map & match

fluff + 141, no cw.

every single person said that simon riley would never be able to keep a spouse. every single person said that they'd get bored of him, or get freaked out and run for the hills on their wedding ceremony.

well, unfortunately for the several bets that had sprung up as a result of that, simon had kept you a very, very long time. in fact, you were now celebrating the 50th year of your marriage. your old man was still the cheeky bastard he'd always been, but not once had either of you considered divorce.

the men are sat in your living room, chatting over beers and sitting around the TV as it plays some old-school rom-com that you'd insisted on. of course, price had wanted to see football—not that he ever got his way in you house.

you carry in the cake—one you'd made, and one you'd continue to make every single year. sure, the frosting had gotten shakier as you'd aged, but the taste had always remained the same, and it was damn good. as always.

as you make your way to the table in the centre of the room, you're intercepted by kyle, his arms reaching to steady the cake from you. "uh, watch that. i gotcha, just go sit down."

you'd retort that he's not much younger than you, but the gesture is appreciated. you lower yourself beside your husband, reclining into his outstretched arm. the four of you—kyle, simon, price, and you—eat in silence before kyle breaks it.

"fifty years, huh, simon?"

simon blinks beside you, his arm tightening slightly. "yep. couldn't 'ave left me, i'm charmin' as all hell."

you whack his shoulder, fixing him with a stare, while price starts a laugh that ends in a hearty cough. must be all the cigars, over the years. but since you're all in for the rest of life together, he's started on the road to quitting.

"y'know, i always had a bet with soap that you'd break up in a few years. guess i owe him twenty, huh?" kyle speaks, and he's staring into the distance—that same look you've been used to since the four of you had lost the scot.

"least he didn't have to grow old n'crusty like the rest of us pensioners, save him the trouble of achin' bones," simon says, though it's quiet and resigned, like an old wound still festering with regret.

(soap would've loved to cash in his twenty bucks.)

Simon Riley's smoking sets off an asthma attack on his girlfriend and he feels guilty (and she suffocates a bit) | Words: 1.5k-1.6k

They barely registered her first cough.

With a hand on her thigh and a cig in the other, she honestly didn't know how Simon managed to drive.

Was he driving a bit poorly? Sure, but that was true even when the man had both of his hands on the wheel.

She didn't dwell much on those thoughts, however, instead enjoying how carefree he looked after only three days back from deployment.

On the night he arrived, Simon looked dead on his feet, with bloodshot eyes, dark circles beneath his eyes, still wearing his skull balaclava, his shoulders heavier than usual, and every movement seemed to take an effort.

Now, after only three nights of good sleep, with her hugging him tight at night on their bed, showering him with soft kisses on his cheeks, neck and chest while he fell asleep, and doing casual, normal life activities, nothing like what he dealt during his operations, Simon seemed almost like a different man.

As he gave a light squeeze on her thigh, she grabbed his hand, brought it to her lips and kissed. At this point, she believed she was addicted to kissing this man. God, how she missed him during those past weeks.

Which should set off alarm bells in her head since they've been dating for only a little more than a year by now, but she felt attached to the man in ways she never experienced before in her life.

She kissed his hand three more times before putting it back on her thigh. Strangely, the action of repeatedly kissing his hand made her short of breath.

He loved the kisses, she knew it. Even without seeing his face, with the black hoodie and the black surgical mask right under his mouth – so he could smoke – she noticed how he sighed quietly with each kiss and how his head dropped on the headrest.

She kept staring at her boyfriend, her head turning towards him as a tightness began to creep into her chest, and, with a sinking feeling, she recognized it. The cough, the shortness of breath, the chest tightness. Fuck, her asthma.

Cig's smoke had triggered it in the past, but it had been a while, her condition was under control for years now and she never had an attack next to Simon before.

But she noticed he was smoking more on this leave. She found him a couple times smoking on her balcony, and when they went out for breakfast or lunch he always seemed to have a cig in his hand. And maybe it was too much for her fucked up lungs.

She coughed again, harder this time, and Simon turned to her.

"You alright?"

She turned her head towards the passenger-side window and rolled the glass down manually, since only his window was down at the moment.

As she coughed again, Simon watched her hand coming to press on her chest, breathing turning rapid and labored. He could not see her features as she was facing now the open window.

