Simon's dog who doesn't understand the concept of breaking up.
AO3
Riley is usually a very calm dog. So Simon didn't know what to do when the canine suddenly started acting weird.
It wouldn't stop whining, pacing back and forth around his flat like it was looking for something.
Simon thought it would stop after a while, but it didn't, and he started to worry.
Especially when Riley refused to eat one night, choosing to sit by the door with it's tail tucked down anxiously.
His first instinct was to be vigilant. With a knife in hand, the lieutenant then approached his loyal dog silently.
He expected to hear a quiet growl when he got closer, but Riley seemed to be more upset than alertedâ if the silent whining said anything.
It got Simon more worried and he decided to check if anything around caused this behavior.
He opened the door, and swiftly pointed his gun towards.. nothing.
He turned around, only to meet another view of the empty hallway with flickering light.
He frowned in confusion, the fact that Riley sat still in it's spot instead of being on it's feet by his legs like when they were on dutyâ made Simon think that there is something truly dangerous lurking around.
And so, he spent the night doing a sweep around his flat. Yet, he found nothing.
Looking at the mutt who simply tilted it's head, Simon got even more confused.
Maybe it's not scared of anything.. is it sick?
With a few hours on the clock before the sun rises, Simon slumped on the couch with an intent to go to the vet later.
...
The walk to the vet was a challenge.
Riley was usually a very obedient dog, having worked alongside the special forces and all. But now? Simon feels like Riley was walking him instead of the other way around.
It started normal at first, until suddenly, Riley started pulling him the other way.
He tried telling it to stay, sit, and other commands that fell on deaf ears before the dog started tugging hard to free itself.
And now, the infamous lieutenant was seen chasing his so called loyal companion across the street.
Simon was a fast runner, and it wasn't like he had never run alongside Riley before. But right now, he couldn't even catch up.
Soon enough, he lost sight of the dog.
As he stopped at an intersection to guess where it went, he heard a familiar voiceâ a surprised yelp accompanied by the sound of Riley's barking
He turned to look at the source of the voice, only to freeze in his spot.
You.
Looking even more beautiful than the last time he saw you.
He didn't mean to count the days, but it felt like years since the last time he saw you. Even though, it hasn't even been a week.
He kept telling himself he doesn't care about you, or whatever relationship you two were having before it broke in an argument he forgot was aboutâ but the flutter of his heartbeat said otherwise.
And when you looked up, smile dropping as you two locked eyesâ Simon felt his heart skipped a beat.
Fuck.
...
A/N: i just wanted to write something and not think, so this is definitely aint polished at all
Offhandedly. A passing sigh as you tried to get the damn zipper on your hoodie unstuck. You fought with it for nearly five minutes before giving up and tugging it over your head instead.
He was sitting on the couch at the time, mask off, hoodie half unzipped, watching you with that blank, calculating stare. You thought nothing of it. Just a normal, quiet night.
But something lodged in his brain. Something stuck.
The next evening, you found him in the kitchen, his jaw tight, breathing controlled - but barely.
A single zipper lying in front of him, cut from an old jacket. Tools scattered. His massive hands trying to feed the tiny teeth together over and over.
You didnât say a word. Just leaned on the doorway, watching his rage simmer like a bomb with no wire to cut.
Snap.
He threw the zipper across the counter, and it skittered to the floor. He didnât look at you.
âYou alright, love?â you asked carefully, lips twitching.
Silence.
You took a step closer. âYou, uh⊠sewing something?â
Still nothing. Until:
âI should be able to do this,â he growled, each word like gravel under boot.
Your heart melted. Because it wasnât about the zipper. Not really.
It was the idea that you struggled - and he couldnât fix it. Couldnât master this stupid little thing that got in your way.
And that was unacceptable to him.
âIâll just buy one that works - â
âNo.â
You blinked. His head turned slowly, eyes meeting yours with heat - not anger at you. But with himself. And that stubborn, brutal devotion.
