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john price wiping your closed eyes and watching your tears smudge the black tar over your under eyes. even better if it ruins itself by how badly he gets your eyes watering. thinks its so sexy when mascara streaks your cheeks. he'll be very disappointed if you're wearing mascara and it doesn't run whenever he fucks you. he thinks its a sign of how well he treated you that night. he'll also pound into you harder if your mascara doesn't smudge, and won't stop until its staining your skin.
simon riley will take it as a personal offence if your whole face of makeup isn't ruined. either from pushing your face into a pillow, kissing it off, or your tears, he looks forward to seeing your hard work smeared off. he didn't give you a good enough fuck if your face is still intact. it's a challange to him every time; how much makeup can simon ruin before you tap out?
johnny mactavish loves to ruin your lips. whatever you decided to put on that day—lipliner, lip oil, lipstick, you name it, he loves it. he especially loves it because it leaves stains on his skin that he'll wake up to in the morning, head pounding with a killer hangover. and to tell you a secret, he discreetly licks off your lip gloss if it tastes good. you're just too cock drunk to notice.
kyle garrick doesn't like ruining your makeup. he watched his pretty baby take so long getting ready, why would he ruin such hard work? but kyle being kyle, and just has to be mean to you, he doesn't touch your face at all. not even for kisses. even when you beg for just one kiss, he refuses. and on top of that, he doesn't stop for you if you ask to get up and wipe your makeup off. you spend so long putting it on, let him admire it, yeah?
cw: afab+f!reader, potentially overlooked beach sex. two freaks in love and on holiday in ibiza. 1.5k words.
"love, where th' fuck did you get that bikini?" simon's voice cuts across your silence just as his frame cuts across your sun, casting a shadow over where you're sprawled out on a beach lounger.
you glare up at him from behind your sunglasses.
"you're in my sun." you pout back. "and uh, from one of the little shops in town here. why?"
"because i want to buy you ten more. yer tits look crackin'." he deadpans back, before dropping into a plastic beach chair tucked under the shade of the umbrella next to your sun lounger. "they're the best thing about this fuckin' holiday. can't believe i let you talk me into this."
you roll your eyes, "didn't see you complaining last night when you bent me over the balcony post pina colada consumption."
"never gonna complain when i'm inside you now love, am i?" he shoots back. "but… ibiza. we're in ibiza. the 'ome of fucking twenty year olds doin' too much molly at club nights."
you reach over and swat him, actually swat him, palm connecting with the skin of his calf. "simon!" you admonish. "we're going to a vine yard on thursday. and a fucking UNESCO heritage site. don't shit talk ibiza. there's… culture as well as parties. you sound like a grumpy old man."
his nostrils flare, but he doesn't argue.
he does sound like a grumpy old man.
there's a pause as you adjust your sunglasses in your nose, relaxing back against your lounger. "but we are going to a party tonight. starts at 11pm. no molly required. but i'll buy you more cocktails."
simon groans. "fuckin' 'ell, pet."
the club is everything simon hates.
dark except for the glow of neon, ever changing lights; packed with sweat slicked bodies moving against each other. no clear exit routes. limited cover.
but the cocktail complete with little umbrella in his hand almost makes up for it.
and the way you're moving your hips to the sound of the slow baseline that's currently shaking his bones definitely makes up for it.
you're just over an arms reach away from where he's leaning against a wall, right at the edge of the crowd; body wrapped in an outfit that he's going to make sure to find an occasion for you to wear again.
and he's mesmerised.
by you.
with the way you have your arms thrown in the air and your head tilted back; heartbeat thudding in time with the music just under the skin of your throat. he could watch you do this forever. watch the way your lips curve in the corners and your eyes go glassy under flickering lights; the way you lose yourself, let yourself just feel.
it occurs to him that the only other time he sees you this free and relaxed is when he's fucking you. a thought that makes his cock twitch in his jeans and his ears go red at the tips; before he promptly shoves it to the back of his head - for now, anyway.
then suddenly you're turning to face him fully, looking up at him through lowered lashes, holding your hands out in an invitation as your hips sway.
he blinks once. shakes his head.
you pout. eyelashes fluttering. fingers waggling.
he sighs, downs the rest of his drink, and closes the distance between you.
even he can't argue with that.
he spins you, presses your back against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you pressed close; his free hand finding your hip, body slowly swaying with yours.