"Y/N?" Simon could hear the growing concern in his own voice.

"Simon, I think-" she gasped for air, her voice thin, strained – his stomach dropped "I need my inhaler."

Then the sound hit him. A faint wheeze.

Fuck.

She mentioned once being asthmatic, but never showed any symptoms.

The dots on his head connected – the cig on his hand suddenly heavy and he became hyper aware of all the smoke surrounding them.

Bloody hell, the fuck did I do?

The cig went out the window in a sec and, on the next, he was parking the car into a parking spot he was pretty sure didn't actually exist.

"Fuck. Hang on, luv."

She never displayed any symptoms, she never complained about the cigs, never asked him to stop, but he knew. She told him, early on their relationship, that she was asthmatic and he paid no attention whatsoever to the information.

You stupid bastard.

"The inhaler. Where is it?"

She continued to cough, her face turning red and redder at the moment, and just pointed with her thumb at the back seats.

Her bag.

Simon hurriedly grabbed the bag, searching for the inhaler.

Fuck, did she carry their entire apartment on that bag??

"Fuck, fuck." He muttered under his breath.

"Simon." His girl wheezed.

"I know, luv, fuck, i know, in a moment..." Simon felt his heart hammering in his throat. He didn't remember the last time he panicked this way. A gun on his head, a bomb about to explode close to him, being surrounded by enemies – none of those things made Simon half as tachycardic as he felt at that moment, looking for that bloody inhaler as he heard her rapid breathing at his side.

Calm down, you bastard, don't you dare to panic right now.

"Here." Finding the inhaler, he didn't waste any second in bringing it to her lips.

She took two puffs and he kept scanning her eyes, wide and teary, closely listening to her breath, looking desperately for the smallest signs of improvement.

"It's alright, just keep breathing, slow breaths, with me, aye, just like that."

But the smoke on the car was still too much, Simon noticed, being hyperaware now of how it infested the air around them.

"C'mon, let's take you out of here now." Simon exited the car in half a second and, in another one, he was opening her door and taking her out of there, getting them closer to some trees nearby.

Holding both her arms with his hands, the man observed as her breaths slowed down.

"It's getting better, Si." Her voice was still weaker than normal, but thankfully missing the wheezing.

"Good, but don' try to talk, just breathe for me." His thumbs went up and down on her arms as he watched her face with the entire force of his focus.

The rest of the world faded into the background while Simon's focus remained solely on her, monitoring the way her breathing was slowing down, the panic gradually left her eyes and each breath came easier than the last.

After one or two minutes, she finally looked like herself again. Her eyes focused on his once more and she reached for the hand that was still holding her arm, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"I'm alright, babe."

"You weren't."

"Simon-"

"Don't." His tone was short, not opening room for debate, as he engulfed her with his arms, dropping a kiss at her forehead and hugging her tight.

"Should we go to the hospital?" She could still hear the worry on his voice.

"No, Simon, I'm fine now, really."

Her voice did sound normal, he thought to himself.

Y/N slipped out of his arms.

"I think we should just avoid smoking next to me that I will be fine." She said in a soft and careful voice, like she was trying not to touch a sore spot.

Simon huffed.

"I'm never touchin' that shit again." His voice was grumpy, making her laugh a bit.

"Well, that sounds extreme, you're always with a cig on your hand these days, babe."

Yeah, he was, wasn't him? Even though his girl was asthmatic, he kept smoking that fucking thing up and down without giving a second thought. Idiot.

But he was done with it.

"Not as extreme as you dying because you couldn't breathe." Now, she laughed out loud.

"I wouldn't go that far. I'm fine, I always have my inhaler with me and it always works. There's nothing to worry about."

Simon didn't see it that way.

"Now let's go back to the car." She said, noticing how his eyes widened a little at that.

"You stay here, I go first to see if the smoke's still in there." His hands went up to her shoulders, firm, as to keep her there.

In the end, Simon made them wait some good fifteen minutes outside the car, with all windows rolled down, until every trace of smoke was gone. In his mind, he was already planning to buy some nicotine patches and gums.

She couldn't help but notice how he kept looking at her with wondering eyes, as if monitoring her.

Once they were back in the vehicle, on their way to their apartment, Y/N said with a light smile:

"Guess this is one way to get you to quit smoking."

