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[casiia-fics]

dbf ! simon who picks you up whenever you text him, crying over your asshole boyfriend.

he’ll roll his eyes when you begin to rant, it’s the same issue over and over; lack of communication — how your boyfriend neglects your feelings and goes against his word.

he finds the only way to makes you feel better is to have you sit on his girthy cock. he’ll manspread in the backseat, have you straddle his lap and let you use him til’ you’re crying for him.

“i know, princess.” simon grunts, palming your hips and guiding you up and down his length. “let it all out.”

he frowns when he can hear more of your stuttered sobs than the throaty moans he loves.

wiping your tear stained cheeks, he yanks you into his chest and plants his heels into the floorboards of his beat up truck, lifting you up slightly he begins to piston into you from below — his lips right next to your ear as he talks you through it, his words dirty and slurred as he fucks you til’ you’re dizzy and light headed.

[casiia-fics]

༉‧₊˚. — simon 'GHOST' riley; cooties.

warnings .: x reader, dad simon, afab ! reader, soso much fluff, unedited.

.: masterlist.

imagine simon’s daughter coming home with tears just running down her face, you’re trailing in behind and trying your best to hide your laugh as you console her.

“it’s just a myth, dear.”

but that only makes her cry harder, because she’s 7 and doesn’t know what the fuck a myth is. who is she supposed to believe…her loving mother who raised her and has never lied to her a day in her life, or the girl she’d met just an hour ago on the playground.

“it’s true!” she gasps out, wiping her wet cheeks with her palms, dramatically dragging her hands down her face as another sob wracked her tiny body.

you could only snicker silently as you brushed away baby hairs that clung to her cheeks. frankly, you didn’t know what to say; you’d tried everything to help your daughter and ease her of this new world ending conflict.

simon’s on immediate alert, normally he’s welcomed home with kisses and hugs and bottomless babbles about pointless things. hearing his baby’s loud cry followed by her quick and urgent footsteps makes him panic and his mind instantly goes to the worst.

hurriedly, simon makes his way down the stairs nearly breaking his neck when he trips over a stray toy — but he manages to grab the banister before falling to his death and peaks into the living room.

you’re sitting on the couch with her cradled in your arms, a tender and gentle shush whispered off of your lips as you untangle knots in her hair. your attempts to calm her down don’t, she’s as stubborn as her father, if not more.

“what’s going on, sweet pea?” simon asks, treading carefully as he inches closer to you, his eyes clouded with a mix of worry and question.

before he can sit down, the girl in your arms shrieks so loud he can hear it ringing in his temple. wincing at the loud intrusion, simon watches as his daughter shoots from your arms all the way across the living room, her back pressed to the wall and eyes wide with what seems to be horror.

now simon’s afraid, is there something on his face? did he forget to shave? is he even simon?

you only snort behind your palm, furrowing your eyebrows and returning back to your playful yet serious expression. “go on, babygirl. tell dad what she said.”

his heart is hammering in his chest now, what did she say — who are you talking about?

and he doesn’t know if that scream altered him deaf but all he can see is her lips moving. the sound of your quiet giggles calms him though, and you have to ask her to say it again.

“she said boys have cootie!” she screams, looking horrified — looking at her dad as if he’d grown a third head and eaten all of her halloween candy.

simon begins to open his mouth to say something, something along the lines of “who fuckin’ told ya that.” although the more he thinks it over he’s compelled to play into the roll. he pauses for a moment, concentrated on weighing out the pros and cons.

on one hand, it breaks his heart to see his girl avoiding him like this. going to the edge of the earth just to distance herself from him. crying out because her world is shattered, her dad? having cooties? what nonsense.

on the other hand. simon’s been hearing about this ‘jack’ boy that she’s been in love with on the playground, he even proposed to her with a fucking stick. his daughter can do better than that. and hell, she’s too young to be dating, she doesn’t even know her alphabet!

so with some quick thinking a small smile paints his lips, he opens his arms and watches as she hesitantly takes a step forward. his heart leaps at that, she’s willing to catch a fake disease of cooties just for a daily hug from her father.

“boys do have cooties, but not me, see this?” he reaches inside of his shirt and pulls out the dog tag that hangs around his neck, he gives it a nice tug and smiles a bit. “it’s cootie-repellent.”

another step, hesitant but slowly the small girl is inching away from the wall and closer to the awaiting arms of her dad. “r-really?” she asks, a hiccup following her shaky breath as she calms down.

simon only nods, he’s grateful that your daughter isn’t one to question much. a hard believer in anything she hears, to this day she still believes that fairy’s live in the freezer. he’s not sure what story he would make up if she began questioning him, maybe something with fairies. they were always his go to.

“y’want it?” simon begins to take the necklace off, holding it out to her. shes just an arms reach away, but she’s curious.

“yes.” she mumbles, her heartbroken expression from moments ago turning into that beaming smile that warms simon’s chest. “i’ll give it to jack!”

simon stills. fuck. no way was he going to lose his girl this soon. “nuh uh.” he laughs, quickly tucking the chain back under his shirt and pulling his daughter into his chest.

you watch as he ruffles her hair, her muffled screams falling onto deaf ears as she squirms and punches her dad, begging for him to let go. simon only tightens his arms around the flailing girl, peppering kisses all over tear stained face, watching her once glossy eyes crinkle with joy at her dad’s affection.

thank god for cooties.

[casiia-fics]

༉‧₊˚. — johnny 'SOAP' mactavish; as a joke.

warnings .: smut, mdni 18+, afab ! reader, drunk fucking, car sex.

.: masterlist.

soap who fucks you as a joke… it started off with playful banter, lingering touches now and again, painful and sometimes awkward eye contact.

but all it takes is one drunk night and he’s asking you how you’d feel if he took you right now, crammed in the backseat of your car.

“it’ll help us sober up, c’mon.”

as a joke, he’s moving from the passenger seat and manspreading in the back, patting his lap with an inviting smirk. he shifts his hips up and nods his head back when you hesitate, a slurred tease mumbling from his lips, his accent ringing thick. “c’mere doll, what’s the harm?” 

and as a joke, johnny is muttering sweet nothings in your ear and guiding you down onto his cock, his fingers softly squeezing your waist. he watches with a watering mouth, the way his girth stretches you out and the ring of cream that builds around the base of his shaft.

he’s encouraging – praising you, looking up at you with a cocky smirk as you bounce on his cock with need, your head bumping against the top of the car with a barely audible thump. his eyes roll into the back of his head when you clench around him, his breath lost in his throat. he can barely think, and the windows begin to fog, the car shaking from your vigorous grinding.

he claims that he’s only joking when he says your pussy was made for him; he's just kidding around when he mumbles how he has wanted this so bad. all you can think about is the way he's taking control and fucking up into you, only the sound of your wet cunt and his low grunts reaching your ear.

[casiia-fics]

༉‧₊˚. — KEEGAN p. russ; just a massage.

warnings .: x reader, smut, mdni 18+, female reader, prone-bone, speed bump, female anatomy, slightly unedited.

