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fictionalbookworm02 · 4 days ago

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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.

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fictionalbookworm02 · 4 days ago

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Simon Riley with a user who basically kidnaps herself. CW : Masturbation, mentions of oral

It started with the little things. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck raise more frequently. You heard heavy breathing and a slick sound at night coming from your slightly open window. A blank account following your public instagram account.

You then started seeing him. A tall burly man that seemed to always appear In the corner of your eye. You never saw his face because of the balaclava he wore. And that frustrated you.

Hell, if a guy is going to stalk you, the least he can do is not hide his face.

Eventually, you got sick of it. You let the brute of a man follow you home as usual. Let him watch you 'sleep' through your window while he fisted his cock. And then when he went home, you followed him.

You honestly thought he'd catch you. Feel you watching him. Following him home. But it seemed that his post orgasmic haze rendered him vulnerable.

You followed the man to a nice looking home. Not huge or anything, but It was cozy.

You then watched through a window as he drank a glass of whiskey, before walking through the home to his bedroom.

You quickly rushed to the bedroom window, glad the blinds weren't fully shut.

The man then sat down on his bed, pulling something from his bedside drawer-hey wait, are those your fucking panties you lost? Sneaky bastard. Those are your favourite.

And now he's fisting his cock again. Only this time, he's taken off that stupid balaclava to sniff them and-oh.

Oh.

Fuck, he's hot.

Those scars, the dirty blonde hair, the slightly crooked nose from being broken so many times, Jesus H Christ.

Yeah. To say you were thinking of this mans face between your thighs was an understatement. He might genuinely be one of the hottest men you've ever seen.

You quickly went home, going to the blank account that had followed you, and with a few clicks, you found the guys private instagram. Simon Riley. He's not the only person who's good at stalking.

You then found out that he was in the military. A Lieutenant. Seemed to be really private. No matter though, you already knew where he lived.

The following day, you took the day off work, and broke into Simon's home. Moving almost all of your stuff in. He wouldn't mind.

Then, when Simon walked into his house he stopped dead in his tracks as he saw you, sipping from one of his mugs, on his couch.

The woman he'd been stalking for nearly a year.

"I-what-what are you doing here?" He muttered, eyes wide as he took off his balaclava.

"You should have shown me your face earlier. I would have moved in ages ago" you shrugged.

"Moved in?" Simon almost squeaked.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

before you all panic, yes. There will be a part two :p

Edit! ~ there's a part 2 you thirsty animals ⟢ right here! ❤︎

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fictionalbookworm02 · 4 days ago

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Simon Riley x Wife!Reader

The knife in your hand isn’t for Simon, but the thought is tempting.

You stand at the kitchen counter, grip tightening around the handle as you glare at the absolute disaster he’s made. Flour coats the counter like a fresh dusting of snow, and a broken egg dribbles off the edge onto the floor. The sink is full of bowls, one of which contains what you can only assume was an attempt at pancake batter—though it looks more like concrete mix.

Simon, standing in the middle of the chaos, holds a spatula like it’s a foreign object. He stares at you, unbothered, as if he hasn’t just committed a war crime in your kitchen.

“I’m running out of reasons to not stab you,” you say.

He blinks slowly, like a cat. “Use me ribs, love. Less mess.”

You slam the knife down on the counter and point a finger at him instead. “What the hell is this?”

He shrugs. “Breakfast.”

“This is arson with extra steps.”

Simon tilts his head, gaze flicking to the stove, where a pan sits abandoned with something charred beyond recognition. He considers it for a long moment before turning back to you. “S’not that bad.”

You stare at him, then at the kitchen, then back at him. Your blood pressure rises. “What part of this is not that bad?”

Simon, the six-foot-something god of a man who has probably stared death in the face more times than you can count, has the audacity to smirk. “The effort.”

You exhale sharply, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Simon, I love you, but if you ever—”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

He says it so easily, with that gravelly voice and the hint of amusement curling the words, and you hate that it works. That it softens the sharp edges of your irritation, even as you glare at him.

He takes a step closer, crowding your space just enough that you feel the warmth of him. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Was tryin’ to do somethin’ nice.”

You cross your arms. “This was not nice. This was a health hazard.”

He leans down, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth, then mutters against your skin, “Go sit down. I’ll clean it up.”

You hesitate, watching him with narrowed eyes, then sigh. “Fine. But if I find one speck of flour on the ceiling, I’m stabbing you.”

His chuckle follows you as you leave the kitchen, and you don’t have to turn around to know that whatever punishment you think you’ll deliver, he’d let you do it with a smile.

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fictionalbookworm02 · 4 days ago

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okay I mainly want to know about er doctor!simon, the red means I love you and salt in the wound😝😝

hii so for er doc!simon, essentially, i just need him stressed out, hands combing through his greying hair, while he makes his way to the er to see you and all the nurses & techs whisper about how they hope they’re on his rotation BAD. i have no further dialogue to give you a peak, but TRUST it’s coming<33

the red means i love you is what i have planned for a third installation of stalker!simon. i don't have too much because i, of course, still need to do the second part…but this concept was really interesting to me.

salt to the wound is the fic i’ve been putting most of my efforts into. it’s some good old no-comfort angst i’ve been working on for a couple of weeks. it’s taking way longer than intended because i want to convey so much emotion and have it be in-depth. i don't want to give away too much, so here’s just a smidge of dialogue!

"Johnny's dead."

The only words that flowed through the phone line.

The very words you had selfishly cursed for the past year and a half.

The words that had single-handedly eroded everything you had built with your Simon.

Because that day, on every level except physical, the Simon you knew had died with Johnny.

His mind merged with the very soil Johnny lay in, leaving his physical body on the surface while his soul wandered beyond your grasp.

So out of touch, so disconnected from reality.

Simon had become a shell of a human.

He wasn't living, merely surviving—going through the motions.

It was devasting to watch the man for whom you gave your heart to slowly disengage right before your eyes.

Bit by bit, piece by piece.

Until there was no more man left to see.

Just mere flesh and bones.

It was such unfamiliar territory since Simon relied on you as he relied on oxygen to breathe.

You were his sustenance, his reservoir.

An eternal flame that burned with an unyielding passion.

Now it seems he couldn't get far enough away from you.