Simon looked into her eyes, thinking how red, teary and panicked they looked not even half an hour ago.

"Bit of an expensive lesson."

In the stuffy, musty barrack where they were all having some tasteless ration packs for dinner, Price handed Ghost a cigar, but the man quickly dismissed his captain with a short shake of his head.

"Quit it."

The three men looked at him, surprised.

Price just retrieved his hand, with a small grin on his bearded face.

"Good for you, mate." That was Gaz. "So how's that going?"

Ghost made a frustrated sound at the back of his throat.

"Like fuckin hell." Gaz snorted.

Soap was merely staring at him, and Ghost could see engines turning inside his head. After a beat, something knowingly flashed across his eyes, realization settling in.

Bloody hell.

At the moment he is fostering a white kitten that screams at him in the early hours of the day to get its food.

The little kitten being so loud that even his cute neighbour has heard it.

So now reader comes over every other day with sweet treats for the small kitten and also some for Simon.

driver!simon rescuing runaway bride!reader from the church where your wedding was supposed to take place. you’d left it all–your family, your phone, your responsibilities, your no-longer-husband-to-be–behind so you could sit in the back of simon’s cab and tell him all the reasons you ditched.

“he's just… he's boring. he likes to eat dinner the same time as our 74-year-old neighbor! he didn’t wanna go anywhere or do anything. he’d come home after all day at work, just to half-ignore me. doesn't believe in kissing for any longer than 0.7 seconds. and dear god–simon, is it? right?–the sex…”

18+mdni.

simon always says you fit well in his arms. fit well when he's inside you, begging you to just stay still, so he can finally cum. you fit well in his arms when he holds you when watching a scary movie, you're terrified when watching saw. fit well in his arms when you hug him tight, soothing him after a bad dream.

fit perfectly well in his arms when he holds your lifeless body, in the hospital bed, a wailing baby in a crib - his wailing baby.

Also, shoutout to @wooceanic becuase she requested, and i got inspired ;P

The first time you realized Simon was actually making love to you was after your first big fight, when you had given him the silent treatment for almost two days.

​You didn't live with him then, so you tried to ingore his texts and calls, simply choosing to rot at work until the dead of night just to keep your brain from obsessing over him.

​Oh, but how naive you were to think you could escape him, or that he could last a day without seeing you.

He still had a key to your place just in case, a fact you totally forgot about until you walked in and found him waiting on your couch like a lovesick puppy, with an order from your favorite Chinese restaurant.

​You really had him completely wrapped around your finger, you realized, smiling to yourself.

​By the time he actually started begging for forgiveness, you were too far gone to remember why you were even pissed.

​He had you down bad, too. So dumb of you to think otherwise.

​Your bodies moved in sync and with the way his hips rolled with every drive, sinking deeper with every movement he gave you, you simply forgot your own name.

​He had your legs spread wide, bent almost to your shoulders, creating that sharp, sweet tingle in your belly every time he slammed into your sweet spot. And oh god, that fucker knew exactly how to hit it perfectly.

​Every. Damn. Time.

​He did that thing where he would curve his hips up and hold there for a moment, whispering into your ear, "It's right there, huh? I found it again." His head was buried in your neck, and the pathetic, desperate whimpers he let out after he felt how wet and warm you were, filled with his cum, made you clench your pussy around him even more, turning him into an animal obsessed with dragging every last orgasm out of you.

​Then it hit you. That this time was different.

​Usually, sex with him was hard and rushed. It wasn't bad, but this? Yeah, it was something else.

​He never whimpered like that. He was taking his time, watching every twitch of your body, caressing you slowly until you fell apart again and again, and it was so fucking hot seeing him like that.

​He practically begged for your forgiveness by fucking you slow and deep into the mattress.

​"Si, look at me," you managed to gasp between moans, yanking at his messy blonde hair until his eyes met yours.

​"You feel so good, love," he whimpered while looking into your half opened, glazed eyes, his pace growing slower. His hand was on your breast, squeezing and rubbing your nipple between his fingers. "Will you forgive me, and let me cum inside again?"

"If you keep fucking me like this I might."

​His hips stilled, but his cock remained buried deep inside while he started grinding slowly, so you could feel every inch, every vein, and that delicious curve of his cock pulsing inside you. Almost as if he wanted to prove how good he was for you.