.: masterlist.

keegan who has your stomach pressed into the mattress, his thick thighs straddling the back of yours. his calloused hands are slipping under your shirt and you have to remind him that it’s just a massage.

he claims he knows, and says that your clothes are getting in the way. so you let him remove your shirt, his thumbs putting pressure on the spots that you complained about.

and when you moan into the sheets, he pushes down on you harder. arching your back into the bed and pressing his aching groin against your ass.

keegan keeps one hand on your back, keeping you still while his other one yanks down your pants.

you’re whining and squirming under him, knowing where this is going. you voice that you’re tired and too sore for this, to which he just coos and teases his index finger into your tight hole.

he’s mumbling into your ear — “i’ll take care of you.” “i’ll make the pain go away.” and he sounds so genuine, so needy. he’s slipping another finger into you, a cocky smirk on his face. you were so wet for him and he starts to think it’s because of the way his hands squeezed you, traveling down your skin and groping you lower down your back than you intended for.

your thighs squeeze together, and you have a pillow covering your face, muffling the moans that uncontrollably spill from your lips as your orgasm approaches. keegan only shakes his head at this, pulling his fingers out and holding you down.

you’re whining again, pleading for him to do something. he squeezed your hips apologetically, although his voice feigns any sign of sympathy. “you know the rules, bad girls don’t get to cum.”

and you feel tears run down your cheeks, exhaustion and an uncomfortable feeling settles in your stomach. you beg for him to help you, make you feel good so you can go to sleep.

how can he not listen to your pleas, he can’t just leave his girl in pain. so he’s leaning over to press kisses to your shoulders, his hands massaging at your lower back. you’re crying under him, the pain from your muscles almost too much to bear.

but suddenly his hard cock is slapping against your folds, smearing your juices in between your thighs. his fat tip nudges your clit and you gasp, your hips pushing back into him.

he allows you to do so, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. keegan’s mumbling almost incoherently about how he’ll take so much care of you, make you forget about the pain, and fuck you so good you’ll fall asleep.

you hope that he keeps to his word, the feeling of his girthy cock slipping into your tight cunt makes you forget all about the pain that ran through your body. he doesn’t stop until he’s pushed all the way inside of you, the only thing you can focus on is the way your walls stretch to accommodate his size.

his chest is pressed against your back and you can hear his shaky breath, his kisses the top of your head, saying that it’s gonna be okay, and you’re gonna feel so good. he can’t help himself when you’re begging for it again, needing him and his touch.

so he’s thrusting into you at a pace that is no longer as sweet as his words or kisses. his head dropping into the crook of your neck, he’s pushing himself so deep inside of you that your brain goes all fuzzy. the only thing on your mind is keegan and how he’s stuffing you full.

AN: quick lil drabble cuz i hurt my back sooo bad yesterday and i've been thinking about this. someone lmk if this is ooc for keegan, i was kinda nervous to post this!!

[casiia-fics]

bubble bath with simon 🙏🏽😫

— ༉‧₊˚. simon 'GHOST' riley; rainy days.

warnings .: x reader, smut, mdni 18+, afab ! reader, choking, kinda pervy simon, heavily unedited.

.: masterlist.

when simon opens the door alarm bells run through his head. the first thing he sees is you; standing in front of him with mascara running down your blushed cheeks. you’ve been crying? he’s trying to think about what he could’ve done to make you this upset, normally you’d just call him and give him a piece of your mind — but never show up at his front door.

that’s when he takes in the rest of your appearance, damp hair, and a white top that’s clinging to your chest. he swallows and follows the curve of your breast, the material had turned translucent and he can see your hard nipples.

it takes every bone in his body to tear his eyes away and look back up to your face, and immediately he’s relived. although he’s been caught in his pervy stare, you’re not mad at him. a smirk grows on your puffy lips as you push past him, getting out of the rain that patters at his windows. you rub your hands up and down your arms hoping that it’d soothe the cold that’s washed over you — but you’re only squeezing your breast together, and simon kisses his teeth.

you had woken him up from a nap with your obnoxious knocks, so he was well aware of the ‘morning wood’ that you were glancing down at. simon’s brain was still all fuzzy, he couldn’t decipher if he was still dreaming or if you were actually standing in his living room. fully dressed but completely exposed to him.

he watched as you kick your shoes off, and dramatically flopping down onto his leather couch. panic surges through him again; did he forget about plans you made?

your outfit was anything but fancy, so nothing too important. his tight shoulders ease when he finally hears your voice. “i missed you.”

he’s not in trouble. simon rubs his eyes and almost sighs in relief. his gaze catches onto your cheeks, the smudged mascara making his brain go wild. he knows it was from the rain, but he wants to imagine that it was from his dick.

stuffing your mouth full of his cock, tears brimming your eyes as you gag on it. he has a fist full of your hair, watching the mascara run down your cheeks as he fucks your face.

his balls tighten and he can’t look at you anymore. not when you’re lying on his couch and leaving little to the imagination — your knees knocked apart, and your arms stretched above your head.

simon's been standing in the same spot since he opened the door. he hasn't said a word, you'd think he hasn't acknowledged you or your abrupt presence. but that is far from the opposite — simon's been admiring you from the moment he saw you standing in the rain. his mind clouded with lust and love; how effortlessly beautiful you are, how your eyes gleam in the dimly lit sky. with droplets of water running down your forehead, and makeup smudged on your skin, he can't believe you're his. and he wants you.

"simon?"

he blinks, and you're standing in front of him with your head tilted to the side. your cold fingers sliding under his wife beater, he shivers and rolls his shoulders back.

you can feel the goosebumps on his skin as you continue to trace along his defined muscles, your lips turn up when you feel him flex under your touch. he still hasn't said a word to you, just staring at you with his jaw clenched.

"you sore, baby?" you asks, removing your hands from under his tank and rubbing up and down his biceps. you squeeze his arms lightly and flutter your eyes up to meet his. a dazed glare.

you can only scoff light heartedly when he still doesn't open his mouth to reply. you know he knows what you're doing, you just can't tell if it's going in your favor or not.

technically you didn't lie. you did miss him, but you couldn't stop thinking about his throbbing cock and how much you missed being stuffed full of him. he'd been working so much recently, only meeting you at your place for dinner or a quick conversation. simon had been neglecting you, whether he knew it or not. so it'd be dumb of you to not come over on his only day off.

you pinch him lightly, with a pout. "earth to simon, are you even listening to me?"

simon only swallows when he looks down at you, your arms crossed over your chest. a cute little frown playing on your lips, he wants nothing more than to shove his fingers or his aching cock into that bratty mouth of yours.

"you're going to get a cold." he finally says. motioning towards your soaked clothes, and he bites the inside of his cheek when he sees your almost bare breast. they're teasing him in the worst way possible, he wants to rip that sheer shirt off and suck on your taut nipples. but he can't.

"take a bath with me, then?" you asks, chewing on your bottom lip. you're dragging him through the house by the hem of his shirt. and he before he knows it, you're stripping in front of him.

he must still be dreaming, he doesn't want to look away — afraid that if he even blinks he'll wake from what surely must be a dream.

you are bent over the tub and squeezing a bottle of one of your soaps into the running bath. you squeeze your thighs together, and look back at him from over your shoulder. "y'just gonna stand there?" you're teasing him, and normally he would do something about that, but he's confused. did you come over in the rain to fuck?

his question is answered when you tug his boxers down, your thumb brushing the precum that dribbles from his slit. simon hisses before grabbing your wrist, squeezing it lightly. you only roll your eyes and shake his grip off, pulling his wife beater off and nudging him towards the bubble filled tub.

simon sinks into the large bath, his arms hanging over the rim as he waits for you to join him. water spills over the edges as you sit in front of him, but he doesn't care. not when your ass is pressing into his throbbing cock.

you moan softly, leaning back into his chest. you rest your head on his shoulder and turn to kiss his collarbone. shifting in his lap, you nonchalantly grind against him.

"you're a naughty lil' thing," simon grunts. his hands sink under the water and squeeze your hips roughly, stilling your movement. he kisses the shell of your ear before letting one of his hands travel between your thighs.

you inch your hips forward, grabbing his hand and guiding it to your clenching cunt. "i don't know what you're talking about." you mumble, grunting when he squeezes your inner thigh.