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fictionalbookworm02 · 4 days ago

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no thoughts...just simon discovering you sitting on the grimy curb outside a club and pretending to be your boyfriend bc of unsavory men being nasty towards you. (tw: men)

A chill lingered in the air as you sank down onto the curb, the cold concrete pressing against your thighs while your short dress bunched up, revealing even more skin.

It wasn’t the wisest choice, considering you were just inches away from the road, but your aching feet and pounding head begged for a break.

And not only did you feel a mess, but you also looked it too.

Your eyes were bloodshot, and your eyelids feel heavy and sticky, weighed down by smudged eyeliner, mascara, and whatever glittery eyeshadow you had tossed on in a rush.

What had once been a carefully styled updo was now a tangled mess, with strands of hair falling haphazardly around your face.

You couldn’t be bothered to put it back up; even the thought of managing it made your head spin more than it already did.

Your friends were off somewhere, probably with people you didn’t know, and honestly, you didn’t care anymore.

You just needed to escape that stuffy club.

The lights were flashing so intensely and rapidly that it felt like you might faint.

Now, here you are, sitting on the grimy curb, your mind racing with anxiety.

You had hoped the alcohol would dull your worries, but all it did was amplify them.

Stressing about the rent that you can’t afford this month.

The difficulty of finding and keeping a decent boyfriend.

And let’s not forget about your terrible job that pays next to nothing!

On top of it all, your mother won’t stop calling and complaining about her new boyfriend, who you can’t stand.

“What a pretty girl you are,” a low voice calls out from behind.

His words feel distant, like an echo floating in your mind.

You turn your head slightly to catch a glimpse of the guy, vape in hand and hoodie pulled up, flanked by two friends grinning widely.

You roll your eyes, turning your head away, choosing not to engage with him or offer any response.

"Hey! I’m talking to you," the same voice calls out, its tone growing more assertive.

You turn your head again; this time, he’s closer than before. "Will you just fuck off?" You groan, your eyes barely hanging open.

"The fuck did you say to me.”

Okay.

Now he is mad.

And usually, you could take care of feeble men.

They touch you; they get a knee straight to their balls.

But, right now, you can’t even walk straight.

Let alone balance and swing your leg.

“Sorry—I,” you sputter, carefully standing and almost falling as he draws nearer.

“Think you can talk to me like that?” He snarls as he moves to stand right in front of you.

You look up at him.

His eyes are dark.

You feel your stomach churn.

"Sweetheart," you hear the deep British, gravelly voice before the man who carries it steps beside you. "Been lookin' for you.”

Your eyes dart to him in an instant.

He’s tall, like really, really tall.

Quite built, and looks intimidating as hell with an ominous mask covering his face.

And…fuck, he’s decked out in black and gray military gear.

You feel an odd sense of security, so you thread your arm through his and tuck yourself into his side.

“You yellin’ at my girlfriend?” His voice is so deep, and raspy.

The guy’s eyes nearly bug out of his head at the sound and sight of the man at your side.

“No, no,” the guy scramble. “I—I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend. I would have never—”

“Shouldn’t do it anyway, you pisshead,” the man next to you spat before turning to face you, voice softening. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m—I’m alright,” your murmur, voice uneven.

The man next to you turns his head to face the guy, his eyes darkening at the sight of you upset. “Get on your knees and apologize to her.”

“Wait, wha—”

“I’ll bash your head in.”

The guy fell to his knees, desperately searching for the right words. “I’m sorry. Fuck—I’m really, really sorry. I shouldn’t have done that; I fucked up. I’m so, so sorry,” he word vomits, voice trembling.

"Thank you," you whisper, your eyes widening in surprise at how readily he complies.

Your gaze drifts down to catch sight of a small friendship bracelet adorning the wrist of the man beside you.

It looked so out of place on him.

The bracelet features a black-and-white pattern of beads, with "Simon" spelled out in gray letters at its center and two skull beads surrounding it.

"Simon," you murmur, simply glancing at the letters without much thought.

His head swivels to you.

“Yeah, baby?” He quickly responds, eyes on you in an instant.

"We should—we should get going," you manage to say, feeling another flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

He nods, his hand lingering near your waist. You shift slightly, allowing your hand to slip into his, where you intertwine your fingers effortlessly.

Simon leans in closer, lowering his head to hover near the guy's ear, and whispers so you can barely catch what he’s saying.

“If you ever yell at my girlfriend, let alone another woman again,” Simon’s voice goes down an octave, low and stern. “I’ll find you and crack every fuckin’ bone in your body.”

The guy's face drains of color as he frantically tries to escape—not just back to his friends, who are just as terrified but well out of reach.

"You’re so…tall," you manage to say, your words coming out a bit slurred.

He lets out a gruff laugh. “Come over here.”

Simon tightly grips your fingers, gently guiding you around the corner and away from the club.

“Shouldn’t be alone,” he utters. “You’re drunk.”

“I know,” you admit, a hint of embarrassment creeping in. “I just needed to get out of that crazy club. It was too bright and too hot and too stuffy!” You let out a dramatic sigh. “I thought the alcohol would help clear my mind, but it only made me more anxious, you know?” You look up at him and shake your head.

“My rent is overdue; I can’t get a stupid boyfriend, and, oh God, my mother,” you continue to ramble; you were drunk, after all. “I’m a mess,” you exhale softly, tears clinging to your lashes.

Had you been crying that whole time?

“Listen,” he urges, hand pressing onto your shoulder. “If you want, you could live with me. Been lookin’ for a roommate. Could be nice,” he adds with a casual shrug.

You sniffle, hand wiping your tears. “You—you would do that for me?” You ask, heart warm from his generosity.

“Eh, sure. Why not?” His tone is relaxed and straightforward.

You’re beaming as you pull him in for a tight hug, burying your face in his abdomen while repeatedly expressing your gratitude.

He doesn’t say anything, but he wears the stupidest grin under that mask.

He wouldn’t tell you, but he was so, so ecstatic at the prospect of you living with him.

He could use a few more friends, and you vowed to ensure he stayed well-fed.

Besides, it certainly didn't hurt that you were a hot little spitfire who had him straining in his cargo pants.

He would hold out for you.

