#blue collar!simon

[sunsetsimon]

blue collar simon ♡ because i'm going insane

pt 2 here

☼ he's waking up around 4:30am most days, due to starting at a new job site that gives him a longer commute. he's grumbly when his alarm blares, quickly turning it off and sitting on the edge of the bed for a minute to stare off and come to. his footsteps are quiet as he heads to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and giving his face a rinse to clear it from sleep. simon makes sure to keep his hair short, only needing to run his fingers through it to tame a few wild pieces that stick up on the side.

☼ most mornings you get up with him, his alarm waking you up even with as quickly as he turns it off. "go back t'sleep love," he leans over, cupping your cheek lovingly as you try to blink the sleep out of your eyes.

"gonna pack your lunch si," you say, so quietly he almost doesn't hear you. he knows better than to argue though, you're already up and nothing is better than having you help him get ready for his long day.

you slip on one of his hoodies on your way downstairs, practically swimming in the fabric as it rests on your mid thighs, hands covered in the long sleeves. his heart swells, you look so cute when you're tired and stubborn, refusing to let him leave without a proper lunch.

☼ he's not able to talk much throughout the day with how busy he is. sometimes you only get a quick 2 minute call while he's scarfing down his lunch, complaining about how their project manager was being a dick that day.

"'right babe. gettin' back to it so i'll call you when i'm leaving, whenever the fuck that'll be."

"okay si. i love you, be careful."

"always am. love you."

sometimes you get lucky with a random picture of something on the site, having no idea what it is you can only respond with a "what am i looking at?"

"fuckin' dumbass rookie can't mark out a straight line to save his fuckin' life."

whatever the hell that means. simon thinks it's funny though.

☼ comes home with new cuts and bruises everyday, the wrap on one of his fingers soaked with dirt and blood. his hands are cut up and scarred, calloused and rough to the touch but you still love them, those hands provide everything for you. you're constantly having to remind him to clean under his nails after a long day though, refusing to be touched until they're squeaky clean.

☼ he never gets home at the same time, a supposed-to-be 10 hour shift can quickly turn into a 12 or 13 depending on how much work needs to be done. not a week goes by when he doesn't have overtime, and though he makes a lot of money, he's fucking exhausted when he gets home. lazily unlacing and kicking his boots off at the door while coming in, practically with a limp, his knees and feet fighting to not give out from pure exhaustion.

still finds the energy to shove his dirty hands under your shirt though when he catches you at the stove preparing him a plate. his unkempt stubble scratches your neck as he inhales your clean, addicting scent. planting soft kisses along the skin, you almost melt into him until you smell him, dust and sweat clouding your nose.

"ugh simon! you can't be all over me while you're dirty," you whine, trying to pull away from his tightening grip on your hips.

"can't help it when y'look so damn good. missed you all day," he grumbles, pulling your ass back against his growing bulge in his work pants, thrusting against you through layers of clothing.

"eat and take a shower first, then we can talk," you give him another shove - much to his dismay. apparently he wasn't as tired as he thought.

[callsignfoxy]

Blue collar!Simon who goes to the same restaurant everyday for lunch, ordering the same thing, but today he takes note of you, the new server, who already had his plate ready for him.

