#as my duty

[pardonmydelays]

huh

[itsbrucey]

Big fan of sun motifs in characters not necessarily being about positivity and happiness and how they're so " bright and warm" but instead being about fucking brutal they are.

Radiant. A FORCE of nature that will turn you to ash. That warmth that burns so hot it feels like ice. Piercing yellow and red and white. A character being a Sun because you cannot challenge a Sun without burning alive or taking everything down with them if victorious.

[fludderpy]

Can you tell why this is his fav shirt 🤠

[accecakes]

It’s like lookin’ into the ocean~

[evilgwrl]

SIMON IS PRACTICALLY FERAL FOR YOU

Wherever you go, this man is next to you, one hand always touching you.

You’re showering? Ok so is he. It’s not his fault you’re pushed up against the glass, ass flushed against him as he pounds into you from behind, hands clawing at your flesh as he grunts.

You’re watching a movie? This man is lying flat on you, groping at your tits before he takes them in his mouth. He has a hard time concentrating and he promises this helps him.

You’re working from home? Let him help you. And by help he means, cock-warm him while you work and every time you complete a task he’ll fuck up into you as a reward!

You’re going to bed. You already know he’s fucking you to sleep, eating your gushing pussy before he’s denting your gummy walls with the outline of his cock, fucking against your sweet spot as you make a mess of the sheets, desperate pussy clenching around him as he fills you up.

“This pussy’s always ready for me, I fuckin’ love you, sweet’art.”

[mentoskova]

"Have you seen that bigboy with a skullface??"

[urmomschocolatemilk]

I 🩷 bikers

Biker!Simon who’s tatted uppp. He’s rolling up his sleeves while he rides to let everyone get a look at his muscly arms laced with inked designs because yes, he does want to show off

Biker!Simon who's rolling up next to you at a red light, head turning while he thrums his fingers on the seat under him. He can feel your heated gaze through your window.

Biker!Simon who flips open his visor and lets his eyes find yours. He wants you to know that he sees you staring and he's staring right back at you

Biker!Simon who passes his phone to you with the new contact sheet open on his screen, ready for you to fill out

Biker!Simon who trashes on the TikTok bikers and calls them cornballs but doesn’t hesitate to send you photos of him in a compression shirt and helmet at any chance he gets

Biker!Simon who buys you a helmet before your first date, and takes you home. And no matter how much you beg him that night, he refuses to go above sixty on the highway because he why would he ever put his girl at risk like that?

[abc-ok]

Height difference 😌

[starsofang]

Simon didn’t like to hold you. He liked to be held.

At first, you didn’t understand why he’d turn his back to you in bed without saying anything. You thought you’d done something to him, or maybe he was in a bad mood. You couldn’t be any more wrong.

Simon Riley, an absolute brute of a soldier, was silently asking for you to be the big spoon. You nearly didn’t believe it when he finally brought it to your attention.

He was too embarrassed to ask you, so he’d resort to flipping on to his side and wait. And wait. Until he realized you didn’t catch the memo, even after many hopeless attempts.

In his mind, he thought being the big spoon would somehow convince you he wasn’t manly enough, as if his title in the service or his pure stature wasn’t proof enough of his masculinity.

To him, being held was a blanket of security. Where he’d always have to watch his back out on the field, both literally and metaphorically, he didn’t have to keep an eye out at all times with you. It was a chance for him to find solace in a person, and when he explained this to you, he was surprised to find you so willing.

And oh, when it happened, Simon nearly kicked himself for holding back on verbalizing it for so long.

The warmth of your arms when they wrapped around him from behind, your face buried between his shoulder blades, legs tangled in his, he thought that this was what inner peace felt like.

He was silly to think you’d ever be the one to judge him for what most deemed ‘unmasculine’. In all of his broad glory, he felt safe the moment you held him, like a child does when they feel a mother’s embrace except it was from someone he loved dearest to his heart.

And you? You found that being the big spoon was rather enjoyable when the man you’re holding was so damn comfortable to snuggle up to. It was a win-win for you both.

You just wished he wasn’t an idiot that left you wondering all those hopeless nights until the truth came out.

[cobaltbeam]

Normal conversations to have on the plane

I'm also doing more cod art on Patreon!

[theorist-fox]

Can I interest you in some silly sex with Simon? 🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️

18+

Word count: 1k.

CW: nothing really. Just silly sex. Just giggling sex. Just I-need-to-give-this-man-some-humanity sex. Simon is ticklish and you find out, that's the plot.

Masterlist 🦊

You look delectable straddling his hips.