​"Please, love, forgive me." He hooked your thigh around his shoulder, fingers digging into your skin and already leaving red marks.

"Fuck, let me just fill you up, pretty girl," he groaned into your ear while gently nibbling your lobe.

​You gasped, eyes rolling back, but you could not care less because you felt so incredible. You dug your nails into his bare back, tracing lines along his muscles and scars. They moved along with him, and you smiled, feeling the goosebumps erupt on his skin.

​"God, you're going to make me cum if you don't stop, Si." You bit into his swollen from kissing lips drawing a little bit of blood, the pleasure forced its way down your body. You tugged harder seeing how he wanted to hide in your neck already, his eyes were completely lost, and it made you clench around him. Usually, you were the one who struggled with eye contact.

​"Yeah? - thrust - You're gonna cum again? - another thrust, this time he reached for your puffy clit. You felt his thumb rubbing delicate circles, not to overstimulate you - You can cum - thrust that pulled the filthiest and loudest moan out of you - as much as you need, baby. I've got you."

​"Oh god, Simon, I'm..."

​"I know. Fuck yeah, cum on my cock, sweet thing. Please, cum on me, I'm begging you." He whimpered.

Since then, everything changed. He would make love to you on every occasion, simply because being that close and intimate with you became addictive in a way. Fuck it, he just loved it. After all, he felt like your relationship was turning into something serious, so it was only fair to care for your needs in every possible way. God, he loved giving it to you. Just looking at you in the bathroom brushing your teeth wearing nothing but his shirt made his cock go rock hard, and hearing your pretty moans and sighs was a different story entirely.

​Yeah, he was obsessed with making love with you.

contains: no gendered pronouns for reader, smut/nsfw content (riding, fairly tame), swearing, pet names

a/n: this is my first time writing smt for soap and also in this format so i hope it's not too confusing. been wanting to show him some love

[i.] soap who is quietly jealous of you and ghost because people say you'd make a great couple.

[ii.] soap who finally confesses his feelings to you and is confused when you start laughing.

"oh, thank god i didn't have to say it first."

soap furrows his brows. "you're telling me..?"

"oh, geez, i thought it was obvious painfully obvious. yes, i want you johnny."

Pairing: Ghost x reader.

Warnings/tags: minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, blood, death, burglary, hurt/comfort, English is not my first language.

Simon had never experienced greater terror in his life than he did now. He turned off the truck and sat there for an unforgivably long few seconds, silently staring at the house through the windshield. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly that when he let go, his knuckles ached.

Thoughts swarmed in Ghost's head, so many that they merged into white noise. He was driven by pure, formless panic, a primal terror that forced him to walk. Where are you?

The gravel of the driveway crunched beneath his combat boots, and his feet slid heavily, like walking through water. With tiny, weighted steps, Ghost approached the front door, which was now hanging by one bottom hinge. The shattered windows gaped like open wounds, shards of glass glinting innocently in the thicket of trampled lilies.

Simon couldn't speak. He'd forgotten he had a tongue, a throat, and lungs. Pointing the gun in front of him, he entered the house. All that remained of the residence was a frame and scraps.

The intruders had clearly acted in haste: thoughtlessly and carelessly. Ghost's first guess was that they were his enemies, but the evidence contradicted that theory. Here and there, bullet holes surrounded by rings of soot remained in the light-colored walls. They had fired at random, smashing everything around, not looking for anything specific. Several pairs of footprints remained smeared on the floor. The table and chairs were reduced to splinters of wood, the colorful tiles were cracked, everything was strewn with broken glass and shards of comfort. They had taken the silverware from the sideboard, jewelry, purses, and destroyed everything else just for the fun of it.

Simon stared at the large scarlet drops of blood on the oak parquet floor. The drops gave way to intermittent streaks. The dim light of the setting sun illuminated his path through the house. Holding his breath, he followed the trail that stretched across the entire hallway, crossed the entryway, traced an intricate pattern on the tiles, and finally disappeared around the corner.

There was a body on the floor. In the hallway between the bedroom and the kitchen. A middle-aged man, a cheap balaclava, a bullet in the chest. The robbery theory confirmed. Did they fight over the takings and abandon the body out of panic?

