cyber ! [ cyber + security ? cyber + netics ] – comes from the GREEK kybernētēs : helmsman or pilot.
ⓘ blog rules , minors dni with works marked as 18+ and do not follow/send asks. i'm not your mom, but i'd like to have this blog a good safe place for everyone. , i will block at my own discretion. masterlist #talk (yap) #cod (call of duty stuff)
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there’s a woman flirting with simon riley at the bar. that’s all well and good because simon riley is a single man, except little ol’ analyst you has a big fat crush on him. (1.5k words)
warnings: 18+ mdni SMUT !!! smut smut smut !!!! possessive! simon. reader is jealous and pathetic. hello. reader is insecure with her appearance. misunderstandings but simon loves you and you love simon riley <3
authors note: i am, as the youth say, clockin' in. first ever longfic. ever. hope it goes well.
you’ve had a crush on simon riley for a long time. that’s nothing new. he’s been the brute that barges up into your office at four in the afternoon with some intel, and you’re left staying overtime waiting for his scarred face to show up.
he always has a smile for you. even when he’s walking into your room with a limp, or with blood on his shoulder. fuck one time you saw him with a stab wound.
simon riley tries very hard. that’s what’s endearing. the captain you’ve been assigned to is dismissive, he barely cares if you live or die. you know the last analyst had barely lasted more than a few months before they took the transfer.
captain price never hands his reports on time. if they are handed in, they’re a voice recording, which you take hours to painstakingly transcribe, just sitting in your office with headphones on.
the lieutenant’s also barely give a shit, garrick is always handing things in on time, but he barely looks. and johnny mctavish keeps flirting with garrick, everytime he walks in like a puppy.
and yet all in all the three barely care about you. barely paying attention to you, and yet simon riley walks on every month with a report on what the 141 have done, right on time, for you to analyse.
you almost wish you could kiss him.
thing is, and thing is. you really fucking do wish you could kiss him. you would kiss him, it’s just his majesty’s service has a lot to say about fraternisation. although you guess it is for those on the frontlines, but you wouldn’t want to be the analyst who fell for the soldier.
you were. you absolutely were, but they didn’t have to know…
you’re sitting at the spoons near hereford’s base, it’s full of army men. like your office, and your life. all these muscular me that won’t even look at you like you mean something. your eyes flit down at yourself, and then your hands curl around the cocktail you’re drinking, a porn star martini. hilarious name considering how miserably slow your sex life was.
you do like the vanilla flavour of it though. the aftertaste is lovely. which is not the word you’d describe for this evening.
you’re sat with the 141, and garrick and mctavish are too busy whispering to each other about… something. price’s beady little eyes are on a young thing at the bar, already a little tipsy on her cider.
…and simon barely looks at you. his blonde hair almost luminescent in the yellowing pub lights. he’s got a pint in his hands, and he’s beautiful. magical. something out of what you have in your head whenever you imagine a hot man saving you from the boring ol’ life you have.
he’s looking off into the distance, his brown eyes like crystals in the lights.
“hey handsome,” a sweet voice calls out, and your torn away from staring at simon, to look at her. she’s stunning, in a way that you’d look at yourself in a mirror after and throw up. you see his eyes trail over to her, a small smile on his face as he tilts his glass at her.
something in your stomach curdles, it’s like when you were eleven again, and weren’t picked for the basketball team. it was like you were twenty one, and your boyfriend broke up with you for his ex. your throat
closes up, and you want to run away, hideaway somewhere.
she steps a little closer, and her arm is around him, her face right in his. he could kiss her.
he should kiss her.
just because simon riley smiled at you when he gave his reports in didn’t mean he liked you. and you were stupid to believe it.
you rush outside the pub, your hands shaking as you reach for the cigarette and lighter you have in your purse. fuck your life, fuck everything.
it’s raining. you sit on the curb, your knees tucked under your chin. fuck the white button up you wore, the tights getting snagged on the footpath. you stare into the mid distance.
“love?” a rough voice calls out, and you look up to see
simon fucking riley in all his scarred glory, run out of the bar to look down at you. you turn back to the road, your hands shaking as they try and light the cigarette.
“looking for someone?” a droplet hits you square on the nose, another puts out the cigarette. fuck everything. genuinely. fuck.
“love? come back in.” he says, you know he’s got this frown on his face just by his voice, the way the corners of his mouth turn down. “you’ll catch a cold.”
“fuck the cold.” you shrug.
“that’s not nice is it?” he teases, and then folds his legs to he sit beside you.
“fuck off riley.” you say, after a moment.
“won’t unless you come back in with me.”