"i don't like liars." simon tuts in your ear, and his other hand sneaks towards your front. wrapping his fingers around your throat, he squeezes lightly and taps your jugular with his index finger. "you missed me?"

a whimper slips from your parted lips, and you're suddenly very aware of his large erection that presses into the small of your back. "i missed you, needed you." you mutter, your words are raspy from his his hand around your neck.

"needed me," simon repeats. and as much as he wants to tease you —to break you, he needs you just as much.

under the water, he slips his fingers between your fold. at your sharp gasp, he continues; rubbing your clit with his thumb, he presses his middle finger against your hole.

"p-please." you plead, your back arching off of his chest causing water to splash around in the tub. bubbles cover your breasts and collarbone.

simon only hums, he slips two fingers into your clenching cunt. removing his hand from around your neck, he trails it down to your chest and rolls your nipple between his index and thumb.

burying your face into the crook of simon's neck, you whine when he curls his fingers inside of you. squeezing your thighs together around his forearm, you babble incoherently into his damp skin. his pace is slow and controlled, just how you like it. his thumb is firm as he rubs slow circles and patterns along your puffy clit.

your orgasm comes much too quickly, and you're slouched against his chest. your breath is shaky and when he begins to move from behind you your eyes widen, "w-wait, give me a second." you say, and you can feel simon tugging you up from the warm water.

"enjoy your break, 'cause you're not gettin' any sleep t'night."

[casiia-fics]

༉‧₊˚. — simon 'GHOST' riley; deep breath.

warnings .: x reader, afab! reader, suggestive (just a kiss but still), mdni 18+, piercer simon, use of y/n, unedited.

.: masterlist.

the rhythmic hum of tattoo machines and the faint sound of chatter filled the air as you stepped into the studio; ghost canvas. you had booked an appointment with simon riley, intrigued by his work. known for his painless piercings and intricate fine-line tattoos, making him very well-known in the industry.

you had originally booked an appointment for another ear piercing, a helix that would go with the other assortments of jewelry already shining your ear. excitement and nervousness mingle through your stomach as you glance around the studio.

an ambient light flickers around each furniture corner, keeping the place dim and allowing natural sunlight to filter in through the sunroof. the walls were adorned with vibrant artwork, most of which are messy and clean-looking oil paintings. various band tapestries also hung from the walls, rock bands; nirvana, metallica, and deftones being a majority of the decor. 

you settled into the waiting area after checking in, and the receptionist behind the counter shot you a kind smile and let you know that your piercer, simon, would be ready soon. you had been a little late for your appointment, struggling to find parking, and he had taken another client waiting for you.

you shifted in your seat, the leather cool against your bare skin. you pulled the hem of your skirt down, before winding your hands in your lap. your eyes wandered around the room, and you couldn’t help but admire the diverse clientele that flowed in and out of the studio. each person was leaving or coming in with a unique mark, a testament to simon’s expertise. 

the longer you waited, the more nervous you began to feel. you had gotten piercings before, but each time you found yourself chewing on your lip in anticipation. pain was never your friend, and your tolerance for it was always low ever since you were a kid. tears would well in your eyes with every papercut you got, even now as an adult. 

“y/n? simon’s ready for you.” the receptionist calls out, guiding you into another small room. she looks at your fidgeting fingers and gives you another reassuring smile. “no reason to be nervous. just sit tight for a second, and he’ll be here to show you our selection of jewelry.” she encourages before shutting the door behind her and leaving you in the small room. 

it’s decorated very similarly to the lobby, except instead of oil paintings, there’s a various amount of skull decor littering the room. paintings, sculptures, and in a glass case on a counter sat a small dinosaur skull.

you felt a chill run down your spine; there was almost no color in the secluded room. everything was dull black and white, and the walls were even painted a dark gray. the only thing that stood out was you, sitting on the large black chair in your bright little pink skirt. 

you’re pressing your thighs together, your legs absentmindedly swinging as you wait for simon. you had heard about him from instagram, the wild comments that raved about his work while some raved about his looks. curiosity got the best of you and with his studio only a couple blocks from your place, what was there to lose?

“are you my two o'clock?”

you hadn’t even realized that the door opened, a tall man stepping inside and shutting it with a soft click. even with you sitting on the elevated chair, he loomed over you. his tall build complimented with muscles that bulged out of his tight-fitting black shirt. 

“i am. y/n, it’s nice to meet you.” you look up at him with a friendly smile, sticking your hand out for him to shake. when he does, you find yourself biting the inside of your cheek.

romance comedies always made you laugh; you never believed in love at first sight or a spark that ran between the two lovers when they first touched. but you couldn’t help but like how your hand fitted in his, his palm warm and much larger than yours. you could feel his calloused fingers squeezing your soft skin, an intimate touch that made you want more.

“simon.” the corner of his mouth barely turns up, but he’s looking down at you with a cocky look. he squeezes your hand again, and you're reminded that you should have let go by now. 

a blush paints your cheeks, causing you to look away from him and down at your lap. he clears his throat, and you can tell he wants to laugh, which only adds to your embarrassment.

“what kind of piercing are you planning on getting today?” he asks, going over to his jewelry display and bringing it to you. your eyes flicker into the clear box before looking back at him.

“just an ear piercing, a helix.”

he nods, reaching over and pushing your hair back. he looks at your ears, already littered with piercings, and he only nods again. “let me know which stud you’d like, and i’ll get it sanitized for you.”

as you continue to look through the assortments of jewelry, a frown forms on your lips. not to say that you were picky, but nothing seemed to catch your eye. the various amounts of gold and titanium all the same, dull in color, and wouldn’t match the theme of your ears. 

simon glances over your features as you’re focused on the display in front of him; you are beautiful and unlike any of his other clients. 

“i think i may have something that you’d like,” simon says, his voice sounding softer than before. he almost grins when you look up at him, your head tilting to the side in confusion. 

he’s kicking himself for wondering why you’re making him all comfortable; he was never one to want to be close to his clients. he’s leaning into you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear and tilting your head with his thumb. his eyes linger on your lips, and he wants to push his thumb into your mouth, just wanting to see how you’d look. although quickly, he turns his attention back to your ears, noticing the array of star and moon jewelry that piece together perfectly. 

“i knew i was saving this for someone,” he mumbles, pulling away from you. he steps back over to his cabinet of jewelry, putting the clear case of boring studs back before grabbing a new one. “do you like any of these?”

your attention flickers down to the mini box he held in one hand, the case no larger than a ring box. inside sat a small star stud, its coloring a soft rose gold. instantly a smile finds your lips, and you’re nodding up at him with thankful eyes. “i love it.”

“great, give me a second, and i’ll get it cleaned up for you.”

as simon turns around to sanitize the stud, your gaze is glued to his back. the way his muscles flex under his shirt with every subtle move or the intricate tattoos that litter over his arms. it doesn’t look like he has any piercings, his face, and ears completely untouched. makes you wonder why he’s also taken in the profession of piercing; from just a glance, anyone can tell he’s much more into the art of inking. 

silence fills the room as you patiently wait; only the muffled sound of rock music from the lobby eases your nerves. he turns back to you, snapping black gloves onto his hands. “how is your pain tolerance? are you prone to fainting?” he asks, his tone almost monotone as he repeats the same precautionary questions that he has to ask every day. 

“i never faint, but i’m not too good with pain.” you reply, your hands now gripping the edge of your seat beside your thighs. “kinda why i booked with you, heard you make ‘em painless.”

he gives you a reassuring smile, pride starting to swell in his chest. “s’that why you booked with me?” simon couldn’t help but feel grateful that you’d made an appointment with him because of his skill and not his looks. most of his clients booked with him because of his reputation of being attractive, and even if you silently agreed with them, the fact that you didn’t voice it and belittle his career surprised him pleasantly. 

you nodded, swallowing thickly when he took a step closer. he’s telling you to relax, that he’s just gonna mark you, but you only find your breath hitching when he invades your personal space. he knocks your knees apart, making you spread your legs for him as he stands between them. he has your chin held between his fingers in one hand while the other is pushing your hair back again and pressing the tip of the toothpick into your skin, leaving a dot of purple ink at the top of your ear.

you can feel his warm breath fanning against your cheek, and your thighs try to close together, squeezing his hips. you have one hand on his chest, balancing him in an attempt to distance yourself. your other hand is gripping at the hem of your skirt, pulling it down as it rides up from your spread legs. 

