#Simon Riley cod

[succubusvalentine]

Simon Riley who holds his breath when he's about to come. CW : blowjob, sub Simon, mentions of masturbation, PiV, mentions of being recorded during sex.

It was a horrible habit. You had to constantly remind him to breathe when he's about to come.

He gained the habit years ago when he was first in the military barracks as a recruit. He had to be quiet, obviously. The only issue was that he was rather loud when he came. Thus began the habit of holding his breath to not make any sounds.

But now you felt obligated to break the habit.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙��⋅•⋅

Your mouth was hot and wet, Simon knew your knees had to be aching with how long you'd been sucking his cock. And yet the selfish part of his brain didn't want to stop you. He couldn't.

Fuck he was close. So so so fucking close.

"Simon" you state firmly "breathe or I'll stop"

Simon didn't realise how lightheaded he'd become. A gasp coming from him. Both to fill his lungs and from your mouth enveloping his cock again.

A pathetic whine fell from Simon's lips as he came down your throat. His hips bucking weakly. He was so used to holding his breath as to not make a sound, that he didn't think to make his moans more masculine.

"You gotta remember to breathe, Si" you remind him. He didn't answer.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You were riding him after he finally got back from a three week deployment. Both of you desperate to feel each other after being apart for so long. The best you got was shitty reception phone calls where the dirty talk was barely audible as you finger yourself.

Your hands were on his chest for stability, Simons hips thrusting up into you while his fingers bruised your hips.

Your cunt clenched around him. And he couldn't stop his rapid climax. His lungs holding in the air he had in them. Nodding his head as his eyes squeezed shut.

He was snapped out of his haze as you firmly grabbed his jaw. Still riding him.

"Breathe" you demanded. And Simon nodded, gulping down air again. Moaning rather loud as he came.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

After a while, at least a year. Simon would break the habit. Much to your enjoyment and relief.

That was up until Simon came home with an expression that was both furious and embarrassing.

"What happened, Si?" You asked in concern.

"Got hard at work cause you sent me that pretty picture of you in that sundress. Tried wanking one out in my office. Johnny heard me when I came because I forgot to hold my breath" Simon glowered.

Immediately you tried holding in your laughter. And you knew that Simon found it at least somewhat funny.

"Never gonna hear the fucking end of it at work" Simon huffed, lifting you up off the couch and over his shoulder. heading straight for the bedroom. "Gonna record you moaning f'me and send it to the lads. That way when you come wi'us to the pub, I won't be the only one getting shit on"

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Y/N, yelling across the car park of a petrol station: BUY ME CHOCOLATE! Simon, yelling back: I AIN'T BUYING YOU SHIT! Simon: *buys chocolate for you anyway*

[lethargiccryptid]

A Silly Little Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader fluffy drabble ♥︎

“Sweetheart? It's 3 in the morning…” Simon scrubbed a hand through his hair, letting out a yawn as he flicked on the kitchen lights. He'd woken to your shuffling around, and much as he knew he'd most likely regret his findings, he couldn't help but investigate.

Running his burly hand down his face, he pushed open the screen door to your porch and stopped short.

His mind struggled to process the scene before him. There you were, sat on the cold deck floor, a bucket of hotdogs at your side, feeding the fattest raccoons he'd ever seen in his life.

“Hey, Si.” You grinned up at him warmly just as one of the porkers greedily grabbed a proffered hotdog from your fingers. Simon blinked several times. Have you never heard of rabies?

“Wha’ are you doin’?” Simon's voice rumbled with loving exasperation as he leaned against the door frame.

“Whenever I'm home, I like to feed these guys.” His heart melted as you cracked the ear of the raccoon closest to you. “Poor things, they were practically starving.”

Starving my ass. He thought dryly, biting back the urge to laugh as another raccoon waddled over to you. The beasts were massive. He'd forgotten how wooded the landscape of your childhood home was.

Growing up in the city, he hadn't witnessed this much unadulterated wildlife. Watching you beneath the flickering porch light though, his mind found it impossible to cast you as anything other than Snow White being surrounded by her woodland friends.

“Pass me a hotdog.” He grumbled, making his way through the throng of fur to sit next to you.

