#semwrites

A busted kitchen pipe? You fixed it.

A blown fuse bulb? Sorted.

Rats in your kitchen? You’d catch them bare-handed before asking a man for help. You were not only the eldest daughter, but the eldest grandchild, and your mum (eldest daughter) and dad (eldest son). So asking for help wasn't a default setting.

But sometimes - rarely - you were stuck.

Like the night your car started leaking something dark and slick onto the driveway.

"Shit. No. No" you muttered, crouching to inspect it. Oil. Maybe. Or something worse.

Seven in the evening. Makeup half done. Phone buzzing with *Where are you?* texts from the girls.

You straightened and felt it before you saw him.

Simon. Your new neighbour.

He stood on his porch, glass in hand, watching you with an intensity that made you shift your weight. Big man. Quiet street. The '141 Boys' sticker on his jeep caught the light.

Finance job, he'd told neighbours when he moved in. Didn’t explain the balaclava. Didn’t explain the way he watched - like he was assessing a situation, not a person. He was so...weird.

He set the glass down. Didn’t rush. Walked over.

"Car’s bleedin" he said flatly.

You blinked. "Oh. Right. Yeah. I noticed."

His eyes flicked to the stain under the car. Then to you.

"Need help, or you just starin’ at it?"

Your jaw tightened. "…I don’t know what’s wrong."

That seemed to satisfy him. Might've boosted that ego all men carry these days.

"Stay there."

He disappeared into his house and came back with a toolbox. Heavy. Metal worn. Not new.

You think he will ask for permission to enter your yard but nah. He crouched, already reaching under your car.

"Don’t start it."

"I wasn’t going to" does he think you are some dumb little girl.

"Good" he muttered. "That would’ve made it worse."

You hovered nearby, arms crossed. Watching his hands. Large. Scarred. Steady.

"Hm." He clicked his tongue. "Oil pan’s leakin."

Your stomach dropped. "Is that bad? That sounds bad."

"Depends how long you ignore it."

You exhaled sharply. "Can you..." You hesitated. "Can you explain it to me?"

He paused. Slowly looked up at you.

"…Explain it."

"So if it happens again" you said, "I know what to do."

Silence stretched.

"You tryin’ to fix it yourself next time?" he frowns looking up at you.

"Yes" you repeat firmly.

He opens his mouth maybe to argue just like every misogynist prick in your life but then -

"…Alright" he said quietly. "Get down here then."

You hesitated looking down at your new denim skirt "Under the car?"

"That’s where the problem is, innit?"

You crouched beside him as he jacked the car up. The space beneath was tight. Too close. His shoulder brushed your knee and stayed there.

"See this?" he said, pointing. "That’s your oil pan. Oil keeps everything from grindin’ itself to death. You crack it, oil leaks. No oil...engine’s fucked."

He reached past you and something warm skimmed your arm. You didn’t move.

Few drops of oil splashed onto your cheek. You flinched and wiped them away.

He froze, waiting for you to shriek and run away.

"You alright?" His voice was lower now. Sharper.

"Yeah" you said. "It’s just oil."

"You're not scared of gettin dirty?" he mumbled.

"Let's focus."

"You don’t have to be under here" he added. "I can do this alone."

You met his gaze. "Then I don’t learn."

Something unreadable crossed his face.

"…Stubborn" he muttered. Then, after a pause "Fair."

He talked you through it slowly. Made you repeat things. Corrected you when you got it wrong. You mirrored his movements carefully.

"No - look. Not there. Here."

His hand closed over yours, guiding your fingers. Firm. Professional. Too aware.

You swallowed but didn’t pull away. Any other man would've taken this opportunity to harass you or humiliate you for being helpless. But this one was treating you like you were paying for a tutorial.

Half an hour later, it was done.

You both stood, brushing dirt from your clothes. The air felt thicker than before. You open the car door switching it on and hell it was fixed.

"Thank you" you said. "Really. Do I owe you?"

He shut the toolbox. "No."

"You sure?"

He looked at you for a long second.