The bell above the diner door chimed as Simon Riley trudged in from the rain, the sounds of clinking plates, conversation, and scents that usually accompany a restaurant greeting him. He's irritable, pissed even. Half his men didn't show up to the work site all due to a little rain that then washed them out, causing the work to be backed up another damn day. At least there was the diner, the closest thing he could consider respite. Simon liked the old Americana style restaurant. It was just down the street from the building site he'd been managing the last few months, and they had some pretty decent food. Not that he would know considering he ordered the same thing everyday, but he assumed the rest was probably alright. His steel-toed boots thudded against the black and white linoleum tile as he headed to the booth he always sat in. The site manager's limbs felt heavy and he was exhausted to say the least. Getting up at 5am and working all day really does a number on someone. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he slid into the red booth, the worn vinyl leather creaking under his broad frame. Before he'd even settled in, his lunch was being sat in front of him. His eyes snapped up to see his server striding away, saying something about getting his drink. Simon blinked a few times. You'd just started only two days ago and, somehow, you'd already keyed into his routine preferences. Simon stared down at the hot plate in front of him, and it made him think that this must be what it's like to come home to someone for dinner. Know what he wants before he even walks in the door after a long day working to take care of them. The thought made his body relax imperceptively and unintentionally. The bullshit from the morning subsiding just slightly. Those dark brown eyes trailed back to you, as if seeing you in a whole new light. Before, you were just a new face in the restaurant. An attractive one, but he was a man of routine. Get in, eat, get out, and get back to work. Not a lot of interest in socializing. But now you had...piqued his interest. He then realized, he never even bothered to get your name before. As you came back to set his drink on the table, he gets a look at your name tag. "___, is it? Uh, thanks for gettin' this out to me so quickly," he grunts as his eyes meet yours. He can respect a hard worker, and has no problem recognizing when a job is done well. Though, a quieter part of his mind wonders what it'd be like to praise you for other things as he takes in your friendly smiling face.

Ugh, should I make this a series? If people like it, maybe I will. I don't knowwww.

[tojisun]

call it bad porno plot but blue collar simon coming to your house cuz you rang, saying you needed some plumbing done, and you, well, you didn’t expect this hulking mass of a man to come greet you with an accent so thick you can feel yourself getting wet :(

he calls you maam and missus—you say “just miss,” with a little cough because you’re not married, and he pauses and goes, “oh, is that so?” with this little pleased smile tugging at his lips.

he checks whatever’s going on in your kitchen sink and says it might take a while, and you can barely reply to him when he begins to shrug his jacket off, leaving him in this skin-tight black shirt that literally looks so beat up with overuse but unbelievably hot on him.

“reckon little ol’ me can have somethin’ to drink, maam?” he asks, crossing those thick arms over his chest, and you can barely rasp out your reply before you’re turning around to rummage around the fridge.

you don’t notice the way simon eyes you down, tracing your body and barely biting a pleased hum at the sight you make, all doll and pretty, so easy to read with your blown wide eyes staring up at him with such palpable desire.

you haven’t been fucked right, huh darling? probably never had a real man treat you well—fold you over the counter, make you squirt with only fingers, yeah?

well, he thinks, rolling his shoulders and grunting his thanks to you when you give him a glass of OJ, maybe i can be that man for you, isn’t that right petal?

(it takes a purposeful hit at the pipes for things to pick up—you came running back to the kitchen with a confused yelp, and the next he’s got you on your kitchen table, legs thrown over his shoulders, and his head buried in your cunt.)

-

ext

[amaranthinespirit]

blue collar or cowboy!simon riley who would fuck you in the bed of his truck

simon was always out working so hard all day, coming home with dirt caked on his clothes. you'd have to scold him when he would track mud through the house—that you had just cleaned from whenever he came in yesterday.

he'd grovel, pressing kisses to the bare skin of your shoulder, the well-worn, holed shirt you stole from him slipping off your frame. muttering promises between each press of his lips further up your neck, along your jaw.

who are you to resist?

and who is he to either?

your pants pooled at your ankles, shirt hiked up your back and drooping off one shoulder. your inner thighs are slick and glistening with arousal and saliva.

a rough hand pushes down on your back, further squishing your chest into the hard metal of his truck bed, another grasping firmly at the fat of your backside where simon's face is lapping at your dripping cunt.

soft mewls cry from your lips, hands reaching back to grasp as his head, fingers tangling through the shirt locks of dirty blond. he only grunts in response—sorry, luvie, he's in heaven.

your legs are trembling, knees threatening to buckle under you with three orgasms already coaxed out of you on his tongue alone, milking you of your sweet, slick nectar.

your quiet, strained cries do nothing, but aid the tightness in his dirtied jeans, his cock oozing arousal in his boxers, dampening the fabric beyong his zipper. every involuntary shift of his hips causes more friction and tension with the denim, sending a groan throughout your pussy.

