#I was giggling and kicking my legs

[machveil]

i’ve been thinking about this can you write reader giving simon riley a hand job and over stimulating him and continuing after he cums?

yes, anon, yes I can🤍✨ a treat for this Friday afternoon, remember to have some water and enjoy going into the weekend

Sweet Man

between deployments, training, and trying to have a normal life, Simon Riley forgets that he deserves to relax - he deserves to feel good CW: handjob (male receiving), overstimulation, praise, general sweetness aimed at Simon - this is fluff hidden behind a nsfw label

Ghost is a busy man, a Lieutenant with Task Force 141. he’s been through hell - nightmare deployments, close calls, surviving gunfire. he can be called away for weeks to months, barely any communication. keeping in contact with him is near impossible when he’s off waging war with enemy soldiers

Ghost isn’t any better on base, combat training and hitting the gym leaving him sore and achy. but, only flesh and blood, Ghost doesn’t quit - he’d be a dead man if he didn’t train. a well oiled machine, a means to an end, Ghost is a fighter and his body reflects that. marred skin, scattered with scars and old wounds

Simon Riley is just a man. off duty, a normal civilian - as normal as he can try to be. Simon tries to leave Ghost behind at base, unnecessary for his home life - dredging through his job is hard enough, he tries leaving that behind for his Manchester apartment. but sometimes it gnaws at his heart, the urge to do something. it’s hard for him to relax, something always keeping on the edge of working. changing a lightbulb, fixing an appliance, going out for groceries, as much as Simon tries to wind down there’s always something to do

enter you, his darling partner. it tugs at your heartstrings to see Simon so wound up - his body doesn’t know rest. he’s been serving since sixteen, and now as an adult he’s always wandering around fixing one thing or another. sure, he can sit down for a game, crack open a beer during a poker night, but letting his guard down? it’s rare

so you do the only thing you can do when he’s wound up and restless - lure him to the bedroom with soft smiles and sweet words. as terrifying and fearsome as Ghost is, Simon Riley all but melts for you. he’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked him to

it always takes him a moment to accept that, yeah, he doesn’t have to be on edge. soft pecks to his cheeks, hands smoothing down his arms, a quick hug and a charming smile. that’s really all it takes for him to settle into bed with you, presumably for a cuddle session or to watch that series you like

he’s not complaining when you paw at his hips though, shoulders slumping when you softly ask if you can touch him - that always tugs at his heartstrings, simple as it is. who’s he to say no to you when all you want to do is help him? he’d begrudgingly admit that, to himself, and only himself, he’s tired. carrying weight on his shoulders from his job, staying alive, keeping his loved ones alive

he lets you pull his belt off, undo his pants, lifts his hips slightly so you can tug them and his underwear down. pillows against his lower back, leaning in your direction, he’s asking you for a kiss. as much as he’s at your beck and call, following your whims, you’re just as smitten with him as he is with you - and who are you to deny your Simon a kiss? lips gently pressing to his, a little chapped and rough, but a sweet kiss nonetheless

his hand cupping your cheek, the other resting on the sheets - gripping them a little when your hand falls to his erection. all he can manage is a deep, low groan, muffled against you as you simply hold him for the moment, thumb brushing against a vein. slow, compared to his fast paced, kill-or-be-killed world, he appreciates the slow, steady affection. he appreciates when you lean into his touch, pull away from his lips to press a kiss to his palm. he appreciates it when you gently squeeze him, soft hand against him as you drag your palm up

he’d be satisfied like this, happy to settle for your hand against his cock - eyes fluttering shut when you press another kiss to his lips. a barely audible sigh leaving him as his thighs relax, his shoulders slope. “Being so good for me, Simon.”, your murmured words, sweet voice reaching him

and, oh, your Simon, he’s vocal when he’s soft like this, just for you. the whine you pull from him when you speak is gold, “Such a good man, Si.”. a good man, he used to scoff when you told him that. now? it draws needy breathes from him as he bucks up against your palm, seeking friction against you, “Jus’ f’you, lovie”

slow, the way he wraps his arm around your waist, bringing you closer for another kiss - groaning when you run your thumb over his tip. he can’t help but hold you close, pulling back and pressing his forehead to yours. those brown, nearly black eyes of his half lidded as he stares at you. a delicious, deep rumble in his chest when you pump him

he’d do anything for you - so when you pull your hand off him, a whine resonating in his throat, he listens to you. he finds comfort in you giving him an order to follow, familiar, but softer compared to his job. when you bring your hand up, palm open, and tell him to lick? he turns his brain off and he listens

he does more than you ask of him, he always will, his hand leaving your cheek to cup your hand. he kisses your finger tips, lips parted as his tongue darts out a little - his eyes finally closing as he opens his mouth. soft moans pulled from him as he sucks two of your fingers, your index and middle resting on his tongue as he hums around them softly. he’s nearly drooling when you press down a little, the gentle pressure making him throb