“why do you care?” you make eye contact with him, probably the first time this evening. why does he care, he’s hot, he’s simon fucking riley, he doesn’t need a nobody like you, behind your big glasses and your perpetual scowl.
his eyes flick down, then dart around.
he’s bad at eye contact.
“don’t you have someone waiting for you back in there?” you add.
“who?” he sounds genuinely confused, finally, finally looking at you.
“the woman—“ you sigh, “her!” you wave inwards, “there’s a perfectly good woman waiting for you inside.”
he stares at you, with his soft eyes.
“love, why would i go back to her?” he asks, and it’s frustrating how fucking genuine he is.
“because—“ you stamp your dying cigarette out with your shoe, “that beautiful woman is head over heels for you.”
“but there’s a beautiful woman outside on the curb, that i’m talking to?”
what. the actual. fuck?
you look at him, and then back in the bar, “you’re blatantly jus’ lying.” you laugh, and then make your way to stand up, but he catches your wrist with thick, callused fingers.
“no.” he frowns, “i’m not. i swear.”
and there, in the rain, in front of the stupid hereford spoons, simon riley. the ghost of the 141 bends down to kiss you on your lips.
he barely can keep his hands off you as the uber takes you back to base, his hands gripping your arms as he leaves sloppy kisses in your mouth. a big hand runs over your cunt.
“all this f’me?” he says, growling into your ear, loud for you but you pray the driver doesn’t hear.
“for- for you…” you let out a breathy gasp. he’s got you like a sack of potatoes as he walks by your office into his room on base.
it’s not a complete shithole, but it’s messy, bed unmade with a pile of clothes in the corner. simon riley is painfully human.
he presses you down on the bed, rutting against you desperately, you can feel his cock strain against his trousers. “y’makin’ me crazy love…” he moans, “ever since i saw y’ four months ago.”
you look up at him with soft eyes, “fuck, fuck you look jus’ like a doe…” he growls again, before fumbling with his belt, unbuckling with shaking hands, before you bat them away and start fiddling with it yourself.
his cock is leaking and it’s so large as it slaps against his stomach, and he looks down at you with the softest look on his face, flushed red.
“love, let me know if it’s too big, yeah?” he says, pushing your panties off with his hand, before he rubs at your clit with his thumb. “so fuckin’ tight love…”
you can just nod as he slides a thick finger into you, and then another, filling you up snugly with his warmth. you swear he smiles at you, before he puts his head down and starts lapping at your clit. his tongue isn’t trained, but he feels so good, and your legs are twitching as he wrings an orgasm out of you.
“see, it’s just…” he looks up at you, nose and mouth glistening, “i ain’t get pretty women in my bed like you…”
he lines up his cock, now painfully hard, with your cunt, and slides into you with ease. “god, f-fuck—“ he lets out a moan as your cunt clenches with a vice grip against his cock, “s’like you were made for me…”
his teeth glint in the moonlight, and yet you find him beautiful.
it isn’t long before his cock twitches, kissing your cervix, “oh l-love i’m go-gonna…” and then you feel his cum deep in your stomach, thick and warm and filling you in a way nothing else could fill.
he lays his head on your chest, feeling the soft cotton of your button up against yourbreasts.
“think i’ve always loved ya dovie…” he says, and you just look at him with your hazy eyes.
“course you did. i did too.”
endnotes: i am SO FUCKING SCARED I HOPE YALL LIKED IT....
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1 tablespoon of instant coffee, a small splash of boiling water to liquidify (idk if that's even a real word😭) it, then pour 300ml of milk of your choice and add three tablespoons of condensed milk. it's kinda sweet but i make it almost everyday it's so good while i'm playing sims ugh
HIII I'm like new to your blog blah blah but I binge read yo fics yesterday night ngl
but I just wanted to wish you well and congratulate you on that bf 🙂↕️ and for working on your issues, so proud of you man <333
(idk im kinda emotional seeing a stranger on the internet rocking life cuz shit's bad here too. But we ball)
LOVE YOU MAMA
-neo anon (new callsign 😈😈)
haiiii!! if it helps don't be too emotional, me and that guy broke up quite quickly....