âIâm gonna fix it.â
A pause.
âFor you.â
You tried not to smile. âItâs just a hoodie, Si.â
But his hands had already picked up the zipper again.
Three hours.
Four zippers.
Two cups of tea.
A lot of swearing in deep, growled tones under his breath.
When it finally clicked - when the fabric fed through smooth and perfect - you swore the man almost smiled.
He zipped it up. Unzipped. Zipped it again, perfectly. Then held it out with a deadpan look.
âPut it on.â
You obeyed.
He stepped behind you, tugging it up around your shoulders, and - so gently you almost cried - zipped it up for you with steady, careful fingers.
No snags. No struggle.
His arms stayed around your waist afterward. Chin against your shoulder. Voice soft.
âTold you Iâd fix it.â
You leaned back into him. âYouâre ridiculous.â
His answer? A low chuckle, rough and warm.
âYeah,â he whispered, âbut you love me like this.â
And you did. Every furious, determined, unrelenting part of him - especially the parts that fought so hard to make the small things easy for you.
Simon still watched the homemade videos, even after the breakup up. The ones you made when still together.
The one where you were on your knees between his thighs, lips wrapped around his cock, eyes glassy, your soft moans caught on the audio as his hand gripped the phone with shaky fingers, the other tangled in your hair, guiding you, while murmuring âThatâs it, sweetheart. Look at me.â
And you did.
The one where he was fucking you from behind, knuckles a different color from gripping your hips tight, skin slapping against skin echoing through the room while your breath hitched every time he bottomed out.
The one where his mouth was buried between your thighs, licking you up like he needed it to survive while you gripped the sheets.
He still jerked off to them. Still spilled into his hand with your name in his mouth.
Used to be only when he was gone on missionsâ weeks away, stuck in cold beds and colder countries. But now?
Now it was in his apartment.
In his bed. The bed he shouldâve been fucking you in. The one he shouldâve been holding you in after, your bare skin pressed against his, lips brushing over your shoulder, murmuring stupid shit like, âStill with me, sweetheart?â
But you werenât in his bed anymore.
No, you were somewhere else. With someone else.
Your new boyfriend. The one you posted on Instagram. The one with perfect smiles and vacation filters. Simon wouldnât even have known if he hadnât made a burner account to keep watching. User28707.
Pathetic.
He didnât even follow you or like a single post. He just scrolled, watching you live your new life.
And maybe he did it out of spite, or maybe it was exhaustion. Some fucked-up combination of the two, but that night, he typed in your number the one he still knew by heart and sent you a string of those old videos.
No before hand warning
Just you, falling apart under him, legs shaking while your eyes rolling back. Spilling his name like it was a prayer.
Along with one message:
âCan he make you feel this good?â
When morning hit, the regret did too,
But that was before he saw your text.
âMeet me at the bar tonight.â
He didnât even hesitate, he was already out of bed, halfway to the shower, wiping sleep from his eyes like a man getting ready for war.
You didnât waste time either.
âWhy do you still have the videos, Simon?â you asked the second he sat down across from you, the bottle of beer untouched between his fingers.
âBetter question,â he muttered, voice low, âWas I right? Can that bastard make you come like I did?â
âNoâ
A bitter sound broke out of him, something between a scoff and a chuckle. âThen why the fuck are you here?â
You answered, he couldnât remember exactly what you said. Maybe it wasnât even words.
All he knew was how it ended.
Back in his flat with you in his lap again, bouncing on his cock like youâd never left, moaning his name and coming around him for the third time that night.
By the fourth round, you were asleep in his arms.
And maybe that shouldâve been enough but Simon reached for your phone anyway.
Snapped a photo.
And sent it straight to your boyfriend. Your bare back along with the way your face tucked into his chest.