You may be a nutter, but you're his nutter, and afterall, isn't everyone a little crazy?

[consciouscarrot]

simon ghost riley, who loves you with teeth. literally.

he’ll sink his teeth into you at any given moment, it could be whilst you’re doing something completely mundane like folding laundry, and he’ll come up behind you, tilting your head to the side gently before he grazes your skin with his sharp teeth, teasing you as he chooses the perfect spot for his mark before he bites, pressing down hard. enough for you to wince and shift in his hold. but before you can let any murmurs of complaint, he always softens you up, licking away any traces of blood, pressing light kisses around the now sore area and whispering saccharine praises of you being his perfect girl.

however, the majority of the time, he’s not biting you solely for the enjoyment, but to find solace in marking up any untainted skin he can find. simon needs to see his marks on you as a physical reminder that you’re his, wholly and by choice. that you’re here, that you’re real. he needs to see the once smooth skin slowly bruise and for the indents of his teeth to appear beneath the sheen of his saliva, the clear liquid staining red from where he broke the skin. he needs to physically see your form changing because of him, something to remind him that you are here with him, that he’s not still with roba and his mind hasn’t just created you as a cruel way to cope. he bites until he’s forced to believe in the proof of your existence: in the feeling of your skin beneath his mouth tearing and moulding to his bite, in the quiet whimpers you let out, the metallic tang of your blood on his tongue, the smell of your perfume as he nuzzles further into your neck.

he often stays like that with you for a while, swaying slightly with his jaw still clamped down on you as he holds you close to him, strong arms wrapped tightly around you, squeezing just enough to limit your ability to move. you might lift your hand up to his hair, fingers threading through the blond strands, letting your nails drag over his scalp until he lets out a delicious groan into your spit-slick neck that sounds awfully like a purr.

the intimacy of these moments is priceless, and even though you can feel his drool trickling down your collarbone and your neck is stinging, you’d never trade this for anything. you see it for what it truly is, a display of deep trust. in those moments where he’s overcome with the lasting effects of trauma, those times where with anyone else he would pull away completely, eyes cold and tone sharp, craving comfort and affection but unable to accept even a morsel of it. instead, he chooses to push past those automatic responses, he chooses to let you see his vulnerability as he slowly unlearns the hatred and insecurity his father forced onto him. he lets you ease the lingering anger and grief from his past that he’s so desperate to bury.

when he’s finally ready to pull away, head far clearer than before, he’ll gently spin you around in his arms, eyes tracing over your fresh wound, thumbing the edges of the tender flesh, reddened and swollen with his mark. simon takes these moments to watch you, taking in every micro expression to make sure you’re okay and not angry with him; those dark eyes filled with guilt and sweet adoration boring into yours as he presses your foreheads together, lashes fluttering subtly in contentment.

he breathes out a sigh of relief at your slow smile, your hands rising to cradle his jaw, in a way so gentle and loving that only you could achieve.

a nagging part of his brain is always screaming at him to turn these soft, unguarded moments into a more comfortable version, with something he’s much more familiar with- lust. it’s telling him to give up, to turn you back around and bend you over, to punish you for loving him, for trusting him and for letting him trust you. he ignores it, a trick that took many years of patience and forgiveness from you to learn, until that traumatised part of him slowly retreats back, slowly allows him this seemingly fleeting moment of respite.

you’re so understanding that if he wasn’t so broken, he’s adamant that he’d be crying. his sweet lovie. you stay silent, waiting for him to either tell you what he needs, or for him to simply take it. whether that’s lying in bed for the rest of the day, curled up in each others warmth, or space and a little time to himself, you’ll give it to him in a heartbeat. he’d think of himself as one of those self centred, greedy boyfriends that does nothing but expect their girls to be their mums if it weren’t for the way that he knows he does the same for you too. he knows that when you’ve had a bad day, or even when you’ve had a good day, he drops everything immediately to be what you need.

it’s taken him a long time, and he’s still unlearning the bad and relearning the good, but everything feels just that bit easier with you. knowing that you’re his and he’s yours, plus being able to see the clear evidence of that on your skin, it makes him feel like maybe he can be better for you, after all.