“tell me if you like it.” simon whispers right by your ear, seeming to forget about the proximity. and just like before, he’s pulling away from you. allowing you to suck in a shaky breath. 

you didn’t think that this would be so intimate, and you wondered if simon was always like this or if he just liked the way you trembled beneath him. 

he hands you a small mirror and motions for you to look at the mark, “i wouldn’t recommend moving it, it would clash with your other jewelry.”

you agree with him, handing his mirror back and shifting once more in your seat. as much as you wanted him to lean into you again, to feel his breath across your face, you wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. your attraction towards him is growing far too fast.

he hums, stepping towards you again, in the same spot between your legs. “lean back for me, sweetheart.” he mumbles, pushing you down into the seat. he’s bending over you and wiping your ear with an alcohol wipe, a cocky smirk on his lips when he feels your thighs squeezing into his hips again. 

the nickname catches you off guard, and now with you stuck underneath him, your nerves begin to eat at you. not because you’re worried about the pain or the piercing but because he’s playing with you now. 

“alright sweetheart, you’re only gonna feel a pinch. are you ready?” simon’s pulling back and looking at you, his eyes tracing your expression and looking for any sign of regret or hesitation. 

“i’m ready,” you mumble, your palms pressing into your stomach. you’re a little nervous, but you don’t find yourself running away. he’s tilting your head again, pressing into you with a babble of reassuring statements. 

“deep breath in for me.”

before you know it, the needle glides through your ear with minimal discomfort. it’s been your most painless piercing yet, and you understand why simon has the reputation that he does. 

“good job, love. did so good.” he praises you, sliding the jewelry into place and leaning back to look at you. his adoration fuels an ache between your legs, and you whine just under your breath. 

simon pulls off his latex gloves and presses his hands into your seat, dangerously close to your thighs. “how’d that feel?”

“amazing, you’re really good at what you do,” you say, sitting up in your seat. you tilt your head with a smirk, realizing that he still has you caged into the cushiony chair, unable to maneuver away.

he grins at your words, his tongue pushing on the inside of his cheek before he licks his lips. the ball of his tongue piercing, shining in the light only for a second. “thank you.” 

you don’t even register his appreciation, your mind clouding with the thought of his hidden piercing. “did it hurt?” unable to resist the urge, you voice your curiosity. 

“hm?” simon hums, a chuckle spilling from his lips. “when i fell from heaven?”

you snort, shaking your head. “no, your tongue piercing.” 

simon riley’s eyes meet yours with a mischievous glint; he flashes you a confident smile. his lips parted slightly, revealing the small but distinctive piece of jewelry. you find yourself leaning closer to him, watching as he teasingly slides the ball of his tongue piercing against his teeth. the sound, a gentle click, echoed in the intimate space.

“no,” he mutters, lifting your chin as you lean into him. his free hand going to your hip, squeezing it softly. 

“w-what does it feel like?” 

he hesitates momentarily, seemingly torn between professionalism and the impulse to share a more personal moment. he knows that his attraction is not one-sided, the way you’ve been eyeing him was an obvious sign. you didn’t shy away from his extra touches or the nicknames he whispered in your ear.

“want to find out?” he’s leaning in impossibly closer now, his lips ghosting over yours. and when you nod, he smiles, pressing his lips to yours. 

his grip on your chin tightens, his tongue pushing past your lips and into your mouth. you gasp softly, the feeling of his cold piercing rubbing against your tongue a feeling you’ve never experienced before. you moan into his mouth when his large hands travel down to your waist, tugging you into his chest; your legs wrap around his waist, and you shamelessly swallow his tongue as he shoves it down your throat. 

a knock at the door pulls the two of you apart, breathy gasp and panting quietly filling the room. simon still has that cocky smirk painted on his lips, his chest heaving as he pulls away, “that’s what it feels like.”

he answers his door, leaving you a flustered mess; you quickly gather your things and grab your bag from the floor. you can hear his receptionist telling him that his next appointment is here, and you feel so stupid. reality knocking the air from your lungs, you had just kissed simon, a stranger that you’d only met a couple minutes ago. you shouldn’t expect more, he merely answered a question that you asked. 

before you can push past him and out the room, he grabs your wrist, his grip tight. “wait,” simon sighs loudly, pulling you back into him before sliding his business card into the waistband of your skirt, “call me if you have any…questions.”

AN: republishing this with no changes because oh well, i also love being delusional cuz i lowkey fell in love with my piercer.

[casiia-fics]

༉‧₊˚. — simon 'GHOST' riley; newlyweds.

warnings .: x reader, smut, mdni 18+, afab! reader, v! penetration, heavily unedited

.: masterlist.

simon was not thrilled when you told him you didn’t want to sleep with him before the wedding, something about it being “bad luck”. at first he didn’t understand but he was willing to oblige, sleeping in the guest room didn’t sound too bad; although he didn’t like the idea of sleeping in a cold bed while you were just a room away — but fighting with you was never a battle he won. 

except, when you clarified that you didn’t want to ‘fuck’ before your wedding, he was not having it. he couldn’t stop the baffled laugh that slipped from his lips. it didn’t make sense, you weren’t a virgin; he had the pleasure of stuffing you full of his cock many times while dating. to say he was confused was an understatement. 

but, what the bride wants, the bride gets. so weeks go by where simon has to take care of his growing problem by himself; just to tease you, and hopefully make you regret your decision, he’ll get off in bed, right before you go to sleep. 

simon will have you watch the way he tugs at his cock with need, his head tilted back with grunts and an uneven breath. his chest heaving as thick ropes of his cum spurt onto his exposed abdomen. he’ll give you a sly smirk before climbing out of bed, his boxers tugged up but hanging too low revealing his v-line. 

it takes everything in you to stick to your word, watch every night as simon adds the lewd task into his daily routine. eventually, he’s the one that breaks, the way he stumbles into your shared bedroom and finds you with a hand between your thighs – his name spewing from your lips when you catch sight of him.

he wishes he could say ‘i told you so’ when you’re begging for him, needing to relieve the ache that’s been dwelling in your tummy for so long. he takes one look at your sopping cunt and wonders how long you’ve been trying to stuff your fingers inside of you knowing that they couldn’t reach that gummy spot only he could. 

simon shakes his head with a chuckle, taking his time to settle himself between your legs. he kisses your knees, hiking them over his shoulder and winding his arms around your thighs to keep you still. with his thumbs, he’s spreading your folds – a teasing tut and tilt of the head are all you need from him to know that he’ll never let you hear the end of it. 

he has to swallow a groan, hard eyes glued to your leaking hole. your juices dribbling from your cunt and dripping onto the bedsheets. “you sure you wanna keep up with your stupid idea? i can make you feel good, take care of you the way you need.” simon asks, almost begging for you to quit being stubborn this once and let him relieve you – to let him fuck you stupid so he can spill his cum deep inside of you instead of wasting it and wiping it off of his chest with a towel. 

he just wants to feel your tight cunt wrapped around him, hear your moans as his fat tip nudges against that one spot that makes your walls flutter around his cock. simon’s rutting his hips into the mattress, too lost in his lewd thoughts to hear you reject his suggestion. when he does he’s dropping his head with a low growl. 

he never thought he would hate your friends, but he could kill the person who told you about this stupid suspicion. simon is a good boyfriend, he’ll show you how good of a husband he will be too. reluctantly accommodating to your wishes, he stuffs his fingers inside of you instead of his throbbing cock.

oddly enough, he finds himself loving this more. the way your slick coats his hand – his engagement ring. simon is moaning at the sight, his simple soon-to-be wedding band glistening in the dim light as he finger fucks your tight hole. 

