anythingneverythingnstuffs

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

💀👻

When your little oneshot idea has turned into 7000+ words with ideas for four sequels-

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

GYM CRUSH SIMON

sfw + nsfw. unsafe sex. womb fucking. no condom.

you never planned on becoming a late-night gym rat. it just …happened. like most things in your life, it started with good intentions and spiraled into something you weren’t entirely in control of.

you’d made a new year’s resolution to get in shape— because health, discipline, all that crap— and, in a moment of overzealous optimism, you splurged on a gym membership. a pricey one, to add. the kind that made your bank account cry, which meant quitting wasn’t an option.

there was only one problem. you were busy. between classes, assignments, and the absolute joke that was your sleep schedule, the only time you could consistently work out was well past normal human hours.

at first, the idea of hitting the gym at midnight felt… weird. like stepping into a parallel universe where only insomniacs and questionable life choices existed. but then you considered the alternative— going during peak hours and getting judged for your piss-poor form, or worse, waiting in line for machines behind a dude who was live-streaming his workout.

midnight schedule it was.

it grew on you eventually. the routine became second nature. drag yourself in after class, half-asleep, toss your bag into a locker, and start on the treadmill to wake yourself up. a slow warm-up, music blasting through your headphones, then a mostly half-hearted attempt at strength training.

the people who showed up at this hour were predictable. a few other students— dead-eyed, running on caffeine fumes. a handful of older folks, the dedicated ones who treated the gym like a sacred temple.

and then there was him.

tall. broad. built like something out of a military recruitment ad.

the first time you noticed him, you’d nearly tripped on the treadmill. one second, you were zoning out, staring at the clock, and the next— there he was. buzz cut barely visible beneath the hood of his sweatshirt, arms thick with muscle, veins running down his forearms in stark lines. tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, black ink tracing the ridges of his skin.

(the combat boots were what threw you off. who the hell wore combat boots to the gym?)

he moved through his workout with terrifying

efficiency. no wasted movements, no unnecessary pauses. heavyweights. circuits. the kind of training that looked more like preparation for war than casual fitness. he never looked winded either. no gasping for breath, no pausing to rest, just relentless, controlled effort.

you developed a— not a crush— an appreciation for him. admiration. respect. that was it. not the way his hoodie stretched across his shoulders when he adjusted his grip on the barbell. not the way his jaw clenched in concentration. not the way his fingers wrapped around the weights with an ease that made you feel woefully inadequate.

“it’s a crush,” your friend announced one evening, stabbing a straw into his juice box.

you scoffed, flipping through your notes. “it’s not.”

“it is. i’m fit too, but i don’t see you staring at me like you wanna lick salt off my abs.”

you made a disgusted noise. “jesus, shut up.”

he grinned, tipping his juice box back dramatically. “i’m just saying. the fact that you haven’t even talked to him and yet know his entire workout routine is very-"

“i do not know his entire workout routine.”

your friend raised a brow.

you sighed. “…he does back and legs on tuesdays.”

his brow lifted higher.

“…and arms on thursdays.”

silence.

“right.”

“shut up.”

you’d considered talking to him. maybe asking for tips or making some awkward joke about his frankly ridiculous choice of gym footwear. but he didn’t exactly radiate approachable.

the man looked like he’d rather be waterboarded than engage in small talk.

and you? you weren’t some plucky rom-com protagonist who could charm the brooding loner into friendship with a dazzling smile and sheer force of personality. so, you kept your distance. which was fine. totally fine.

What the hell would you even say? “hey, nice pecs, can I bury my face between them?” he’d call the police on you.

so, you stayed quiet..

until the night you made the monumentally stupid decision to start lifting weights.

in your defense, it wasn’t entirely your idea. you were perfectly content with your usual treadmill-and-machines routine. but then your friend had to go and mock you.

“you’re paying for a full gym membership,” he said, flicking a fry at your forehead, “and you’re not even using the weight room?”

“i use it,” you protested.

“you walk through it.”

okay, fine. he had a point. which was how you ended up here, standing in front of a barbell, mentally preparing yourself to lift it like you were about to perform brain surgery.

you’d done your research— watched some youtube tutorials, read some articles. you knew the basics. foot placement. core engagement. not arching your back like a possessed demon.

you took a deep breath, squared your stance, wrapped your hands around the bar, and— nothing.

the bar didn’t budge.

you frowned, adjusted your grip. another deep breath. still nothing.

okay. you could do this. just, more force. maybe a little momentum. you planted your feet, sucked in a breath, and heaved—

"y’need a spotter?"

you startle so hard you nearly fall backward, breath catching as you whip around. close— he’s close, and jesus, he’s even bigger up close. broad shoulders, thick arms crossed over his chest, pale eyes flicking between you and the barbell like he’s already making peace with witnessing an injury. his hoodie is pulled up like always, shadows cutting sharp over the edges of his jaw, but there’s something vaguely unimpressed about his expression. braced for disaster.

you swallow. "uh."

his brow lifts, expectant, as if this is some kind of trick question. "that a yes or a no?"

"i-" your brain short-circuits. every ounce of confidence you had a second ago shrivels up and dies. "i totally got this."

he exhales sharply, something between a scoff and a sigh. he shifts his weight, one foot bracing slightly forward. "sure you do.

your face heats. you turn back to the barbell, fingers tightening around the metal, and pull. it lifts— barely. your arms burn, hands already sweating, but you’re stubborn. you have it. almost.

"you’re about to smash your fucking face in," he mutters.

you falter— just for a second— but that’s all it takes. your grip slips, the weight tilting. shit, shit, shit!

he moves fast. faster than you expect. before you can even panic properly, his hands brace yours, steadying the bar with zero effort. he’s strong, fingers wrapping over yours for a brief moment before smoothly guiding the weight back onto the rack like it weighs nothing. you stumble back, arms trembling from the strain, but he doesn’t step away yet, just watches you catch your breath.

"right," he says after a beat, stepping back. "now that you’ve definitely got it, mind if i give you some actual pointers?"

you blink up at him, still processing the fact that you almost died, and this guy just saved your life like it was nothing. "you train people?"

"no. just rather not watch someone crush their skull in." which is… fair, you suppose.

you wipe your sweaty palms on your leggings, trying not to look as embarrassed as you feel. "okay. please. teach me."

you and simon— you learn his name by the third day!— slowly fall into a routine, much to his chagrin. he hadn’t expected offering to help you not splatter brain matter across the gym floor would lead to... this. a persistent presence. a shadow in his periphery.

he doesn’t know how it happened, how you managed to wedge yourself into the one place he thought was untouchable, but somehow, you did. and now, you’re there. always. not in an overbearing way. you don’t talk his ear off or force yourself on him. if anything, you’re surprisingly easy to be around. and worse— comfortable. which is fucking dangerous.

a routine starts forming. he hadn’t expected that offering to help you not crush your own skull under a barbell would lead to… this. hadn’t expected that you’d still be here, three days later, four, a week, waving at him when he walks in, bright-eyed and warm despite the ungodly hour. he tries to keep you at arm’s length, really, he does.

but you’re not loud. you don’t force yourself on him. you don’t pry or try to push past his walls— you just exist, alongside him, like it’s a natural thing in the world. you ask him questions, ease him into conversations so seamlessly that sometimes he doesn’t even notice he’s talking until he’s already halfway into answering.

"you ever listen to anything in those headphones?"

he glances at you, then down at his battered over-ear set, blinking like he’d forgotten they were even on. "sometimes."

you hum, stepping up to adjust your weights. "what kinda music?

he hesitates. "depends."

"on?"

"the day."

you narrow your eyes. "that’s not an answer."

"sure it is."

you mutter something under your breath about how “everyone in this gym is allergic to giving a straight answer,” but drop it— he notices that about you. you ask, but you never push. never press. you’re content with whatever he gives, and somehow that makes him want to give you more.

it’s little things at first. small details. he learns that you hate most protein juices but drink it anyway, that you run cold so you always wear a hoodie even when you’re sweating through it, that you hate country music and give him a long, horrified look when you learn that he doesn’t. ("not all of it," he defends, rolling his eyes. "some of it’s alright." you just shake your head at him like he’s beyond saving.)

you learn things too. that his tattoos are actually a full sleeve ("when’d you get these?" "over time." "wow, thanks, that clears so much up."), that he has an endless supply of grey hoodies and sweatpants that he refuses to explain.

"you ever heard of color?" you ask, plucking at his sleeve, and he swats your hand away. "practical," he grunts. "s’not a fuckin’ fashion show."

and then— of course— you fixate on the boots. the combat boots. “okay, but why?” you prod, nudging the toe of his boot with yours. “you know you can wear actual gym shoes, right?”

he gives you a flat look, expression unreadable under the shadow of his hood. “they’re my only pair.”

you freeze. your face twists, and there’s this flicker of genuine horror in your eyes that throws him completely off guard. “simon... are you... homeless?” your voice drops to a whisper, hesitant, like you’re afraid to even ask. his brain short-circuits. he smacks you lightly over the head, more shocked than anything.

"what the fuck- no, i'm not homeless, jesus."

you rub the spot with a pout, still eyeing him like you're not completely convinced. “well, i don’t know,” you mumble.