"Just don’t ignore it next-

The words die in his throat as you move closer wiping drops of oil off his cheek. He looks down at your proper now...oh.

The next afternoon, he heard the hammer before he saw you.

You were on a ladder, nailing a hand-painted sign onto your garden shed. The steps wobbled.

"Oi" he called. "That ladder's shite."

You looked down. "I’ve got it!"

The ladder swayed again.

"Yeah?" He moved fast, crossing over to your yard gripping the ladder. "You sure about that?"

You laughed nervously. "Okay maybe not."

You gulped as you realised the maxi skirt you were wearing was now flowing in every direction thanks to the sudden wind...that means he can definitely see your -

You look down to see his gaze cast downwards. His eyes never once lifted up.

"Don’t move" he said. "I’ve got you."

His hands stayed steady. Didn’t let go. And kept staring at the little ceramic mushrooms you had in your garden.

You glanced down at him. "You’re good at catching people."

His jaw tightened.

"Part of the job."

"What job’s that?" you teased.

He looked up at you. Held your gaze and didn't answer.

"Keep workin" he said instead. Yeah he did catch people, just not in the way you thought.

You thought - he must be married. A man this controlled had to have someone grounding him. No wonder he has so much control and authority. He must have someone who taught him this respect.

You didn’t know yet -

Simon Riley, Lieutenant of the SAS, was dangerously good at restraint. Dangerous. Everyone back at base, from rookies to colonels knew how much control he had over everything. And that included his feelings and emotions. Not to mention the staring problem he had. And right now he was thinking of 100 ways to make you ask for his help....don't be suprised if you wake up next day and see your front door broken with expert precision.

Simon god damn Riley has a purpose now. It was making you life hell just because he wanted to help ;⁠)

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A/N: Yes he pretends to be unable to cook so that you invite him over. But you don't know cooking either. So now he is even happier to learn watching youtube videos besides you in your cute kitchen.

Masterlist 🩷

Imagine!! Simon being an absolute menace when he's drunk. He would down shot after shot until he is tripping on his own feet. And mind you - it takes a lot to make this mountain of a man drunk. Today was special, it was celebration of a mission with zero casualities and every soldier returning unharmed. So everyone was getting piss drunk. Soap was busy flirting with the cute bartender, Gaz was throwing his boots away to show them "special moves I learnt on Youtube". Price was busy ordering drinks and stressing over the bill.

And oh the moment Ghost spots you in club - you must run before he catches you. You try to walk away to a different spot with other medics but he was even faster when drunk.

He grabs you from behind glaring at others to walk away - like a dog who found his owner after getting lost in dog park.

"Hm..hurh...woman don't squirm. Stop wiggling like a fish" he would bury his face in your neck while you try to pry his hands away from your shoulders.

I am soo sick of seeing Ghost × Reader fics where he calls her 'whore, slut, bitch,cunt' etc etc.

That man would rather die than call his better half anything like that. He’d find it dehumanising. At one point you may think he would rather call you ma'am as he rails you. Might even throw a military salute in the middle of changing positions. Like yes Sir flip me over!! He sounded like he would give orders even in bed.

But hell, he wouldn’t even say it if you begged him to.

“Just a kink thing, Si. It’s not serious - I read it on the internet,” you scoff, poking his chest. Only to be met with a firm “Absolutely not. Nuh-uh”

“But it turns me on.”

“Oh, my tongue can turn you on just fine without those words, angel. Last time I checked, you were twitching like a butterfly with a broken wing" he says pushing your hands to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

“We can tryyy -”

"Least I could call you is bad girl...or a brat. You'd like that won't ya. But not those words", he says pushing you down before biting your earlobe. You let out a giggle wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Scrape my tongue with a fruit peeler if I ever call you that hmm? No means no, angel. Your words not mine. Now promise me”

"Promise you what" you frown wiggling your hips to take your pants off.

"To dump my arse if I call you those words. Humiliate me in front of the team if you'd like to...slap me into oblivion. You don't deserve hearing em" he chuckles lifting you by your waist to get rid of the clothes quicker.