These observations were naturally born in Ghost's mind: after everything he had seen in his life, he immediately noticed signals and patterns, even if he didn't want to at the moment. The presence of a body in his house troubled him far less than the simple, desperate question: Where? Where are you?

A sudden creak behind him made his entire body go rigid, his muscles tensed as if he'd been electrocuted, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Gripping the gun tighter, he spun around and aimed at the source of the sound. His gaze swept across the empty kitchen, pupils blown wide.

Then he saw the top cabinet slightly open, revealing a pale, almost white face.

Everything collapsed inside him and rebuilt itself again.

"Baby?" a pathetic, hoarse breath escaped his lips. He heard a timid sob in response.

You opened the cabinet wider. Hugging your legs tightly to your chest and your head to the knees, and sat there for who knows how long. Long enough for your limbs to swell and your back to ache so much you stopped noticing.

As soon as you heard the sound of a car pulling up early that morning, you knew it wasn't Simon. The windows jingled and the door groaned under the pounding. They thought the house was empty.

"C'mere, luv... please," Ghost tucked the pistol into the holster on his hip and slowly held out his sweaty hands. He took a step closer, gaze never leaving your red, tear-stained eyes.

You didn't move, couldn't. Your chest felt like it was being crushed by iron bars, threatening a panic attack. Simon reached out a trembling hand, touching your ankle with his fingertips.

"It's okay. Come to me," he whispered. Your body leaned forward, practically falling out of the cabinet. Ghost caught you.

The house was silent. A broken clock didn't tick, the floorboards didn't creak, a draft blew silently between the torn floral wallpaper and the mud from strangers' shoes.

Simon had seen death, seen torture, betrayal, deformity, illness, and endured it with a coldness in his eyes. People had told him, 'You have thick skin.' Why then was he crumbling to pieces now, shaking and holding back tears, cradling you to his chest? Ghost slid to the floor, gently rocking you in his arms. You silently hugged him, burying your face in his warm chest.

I LIKE it

someone else might LIKE it

it is FUN to do

I get those THOUGHTS out of my head

it's fun to look BACK on

have I mentioned it's FUN?

it's CATHARTIC

it's nice to see what I CAN DO

Summary: You have a very painful menstruation.

Pairing: Bf!Ghost x reader.

Warnings/tags: minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, period cramps, pain, English is not my first language.

Simon was awakened by the buzzing of his phone. Without opening his eyes, he slung his arm across the bedside table, trying to find the device.

"Si?" The sound of your voice on the other end of the line jolted him awake in a second. "Did I wake you?"

"It's fine. You alright?" Ghost had already gotten out of bed, and currently was trying to find his sweats in the darkness.

"Uh... I was just..." The sob you tried to stifle made his mind spiral. "Do you have a ketorolac pill? I- I didn't notice I was out-"

"I'm coming, luv, don't go anywhere."

.

.

.

The door to your room was prudently unlocked. It was stuffy and hot in here, but you curled up under the thick blanket, seemingly oblivious. Simon pulled the corner of it off your head. The mattress sank next to you with a soft creak.

"Here you are, baby," he smiled sadly, brushing a wet strand of hair from your forehead with his fingertips.

"You got it?.."

Simon arrived with a bottle of water and a box of pills. He squeezed one out of the pack and handed it to you. You couldn't force yourself to move, your body felt heavy, as if lead were coursing through your veins instead of blood. Sharp, cruel spasms twisted your lower abdomen.

"I hate it, I hate it, I can't do this," you sobbed. Even crying hurt. Your tongue slurred, and even in the darkness, it was noticeable how pale you had become.

"Shhh, you're doing well. Take a small sip. Just a little," Simon helped you swallow the painkiller, holding the bottle to your trembling lips. This simple act overwhelmed you, and you sank back into bed wearily, not noticing Ghost's disappearance to the bathroom. He returned with your usual old bottle from a mouthwash, which you refused to trade for a proper hot water bottle because "it's the perfect shape." In any case, Simon was now tightening the lid, wrapping the hot bottle in a thin towel.

"Nauseous?" He carefully unwrapped the blanket, placing the bottle against your stomach, and lay down next to you so as not to disturb your body.

"Better."

Your voice was quiet and weak. Tormented by the pain and the inability to sleep because of it, you cried quietly into Simon's shoulder, curled into a ball at his side.