“you wear the same thing every day, never see you with a bag or a wallet or-”

“drop it.”

“-you don’t even buy pre-workout, simon, who does that-”

“drop it.”

some days, he comes into the gym in a mood. the kind where his head is full of static, his skin prickling with the restless need to exhaust himself into oblivion. those are the days he doesn’t want to talk. doesn’t want to be seen. and you— you notice. you don’t come up to him, don’t pester him or try to joke around like normal. instead, you just stand off to the side, watching him with this soft, wide-eyed expression like some kind of kicked puppy.

it’s unbearable.

like an itch under his skin that won’t go away. it eats at him, gnaws at the edges of his concentration, and before he can help it, he’s groaning and gesturing you over with a sharp flick of his fingers. “for fuck’s sake, just get over here already.”

you grin like you’ve won something, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you jog over, and he regrets it immediately.

you bring him coffee sometimes. at first, he doesn’t know how to react. he just stares at it when you shove the cup into his hands, blinking down at the little scribbled name on the side like it’s some kind of foreign object. he doesn’t even like sugary coffee, but he drinks it anyway.

the next day, guilt eats at him, so he shoves a protein shake into your hands, unwilling to meet your eyes. "s’only fair."

you squint at it, shake the bottle, listening to the liquid inside slosh around. “what’s in it?”

he scoffs. "fuckin’ cyanide."

you take an exaggerated sniff before grinning. “smells like peanut butter.”

his eye twitches. “just drink it.”

and then, somehow, that becomes a thing, too. a habit. every other day, one of you brings the other something— coffee, protein shakes, the occasional energy drink when you can tell he’s running on fumes.

one night, the gym is nearly empty. just the hum of air conditioning, the occasional clink of metal, the low buzz of some forgotten playlist over the speakers. the late hour has driven most people out, leaving only you and simon.

you’re exhausted, arms shaking, muscles burning with that deep, satisfying ache, but you’re pushing for one more rep. just one.

simon stands behind you, watching through the mirror. arms crossed, weight shifted slightly forward. tracking every movement, every shift in your stance, the way your hands tighten around the bar.

"you're on fumes," he mutters, but steps closer anyway, close enough that the heat of him presses against your back.

you roll your shoulders, shake out your wrists. “i got it.”

he exhales sharp through his nose, scoff and sigh rolled into one, but he doesn’t argue. just moves in, bracketing your sides, his presence steadying.

"alright," he murmurs, watching as you adjust your grip.

you brace yourself, pull, and the weight barely moves. your arms burn immediately, tendons screaming under the strain. your grip shifts, fingers trembling, slipping—

his hands are there. firm and certain, sliding just beneath yours, adjusting your hold without taking over. his chest nearly against your back, his breath warm against the top of your head.

"fix that grip, sweetheart."

you do, fingers locking down harder, shoulders bracing. he doesn’t let go, not fully, his palms ghosting over your forearms, steadying you just enough.

"lock it out," he says, quiet but insistent. his hands shift, one flattening against your stomach, the other hovering at your ribs, like he can feel where the tension is pulling wrong, where you need to engage. "push through. i’ve got you."

your breath stutters, something curling low in your stomach, and you force everything into that last pull, dragging the bar up, arms shaking, until you finally lock it out.

his fingers press in, just briefly, a quick squeeze at your ribs. "good."

you hold it for a second before guiding the weight back down, slow and controlled. the second it racks, your body gives, arms dead, shoulders screaming.

you stumble, just a little, and his hands are already there, catching at your waist. warm. solid. fingers pressing in just enough to steady you. they linger, just a second too long.

and then— "good girl."

barely above a murmur, just breath and heat against your skin, but it slams through you all the same.

your stomach tightens. your pulse jumps. you freeze.

you turn, still breathless, muscles trembling from exertion.

and he’s right there. solid. massive. crowding you. broad chest rising and falling, sweat clinging to the fabric stretched over muscle. too close, heat rolling off him, sinking into your skin, and making your stomach twist. up close, he’s all sharp lines and thick muscle, biceps flexing slightly as he rolls his shoulders back, tilting his head down to look at you.

"don’t-" your voice breaks. you swallow hard. "don’t do that."

simon’s brow lifts, lazy. "don���t do what, sweetheart?"

your fingers twitch at your sides. you gesture vaguely, heat curling up your spine. "that. the- the praise."

his mouth quirks, amusement flickering at the edges. "what, telling you you’re doing good?"

"yes."

he makes a sound low in his throat. "why? thought you liked it."

you try to start a defense, but he steps closer, and fuck, there’s nowhere to go.

"you did so good," he murmurs. his hand lifts, brushing over the curve of your waist. "pushed yourself real hard. took every single rep like a good girl."

your breath catches and oh, does he catch on to that.

"you like hearing that, don’t you?" his fingers curl, pressing into your hip. "knowing i’m right there, watching you, making sure you finish strong."

low, warm, approving—

"bet that’s why you pushed so hard," he continues, like he’s musing to himself. "just to hear me say it. just to make me proud."

simon’s eyes flicker to the vein in your neck. his other hand lifts, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, slow, almost tender.

"say it, sweetheart," he murmurs. "let me take care of you.”

“please.”

the rest of the gym is a blur. you don’t even register leaving, don’t remember how you end up outside, only that simon’s hand is wrapped tight around your wrist, dragging you through the parking lot with a single-minded purpose. the concrete expanse is empty except for simon’s truck parked just underneath a street lamp.

simon hauls you into the backseat, the door slamming shut behind him. the truck rocks with the force of it, windows already fogging, the stale scent of leather and the last remnants of his cologne in the air. the streetlights outside cast a dim glow that cuts through the darkness in thin streaks, glinting off the sweat at his temples.

his hands are on you before you can think. rough, impatient. he grabs your hips, yanks you into his lap, drags you down until you crash against him. the heat of him burns through every layer between you.

his hips roll up.

you jolt, hands flying to his shoulders, gripping tight as the thick shape of him grinds against your clit. even through the fabric, you feel everything— the ridges, the weight, the solid pressure slotting perfectly against you.

he does it again.

your breath catches, legs tensing where they straddle his thighs. you try to move, to adjust, but his hands flex, fingers digging in, keeping you pinned where he wants you.

"shh," simon hushes, arm against your skin, grip tightening as he forces you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you. "let me feel you."

his hips drag against you and you react before your brain can catch up, instinct driving you forward, grinding down, chasing the pressure.

his breath stutters, shoulders tensing as he watches you move. the friction grows slicker, hotter, the damp fabric sticking between you.

you glance down— and then you see it. his sweats, darkened, soaked where you grind against him, your arousal leaking through, making a mess of him.

"fuck-"

he exhales sharply, hands shifting, one palm smoothing down your thigh before gripping, pulling you into him.

"that’s it." he’s almost slurring his words now, his hips rolling up to meet yours. "so fuckin’ wet..."

your nails bite into his arms, your body working without thought, hips rolling, pressing down harder. the truck shifts with every movement, the worn leather seat creaking beneath you.

"fuck, baby." his lips brush your jaw. "so messy. feel that?"

you nod frantically and his cock jumps at your eagerness.

his patience snaps.

one moment you’re grinding down against him, chasing the delicious friction, and the next you're scrambling for purchase as he lifts you.

simon shoves his sweats down, and his cock springs free, slapping up against his stomach. it's thick. throbbing. the flushed tip leaking pre, smearing along the ridges of his abs, catching in the dim of the streetlights.

he’s big. not just in length— though fuck, he’s long enough to make your stomach clench— but thick, too. veins run along the shaft, disappearing beneath the flushed, ruddy skin. the head is a deep, aching red, fat and swollen, leaking so much it dribbles down, streaking along his cock, mixing with the slick mess you’ve already made on him.

the weight of him makes his cock hang low even as it twitches, pulsing with the rush of blood. it looks almost angry, the veins along the base throbbing, his whole cock flexing with each slow pump of his fist as he strokes himself, spreading the mess of precum along his length.

simon watches your expression shift, pleased. "knew you’d like that.”

he's teasing but you barely hear it. your eyes stay locked on him, pulse hammering as you take in the sheer size, the stretch you’re about to take—

he shifts his grip, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other around his cock. your hips twitch, instinct making you reach for him, trying to press forward, but he holds you back, squeezes to get your attention.

"look at that..” simon presses the head of his cock against your stomach, dragging it up, smearing wet along your skin. "gonna take all this, yeah? let me stretch that little cunt open?"

"yes- yes, please-"

"fuck." his breath shudders, his hold on you tightening. "greedy thing."

he yanks you forward, spreads your legs wider, fits himself between your thighs, grinds his cock through your slit.

the first press makes you jolt, your whole body twitching, a choked sound slipping from your throat. he groans, gripping your waist, shoving you down, rubbing your swollen clit against the head, dragging himself through your slick over and over again.