Naked and soft, plump tits sitting prettily in his hands. His thumbs swipe idly around your perked nipples as you ride him slowly, early morning sun peeking through the curtains and lapping at your skin. What a way to wake up, what a sight.

He stares at your lips and how they part for him—something he still has to get used to, though he probably never truly will. How dulcet does his name sound if it’s your voice whispering it, how beautiful your eyes when they take in his face.

Soft hands are pressed on his chest for leverage, and you’re treating him with a view he keeps pinned to the forefront of his brain—gliding your cunt until you’re chock-full of him, stroking yourself until you’re shivering.

He likes it when he’s on top, sure. He’s used to taking the lead and orchestrating every detail, in and out of the job. 

But when you allow him to sit back and take it? Hell, sign him up. He’d do it every day. Especially when it’s this lazy sex here, in which you’re canting your hips to cum before he does, giving him the blissful chance of feeling you clench around him when he's still hard. 

Goosebumps rise under your nails as they graze down his chest and brush his stomach. Your hands wander blindly on his belly, then his sides, as you clock his eyes with your heavy ones, panting softly, idly—my beautiful, beautiful girl.

But then you inadvertently brush his ribs, and he stiffens—even squirms, and your movements come to a halt.

You blink as conscience returns to you slowly, and the room sinks into tense silence. His cock twitches inside of you when you tilt your head inquisitively, squinting your eyes.

Experimentally, you brush your fingertips against his ribs again, and his biceps flatten to his sides, trapping your hands.

Your eyes widen, and his do the same.

“Don’t.”

You gasp, “Oh my God.”

“Darling, no.” He warns, but you’ve clearly made up your mind already.

Your lips are curled in a smile that promises mischief, and he can only give up, sit back, and count his losses.

“Darling, yes.”

Simon feels your fingers wiggle under the tight press of his arms, but no matter his strength, they're seemingly useless against that playful resolve you're displaying.

His cock is still embarrassingly hard inside you, and Simon reckons it won't soften any time soon. You don’t seem eager to get off him either, thus prolonging the torture with each tiny movement you make.

He inhales sharply and fights tooth and nail to school his expression into neutrality. His eyes are narrowed, and his jaw is locked tight. The only thing giving him away is the flush of his cheeks, getting pinker by the second because he refuses to open his mouth to breathe a much-needed lungful of air. Knowing that if he would, he'd bark a laugh that would proclaim you as the winner of this fight.

He would never.

You roll your hips, then—cheap trick. He unravels with a shaky breath, and his biceps give out enough for you to slip your hands away.

And then, he knows he's done for.

“Cut it out.” He barks, trying to sound stern and miserably failing. He knows because you're laughing even harder.

Your fingers feel like tiny bugs crawling up his sides, and they make his breath catch in his throat.

“Never.” You say, with a grin that scrunches your nose. A smile that would normally make his heart throb, but right now just makes him wish he were a lesser man so he could throttle you.

“Fuckin’-“

You chuckle.

You evil little cunt.

Resistance lasts a few more seconds before he bursts.

It’s not a full laugh that leaves him; more of a wheeze that makes you chortle like a wicked witch. His chest heaves as your fingers frantically tickle his sides. Tries to get you off him by shaking his hips, but that only makes the two of you falter and moan, and then chuckle and catch your breaths.

His shoulders shake in a breathless, choking laugh that pitches upward as you continue with your assault (yes, assault—he is not being dramatic), eyes veiled with tears of frustration and mirth. He shrieks when your hands travel under his armpits—the sound makes you giggle in a way that would have him melt. 

“That laugh’s lovely, baby.” You say with a smarmy grin he wishes he could wipe with a kiss, hands unrelenting against his sides. “Sound like a kettle whistling.”

He tries to glower and push you off, but you’re surprisingly strong when you’re focused. Right now, your only goal is to apparently make him hate you—he'd rather be held at gunpoint than being forced to hold in a laugh that makes his stomach hurt.

Simon now looks shockingly harmless, with his cheeks flushed bright red and his voice an octave too high—wouldn't look dangerous if he tried.

“Tea ready, yet?” You add, batting your lashes, because why not rub salt into the already embarrassing wound marring his pride.

It’s that unfathomably stupid joke that finally makes Simon crack. He barks out a laugh that bubbles up his throat, rippling through his stomach so suddenly that you bounce above him. Your own laugh follows soon after, because each time you manage to steal one from him, your heart vibrates with loving triumph.

But still—he is Simon Riley, isn’t he? Member of Task Force 141. Lieutenant in the UK Special Forces, SAS. The Ghost. There is some pride in there, one he'd like to keep intact.

He tries to recollect his breath, sniffling, and his arms shoot out to wrap around your waist. He rolls onto his side, taking you with him.