hello! just a little smth, might be shit bc i’m rusty and still very new at the whole writing thing so please be kind. will probs disappear again after this. i hope you all had or are having a lovely day <3

m.list

[miryum]

Simon Riley has a lot of weird little quirks that I couldn’t fit in any other fic idea

Simon Riley knows how to braid hair and braid it well. French, Dutch, fishtail, anything you wanted. Little tiny braids didn’t deter him either. He would sit on the couch, you standing or sitting between his thick thighs and glare silently in concentration as he braided your hair. He’s also able to pick up any hairstyle real easily. Show him some inspiration on Pinterest and he’ll be able to replicate it almost perfectly. Simon isn’t as good at buns because he can’t quite get how to twist his wrist just right, but give him a strand of hair and he loves to weave it between his fingers. It makes him feel close to you and he is so proud when you wear the braid all throughout the day

Simon Riley folds laundry with military precision and gets a little miffed if you fold the laundry wrong. He literally grumbles and mutters to himself and then re-folds the entire load. He tries to show you how to fold it, but you don’t care as much as him, so he just does it himself. Laundry and the majority of the cleaning goes to Simon because as much as he has qualms about the way you do laundry, don’t even get him started on the way you attempt to clean the house. It’s better for everyone if he just does it

Simon Riley likes to rub his face over your pillow. Especially before or after deployment, he’s like a cat. He circles your pillow in his beefy arms and just presses his cheek to it again and again. It’s like he’s scenting it so that when he goes away, you won’t forget him. You think it’s absolutely adorable and you like to scratch at his hair as he does it

Simon Riley has very strong opinions about Christmas lights. He likes to put them up every year because he grew up Catholic (though he’s now an atheist) and it reminds him of his childhood. He doesn’t really care whether the lights are all white or different colours, but he cannot stand it if they blink. It’s much too annoying and busy and he thinks it’s a cry for attention. It also doesn’t help that sometimes he sees them out of the corner of his eye and the red ones look like the lights on a bomb or the green ones like the call signal on a radio

Simon Riley likes to buy you jewellery. He likes to buy anything and everything that he thinks will look pretty on you. When he finds something with little birds on it, he can’t help but splurge because you’re his Birdie and he loves you

Simon Riley is really good at most any sport, you name it. Rugby, basketball, baseball, American football, the list goes on and on. But put a gun to his head and tell him to score a goal for football and he would take the bullet. There’s really no explanation for it. One could blame it on his utter behemoth size, but he’s able to dribble the basketball or swing at the baseball hurtling towards him, but his feet just trip over themselves as he tries to get the bloody football down the field. He hates that little black and white ball with a burning passion

Simon Riley who is actually pretty involved in the VA. He doesn’t go out and advocate for more funding or anything, but if he sees a homeless veteran, he definitely guides them in the right direction. He goes there once a week just to catch up with everyone. You think it’s very healthy that he’s establishing a community for himself and he really enjoys it – you can see it in his eyes after he comes home Simon Riley who needs to sleep on the couch sometimes after deployment. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold you close, but the mattress is sometimes a bit too soft for him after sleeping on the ground or in a hard cot for weeks on end. You usually end up joining him, just splaying out on his chest. After a night or two, he returns to his place in the bed, holding you close

Simon Riley has the 141 insignia tattooed on his bicep and then the numbers on his chest. He was going to put the numbers over his heart, but, a week before his appointment, he had met you and some little part of him told him to move the tattoo up three inches. He was very glad he decided to move it because a year later he had gotten your initials with a little bird tattooed right over his heart

[imtherain]

AHHHHHHHHHH

Of Dog Tags and Love Letters

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: Simon Riley never says “I love you” out loud. Instead, he writes letters, letters you were never meant to find.

Simon wasn’t the kind of man who said “I love you” easily.

He showed it instead.

He showed it in the way he pulled you close at night, in the way his hand always rested on the small of your back in public, in the way he made sure you always walked on the safer inside of the sidewalk.

His love wasn’t loud or obvious, but it was steady, always there.

Still, you wanted to hear it.