"desperate," he muses, almost cruel. "thought you could take me just like that?"

you try to answer, try to say something, but your brain doesn't work, body too busy chasing relief, hips jerking, cunt aching, a mess of whimpers spilling from your lips.

his cock is heavy against your stomach, his tip leaving a damp streak along your skin as he drags it upward. the grip he has on your waist is firm, fingers pressing deep into your flesh, keeping you still, making sure you see exactly how much of him is about to disappear inside you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, lilted by something dark and pleased. “gonna fit all this inside, yeah? stretch that little cunt open real nice for me?”

your breath shudders in your throat. the weight of him, the sheer size, sends a pulse of heat through you, thighs trembling where he holds them apart. he presses his cock higher, smearing himself over your navel, dragging slow just to watch the way your stomach flexes beneath him.

simon's fingers tighten at your hips, anchoring you in place. his eyes flick up, locking onto yours. “still want it?”

you can’t nod fast enough, hands fisting in the hard muscle of his shoulders, your pulse drumming against your ribs. “yes-”

he huffs a quiet laugh before shaking his head. then he moves, his hands shifting to your waistband. simon doesn’t take his time, doesn’t tease— just yanks your shorts down in one rough motion, shoving them past your thighs, tossing them aside like they’re nothing.

your panties are soaked through, the thin fabric clinging to your skin, darker where arousal has seeped into it. his gaze drops, and he groans, fingers flexing against your thighs.

his eyes practically shine as he reaches down, hooking two fingers into the waistband, pulling the fabric to the side instead of taking it off completely. “how long have you been sittin’ here all wet for me, huh?”

then, without warning, he lifts his cock and slaps it against your cunt. the obscene sound echoes between you.

you jolt, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. the weight of him presses down, drags over your swollen folds, smearing your slick along the length of him, leaving him just as messy as you.

simon's breath hitches, jaw going tight for a moment before he grins. “feel that?” he rocks his hips, slow and deliberate, the ridge of his head catching against your clit with every motion. “soaked for me. filthy girl.”

he keeps at it, rutting through your folds, dragging his cock against you in long, teasing glides. every lazy roll of his hips spreads more wetness between you, slick growing messier, needier, your arousal coating every inch of him.

his voice drops lower, almost awed. “you always this wet?”

you shake your head. you're not even sure why you're this wet. it’s obscene, every slow slide of him making a sticky, wet sound, the kind that makes your face burn with embarrassment.

his grip on your thighs tightens. he presses against you harder, lets his cock drag through the mess, smearing it everywhere, making it worse.

“just for me then?” he asks, watching the way his cock glistens, slick with everything you’ve given him. “i kind of like that.”

he lines himself up, pressing the thick, leaking tip against your aching entrance. he lets it catch there for a second, teasing, before dragging it up one last time, rubbing against your clit, watching you twitch beneath him.

then he settles back down, pressing again, the heavy weight of him poised to sink inside.

his eyes flick back to yours. “gonna let me in now, yeah?”

the first push is a mistake. he realizes it the second you tense up, sucking in a sharp breath, thighs trembling where they’re spread over his lap. his cock barely breaches you— just the tip, barely an inch— and your body locks up, refusing to take more.

simon grits his teeth, hands firm on your waist, trying to ease you down, but you’re too tight, squeezing around him like you’re trying to push him out. the head of his cock throbs where it’s barely inside you, thick and unyielding, stretching you too much, too fast.

he exhales through his nose, slow and measured, and tries again. rocks his hips, nudging deeper, letting you feel the weight of him pressing in. but you whimper, body trembling, nails biting into his skin. your walls clench down hard, resisting, and—

he stops. groans, and drops his head back against the seat.

"jesus christ." his palm drags over his face. "knew you were tight, but- fuck. you’re not gonna take me like this."

your face burns. your throat aches. frustration coils hot in your chest. "i’m sorry-"

"oh, sweetheart." simon's hands slide up your back, rough palms smoothing over your skin before he leans back, head tilting, eyes flicking over you. half amused, half exasperated. "you apologizing for having a cunt this tight?"

you sniffle, shifting in his lap, arousal sticky between your thighs. "but i wanted to-"

"you will." his voice is steady, calm, but his grip on your hips tightens. "just gotta take my time, yeah? don’t want you cryin’ when i finally get this cock in you."

you sniff again, blinking up at him, vision blurred, lips parted. "too late."

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "fuckin’ hell."

then his hands are moving again, trailing lower, fingers slipping between your slick folds, pressing in slow.

you jolt at the touch, a sharp, wrecked little sound catching in your throat. simon groans, watching the way you twitch in his lap.

"fuck, baby. so sensitive. all worked up and nowhere to put it, huh?"

you nod, heat crawling up your neck, hips jerking as he rubs slow, lazy circles over your clit. his fingers are thick, rough, dragging through the mess between your thighs, teasing, pressing just enough to make your breath stutter.

"s’not fair," you mumble.

"life’s not fair, sweetheart." his fingers press in again, pushing deeper. one first, stretching you open, curling inside. then another. then a third. his other hand stays on your thigh, keeping you spread, holding you open so he can watch the way you take him.

"gotta get you nice and open." his voice low and warm. "don’t want you breakin’ on me just yet."

you whimper, rocking into his hand, clenching down around his fingers. your clit throbs under his thumb, swollen and aching, every slow grind of his palm sending another shudder through you.

"shh. just let me do this for you, yeah?"

you do. trembling, gasping, grinding down, taking everything he gives until you’re loose, slick, ready.

when he pulls his fingers out, you whine, walls fluttering around nothing.

then his cock is back, pressing against your entrance, thick and hot, teasing for only a moment before he pushes in—

you take him.

the stretch is unbearable. every inch forces you open, slow and deliberate, the thick drag of him pressing deeper than anything ever has. your breath stutters, body shaking, thighs trembling where they rest over his.

"fuck, sweetheart," he groans, voice tight, hands gripping your hips, keeping you still, keeping you from pulling away. "you feel that? squeezing me so fuckin’ tight."

you do. every ridge, every vein, the slow, impossible push of him splitting you open, inch by inch, pressing deep— then he stops.

breath stuttering, you blink at him, dazed, confused, still so empty. "w-why-"

"baby," his voice is almost pained. "m’pressing right up against your cervix. can’t go any deeper."

but it’s not enough. you whimper, hips twitching, shifting to take more, to sink lower. "but i still feel empty, si.."

his jaw clenches, fingers digging into your thighs, trying to keep you still, stopping you from punching a fucking hole through your guts. "jesus, sweetheart. you don’t know what you’re askin."

"please," you breathe, eyes glassy, desperate. "si, please, want all of you-"

he groans, head dropping back against the seat, restraint hanging by a thread. "fuck."

then his grip tightens, and before you can say another word, he forces you down the rest of the way.

"oh-oh my god-" your whole body shakes, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as the thick head of his cock breaches your cervix, slipping into your womb, stuffing you full.

simon grunts, the squeeze of you making his vision blur for a second. "jesus fuckin’ christ."

the moment he bottoms out, your walls clamp down, fluttering, pulsing around him— the pleasure snaps without warning, white-hot, rolling through you all at once.

"fuck- fuck, baby." he curses, the squeeze of your cunt almost painful. his half-lidded eyes are trained on where the two of you connect, the way you gush around him, soaking his cock. "just from takin’ me all the way? filthy fuckin’ thing-"

he huffs a rough laugh, fingers flexing against your hips, appreciating the extra slick easing the way. "makes it easier, at least," he mutters, then starts to move.

it’s slow at first— just enough to let you feel it, to make you ache through the thick drag of him pulling back, just enough to let you whimper at the sheer pressure of his cock pressing against every swollen, overstimulated inch of your cunt.

but you’re already gone.

your lashes flutter, your lips part around soft, wrecked little sounds, your hips twitching even though he’s holding you down, even though you’re already stuffed so fucking full.

"look at you," he murmurs, dragging a palm up your belly, pressing down right where he’s so deep, groaning when he feels the outline of himself inside you. "fuckin’ cock-drunk already, sweetheart?"

you sob, thighs squeezing around his waist, hands grasping at him, trying to find something to hold onto as your hips jerk, rolling forward mindlessly, instinct driving you to take more, take everything.

he groans, gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so he can see all of it.

"can’t even talk, can you? too fuckin’ dumb to think straight."

"s-simon-"

"what, love? too far gone already?"

his smirk is wicked, his grip tight as he presses his hips up, spearing you open all over again.

you scream, body jerking, back arching, thighs trembling around him. "ohh- oh fuck-"

"there we go." his voice is full of praise, full of something dark and indulgent. "there’s my good girl."

he sets a slow rhythm, dragging his cock out until only the thick head is inside you before slamming all the way back in, spearing you open, making sure you feel it, making sure you take every inch.

"bloody hell," he mutterd, feeling the way your walls squeeze him, the way you shudder, the way you drip around him, slick gushing, soaking his cock, ruining his seats.

"listen to that, sweetheart," he groans, shifting his grip, spreading his knees just a little wider to pin you in place. "fuckin’ mess you’re makin."

he glances down, eyes nearly rolling at the sight— your cunt stretched wide around him, slick dripping down to his balls, pooling beneath you.

"christ, love." he has to gasp for breath. "fuckin’ leaking all over me- ruinin’ my fuckin’ truck-"

"s-simon-" you lose your train of thought, babbling incomprehensible strings of words.