"Never thought of you as a gentleman in bed Mr Riley" you coo as he huffs squishing your cheeks together.

"Well you thought wrong. I'm far from it", the bastard smirks. A kiss on forehead and nose and you're a goner.

You have no idea what he means by that. Staring up at him smirking at you while you frown figuring out his kinks. There must be something cracked inside his head to refuse any sort of roleplay too. "Lazy and uncreative", he would say. But after an hour you get it...he was the devil incarnate but with soo much control it disguised his dirtiness as manners. Oh!!! you think he was being respectful refusing to call you a slut...but his alternative terms and actions were way dirtier. Sure, he couldn't care less about the latest kinks and sex trends but he will make sure you don't get a chance to complain.

This man would be the perfect mix of dominating and sweet - but not in the way people expect...😋

A/N : I will write smut if y'all want 👀

Masterlist Raaah 👹

Sleepy! Simon who wakes up his toddler by snoring like a malfunctioning engine about to explode. Y/N smacks his ass to wake him up– might even pinch his nipples like a human defibrillator. (In his defence, the man is surviving on months of catastrophic sleep deprivation.)

Sleepy! Simon who is horrifically shocked when his wife shoves the baby’s pacifier into his mouth to silence the snores. “Sucky sucky, big boy.”

Sleepy! Simon who wakes up grumbling about having the sweetest dream of him and you scuba-diving in an indoor aquarium, like that somehow explains anything. Not to forget, you have phobia of water.

Y/N who is already livid after hearing their baby cry at this ungodly hour – entirely thanks to her husband; decides she’s had enough and chooses violence shoving the pacifier back in his mouth. "Do you feel like a fish yet!!!"

Sleepy! Simon is still processing life, pacifier stuck in his mouth, when his wife returns to bed and deposits their wailing baby girl directly onto his chest like a consequence.

Y/N who turns on ambient rainforest sounds on her phone and immediately dozes off. “Night. You did this–now pay. Love you sooo much.”

Sleepy! Simon makes the dumbest faces until his baby girl finally settles. Her big brown eyes twinkle, clearly thinking her dad is an absolute nutjob.

Y/N who wakes up later to see Simon snoring lightly, their baby sleeping happily beside him babbling in sleep. Her chubby little legs planted at his tummy as he holds her gently.

Sleepy! Simon who is woken up after hours with a soft kiss on his head from his wife. But the threat that follows "I'm gonna wear a sock and walk miles in it, from the bakery to the butcher shop to that abandoned factory and come back and shove it in your mouth if you snore like this again", knocks every bit of sleep out of his system.

Y/N who smiles watching him laugh rubbing his eyes. They both look down as their sweetheart baby babbles happily watching her mum dad.

"Dada pig" she giggles pointing at Simon.

"Huh...Darlin...the fuck who taught you that" Simon blinks sitting upright. Out of everything she could call her dad. This is what she chooses– oink oink???

Before he could turn and face you again, you rush out of the room laughing. Yeah, being a Riley was chaotic.

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A/N: Yeah I should stay away from writing when sleepy...uh. Comments, likes, reboobs are appreciated. Luv u all🩷

MASTERLIST💤

It was an ongoing trend on social media - girls putting photos of their boyfriends covered in lipstick kisses. It would be so fun to try with your grumpy masked one.

"No, no - don’t do this, yeah? I’ve got a bloody briefing in an hour. Need to focus on important matters" he grumbles, voice rough as you drag him through halls. Hands pulling him by his belt.

Catching Simon and dragging him to your room was an achievement in itself. You deserve medals. He was rarely free and almost always in a foul mood. But he would never say no to his girl. You manage to get him on the bed and straddle him as he squirms beneath you.

You grin. "Shush, I just wanna try this new shade I got…"

"Try it on yer wrist like normal people do, not on my -" Before he can finish, you plant a big kiss right on his forehead. God... this man’s pupils blow wide like a cat’s, and he pretends not to notice. He lets out an annoyed grunt, hands clamping onto your hips as you reapply the lipstick, smothering his mask with kisses.

"Christ woman" he mutters under his breath.