Just once.

Just once you wanted to hear him say it.

Simon had been gone on a mission for a few weeks.

You missed him, missed the way the house felt different when he was home.

Tonight, the quiet felt heavier than usual.

That’s what led you to the room, sitting on the bed, fidgeting with his dog tags.

That’s when you found them.

A small metal box, tucked away beneath an old shirt. You were trying to find a shirt which still smelled like him.

Inside the box, there were letters.

Dozens of them, all folded neatly, your name written on each one.

Your stomach flipped as you picked one up, your fingers shaking slightly as you unfolded the paper.

The handwriting was rough and rushed.

But it was undeniably his.

If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t make it back.

Your breathing stopped, but you kept reading.

I don’t say things the way I should. Never have. But you should know… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re the reason I want to come back in one piece. If I don’t... just know that I love you. Always have, always will.

Your chest ached as you grabbed another letter.

It was the same.

So was the next.

You looked at the dates. Every letter is written before a mission.

Every single one, carrying the words he never said to your face.

I love you.

All of them, filled with meaning and care. All of them are written from the heart.

You pressed them to your chest, blinking back tears.

Three days later, he was home.

The second he walked through the door, you didn’t wait. You crashed into him, arms wrapped tight around his middle.

He let out a small grunt of surprise. “What’s all this then?”

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

He huffed a quiet laugh, arms circling around you. “Good to see you too, Love.”

You pulled back, searching his tired eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Simon’s body tensed. “Tell you what?”

You lifted your chin. “About the letters.”

His whole body went still.

“…You found them.” His voice was quiet.

You nodded. “Yeah. And I had to find out from some scraps of paper that you truly love me?”

His jaw flexed like he was bracing for something. “I didn’t think I’d ever—” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not easy for me.”

“I don’t care if it’s easy,” you shot back, stepping closer to him. “Do you think this is easy for me? Waiting? Wondering if you’ll come home?” Your voice cracked. “Wondering if I’ll ever get to tell you��”

You stopped yourself, swallowing hard.

Simon’s eyes softened. “Tell me what?”

You exhaled. “That I love you too, you idiot.”

His breath hitched.

Then, before you could say anything else, he cupped your face in his hands, pressing his forehead to yours. His touch was warm, and grounding.

“Say it again,” he whispered, begged.

A smile tugged at your lips. You rested your hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “I love you.”

His eyes closed, and he let out a slow breath like he was letting himself believe it. When he spoke again, his voice was deep, barely above a whisper.

“I love you too.”

And this time, he didn’t need a letter to say it.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[luvvictoria]

The Rescue (And a Whole Lot of Tension)

+ pairings. simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

+ tags. romance, heavy (?) angst, slow-burn, action-packed military romance with angst and tension

+ summary. you and Ghost share a tense, fraught moment as you both begin to navigate their way out of enemy territory after the crash. You, still in pain from your injuries, are determined to stay focused on survival despite the physical strain. Ghost arrives to help you, tossing you a spare rifle and offering his silent, yet steady support.

+ materialist ; prev. part ; next part.

+ a/n. Reblog with your favorite line! It would help me to grow my account !! Thank you in advance. Thank you so much for your support ! It means very much to me! Also if you want to take a little peek at the next chapter here is my ko-fi !!

When Ghost finally found you, the world felt like it had shifted. You were crouched low, the jagged rock digging into your back as you pressed yourself against it for some semblance of protection, though you knew you weren’t safe — not really. The rifle you held in your hands was trembling slightly, but it wasn’t fear that made your fingers shake. It was the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, the chemical rush that made everything seem sharper, more urgent, but at the same time, so much heavier. The world around you was drowning in silence, the quiet deafening as you tried to steady your breathing, to ignore the pain that shot through your leg every time you shifted even a fraction of an inch. Your flight suit was in tatters, the fabric torn and stained with a mixture of dirt, blood, and the remnants of your crash. You’d barely managed to stand after the chaos, barely kept it together. But you were still standing. You were still breathing. And that was all that mattered.

The weight of the air around you shifted, a ripple in the silence that made your senses snap to attention. The distant hum of movement, the brush of leaves, the shift in the wind — it was him. The feeling of his presence cut through the stillness like a knife. Ghost was coming.