"can't think?" simon's grin sharpens. "good. don’t need you thinkin."

then he fucks you properly.

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

neighbor!reader x simon 'ghost' riley pt 8

masterlist

You began drinking your tea a little stronger, a little less sweet than usual, after the night that Simon saved you from eating shit on the icy pavement all for your emotional support water bottle. The snow removal off of your car before first light became something you were used to, though still thankful and grateful for. He still got toffee or other treats as thanks.

It was a few weeks after your slip-on-the-ice fiasco. You were still slightly embarrassed by the memory, but it didn’t plague you like it did before. And guess what? You hadn’t forgotten your water in your car since that fateful day.

~

This was a first for Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. In his years of service, he had never hesitated before leaving for an extended mission. But that was before you.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was just something about his smiling next-door neighbor. It was his first extended mission since meeting you, and he was dreading informing you that he was leaving.

Tomorrow.

It wasn’t completely out of the blue for Simon to show up to your door with wine. The fact that he brought two bottles this time didn’t seem odd at first, even though he usually only brought one. You had just figured he was extra thirsty that night or something. One bottle was his favorite, and one bottle was yours. He remembered.

“Evenin’, love- busy tonight?”

God, that smile made him weak at the knees. “For you? Never, come on in- I think Izzy knew you were coming, she’s been warming up your spot on the couch all night.”

My spot on the couch, he echoed in his head. Was he really here that often?

It didn’t take long for you to figure out that something was up. Even with his balaclava, which he never took off even in front of you, you could always read him like an open book. Or, you seemed to be able to, at least. Ghost wasn’t sure if he could rule out mind-reader just yet, as terrifying a thought that was.

“What is it?” you asked him idly as you put down a plate of cookies on the coffee table in front of Simon.

He hesitated. “What is what?”

“Simon,” you said, raising an eyebrow in his direction. “Is that really how you’re gonna play this?”

Oh, he had to try now. “Play what, love?” he asked, trying to sound innocent.

It didn’t work on you. He could tell from your eyes. They were just so expressive.

When you didn’t say anything else for fifteen seconds, Simon let out a sigh of defeat. He wasn’t going to spend his last evening with you before his mission in silence because of his stubbornness.

“When are you leaving?”

Simon’s eyes shot up at you in surprise. Had he been that obvious?

“Tomorrow.”

You set your mug of tea down on the coffee table next to the plate of cookies with a soft sigh. That sigh was like a stab to Simon’s chest. “You’re leaving tomorrow... and you’re just now telling me?”

Simon visibly winced at your words. “Found out this morning, love, I swear it-”

“How long are you going to be gone?”

The silence after your question was deafening. With each passing second, your stomach grew tighter and tighter.

You weren’t looking at him now, instead looking at the way your hands were folded in your lap. God, he wanted to just wrap his arms around you, to tell you everything was going to be alright- but he couldn’t. It wasn’t his place. He was just your neighbor.

And you were his.

So why the hell did it hurt so bad?

“Four to six months, give or take.”

Simon was not prepared for the small gasp that escaped you.

He was on his knees in front of you, eyes searching yours, his gloved hands resting on your cheeks, his thumbs gently brushing away tears as they began to fall before you even realized what was happening.

“Shh, it’s okay, love,” he murmured. Even with his balaclava, you could still feel his warm breath against your face, he was so close to you.

He brought his cloth-covered lips to your forehead, resting them there for a few seconds before you wrapped your arms tightly around him and buried your face in his neck. One of his hands made its way to the back of your head, and he began to rub the pads of his fingers against you as his body rocked you back and forth in his lap, his other arm around your waist. You weren’t sure how you ended up in his lap, but you were there, and he wasn’t about to let you go.

Simon was going to be gone for about the same amount of time that he had been in your life. He knew that, you knew that. Months and months. It felt both like forever and like no time at all in the same breath. Looking at it through the lens of him being gone, being away from you, made it feel even more like forever.

“It’ll fly by,” Simon mumbled against the top of your head. It was obvious he wasn’t just speaking to you. He was telling himself that, trying to convince himself that the time apart wouldn’t actually kill either of you.

“Liar,” you grumbled, sniffling against his neck.

Ghost continued to rub against the small of your back, his eyes closed as he inhaled against the top of your head. Oh, how he wanted it to be true. Maybe if he told himself enough times that it would just fly by. Maybe he’d believe it himself.

Probably not.

“I’m… I'm gonna miss you, Si,” you managed to mumble. He could feel your lips brush against the sensitive skin of his neck as you spoke, your warm breath, even the dampness from your tears.

He had wanted to hold you like this for so long. But not like this.

first

previous

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

Part two of Simon Riley with a user who kidnaps herself. CW: Cunnilingus, Somnophilia, PiV, they're both a bit crazy, brief mention of blood (in a ring) part one here if you missed it!

Simon was currently stood over his bed. Staring at you. Under his covers.

You smelled so good too. Simon didn't want to get in bed and disrupt the scent of you with his own. He'd never forgive himself.

It was strange. Simon thought that if you found out he was stalking you, you would scream, call the cops, anything but this.

Maybe you were as crazy as he was. A thought that both terrified and excited Simon. Although the excitement definitely weighed out.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Simon merely watched you as days went by. He watched you eat, watch tv, sleep, bathe. And it didn't creep you out in the slightest.

You knew there was always an adjustment period when two people moved in together. So you let him watch you. He was like a wary cat. It was rather cute.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"You can get in bed, you know" you hum tiredly one night. Opening your eyes and looking up at the behemoth of a man that would have terrified anyone else if they saw him watching them sleep.

"Don't want to make the bed smell like me when it smells like you"

"If you cuddle me you'd be close enough to smell me really good"

Simon stared. Brows furrowing in thought. Before he gives in.

Simon awkwardly slid into the bed next to you, tensing slightly when you grabbed his arms and wrapped them around your waist.

But as soon as Simon seemed to understand that he was touching you and you wanted him to keep touching you, he grabbed the backs of your thighs, pulling you flush against him with your legs around his thick waist so he could bury his face into your chest.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

After that, Simon could barely keep his hands off you. As soon he got home from base, he would find you somewhere in his home and wrap his arms around you. Refusing to let go for at least ten minutes.

He also gave you the best head you'd ever received. Definitely a bonus.

Every guy you'd been with before Simon, treated the act like a chore. Lazily licking you until raising their head and asking if you'd finished yet.

Simon though? He does it for his own pleasure.

Simon will find you wherever you're lazing about the house. Drop to his knees. And go to town.

Sucking on your clit until your legs shook, moving his head down to lick the wet slick coming from your hole. The first time he shoved his tongue in your hole to taste more of you? You nearly screamed as you came unexpectedly.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

And the way Simon fucks? You could barely think a coherent thought afterwards.

Sure, the first time you two fucked Simon came almost as soon as he thrust into you. But you couldn't blame him. He was fucking the woman he'd been stalking for over a year. He was bound to get overwhelmed.

Now though, Simon could fuck you for multiple rounds. There'd been times you had to call out of work because you either couldn't walk, or your body was so exhausted afterwards.

And after telling Simon it was okay to fuck you while you were asleep? He was even worse. The amount of times you woke up to Simon fucking into you while cuddling you and drooling into your shoulder was immense. But you loved it.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Simon's favourite part of you being his sweet little stalker, was that sometimes he would tell you he's going out. And then he would see you in the corner of his eye.

But Simon's favouritest part of his favourite part, was when he would go out with his team, and they'd point it out. Unfortunately it only happened a few times. The team getting used to seeing you watching Simon from afar. But whenever Simon noticed you, he got the stupidest smile on his face. Knowing he was definitely going to marry you. Propose to you with a ring where the gemstone was made of his own blood.

"tha' lass been followin' us bar tae bar all nigh'" Soap muttered. The rest of the team being concerned.

"Yeah" Simon grinned dumbly "she's the best ain't she?"

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Simon was just over the moon that you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you. And you moving into his home unannounced had to be the most romantic thing Simon had ever experienced in his life. You were perfect for him.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

Tag list ~ @thefutureastronaut @illyanam1011 @likewhyareyousoobsessedwith-blog @hbaasaad @idknowwhattdowhitmylife @maybe-a-bi-witch @thatpersonnamedrook @miss-chanandler-bong @nicki-lovesolderfictionalmen @baduzzxy @skeletonsucker @drewsuncrustables @milanriol @aceywaycy @jooba @morallygrayboys @logansblackgf @dreamland08 @nicolebarnes @spacecola7 @teapartydreams @callsignao3 @garejuremuzum @laduenadelswing @xxkay15xx @simonsslut @princessbitchybucket @unclearblur @emily-roberts @nightreverie @huehuehuehuehehe @stayblinkarmyatinymoafearnot @wandabillywrites @mcira @klttn @ditzydoefx @vmaxis @keldeleine @persephone-kore-law @adrislibrary @arcvenes @thicksexxualtension @ltrileys @tbhiddlestan83 @lia-36 @happyficlibrary @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @hellshire-harlot @saturnspector @foo1ishs3renity @fishsinsareacknowledged @werebear-roams @cutedumbbunny @masterclassofescapism @lovelylocs @lady-of-death @fwoarmachine

guys I was even super nice and tagged a few reblogs that seemed super into this + made me giggle when reading. So so sorry if some of the tags didn't work/if I forgot someone. Feel free to scream at me in the comments if I did <3

just wanted to credit @feline-flame-fatale for the second last paragraph of this. Their comment was honestly perfect for this. Thank them in the comments RIGHT NOW.

