#and that's just simon

[simonsquest]

[rememberwren]

Thinking about how when you’re drunk—and I mean really drunk—you get it in your head to catcall men. They could use a little harassment. When you reach that point, your friends immediately know it’s time to cut you off, acting like the Secret Service as they usher you out of the bar and towards the Uber. But they couldn’t anticipate the group of men standing outside the bar swapping laughs and smoking.

Of course you pick the scariest one of the lot and:

“Hey!” you shout, half giggling. “Hey—you, in the mask!”

The man turns. You can’t see his mouth with the surgical mask in place but you can tell his eyebrows are raised. He’s fucking huge, towering over his counterparts (who are nothing to sniff at), thick and strong. His head cocks in silent question.

“Can I get your number?” you shout, licking your friend’s hand when she slaps it over your mouth. All your friends rush to brush the guy off, but he’s already ashing his cigarette under his boot, slipping his hands into his pocket, and crossing the street quietly.

He stays a healthy distance away, aware of how it looks: a man his size approaching a group of young, inebriated women. You think he’s come to harass you in return, or maybe just to mock you—either way you are stunned silent, mouth agape, eyes wide. He’s so much taller up this close.

“Got a pen?” he asks.

He only approaches then, shoulders hunched to make himself appear smaller and innocuous. He takes your hand in his own and writes his phone number on your forearm.

When you wake up hungover the next morning, his number is there on your arm along with a reminder that you hadn’t been able to see in the dim lighting of the parking lot: XXX-XXXX—S. Drink water.

[deargaz]

i do usually stick with the idea that simon’s got some insane stamina and can go for multiple rounds but something about simon being spent after one round is just so hilarious to me.

in his defense, your tight cunt’s, well, too greedy — sucking his poor cock into her until he’s all drained out and just laying limp on the bed, trying to catch his breath, fearing for his life too maybe.

“you’re tired?” you asked, the genuine innocence in your voice making him grumble, his hand gesturing you on top of him. not your fault, anyone would assume this big guy’s got more in his store.

“not really been doin’ all this before meetin’ you, love. don’t have the time in my job.” he panted softly, calloused hands gripping your hips as you settled on top of him.

“but you have time for me?” you smiled. his heart skipped a beat, and in that moment, he had decided that if he’d die like this, this was the best way.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

[bi-writes]

ok ok how about mute?ghost who you aren't sure if he's actually mute or if he just chooses not to say anything. you hear a different answer from everyone you ask. (18+)

ever since mexico, wouldn't say a fucking word.

nah, mate, he's been zipped shut since he enlisted.

heard it was a mad accident.

what you mean? heard him telling off privates not even a year ago!

well, since you're a certified yapper, and ghost can't (won't) tell you to shut up, you make him your living diary. whenever you see him around, you sit next to him, stop by his office, hop up onto his desk and talk to him. you tell him about your day, about the recruits that bother you the most, about the meals in the mess hall being worse on saturdays than on mondays (fuck, you'd think the weekend would put some pep in their step, no?).

but gosh, when ghost finally had you seated in his lap with your pants around one ankle, you really weren't expecting to hear him.

pussy-drunk, tongue out, hands gripping your ass as he listens to the wet smack of your thighs against his, and that's all it takes for him to let out the filthiest groan you've ever heard, enough to make you spiral, see red-hot stars, to shake and cry until you're cumming and babbling and even more incoherent.

when they talk about ghost, you still keep your mouth shut. you're still not sure if he talks, fuck if i know, is what you say.

but if you suck his cock just right, you're certain he's singing.