"i fuckin' hate dancin'." he mutters, breath hot over the shell of your ear.
you tilt your head, eyes finding his in the neon flashing lights - and for a moment his breath catches in his throat almost painfully at how alive you look. he ducks his head enough to catch your words over the music, uttered with the smugness of a woman that knows she's right: "yeah, but you love me."
he doesn't answer right away, just tightens his arm around your waist and allows his body to follow the slow movement of yours; trying to find his feet literally and figuratively. then finally he sighs, "yeah. i do love you."
you smile, triumphant, and push back against him; grinding in a lazy circle that has his fingers digging into your hip. every time you arch or sway he follows, face tucked into your neck; breathing in the scent of the perfume you picked up at the airport and the sweat accumulating on your skin from the heat of the lights and the crowd. you grind back against him again and he groans softly, ducking his head lower to nip at the exposed skin of your shoulder. "keep doin' that and we're not makin' it back to the hotel petal."
your lips curve upwards, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, tilting your head to give him better access, "promise?"
a low, almost pained, sound rumbles from his chest as he presses an open mouthed kiss against the pulse hammering under the skin of your throat. he straightens, eases his grip slightly - but doesn’t let go completely. “c’mon. before i do somethin’ that gets us thrown out.”
you let him pull you through the crowd of bodies towards the exit; out into the cooler air that's carrying a tinge of salt from the ocean. simon keeps you close as you start the walk back to the hotel along a quieter stretch of beach, sand soft under your shoes.
halfway there he stops.
you turn, a question already half formed on your lips; but when you see the expression on his face your jaw slams shut.
want.
that's the only way to describe it.
before you can blink your back is pressed against sand tucked away behind a low wall, his mouth on yours - hungry, tasting of the last cocktail he drank. his hands are everywhere; cupping your tits through your dress, thumbs dragging over your nipples until they pebble under fabric, then lower - pushing your dress up over your hips and dragging your underwear across so he can drag two fingers over your slit. he hisses through his teeth when he finds you warm and soft and wet. he doesn't push inside, just gathers wetness with the pads of his fingers before dragging them higher to glide over your clit until your hips buck.
"i love seein' you dance." he mutters. "you always look like… like yer free." there's a brief pause as his lips quirk, "an' it makes me 'ard."
you grin, capture his mouth with your in a kiss that's all heat and fire and love, reaching between you to pop the button of his jeans, shove them down around his hips. he frees himself; drags the swollen head of his cock through your folds once before pushing into the tight heat of your cunt in one long stroke that knocks the air from both your lungs.
"simon-"
"i know, love." his voice is wrecked, one hand bracing in the sand next to your head. "i fuckin' know." he starts to move; deep, steady strokes that fill you completely with every thrust. the sound of the ocean is loud enough to cover the sound of skin on skin and the broken sounds you're both making. he fucks you like he’s been wanting to all night - like the club and the dancing and the way you looked under the lights snapped something inside him.
you roll your hips up to meet every stroke, his fingers find your clit again, press hard enough that you whine; a broken sounding noise that's lost to the sound of waves crashing.
"c'mon petal. reckon you can come for me? even though someone might 'ear?" he murmurs, lips twitching into a smile that's almost a taunt. the thought, the words, the relentless drag of him inside you - it all crashes together. you clench down around him, pleasure rolling through you in waves, muffling the sound you make by biting into your own forearm. simon follows a handful of thrusts later, burying himself inside you as his whole body shudders.
for a long moment neither of you move. there's just your breathing. the sea. the distant thump of bass. simon's forehead resting on on your shoulder.
eventually he pulls put, puts your knickers back into place - tugged tight against where he's leaking out of you like he's trying to trap the evidence of your little tryst on the beach. he tucks himself away, pulls you to your feet, presses a kiss against your forehead, face softer around the edges when he looks down at you. "hotel." he mutters, "before i decide that the sand is comfortable enough for round two.
you laugh, tangle your fingers with his, tug him in the direction of the hotel. "round two's in the shower. pretty sure there's sand in my fanny."
his shoulder shake with silent laughter, "aye. shower then. unless you want t' give the sea a go?"
New sexual partner, Simon Riley, doesn't believe you're really into half the things you're asking him to do to you. So he sticks two fingers in your cunt like he's hooking up to a damn lie detector and starts reciting all the nasty things you've been begging him for, measuring how hard you clench around him with each one, and how progressively wet you get.
You've convinced him of your honesty pretty quickly, but now he's just having fun feeling you lose your fucking mind around him as he describes exactly how he's going to make your every wish come true while he's knuckle deep inside you.
You must have been cursed or this is some kind of lucid dream that keeps on going no matter how hard you try to wake up. The last thing you remember is a very sleep deprived you failing for the hundreth time to avoid the bad ending in an otome game you were playing. Frustrated you scrunched the empty can of energy drink and put it with the others in a small pile on your desk. Having had enough you decided to go to sleep with the thought of deleting the game first thing in the morning.
The problem is that you wake up in an unknown room that starts to feel familiar the more you take in the details. The only thing that convinces you this is not a dream is stubbing your toe on some piece of furniture, the pain shooting through your entire leg for a few moments feeling very much real. It's only then that you notice a pop up screen hovering in the air, the words "In order to go back, please complete one of the male lead's route." being the only clue you get before the screen dissapears as if it was never there. Your frustrated shouts and pleas for more explanations do nothing but tire yourself out.