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

I'm sweating yall

Ghost gets no bitches and he reminds me of whatever that TikTok audio is that’s like “how’d you get her?” And the other person is like “get her? No she grabbed me by the throat and told me I was hers”.

Word count: 800

Warnings: none (ghost being immediately whipped)

So hear me out you’re at the grocery store and while walking down the aisles you see this behemoth of a man. Big muscle sexy, surgical mask covering his face. You want. What to say? How should you approach? Ah yes you need help getting something from the top shelf. Stepping so you’re in his line of sight

“Could you come here?” You ask him and he just gives you a blank stare. Raising your eyebrows clearly waiting for a response he turns around looking for who you could be talking to and who is clearly not listening to you. When he sees no one else in the aisle he slowly points at himself, questioning you. “Yes you.” You smile trying to hold in a laugh. Quickly adding a “please” in the sweetest little voice and he is scurrying over to you.

“Could you please reach that box for me?” Ghost raises his arm up and points to a box when you nod confirming that’s the one you want he hands it to you. “That one too please” he obeys. You have him hand you two more boxes (not needing any of them). Then you try to push your luck a little. “Wait not this one” you hand him a box back and he returns it to the shelf. Before you know it you’ve had this man put all the boxes back just to hand them to you again. A smirk plastered on your face. Not once did the large man question you, not when you were looking up at him with those pretty eyes.

“Ok done with this aisle. Come on.” You start walking and his feet are following you. He hasn’t said a word to you but is following you around the store like a puppy. Down the next aisle you pointed at something (well within your reach) and he handed it you.

“Are you always this obedient?” You watched his eyes go wide but he found himself nodding. He’d probably say yes to anything you ask when you’re looking at him like that, like you want to eat him whole. His answer brought a smile to your face and he swore his knees were gonna buckle. You held out your hand, “phone.” It was a statement not a question and he quickly (fumbling) pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to you. When you saw it was locked you looked up at him moving the phone ever so slightly towards him. You had meant for him to take the phone and unlock it but instead he mumbled out “0000” a small but dramatic gasp left your lips “oh so he does speak.” You typed in the 4 digits and the phone opened. You looked up at him when the basic passcode worked. “Simple and obedient. Just how I like ‘em” ghost swallowed hard. No one has ever treated him like this. Spoke to him like this. Not even Price. He should be offended? Insulted? Definitely not turned on. Right? (mark him down and scared AND horny). You handed his phone back to him, your number and name resting on his screen. He reached to take the phone from you, but you didn’t let go. Fingers touching you looked up at him “you better call me. I’ll be real sad if you dont.” He swore he was gonna pass out. Before you let go of his phone, hands still touching, heavy steps made their way into your aisle.

“Aye lieutenant there ye are. Been wandering round lookin fer ya.” Soap called down the aisle.

Ghost refused to acknowledge his friend calling for him, keeping eye contact with you. Your smile got bigger as you let go of the phone.

“Lieutenant huh? That mean you know how to give orders too?” He nodded again. “Then I’m definitely going to need you to call me. I’d like to see that.” Your eyes shamelessly raked down his figure. Fuck he needs to hold on to something.

Once you finally walked away, Soap approached quickly asking who you were and when ghosted shrugged his shoulders “I don’t know.” (But he’s gonna that’s for sure)

“She’s a fine looking lass I’m gonna go talk to her.” Ghost’s hand moved fast, grabbing the back of Soap’s neck guiding (pushing) him in the opposite direction of you. He was thanking god you saw him first and not Soap. If you had talked to Soap like that, ghost knew you’d have him walking on a leash (who’s he kidding if you had asked ghost would’ve barked)

Part 2 Part 2.5

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

ahh throwback to the jumble of words that started it all. when this began, I had no clue it would be any longer than this very short imagine and poorly formatted imagine lmao

more neighbor!reader x simon 'ghost' riley to come, and perhaps one day, it will be an entire fic dedicated to our favorite reader and their military man neighbor

I make no solid promises, seeing as I'm kind of a flaky bitch that disappears from time to time, but alas

love youuuu

also I just half ass rewrote the first bit so surprise you're welcome if you read this far

You had moved into the apartment complex weeks ago, but you had only heard rumors about your absent neighbor that lived in the unit next door to yours. Supposedly, he was a military man on deployment, according to Mrs. Jenkins. Gone a lot, she'd said, but even keeps to himself when he's home.

One afternoon, you finally saw a new vehicle pull into the apartment complex's parking lot out back. Thank goodness it was your day off, and you had been baking for a while now, so you had freshly baked cookies to welcome your neighbor back home. Some were cooling on the counter, some were still in the oven.

You waited about thirty minutes after he got home before you knocked on his door, a small tray of freshly baked, still warm cookies in your hands. You didn't want to come over right away, wanted to give him some time to get situated.

That was when Simon 'Ghost' Riley, still wearing his tactical gear and signature black balaclava, opened his door only to look down at you, a short, wide-eyed woman carrying a small tray of cookies. And somehow, even when you tilted your chin up to look at him more clearly (he was taller than you thought he'd be, but he was still wearing his combat boots, so he was probably at least 6'7) you continued to smile at him as if you weren't afraid of him. Even in his full military gear. Even with his balaclava.

Your eyes made contact with his as you told him your name, your genuine smile never faltering. He could see the sincerity in your eyes. It caught him off guard, big time.

Off his rhythm, he introduced himself to you as "Simon". Not Ghost, not Lieutenant Riley, not Simon Riley. Just Simon.

He blinked, looking down at the tray of cookies in your hands still. "Are those... All for me?"

You chuckled. "Absolutely."

Imagine living nextdoor to Ghost

Imagine only hearing about him from your neighbors down the hall, since he was still deployed when you moved into your apartment

Imagine *finally* seeing a new car pull into the parking lot, and thanking the gods that today was baking day so you had freshly baked cookies for your neighbor. They were still warm, too

Imagine waiting about thirty minutes after he gets home before you knock on his door, a small tray of freshly baked, still warm cookies in your hands

Imagine Ghost opening his door to see you, a strange woman he's never met before (even though you had been living there for months at that point), smiling and with a tray of cookies in your arms. You didn't even flinch at his mask

Imagine introducing yourself to him, your smile never faltering as you tell him your name, looking right into his eyes

Imagine him stammering out his own name, telling you that you can just call him Simon, and by the way, are those cookies for him?

ugh just imagine

next

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

By his estimate, Simon was supposed to have left about thirty minutes ago.

That’s what you did after you had sex and got your rocks off. You get dressed, leave with no fuss as soon as it was over, y’know, and make it a little less awkward than it already was. At least, that’s what Simon always did.

And as always, shit gets flipped on its head when it comes to you.

Thirty minutes ago, he would’ve made it home; he’d have showered, smoked, went to bed, slept like shit, and been ready for the next day. Rinse and repeat. Instead he’s here with you, naked as the day he was born, covered in your sweat and his, covered in your cum and his, and Simon would be a lying bastard if he said he wouldn’t feel a certain way if you kicked him out.

You hadn’t thus far and that’s a good thing. He thinks.

It’s you two, side by side, coming down from that high, body humming from your nighttime activities, and you’re basking in the not-so-awkward silence. He’s staring at the ceiling, you’re probably thinking… or, er, probably not, and Simon’s a little curious but not enough to want to ruin the mood. Which a lie from the pits of hell. You hadn’t moved or said a word, and it’s getting to Simon more than he lets on.

But bloody fuckin’ hell, what do you say after something like this? Thanks for the sex, sweetheart, be seein’ you or Felt good, didn’t it, luv? What about I don’t think I can leave you, let’s go another round so I won’t have to? Jesus Christ, you’re a fuckin’ mess, Riley.

Not that it matters, though, not really, because “nothing ventured, nothing gained” is Simon Riley’s motto when it comes to you and rather than say anything, he simply grabs your hand to gauge the atmosphere. It’s light, gentle, and uncertain, words he’d never use to describe himself but he gets the point across.

After a moment, he figures he miscalculated until you respond in turn, one-upping him and intertwining your fingers together and no, his heart absolutely did not skip a beat. Bloody hell. He turned, glanced down at your hands connected, looked up at you and to his surprise, you met him head on. How long had you been staring at him, sweetheart?

Not that it matters, though, not really, because your face is inching closer and while Simon is many things, ungrateful ain’t one of them, and if you think you’re just gonna leave him with a kiss on the forehead or cheek then you’re sorely mistaken, sweetheart.

But nothing ventured, nothing gained.

And now it’s Simon’s turn to one-up you this time. He meets you halfway, doesn’t give a damn what happens afterward (he does, more than you’ll ever know), and brushes his lips against yours. It’s light, gentle, and uncertain, words he’d never use to describe himself but he gets the point across. And so do you.

