Hi I’m Sophia and welcome to my gaming dump blog, feel free to call me Soph or Sophie, I use she/her pronouns, I’m nineteen years and a tumblr user for what’s about to be five years now.
I’m neurodivergent (I have Autism and ADD)
I’m bisexual, an atheist, and my sign is cancer
I like a lot of things mainly anime, witchcraft, shifting, comics, DC, Marvel, gaming, metal music, history, horror, gothic culture, art, writing
This is a side blog, meaning I can’t follow back, my main blog is @x-acidwitch-x
Here are some of my other blogs:
Horror:
DC/Marvel:
Anime:
Shiftblr:
My rules for this blog are simple, don’t be asshole (Also respect my DNI list.)
DNI with me list:
Trad fem
E.D, thinspo, pro-ana
Anti recovery
TCC fan/serial killer apologist
Truscum/transmed
DD/LG (or any type of little relationship)
Anti-asexual
Anti-nonbinary
Biphobic
Queerphobic
MAP/pedophile
Porn blog
Anti Vaxx
Xenophobic
Rad fem/terf/swerf
Homophobic
Transphobic
Nazi
Sexist/misogynistic
Anti-Semitic
Far/alt-right
Racist
Pro-life/anti-abortion
Bootlicker/pro-police
Anti-BLM
Pro-conservative/Republican
Anti-feminist
Thank you for listening and have a good day!
and here’s a link to my linktree for other social media pages and organizations I support:
i saw somewhere where they have to have meetings with agents about if a beautiful woman talks to them, chances are, they’re a spy. so here’s simon ignoring you bc he’s trained to believe you might be a spy when you just think he’s attractive. fem! reader
Simon rarely got approached by women. And when he does, he ignores them. Did you really expect a man who chooses work over his mental state to fall in love? Let’s be honest.
Just a few days ago, Simon had officially signed a lease to an apartment a few minutes away from the base. No one knows why; given how that man was such a workaholic, they assumed he’d be living in the quarters till he died.
Truth was, Simon was just sick of it. There wasn’t any privacy and even in his higher rank, the room was a clusterfuck. Too small for a man standing at 6’3 and had way too many personal belongings.
There Simon was, unloading the boxes from his vehicle in the parking lot, stacking two ontop of one another. He had done extensive research on apartments nearby and found that this one was the best of all. Underground parking, a lift that actually worked, a safe community, and a decent price for a one bedroom apartment.
The sound of water going through the pipes echoed within the underground parking, Simon’s footsteps sounding ten times louder with how quiet the lot was. He walked over to the lift, holding up two large boxes filled with clothes.
He wasn’t even sure where he was going— but fuck it. He’ll figure it out. Let’s just hope he doesn’t ram into someone’s vehicle, a wall, or a pole.
As he made his way over to the lift, his right hand fumbled from underneath the box, trying to reach for the button. His right knee was proped up to help his left arm carry the weight. Now, he was a strong man. But he never claimed to have great stability. “Fuckin’ hell,” he grumbles, his finger just barely missing the button.
Simon couldn’t even peak over the boxes; one wrong move and his whole closet would fall from his hands. Just as he was about to give up and set the boxes down (which he should’ve done in the first place), he heard someone speak up besides him. “Oh, I got it!”
Simon immediately snapped his head over to the owner of the voice, seeing you stand besides him and press the button in front of him.
Fuck.
You’re fucking pretty.
Too pretty that he was glaring.
“Are you a new resident?” you asked, waiting for the lift to come down.
He didn’t hear you. He didn’t hear the sound of a vehicle beeping, the sound of a door closing, or even the garage opening. He didn’t even hear your footsteps and the entirety of this parking lot was too echo-y for Simon’s liking.
When he realizes that he had been staring at you for too long, he looks ahead (at the boxes in front of his face) and glares at it like it wronged him. “Hm,” was all Simon hummed out, followed by a short nod.
The lift dinged open and Simon waited for you to enter. “Nice to meet you,” you tell the man with a polite smile, awkward as hell of a smile but still enough to pass off as polite. Right after, you had given your name out to him, expecting him to reply. But all he did was let out a grunt. You stared at him, brows twitching before watching the doors shut, “Okay…” you mumbled out, a bit put-off by his silence, “…What number?”
“I’ll wait,” Simon snapped immediately.
Now you’re starting to think this fucker doesn’t like you. What did you do! You just pressed the button because you saw him struggling! This is the last time you’re helping out a man!
“…Right,” you replied flatly, pressing your level and took two steps away from Simon, staring at the doors in front of you.
A month had gone by since that incident and Simon would often see you around the apartment. He found out that the two of you lived on the same level that same day he met you.
What a “coincidence.”
Now, if the average person thought that some spy was out to get them, they’d be labeled as crazy and have to be put into a psych ward. But Simon? No, he was trained for this. No drop dead, beautiful woman would choose to talk to him.
He had scars on his face, dark eyes that made him look like he’s seen way too many horrible things, a rugged look that screams “I haven’t showered in six weeks and put on cologne to mask the B.O!”