It seems that the only way to go back home is to complete the game, but how can you do that when no matter what dialogue option your character chose in the past, you ended up ignored at best and killed at worst? Which male lead to should you go for?
Childhood friend Gaz would seem like the safest option at first, but there's too many things he knows about your character that you have no idea from the game. You try to be friendly and take things slow, but his affection rate for you must be negative because after he throws the coffee and lunch you brought him in the trash right in front of you, making sure the other colleagues in the office hear him loudly declare that these tricks won't work on him, you just give up. Perhaps is your pride getting in the way, but hearing those same words all over again and already knowing that pursuing him will just end up with you fired, you respect his wish and leave him alone.
Things go well for a while, you're even thinking that staying here won't even be that bad, you have an apartment and a nice desk job which is more than you could say about your old life. Unbeknowst to you Kyle starts getting restless, missing the previous attention and getting increasingly more jealous from watching you spend time with other people. Why are you looking and laughing with them?
Always getting invited to places, passing him in the cafeteria without a second glance. You used to follow him around everywhere since the two of you were children, always by his side no matter how mean he was. It was enough for him to throw a nice word your way and everything was back to its right place so what changed now? Why aren't you looking at him anymore? It's because of all these people distracting you from him. Don't worry, he'll get rid of them and won't be mean to you anymore.
You're confused and scared, there's blood everywhere, just a second ago you were laughing at something Mark said and the next moment he was laying on the ground, a pool of blood growing rapidly under him. Even if Kyle is forcefully holding your chin so you can't turn your head away, you know what the warm liquid that made its way to your fingertips even if you can't look at it:
"I'm sorry, darling. I was so cruel to you, but now I changed! There's no one standing between us now so please won't you look at me the way you used to before?"
Local athlete star Soap that is the face for the advertisement campaign your department is working on. He has the reputation of being a bit of a flirt and a short temper, almost getting into a fight with another player from the other team. He's lucky that he's the golden boy of the season and people take his cocky attitude as charming. After the disastrous attempt with Kyle, you don't even bother to try again, treating Mr Mactavish or Johnny as he keeps insisting you call him as just another client. Maybe that's what gets him, someone not treating him like he's something special, not falling for his charm for once.
You ignore his flirting and unprofessional behaviour, always refusing his gifts or invitations to go out. All this refusals are starting to get to him so he does what he does best on the field: if there's not an opportunity then he creates one for himself. It wasn't hard to get those paparazzi on his tail, the hard part was convincing you to see him outside the office for a supposed business meeting. It's just too easy, pretending to get something out of your hair, his fingers lingering on the skin of your cheek for just a moment longer, his hand that sits too close to yours on the table, grabbing it the moment you try to get up and the pictures are posted before the end of the day.
He feels sorry about the flood of hate coming your way, from malicious comments to straigt-up death threats, but it's all necessary for his plan. So when your address got "accidentally" leaked, he was there to pick up the pieces. Who better to keep you safe than him? The sight of you afraid to even go outside, getting startled every time someone's at the door, clinging fearfully to his arm, afraid of getting doxxed again by one of his fans:
"Don't worry, bonnie. We'll release a press statement tomorrow and make our relationship public, the way it should have been from the begining."
Outcast Ghost is not really an outcast because people dislike him, well, maybe some do, but the majority avoid him because they are terrified of him. He works in upper management and spends the majority of his time in his nice private office, the only thing that gets him out is the fancy expresso machine in the cafeteria. Usually there's always a line of people standing there, chatting long after taking their coffee and blocking the access to the machine. It's only the large figure of the brooding man that casts a shadow over them that has the group scrambling away. That's how you end up trailing after him, eagerly waiting for him to be done and take your turn.
You're completely taken back when Ghost turns around and asks you what you want. You are ready to mumble an excuse and fuck off from his sight before he asks how you want your coffee. You tell him and expect that to be all, except for the fact that he takes both beverages and starts walking away to one of the empty tables in the back. An expectant look over his shoulder it's your cue to follow him. He's pretty quiet the first few times, but he seems content to just listen to you rambling, a rare "Go on" or "Hm?" being the only clue that he's actually listening to you.
Those coffee breaks quickly become a routine, more often than not finding Simon at what he claimed to be your table after scaring off some IT guys that tried taking it one day, a coffee already waiting for you. Used by now to him always preparing it for you, the mistake of ignoring the slightly powdery taste will haunt some hours later when you're waking up in the backseat of a car:
"You're finally awake, sunshine."
"Simon? Where are we going?"
"We're gonna take a little trip somewhere nice and quiet without any scheming pests around."
It's only when you try lifting your hand to get some hair out of your face that you notice your wrists tightly ductaped under the blanket. Simon must see your shock in the rearview mirror:
"Just a precaution until we get to our destination, but you won't need it because you were always good to me. Isn't that righ, sunshine?"