Nothing ventured. Nothing gained.

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

if you guys have any requests for anything simon x reader related, feel free to let me know, I'm always looking for different angles than my own brain can come up with. scenarios, headcanons, etc

also ya girl hit over 25000 likes today, whaaaaat and over 900 followers?? you guyssssss

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

It's below below 0°f outside.

It's Trump's inauguration day.

I'm on my period.

Day 3 of being sick.

It's Monday.

😭

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

I've seen so many posts about butcher Simon Riley so... Simon Riley who gives you the best meats whenever you come in. CW : rough sex, mentions of overstimulation, drooling.

Simon notices you immediately the first time you walk in. He completely disregards the ticket system that had been put in place so he could serve you. Causing a few people to groan in annoyance.

Simon ignored them, his brain honed in on your sweet smile and request for a chicken. Now usually, Simon would've nodded, and given you an average one.

"'course darlin'" is what he says instead, finding the best chicken he has in stock and wrapping it up for you. Even giving you a discount.

And after that, you keep coming back. Getting the highest quality meats of whatever you request.

Simon makes sure he's fully stocked with all the meats you buy most commonly. He couldn't bear to see the pout on your face for a second time (the first was enough for him to punch the next customer who gave him attitude, arrogant businessman).

You loved all the meats Simon gave you. You thought it was so kind of him to give you these high quality meats at such a low price.

Your favourite, though? Well it had to be Simons.

It just felt so fucking good as you choked on it, looking up at him with wet lashes, disgusting sounds filling the room that shot straight down to your clit.

But, it felt even better when your thighs were against your chest, the brute of a man above you and pounding into you, over and over and over. Each brush against your g-spot and kiss of his tip on your cervix had pathetic little mewls falling from your lips.

Not that Simon was any better, he was barely able to keep his eyes open to watch your tits bounce with every rough thrust forward, he was growling and drooling. His drool splattering onto your stomach every few seconds.

"S-Simon!" you squeak, your nails clawing at his shoulder blades, almost screaming as he finds a new angle to fuck into you at.

"Tha's it, f-fuck, so goo' lovie" Simon slurred, growling as you came on his cock.

Simon then grabbed you by your ass, hoisting you up and ignoring your yelp. He leaned back on his haunches, now kneeling, and he started thrusting up into you. He was so strong that he was practically bouncing you as you squirmed and whined in overstimulation.

Your body was limp. Dead weight. Yet it didn't deter Simon in the slightest. Before finally, you felt his hot seed spill into you.

So yeah, Simon definitely had the best meat.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

Simon Riley who never gets mad at his wife. No matter how angry he is. CW : None. Pure fluff

Simon was practically fuming. First he'd been ordered by Price to train a group of new recruits, then, the young recruits decided to be a colossal pain in the ass, and to top it off, he'd missed his lunch break where he would normally have some respite by calling you.

So now, he was shouting at the recruits. More than usual. The recruits all looked dead on their feet. But Simon didn't care, they decided to be annoying little pricks. They needed discipline or they'd never make it in the military.

"For fucks sake, you mongrel! Run ten laps!" Simon roared at a recruit, the others looking nervous. Not wanting to be the next one to face Simon.

"Uh, sir?" One of the recruits squeak.

"What?!" Simon roared, the recruit pointing behind Simon.

Simon turned with a low growl, clearly not in the mood for anymore antics, only for him to look down and see you. His wife, in a pretty little sundress and holding a Tupperware container full of something. It didn't matter what was inside, his stomach was growling at the thought of your cooking.

"Swee'heart" Simon sighed in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing and his arms wrapping around your waist. He relished in the squeak that came from you as he lifted you up and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"You alright, big guy?" you giggle. Simon grumbling in agreement. Making you laugh again.

Simon set you down, barking at the recruits to find Price and that he'll be taking over the training, before walking behind you with his hands on your waist to guide you to his office.

"Si, if you're busy I can go" you offer, and Simon can barely handle how fucking sweet you are to him.

Simon shook his head, taking off his balaclava and sitting in his office chair. Pulling you to sit on his lap.

"Made you some cottage pie" you grin, opening the container in your hands and handing it to Simon. God it was still warm. "I thought you were gonna yell at me with how mad you were at the recruits"

"Would never yell at you, princess" Simon said, rubbing your hips as you fed him a forkful of the cottage pie. He groaned at the taste, making you giggle.

"good?"

"so fucking good, lovie. Needed your cooking after how shit today has been" Simon smiled, bringing your left hand to his lips and kissing your wedding ring gently.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

btw guys I pulled white lily cookie and dark cacao cookie while writing this :p

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

simon 'daddy kink' riley

the first time you called him 'daddy' during intimacy, it had been a total accident. your face had turned red as a tomato and your skin as hot as the sun as it dawned on you what you had called your massive and semi-new lover. you had never called anyone that before. you had no idea where it came from.

but Simon didn't seem to give a singular flying fuck as to the reason you called him 'daddy'. he was just glad you did.

immediately, he got with the program. he noticed your flush, but didn't draw attention to it.

"Ya like that, babygirl? You like daddy's big, bad, monster cock stretching your sweet little pussy open as you make those beautiful sounds for me?"

and he didn't slow down. he never slowed down, unless you specifically asked him to.

that had only happened once, because you really thought you were going to pass out from the physical exertion he took being intimate with you. it had only turned him on even more, but he had relented for you.

he'd really do anything for you.

masterlist

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

I still can't believe I wrote this. what was I thinking? and why is it so hot?

author update kinda ish - hello thereee beautiful. apologies for not posting much recently. life is a bit hectic right now, with work and living in part of a house being actively renovated right now.

long story short, I'm in a hotel room for the night with all three of my family's cats. none of them get along. none of them have been away from home since we got them besides when we've gone to the vet.

everything's fine. for sure. we're gettin' through it. I'm just gonna ponder about how simon 'ghost' riley would treat a gal like me on her period.

and did I mention the hotel sheets and towels are all pure white? love that for me.

you might hear more from me tomorrow. my doordash just got here. love you, byeee <3

shower sounds

It was wrong. It was immoral.

But Simon 'Ghost' Riley couldn't help himself. He just couldn't.

You were his neighbor. His sweet, smiling, food-bringing goddess next-door. You had shared conversations with him, a few bottles of wine from time to time, too many cookies for him to count- you shared walls with him.

For the most part, the walls you shared with him weren't a problem. Sometimes you had your TV volume up too loud, sometimes you sang a bit too loudly to whatever music you were listening to, but that never bothered Simon.

Sometimes he could hear your cat jump up to her cat tower. He could always hear (and sometimes feel the vibration) when she would launch her chubby self up to the tower, and the tower would always knock against the wall you shared with Simon. It made him scoff quietly every time. He had a fondness for that fat cat, whether he would admit it out loud or not.

Maybe her owner, too.

His excellent hearing was partially to blame, so he never made it to be a big deal. He never wanted you to know he heard you that much, didn't want to make you feel bad for some reason.

And those noises really weren't all that bad. In fact, he looked forward to hearing those mundane sounds. Sometimes a cupboard would close a bit too loudly; he never imagined you being the type to go randomly slamming cupboards shut, and he would wonder if you were alright. If he didn't hear anything else, he wouldn't worry as much.

It was a different kind of noise that Simon 'Ghost' Riley was bothered by that came from your unit. Noises, rather. And it was always one kind of noise that led to another…

The first time it happened, he felt almost ashamed of himself. Almost. Maybe he'd be more full of shame if he hadn't felt so damn good after.

Simon had been lounging on one end of his couch, TV remote in hand. He was switching between channels when he heard the familiar sound of your shower turning on. 

There was always this almost ringing-like sound that would come through the building's old pipes when the water was on, especially in the showers. The sound was always the same when the shower turned on, though if you adjusted the spray of the shower head, it would become higher or lower pitched depending on the intensity of the stream of water.

He heard you turn on some music before he could hear the shower curtain being drawn back and forth as you probably stepped into the shower, naked-

Simon shook his head, trying to focus back on the task at hand, picking something to watch on TV.

But there was nothing on.

He decided to give up on that. Right after his television went black, he heard the familiar high pitched noise of the building's old plumbing go up a few levels.

Simon wouldn't have thought anything of it if his apartment hadn't been dead quiet, and if he hadn't heard a small moan through the shared wall between you.

Simon's eyes widened as he listened, his ear turned towards the wall now so he could listen more closely. He could hear the harsh spray of your showerhead, his mind racing with what you could be using it for and where the stream was being directed on your body.

He felt a spark of something, and his body began to respond to the intimate sounds you were making that echoed into his apartment through the wall. His breathing began to slow and he closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds. He could hear your soft whimpering and short gasps even clearer now.