It’s then that you find yourself in a position of utter disadvantage, on your back with your big brute of a boyfriend holding you down. You’re wide-eyed and still smiling with barely contained giggles, and he’d be lying if he said it doesn't make his heart soar.

Sure, he’s panting, still proper flushed and apple-cheeked, with shivers wrecking his spine and unshed tears in his eyes—but he takes great pride in having won yet another fight (again, not overreacting at all, if you ask him).

He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.

You fix him with a look. “Simon, no.”

Before you can add more to your complaint, he rams his cock into you until your chest stutters, your lips mouthing around a shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.

He fucks you into the mattress, then—once, twice, until the remnants of laughter vanish from your face and you’re trembling in bliss, eyes rolled back under heavy eyelids.

He places a sloppy kiss down to your collarbone.

“Simon, yes.”

[guhbwuh]

Animal crossing AUs you will always be famous to me

[fludderpy]

Sometimes I think I draw his body a lil bit TOO bulky and his waist a bit TOO tiny but then I SEE HIS CANON INGAME MODEL.

I am not okay

[accecakes]

Soap didn’t cut his hair while way. Ghost hopes he never cuts it again <3

[skyrigel]

Everyone who knew Simon thought him out to be a freak who didn't like to be touched, or talked to, or even looked at.

It was only you who knew how much of a starved bastard he was.

He's always touching you, personal space was crumbled up like a tissue ball and thrown in the trash while Simon was with you.

His hands would mindlessly find you, but with adoration of every atom of his soul, to scratch at your scalp and murmur sweet words, to coil your hair between his fingers, watching your strands slip and tugging them to earn a fond frown, his lips gliding on your warm skin, mouthing and biting and sucking. The simple joy of your hand in his. Big palm resting over your thigh before he begins to grope you in the middle of the movie.

 How at nights there would be huge weight lunged over you, arms wrapped around as if you would be taken up by a ghost. Sweet kisses places all over your face as soon as he would wake up. 

Simon who wouldn't utter a word when outside but the moment he's alone with you, that man would never stop. His eyes that were rumoured to be soulless would light up like brilliant stars, and he'll talk and talk, smiling and fondling, hands shooting up in gestures, in tales of Afghanistan and dubai. He jokes and makes you laugh until your eyes crinkled, and moistened while your stomach does swoops around in anticipated giddiness that takes over both of you in each other's presence. That's your man.

And oh lord, how much he wants to be seen, only by you.

Even after years of being together, Simon would take pride in trying to seduce you. He would walk out of the shower with his huge biceps on display, as water would slide down in tiney drops — towel wrapped lowely around his waist, his navel where a rush of hair darker than his roots disappeared, and the smug look he would have. And in the way he would make you look at him while shooting ropes of cum inside you, eyes lost in eyes, seen. Or the way Simon would look up with dazed eyes when he's home between your legs. 

Because he wants to be seen in a way that makes you all his, and him all yours.

Masterlist

[lxvvie]

Simon who made himself your birthday present.

'Cause fuck it, nothing ventured, nothing gained, yeah?

It was actually a spur-of-the-moment thing, sweetheart. It was your birthday, he said happy birthday, you joked that you hadn't received your present yet, and Simon, smooth operator that he is not, responded with, "S'right here, luv."

Oh... shit.

Silence ensues. You blinked in surprise and Simon gave you an even stare. However, he was punching the fuck out of himself mentally because what the fook, Riley?! Didn't last long though because your surprise turned into interest and interest turned into... well...

...Simon naked, on your bed, and under you. Again. Bloody fuckin' hell, him and his mouth.

Not that he's complaining. Not really. Too busy fucking and sucking, and Christ, he's lost track of how much you used him, the things you did to him, the noises you pulled from him, and all the times he came; one thing's for certain, though, he won't forget you marking his thighs up (thank fuck for pants because his thighs are a fuckin' roadmap thanks to you) turning him into a Simon Sundae because you "wanted something sweet to eat", and just... goddamn, leaving him a sweaty, sticky, speechless, and well and truly fucked out mess.

Simon couldn't even smoke, he was so fucked out, but damn if it didn't feel good. Grumpy bastard would be riding this high for a bit. Not even Johnny and the rest of those fuckin' knobheads on base could bring him down. For long.

Simon finds himself the little spoon to your big spoon afterward; you're thanking him, running your hands over his sensitive body, kissing his temple, and praising him for holding on like the good soldier and slag that he is. Simon's fallen so fuckin' deep he's on his knees for you.

"We should do this more often."

A beat. Then he groans.

"Oh, fuck me..."

Simon felt your smirk against his skin. You didn't need to be told twice.