his noises vibrate against your pussy, shocking your overstimulated, and oversensitive, clit. all you can do is cry out as he pushes himself deeper, closer. his tongue is merciless, selfish as he threatens to swallow you whole.

at this point, you're begging for relent, repeated pleas of his name falling from your lips as the familiar heat builds in your tummy, and you writhe under his hands. the cold metal turning warm under you as it digs into your skin.

everything becoming overstimulating as the world begins to spin, jaw going slack, saliva pooling in your mouth as it threatens to spill over your swollen lips.

tears are streaming down your flushed face, your hair is frizzy and eyes are practically rolling to the back of your head as yet another release washes over you, sending a shudder through your body.

simon finally pulls his face away from the heaven between your thighs, not without flattening his tongue over your cunt for a last taste.

the lower half of his face glistening, coated in your juices, he desperately licks his lips to savor it. as he stands up from his position, his hand on your back pushes you back down onto the bed of his truck.

"n't done, luvie, be'a gud girl 'nd stay still," he kneaded the flesh of your backside, groaning at the sight in front of him.

his hands meet your hips, pulling you back on his clothed erection. a small yelped wince escapes your lips at the friction against your sensitive cunt. your frayed nerves against the harsh material that soaks up your arousal and previous releases.

you whine as he rocks his hips slowly, grunting as he watches the material dampen so easily before he pulls away from your hips.

his movements are hasty, not wasting any more time as he barely undoes his belt and zipper, freeing his heavy cock from the constraints of his jeans.

he whines softly at the warmth of your puffy, swollen folds as he rubs his cockhead up and down your pussy before catching your slit.

he groans at the tightness that welcomes him, the slick, clamping, spongy walls that pulse around his dick almost milks him of every last drop of sperm that fills his heavy balls.

your voice is hoarse, almost gone by the time his cokc is sheathed in you, his cockhead brushing your cervix as you feel the precum oozing from his slit. you can feel every prominent vein of his cock against your spongy walls, they're practically ingrained in you, your pussy molded to take his dick.

a creamy, white circle forms at the base of his cock as he forces his entire length inside, his girthy dick stretching your weeping pussy with loud, lewd squelches.

he doesn't give you time—he's selfish tonight, unapologetically so because luvie, he didn't track any dirt through the house! this is him rewarding himself for being so good! you can't discourage that, can you?

it isn't long until your backside is red, his hips pistioning into your sopping cunt, the sight of your slick pussy swallowing his red, angry cock so needily, sucking him in so desperately and clamping around him was addicting, and the feel even more so. his pace isn't nice, it's mean, and relentless, and bruising.

"fuck, lovie, couldn' wait t'hav ya," he whined in your ear, his cock drilling into your tight hole as he nipped at your earlobe. calloused, rough and dirty hands kneading the fat of your ass, a sharp slap to your skin causing it to turn even more flushed and red as he fucked himself stupid.

he was pussy-drunk, drool dripping from his cracked, dry lips onto the expanse of your shoulder. he'd press lewd, wet kisses against your supple skin, adding to the trails of saliva that pooled from his lips.

you'd have bruises the shape of his fingers on your ass for days, maybe even a week after, because of how hard his hands grasp your backside, pulling you back onto his cock as he milks himself dry.

"need t'fill y'r pussy, baby," his voice comes out a low, rough whine, despite the heavy grasp and force he exerts, "fuck, 's all f'me, ain't it?"

he'd always make sure to put dirt on the floors if it meant making it up to you by stuffing his face between your thighs.

or, making sure to kick off his boots outside the door if it meant rewarding himself like this, again, and again, and again.

[drgnflyteabox]

mdni - implied fat!reader x bluecollar!simon riley drabble - simon is a bit of a creep also lol

Bluecollar!Simon Riley whose house floods so he has to spend the next few days in a cheap, seedy motel

First morning there he's leaving for work just as the sun is rising. Its hot, humid, and he's a shitty mood because he'll be working all day and it's only gonna get hotter

Simon Riley who smokes a couple cigs before he goes, sitting on a plastic lawn chair on his concrete faux patio when he sees you

You're flustered, damp with sweat and skin sun-kissed. You've got a laundry basket on your hip and immediately he's imagining a baby there instead. His baby.