A lump began to form in his throat as his body continued to react, his heart racing with excitement. His hand instinctively went to his groin, his fingers tracing the outline of his growing arousal. He knew he shouldn't be standing there, his ear on the wall between you, his eyes closed, listening to you pleasure yourself in the shower-

But he just couldn't help himself. The sounds were drawing him in, making him feel like he was part of something intimate and-

Simon's eyes snapped open, and he moved away from the wall, trying to compose himself. He couldn't believe he was getting turned on by listening to his sweet, adorable, sweets-and-food gifting neighbor getting herself off in the shower. He needed to put some distance between you. He needed to get out of there, to clear his head and calm down.

He had taken the first step to move into another room when he heard a faint whisper through the wall.

"Oh, yeah..."

Back against the wall he was.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He was stuck, his ears glued to the wall, listening to the sounds coming from the other side.

The sounds were getting louder, and Simon could hear you more clearly now. You were whimpering and moaning, your breathing a little shallower now.

He continued to listen, unable to move away. His breathing was ragged and sharp, his body reacting to every single noise on the other side of the wall.

Simon's hand went back down to the waistband of his jeans, his fingers tracing the material. He felt a shiver go down his spine as he realized what he was about to do, but he didn't stop himself.

He unbuttoned his jeans, his hands moving urgently as he listened to the sounds coming from the other side of the wall. He was getting more and more turned on as he heard your moans and whimpers growing louder, the sounds getting more frequent.

He shoved his jeans and boxers down in one swift movement, his other hand grasping his already rock-hard length.

He stroked himself slowly, his hand still pressed against the wall, his ear inches from the spot where your voice seemed to be coming from.

His eyes closed once more as he imagined what you might look like, pleasuring yourself in the shower, as he stroked his throbbing cock, already glistening at the tip with precum.

To keep his own pleasured sounds from getting too loud, in fear that you would hear him and maybe stop, he bit down on his own tongue, quickly tasting copper in his mouth as a muffled groan escaped his lips.

He imagined you in the shower, how wet you must be in so many ways, how slick your skin was as you touched yourself, and how much you wanted this, needed this release just as desperately as he did.

With a low growl, he began pumping his shaft faster, harder as he imagined your wet skin, your curves, your breasts, your ass... He could picture it all so vividly, thanks to the erotic symphony playing through the thin wall separating them.

He was stroking his thick, angry cock faster now, his hips rocking slightly, the sound of his own heavy breathing mingling with the distant echoes of your pleasure-filled cries.

"Fuck," he heard you whisper breathlessly before letting out a soft whine. You were getting close. He could tell.

So was he.

The sound of your moans grew louder, more urgent, and Simon found himself matching the rhythm of your strokes, pumping his own cock in time with your breathy pleas.

His grip tightened around his shaft, the veins bulging as he worked himself closer to the edge. The image of you touching yourself, lost in pleasure, fueled his desire, making him ache to be inside you.

He could almost taste you on his tongue, feel your slick heat enveloping him as he thrust deep. The fantasy was so real, so intoxicating, that he swore he could smell the sweet musk of your arousal carried through the thin partition.

A guttural groan tore from his throat as he quickened his pace, chasing his impending climax. Precum dripped steadily from the tip of his cock, leaving a sticky trail on his fist as he pumped faster, harder.

Then, he heard what he had been waiting for most of all, a sound he knew was coming but wasn't sure what exactly it would sound like. And it was more delicious than he could have ever imagined.

He heard you cry out through the wall, in the shower, as your orgasm washed over you. He really hoped that your sound of released pleasure distracted you enough to not notice his own.

Simon's entire world narrowed to the sound of your climax, a whine that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of his reality. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard, and it shattered his last semblance of control.

He knew he was about to be loud. He needed to do something, fast, that wouldn’t mean biting his tongue or lip off-

Simon bit down on his clothed arm as he came undone, his orgasm ripping through him like a hurricane while the pain from biting his own arm threatened to tip the scales of pain and pleasure towards the former, but maybe that made him like it even more. Hot spurts of cum spurted from his cock, painting the wall he leaned against in thick, viscous streaks. His hips jerked erratically as he rode out the aftershocks, his vision flashing white behind clenched eyelids.

When Simon finally returned to Earth, he was left looking at the aftermath of his actions as he caught his breath, breathing in and out with his eyes closed, still listening intently through the wall just in case you had any more delicious sounds in you.

masterlist

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

shower sounds

It was wrong. It was immoral.

But Simon 'Ghost' Riley couldn't help himself. He just couldn't.

You were his neighbor. His sweet, smiling, food-bringing goddess next-door. You had shared conversations with him, a few bottles of wine from time to time, too many cookies for him to count- you shared walls with him.

For the most part, the walls you shared with him weren't a problem. Sometimes you had your TV volume up too loud, sometimes you sang a bit too loudly to whatever music you were listening to, but that never bothered Simon.

Sometimes he could hear your cat jump up to her cat tower. He could always hear (and sometimes feel the vibration) when she would launch her chubby self up to the tower, and the tower would always knock against the wall you shared with Simon. It made him scoff quietly every time. He had a fondness for that fat cat, whether he would admit it out loud or not.

Maybe her owner, too.

His excellent hearing was partially to blame, so he never made it to be a big deal. He never wanted you to know he heard you that much, didn't want to make you feel bad for some reason.

And those noises really weren't all that bad. In fact, he looked forward to hearing those mundane sounds. Sometimes a cupboard would close a bit too loudly; he never imagined you being the type to go randomly slamming cupboards shut, and he would wonder if you were alright. If he didn't hear anything else, he wouldn't worry as much.

It was a different kind of noise that Simon 'Ghost' Riley was bothered by that came from your unit. Noises, rather. And it was always one kind of noise that led to another…

The first time it happened, he felt almost ashamed of himself. Almost. Maybe he'd be more full of shame if he hadn't felt so damn good after.

Simon had been lounging on one end of his couch, TV remote in hand. He was switching between channels when he heard the familiar sound of your shower turning on. 

There was always this almost ringing-like sound that would come through the building's old pipes when the water was on, especially in the showers. The sound was always the same when the shower turned on, though if you adjusted the spray of the shower head, it would become higher or lower pitched depending on the intensity of the stream of water.

He heard you turn on some music before he could hear the shower curtain being drawn back and forth as you probably stepped into the shower, naked-

Simon shook his head, trying to focus back on the task at hand, picking something to watch on TV.

But there was nothing on.

He decided to give up on that. Right after his television went black, he heard the familiar high pitched noise of the building's old plumbing go up a few levels.

Simon wouldn't have thought anything of it if his apartment hadn't been dead quiet, and if he hadn't heard a small moan through the shared wall between you.

Simon's eyes widened as he listened, his ear turned towards the wall now so he could listen more closely. He could hear the harsh spray of your showerhead, his mind racing with what you could be using it for and where the stream was being directed on your body.

He felt a spark of something, and his body began to respond to the intimate sounds you were making that echoed into his apartment through the wall. His breathing began to slow and he closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds. He could hear your soft whimpering and short gasps even clearer now.

A lump began to form in his throat as his body continued to react, his heart racing with excitement. His hand instinctively went to his groin, his fingers tracing the outline of his growing arousal. He knew he shouldn't be standing there, his ear on the wall between you, his eyes closed, listening to you pleasure yourself in the shower-

But he just couldn't help himself. The sounds were drawing him in, making him feel like he was part of something intimate and-

Simon's eyes snapped open, and he moved away from the wall, trying to compose himself. He couldn't believe he was getting turned on by listening to his sweet, adorable, sweets-and-food gifting neighbor getting herself off in the shower. He needed to put some distance between you. He needed to get out of there, to clear his head and calm down.

He had taken the first step to move into another room when he heard a faint whisper through the wall.

"Oh, yeah..."

Back against the wall he was.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He was stuck, his ears glued to the wall, listening to the sounds coming from the other side.

The sounds were getting louder, and Simon could hear you more clearly now. You were whimpering and moaning, your breathing a little shallower now.

He continued to listen, unable to move away. His breathing was ragged and sharp, his body reacting to every single noise on the other side of the wall.

Simon's hand went back down to the waistband of his jeans, his fingers tracing the material. He felt a shiver go down his spine as he realized what he was about to do, but he didn't stop himself.

He unbuttoned his jeans, his hands moving urgently as he listened to the sounds coming from the other side of the wall. He was getting more and more turned on as he heard your moans and whimpers growing louder, the sounds getting more frequent.

He shoved his jeans and boxers down in one swift movement, his other hand grasping his already rock-hard length.

He stroked himself slowly, his hand still pressed against the wall, his ear inches from the spot where your voice seemed to be coming from.

His eyes closed once more as he imagined what you might look like, pleasuring yourself in the shower, as he stroked his throbbing cock, already glistening at the tip with precum.

To keep his own pleasured sounds from getting too loud, in fear that you would hear him and maybe stop, he bit down on his own tongue, quickly tasting copper in his mouth as a muffled groan escaped his lips.

He imagined you in the shower, how wet you must be in so many ways, how slick your skin was as you touched yourself, and how much you wanted this, needed this release just as desperately as he did.

With a low growl, he began pumping his shaft faster, harder as he imagined your wet skin, your curves, your breasts, your ass... He could picture it all so vividly, thanks to the erotic symphony playing through the thin wall separating them.

