Feeling Like Such A Failure For Not Going Out. For Not Being Wild. For Not Having Dozens Of Friends.

this struck something in me

The room is dimly lit, as it always is when you have sex with Simon. Shadows dance along the walls as he drives into you with unrelenting precision. Your back arches off the bed, lips parting in whimpers as his thick, throbbing cock hits that devastating spot deep inside you over and over. His hands grip you firmly, grounding you as your vision blurs, your body trembling under the sheer intensity of him. The air between you is electric—raw and consuming.

But then, just as you’re both caught in the heat of it, his low, gravelly voice rumbles softly against your ear.

"Y’know," he mutters, deadpan, "if I keep fuckin' ya this good, reckon y'might end up snorin' as loud as y'did last night."

You freeze for half a second, your brain short-circuiting before a laugh bursts out of you, completely unbidden. You try to hold it in, but it’s no use—you’re shaking with laughter, gasping for breath as Simon's thrusts slow to halt, watching you with the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes.

You manage to choke out between giggles, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He doesn’t respond immediately, just tilts his head with a dry, unimpressed look, though the tiniest smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Just making conversation," he says plainly, as if he hasn’t just shattered the mood entirely.

"Still with me?" he asks, his deep voice a low rumble as his hand cradles your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. You manage a nod, your breath shaky, and a flicker of satisfaction crosses his face.

"Good," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over yours. "Now behave."

The words barely register before he thrusts into you again, slow and deliberate, pulling a gasp from your lips as your vision blurs, the intensity making your legs quiver.

mlist | @machveil thanks for the inspo

husband!simon riley follows you around like a lost dog 24/7.

whether it be in the comfort of your own home, or out in public, the man is basically your shadow. like a moth to a flame, he is the moth and you're his flame.

it doesn't matter where you saunter off to, chances are, he's stomping right after you. Around your house, he's following you to every room.

need the bathroom? keep the door open, he'll lean against it with his arms crossed over his chest, either watching you silently or tapping away on his phone.

cooking in the kitchen? he's hovering over your shoulder. you can't count the amount of times on one hand you bumped into his broad, brutish chest, stepped on his foot, or, definitely not on purpose, whacked his groin with a small pan. still, he never learns.

watching TV in the living room? you best bet he's going to sit his big ass right next to you. even if you're on the single person armchair, he'll squish you into the armrest if it meant being next to you.

showering? not without him because he'll join you, and find a way to release pent-up need at the same time, that is if you aren't already stressed that day, then he'll just wash your hair and run a relaxing bath for you to soak in peace afterwards.

In public, people give him weird side glances, numerous occasions where you've had concerned folks tap you on your shoulder and give a small point over your shoulder, to which you reply sweetly with the biggest smile on your face, "oh, that's just my husband!"

he keeps a thick finger hooked into the waistband of your pants, or shorts, or looped in one of your belt loops to keep you near him. since you're much smaller than him, it can be easy for you to get lost in big crowds, and this just assures simon that you're never out of reach.

it's a funny thing to watch for the guys to watch, observing their lieutenant follow you around aimlessly like a big puppy, eyes soft as he gazes down at you, sharpening when another person approaches or observing.

you think it comes from never being able to control his surroundings, his obsessive need to keep you safe, more so now that you have a wedding ring on your finger, forever tying you to him. not physically, but he wouldn't hesitate to if it meant keeping you safe.

more on this dynamic after Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley saw you cry for the first time…

Things were in fact different from now on. Not in an obvious way but you both noticed it. You had been embarrassed the next day, scared he saw you as weak for crying in his arms like that.

And now his eyes softened a little more every time he looked at you. He remembered how precious and frail you had felt in his hold. He longed for it in a way that made him practice his punching until late in the night, grunting and groaning as the dummy got the best of his strength. His knuckles were bruised, a manifestation of the foreign feelings he tried to let out in the only way he knew- violence.

You were up, snuggly sitting with a mug of tea when Simon comes in, doors swinging open. It was late. Late enough for the owls to hoot and the moon to be at its highest.

He was panting, sweat glistening on the strained muscles of his arms. He stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted you in the corner of the recreational area. You blinked at him, studying his demeanour with intrigue.

It made him shy. He got fucking shy from the way you stared so shamelessly and intensely. He hadn’t noticed it before. The way your eyes lingered on his arms. Maybe it was new thing, or maybe he hadn’t taken the time you really look before now.

“You’re up late.” You whispered, voice small in the silence. His chest heaved as he stretched his fingers, rolled his neck.

