, flexing your hips in his tight grip in an effort to get pressure where you wanted it. “Say it,” Came the quiet voice from somewhere above you, “What’s your name, love?” You could not refute this growl of a request, this order from him. “Potter,” You answered breathily and were instantly rewarded with glorious, delicious friction between James’ finger and your clit. You sighed, melting into his hold.
He hummed pleasantly above you, feeling you relax, and increased his movements, making you moan aloud. “Good girl,” He praised, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You keened, letting your husband make you feel good. He continued his pace and you continued moaning and wriggling as he occasionally dipped his finger down to tease your entrance, before collecting your slick and using it to rub your clit. You were encouraging more and more pressure which he only granted under his conditions. “Now, string it all together. “ He ordered, “What’s your name?” You were trying very hard to answer with words instead of moans but he just made it so damn hard. At your silence, he clicked his tongue, speeding up. “C’mon love, you were doing so well.”
“Ah - oh, shit, James!,” Was all you managed. In reply, he simply slowed his movements until you were whining out your dissatisfaction. “Tell me what your name is.” He really wasn’t giving this up. You managed to get out your full legal name, complete with Potter and everything. He hummed, pleased. “That name, that ring,” He jerked his chin towards your hand, “They both mean you’re mine, love, don’t they?” Nails digging into the solid mass of muscle on his forearms, you couldn’t nod quick enough, anything to keep his fingers moving right there-
“Say it.” One last whispered command in a dark husky voice was all it took to seal your fate.
“I’m yours!I’m yoursI’m yoursI’m yours,” You kept up that mumbled stream in time with your pleasure, feeling your orgasm bubbling away, building up beneath your skin, in your veins. “I’m yours James, ah! Oh I’m yours pleaseplease-” He knew what you wanted. Huffing into your hair he made sure his grip on you was secure before speeding up his fingers, listening to your moans get louder and louder, feeling you tense up in his arms before you wailed as your orgasm finally broke. You were gasping out his name, praise, thanks and a million and one other things he couldn’t discern between your pants.
When your orgasm was finally finished and you were slumping in his grasp you let go of his forearm to push his hand away, too sensitive to let him keep going. He cooperated, pulling you even further into his chest as he pressed comforting kisses against your hair, soothing you. You bundled yourself up in his lap, letting yourself relax in his warmth. “Love you.” You said, your face smushed into his chest. You felt the vibration from his chuckle. “Love you too.” He replied. For a short while you enjoyed each other’s company, not moving, not talking, just existing. Eventually, James moved you gently to the side, complaining of discomfort in his lower back.
“Wow, I know you’re old Jamie, but I didn’t know you were that old.” He shot you a weak glare before feeling around behind him. “I just felt something digging into me the whole time,” He said through gritted teeth, fishing about, “Poking my back and everything.” You had busied yourself with grabbing a handful of food and snacking on it, watching him search.
From behind him he pulled out something that definitely would’ve dug into his back and you were, quite frankly, surprised he hadn’t said something sooner. He placed it on the sofa and the two of you stared at it for all of two seconds before bursting into uncontrollable laughter.
The TV remote sat innocently on the cushions between you.
Masterlist<3
‘Alive’ - Simon Riley x Reader
Warnings: none, little angst with happy ending
Summary: You and Simon struggle to know how the other is doing when he’s away
AN: I have such a store of fics built up it’s great. Also anyone else seen that episode of Amandaland? It inspired this :)
1.1k
Growing up you’d always been told you had a tendency to be a bit dependent. And that was putting it nicely. It had been your effort to rebuke these claims and prove them wrong that ended up with the police on your doorstep. In your defence, you were just trying to be independent, for once.
Throughout your life there was always someone you could depend on; your mum, your best friend and, eventually, your husband. Simon Riley was probably not what everyone expected when you had introduced him as your fiance, but you didn’t care. You loved him and he loved you; you should’ve remembered that.
In the beginning of your relationship you had been mindful to not ask too much of Simon, not wanting to scare him off. It wasn’t until you had chosen to walk back at night after getting a flat tyre, rather than ask him for help because somehow that was worse, that he sat you down and told you, firmly, that you were to call him with any inconvenience. Anything at all.
From then on, your texts resembled something like: ‘Where’s the TV remote?’, ‘How long can you microwave chicken for?’, ‘Help! The sink is blocked’, and Simon’s personal favourite, ‘Is bleach supposed to smell like that?’ Someone else would probably have gotten irritated and told you to google it or something, stop bothering them with such simple questions, but Simon never did. In fact, he liked it. Very much.