..... there is a new guy tho <333 he does know about this blog 😭😭😭 which is very funny. thank you so much, life isn't always about winning. it's what you make of it. i've failed TWO out of ELEVEN exams for uni lol (although i was doing more subjects than necessary because of idiocy) but i'm still taking it in my stride yk?
also me and my therapist hv been working through my ocd........... but that's another thing.
life's funny. you always hope it works out, but like. nothings super magical about it, unless you make it magical. they were right, you only have to believe in it to actually make it wonderful.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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please read this even if you're not indian. especially if you're not indian.
you've seen the jokes. india is "dirty", indians are "everywhere", why don't they fix their own country. ok. let me tell you why, and what's happening right now while nobody's watching.
first, the history you skipped: britain ruled india for two centuries and drained it. economist utsa patnaik's research estimates around $45 trillion in today's money was taken. the india that got independence in 1947 was one of the poorest countries on earth. every "why is india like this" question starts there. you don't get to profit off a robbery and then mock the crime scene.
now, what's happening RIGHT NOW:
in may the question paper for NEET leaked. that's the national medical entrance exam. over 2.2 million students took it. cancelled. years of studying, families' savings poured into coaching, gone overnight because someone sold the paper. students died by suicide after. these were kids who wanted to be doctors.
and out of that came a protest movement. a gen z group called the cockroach janta party, started by a 30 year old named abhijeet dipke, got 22 million instagram followers within DAYS. they've been doing a sit-in at jantar mantar in delhi demanding education minister dharmendra pradhan resign.
and then there's sonam wangchuk. if you've watched 3 idiots, he's the real engineer the character was based on. built solar schools in ladakh. invented ice stupas so himalayan villages have water. spent his whole life on education. he's 59 and he's been on hunger strike for 17+ days now. reporters went to see him this week and he was too weak to talk. and the troll armies are calling him "anti national" and "foreign funded". a man starving himself for other people's children. that's the thing here, anyone who asks a question is suddenly a traitor.
it's not one incident, it's everywhere you look:
• infrastructure worth thousands of crores failing within months of the ribbon cutting. tunnels collapsing in regions where heavy rain is a guarantee, not a surprise.
• youth unemployment near 10% for ages 15 to 29, 13.6% in cities. in a country of 1.42 billion where more than half the population is young.
• only about the top 3% of indians earn above 10 lakh a year. meanwhile billionaire wealth keeps ballooning and the headlines celebrate it.
• manipur burned for over two years. an ethnic conflict, tens of thousands displaced, and the prime minister barely said the word manipur while it happened.
• journalists raided. critics' houses bulldozed. activists sitting in jail for years without trial under laws like UAPA. our press freedom ranking has cratered.
• even the petrol is a fight now, ethanol blending pushed through while drivers complain about their engines and get no straight answers.
and through all of it, the PM, who came to power on religious polarisation (americans, sound familiar?), travels abroad for photo ops and has not held one single open press conference in over a decade. not one.
what i'm asking:
if you're not indian: share this. our media mostly won't cover any of it because the big outlets are owned by the same billionaires the government serves. the only reason wangchuk's fast is getting any coverage is people refusing to look away.
if you ARE indian: speak up even if you're comfortable. especially if you're comfortable. join the protests. add to this, correct me, translate it. staying quiet is a choice when nothing in this post touches your life.
india is not "dirty". india was robbed, and it's being robbed again, from the inside this time. but it's also the country where a 59 year old will starve for strangers' kids and 22 million young people will rally behind a party literally named after cockroaches, because cockroaches survive everything.
delhi police lathi-charged the protesters with batons and tear gas. five metro stations were shut down to stop people from even reaching the site. mobile internet was cut in parts of central delhi. the stage at jantar mantar was dismantled. sonam wangchuk's wife, gitanjali angmo, was pushed around in the crowd. people on the ground are reporting that doctors who had set up first aid on site were beaten. eyewitnesses say children, minors, were caught in the violence. people are also reporting that stone-filled trucks appeared near the protest site in the middle of the night, before cameras arrived — the kind of "evidence" that gets used to reframe a peaceful protest as a riot. the government is calling it provocation. the protesters are calling it a setup.
the congress president mallikarjun kharge said in parliament: "students have been beaten. the government is attempting to stifle dissent." samajwadi party mp dimple yadav said "today will be remembered as a black day for democracy." even some of the police who carried out the orders apparently looked ashamed. that's how wrong this was.
and through all of it the prime minister has not held a single open press conference in over a decade in power. not one.
what you can do right now:
if you are not going to the protests — and most of us can't — please send an email. right now. it takes two minutes.
demand the resignation of education minister dharmendra pradhan. you don't have to write anything long. "i am writing to demand the resignation of dharmendra pradhan over the NEET paper leak and the violence against peaceful protesters on july 20, 2026" is enough.
if you want to support the people on the ground: volunteers at the protest site need supplies. you can send things through blinkit to the jantar mantar / kerala house area, or get in contact with someone there and coordinate directly. the local gurudwara has been housing and feeding many of the protesters — donations there go directly to people who need it. you can also donate to
sachkhandfoundation4073@icici
who are feeding the students and helping them directly at the protest.