CEO Price's first impression of you is that the way you look tearfully after spilling coffee on him is pretty adorable. You really don't want to piss him off because no matter how you approached his character in the game you always ended up fired and blacklisted from the industry. So when he asks you about wanting to become his personal assistant, it takes a few seconds for the words to register in your brain. Well, it doesn't seem to be as much as an ask when he tells you to move your things into his office, the acceptance of your new role never leaving your lips, but already assumed.
Your new position quickly garners you the attention of everyone in the department and not the good kind. Your colleagues make their hostility known every step on the way from locking you inside the bathroom before a meeting, accidentally messing with your papers and collectively forgetting to invite you to various office events. It gets so bad that you end up rarely leaving your desk, keeping Mr Price company.
John is not blind, he sees what's happening and it would take less than the snap of his fingers to resolve the situation, but he doesn't want to. Why break something that works? You spend all your time around him, a skittish thing, knowing your position too well. When he asks you out for dinner you already know that refusing him won't just get you demoted as his personal assistant, but throw you right back into the jaws of your very jealous colleagues that can't wait to get to you. So you say yes to the first dinner and the next one and all the others after that. Eventually you leave your job and move in with him, your lease already broken and things neatly packed when he informed you about it sometime after the main course just as the waiter took your plate. None of this actually feels like your decision, but you don't know what to do. You have no one to ask for help or advice and John has all the resources to trap you exactly where he wants it.
"All of this is for the best, love. I'll take care of you so good. All you have to do is just listen to me. Alright?"
Mafia leader Nikolai is a close friends of Price, the sport world and gambling being closely entertwined. He doesn't mendle so much, but when the bets are to his or his important clients' advantage, he puts in a word for a specific player to tame it down a little the next match or a word to the referees. And if the guy won't collaborate, then he has his methods of getting what he wants, athlets get hurt all the time, isn't that righ? It would be a shame for someone to loose their entire career because of one injury before the biggest competition of the season, but that's life.
He sees you the first time in John's office, the new personal assistant and he thinks you look almost adorable with how skittish you are. He is aware of his rough exterior, but he's usually a charming man with enough money to bring down anyone's defenses and yet you keep escaping his clutches. That's alright, he can be a very patient man so when the opportunity presents itself, he's more than ready to play the hero.
When the rough looking group trash your car as you get out the office after working overtime for the fifth time in a row this week, you're too tired to think properly about just how convenient Nikolai's intervention seems to be. He drives you home, fully taking advantage of your lack of awareness to pry for details about your life, for once his ever reliable sources barely coming up with anything. It was almost like you just appeared as a full fledged adult in this world out of nowhere.
The little thing he sprinkled into the water bottle he offered you right as you entered his car is finally taking effect. Your speech is slurred, leaning your head to the window, the cold glass against your burning forehead a small reprieve. He might not know too many things about you now, but there's plenty of time for the two of you to get to know each other properly in one of his residences outside the country, nice private place with lots of nature around. He's sure you're gonna love it.
"Sleep well, котёнок. It's gonna be much more comfortable on the plane."
What are they saying? This replies weren't in the script when you previously played. Why aren't the male leads behaving like in the game? What is happening?
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College!141roomie reader who doesn’t have a good relationship with their family, like genuinely bad. When you graduate from the English university you applied at, you sent invitations to your parents, sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles and aunts. None replied.
College!141roomie reader who feels disappointed, and become depressed a little over the few weeks that separate your graduation from this moment. The men you are roomie with doesn’t know this. Or at least you thought.
College!141roomie reader who put on her black cape and hat, put on a nice outfit but feel disappointed and sad when you have to step onto that stage, check the hand of a professor, and standing with your diploma.
“KID! KID! KID! OVER HERE?! do you think they heard me?” Price whispered to Simon after yelling across the room. Johnny nodded, holding a big bouquet of flowers, almost gigantic it obstructs his face. Kyle is holding a phone, snapping pictures and having filmed the moment you went on stage.
You stumble toward them, mouth agape, holding your diploma tightly.
“How did you-“
“We saw the letter, on your desk. Well Simon saw it and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.” Johnny chuckled and then huffed in pain when Simon elbowed him.
You feel tears pooling in your eyes. You sniffled, and you couldn’t believe how four strangers, four men that were older than you and worked a dangerous job that sent them over the whole planet, unlike your own biological family. You get hugged by Kyle and this time, you let the tears fall freely.
“Thank you- thank you so much!”
“Come on, we got a dinner reservation. Our treat.” Price smiled proudly, genuinely proud of you and what you have accomplished.
College!141roomie reader who, instead of feeling the sadness and the gloominess of the happiest day of her life yet, get the best evening ever by spending it with four grown men whom you look up as parental figures.