Every single one earns you another grumble. You know he’s got a suitcase full of spare masks, so what’s the problem anyway??

"So pretty, Si!! You look so tame" you chuckle, tugging his jaw up to snap a photo.

"Don’t you dare put that anywhere" he snaps. "I swear, I’ll have you scrubbing toilet floors for a month sergeant."

"Oh, I’m terrified. Look at me, I’m shaking" you pout, mocking his accent.

"There’s other ways I can make you shake, petal" he growls, clearly unimpressed, before shoving you off his lap so he can grab another one for the briefing.

"Half an hour" he adds sharply. "That’s all I’ve got."

You sigh, flopping back onto the bed and watching him tear the room apart for the suitcase.

"Where is it? For fuck’s sake… was right here last time."

He walks into the bathroom to see himself in mirror. Every visible inch of his mask was covered with red lip-shaped kisses. The same lips he loved.

He sighs looking around and then it clicks. He dumped all the masks into the laundry that morning.

"You are ridiculously lucky you’re pretty and mine" he mutters. "Cause otherwise I’d - nah. Forget it" He sighs heavily and stomps toward the sink, scrubbing the mask with shampoo and a brush.

"Why’s this shite not comin’ off?"

You tiptoe to the doorway and mumble softly, "It’s, uh… love, it’s—"

"What?" He shoots you a glare. "Spit it out."

"It’s waterproof" you bite your lip looking at anywhere but him.

He freezes. "What d’you mean, waterproof?"

"And smudge-proof."

The look he gives you could kill. He shoves the mask into your hands, grumbling nonstop about how you’d better wash it properly and fast - but oh. It doesn’t budge. You even try wiping it with military grade detergent but looks like your favorite makeup influencer didn't lie.

Thirty minutes later, he’s in the briefing room with the rest of 141, still wearing a lipstick-covered skull mask.

"This is my special-occasion mask. It's reserved for Fridays" he deadpans.

"Today's Monday mate" Soap smirks.

One look from Simon shuts him up instantly. "It’s a trend."

The entire day, this grumpy hunk of a man stalks around the base in his "spoilt mask" as he keeps calling it - but beneath it, he’s quietly proud. Proud of being marked by you. And even prouder that everyone else can see it.

You see him training in gym afterwards wearing just the mask and joggers groaning and huffing as he lifts weights.

"So...admit that you like it. Walking around like a teenagers wallpaper" you laugh sitting on the benches.

He drops the weights panting and walking towards you. Jesus his chest could put many girls at shame.

"Have more of that dumb lipstick left?" he asks tugging your chin up..caressing your lips with his sweaty thumb. You just nod not knowing why he would ask that.

"Good. There are more things I will be needing those pretty marks over" he mumbles walking away grabbing his towel.

"You know the routine angel. See ya at eleven and bring that lipstick along" he smirks storming away leaving you wide eyed and visibly flustered...god this man would be the death of you tonight.

Masterlist🩷🩷🩷🩷

Civilian Reader Y/N! who absolutely loses it when Simon parks his 🏍️ directly in front of her door like he’s claiming territory. She shoves past him, muttering about civic sense, common sense – Simon, who physically flinches at the creative slurs (cockgoblinslutbraindeadpest). Once. Never again. (He lies.)

Simon! who stares at her like she’s the devil reincarnate when she blasts music at night. Dirty Diana has played five times on loop. He’s convinced she’s hard of hearing.

What he doesn’t know is that she passed out an hour ago, face-down, loudspeaker on.

Y/N! who throws parties every other week. Her friends end up whispering about “the creepy big man who keeps peeking through the windows.”

Simon! who is absolutely not peeking–he’s conducting surveillance to make sure there’s no drug racket. And is wildly offended when she calls him an old geezer for being paranoid.

Y/N! who spots her grumpy neighbour doing push-ups half-naked in his front yard and yells “MANWHORE!” while pretending to be on a phone call.

The next day, she drags out dumbbells and does her own workout in front of her house, grunting loudly (caveman documentary audition)–far louder than any man ever could.