“aw, honey. s’too much?” he coos, curling his fingers inside of you and pressing his thumb to your clit. he nips at the inside of your thigh and grins at the way your legs tremble, your back arched off the mattress. with his free hand he wraps it around your wrist, squeezing it lightly so you’d loosen your tight grip on the bedsheets below. intertwining your fingers with his, he works you up to another orgasm, talking you through it.

“just like that, baby.” “cum all over my fingers, soak this pretty lil’ ring.” 

as much as he enjoys fingering you with his ring on, he loves it when you take a bit of control and take care of him the same way. rubbing over his clothed erection with your left hand, the big diamond on your engagement band looking small next to his sore, hard cock. 

simon’s eyes flutter when you squeeze his shaft, precum leaking from his slit and slowly dribbling over your fingers – over your ring, coating the big diamond. he’ll guide your hand up and down his shaft urging you to go quicker, he loves the way your soft hands feel compared to his calloused ones.

 he’s bucking his hips upwards into your hand, his head tilted back while he’s whining desperately. simon normally keeps his noises under control but he hasn’t felt your touch in so long.

“fuck, a-ah. can’t wait to marry you and fuck you right.” 

his breath hitches when you squeeze his angry red tip, the cool metal of your ring rubbing against his slit. with a deep groan he’s cumming all over your hand; watching with wide eyes, the way your fingers play with his hot, sticky cum. 

after your wedding ceremony, simon drags the both of you into the bathroom. shamelessly, he’s bending you over the sink, unzipping his trousers, and hiking your wedding dress up. 

“si, we can’t. people are waiting for us.” you squeal when he snaps the garter against your thigh, his rough hands squeezing your hips and pulling your thong down. simon only rolls his eyes, leaning down and spitting on your exposed pussy. he rubs his cock between your folds, using his spit as a lubricant.

“they can wait, m’gonna take care of my wife first.”

how could you say no, especially to your husband?

AN: i know nothing about weddings or marriage, but i heart hubby si

[casiia-fics]

༉‧₊˚. — simon 'GHOST' riley; his girls.

warnings .: female reader, the SMALLEST bit of angst, just a lot of overly detailed domestic simon. baby daddy simon who is still in love with you! maybe ooc. unedited cuz :p

note .: ty baby suz for reading it over!! @dr4kenz <;33

.: masterlist.

baby daddy ! simon who walks with his daughter to school for her first day, he’s has her small disney-themed backpack tugged onto his shoulder, the straps too small and digging into his skin. but he doesn’t care. his other hand is accompanied by your daughter, her small fingers looped around only his index.

she’s babbling about random things, how excited she is to make new friends, the ladybug who landed on her shoulder and gave her good luck, how she’s going to pick out new hair clips when you take her to the mall later today.

she’s jumping around — her light-up shoes blinking wildly with every exaggerated step, and simon hovers his arm close behind her in case she slips and falls.

“you don’t have to, it’s early in the morning, and i know you’re busy,” you mumble over the phone, pressing the device between your ear and shoulder. you’re cursing softly, trying to fix up your daughter’s lunch while trying not to burn her special breakfast, the blueberry pancakes that you dyed purple with food coloring, a tradition she started when she first started pre-school. since then, as good luck, she would stuff herself with the artificially colored pancakes for the first day of school.

from the other line, simon can hear all the commotion, and he’s already slipping out of his pajamas and into warmer clothes. “how ‘bout i come over and help her get ready?” his question is more of a loose remark. he’s already heading down the stairs to slip his shoes on.

you hiss loudly, your hand brushing against the hot kettle you had put on for your cup of tea. “no, i couldn’t ask you to do that.” you set your phone down and put it on speaker, sighing loudly when the flames flicker over the pan. you had burnt her pancakes and would have to make them again. “just go back to sleep.”

“i’m already on my way,” simon grunts, the cold air slapping him in the face as he steps outside and into his car. “miss that little bug,” he utters, keeping you on the phone as he begins to drive. if he’s being honest, your frantic voice eases him a bit; it reminds him that he is still needed despite your relationship. whenever things get too rough for you, there’s not a moment of hesitation when you call him, and although you deny any attempts of his help, he knows that you’re just being stubborn. 

his drive to your place is short; he’s fishing into his pocket and pulling out the spare key you gave him. a childish giggle and tiny footsteps greet him before he can fully open the door, small arms wrapping around his leg. 

“daddy!” the young girl squeals, her arms hugging his thigh tighter as she forcefully drags him through the door. simon’s lips turn up in a soft smile, and he kicks his shoes off and picks up his daughter. “hey, kid. you givin’ mama a hard time?” 

the stubble on his chin tickles her when he presses a wet kiss to her cheek, another giggle rising from her chest. simon hoists her onto his hip, holding her close as he walks into the house to find you. 

for a moment, he watches you as you continue to busy yourself in the kitchen. pajamas loosely hanging from your body, your hair pulled into a messy bun – strands slipping from the rubberband and splaying over the nape of your neck. 

 “hey, ma.” simon greets, his voice gruff and deep from just waking up moments ago. he presses his free hand to your hip and lets his lips linger on the temple of your forehead. a sweet, friendly…good morning kiss. how he always greets his girls.

“mornin’ si.” you turn in his hold, glancing up at him in acknowledgment before you flip another large pancake. “can you get her dressed? i laid out an outfit on her bed.”

the girl squirming in simon’s arms huffs, her hands reaching out and grasping onto your loose fitted shirt – simon’s old shirt he’d left behind. “i can get dressed on my own! ‘m a big girl now.” she argues with a whine, her hands being pulled off you by simon’s calloused fingers.

“big girls don’t need hot chocolate before bed,” you say, turning to give her chubby cheeks a gentle pinch. a smile painting your lips when she pulls away, turning her face and smushing it into her father’s chest.

simon nods, and although you can’t see it now that your attention is turned back to the slightly burnt pancakes in front of you, you know he’s leaving with the way his hand falls from your hip. 

you hate the way that you’re so comfortable with him around, especially with the way your relationship with him ended. originally, simon never knew that you were pregnant. you had opted out of telling him one too many times, nerves overtaking you; the idea of being a mother alone was too much. but having to tell the man who had told you time and time again he wasn’t ready for kids, that he was to be expecting one – it made you more nauseous than the baby in your stomach.

although lucky for you, he broke up with you before you could tell him. unlucky for you, his reason for doing so was unselfish; you couldn’t find it in yourself to hold any hatred towards him. with a heavy heart, he told you things weren’t working out for him, he loved you so much, but with how busy he was at work, he found less time to see you and even less time to express his adoration.

most days when you were able to see him, it consisted of just cuddling, little words spoken except for your inquiries about his future and thoughts of having kids. he always mumbled that he didn’t have time to think about that kind of stuff, and just pull you closer to his chest, nuzzling his face into your skin and dozing off to sleep.

it didn’t bother you one bit; just being with him in his arms was enough for you.you didn’t mind that your time together was spent sleeping or sharing a quiet meal. it wasn’t fair to you, none of it was fair – but simon knew you deserved better. so he reluctantly had to break things off; it was the only thing he could think of. he didn’t know how to fix things, how to communicate that he didn’t want to be apart from you. he just didn’t have the time to be there for you at the moment, and he knew he was hurting you either way, so if you could find another to confide in, to turn your heart to, that would be enough for him. 

after years of being apart, simon found himself standing in front of your door, full gear still clinging to him tightly, his palms sweaty but hidden from his gloves. he pressed his head into your door, a frustrated groan bubbling in his aching chest. what was he thinking, showing up to your place unannounced? what if you didn’t even live here anymore? what if you had moved on and wanted nothing to do with him? 

it was selfish, but he needed to see you again. not a day went by where you weren’t on his mind, the barracks drove him to madness, and without escape, he found comfort in an old picture of you he had taken with him. 

you had opened the door after three of his hesitant knocks; confusion etched onto your face as you stared up at the masked man, his eyes familiar but looming with newfound hurt and trauma from the brutal battlefield. 