" The birds! 'avin a laff everytime ah lookat 'em. bastardin fings. "
It takes Simon an embarrassingly long time to decipher what Johnny is saying, and when he does he just sighs and keeps walking, hand on his hip as the man stumbles and puts his fists up in some sort of weird self-defence..... thing, swinging and missing for the thing he can see in the trees above them as they squawk indignantly
" those are seagulls, love. "
" and? I dinnae fuckin care what they are, they're laufin at me and I'll do 'em what for the cunting— "
Johnny, with his last braincells finally rebooting through the drunken stupor, blinks slowly and groans, dropping his head into the bigger man's shoulder, who stiffles a laugh and just hoists him up as he feels the Scotsman's legs buckle under the weight of his own shame.
More sleeping/laying with Simon cause I’m feeling a little down :(
“How long have they been down there?” Simon asks Kyle, nudging him slightly.
“I think an hour? They’ve been there since I came.”
“In silence?”
“I’m pretty sure they have headphones in.”
Simon nods, choosing to sit next to Kyle for the time being. He can’t help but notice how still you are, how silent you are despite being able to hear the music blasting in your ears now.
Soon enough, Kyle leaves, and Simon makes his move.
He settles down next to you, brushing arms with you as he lies on his back.
He doesn’t react when you slowly turn your head to him. “What are you doing?” You ask after taking out one earbud.
“Dunno. What are you doing?”
“…”
“…” He takes the other earbud though you hadn’t even offered it.
“Wallowing,” you finally answer after an hour of silence.
He hums, closing his eyes.
You take that as your cue to continue wallowing.
It’s not completely clear in your mind why you feel like this, but you do. And what better to do than listen to the same Metalcholic song on repeat?
“I can change the song—”
“It’s fine,” he cuts off before you can even begin to apologize.
You turn back to the ceiling, going quiet again.
And the silence… with Simon… it’s kind of nice. He doesn’t push, ask what’s wrong, ask about your music choice, barely seems to even breathe.
You actually think he’s asleep until you curl up closer to him for warmth and he opens his arms for you.
He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. Even when you throw your leg over his, even when he pulls you closer like he’s wallowing too.
Simon feels so good against you, it’s really not your fault when you fall asleep. And you guess you can’t blame Kyle and Johnny for curling up around you both.
And you think waking up in a sweat with your headphones somehow tangled around your legs was worth it.
ghost gets obsessive. it's something he's more than aware of, however it usually pertains to things that are useful. work, missions, targets - those are the subjects of his innate and targeted attention, and he uses it to his advantage. it doesn't, usually, focus on people around him. he cares, somewhat, about his teammates; that's indisputable. the squad is what's important to him, but he wouldn't say he gets fixated on any of them. that is, until you come along. his mirror image, in more ways than feels comfortable; good at the job, diligent, skilled and smart, makes a dangerous mix. it pissess him off at first, makes him watch you with a thinly veiled threat hidden in his gaze, but it dissipates quickly, replaced by an impossible to repress adoration. his staring (stalking) reaches a boiling point - he's positively obsessed. you occupy a vast majority of his brain space and he can't even be mad about it. goes around, following you like he's lost, but what's the most jarring to him is that you let him. a kindered spirit, just as tortured, looking for the smallest amount of comfort, tired of yearning for something better out of this life. the transition to something more is gradual, slow, and predictable; there are no surprises. it's as natural as the weather, a rainy night that calms his raging nerves. his obsession doesn't dwindle and he could care less; not when you don't seem to mind.
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who carries all of the heavy shopping bags when you go to the mall. Buff arms piled high with cloth and paper bags.
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who follows you into every store without any complaint.
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who won’t complain when you take him into the candle store even tho just passing it gave him a small headache.
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who will smell every candle you brought up to his nose to sniff.
“That doesn’t smell bad.” You said, bringing the large candle back to your nose for another sniff.
Simon’s nose scrunched. He didn’t like it. It was too sweet for his liking. “Bit sweet, innit?”
“It’s mild to me.” You replied as you flipped the candle to look at the fragrance notes. “Maybe you just have a better nose than me.”
“Maybe.”
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who lingers outside of the changing room, arms crossed as he leans against the cool wall - patiently waiting for you to push the curtain to the side and model the clothing you picked out.
“Does this look good?” you asked, running your hands down your waist.
Simon's eyes examined you from head to toe. “Look lovely, dove.” His tone was almost bored as he replied.
You hummed as you tilted your head side to side. You twisted your body in the mirror, getting every angle to determine whether you liked it. “I don’t know...”
He watched as you twisted and turned. Simon’s mouth turned into a subtle frown. “What do you not like about it?”
“Sits weird here.” You grabbed the extra fabric darting around the armpit.
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who will grab different sizes of the clothing you're trying on if the one you brought into the room didn't fit right at first. He’d keep grabbing until one was just right for you.
“That fit better?” He asked through the thin curtain.