Simon! who revs his bike unnecessarily loud just to piss her off. Immediately regrets it when she yells back.

“HARDER, MF THAT ALL IT’S GOT?”

“MY HOUSE LIZARD CAN FART LOUDER THAN THAT!”

Simon stalls the bike. On purpose. Definitely on purpose. And looks at her as if she did it. 👁️👁️

Y/N! who hears loud, ridiculously exaggerated moans at three in the morning and knows! knows it’s another one of her neighbour’s hookups.

The man has a new girl every week whenever he’s home. She rates them mentally. Pure 0s.

Simon! who wakes up the next morning to aggressive knocking. Y/N is yelling down the street –

“Mr. Riley!! I've got your medicine for the CRAB SITUATION you've got going on!”

At full volume. Before sunrise. And yeah every girl ends up running out of his door.

Y/N! who intentionally colors her railings hot pink to piss him off. But he ends up liking them and paints his side pink too to match...huh?

Simon! who knows if he gets low she'll go lower. But stays on his porch at two in night when he hears her cry after a date. Silent. Watching.

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MASTERLIST 🌷

It was just a normal walk in the park for you. Good for the legs, improved mood, and it always made you feel happy.

Your guide dog, Bolt - a well trained black Labrador - nudged your feet as you tied your boots, always so restless for the park. It was your brother’s idea to get a guide dog. And yeah, he was right for once.

“Oye, gimme just a minute, ugh,” you muttered, checking the door locks before holding the leash as he guided you out safely. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew the pair of you.

Oftentimes, you ended up with free cupcakes from the old baker down the street, daily flowers from the young florist girl, and Bolt was showered with treats at every shop. The flirty butcher handed out free ribs every week, just as an excuse to lure Bolt into his shop and to talk to you. You would laugh and tell him no everytime he tried a new cheesy pickup line.

Their kindness wasn’t out of pity, but rather the fact that you were harmless. No one in their right mind would hurt a defenceless girl.

And also because you helped everyone the best you could.

The wind was cosy as you entered the park, a smile on your face as Bolt guided you, the sun warming your cold body. You walked along, tapping your cane, a packet of frozen peas tucked inside the jacket to feed the ducks and relax.

Oh, what a day. What a lovely day.

Suddenly, the leash slipped out of your hand. Bolt charged at something in the distance. You tried pulling it back, fingers scrambling for leather - but he was faster.

“Bolt! No! Get back here! BOLT!" Your scream tore through the park.

You stood frozen, heart slamming against your ribs. This was a nightmare come alive. Your hands trembled as you swept the ground around your feet with cane. It had been a while since you’d walked without him by your side.

What if he got hurt?

What if he ran into traffic?

What if they mistook him for a violent dog who eats annoying babies for dinner???

You felt like your sight had been stolen all over again, leaving you small, helpless. Past churned its way up your throat, making it harder to breathe. Just a helpless little girl all over again.

Then -

Heavy paws.

Fast. Too fast.

At a distance, a large German Shepherd came charging forward, dragging her owner along.

Thirty minutes in and he’s already shifting beside you, knee bouncing, jaw tight. You don’t even have to look to know he’s fighting for his life.

“Babe” Simon mutters, voice thick with that Manchester drawl, “is this a marriage DVD or a movie?”

"Such big family bet they reserve the whole cafe when they dine".

You bite your lip. Here we go. Good luck getting him to sit through it. This man could roll his eyes like it was an Olympic sport. Every dramatic pause earns you a sigh; every Italian monologue, a dramatic lean and a headshake. And when young Al Pacino shows up on screen - dark eyes, soft mouth, such lips - ughh.

The blush creeping up your neck gives you away immediately. Simon clocks it!! Of course he does. He side-eyes you. Hard.

“So that’s yer type, huh?” he grumbles. “Pretty boy. Lashes an’ all. Doesn't look like he's ever lifted anythin heavier than a chicken. Puts conditioner in his muppet hair” He deliberately pulls his arm away from your waist, folding it across his chest scoffing.

God. Could he be more petty?