Roommates now, husband and wife later.

author’s note: crazy how he’s the only man ever

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fictionalbookworm02 · 5 days ago

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Can’t stop thinking about Simon with a SO that’s always cold. Definitely not projecting.

First of all, him basically being a living furnace was definitely one of the reasons you were interested in him. Not that you needed many arguments to fall for him. I mean, just look at this hunk of a man. Drool….

Anyway. While he is with you, you never have to worry about feeling cold. As soon as the slightest shiver runs through you, you’d already be in his arms, whether standing, sitting, or lying down. They would be wrapped around you, holding you close and letting you absorb all the heat you could want.

During the night, it’s especially nice. Back, before you two started dating, you had to sleep with at least two blankets, sometimes more, and even a hot water bottle. But now? Simon’s heat was more than enough to warm you, so you just needed one blanket, and that one wasn’t even really for heat, but more for the psychological effect of being covered.

And Simon was happy that you didn’t mind cuddling with him during the summer. No matter how warm it was, you never minded his extra heat, sometimes even craving it.

But when Simon was gone? You were suffering. And Simon knew that. So, being the amazing boyfriend he is, he always prepared for it. Thanks to him, you had an entire cupboard full of blankets. Whether they were thick and heavy, or soft and cuddly. He got them for you in all kinds of colors and patterns. One could find them all over the house too. There was at least one per room, sometimes even more. (Yes, there is even one in the kitchen, but that one can be worn like a cape, so you can still move around freely.) And even now, whenever you’re in the shop and you see another blanket you like, he never hesitates to buy it.

And every single time he leaves for a deployment, you find a basket after he left, filled with a new hot water bottle, a new pair of comfy socks, and other trinkets like a new flavor of tea he thought you would like and a matching new mug. And when he discovered these plushies you could heat up by putting them in the microwave? He bought you tons of those.

So, whether Simon was with you or not, he always made sure you felt as warm and cared for as possible. No matter what.

A/N: Yeah, I'm definitely projecting. I feel so cold at work rn, I even took a blanket and a hot water bottle with me. (It's a combination of a Stitch plushie and a hot water bottle and I love it!)

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fictionalbookworm02 · 5 days ago

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second part of this

Just thinking about how boyfriend!Simon doesn't like to go out, yet somehow ended up dating a party gal. When you go out, he usually watches the telly, orders delivery (for you too, in case you get home hungry) and waits for the phone to ring. Tonight was no different.

It was 3 a.m. when your best friend called him from the club, slurring their words from the buzz. He gets the assignment: making sure you get home safe. The couch creaked as he got up to get his jacket and the keys of his truck, but he forgot his mask.

Simon hates clubs, he doesn't get why you like them so much. Loud music, blinding strobe lights and, ridiculously expensive drinks. He finally spots your group in the sea of drunk people. You were laughing uncontrollably at some dumb joke your friend told you.

“It's time to go home, doll,” Simon tells you, putting his jacket over your shoulder.

You squint your eyes, scanning his characteristic strong boy, unruly blonde hair, and his big hands. You have never seen this handsome man before.

“Nooo, nooo… I have a boyfriend.” You push off his hand as he tries to help you get up from your seat.

“Luv, I'm your boyfriend,” Simon chuckles, reaching for your arm again, but you dodge him.

“Nooo, nooo… My boyfriend is a tough, big guy in a mask that will fucking kill ya if he sees ya flirting with me,” you slurred.

“Doll-”

“Listen, listen… Listeeen! I'm honored, but I LOVE my boyfriend very much, and I would never, you listening? I WOULD NEVER cheat on him.” You warned Simon. “I doubt someone could fuck me better than him anyway…”

Simon listened, wide-eyed, realizing you drank so much that you didn't have a filter anymore. But still, it was cute to see you act so loyal. A real ride or die. He should take you home, but… he decided to have some fun.

“Oh, really? What if I can offer you something much better?” He leaned down, whispering into your ear, his voice barely audible over the music.

“Much better than sex with my boyfriend? Ha! I doubt it!” You tried to push him away, but Simon pulled you closer by the waist.

“What about a McSpicy with a side of nuggets that is waiting for you at home?” Your boyfriend purred on your ear again.

“How did you know I like…?” You pulled away slightly to focus better on his face, especially his deep brown eyes. That's when everything clicked.

“Simon!” You squealed excited to see him again, throwing your arms around him.

“Took you long enough.” Simon chuckled before kissing the top of your head.

Inspired by a comment from: @cod-indulgences

Masterlist.

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fictionalbookworm02 · 5 days ago

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Feverish Theo x “I can feel you’re burning up inside too” Simon

(get better soon!)

Anon this got me horny when I couldn't be horny for the love of God now I can only imagine Simon murmuring this to my ear as he fucks me in prone bone and I never self insert like never ever

God bless you I feel better now this healed me

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fictionalbookworm02 · 5 days ago

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Simon breaks your fever

Because I can't stop thinking about this

18+

CW: you're sick (fever, high body temp), fluff, established relationship, smut (clit rubbing, unprotected p in v sex, premature ejaculation). you're so hot (literally) that simon busts a nut

Masterlist 🦊

Your fever hasn’t gone down.

Despite you telling Simon that it’s okay, that it’s just seasonal flu and pretty much half of your colleagues have had it, that man can’t stop fussing.

On day two, you heard him grumble over the phone that he had to take some days off for family matters. And while it was cute to listen to him refer to you as family, this whole thing was an overreaction.

You had a cold and a mild fever; you weren’t on your deathbed.

But then he came into the bedroom straight after ending the call, holding a cuppa in one hand and your pills in the other. Left them on the nightstand before pressing his lips to your forehead to check if you were still warm—grumbled something about you heating up the room when he pulled back with a frown.

And then he helped you sit up, fluffed the pillow behind your head, and smoothed away the hair sticking to your forehead. Made sure you took your pills, made sure you were comfortable and cared for and—

—and oh, isn’t your heart melting into a puddle.

You decide that being sick can’t be that bad, when he makes it feels this good—even if you’re cranky and feverish.

And so, you start offering bright smiles when he presses cold, wet towels to your cheeks. Brush kisses on his knuckles when his palm comes to feel your forehead. Whisper thank yous when he insists you eat in bed, your bowl of soup carefully placed on a wooden bed tray.