students were beaten to death at a peaceful protest in delhi.
let that sit for a second.
they weren't throwing anything. they weren't rioting. they were sitting in the scorching july heat asking for one thing, accountability for a leaked exam that destroyed lakhs of futures. and the government sent in police with batons.
minors were beaten. children. women. civilians.
sonam wangchuk is on day 24 of a hunger strike. our government forcefully detained him in front of everyone.
we are not okay. india is not okay.
racism against indians is at an all time high globally. we get mocked for how we live. britain spent 200 years extracting wealth from india. our own government spent the last decade doing the same thing, we are mocked for the poverty that was built for us by the people who now look down on us for it.
our media won't cover any of this. it was bought. the ruling party owns the narrative and anyone who challenges it gets raided, jailed, or beaten.
they declared themselves gods (literally they did, their faces edited over gods). they are using violence against children to prove it.
i am asking international media to look at india right now.
and if you're anywhere in the world and you're reading this — say something. you don't have to be indian. you just have to give a damn.
please read this even if you're not indian. especially if you're not indian.
you've seen the jokes. india is "dirty", indians are "everywhere", why don't they fix their own country. ok. let me tell you why, and what's happening right now while nobody's watching.
first, the history you skipped: britain ruled india for two centuries and drained it. economist utsa patnaik's research estimates around $45 trillion in today's money was taken. the india that got independence in 1947 was one of the poorest countries on earth. every "why is india like this" question starts there. you don't get to profit off a robbery and then mock the crime scene.
now, what's happening RIGHT NOW:
in may the question paper for NEET leaked. that's the national medical entrance exam. over 2.2 million students took it. cancelled. years of studying, families' savings poured into coaching, gone overnight because someone sold the paper. students died by suicide after. these were kids who wanted to be doctors.
and out of that came a protest movement. a gen z group called the cockroach janta party, started by a 30 year old named abhijeet dipke, got 22 million instagram followers within DAYS. they've been doing a sit-in at jantar mantar in delhi demanding education minister dharmendra pradhan resign.
and then there's sonam wangchuk. if you've watched 3 idiots, he's the real engineer the character was based on. built solar schools in ladakh. invented ice stupas so himalayan villages have water. spent his whole life on education. he's 59 and he's been on hunger strike for 17+ days now. reporters went to see him this week and he was too weak to talk. and the troll armies are calling him "anti national" and "foreign funded". a man starving himself for other people's children. that's the thing here, anyone who asks a question is suddenly a traitor.
it's not one incident, it's everywhere you look:
• infrastructure worth thousands of crores failing within months of the ribbon cutting. tunnels collapsing in regions where heavy rain is a guarantee, not a surprise.
• youth unemployment near 10% for ages 15 to 29, 13.6% in cities. in a country of 1.42 billion where more than half the population is young.
• only about the top 3% of indians earn above 10 lakh a year. meanwhile billionaire wealth keeps ballooning and the headlines celebrate it.
• manipur burned for over two years. an ethnic conflict, tens of thousands displaced, and the prime minister barely said the word manipur while it happened.
• journalists raided. critics' houses bulldozed. activists sitting in jail for years without trial under laws like UAPA. our press freedom ranking has cratered.
• even the petrol is a fight now, ethanol blending pushed through while drivers complain about their engines and get no straight answers.
and through all of it, the PM, who came to power on religious polarisation (americans, sound familiar?), travels abroad for photo ops and has not held one single open press conference in over a decade. not one.
what i'm asking:
if you're not indian: share this. our media mostly won't cover any of it because the big outlets are owned by the same billionaires the government serves. the only reason wangchuk's fast is getting any coverage is people refusing to look away.
if you ARE indian: speak up even if you're comfortable. especially if you're comfortable. join the protests. add to this, correct me, translate it. staying quiet is a choice when nothing in this post touches your life.
india is not "dirty". india was robbed, and it's being robbed again, from the inside this time. but it's also the country where a 59 year old will starve for strangers' kids and 22 million young people will rally behind a party literally named after cockroaches, because cockroaches survive everything.
hii! so like just an idea but im begging you should make a part 2 of simon riley having a breeding kink , and like when he gets home after his deployment and realizes your pregnant he goes crazy and says hes the luckiest man in the world if you know what i mean 😣
MMMMMMMMMM OKAY OKAY FAIR FAIR FAIR VERY I UNDERSTAND WHAT U MEANNN
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
lost followers and even mutuals </3 speaking about the indian protests! good! now let’s continue, free palestine, free afghan women, free iranian women.