âTucks in real nice after four rounds. Thought you should see what that looks like.â He added
Johnny Mactavish dating Hacker!Reader and whenever heâs pissed you off, you drain his bank account. One pence left on his statement, he ends up calling you Fangs because you bleed him his wallet dry.
Then starts the hours of grovelling texts, his fingers tapping away at the screen of his mobile beneath his desk. Heâs leaving you voicemails during his tea breaks and lunch, the guys giving him shit for whatever heâs done now. You leave him little breadcrumbs to follow, teasing him on your location (he loves a chase and a challenge). A couple of quid entering his bank when he gets the clues right, he loves your praise, such a good boy.
And when he finally does find you, heâs falling to his to knees and telling you how heâll try not to piss you off again (which heâll do again for the same old chase).
thinking about price being 100% the type to have a bit of a pregnancy kink.
i imagine him unsure but excited when you come to him in shock. positive pregnancy test in your trembling hand.
sure, youâd been living together, practically married for the last five years. owned a nice home, had a nice garden, on a nice street. good paying jobs. friends. the whole nine, ya know? but kids? hadnât thought much about it. neither of you were really the âbaby feverâ type.
but suddenly, youâre confronted with the very real and slightly terrifying ordeal of starting a family.
price is nothing if not a man of his word. the day you showed him those little two lines, he promised to move heaven and earth to be there for everything.
he steps back from his work. starts delegating more, leaving less and less.
itâs his last mission though that your belly finally pops.
seeing you out there waiting for him to step off the plane is like an out of body experience for him. your body covered in the sweetest floral sundress, hair blowing in the wind, hand absently rubbing the protruding globe of your abdomen.
price has always been a protective, possessive man. but something different takes over him in then. seeing you grow with his baby, seeing your body change and stretch, your hips widen and your tits swell.
it drives him fucking mad.
he loves to rub his broad palms over your belly when you ride him. loves to see your head thrown back in pure ecstasy when he clamps his lips around your too-sensitive nipples. loves to tell you how breathtaking you look as he ruts into you. how perfect you are, how perfect your body is for him.
he would love being a dad. and love even more seeing you be a mother.
and even early in, heâs already got the mental image in his head. of a dark haired toddler on your hip, stomach protruding and round again. carrying another piece of him and you.
I loved my sleepy Simon thought so much I just had to turn it into a longer piece
Tags: Fluff, established relationship, implied past trauma (non-graphic)
WC: 1.1k
Pairing: Boyfriend!Simon âGhostâ Riley x Reader
A/N: Thank you guys for all the love on the original post. I hope y'all enjoy!
Simonâs sleeping habits were a mystery to you. Sleeping in bed like a normal, well adjusted person wasnât exactly one of his strong suits, but to his credit he isnât well adjusted.
That wasnât going to stop you though. You had been at it for months now. Ever since he moved in with you. Your mission was simple, slowly condition him to sleep in bed with you like any normal boyfriend.
Today was another failure.
8am. Your alarm goes off, blaring into the quiet room, rays of sunlight fighting through the curtains, drenching the room in a warm yellow haze. It was beautiful. Perfect really. Except for one thing. Simon wasnât there.
Again.
It wasnât his fault. You had stopped blaming him a long time ago. He never told you exactly what he did when he was away. He never told you exactly what his childhood had been like with a father like that, in a home like that. He had never known peace, you knew that much.
You didnât need to know the specifics. You knew sleeping was hard for him. Sleeping was vulnerability and for Simon vulnerability was a threat. Vulnerability meant capture. Vulnerability meant death.
Finding him in a random part of the house, looking like he had gone limp where he stood was a common occurrence. More common that you would like to admit. More common than made you comfortable.
Today was no different. Reluctantly you forced yourself out of bed. Your trek down the stairs was always quiet so as to not startle Simon. Where you will find him was always a mystery.
You shuffle through the living room passing the few pictures heâll allow of himself in your house. You had done what you could to make it home. A place where Simon could feel safe. You knew it wasnât your fault either. Sometimes no matter how hard you tried, Simon would always need a little help. Help he would never ask for himself.