He appeared through the trees like a shadow in the dim light, his figure outlined against the slivers of fading sunlight filtering through the canopy above. His movements were calculated, slow, deliberate, each step taken with a precision that came from years of training. Even in the fading light, you could make out the familiar shape of him — tall, imposing, his black gear blending seamlessly with the night around him. But it was his eyes that hit you the hardest. Cold, calculating, piercing, yet there was something else there. Something... unspoken. He stopped just a few feet away from you, the distance between you and him feeling like an eternity. His gaze swept over you, lingering on the injuries that were now impossible to hide. The torn fabric of your suit. The bruises darkening on your arms. The blood staining the dirt beneath you. His eyes flicked over every detail, and you knew he was weighing the situation in the fraction of a second it took for his gaze to travel from head to toe. There was no sympathy, no judgment — just the hard, precise assessment of a man who had seen too many people in your position.

But the longer his eyes stayed on you, the more you felt it. The subtle shift. A moment longer than necessary, his gaze freezing just a fraction of a second too long on your face, then drifting down to the broken state of your body. It made your heart skip a beat. There was something else in that look. Something that didn’t fit with the usual mask of indifference he wore. But you couldn’t afford to dwell on it. Not now. Not when the air between you felt so thick with tension that you could almost feel it, heavy, pressing in from all sides.

"You look like hell," Ghost said, his voice low, rough, dry. It was the same clipped tone he always used — blunt, no-nonsense. But there was an undercurrent to it, something beneath the words that you couldn’t quite place. Was it concern? A flicker of something more than the usual sarcastic remark? Or was it just Ghost’s way of acknowledging what was obvious? His face remained unreadable as always, his mask hiding everything, but it was the smallest shift in his posture — the way his broad shoulders seemed to relax just a fraction, like a heavy weight he hadn’t even known he was carrying had been lifted — that made you wonder.

You didn’t have the energy to dwell on it, not when your leg was burning like fire and your body was still on the edge of collapse. But the words stung, even as they rang true. You did look like hell. Hell, you felt like it.

You shot him a look, your voice coming out harsher than you intended. "You always this charming?" The sarcasm was instinctive, a defense mechanism more than anything else. A way to hide the vulnerability crawling under your skin, the way your heart thudded in your chest when you felt his eyes on you. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tossed you a spare rifle, the motion swift and efficient. No hesitation. No words of comfort. Just business. You grabbed it reflexively, fingers still trembling but steady enough to hold the weapon.

“Can you move?” His voice cut through the haze of your thoughts, his gaze sharpening as he looked you over once again. The question was blunt, no room for softness, just the barest hint of impatience buried beneath the command. His eyes flickered to your leg, then back to your face, as if he were already preparing himself for the worst.

"Obviously," you replied, the words more stubborn than anything else. Your body screamed at you to lie down, to let the pain consume you, but you ignored it. You had to move. You had to keep going. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter. Not now. Not in front of him.

But as you pushed yourself up, the strain on your leg sent a jolt of pain up your spine, and for a second, you wavered. Your balance failed, your knee buckled, and you stumbled forward, arms flailing for anything to catch yourself on. But then his hand was there — firm, solid, unyielding. It caught you, pulling you up effortlessly, like he had done this a hundred times before. His fingers wrapped around your waist, his grip tight enough to stop your body from collapsing, his presence suddenly too close. Too much. The contact was electric, his touch searing against your skin. For a second, the world seemed to slow down. Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart thudding in your chest, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. The heat of his hand through the fabric of your torn flight suit, the way his body was close enough that you could feel his every breath — his proximity sent a shiver down your spine.

For just a heartbeat, you didn’t want him to let go. You wanted the moment to stretch on, to stay in that space where it was just you and him, where nothing else mattered. But then, as if the tension had been too much, he cleared his throat — just a subtle sound, but it shattered the fragile bubble between you.

His hand dropped away from your waist, and your skin seemed to cool immediately, the absence of his touch leaving you feeling hollow in a way you hadn’t expected. The cold air around you rushed in, biting at your exposed skin, but you couldn’t focus on that now. You had to keep moving.