He was stroking his thick, angry cock faster now, his hips rocking slightly, the sound of his own heavy breathing mingling with the distant echoes of your pleasure-filled cries.

"Fuck," he heard you whisper breathlessly before letting out a soft whine. You were getting close. He could tell.

So was he.

The sound of your moans grew louder, more urgent, and Simon found himself matching the rhythm of your strokes, pumping his own cock in time with your breathy pleas.

His grip tightened around his shaft, the veins bulging as he worked himself closer to the edge. The image of you touching yourself, lost in pleasure, fueled his desire, making him ache to be inside you.

He could almost taste you on his tongue, feel your slick heat enveloping him as he thrust deep. The fantasy was so real, so intoxicating, that he swore he could smell the sweet musk of your arousal carried through the thin partition.

A guttural groan tore from his throat as he quickened his pace, chasing his impending climax. Precum dripped steadily from the tip of his cock, leaving a sticky trail on his fist as he pumped faster, harder.

Then, he heard what he had been waiting for most of all, a sound he knew was coming but wasn't sure what exactly it would sound like. And it was more delicious than he could have ever imagined.

He heard you cry out through the wall, in the shower, as your orgasm washed over you. He really hoped that your sound of released pleasure distracted you enough to not notice his own.

Simon's entire world narrowed to the sound of your climax, a whine that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of his reality. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard, and it shattered his last semblance of control.

He knew he was about to be loud. He needed to do something, fast, that wouldn’t mean biting his tongue or lip off-

Simon bit down on his clothed arm as he came undone, his orgasm ripping through him like a hurricane while the pain from biting his own arm threatened to tip the scales of pain and pleasure towards the former, but maybe that made him like it even more. Hot spurts of cum spurted from his cock, painting the wall he leaned against in thick, viscous streaks. His hips jerked erratically as he rode out the aftershocks, his vision flashing white behind clenched eyelids.

When Simon finally returned to Earth, he was left looking at the aftermath of his actions as he caught his breath, breathing in and out with his eyes closed, still listening intently through the wall just in case you had any more delicious sounds in you.

masterlist

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

first simon post of the year is cooking. it's not part of the "canon" neighbor!reader series, but au-ish lmao. who knows I might make it canon. keep that in mind. not officially canon.

who am I, having my own canon in a fanfic reader insert short story series about cod characters that I don't even play lmao

also I've never been so morally conflicted about anything I've written so keep that in mind be warned

the title?

shower sounds

also yes it is nsfw and will probably turn you on in an uncomfortable way.

to be posted tonight or tomorrow

love you byeee

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

update to this

shot my shot, went out on a date, then we mutually ghosted each other for over a week

the fanfics are almost shameless okay almost

still about ghost smh

and might change my pfp soon

also might start working pt 8 soon who knows

look at me

shooting my shot

also writing shameless fanfic again

but somehow mostly about this thicc cod guy

what a time to be alive

also my new pfp is my cat theo isn't he the cutest lil guy 🥺

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

neighbor!reader x simon 'ghost' riley pt 7

masterlist

Your neighbor, Simon Riley, didn’t have a clear schedule that he stuck to day to day. That was probably by design, you decided, it matched up with the mysterious descriptor you had placed on him so soon after meeting him. It might have been part of what drew you to him in the first place.

The only time you really knew he’d be home was when you looked through your bedroom window and saw his car parked in the back lot behind your apartment building. It wasn’t that you looked for his car or anything. You just happened to notice it sometimes, and you happened to know it was his.

There was no way he knew you were paying attention to that sort of thing anyway, right?

The weather continued to get colder where you lived. Snow was an almost permanent fixture on the ground now, and there was usually at least one day a week where it would snow more than just a light dusting.

Even on the mornings after a particularly heavy snow, you would always wake up to your vehicle being completely cleared of all snow. It was almost like snow had never even touched your car. How did that even-?

You had an inkling as to who it might have been, but you held your tongue. It was more fun to be in limbo.

It was the time of year that you liked to make your favorite four ingredient toffee, and you especially made it on those long, cold winter’s nights. The nights before you knew it would snow, you always left a good-sized bag of your chocolate-covered toffee on Simon’s welcome mat in front of his apartment door. It was always gone the next morning.

You really hoped it was him taking it, and not some weird welcome-mat pirate this time of year.

The local weather stations were all forecasting a record-breaking snowfall starting late that evening. It was a good thing you were all stocked up on sugar and butter, the main ingredients for the toffee you always gave your mysterious neighbor. As soon as you got home from work that day, you got to work making the largest batch you had ever attempted.

You had four entire baking pans lined with foil and filled with cooling toffee on your counter when you finally decided to look out your window again. It looked almost pure white outside. You stood there for a few seconds, admiring the tranquil scene outside before groaning in realization.

Goddamnit, did you really leave your emotional-support water cup in the car again?

You ended up convincing yourself that your slippers would be good enough to take you to your car in the parking lot. After all, your boots were almost dry on your boot drying rack by the front door. You didn’t want to put on damp boots and get them all snowy again.

Your logic was impeccable. Fuzzy socks and slippers instead of snow boots. You were only going out to your car for one thing, after all. It’s not like you were planning on hanging out outside. In and out, or rather, out then back in.

Out was done, no problem. Your robe was tied snugly against your waist, the hood draped over your head. It wouldn’t be comfortable for long-term outdoor time right now, but for a few minutes, sure.

You made it all the way out to your car, just to realize that your car was locked, and you had left the keys in your apartment. With a groan, you turned back around, your fuzzy socks and robe already wet with falling snow, and made your way back to get your keys.

Keys in hand now, you again made it all the way out to your car without trouble. You walked in grassier areas if you could, but once you got to the actual lot, you couldn’t avoid the ice-covered pavement.

You couldn’t help the small, proud smile on your face at your almost successfully completed mission on your way back to the apartment building side door. You were almost there. Just a few more steps-

Oh, no.

It just so happened that Simon was returning home around that time. In fact, he just so happened to be on his way to the apartment door himself, just ten or so paces behind you. You couldn’t hear him, though, through the sound of the blizzard.

But he saw you. And he saw you start to fall.

Simon wasn’t about to let you hit the ground. Not if he could help it.

He wasn’t sure what came over him.

“What were you thinking, love?”

“S-Simon-? Holy-” Of course. Of course it was him. Of course he was the one that saved you from your icy, painful doom. But he hadn’t just caught you-

You had landed on him. He had dove towards you to keep you from falling on the icy concrete.

“Are you okay?” you asked him breathlessly.

Simon grunted. “That’s what I’m supposed to be asking you. What the hell were you thinking, coming out in a blizzard in a robe and slippers?”

Clearly, you hadn’t been expecting this to happen. And you hadn’t really been thinking when you went out into the blizzard in that attire. But damn it, you really wanted your water cup.

“Don’t tell me you came out here, in that, for the damn cup in your arms…”

Your silence was deafening to his ears, even with the blizzard still storming on in the background. You really didn’t want to confirm or deny his suspicions. Both sounded like a bad idea.

“You’ve got to be kidding me-”

You squeaked in his arms as he shifted to stand up, now holding you against his chest in an almost bridal-type manner. Your free arm wrapped instinctively around his neck, the other still clutching your water cup to your chest.

You thought about telling Simon that you could just walk yourself inside, no problem, but something told you to stay quiet. So you did.

Simon continued to carry you all the way up to your apartment door. He didn’t hesitate before turning the knob, knowing that you would probably have left it unlocked anyway. You half expected your feet to be touching the ground already, but instead, Simon set you down crossways on your couch.

“You got something dry to change into?”

You blinked up at him. “Y-Yeah, in my bedroom-”

He didn’t even let you finish before he was on his way to your bedroom himself, but only after motioning for you to stay put.

A small huff of air escaped your nose as you crossed your arms over your chest, watching Simon walk into your bedroom without a second thought. You were so stunned that you didn’t even care about the state of your bedroom, what you might have left out that morning, if your bed was made or not.

It didn’t seem that Simon would care about those things, anyway. The man was on a mission.

It wasn’t but a minute later and Simon had returned to you. In his arms was your favorite sweatshirt, fuzzy pajama pants, wool socks, and a thick blanket. You figured the blanket was probably just for good measure.

“Here, go ahead and change,” he told you. It almost sounded like a command rather than a suggestion. “I’m going to go make us some tea.”

“Okay- kettle’s on the counter, cups and tea are in the cupboard above it-”

Simon chuckled as he walked from the living room to your kitchen, shaking his head. “I know…”

You waited until he was out of sight to begin changing out of your wet robe and pajamas and into the new, dryer, warmer clothes that Simon had picked for you. By the time Simon returned to you with two mugs of tea in his hands, you were sitting on the couch in your dry clothes, the blanket laid out across your lap.

You couldn’t help but smile up at him. “So first you save me from cracking my head open, and now you bring me tea right to my couch? Am I in the Twilight Zone, Simon?”

Even with his balaclava, you could see him dramatically roll his eyes. “Drink the damn tea, love.”

It was stronger than you expected it to be, and a little bit more bitter than sweet, but you didn’t mind it, honestly. Maybe you could grow to like your tea better this way.

Just how Simon made it for you.

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