“So are you.” He countered. There was a question in both of your statements but none of you decided to answer. Maybe you were awake for the same reasons, he thought. The mere thought was enough for his legs to move towards you, the couch dipping and creaking as it took his weight. You lodt your balance where you sat with your knees tucked to your chest as the seat tilted under you, making you thud into his side, shoulder to shoulder. He snickered under his breath, grabbing you like you were a porcelain doll to help you sit upright. Your mouth dried.

“Do you think I’m weak?” You asked him then, the words bubbling your throat before you could stop them. They had simmered for a whole week now, just under your skin. He frowned, brows set deep on his face as he looked you over.

“Quite the opposite” came his gruff reply like it was obvious. It took him a second to realise what you were referring to. Seeing you cry had made him think so much more of you than before. He saw the insecurity flash in your eyes before you looked away and he tucked a finger under your chin, slowly pulling your gaze back to his.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about it, in fact” he said, confessed it like secret into the night. He tried to keep his voice steady. At least steadier than his heart. Was he sick? Was it weird for him to be so obsessed with that one moment of you… crying?

You exhaled sharply, like his words had squeezed your lungs. Gaze narrowed, head tilted, you tried to figure him out. There was nothing but honesty and a little wariness in his eyes. Had he said too much?

“Me neither.” You replied slowly. It was enough. Enough to know. A cold blow of relief washed over him, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He only now realised he still had a finger under your chin, thumb stroking along your jaw absentmindedly. He withdrew his hand, regretfully.

If he was sick, then so were you.

“You’re hurt” you whispered, staring down at his knuckles. They were bleeding. Your eyes snapped to his, slightly wider than before as his jaw ticked, gaze otherwise unreadable. Was it because of you? The thought made your stomach twist in.. several ways.

“It’s fine.” He insisted, brushing it off and hiding his hands in his pockets. But you were already up, disappearing somewhere. He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch and closing his eyes. This wasn’t calming down his breathing one bit.

Warm fingers gently pulled on his wrist, and you felt how heavy his hand was as you pulled it into you lap, sitting cross legged next to him. He had to focus hard to remain indifferent when his hand rested high on you’re plush thigh. His fingers flexed slightly around it, gripping it with a bit more purpose than necessary. It made you struggle to open the sanitising wipes.

He hissed as you cleaned the wounds, but the care you put into it had his heart stuttering. You looked down at his knuckles, immersed in being meticulous as you wiped the valleys of his knuckles clean. He wasn’t looking down, though. He was looking at you.

“Take this as a thank you” you said just to break the silence before you slowly lifted one hand, almost like you were holding. Fuck it made it easy for him to imagine that you actually were.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’d do it again.” I want to do it again, he should’ve said. He wanted to hold you, and be the one you curled into when you needed it. Needed him.

Carefully you wrapped his knuckles. Your hand lingered around his afterwards. It looked like you were considering something. Slowly you led his hand higher until you lowered your chin and left a barely there kiss on the white bandage. He swore he died. Such a simple gesture and he felt like a madman.

You wrapped the other one. Did the same. He felt paralysed. It seemed you had understood him quite well.

“You can.” You said then, after placing both his hands down onto his own lap, now bandaged and cleaned.

“Can what?” He asked, voice hoarse and weaker than he would’ve liked as he curled his fingers. He swore it was tingling where your lips had touched.

“Hold me. Skin to skin contact can be calming. Mutually beneficial…” you said to try and reason the action, which there was no point in because the minute you had started your sentence he had wrapped his arm around you and tucked you closely into his side, using his other hand to swing your legs over his lap. Your mumbling became nothing as you nuzzled into him. He was scorching hot and you nuzzled into it, shivering.

He had never felt this good in his life. You seemed to fit perfectly into his side, your legs anchoring him down and your head resting over his rapidly beating heart- which was vulnerable as hell to him. But he allowed it when he heard you hum in satisfaction and saw your lashes flutter, eyes closing.

Just mutually beneficial cuddling, right?

once again, i don’t know what the fuck this is. it got away from me.

Roommate!Simon Riley who just knows when you’re on your period. Not because you tell him, but because he’s learned to pick up on the little things.

You were never vocal about your cycle, it was something you told him you’d never grown up learning to be comfortable with, he respected that, but really all he wanted to do was take care of you.

He’d notice the difference in your demeanor first, your sweet, gentle personality fraying slightly at the edges. Things that didn’t frustrate you so badly before now made you slam your hand on the table, hands flying up to run through your hair.

“you alright, lovie?” you’d sigh, rubbing at your eyes. “yeah yeah, just-just frustrated that’s all.” he’d notice your tight-lipped smile and stick it in his pocket.

Next, it was your appetite. He’d make you an entire feast and after about five minutes you’d set your phone down, trudging over to the kitchen. He could hear the cabinets rustling, a quiet curse coming from your lips.

“everything okay?”