"Let’s go," he said, his voice as gruff as ever, but now there was something else in it. Something softer. Or maybe that was just your imagination.

You nodded, though your legs felt like jelly, your mind still spinning from the brief, intense moment. You didn’t know how long it would take to recover from this, from everything that had just happened — from the crash, from the pain, from the strange, unbearable tension that still lingered in the air between you and Ghost. But one thing was certain: the game had changed, and you weren’t sure if either of you were ready for what was coming next.

The silence stretched between you, thick with something unspoken. You could feel his breath on the edge of your skin, steady and deliberate, yet it was enough to make your pulse quicken. The heat from his body seemed to wrap around you like a thick, invisible blanket, and for a second, everything else — the pain, the fear, the uncertainty — seemed to blur out of focus. The world had become smaller, confined to just the space between the two of you, and the longer he held you, the harder it was to ignore the way your heart was racing in your chest.

You should’ve moved. You should’ve pulled away. But the longer you stayed there, the more the weight of the moment settled into your bones. You didn’t want to break that connection, that fragile instant of raw tension that thrummed in the air like a live wire. The way his hand was firm on your waist, the way his touch — despite the coldness that was so characteristic of him — seemed to have a warmth that seeped through the fabric of your suit. It felt like the earth had stopped spinning, leaving just the two of you suspended in some fragile, unspoken understanding.

Your breath hitched again, and for a moment, you wondered if he could hear it too. The way your chest moved too fast, too uneven, the way every inhale felt a little too sharp, like you were suffocating in the space between his touch and the absence of it. You were acutely aware of every muscle in your body — the way your leg still burned with pain, how your hands trembled just slightly around the rifle in your grip — but none of that mattered in that moment. What mattered was the undeniable pull of his presence, the fact that his hand hadn’t moved, that his body was still so close to yours.

It was as if the two of you were locked in some kind of unspoken truce. No words, just the feeling of his strength anchoring you to the moment, making everything else fade into the background. The way his touch was both reassuring and suffocating at the same time, like a lifeline and a weight, all tangled up together.

Then, as quickly as the moment had arrived, it was gone. He cleared his throat, a sharp, dismissive sound that shattered the fragile stillness. His grip loosened, and his hand dropped from your waist like it had never been there. The absence of his touch hit you harder than you expected. The air between you seemed colder, the space between your bodies suddenly too wide, too empty. His presence no longer felt like a shield. Now, it felt like a reminder that you were both too far apart to ever truly connect.

tag list : @jajouska @hao-ming-8 @pinkpookiebear

[dreaminguponlilypads]

no bc why do i feel like ghost would either be really into bondage or would never dare to think of it??

[amaranthinespirit]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[circe69]

angry makeout sesh with ghost angry makeout sesh with ghost !!!!

“the fuck you think you’re doing wearing something like that,” simon breathes into your neck before biting that sweet spot underneath your ear. you whine and pull his hair to crane his head up to yours.

“they’re normal clothes, si-“

“no the fuck they’re not and you know it.” simon reaches down to grip your ass while pulling your bottom lip between his teeth.

a singular light dangled above the two of you as you were being worshipped and yet tortured at the same time, by a bloodthirsty lover…

in a storage closet.

safely hidden away from the rest of the task force.

he started unzipping your tight workout jacket while continuing to kiss you slowly, occasionally pulling your tongue into his mouth and sucking.

“mmph, si! i’m sorry, p-plea-“

“what, what else could you possibly want from ‘si’” he mocked, “hmm? you’ve already flaunted your ass and hips around the base, what next?” he looked into your eyes, and without warning, grabbed your neck in his hand and bit down on the apple of your cheek.

“owww!” you squealed as he ripped your undershirt in half, letting your tits pop out. he chuckled deeply at the sight, “such a fucking brat, birdie,” he groped one breast and sucked the other into his mouth, twirling his tongue around the tight bud and letting his teeth scrape the edges, “good thing you’re so sweet t’me, makes it so easy to hurt you, baby”

[succubusvalentine]

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! ❤︎

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Simon: Hey, love, you're on speaker so behave Y/N: Or what? You'll spank me?