And when he gets in bed at night, seemingly unafraid of catching your same bug, you press your back to his chest and fit in his arms. Simon’s already a walking furnace on his own, and your fever doesn't help with the uncomfortable stickiness that grows between your bodies through the night.

Simon doesn’t care, especially on day three, when you decide that a reward is on schedule. Poor man’s been at your beck and call ever since your early symptoms have appeared, so why not give him a reward of sorts.

You press your ass against his crotch, rolling slow circles that rouse him from his slumber.

Simon’s first instinct, however, is to stop you. A big hand flattens on your belly, fingers twitching to resist the urge to curve around your waist and grasp until he dimples the fat there.

A hum leaves him. “What are you doing?”

You nuzzle the pillow and act all innocent, even if he can’t see it in the pitch-dark room.

“Nothing,” you tell him. “Can't sleep. Feel a little restless, with the fever and all.”

“Restless,” he echoes with humour, already catching on. “Need me to wear you down?”

You turn your head until his nose bumps with your cheek. He presses a kiss there.

“Mmh,” you hum with a smile. “Maybe."

His hand rises slowly, and you’re delighted to feel the pads of his fingers reach your chest. He cups your breast through your shirt and thumbs your nipple, already pebbled and stiff.

Hard like his cock pressing against you.

Your skin is unbearably sensitive due to your fever, and the slightest touch could easily turn into stinging pain. That’s why as soon as he skims over your nipple your body goes haywire and you jolt, grinding the swell of your ass against him.

Simon presses forward, meeting your inadvertent movement.

There’s a moan coming from both sides. Yours is more cracked, a wonderful cocktail of relief and soreness—though you’re liking this more than you should, probably. You’re never one to say no to a bit of pain now, are you?

Simon, on the other hand… oh, Simon. His voice is low—gravel against the road. A groan that sounds like it’s coming from a dry throat, strikingly possessive when paired with the gentleness with which he’s holding you.

“Lemme take care of you then, yeah?” He whispers, leaning closer to your ear.

He tucks his arm under your neck, letting you nestle your cheek in the crook of his elbow. You’re sure he must be running hot too, but you’re sporting a whopping 100.4 body temperature, making his skin feel like an ice pack.

You sigh beautifully at the slight relief he provides.

Simon takes care of you first, like he's so kindly offered, and you don’t fight against him.

You don’t fight against his hand snaking under the waistband of your sweats. Don’t fight against the pads of his fingers drawing slow eights on your clit.

What you do instead is bury your face in his forearm, as he presses soft kisses to the exposed skin on your neck.

You get wet embarrassingly easily. He collects it with his middle finger before returning to the tight knot of your clit, circling gently—no rush whatsoever.

He checks in every once in a while, whispering soft questions to your skin as he explores it with his lips.

Are you okay?, and a kiss. You hurtin'?, and another kiss, right under your ear. He waits for you to reply each time, before finally giving in and nuzzling the nape of your neck through your hair.

He goes on, murmuring sweet nothings when you whine and he can’t pinpoint if it’s from pleasure or your body aches.

“That's it, love,” he whispers, coaxing moans from your lips as his fingers guide you closer and closer to the edge. Steadfast on your clit, he keeps a rhythm he knows will crack through you—break the mould of stiff muscles and sore skin.

Your orgasm catches the breath in your throat. It almost stings, burning through you in waves that stem from your sex and ripple in all directions.

Until your body undulates with it, pressing back into his. Until your voice follows suit too, cracking gently as you bite into the thickness of his forearm to keep quiet.

Simon’s panting against your shoulder like he came as well. It’s impossible not to notice the girth of his cock indenting the fat of your ass, how deliciously hard he is just because he’s touched you so thoroughly.

It gets you drunk on power to know how little it takes for you to do that to him.

His lips are pursed in a kiss ardently left to the crook of your neck. You feel the wetness of it, the heat seeping through your much hotter skin. His fingers slow down, until soft circles turn into mere flicks on your clit that gently drag your consciousness back into your body, back into his arms.

“Alrigh'?” He murmurs to the skin of your neck, as he huffs from his nose to balance his breathing.

“Mhmh,” you reply absentmindedly, still foggy and dipped in a dreamy state.

Gingerly, the hand buried in your knickers travels to your waist, leaving a wet trail that slowly dries up—from the curls on your pelvis all the way to your hip. He pinches you softly.

“Can I fuck you?” He asks.

In response, you press your ass to where he’s waiting for you.

“Yes, please—yes.” You say, not bothering to veil your willingness.

If your bones weren’t aching, you’d let him fold you like cheap paper. Knees to your ears and all.

Simon’s fingers tug down your pants and knickers at the same time, exposing the burning skin of your ass to the air. Even under the duvet and pressed against him, everything feels so unbelievably fresh—it’s utter relief that has you softening against his chest.

Relief that ratchets up when you feel the head of his cock glide seamlessly through your slit, causing you to grind your hips backwards each time it catches your swollen clit.

His tongue lavishes the skin of your neck, distracting you from the pleasurable pain of the stretch as he comfortably slides in. You feel your muscles tighten around him, as your nails dig into his arm wrapped around your waist.

But Simon’s the one who seems most out of his element, for once.

“Jesus fucking Christ, love.” He breathes heavily to your shoulders. His voice doesn’t even sound like him.

The hand around your waist grabs a handful of your clothes, fabric bulging within the grooves of his fingers, while the one extended under your neck fists the pillow until his knuckles paint white.

“F-fuck—you’re burnin’ up.” He croaks, burying his face against the back of your head. “Bloody hell—fuckin’ melting me down ‘ere.”

He tries to move but his voice cracks in a moan before he stops completely. More muted curses leave him.

“Fuckin’ hell you feel good.” He pants, voice so breathy you can barely hear him, and you wonder if he’s talking to you at all. “S’ so fuckin’ hot.”

He stays stock still inside of you, hips flush to your ass.

But you’re as cheeky as they come, and he should know that already.

Which is why you move, canting your hips until you can feel him slide out of you, and then back in.

“Fuck, no—sto—"

Simon grunts. Chokes on it.

One flick of your ass has him unravel. He cums inside of you with a quick snap of his hips to meet yours, and the slap of flesh against flesh would be loud if it weren’t for how strong his groan is.