“did you need something?” you asked, the soft babbling from your television the only thing filling the air after he looked down at you in silence. just taking you in for a moment. you looked tired but beautiful as ever. your hair slightly tangled, old baggy clothes of his that hung from your smaller figure – but you still had the same friendly smile on your face, genuine and kind eyes that looked up at him.

he swallowed thickly; you looked happy. who was he to ruin that by coming back? he had come all this way without any regrets. seeing you again was all he desired. you were happy, and that’s all he needed to know; he didn’t want to know about the person who might’ve stepped in and mended your heart together after he broke it.

gripping his bag tightly, he turned, walking off without a second glance. it was time for him to move on. you had. he was a fool to think things could go back to how it had, how he could hold you so intimately in his arms, whispering in your ear how much he loved you. feeling your lips all over his skin, the way your soft hands would trail along his burning skin. he was so stupid.

“simon?” 

your voice was just barely above a whisper, and you watched with wide eyes the way he stopped in his tracks, muscles flexed under his tight-fitted uniform as he tensed. 

his heart was beating out of his chest, ringing in his ear. turning back to face you, he hooked two fingers under his balaclava and pulled it off. he hated how you looked at him, concerned, creasing your brows. you should hate him; you should be angry that he showed his face to you again. instead, you’re tracing your thumb along his scars, ones that you didn’t recognize and the faint ones that you had already seen before.

simon sighed softly under your touch, dropping his bag and wrapping his arms around you. he pressed his nose into your hair, breathing in your scent while hugging you tightly. he almost broke down when he felt your arms coil around him, pulling him closer and burying your head into his chest.

“mommy?”

just like that, simon’s world crashes down again. he pulls away from you and looks over your shoulder to see a small girl, no older than seven standing in the doorway. she was a spitting image of you, so there was no doubt that she wasn’t yours. although, in a sense, it felt like he was looking in a mirror. piercing brown eyes staring back at him with the same amount of confusion.

“we should talk, si.” you’re wrapping your hand around his wrist, gently tugging him inside. without any hesitation, he’s following close behind you. 

since then, and that very painfully confusing conversation. simon had made his way back into your life, calling every day, showing up unannounced, and accompanying you to your daughters' school events. you didn’t complain; a life without a father was a hard one. you were glad that simon was being responsible and stepping up, and you couldn’t lie; feelings from years ago still lingered, so you enjoyed that you could spend quality time with him again.

simon chuckles lowly when his daughter smushes his cheeks with her small palms, her legs kicking into his torso as he carries her into her room. setting her down on the edge of her bed, he glances at the outfit you’d picked for her – a cute, frilly, pink dress with little white sneakers and a white cardigan. 

he lets his daughter dress herself, only stepping in to help when she tries to stick her head into her sleeve. he kneels in front of her, slipping on her tiny shoes and tying the laces. kissing her knees, he pats her cheeks and fixes her dress when she jumps down and spins in a circle.

“pancakes are ready, sweetheart!” you shout from the kitchen, sliding the hotcakes onto a plate and setting it on the dining table. zipping up her lunchbox, you set it aside before grabbing two mugs and pouring tea for you and simon.

the pair hobbles into the kitchen, simon tugged along by the hyper girl. he shakes his head with a faint smile, lifting and setting her on the chair. you lean against the counter, mug in hand, while you watch as he cuts up her purple pancakes, popping a piece into his mouth and earning a loud complaint from the young girl.

you hand him the other mug filled with tea, brewed just how he likes. he grins, looking at the cup over and realizing it’s his favorite mug, one no one is allowed to drink from unless it’s him. simon leans in and kisses your cheek before leaning against the counter next to you, the two of you watching your daughter scarf down the purple pancakes like it’d be her last meal.

you lean over with a soft pout, grabbing a napkin and wiping syrup off the corner of her mouth. “are you excited for your first day of school?” 

she nods quickly, stuffing the last of her breakfast into her mouth before she leans back, patting her stomach with satisfaction. “gonna make so many new friends today,” she grins up at you with a crooked smile. 

“bet you are. we should get going. don’t wanna be late,” simon says, setting the dishes into the sink and slinging the disney-themed backpack onto his broad shoulder. 

you frown, during the midst of it all, frantic to get things done, you had completely forgotten to change or get yourself ready. you sigh heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose. one simple mistake after another, and now you’d have to miss sending your little girl off for her first official day of school.

simon is quick to notice your mood dropping; he shuffles over to you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, tilting your head up. “why don’t you rest, i’ll wake you later, and we can pick her up together.” 

you sigh, your shoulders dropping in disappointment. it was silly, but you had been with your daughter every step of the way. it wasn’t a big moment you’d be missing, but a memory nonetheless. you wanted to push yourself, rush into your room and get ready as quickly as possible so you could walk with your simon, holding hands with your daughter while she swung between the both of you. but exhaustion was creeping from your muscles and to your eyes, your eyelids struggling to stay open.

with an unwilling yawn, you nod and let simon guide you to the comfort of your bedroom.

“c’mon bug, let’s tuck mommy in for a quick nap.” simon teases, pulling the comforter back and easing you down onto the mattress. he takes a step back and helps your daughter pull the blanket back up and tuck it under your chin. 

“night, mommy. dream of sweets!” the small girl loudly shouts, afraid you won’t be able to tear her with the blanket covering your face. 

you smile at her words, turning onto your side to look at her. “thank you, baby.” 

simon brushes the hair out of your eyes, leaning down and lightly pressing his lips to your temple. he then lifts his daughter so she can do the same, finalizing your tuck in with a goodnight kiss…or a good morning one. 

“alright, let’s get you to school, kiddo.”

the sun hangs low as simon walks hand in hand with his daughter, a short walk to the school a couple of blocks away. the air was chilling, and simon had tugged off his jacket and slipped it onto the young girl, the article of clothing hanging massively on her frame, the hem almost dragging on the floor. 

he adjusted the straps of the small colorful backpack, very snug on his broad shoulder and digging into his skin – but he didn’t care; he wore it with pride.

simon’s daughters’ chatter filled the quiet streets as she rambled about her hopes for the day. her small fingers clutched her father's index finger tightly, her words a delightful mixture of innocence and imagination. 

“daddy, you know what?” she asks, her voice laced with enthusiasm. she looks up at him with a grin before her attention is quickly redirected towards a small patch of flowers, a bloom of yellow bursting in a patch of healthy green grass.

simon watches as she lets go of his hand, crouching down and picking a couple of stems, gathering a few before returning to his side. “what, sweetheart?” 

“that ladybug that landed on my shoulder yesterday said i’m going to have the best day ever today!” she exclaims, handing the crumpled bundle of probable weeds to him, brushing her damp hands on the outside of her father’s jacket.

simon chuckles lightly at her action, his hands delicately holding the array of flowers. “the ladybug said that?”