So yeah, no. He didn’t trust the pretty lass down the hall. Not one bit.
And you? You were put off by how strange Simon was. He greeted the property owner with a nod and often spoke to Mary Rae, the grannie that lived besides him.
Being put-off by him didn’t make you want to stop all interactions though. He was rugged, sure. But so is Tom Hardy in most of his films where he had to look like a mess and you’d devour that man, given the chance. Plus, you’re sure he’s just got some major anxiety.
It was an accident; you had subconsciously made note of when Simon arrived from work. It just so happened to be around the same time you got home from work as well; you can’t blame yourself. The lift had been broken for about a week now and the property owner said that he’d get it fixed by next week.
So the two of you, for the past week, have been awkwardly walking up the stairs to your flats. You’ve tried to engage in small talk with him but all he does is shoot you a glare and… Well, that was it.
What an asshole.
Meanwhile, Simon was regretting everything. John was right. He’d have to be more wary of his surroundings. And what was his luck? The first apartment he signed a lease to, some weird spy (who, in his mind, is NOT good at their job) was all up in his personal bubble.
He’s catching on and he is not going to let this slide!
“What… Uh… You’re in the military?” you ask, walking two steps ahead of Simon. Because he would never let you walk behind him. He’s got his guard up.
You looked over your shoulder, noticing the man glare daggers behind your head. Your question was dumb, but you were honestly just trying to make small talk. He was wearing his uniform for christ alive.
Simon though? He thinks you’re trying to dig information. Gosh, did you think you were going to get away with this?!
When he didn’t answer, you pursed your lips and licked your front teeth, “got it,” you muttered under your breath. Turning away, you finally reached the level and opened the door— this time, not even bothering to hold the door for him.
This is the last time you ever try to be nice to some old ass man who pretends to be deaf! Sure, he may be handsome. Sure, he may be tall. Sure, he may be built. Sure, he may have some nice tattoos you’ve tried complimenting on. SURE! He may or may not be your type. But you sure as hell know how he feels about you now!
Another month had gone by and by now, Simon had been living in the unit for almost three months. You had finally stopped bombarding him with questions. He thinks that you’re being told to back off because you’re coming off as too strong.
It wasn’t until he requested John to look into you that he realized he was severely wrong.
“She works at a goddamn hair salon!” John explained, slamming down the file containing information about you. The file hit his desk, blowing a small gush of air towards Simon as if it was laughing at him.
They had send a few people to surveillance you… In better terms: stalk. All because Simon had gotten too suspicious of you.
“She works from eight to five, Mondays through Thursdays, Riley. We’ve been watching her for a whole month and nothing has changed in her routine besides that one Thursday night after work, she went out for ice cream and cried in the parking lot!” John expressed, pulling his boonie hat down in frustration.
As Simon looked through the file, he felt deeply uncomfortable. And embarrassed. And worst of all, he felt like the rudest bastard alive. For three months, he’s been ignoring your small talks and polite smile just because he thought you were a spy.
“T’ be fair, she’s a beautiful lass. Thought she was a spy,” Simon replies bluntly. One thing he can’t do, was admit he was wrong.
John rubbed his eyes, grumbling out something that sounded like: “wasted time and money for this, Riley,” and “you lost your only chance at love with a pretty lass.”
Simon’s brows twitched behind his balaclava, straightening up in his seat. He couldn’t even defend himself. What John said was true.
“Go— Just go apologize to her for being an asshole or— I don’t know, something!” John waved Simon off, too tired and now, afraid to explain to Kate about how he had spent one month stalking a pretty woman all because Simon thought he had a hit out on him.
But yeah, Simon planned on apologizing. He wasn’t sure if you were going to accept it though.
vacation!john price makes the most of his time off by folding you–the pretty thing he caught staring at his rental boat–in half so he can come inside you nearly every night. he's bending your legs in ways you didn't know possible, pushing your thighs to your chest so he can see the mess you're leaking around him. sometimes, if he's lucky, the light will catch you just right, the man to grunting and cooing at the shining ring of cream at the base of his cock.
"f-fuck, you're deep... feels... feels good." your praise comes out as a stuttering, slurred mess. "really fuckin'–oh, god–s'good."
"christ... s'too bad holiday's almost done, dove." john groans out the reminder, a touch of sad slipping in just under the puffs of pleased breaths. you whine at the hand he presses onto your belly, the sound and sight distracting john, who just tilts his head with pride in his grin. "oh, fuckin' looook a'that, huh. think i might have'ta take ya back home with me... would be a shame ta let a face 'n hole as pretty as yours get away too easy, wouldn't it?"
all you can do is gush and slosh around john as he keeps stuffing himself inside you. holding your knees and puckering your lips every few thrusts so he'll rub his hairy front against your chest and belly every time he bends to kiss you.
When you don't really want to celebrate your birthday, but your friends and coworkers have other plans~
@vincentvalentineweek Day 1's cake/champagne/candle themes are all covered in this Casino AU flavored piece with drinks, reminiscing, and a surprise or two 💕