For how much he’s filling you up, buried to the hilt until you swear you can almost feel him throbbing in your stomach.

Simon hides in the crook of your neck, holding on tight with a stiff arm curled around your belly. You can feel his heartbeat thunder against yours, as if merging together—erratic and unsteady.

It takes him a while to recover, to catch his breath. You coax him out of his bubble gently, threading your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp until you feel him deflate behind you with a sigh.

“Bit of a cunt move, that.” He mumbles, but there’s no bite in his voice.

You smile. Somehow the aches in your body soften up, and you feel like floating on a cloud.

“Well, I'd say you didn't mind much,” you say innocently.

He snorts.

A hand lands blindly on your face, and he gives it a good scramble until you’re chuckling in his palm. You easily recognize that as his way to sneakily check for your temperature, while masking it as a playful jab.

“Sorry,” you feel compelled to say, though your voice is muffled by his hand.

And then he nuzzles your shoulder, planting a fat kiss on your neck.

“S’alrigh’,” he says softly. “Saved us from a third-degree burn, after all. Gotta thank you for tha'."

You burst into a laugh that he catches with his mouth—his fingers already curled around your jaw, turning your head his way before you can utter another word.

Your laughter seeps through your lips onto his, vibrating until his cheeks curl into a smile of his own.

Infectious, like your stupid flu.

Because the next morning, Simon wakes up with a terrible sore throat, though he doesn’t feel as annoyed as he thought he'd be.

In fact, he decides being sick can't be that bad, when you make it feel this good.

Even if now you're both cranky, feverish, and all.

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fictionalbookworm02 · 5 days ago

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GHOST uses to workout quite frequently, because of his job in military. He never admits it loud, but he likes to be in good shape. He likes the glances that you’re sending him when he’s taking off his shirt on purpose to present you his muscular back, covered in black ink tattoos.

There’s only one thing that he hates during his daily routine — push ups. He doesn’t know why he dislikes to do that workout, it’s just happen. He prefers other exercises, but while he’s at home, without the gym equipment, it’s just what’s left for him to stretch those arms muscles more.

But fortunately, recently you’ve got an idea of how to make this workout more pleasant for him. You find yourself on the floor, underneath Ghost while he’s grunting and sweating. It’s not what you think it is, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t making you feel in a certain way.

You like the view from down there. He’s shirtless and the only piece of clothing that he wears are the grey sweatpants. The way he’s looking and sounding makes you want to wrap your legs around his waist and just keep him down.

“Don’t try to give up, because you’ll squish me.” You giggle once Ghost makes another push up, giving you a quick kiss in meantime.

“Not gonna, doll.” He says back in breathy tone, pushing himself back up. He grunts again and lower himself down, giving you another kiss.

You make this exercise quite enjoyable for him.

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fictionalbookworm02 · 5 days ago

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“Simon.” You mumble against his muscular chest, face squished into the fabric of his shirt.

“Yes, love?”

“Is this attempted murder?”

“No, love.” He grumbles sleepily, his heavy weight only pressing further into where he has you pinned beneath him. “‘M just hugging’ ya…” his sentence ends in a yawn, covering up the sound of your groan in protest.

“Si, this hug feels like attempted murder.” You could attempt to wriggle out from underneath him, but that’s a lost cause and you know it.

Bending your knees, you slide your bare feet up the back of his calves.

“Fuck!” He shouts, finally fully waking up and rolling off you. He doesn’t go far though, landing next to you on the mattress and instantly pulling you into his embrace. “Fuckin’ toes are freezin’. You got any feeling left in those feet o’ yours?”

“None at all, actually. Glad you asked. You can massage them for me.”

“With pleasure. One o’ them happy endin’ massages, aye?”

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fictionalbookworm02 · 6 days ago

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Just thinkn here 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Simon is on his way back from the shops, and when he does get home reader is sat on the floor crying over a broken vase or somthing for absolutely no Reason!

so your ask reminded me of this post i saw! which is price x reader and lovely. because of that i’m going to spice it up a little so im not rewriting it lol. this is f!reader

unedited! simon is able to pick up reader but let's be real that man is built like a tank so yes he could pick up anyone.

stalking simon riley is not for the weak.

well, it’s not exactly stalking if he knows you’re doing it.

ghost doesn’t open up easily. you sensed it when you joined the team, having to translate his grunts and small quips over comms into real facts.

infiltrating an eastern european town, combating snow and christmas lights, just for simon to grunt "fuckin' hate this holiday" in your ear.

commenting on how he only wears a certain sweatshirt one base. he shrugged and said "doesn't have those strings", letting you know he hates the bounce of them against his chest.

you collect these bits like puzzle pieces, building the image that is simon riley. but it's never enough, it doesn't quell this ache in your chest to know your fellow lieutenant. so tonight, you've decided to knock on his door under the guise of checking in after a nasty hit he took from you last mission.

"hi, ghost." he opens the door a crack, scanning you up and down. you take in his medical mask and the remnants of eyeblack surrounding his eyes. it's a casual look on a man you've never seen be casual. "bird." he says, his nickname for you murmured like a secret. "i wanted to check on you after last mission. haven't really seen you around base." he opens the door further, a surprising change of events. you step in cautiously, checking your surroundings like some hostile is going to jump out of his closet. ghost chuckles gruffly at your actions and you relax at the sound, shoulders dropping easily. you toe off your boots silently, then move further in.

ghost plops down on his bed, patting the space beside him. you (and soap) are the only people he lets close to him, but even with that, you've never sat on his bed. "it was your shoulder, right?" he nods, tapping the shoulder closest to you. "nothin' torn to flutter over, bird. jus' sore." you roll your eyes, leaning back on the bed so you can see the back of him. the massive breadth of his shoulders almost blocks the fading sunlight from your vision. you prod at the sore muscle, noticing how he tenses before letting his shoulders fall back down.