You pulled the curtain back with a smile beaming on your face. Now modeling the tailored clothing happily. “Yeah!”
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who sneakily pays for most of the shopping. If you took too long to pay, he’d pay. If you took too long to get the right amount of change, he’d already swipe his card. So fast you didn’t even realize it until you held out your cash or card.
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who would take you to dinner if you were at the mall past dinner time. Taking you to a nearby fish and chips shop, making sure you got your fill.
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who, when you’d get home, would bring your legs over his lap and rub your sore feet as you both crashed on the couch. He’d watch some football game as he pressed his thumb into your arch, almost absentmindedly.
a/n: simon is a good boyfriend, can't change my mind (>'-'<)
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Summary : he is not possessive, he just loves you way too much.
Note : first time writing headcanons for my second husband , hope you enjoy, its kinda badly written, but anyways -- i hope it itches the spot and you enjoy!
(Feel free to join the taglist for ghost fics: but also feel free if you want to be removed, just comment <3)
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• possessive bf simon! tries to convince himself he isn't some controlling asshole of a boyfriend. If anything he hated men like that — hates the way they leash their partners, suffocate them, demand obedience like it's love. He's not that. Atleast he tells himself that. But then he sees you laughing in the bar across from him, your hand brushing bartender's in an accident, and he knows its an accident but well, his heart? Nah it won't listen to him, and his vision narrows to a violent red.
Okay, he thinks, his fingers turning white-knuckled around his glass, as he grip it even tighter inside his palm.
Calm down, Riley. They're just talking.
But did it work? Of fucking course it didn't.
Soon he tosses the glass that was in his hand seconds before into the nearest bin and he's across the room before his brain catches up to his body, the predator instinct drowning out any reason, and he slides in behind you, his chest pressed to your back, and his mouth finding the sensitive spot beneath your ear.
You stiffen for a hot sudden moment, but knowing it was your bf then instantly you melt like a cotton candy in the water, a pavlovian response he viciously enjoys. "Now, luv," he murmurs, his voice pitched loud enough to carry that edge, so that bartender can know, you were with him, his breath hot against your neck tickles all the small hair rise on your body and you feel the wetness start to damp your underwear. "You told me you were gonna make tonight unforgettable. Did you forget?" He says it deliberately, making sure the bartender hears him, and fuck heat floods your face, that was visible even in the dim light, and the man -- before you and simon, cough slightly his pale skin turning pink as if he was embarrassed for you and he stutters something under his breath, retreating back to another side, with his face scrunched with disgust or fear, simon didnt know.
Good though, Simon thinks, satisfaction curling darkly in his chest, and his, thoughts inside his chest chants, No murder for today.
You turn towards him, your eyes flashing him embarrassed and furious daggers, "Si," you hiss, smacking his chest. "He was the bartender. I was ordering us a drink."
Simon doesn't blink and keeps his eyes fixed on you, then he chuckles softly at your little pout and his hand finds your waist in a firm grip, which makes you cuss under your breath, then he pulls you flush against his chest, and you groan dramatically--yet you make no way to wriggle free for him and he bends a little putting his chin on top of your head and he swore he can hear your pulse hammering, he can smell your shampoo and your anger and underneath it, but also the faint unmistakable scent of your arousal that starts to drip from your core. "Not that it matters," he says, and his voice soon drops to that register that makes your knees weak, the one he uses right before he ruins you. "You're still getting reminded." He leans down and croons against your ear, "who... you... belong.... to, luv."
He doesnt give you a moment to speak instead he pulls you closer to him, just enough to plant a ferocious kiss on your lips then he pulls back with a satisfied smirk, threading his fingers through yours, and soon he is already walking you toward the exit, towards the home, your bed, where he will make sure to remind you, that you belong to him in every way, he can.
• possessive bf!Simon always has your location on his phone not because he doesn't trust you. God, he trusts you more than he trusts himself. It's everyone else he doesn't trust, because his mind is always full of what ifs, when you go out.
What if you get followed? What if something happens? What if someone looks at you the way he does?
The thought alone makes his jaw clench. So he keeps your location on — not to keep tabs on you, but to make sure you're safe and sound. Do you know about it, though? Probably not. He hopes, atleast.
• possessive bf!Simon always keeps a hand on the small of your back whenever you're out together, whether the place is crowded or not.
• possessive bf! Simon who has a thing for your bratty mouth, your sharp tongue, the way you put him in his place when he's being an ass. He shouldn't love it, and he hates himself for loving it, but he does bloody love it.
And the moment you snap at him, the moment your eyes narrows at him and you tell him exactly where he can shove his attitude, something in him cracks open.
He willingly sinks to his knees out-of-fucking-character for him, he knows, but fuck, you think, this man who commands rooms, who terrifies enemies, who wears authority like a second skin, he cant help but be on the floor for you when you talk back to him, his big hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider, and in one swift motion he pulls down your slacks and underwear to your ankles and leans a bit forward his mouth hovering where you're already wet despite yourself. "W'nt my mout', here, luv?" He teases.