“yep!” she said, continuing to marvel at the dream that she had that night; something about mayonnaise and mustard made simon smile, her infectious energy captivating him. 

as they walked, simon took note of the new shoes you had bought your daughter, the bright light-up shoes blinking with each exaggerated step she took. she jumped around, hopping over every line on the sidewalk, claiming that they would break your back, simon didn’t understand, but he held an arm behind her in case she tumbled backward.

approaching the school gate, simon couldn’t help but feel a frown forming on his face, the memory-filled walk ending too soon. he knelt at his little girl’s eye level, pulling her closer to him. 

“have a good day, kid. if anyone gives you trouble, tell me, and i’ll get it sorted out.” he teased, although only half of him was joking. simon slipped his jacket off her and fixed her backpack onto her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. 

“i will! give mommy those flowers when she wakes up.” she nods, glancing behind her at the many kids that walked into the gate before hugging her father quickly, stumbling out of his hold and rushing towards the school, excitement coursing through her veins.

simon wished she had stayed a little longer, hugged him a little more, and kissed him back. still, as he watched her run into school, he realized something, he was old – and that his happiness weighed out his disappointment. he might’ve been absent for the beginning chapters of her life, but this was the first big step he was here for. it made him realize how many more were to come; watching her grow up warmed his thoughts, and he could do it all by your side. just you and his daughter, his girls.

AN: i have so many parts alr written for baby daddy simon. SHOULD I MAKE THIS A SERIES, and do i name the kid...??

[casiia-fics]

༉‧₊˚. — simon 'GHOST' riley; smile for the camera.

warnings .: x reader, smut, mdni 18+, very slight exhibition (i think?), v! penetration, choking, size kink, female reader, unedited.

.: masterlist.

simon has STACKS of polaroids of you for when he’s next deployed. you had bought the polaroid camera, all excited to pick up a new hobby; photography. he thought it was stupid, but doesn’t stop you and your aspiring career. you’re taking pictures of everything for the next few weeks. capturing every memory the two of you shared, and piles of pictures were scattered around each room in the house — random ones, blurred ones, blank ones that didn’t develop right.

when you suggest taking pictures for him one night, he doesn’t seem to catch the hint. why’d he have to waste his precious time and take pictures of you when you’re right here?

he still doesn’t understand. he huffs when you climb off of his lap and scurry into your shared bedroom, the soft mutters of the christmas movie you put on for background noise the only thing that catches his attention — and it annoys him. you come back, your shirt hiked up over your bra and the bulky coral-colored camera in hand. 

you sit back onto his lap, shoving the polaroid into his hand and guiding his finger onto the button. he accidentally clicks it, a flash blinding you momentarily and you laugh. 

“eager are we?”

he sucked on his teeth, his eyes rolling at your poor attempt to tease him. his free hand moves to your waist and dips his fingers below the hem of your shorts. you swat his hand away with a pout, mumbling something about patience but he’s too horny to hear – or care. 

simon lowers the camera as you begin to pull your shirt over your head, you whine and tell him to hold it right. but he snaps back and complains that it’s blocking his view. 

it’s your turn to roll your eyes, and you pout and tell him just to listen to you. he begrudgingly listens, muttering a retort under his breath that makes you smack his arm and shift off of his lap. but he’s quick to tug you back, saying he’s sorry and you’re just teasing him too much.

you shake your head, your finger hovering his, over the shutter button. you reach back with the other and undo your bra, letting it slip from your shoulder and into his lap. it’s then when you press down and simon takes a picture, your bare breast developing on the film as it slides out the exit slot. now he understands.

he watches with tight lips, waiting for the picture to develop and practically watching it turn into gold in front of his eyes. simon laughs in disbelief and looks at you, he wonders if this was your plan all along. play with it for a little before using it to make souvenirs for him, what a good girlfriend you were.

the hours blend and he has you bent and folded in every position he knows. it’s so embarrassing, and you find yourself covering your face or squeezing your thighs together, now trying to sheepishly hide from the lens.

but he tuts, reminding you that it was your idea. you can’t hide from him and if you try, he’ll keep you up all night — until he’s filled his album with enough pictures to relive any memory of you in bed.

he’s leaned back onto the sofa, one hand in your hair and one hand holding up the camera. he’s groaning loudly as you gag around his cock, your wide eyes fluttering up to meet his. he’s drooling at the sight, tears staining your blushed cheeks and dripping down your chin.

simon spreads his legs and angles the camera down to catch a glimpse of the way you have a hand wrapped around the base of his cock — too big for you to fit it all in your mouth. he snaps a picture, the flash making little dots cloud your vision.

you giggle, pulling your lips off of him to which he annoyingly grunts, trying to push back into your mouth.

“how many more of these are y’gonna take?”

you ask, pressing your cheek into the inside of his thigh. you’re not even looking at him anymore, so focused on his cock and the way your saliva makes his foreskin glisten.

he can’t resist, simon takes another picture and pulls the developing film from the dispenser, tossing it into the pile with the other pictures he’s taken. your face just looks so small aligned with his cock, the angle making him so much larger than he was.

“m’takin as many as i want. what am i gonna do when i miss you when i’m away and need to release some stress?”

simon tugs at your hair, nodding over to the cushions next to him. his hands immediately find your waist when you stand and he pushes you down into the couch. your hair sprawling over the pillows as you look up at him with wide eyes.

another giggle escapes you, your hand covers your mouth to suppress the laughter. it wasn’t that you were surprised about him being so needy, it’s the way he had a mountain of pictures lazily tossed into a pile. film wrappers crumpled lazily and strewn across the coffee table, the packages once holding refills for the film.

“what’s funny, bun?”

simon’s voice is hoarse, he’s spreading your legs and another picture is added to his collection. the way your cunt is glistening with the flash, your juices smeared on your inner thighs. he swears he’s going to cherish these forever, keep them around til’ they are all tattered and barely visible.

your breath is knocked from your lungs, and you can’t form words no matter how hard you try. he’s sliding his cock in between your folds, nudging your clit with his angry red tip. you whine, your hips bucking up to meet his, needing more friction to ease your arousal; and he takes another picture, how he wishes these images could capture sounds.

he’s pressing his fat, heavy cock against your stomach, a groan spilling from his lips when his tip is leaking just below your belly button. simon smears his precum against your skin, translucent globs dribbling from his slit.

“look at that, gonna be in your fuckin’ stomach.”

simon grins at the sight, but before he gives you the pleasure of filling you up, he’s leaning over you and pressing his lips to your neck. your fingernails dig into his shoulders, crescents forming under your touch, and a slew of apologies is mumbled under your shaky breath.

he hums into the crook of your neck, nipping harshly at your skin before dragging his rough tongue over the spot — soothing the bite. simon trails down to your breast, leaving a path of love bites and covering you in his mark.

while he has you distracted, he shifts his hips and pushes himself into you slowly sinking in inch by inch before he’s balls deep. he leans back and he groans at the sight, you are completely exposed for him with his bitemarks sloppily etched into your skin, a bulge forming in your belly. he slides his calloused hand up in between the valley of your breast and he wraps his hand around your neck, he squeezes lightly, and when you moan quietly as if flustered like it’s the first time he has you filled with his cock —  he snaps another picture. afraid that this moment will vanish.

that was the last of the film that he has. but god, it’s worth it. he promises he’ll buy you more in the morning, but he’s dropped the camera and holding you close. his throbbing cock plunging in and out of your squelching cunt, your juices painting his abdomen, shining his muscles under the dim light.

when he has to leave, he gathers EVERY SINGLE ONE and hides it in between the pages of an old magazine. no one would be caught dead snooping through his things, but it was a precaution he took because he didn’t want you exposed for all of his teammates to see. you were his, and he was never one of share.

AN: guys...i don't even have words tbh. just simon and like he WOULD take so many pics i'm just sooo :((( urgh. i hate him. if i missed any warnings lmk!

[casiia-fics]

༉‧₊˚. — simon 'GHOST' riley; pretty when you cry.

warnings .: smut, mdni 18+, v! penetration, kinda toxic simon.