"does this hurt?" you ask, almost a whisper. he grunts out a 'no' but lets you continue to poke it this way and that, finding where it hurts the most. the pain seems to be minimal, but ghost feels like the type of soldier to hide a gunshot wound until he fainted from blood loss. "you should go to PT." you press your palm into the meat of him and you can't even pretend it's for medical reasons when truly, you have a morbid curiosity to know the limits of his body. ghost hisses and you jolt back like you've been burned. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry!" he shakes his head, one heavy paw clamping down on your thigh as it kicks out in shock. "'s fine, birdie." when you move forward, his hand stays, anchoring you to the mattress. it's gloved but the heat of it is searing through your fatigues. "maybe you should grab an ice pack for tonight." he squeezes your thigh before returning his hand to his lap like it was never there. suddenly, your body is wracked with chills.

"back soon, then." ghost stands up from the bed, the mattress creaking with effort. he's...leaving? "so i'll see you in the morning?" you make to get up but he shoots you a look, locking you in place. "said i'll be back. you can stay." he moves to the dresser and you watch him peel his mask off, exchanging it for a simple baclava. you've seen his face before but take the time to examine the back of his head. his haircut is choppy, like he did it himself. the image is gone a second later when black fabric encases the rest of his head, hiding his face from view. he leaves with a head nod, favoring his other shoulder to open the door. the moment he leaves, your spring up in fervor.

you start with his desk. ignoring the paperwork and private journals, you look at the few items sprinkled throughout. extra masks, pens for work, a few books on military strategy. no photos of family or friends outside of the military, but one of the task force from a few months after you joined. it was the first time ghost had ever touched you on purpose, his hand around your waist as the five of you smiled at the camera. soap is grinning, gaz looks like he's seducing the person behind the photo, price's smile is hidden by his beard, and you're squealing like a kid while ghost squeezes your waist. his mask is on, of course, but you delude yourself into spotting smile lines around his eyes.

you move on to his windowsill. surprisingly, there's a very dead succulent that was clearly never watered after being gifted. next to it is a small vase, completely out of place with the rest of the barebones room. it only has enough space for a singular flower but sits empty next to the dead plant. you reach out to trace the beautiful blue pattern but with one unsure flick of your thumb, it falls to the ground with a small crash. you freeze.

shards of porcelain surround your socked feet. tears well in your eyes as you think about how disappointed ghost will be. your hands cover your mouth like a bad mime, shock etched clearly on your face. of course, that's when ghost decides to return.

"snagged the last cake slice from mess, figured you'd want- oh." he stands at the door entrance with an ice pack in one hand and a plate of cake in the other. the sweetness of it hits you in the gut and the tears that were already forming fall hard down your cheeks. "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, simon. it was so fast and i didn't mean to wreck it." you sniffle out, wiping fiercely at the tears sliding down your face. he sets the cake slice down on the bed, then nears the scene of disaster. "can ya jump?" he asks, standing at the edge of the broken pieces with his arms open. you gulp, then nod. it's a small leap but he catches you easily, awkwardly pressing you to his chest as your legs scramble for purchase. his hands shift downwards and you get the memo, wrapping your arms around his neck as his own hike your legs around his waist. he walks the two of you over to the desk, plopping you down unceremoniously. your legs drop from his waist, but he still stands in between them, letting your feet brush his calves.

"you hurt?" you shake your head 'no', swiping at the remaining tears on your face. "i'm sorry again, simon, i really am." instead of answering, he pulls off his mask and tosses it on the table. he doesn't look mad, per say, but there's conflict in his eyes. you mumble out another apology and train your eyes on his legs instead of his face.

a gloved hand reaches out and tilts your chin up to meet his eyes. "was jus' a stupid vase, bird. nothin' special." you hiccup, unsure. "are you- are you sure? i'll pay you back, i promise." his thumb strokes the soft skin of your lips, a relaxing rhythm back and forth. "saw it in a flea market after my first mission." you frown at how sentimental it was. "that means it was special." he shakes his head. "got somethin' more special an' harder to break." you don't know how to reply to that. he presses down on your lip until his thumb meets your teeth. it's terribly intimate. instead of ending the conversation there, you ask a question, always needing to no more about him.

"like what?" you whisper. he grunts, thumb swiping against your teeth before pulling back to cup your cheek. "this bird who breaks my shit, 'pparently." you bark out a laugh, then stop when you realize he means it. "really?" he nods. you wrap your legs around the back of his, tugging him in closer. "i am really sorry, though. maybe we could buy a new one or-"

he cuts you off with a kiss. it's gentler than you thought he would kiss. there's a scar running through his lip and you love the feel of it, biting his bottom lip playfully as you pull him in closer. "such a magpie, goin' through my shit." he murmurs, breaking the kiss just to give you another one. "simon." you respond, whispering his name like a promise. your hands find purchase in his hair, nails digging into his scalp. he rips away with a low moan and you whine at the loss. "need to clean this up 'fore someone gets hurt." you lurch to slip off the desk but strong hands keep you there, his eyes scrunched in a glare. "one of us is wearin' shoes, birdie." you glance down and sure enough, your socks are already covered in porcelain flakes. skeleton hands tug them off, fingers caressing the delicate bones in your foot reverently before pulling away.

"stay here." you nod, feeling childish with your mistake. he can sense it, always does, so he leans in to peck your forehead. "stay put. no touchin', magpie." you grin. he shakes his head, a small smile on his face. "you don't mind cleaning up my mess?" you ask. he snorts, caressing your chin before pulling away.

"i'll always clean your messes, birdie."

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fictionalbookworm02 · 6 days ago

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Great Heights

‣ Pairing: Simon Riley (Ghost) x GN!Reader

‣ Genre: Flangst (angst & fluff)

‣ Summary: When Simon realizes he has feelings for you.

‣ Warnings: Avoidant behavior, Simon being a stalker, Simon being completely incompetent at handling his emotions in a normal and healthy way (but we love him anyway, don't we?).

‣ Word Count: 1,214

‣ A/N: Idk about you, but I believe Simon Riley almost always resorts to stalker/creep behavior when he has feelings for someone. It's inevitable. He's either avoiding them like the plague, or going borderline yandere on their ass, with no in between. He doesn't know how to be normal about this at all. Good luck to whoever he falls for, 'cause you're in for a wild ride with this guy.

➼ Simon will distance himself from you almost immediately after realizing he has feelings for you.

• He is an avoidant type; known for burying his emotions and running away from any sign of vulnerability.

• Love makes him vulnerable. Love makes him weak.