You swallow hard trying to hold onto the anger, and trying to remember what he did, what he said -- the reason you were furious five minutes ago.
But as soon as he growls against your inner thigh, super close to your dripping cunt, this low, wrecked sound that vibrates straight through you and your thoughts scatter in an instant, and only thing you feel the ghost of his breath against you.
He doesnt wait for your answer instead he flattens his tongue against your hole and makes a slow long stroke from his tongue to your clit, and your knees begins to shake but his grip on you remains so strong that you dont fall, and then he sucks on it with such pressure, his tongue lapping on it until you're trembling, and gasping his name repeatedly, and your fingers turns white-knuckled in his hair, begging him shamelessly to go faster, and he does, circling his tongue on your clit before vaccuming the bud in his mouth as he keeps his eyes on you watching your face crumble with the pleasure and just as you teeter on the edge of your heat -- just as your orgasm builds sharp and inevitable inside your belly, he stops abruptly ignoring your protests and pulls back, just enough to look up at you with those dark brown eyes, his mouth shining with juices of you, and the smirk on his face that screams pure sin. "Who's in control right now, luv?"
You want to slap him , yell at him, and grip his hair and force his mouth on you, just so he could finish what he started, but no sound would come out of your pretty little mouth, and the only sentence that you managed and came out of you was a broken plea, "You. Fuck—you are, si."
"Good girl." He smiles, and dives back inside your cunt and finishes you ruthlessly, and drinks your juices down his throat, while you sob his name, in utter pleasure -- and just like that every damn time, you give in.
• possesive bf! Simon always makes sure you sit beside him at restaurants or at someone's party. He always saves you a seat and expects you to slide in next to him.
• possessive bf!Simon can't seem to stop answering for you, someone asks you a question? even a perfectly harmless one — and he's already speaking before you get the chance. His voice stays calm, accompanied by a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. "She's with me." "She's not interested." Which has the stranger running for his life and you glare at him. "Si, he was just asking where the cereal aisle was." You say rolling your eyes at him, and Simon doesn't even flinch, he just tilts his head innocently. "He can read." and you just sigh in response, intertwining your fingers with his, "stupid." He always act like he didnt hear it but he does, and he loves every syllable of it leaving your mouth.
It also happens when someone invites the two of you to a party, and before you can open your mouth, he's already turning away with a quiet, final, "no." And you swear he hears questions as personal challenges -- not that you hate it.
• possesive bf! Simon who fucks you into oblivion when he's jealous. Honestly in his defense it's not deliberate — nothing so calculated as that. The jealousy hits him like a physical blow in his chest, like a jolt of electricity down his spine, and before his thoughts can reach to his mind he is already reacting in ways, he-not-so-regrets.
Though he does hate it, hates the feeling of something hot and vicious churning in his gut. Hates that someone else made you laugh, touched your arm, held your attention for even a moment.
Because your attention is his.
He knows it is, but knowing alone doesn't stop the spiral. Doesn't stop him from hauling you home, from tearing at your clothes with shaking hands, from driving into you before you've even finished gasping his name. He needs to feel you around him, needs to fuck you until you can't remember anyone's voice but his, anyone's touch but his, anyone's name, but his. "Say it," he growls, teeth at your throat, hips snapping brutally inside your entrance, and the picture that hung behind you on the wall rattles with force of his thrust into you. "Say who's."
And you do, tell him recked and sobbing and his. "Yours, si, yours", he growls satisfactory, "always, mine."
• possesive bf! Simon hates when you get angry at him. Even if it's his fault— well , especially then. He can't help it. Because when you get angry? You ignore him.
and he can't help wanting you to look at him, to acknowledge him, even if he has to be stupid about it, even if he has to be desperate. He'll do whatever it takes to get your attention: trail after you, follow you from room to room, crowd your space until you have no choice but to look at him. Then he'll tease you, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. "Hate me, luv?" he croons and though the smile is sharp, almost cocky but his eyes betray him.
They're full of panic... and a quiet plea for you not to shut him out.
The truth is, he hates any distance between the two of you. He hates when you're not talking to him. He loves your attitude—your fire, your sharp tongue, the way you never hesitate to put him in his place. But the silence? He hates the silence. It's worse than any argument, worse than any screaming match. Because silence makes him feel like he's lost you. So for the sake of peace and to not lose you, he had apologize first, even if you say you hate him he just smiles knowing you dont and he have you talk it out the issue with him, and finally when you are not-so-angry he had make it upto you in ways you always love.