“yeah! but, what happened to all the chocolate. or the chips. or those cake things we bought?” He couldn’t stop the laugh from bubbling in his chest along with a concerned crease between his brows.

“i think you ate them all!”

“aw man,” you’d come around the corner, pouting. “i’m starving.” he’d drive to the store for you, claiming he was hungry too. He wasn’t, but he’d never admit it to you.

As if those two signs weren’t enough, he’d find you curled up after he got home from work, your body in a ball on the couch. He typically knew before he even saw you, especially with your arm wrapped around your stomach and tears dripping from those pretty eyes. He’d sigh, feeling his stomach clench at the thought of you hurting.

“what’s the matter baby?” he’d squat down beside you, hand reaching out to rub your back. You were facing away from him, trying to hide your sniffles.

“nothing, my belly jus’ hurts.”

“aw i’m sorry love. lemme get you some medicine, yeah?”

you’d writhe in discomfort, shaking your head as more tears fell down. “already had some.”

“okay then, let’s try something else.” he’d lean your upper body up, laying it back down on top of his thick thighs after he sat down. he’d then slip a warm hand underneath your his hoodie.

If the simple feeling of his body heat wasn’t enough, then he’d massage your lower belly softly, waiting until he saw your eyes close before he could even breathe.

Eventually, over time, you’d grow more comfortable with him. He’d start making runs for you, grabbing whatever it was you needed and always a little extra.

He memorized your favorite snacks, candies, drinks, and he’d come back with bags full of whatever you wanted.

What really sealed the deal was the time you’d gone out to drinks together. You two had actually been enjoying yourselves for once, no commitments, no work waiting for you the next day, just pure, unadulterated fun. After a few shots, you excused yourself, making a quick trip to the restroom.

He noticed, after the bartender had brought him his second beer, that you’d been gone for quite a while. Nerves overtook his body and he checked his phone, seeing a few texts from you.

i have something really embarrassing to ask

but can you please ask the girl upfront if she has like a pad or a tampon or like anything

You didn’t elaborate, didn’t need too. He immediately threw down some cash and went to find the woman you were talking about. She handed him a few choices and he mumbled a quick ‘thank you’ before racing back to the restroom.

He knocked once, twice. “just me lovie.” Your weak voice beckoned him inside and he slipped through a small crack in the door, locking it behind him. There were several stalls, each one seemingly smaller than the last. “which one?”

Your sniffles were loud, and he could practically feel the embarrassment steaming off of your body. “the big one.”

His heavy footsteps echoed as he made his way to the larger stall on the end. He didn’t knock or ask to come in, just squatted his big frame down, holding everything she’d given him beneath the stall. “got it?”

“no,” the word was wrapped around tears. “can’t reach.”

“unlock her then yeah?” when he heard your deep sigh he forced a joke past his worry. “I won’t look if that’s what your worried about. i may be a ladies man, but I’m no perv sweet’art.” that forced a laugh from your chest and you stretched as far as you could reach with your foot, slipping the lock open.

He pushed the stall in and forced his large frame inside. Your cheeks were flushing a deep shade of red until you noticed large fingers covering his eyes. Another laugh pooled in your gut. “thanks Si.”

That was the first time you’d used that nickname. It made his heart swell. “don’t mention it.”

He closed the stall behind him, holding it shut so you didn’t have to worry about latching it again.

It took you a few minutes and some curses before he heard your footsteps on the floor. He opened the stall for you, not missing the streaks of tears down your cheeks as you walked to the sink.

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there was anything he could say. He wouldn’t pretend to know your frustrations, shame, or any other feeling gripping at your heart, but he could try to make them go away. To make you feel less angry.

He was holding paper towels out before you were even finished washing your hands, not missing the whispered ‘thanks’ which he just grunted to.

“hey,” he grabbed your wrist before you could walk off, letting his thumb combat the rough grip. “you’re good lovie,” He hoped you could see the smile he was quirking beneath his balaclava or the softness in his eyes begging you to let it roll off your back.

You smiled back, pulling him with you as you unlocked the door. “‘m sorry I ruined your night.”

“nah babe, party’s just gettin started.” he let the hand on your wrist fall to your hip, continuing the soothing circles with his fingertips. “now let’s get you another drink, shall we?”

You never hesitated to talk to him after that, he was someone you could rely on, he proved that much. And for the first time, you felt soemthing stirring under the surface for him. something other than platonic, something different, something fierce. soemthing that looked a little like love.

what the fuck is this guys? once again i’m doing something random and possibly stupid but whatevs!!!!!!

im still losing it over the "how did high schoolers write 600 word essays before chatgpt" post. 600 words. that is nothing. that is so few words what do you mean you can't write 600 words. 600 words. this post right here is 45 words.

Simon never heard his father say sorry, or please, or thank-you, or I love you.