he pulls off of them, a thin strand of drool connecting his lips to your fingers before he kisses your palm. slow, sloppy open mouth kisses before his tongue is dragging down your palm. he’s already out of it, mind hazy when you pull your hand away - his head dipping down, forehead to the crook of your neck

sinful - the only word you could use to describe the breathy moan that leaves him, your hand wrapped around him again. your other hand gently carding through his hair has Simon feeling bliss. he’s big, a looming figure that terrifies soldiers and civilians alike, but in the comfort of his bed? he’s nothing more than your whiny, putty Simon. brain turned off, mouth nipping and sucking at your neck as he dumbly ruts against your hand

he’s returning the favor from earlier, pawing at your hips, kneading them with his rough, calloused hands. when you flick your wrist, slow, controlled, Simon’s dumbly babbling against your throat. “S’good— you feel so good, love.”, gravely voice cracking when you shush him, gently scratching his scalp as you coo, “Relax for me, being such a good boy, Simon.”

whiny, he’d scoff at someone for calling him that, a grown man like him doesn’t whine. but, behind closed doors when he’s holding you for dear life? pleas to come undone spill from his lips, rough voice contrasting the needy sounds he’s making, “Need you— please, lovie—“. hands groping the meat of your thighs as he bucks against you

you’ve stilled your hand at this point, he’s doing all the work. frantic, short thrusts against your hand. his legs kick out as he presses himself against you, nearly cuddling you if it wasn’t for his twitchy movements. your slick hand - now wet from his own spit and pre - has him shaking, feet planted against the sheets as he bends his knees

it’s all he can do, poor thing, frantically fucking up into your grasp - gasping as he shudders. so close, and when you finally move your hand in time with him, meeting his thrusts, he goes slack jawed. tip leaky as it grazes your thumb pad, his leg jerks involuntarily. letting out a deep, guttural moan, he’s fucking himself stupid with just your hand. eyebrows knit as he wraps his arms around your waist, a death grip as he speeds up

still. heavy, panting breathes as he coats your hand and his stomach - mouth latched on to your neck, dumbly sucking as he steadies his breath. jerking. he’s still coming down from his high when you start pumping him again, his hips bucking away. “Too much—“, voice strained as he gasps, eyes rolling back when you spit into your palm, “Please—“

he’s too stupid to know what he’s begging for - a break? your touch? faster. he doesn’t even know he’s said that, garbled noises leaving his throat before he’s biting the base of your neck. half hard, completely yours to play with as he goes boneless. glossy eyes look up at yours, moaning when you softly smile at him, closing when you speak

“Relax, Simon. I’ll make you feel good, baby, just relax.”. Simon, always ready for a fight, loses when you pick up the pace - brain leaking out his ears as you peck his lips

[microwavingfranky]

Sorry for being Frobin’s greatest and strongest enjoyer! Sorry!! Geez!!

[bogbutteronmycroissant]

the scream is scrumpt when hozier appeared in my spotify wrapped message will always be remembered

[treppi]

happy new earthspark everyone :] i drew this while rewatching season 1

^ little closeup. they are in a video call :]

[birdbrainedboy]

Couldn’t find any good romance shows so I started X-Files instead

[mail-me-a-snail]

anyway waddahell why not publish some of the helmet party doodles i have saved in my drafts... ft. blu engie and his insufferable golden retriever guy

[wr0wn]

?

[lotus-pear]

NEW MAYOI CARDDDDS MADE ME SILLY THEY CANONICALLY HAVE GIRLS NIGHT SLEEPOVERS IM SOBBING UEUEUUEUEUE

[sili-a]

Love like you

Swapped broppy au. Have you ever read a fanfic SO GOOD it inspires you to make art?

This song has been stuck in my mind for weeks thanks to the ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECE written by PrincessPoppifer @princesspoppifer on ao3 Brilliant Blue and Muted Magenta, this one became my ultimate favorite and steal my heart, so I had to make fanart of it.

Love like you from Steven Universe captures the broppy dynamic from Poppy's pov sooo well. I actually have a list of other songs for these two, but this one was the best.

[gorgynei]

let not light see my black and deep desires

[iheartcoffeecakesm]

ok, i dont understand how horikoshi came up with such a great/attractive design, im talking abt keigo takami ladies and gentlemen. HOW THE BLEEP DID HE MAKE THIS MAN SO SEXY???? TEACH ME UR WAYS HORIKOSHI🙏 PPL ALWAYS COMPLAIN ABT HAWKS FANS BUT HAVE U SEEN THIS MAN???

hes so bf core<3

[iluvreid]

HIS SMILE MAKES ME LOSE MY SHIT AHH

[ynnu-64]

KuaiHanzo making steam

[xuuxii]

I FINISHED IT FINALLY!!!