• Claims he doesn't have time for love or relationships. That those things would distract him from his job.

• He'll indulge himself in meaningless one night stands on occasion, but that's as far as he ever takes things.

• His job always comes first.

• But then you came into the picture.

• He may not have consciously put the pieces together at first (the man needs AT LEAST 3-5 business WEEKS before he is finally able to truly understand his feelings), but he knew immediately upon meeting you that you were different.

• Not in a bad way, not in a "you stick out like a sore thumb," kind of way…

• More in a "you're so beautiful and your voice is so nice and your laughter is adorable and when you look at me I get all tingly and warm all over and it's kinda hard to breathe and I'm definitely not gonna be able to stop thinking about you anytime soon," kind of way.

• He'd never experienced that with anyone else before. So, to him, meeting you was a total shock to his system.

• After many days of random run-ins and conversations with you, he began to get really freaked out by his feelings and the way he reacted every time he was around you.

• You made him feel like he was free falling from a great height, unable to control the experience and unsure of when it would end, or if he'd survive it.

• It scared the shit out of him.

• Can you believe it? Simon RIley. Ghost. Scared.

• This was definitely uncharted waters for him.

• So, he promptly began avoiding you.

• He made no attempts to keep it subtle either. Every time he so much as caught the smallest glimpse of you, he was spinning on his heels and power walking away from you.

• He knew you knew he was avoiding you, but thankfully, you hadn't tried to bring it up to him.

• (How could you when he was bolting out of any space with you in it faster than you could blink?)

• He buried himself in his work, told himself he didn't care, that this was just a stupid, fleeting crush. He didn't need you. He didn't need anyone. He was better off alone.

• This little avoidance game lasted a good handful of weeks. He was thrilled when he was sent on a mission, hoping the time away would serve as a detox to get you out of his system.

• It didn't. In fact, it made everything worse.

• Now he couldn't even go a second without thinking of you. He wondered how you were doing, what you ate for breakfast, what pretty little outfit you decided to dress yourself in that day, if you had slept well the night before, if you were safe, if you were okay.

• If you were thinking of him too.

• Soon enough, the mere passing thoughts and silly daydreams turned into deep-seated longing. An ache for you that pervaded his chest. An ache to see you, to hear your voice, to protect you, to hold you.

• He needed you.

• He ached for you to need him too.

• You were hit with a wave of whiplash when he got back from his mission.

• Suddenly, he was popping up left and right. Most times from afar, silently keeping an eye on you. You'd catch him in the corner of your eye as you went about your day, or feel his watchful gaze on you, only to spot no sign of him when you turned to look around.

• He was there, though. An ever-looming presence in each and every day.

• If it were anyone else, you'd be frightened. But for some reason, knowing Simon was around, even at a distance, made you feel...safe.

• It also confused you. Why did he go from avoiding you to spending every moment of his spare time around you?

• Why hadn't he attempted to speak to you?

• One day, you'd finally had enough.

• The next time you'd caught him watching you from afar, you beelined straight towards him.

• It would've made you giggle, watching him grow visibly tense as he straightened his spine, eyes darting towards the nearest exit. But, you were committed to appearing serious to him. Him avoiding you for weeks and then stalking you like a creep was no laughing matter!

"Hello, Simon."

Stood rigidly before you, Simon cleared his throat, his mask hiding what you were sure to be a similarly tense and nervous face.

"Hello."

"Whatcha doin'?" you asked in a sing-song tone, though your eyes held an interrogatory intensity as they remained locked on his.

He broke contact with your eyes, and you had to stifle the smirk that tugged at your lips when you caught sight of his throat bobbing beneath his balaclava.

"I-erm, nothing."

You let the silence drag on for a moment, watching as his eyes flickered to and from you as he visibly struggled to decipher what your intentions were, before finally putting him out of his misery.

Simon nearly flinched when you suddenly presented a water bottle to him in your outstretched hand.

"Good. Can you help me open this?"

Your small smile seemed to set his nerves at ease a bit as he silently nodded, grabbing the bottle and giving it a simple twist before handing it back to you.

A sweeter smile was offered to him now as you took the bottle from him. "Thanks!"

Another silent nod from the burly man was enough to make you take things one step further.

He grew tense again when you took his hand and began pulling him towards where you were before.

"Come on, then! If you're gonna be a stalker, you might as well be a useful one."

• The two of you worked on completing your task together, and slowly but surely, you managed to pull Simon out of his shell. He began talking to you more, responding verbally instead of silent nods and quiet hums.

• You'd caught him staring a few times, and simply giggled at him before returning your eyes to what you were focusing on before.

• Normally, this kind of interaction would leave him wanting to run as far away from it as he could.

• Surprisingly though, he found himself enjoying it. Somehow, you'd managed to make him feel...safe.

• A switch had flipped in Simon's heart. Suddenly, he wasn't quite as terrified anymore.

• Maybe this whole relationship thing wasn't such a bad idea, after all? Beats being cold and alone and missing you by a long shot.

• Before, he couldn't stand being around you. Now, he couldn't stand to be away from you.

• Nor could he bear the thought of a future without you in it.

• When he met you, he knew you were different, but never had he expected you to be such a powerful force of change in his life; melting away his cold, steely exterior and exposing his battered heart to your mercy.

• All it took was one soft smile, a gentle touch, a knowing look, to anchor him to you—every fear dissipating as he looked to you as his guiding light.

➼ He decided then that he was alright with falling, so long as you'd be there to catch his heart in the end.

➼ Main Masterlist ➼ Request Info

‣Taglist: @jslittlebirdie @alittlesmartcookie

‣ If you’d like to join the taglist for Simon Riley/Ghost, let me know by sending me an ask/message, or comment on this post!

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fictionalbookworm02 · 6 days ago

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Haii i love your work!! not many ppl on tumblr use the style you do and i love it smm

How would simon feel about his doll getting sick or having a fever? I jst got over the flu myself lol so and i was thinking abt that like the WHOLEEE time. EEEEK like imagine him coming home from a short deployment only to find the reader sick? If you wanna turn it into smut you can : D

eeek love this idea and you, youre so kind schnookums

going for some sweet and caring simon with this one, hate to say its been a couple days since ive written and I have to warm back up to it. dis lowkey ass

wc: { 986 }

— simon loves pampering you. always has and always will. he's utterly smitten to the idea of having you desperately needing him. his poor dumb baby needed him more than she already normally did and he was in heaven.

it started off with your sniffles. he first noticed when he was braiding your hair after a shower. his thick fingers making even and delicate strands curve around one another.

you were sitting down on the floor, between his legs while he sat on the couch. simon kept hearing you sniffle it all up. the first couple times he didn't think much of it. but by the fourth time, he's tying the elastic band around your hair and speaking up.