[machveil]

Roommate!Simon Riley that kisses you. no, not on the lips, but nearly everywhere else. some days it’s small, walking up behind you in the kitchen and resting his hands on your hips - not fully, just ghosting his palms over you like you might shatter if he fully held you. he does it when it’s early, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he dips down, lips pressing to the nape of your neck. he mumbles a ‘good mornin’’, mutters something about what you’re making and how he wants some

Roommate!Simon Riley who kisses the crown of your head when you’re cuddled on the couch together. from dawn to dusk, if you’re cozied up with Simon his lips are stuck to you. nose nudging your hair, he’s not really paying attention to what’s on - Simon’s more focused on breathing you in, eyes closed and appreciating the scent of your shampoo. his lips drift, head tilting to kiss behind your ear when you comment on your show, “Mm, tha’ right?”, he murmurs, gravely voice whispering to you

Roommate!Simon Riley who kisses you from your knees to your ankles. a shit day, after you’ve come in through the front door Simon is leading you to bed. you can’t put up a fight when he makes you lay down, sitting on the edge of your bed. you can’t argue when he drapes your legs over his lap, mumbling something about your boss being a prick. all you can do is close your eyes and relax when he rubs at your legs, massaging the meat of your thighs and calf, working his way to your feet. you don’t say a word when lifts your leg up slightly, peppering featherlight kisses down it, “Should let me ‘ave a word with ‘em.”, he mumbles, smiling when you chuckle

Roommate!Simon Riley that all but tackles you to the floor when he comes home from a deployment. he’s roughed up, aching and sore, a mess of a man - but he’s alive. he moves on autopilot, strong arms pulling you against his frame, a bear hug, a death squeeze, his embrace secure. before you can ask him if he’s okay, if he’s hurt, his lips are pressed to your forehead. chapped and dry, but Simon’s. his chest rising and falling into a steady rhythm knowing you’re safe and sound. he’s moving on autopilot when he slumps down, lips pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek, “Missed you, sweet’art.”

[heavenbarnes]

thinking about your older bf!simon that cannot cope with being far from you.

when you’re in the shower, he’s sat on the lid of the toilet on his phone (watching those rug cleaning videos) enjoying your faint singing under the stream of water, the smell of your body wash on the cloud of steam- ready to pass you a towel or get your back.

when you’re at your desk, working from home or studying, he’s just on the other side of it reading the paper with one outstretched leg tangled with both of yours. he’s dead quiet when you’re on a call, just happy to be around.

when you’re doing laundry, collecting the clothes in the hamper and crouching to stuff them into the washer- turning around and accidentally colliding with a thick wall of muscle.

“sorry, love”

he steps aside but you can hear his soft footfalls as he continues to follow you throughout your home.

when you’re both watching something on the couch, what starts as his pinky locked with yours turns into his arm around your waist. that turns into your head on his chest, which culminates with you falling asleep in his lap with his cheek on your head and soft snores emanating from his lips.

when you grocery shop, you push the trolley but his chest is to your back, arms either side of you and hands clasped over yours on the handle. you can thank his military training for his uncanny ability to tell exactly when you’ll stop walking.

when he wakes up in the middle of the night, on a rare occasion when you’ve managed to slip out of bed without him realising, he’s immediately in a panic calling your name.

“in here, my love”

as soon as his heart settles, he realises the bathroom light was probably a dead giveaway. you’re taking a wee, you’ll be back in a minute.

that doesn’t stop a sleepy simon from leaning in the doorframe, shielding his eyes from the big light as he waits for you to finish up.

even on the short walk back to bed, you can feel fingers twisted in the back of your shirt- almost like you’re leading the way.

minute you’re both on the mattress, you’re being wrapped up in his arms, slotting you perfectly into the curve of his front- almost like you’re made for him.

(and you are)

[bluegiragi]

couch potato.

early access + nsfw on patreon

[luxbunn]

oh whatever shall i do ౨ৎ

[dawnddoesart-reborn]

[qiinamii]

we'll do fine.

[manzanamarim]

These attorneys sure are ace or smth idk

[corvid-khaos]

fionna and cake but simon drops increasingly wild anecdotes about his life

[mebssann]

imagine you're living in the post apocalypse and your adopted dad still makes you do homework

[yooo-lets-go]

what sort of music does simon listen to- and what are the others’ opinions on it when they inevitably discover it?

They probably wouldn’t share a playlist

Plus Roach:

[mayvette]

that one meme

[gravitycoill]

lil comic i’ve had in my head for a bit