[msmimundo]

*looks at you with my big sad eyes* can you draw perryshmirtz ?

The true enemies to lovers

[annievrse]

apron makeover

sanji x fem!reader —ᡣ𐭩 fic summary: sanji's apron looked a little plain... w/c: 0.9k c/w: a little bit suggestive (it's literally sanji), reader referred to as 'my lady'.

"Is it to your liking, my love?"

Humming, you nod. "It's perfect. Thank you, baby."

Sanji's cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson as he turns back to the sink, scrubbing at a pan. The galley is empty, with the rest of the crew on the deck celebrating another successful fight. The Sunny breaks through waves slower than usual, and the constant threat from the world is a distant thought for the night.

The only sounds are the ding of the spoon in your hand on the ceramic plate, the slosh of the water in the sink, and the faraway laughter of your friends.

The delicate sweetness of the dessert your boyfriend prepared you fills your body with a warmness only he can elicit. You're content, and with that comes the overwhelming appreciation you have for your cook.

"I love you," You say, the words tumbling from your lips as you stare at his back. Sanji glances over his shoulder, his cheeks pink and mouth pulled into a wide grin.

"I love you more, my darling."

Your cheeks warm, and you smile shyly at him. Sanji chuckles lightly and places the clean pan on the side of the sink. He turns to face you and leans against the counter.

As you lick your spoon clean, an idea pops into your head. The apron he wears looks a little plain with its all-white material, and although Sanji thinks it exudes professionalism, you think differently.

Giggling, you slide from the bar stool and rush to the storage cupboard. Sanji calls your name as you rummage through the stuff, but when you find what you're looking for, you slam the door shut and lunge for the plain apron the cook wears.

"What are you doing?" Sanji mutters, his voice light and airy at how close you are. Your gaze is wide with excitement, and Sanji would be lying if he said it didn't excite him, too (not that he ever lied about such things when it comes to you).

With a pot of black paint and a small paintbrush from Usopp's stash, you decide against taking the apron directly from his body, and sit on a dining chair. "Come here."

Sanji raises an eyebrow but complies, standing between your thighs.

He'd let you do anything to him.

Dipping the paintbrush into the paint, you lean up slightly to start the lettering at the top of the apron. And when the first line of paint contacts the material, Sanji throws all previous opinions on professionalism out of his mind.

Paint whatever you want, he thinks, I'm your canvas.

"Hold still," You mumble, splaying your free hand on his stomach to flatten the fabric of his apron. The cook freezes, his body tingling everywhere you touch him over his clothes.

"I-I don't think we should do this in the galley—"

"Sanji," You giggle, pausing your painting to look up at him. The lovesick expression on his face makes your heart melt. "I'm just writing something, okay? It is of utmost importance that this be done right here and now."

Your boyfriend nods, fists balling at his sides. He's trying his best not to distract you from your very important work, but how your eyebrows furrow and the tip of your tongue pokes out the corner of your mouth has his chest hurting with restraint.

The paintbrush moves from the top of the garment to the middle and then lower. Your hand moves across his torso and down to his hip bone, the words taking up more space than you anticipated.

Sanji is so very clearly struggling with his sharp inhales and jerking abdomen, and you decide you've tortured him enough.

"Baby—"

"Done!" You say, leaning back to admire your work. "You look so hot."

Sanji splutters, his eyes turning into literal hearts at your words. "I would never disagree with a lady, my love, but I'd say that you—"

"Sanji," You smile, standing from the chair. Your hands find his clammy ones, and you tug him to the window. His reflection stares back at him, and a laugh tumbles from his lips, his ears turning a concerning shade of red.

Mr. Good Lookin' is Cookin'

You brush his hair from his eyes and kiss his cheek. "It's perfect, don't you think?"

Sanji opens his mouth to answer when the door slams into the wall.

"Oh, please," Comes Zoro's voice from the doorway. He has a disgusted, pained expression on his face that makes you giggle. "What curse has he put on you?"

You laugh, and Sanji sighs, turning toward the swordsman. "Just admit you're jealous and walk away, mosshead."

Rolling his eyes, Zoro stalks into the kitchen and pokes through the cupboard for a beer. He shrugs at its warm temperature and cracks it open. "Would love a cold one."

Sanji's eyes narrow. "And I would love it if you pissed off."

Before he leaves, Zoro looks the cook up and down and shakes his head disapprovingly.

Smiling, you grab your boyfriend's hand as he lunges. "Goodnight, Zoro."

The swordsman throws his hand up as he exits, the door swinging closed behind him.

Sanji scoffs and turns back to you, his gaze immediately melting at the sight of you. His hands grip your waist firmly. "What do you say we head to the back of the ship? I've heard it's pretty empty this time of night."

Tilting your head, you circle your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair. "I'd say that's a perfect idea, Mr. Good Lookin'."