A not so brief account of my experience at the Delhi protest on the 20th of July:
CW: violence, police brutality
3 of my friends and I, all of us resident doctors in various disciplines, had made extremely last minute plans to get to the walk that was organised for the 20th. I thankfully have a friend who lives fairly close to Jantar Mantar, and we were able to leave our things at their place while we were at the protest. We had decided to leave our phones at their house-since all of us had been extremely critical of the current government online, as well as in correspondences to our friends and family-and one of my friends carried a burner phone, in order to record the protest.
We reached Jantar Mantar at around 2:00am, fearing that the police may stop people from entering the site later in the day (this was of course what happened), and we milled through the crowd, talking to some of the other protestors at the site. At some point, we realised that the police presence had increased significantly, and the rapid action forces, had also been deputised to "deal" with us. At this point, I honestly still wasn't feeling scared at all. We were surrounded by several like minded people, who were also opposed to the current ruling party. It genuinely felt like we could speak with ease, for the first time in 12 years. We then found out, that the cops had started welding the barricades together. I'll admit that this is when I felt genuine fear. The minute we heard about this happening, the people around me immediately started talking about Jallianwala Bagh. Jallianwala Bagh, for those who don't know about the massacre, was a peaceful site of protest, where a large group of Indians had gathered to protest, during the Indian fight for independence. General Dyer, had then ordered all exits to be sealed, and opened fire on the protestors. A lot of what India faces under this government, feels eerily familiar to what she faced under British colonial rule.
Eventually, some of the protestors were able to push over the barricades, and we were able to start trying to move towards the parliament. That's unfortunately, when the violence began. The cops and RAF, started very indiscriminately lathi charging the crowd. There was no violence from our side. The cops had even parked a truck full of massive rocks, right by the protest site, probably hoping that the protestors would make use of them. In the end, we only have videos of the police themselves, chucking the rocks to make it look like the protest had been violent. And even after getting beaten up, the only responses I saw from the protestors, were pleas to be allowed to continue the march. We saw a lot of young students, face police brutality for the first time, and have to quickly come to the understanding, that the cops were not there to help them.
My friends and I had primarily gone, because we knew the cops would attempt to attack the protestors, and we wanted to provide whatever little medical aid we could. We had reached the site with 6 bags of saline, and at least 50 rolls of gauze, among other supplies. We were completely out by the time we left at night. I saw a lot of scalp and head injuries-it seemed like the wonderful police had gone out of their way to aim at protestors heads. I also saw a concerning number of children who had been injured by them. I counted 6 cases of eardrum rupture, and more bruises and cuts than I could keep track of. It was while I was attending to one of the injured protestors, that I was hit with the lathi for the first time. They saw very clearly, that I was in my doctor's coat, stethoscope in my pocket, and was treating a patient. They still tried to physically assault me. It was my fellow protestors, who immediately came to my defense, and got in between the police and I. This was our reality at the time. The only people we could rely on, were each other. A friend of mine was almost carted off by the police, to be placed under unlawful detention. He, like all of our little group, was only treating the injuries of the protestors. It was only because of the protest, once again, that he was able to escape from their hold, and disappear back into the crowd. My friend who carried his burner phone, had it snatched from his hand, stomped on, and was then asked who was paying him to be there. We were a fair distance away from the tear gas shells, so we didn't experience the effects of the expired canisters the cops threw at the protests who were closer to the parliament. I found out after reaching the airport, that it was the nearby gurudwara and mosque, who were sheltering the protestors, and treating the inflammation inflicted by the tear gas. The same people, the media like to call Khalistanis or Pakistanis, they were the people who stepped up to help the protestors who were getting gassed by the cops.
We did not make it to the parliament, it's true. The delhi police and the RAF, who had all conveniently "lost" their name tags, made sure of it. But honestly, I can't find any sort of disappointment in myself. For the past few years, I have felt so alone, wondering why the people simply accepted the harm this government has inflicted on our country and our communities. But I came to realise that I wasn't alone, and I never had been. There I was, surrounded by people of all ages, who wanted better for this country. And it filled me with a sense of patriotism, that I hadn't felt in so long. These were ordinary people, who had taken leave from their jobs and studies, and were here, right beside me, demanding a better India.
Today I returned to my hospital, and to the outside observer, things may seem to have not changed in the slightest. But something feels different. Maybe I'm being foolish, or overly optimistic. I returned with nothing much to show, but a slightly depleted bank account, and a large bruise on my shoulder, but yesterday felt like an awakening. The people who want to claim that the 20th was the death of democracy, are so incredibly mistaken, because this is just the beginning. Now and forever इंक़लाब ज़िन्दाबाद.
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