You find him in the bathroom, in the tub with a book open on his chest. One of those long, boring novels that you never understood what he saw in them. Something old and classic probably about war or other terrible things you didnât wanna think about.
He looked sweet like this. Not that he was ever anything but sweet to you. His choppy blonde hair was messy and sticking out in directions that nearly defied gravity. His eyes were closed, long lashes resting against his soft cheeks. He hadnât bothered to change, still in his jeans and the black T-shirt that he insisted was plenty fashionable enough for a man like him.
You knelt beside the tub and reach out to touch his soft locks. Just the gentle brush of air from the movement of your hand startles him awake.
His shoulders tensed and his eyes snapped open, hand lifting to reach and defend himself. âFuck, Love. Didnât realize that was you.â His voice was low and rough, adrenaline bleeding through the lingering sleep. It took him a second to focus, to see you instead of whatever his mind had dragged up.
âItâs always just me, Si.â you remind him gently, giving him the smallest smile.
âCanât be too careful.â Itâs half a joke, half serious. Even now. Even here he is always cautious.
You huff a small laugh and kiss his temple âParanoidâ
He laughed then, warm and deep. Simonâs laugh always did something to you. A soft warm feeling spreads through your chest as you take in the crinkle of his eyes and the way his eyebrows knit together just slightly.
- - -
The head scratches seemed to work the most. Lulling Simon into a somewhat relaxed state. You did that each night when the sun started to dip and the dark cold night crept in.
Every night you would track him down and sit with him, running your fingers through his hair until he started to slump into your side. Even then it didnât work right away. Youâve been at it for several months now. Sometimes heâll follow you up to bed, but most of the time he'll insist that he has something to do, something to fix and he will putter off again to busy himself.
And of course, in the mornings, youâll find him somewhere strange like you have now. You never felt discouraged though. You knew going into things with Simon that it would be hard.
So tonight you try again.
By 8 your plan is in motion. Just like it always is. Simon is perched on the sofa, beer in hand while he watches the Man U game he missed earlier. This is as relaxed as he gets. Itâs your time to strike.
âHey, Siâ He doesnât look away from the screen, but his hand reaches blindly for yours like it always does. âHowâs the match going?â
âQuite shit actuallyâ he grumbles and sips his beer, trying not to let the loss get to him.
You plop into the seat beside him and reach over to rub his neck. He sighs and leans into the touch. Heâs been complaining about it for days, some injury from the field, but of course heâs too stubborn to ask you to help him.
âThatâs nice, Loveâ
âI know.â you murmur softly and rub a bit harder. âMagic touchâ
âMhm sureâ
You move your hand up to scratch at his scalp, earning another sigh and a slow content blink. Simonâs hand comes to rest on your thigh, thumb rubbing small circles.
âI know what youâre up toâ he says as he leans even farther into your warm hand.
You smile, playing innocent âAnd what am I up to?â you were always a terrible liar, but that never stopped you from teasing him.
âYouâre brainwashing meâ
You let out a small, playful gasp âNow thatâs a baseless accusation, Mr Rileyâ
âIs it now?â His mouth curves into a lazy smirk. âI think Iâm riiiight on the moneyâ
âCompletely false. I am not brainwashing you into sleeping in bedâ
He turns his head just enough to look at you properly, eyebrow lifting. Heâs got you now. âAhh I never said why you were doing it.â He gives you a shit eating grin and leans closer, nose nearly touching your own. âYouâre telling on yourself nowâ
You huff, but your hand never stops moving. âNot fair. You baited meâ
âMaybe so, but you still let it slipâ
âFine. I admit it. I want my boyfriend to sleep in bed with me.â Your voice softens and you press your lips to his quickly. âWill you at least try it? For me?â
He considers this, the side of his mouth pulling up just slightly into a petulant smirk. âIâll try it. Just to see.â