• possesive bf! Simon who is way too protective or call it anything you want, all because he knows he can lose anyone and everything... but he can't lose you.
a/n: welcome to nothingrestaurant where our most popular dish is nothingburger and nothingfries [my way of asking if this is anything]
perm tags: @ex1acy @sal1mav @mushyfrogcakes @yversz @kookeem
lots of people seem to think they would share nudes of their partners, but that's not exactly the case. not only do they have a hard time finding privacy on ops, but it's hard to get a stiffy when your brain is racing with the fact that you need to be aware of your surroundings.
in addition to this, each of the 141 have their own opinions on this subject.
soap wouldn't want people lusting over his bonnie partner. he already has to hold back from punching those guys at the bar staring at your ass - only because you told him to. it would be even worse for him if the team started lusting over you too, looking you up and down with eyes soap is only allowed to have whenever you come on base to drop something off for him.
ghost definitely wouldn't want to possibly betray your trust like that. it took him so long to allow himself to allow your relationship to become sexual too, and now anyone else seeing you like that - in a way he treasures, finds to be something so sacred between you two - makes his skin crawl. after seeing his father cheat on his mother when he was younger, he was so wary of doing something that would make you think of him as anything less than trustworthy.
gaz just finds it a bit...weird to be honest. passing a picture of his partner around, when you might not know? no thank you. similar to ghost, he wouldn't want something special between the both of you to become something that other people could think they can stake a claim on.
price just thinks he's too old for that shit. he wants to settle down with his partner, not act like they're something easy that can be passed around for a bit of fun. he wants to be able to wear matching rings, not let his team lust over a picture of you that doesn't even portray your best qualities. what use is a picture of you naked when you have a gorgeous smile and the best hugs that make him feel comforted even after the longest op?
all in all, they wouldn't even take pictures, especially not ones like that. they wouldn't risk you by bringing a picture of you that shows you plain as day, making it all the easier for them to find you if something goes awry. you're precious to your member of the 141, and that wouldn't change.
"S'gid tae blether wae somedy new, a wis fuckin scunnert wae huvin tae luk at this wanker aw day."
Rudy knows multiple languages, as does Alejandro. They're intelligent men, and even if they don't speak something fluently, they can pick up the basics.
A glance back at Alejandro tells him that the colonel is also stumped by whatever the fuck just came out of Soap's mouth, even if he's trying to play it off with a grin and a nod.
Ghost gives away nothing with the mask, but the subtle shrug of his shoulders is telling; not even he understood. Their only possible ally in the war against the language of Scots, and he's fucking useless, Rudy decides then and there that the mask is to hide his shame.
"I understand."
Rudy will be adding a new tactical skill to his file later: phenomenal liar.
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is simon more of an ass or tits man? 😝 or maybe it changes depending on the day!
i genuinely don't think he cares
if anything i just think he's a... soft parts man. on any kind of body type.
whether that's the squish of your tummy, or that extra soft bit of inner thigh - and yeah, your ass or tits. doesn't give a shit about size. but he loves the patch of skin on your inner elbow that feels like velvet just as much.
however he would have also grown up in the era of lads mags being sold on the top shelf at the corner shop, so i reckon if you put a crackin' rack in front of him he's not going to say no.
Price isn't stupid, he sees the way ghost looks at you. As if you aren't prices, as if he has the right to look at you like that.
Eye's dragging along your skin in the middle of a meeting, practically fucking undressing you in his mind. Even when you mumble to price behind closed doors "he's just a bit odd, sir. Nothing like that."
Sure, you've noticed it too. How ghost lingers on the swoop of your neck, or his hands tighten on your bicep for just a split-secind before letting go. It could very well be a crush, or infatuation, or desire. But you don't tell your captain that, no need to cause stress when you'd turn down your lieutenant anyways.
Still. Price has always had a possessive streak. Wants to warn ghost off.
"Seriously, I can't hide these for shit. Someone's gonna find out." You grumble, inspecting the dark hickeys high up on your neck.
"No rules about having fun, sergeant." Price rumbles mildly from his place on the bed "just to scare off any cubs sniffing around, eh? No need to put my name on you...yet."
It seems to have the opposite affect, because the day ghost sees them for the first time is the same day he pulls you aside after lunch. You already have a rejection on your tongue when—
"Are you safe, sergeant?"
What.
"What? Sir, I don't— what?" You stumble, not having expected...that.
"Are you safe?" Ghost asks again, firmer. He brushes two fingers over your bruises. Not jealous, but inspecting. "I know you and cap have been getting close...is it...consensual? Are you okay?"
"What– oh my god— yes! Yes, I'm fine." You wave a frantic hand, eye's wide when you realize what ghost is asking you. "I'm safe, it's fine. Yes, I want to be there."
Then, you laugh and add "actually, the marks are because of you. John got jealous, you starin' and all."
"I see" ghost narrows his eyes, nodding to himself. He offers you a quick pat "im here if it ever isn't safe. Cheers."
Huh.
....wait. how did he know about you and price!?
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