.: masterlist.

simon riley who gets turned on when you cry. he feels like an asshole about it but he can’t help it, you’re just so pretty when you cry!

your passionate ranting stuttered by your sobs, tears just pooling in your eyes as you try to control your emotions. the second simon presses a hand to your cheek, his thumb rubbing just under your eye, you stop thinking and let the waterworks run.

he’s frowning at the words that you express, listening closely to everything you’re saying. sure he’s getting hard but he’s a good multitasker — “i know, baby. how could they do that to you.” he’s nodding along, shifting in his seat and adjusting the tension in his pants.

simon’s gaze is stuck to your puffy lips, your saltwater tears making them slightly chapped. he’s pressing his thumb into your bottom lip, swiping over it and telling you to calm down and breathe; his thoughts running wild to the sound of your uneven gasps and hiccups, reminding him too well of how you sound underneath him.

the same tears that stain your cheeks when he's folding you over and stretching you out. he's comforting you again, in more ways than just words. "y'feel better, bun?" "still cryin'? my poor, baby."

he wants you to forget about the bad day that you had, hating that it'd been so terrible that you'd come to him in tears. simon thinks he's helping when he's slowly rutting into you, his touch so gentle and caring. he just wants to take care of you — make you cry for him in ways that both of you enjoy :(

[casiia-fics]

warnings .: simon 'GHOST' riley x reader, smut, mdni 18+, female anatomy.

.: part one.

.: masterlist.

when simon finally reveals his face to you, his favorite position would be full nelson!! your back pressed into his chest, while he holds you up by the back of your thighs so his cock can easily slip in and out of you.

if you want to see his face so bad you’ll have to look in the mirror that sits in front of you, and he’s going to force you to watch the way your stomach bulges from his girth.

the way you’re creaming on his cock, clenching around him with shaky thighs. it’s certainly a dirty sight to see, so most of the time you hide your embarrassed face in the crook of his neck.

he’ll whisper mean things in your ear while his hips roughly snap up into you, “i thought you wanted to see me.” “what was all that beggin for?”

it’s the only time you’ll hear him laugh — or something close to it, more of a stoic chuckle. but he teasingly kisses your ear and tells you how pathetic you are, how you can’t even watch as he splits you open on his cock.

you’re squirming in his grasp, needing a break as his balls repeatedly slap your clit. but this makes him angry and his grip tightens so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises by the next morning.

i like to think that simon’s a clean freak, always tidy and cleans up after himself. all of that goes down the drain when he sees the way your tiny hole leaks for him, the way your juices squelch out as his thrust pick up. he couldn’t care less, he wasn’t thinking about how he would have to clean it up later, all he knew was that he wanted to make you do it again, the wet sound like music to his ears.

he makes sure that you’re not too fucked out that you can’t hear him, he’ll make fun of the way you’re moaning and making a mess — “bunny so loud you gotta let ‘em know who’s fuckin’ you right.” “dirty little cunt so wet f’me.”

[casiia-fics]

༉‧₊˚. — simon 'GHOST' riley; just a peek.

warnings .: x reader, smut, mdni 18+, mean simon, v! penetration, riding, female anatomy, unedited.

.: part two.

.: masterlist.

simon ‘ghost’ riley who refuses to take his mask off when he fucks you. not because he's insecure with the way he looks, or even thought about what you would think of his appearance, but because you were nothing more than the barrack bunny.

to him, you were only there to please him and his men. to be stuffed full of them whenever they wanted, wherever they wanted. it’s not like you complained either, the pleasure that came with it was too good to be true.

so here you sat, in simon’s lap with your hands pressed to his chest, your hips rocking against his. he had his pants tugged down his thick thighs only enough for his cock to show, while you were fully nude and on full display for him.

you begged him to take off his balaclava, wanting so desperately to see more than the piercing eyes that glared down at you as he filled you with his girthy cock, time and time again.

but with every time you begged he gave you the same response, a hard no.

but this was different, you had been whining in his lap for the past hour, accommodating to his every need with unwavering obedience. he hated the way you looked at him as you obliged to his every mean demand, you should be glaring at him and biting back — but you didn’t. to make things worse you looked up at him with awe and desire, no malicious intent behind those wide eyes.

he was a hungry man and you fed him, letting him use you to relieve some stress and forget about the tasks that he still had to complete or the problems that he had to solve. those were issues for another time, all he had to do right now was focus on the pretty thing that sat on his throbbing cock.

he was grateful that you dropped whatever you were doing to come and follow him into his office, happy that he had chosen you over anyone else to help him with the ache between his legs.

you never asked for much, you’d allow him to do whatever with you as long as he cleaned you up afterwards. simple, and low maintenance.

so how could he not when the only other thing you asked for was to see his face. you were grinding so eagerly, your juices dripping from your little cunt and soaking the front of his camo pants. he scowled slightly at the mess but didn’t say anything, the feeling of your tight, gummy walls wrapped around him making the large hand he had on your hip squeeze you tightly.

he knew that he would never show his face to you, it was a painful reminder that you were no more than a fuck buddy — if you could even call yourself that. but he found no harm in showing a little less, you weren’t a threat to him and you knew the consequences that would take place if you ran around blab mouthing.

simon finds his eye rolling in annoyance when you ask him again, just for a little peek, your fingers playing with the hem of his mask. a pout on your lips as you looked up at him with wide eyes.

simon couldn’t take it anymore, if giving you a little something more would finally make you stop asking, he would do it.

so when he brings his thick fingers to the bottom of his mask, your hips stutter against his. excitement and curiosity building up in your mind, arousal and euphoria beginning to painfully swell in your tummy.

you beg him shamelessly, quiet pleas leaving your puffy lips, lips that you had been chewing at in anticipation.

simon feels his eyes roll back again at your pleas. he slowly, pulls the black mask over his nose to reveal his jaw and lips.

you clenched around his veiny cock at the sight, instantly sitting up in his lap and cradling his face in your small hands. simon turns away with a scoff but you pull him back, your eyes never once leaving his plush, pink lips.

simon’s hands find their way back to your hips, his calloused fingers rough against your skin as he guided you back along his dick. he holds you up, watching his girth stretch you out, a white ring forming around his base when he slowly pushes himself back in.

your moans go unnoticed as the large man under you is too immersed in watching his cock disappear into your clenching cunt, wondering how such a tiny thing could take all of him.

he drops his head back with a deep groan, his eyes never leaving the spot where the two of you connect. he’s completely entranced in the way you feel, how your soft thighs squeeze his hips, and the way you jolt slightly when your clit nudges at his pelvis.

simon eyes snap up to your face in surprise, the warmth of your fingers dancing along his jaw. his breath hitches when your thumb drags along the bottom on his lip, smearing his saliva down his chin.

he almost misses the way you shyly ask if you can kiss him, your words quiet and embarrassed. truthfully, simon thinks about it for a second, his gaze fluttering from your pink cheeks to your puffy lips.

he wonders what they’ll feel like against his, if they’re really as soft as they look. you watched his adams apple bob, as he swallows thickly, his grip on your hips tightening for a moment.

then, his deep voice cuts through the silence, his stern tone making you frown. no. he shakes his head too making sure that you understand.

before you can even think about asking why, he’s pulled his mask back down and has you flipped over, your face pressed into his couch cushion with your ass in the air for him.

he’s fucking into you roughly, the sound of your pussy squelching drowned out your thoughts, quickly helping you forget about the disappointment that ate at your stomach.

AN: guys i don't even know what came over me when i wrote this. i just did and it's not very good but OMG...SIMON WITH HIS MASK PULLED UP DOES SOMETHING TO ME. i'm literally creaming.

[casiia-fics]

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