He liked being relied on, feeling necessary. At work he always had a clear purpose, so it was only natural that he had a clear purpose at home too, which was to answer any queerie or fix any problem you had. He also liked being reminded of the life he got to go home to; answering such normal questions gave him a welcome reprieve from the life-altering decisions he usually had to make. The bonus was that you didn’t want his body either, the one he had trained to military precision, the one that could withstand torture, the one that had maimed and killed so many. No, you wanted his mind, his thoughts; you were in his head. He never put up a fight in the first place.
So, you’d have to excuse him for once, when he was on deployment, when he called the police to do a wellness check on you. He had not heard from you in twenty six hours. He was practically clawing his hair out coming up with possibilities, all worse than before, as to why you were not texting him.
You, on the other hand, were thriving.
One of your friends, though you now reconsidered that term, had made the offhand comment when you went to text Simon that your reliance on him made you seem ‘childish’. Initially, you had bristled at such a comment, but then you wondered. Most adults did in fact seem to just know things that you did not, because you had never learnt because you were always asking Simon. Frowning, you reassessed your entire relationship in the span of an hour and left with your mind made up. From this day forward, there would be no more reliance on your husband to do things you should be able to do. Unfortunately, you were immediately tested when the electricity went out.
You had only switched the kettle on to make some tea but it must’ve tripped the circuit because all the lights went out. You groaned aloud, automatically reaching for your phone. The sight of Simon’s contact information made you pause however. Your poor husband was doing god knows what in god knows where, did he really want to be bothered with this?
Slowly, you put your phone down and set about fixing this problem yourself. You dug out an old information manual, made sense of the instructions and flipped the switch on your circuit box that put all the lights back on. Elated, you actually laughed aloud. You had done it! How thrilling it felt to fix things yourself. You went about the rest of your evening plans extremely smugly, already planning on how you would tell Simon how you fixed everything, how responsible you had become.
Your good mood carried you all through the next day and it wasn't until the evening that your bubble burst. The police had come knocking, demanded to see your ID and then informed you that your husband had ordered a wellness check due to inactivity. You were stunned. You answered all their questions and left them satisfied enough to leave pretty quickly.
You, on the other hand, plopped down on your sofa and immediately rang your husband. He answered on the first ring.
“Love, are yeh alright?” It was whispered in his Manchester accent down the crackling line and for a moment you reveled in the sound of his voice, your own wellness check.
“Of course I am Si,” You answered, “Alive and well, because I can take care of myself.”
You could hear him frowning down the phoneline, which only made you bristle with indignation. “I can! I fixed the electricity yesterday and everything.”
You heard him guffaw, “And the house is still standing?”
You almost hung up. He apologised immediately. “‘M sorry love, of course you did my clever girl.” Eased by his words, you continued.
“Why did you call the police Si?”
“‘Cuz I hadn’t heard from yeh, thought yeh might be dead somewhere.”
You winced. “Just because I didn’t text?”
“Tha’s right.”
You let that sit between you. “Simon,” You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration, “Firstly, did you not think to call me first, instead of going straight to the police? Secondly,” You raised your voice slightly to cut off his muffled apology, “How do you think I feel when I don’t hear from you for days? It’s not like I can go and order a proof of life check.”
The silence sat heavy on the line after your little confession. Heavy breathing down the crackling line filled your ear and you almost cried at having confronted him like that. Then, “M so sorry love. I’ll text, yeah?” He said quietly.
You let that reassurance settle in your chest, easing the ache that always appeared when he was gone. “Yes, do.” You said, swallowing hard. There was nothing else to say and Simon was not a man of many words in the best situation. Gunfire picked up. He swore. “Gotta go sweetheart. I love you.” Your fists clenched. “I love you too.” Was all you managed to whisper before the line disconnected.
But it seemed that your talk had done him some good because everyday since you always got a text confirming his status.
‘Alive.’
Masterlist<3
Simon Riley x Reader
Oneshots
(all x Reader)
There were three of us in this marriage: background Ghoap.
Alive: You and Simon struggle to keep in touch when he’s deployed.
Watching: Stalker!Simon.
Simon Riley the dog he didn’t want
Product Testing
Task Force 141 x Reader
Oneshots
Taking Good Care: the boys watch Ghost’s girl while he is away
Which one which one which one: You are pregnant and your father Price is furious with the baby’s father. The only question is who is it, exactly?
There were three of us in this marriage - Simon Riley x Reader
Drabble. Pure fluff. Background/implied Ghoap. 657 words.
AN: Someone else has done this first, except Simon was the third so I swapped them. Dipping my toes into the COD fandom, I have more in the works :)
You weren’t sure when ‘we’ became ‘three’, not just you and your husband.
You’d married Simon knowing full well how close he was to his best friend and teammate Johnny; it was one of the reasons you loved him so, seeing the big beefy scary man sulk because Johnny was playing cards with someone else instead of him was surprisingly funny, but you might have to put your foot down soon.