[lethargiccryptid]

A Silly Little Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader Drabble...guest star, Nugget ♥︎

Simon Riley's primary love language is a hybrid really. For him, acts of service and gifts are linked. No more to be separated than a soldier from his dog tags or field mates.

Don't get me wrong. Simon's a red blooded man, he loves touch just as much as the next man. And words? While a man of few himself, one look at your pretty smile and his mind floods with the works of Byron and Dickinson.

There's just something about action that's practically primeval to him. A biological drive even.

You spent all of lunch bemoaning your crappy 700 watt microwave from the 80's? Well, Simon listened dutifully of course, and grunted in commiseration.

There's just something about the awe on your face that night when you walk into the flat, eyes glued to the microwave.

And there's something about the way your eyes flick to him, remote in hand, your ferret Nugget in his usual place around Simon's neck. Simon's lips curve into a smirk as his eyes lazily drift to yours.

“And you thought I watn' listenin’”

Yeah, Simon loves acts of service and gifts.

[leafavleo]

GHOST who got his motorcycle when he was about seventeen, and he did love his baby. It was almost funny to see him cleaning the vehicle every weekend. You could never find him around the house, only in the garage.

You often joked about how he probably loved that piece of metal more than you, even pretended to be jealous when Ghost slapped the back of the motorcycle after fixing something in it. Not like he didn’t spank your ass on every occasion.

So, when you started to joke again about the motorcycle taking Ghost away from you, he took the matter in his own hands. Placing you on the seat, making you bend pretty for him. The gasps and moans filled the garage as he slammed his cock into you again and again, while you were gripping the sides of the motorcycle so tightly.

“Still jealous?” Ghost asked breathlessly as he watched your ass bounce on his hard cock. The feeling of your tight pussy gripping him making him want to go deeper.

You could only moan in response, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he was holding your head back with one hand, the other one was placed behind him, on the motorcycle’s rear.

He wouldn’t mind if you cum on his motorcycle, in fact, he’s waiting for you to do just that. Maybe then he won’t clean it next weekend.

[the-palelady]

when cowboy!ghost is leaving the clinic after his usual visit to his favorite nurse he always makes sure to let her know he loves her. his job is dangerous. last thing he wants is for him to go out without her knowing how much she means to him.

so one day he gives your lower back a pat, whispering a “love ya, sweetheart,” before turning to leave.

however, you don’t say it back.

simon stops dead in his tracks while you continue on about your business. for a moment he waits it out, maybe you didn’t hear him? maybe something else caught your attention and you had to take care of it before responding?

but your response never comes.

so he turns to face you, his expression nothing short of annoyed, eyes narrowed, lips pulled tight under the bandana that obscures the lower half of his face.

your back is turned to him when he stomps over towards you. he minds your hands of course, making sure you aren’t holding any of the doctor’s instruments before he turns you around, jolting you from your work.

your eyes meet a raging fire, his pupils almost dilated. your cheeks are pinched between his thumb and fingers, lips pursed.

“si-“

his voice is a deep rumble, thunder clapping in the distance.

“i said…i love ya, honey. now i know that pretty mouth of yours hasn’t forgotten how to say it, or do i need to give it a reminder?”

[starboye]

imagine drunk dancing on olderbf!simon in a bar after you told him you wouldn't get to drunk, now rocking your ass on his crotch and begging him to take you to bathroom and fuck you like he's mad at you, but he couldn't possibly treat you like that (while drunk that is because any other day he would do that in a heart beat)

so seeing as you're not going to let up about this whole fucking you dirty in the bathroom he gets a better idea, taking you out the back door to some more private alley and pulling out his cock, stopping you just before you dropped to you knees and placing your hand around his thick shaft

basically giving you permission to jerk him off to satisfy your lusty needs, your hand starting off slowly and speeding up until you had simon panting and whimpering outside the bar, and at this point you've milked a load or two out of him and he's trying to get you to stop

his thick hand wrapped around your wrist trying to stop you but he looks to good moaning and begging so what would be the harm in pulling out one or two more