"you feelin' stuffy, hun?"

he didn't know what he expected when you shook your head 'no'. you understood what it brought when you were sick. but he wasn't convinced for long.

the rest of the day he's holding tissues to your nose and saying, "blow it out . . . doin' nothing gettin' it stuck all in your head like that."

the next day it didnt get any better, and it was certainly not just a headcold he originally thought it was. you were more sluggish than usual to get out of bed. he felt bad for you, a stuffy nose and bad headache was soon met with a fever.

simon put in work to get you comfy in bed. every time he came back upstairs to take your temp, he had to pull away the many blankets you were trying to burrow yourself into.

"baby c'mon, you gotta break the fever . ." he grumbles while grabbing your water cup to refill. and every time he set a new cold glass down, he marks a little line on it, "drink this much by the end of the hour, mmkay?" gently scratching your scalp with his fingers, "don't want you to get dehydrated."

he was starting to get worried by the evening and nothing seemed to be working, a tummy ache was the last thing you needed with all of this. a pounding head, sweaty skin, stuffy nose, and now nausea lingering around and threatening to really ruin your night.

he kept refilling your water and making sure to keep the damp washcloth cold, pressing it on the back of your neck and the top of your forehead. warm fingers rubbed over your tummy and traced gentle patterns on the flushed skin of your back, trying his best to keep you distracted and focused on the sensations he could provide.

the entire day you had been in and out of a useless sleep. a long day of tissues, ice cubes, and popsicles. it was like you were just on the verge of rest the entire day, each time you got close, a harsh wave of nausea came through or a new painful headache came by.

after some convincing, he got you up to the bathroom.

he understood it was at its peak when he was sitting on the bathroom floor with you. the comfort of the cold tile just seemed perfect for your clammy skin right now. but simon kept assuring you that once you got sick and got it all out, things would start to feel better.

but if there was one thing worse than nausea, it was the actual act of throwing up. the entire room was filed with your incessant whines and pleas of denial.

and he had gotten close a couple times, helping you pull your hair back and telling you to 'get it out'. though nothing seemed to be working. he felt bad about what he was about to do, but you needed it.

warm and secure hands helped you sit upright, holding your hair in his grip. the same hand that was wrapped around you now wiping your tears.

"open your mouth"

soft pants left your lips when you opened your mouth, not registering what was happening until his fingers shoved all the way back into your throat and he got you to gag. the thick pads of his fingertips pressing down onto the back of your tongue. getting them all soppy with drool. pulling them out after you jolted and grabbed at him.

the cycle started, and you could feel that it was going to happen. looking at him with tired eyes that harbored so much malice at what he had just done. telling him a shaky and quivered 'fuck you' before finally getting it all out. he rubbed your back and held your hair the whole time.

"sorry baby, you'll feel better after i promise."

he was able to withstand your petulant words, you'd be thanking him later when the nausea was gone because you finally stopped fighting it. or was rather forced to.

of course after that awful interaction, he took time giving you a sweet and loving bath. the lukewarm water being just what you needed. he helped you brush your teeth a couple times, the bubbled water swiping over your skin and getting off all that sickness that harbored on your body.

he let you have some alone time after being up on you for the past two days - making sure you had a nice clean bed to get back into after the bath. misting over the covers and pillows with some lavender spray and retrieving a big glass of water with some tylenol next to it.

and you hated to admit how it really did feel better after getting sick. excited to get some sleep after a long day of being teetered on the edge of it for hours.

he shoved the two pills into your mouth and held the straw for you to drink water from.

"good baby . . . feelin' better?" his warm voice purrs while pushing your hair out of your face.

he was happy to see you nod and close your eyes, spending no time waiting around to get some rest.

ೃ࿔* tag list: @vanillarosekiss @simonskitty @cu456 @silverwoodlynx @mlthree @vint4geroses @ktmjoslin @darlingchanse @xangelbnnyx @tslmvn @1pps @jgissle12 @asherscove @bunty-girl @yu-rikaa @diorpar @sky-robin @ray-19 @ldrtypeofgirl @mentalhorror @teranya @chawitea @all-by-myself98 @jinx53 @alfiestreacle @annierosesposts

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fictionalbookworm02 · 6 days ago

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Simon Riley x Wife!Reader

The knife in your hand isn’t for Simon, but the thought is tempting.

Simon, standing in the middle of the chaos, holds a spatula like it’s a foreign object. He stares at you, unbothered, as if he hasn’t just committed a war crime in your kitchen.

“I’m running out of reasons to not stab you,” you say.

He blinks slowly, like a cat. “Use me ribs, love. Less mess.”

You slam the knife down on the counter and point a finger at him instead. “What the hell is this?”

He shrugs. “Breakfast.”

“This is arson with extra steps.”

You stare at him, then at the kitchen, then back at him. Your blood pressure rises. “What part of this is not that bad?”

Simon, the six-foot-something god of a man who has probably stared death in the face more times than you can count, has the audacity to smirk. “The effort.”

You exhale sharply, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Simon, I love you, but if you ever—”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

He says it so easily, with that gravelly voice and the hint of amusement curling the words, and you hate that it works. That it softens the sharp edges of your irritation, even as you glare at him.

He takes a step closer, crowding your space just enough that you feel the warmth of him. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Was tryin’ to do somethin’ nice.”

You cross your arms. “This was not nice. This was a health hazard.”

He leans down, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth, then mutters against your skin, “Go sit down. I’ll clean it up.”

You hesitate, watching him with narrowed eyes, then sigh. “Fine. But if I find one speck of flour on the ceiling, I’m stabbing you.”

His chuckle follows you as you leave the kitchen, and you don’t have to turn around to know that whatever punishment you think you’ll deliver, he’d let you do it with a smile.

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