In their house, when his mama would put down hot, heavy casseroles, her skin damp with sweat, eyes darting for some sweet words, his father never said one word of thanks, let alone 'some'. Only waved his thick, impatient hand.

His father never took the plates to the sink. Never noticed when she stayed up at night to sort the screws by size and purpose—organizing the chaos he left behind just to find one damn hammer.

His father never said ‘please can you—’ only grunted with that bitter mouth, glared with those unkind eyes when he needed something.

Simon never heard him say I love you. And he couldn’t believe his eyes the day his father plucked out his baby brother from his mama's arm, and didn’t spare one glance for his Ma. She didn't deserved that, did she? Her weak frail body, cracked murmuring lips — she should be celebrated with adoration, comfort, love.

Love, and an infinite of it.

His father never sat beside her just to drink tea. Never told her about his day. Never asked about hers — what she did, or liked, or wanted. Never reached out his thumb, however calloused it was, to wipe away the sprout on her chin. That he was grateful she's next to him, that he loved her.

So when life happened, and Simon was left to pick up his pieces and place them in a way he wanted to be—he thought whomever he will be, anything, but his father.

Anything but him.

And then life happened again but this time it arranged itself in beautiful ways. Because you came with it this time. You and all your silly lovely ways, you who kissed your knee before resting your chin, you who cheered up catching up with fridge' light switching off, you so beautiful, so kind, made up of sundust. His sunshine — lighting up his world.

And God, he was so, so grateful. Every moment, every day !

“I love you,” he’d say the moment he wakes up next to you. Pressing his love on your lips, on your shoulder, on your neck.

“I love you,” when you spill milk in the morning daze and stare at it like it might disappear.

“I love you,” when he wipes your chin and kisses your forehead.

“I love you,” when he takes your hand in his and rubs it between his palm, why ? Because he'll spend his whole life keeping your hands warm than anything else.

“I love you.” because he loves, loves, and loves you so much that it hurts, so much that it heals, so much that it's everything sweet ever happened to him.

“I love you.” for all the ways his father failed, and Simon too, as a son, as a brother — failed to save his mama and lil' brother. I love you, because in loving you he is allowing himself to be loved.

Masterlist

subtle things simon ‘ghost’ riley does for you

masterlist | simon has a crush on you | captain john price version

everybody on the base is aware of one thing. first – to not mess with the skull masked lieutenant. second – to not mess with the skull masked lieutenant’s favorite. it's clear that simon has taken a liking to you, but he disguises it well enough for it to sweep under your radar.

just knowing eye stares. god. he's such a sucker for just staring at you, be it when you guys are training, when there's a meeting going on, in the barracks, when somebody says something stupid. he looks to you as a form of reassurance, giving you a slight nod most of the time. this is his way to communicate. he's thankful for his mask because he knows damn well he's blushing underneath when his eyes meet yours and you give him a big grin.

speaking of eye contact, if any time ghost says something sarcastic under his breath and you hear it despite being across the room, he will absolutely wink at you. it's disguised so so well omg. especially if you mention something that's a known joke between the two of you, god he’ll just lean back, give you a wink and continue listening to the briefing. (he also subtly checks you out by the way)

has a habit of just messing your hair. he knows it irritates you, but that's just his way of showing affection. the first time he reached out his gloved hand to mess your hair, price just grinned. he knew simon was smitten.

he lets you ramble on and on about things you like, dislike, philosophical debates, anything really, with him occasionally adding quips. soap is so shocked at simon’s change of attitude because when he talks for a minute, the lieutenant just asks him to shut up.

he secretly makes things easy for you. like you gotta carry big boxes to the warehouse? they’ll be done before you know it. a report is holding you up? it's already stapled and on your desk. “what else?” he asks. he's terribly intuitive as well, so he knows when something is bothering you.

has a habit of just standing behind you. that's his way of looking out for you. and if he senses any danger, you best believe he's gonna be on his A game. be it a sniper or be it some new private that made a suggestive remark, he’ll put them straight.

he's your biggest supporter except he's constipated in actually supporting. you did pretty well on a mission? most you’re getting out of him is “you did good, yeah?” but that's it.

he's also so so smug with his remarks. i’m talking constant shit eating grins, smirks, fucking irritating cocky behavior but he’s so hot with it. “you think you can take on me?” even with his mask on, u can just tell!! “oh yeah? c'mere and prove me wrong”

fucking simp enjoys training with you soooo much like especially the ‘first one to get pinned loses’ he puts you down so easily. but then he coaches you as well “c’mon you can fight better than this” as he points out other techniques to use. “atta girl” (i’m gonna kms). always the person to challenge you and push you to your limits because he's not taking a risk when it comes to your life.