Simon Riley who's shameless about staring at you struggling with the laundry door, dropping your clothes and giving him a view of your wide hips and plush ass in very short pajama shorts

You're so flustered:(( nearly in tears while you pick everything up. The shorts are a little tight, a little worn, and the thin material gives him just enough of a view of your pussy that it sustains him the whole day :')

All he can imagine is coming back and sinking into you :') not even necessarily fucking right away, but keeping his cock warm and relieving the tension in his body. He deserves that, no?

He's not creeping, necessarily, when he takes note of the lotion you use. Vanilla. He just happened to be having a smoke and walking right by your window, where you've got one foot propped on a chair rubbing it into your skin.

Your room is tidy. Despite the stained walls, cracks in the ceiling and overall dingy-ness, you've managed to make it look cozy.

New sheets, a fluffy blanket, string lights strung across the wall. Beside you, lotions and creams and washes - he snorts a little to himself. The bathrooms here don't have any counter space or mirrors to set them down on.

But his house does. In fact, most of his shelves are empty everywhere. His pantry, his closets. The only thing he's got are work clothes and beers in the fridge. Maybe a stray heel of bread.

Simon Riley who decides he'll have you move in before he even talks to you, before he starts memorizing your schedule on the weekends and evenings he gets home. You're struggling, on the edge of homelessness, but he knows you'd be the perfect wife and mother. That you'd bring light and warmth to his house, fill those empty shelves and empty rooms...

[zvdvdlvr]

thinkinf blue collar!simon thoughts…

welder!simon making you those pretty metal flowers. welder!simon who loves when you pack lunch for him because its so domestic and he’s out of the house by 0400 in the morning anyway. welder!simon who talks about you to all the down-to-earth guys that come through and have a job for him. welder!simon who always showers right when he gets home because he know how you get when he gets thise little curls of steel that latch onto his shirt on the couch or get dirt on the bed.

mechanic!simon who always gets your vehicle in and out before anyone else though possible. mechanic!simon who offers to fix things up at your house/apartment for free because he (wants to spend time with you) knows how expensive things are… and he is your friend, so why not just do it out of the kindness of his heart? mechanic!simon who is friends with you long enough to know your favorite animal/song, so he casually gets a tattoo of the animal silhouette/lyrics because he has tattoos anyway so why not get one that reminds him of you?

electrician!simon who always jumps to offer his work skills if you need. electrician!simon who always lets you know the latest gossip that he hears on the job if you want to know. electrician!simon who always calls you after a work accident/scare: he fell about twenty feet and landed on his back and his first thought was of you, simon got shocked by a live wire and asked for you to come cook him dinner because he burned through some skin tissue (and he knows you’d do it).

[johnsbirdie]

blue collar!price and white collar!fem reader

cw: i don’t really know

(i just thought of this and was like this is like totally price)

john is on his break, his rough, callused hands, caked in grime and dirt embedded deep within. he’s smoking a fat cigar to ease the pain (in his knees), he’s getting old now, which is quite easy to tell because his beard is greying - but to his luck you can’t exactly see his salt and pepper hair because his wide-brimmed bucket hat fortunately covers that.

surely he looked disgusting to people outside of the job. the other workers on the site, simon, kyle and johnny, saw him like this everyday of their lives and shrug off the fact he looked like a pig after it rolled around in mud.

and it just so happens that the construction site he works on, there’s a little office building right beside it. how lucky is he?

the chain-smoking, rugged older man set his sights on a little birdie in a tight little pencil skirt. he whistles unashamedly, so you can hear it. he knows you heard him. and you did. you’re walking along, cup holders full with coffee to bring back for your boss, you were a little surprised when he told you to get what you wanted with his card, he seemed to be in a good mood lately.

the wolf-whistle is the thing that nearly makes you drop the coffee-filled plastic cups, and when you look over, there’s a man double your own age with a smirk on his face. what a smug bastard.

“oi, pretty! you in a rush?” he calls out to you, stepping off of some planks of wood he was stood on.

god, you really did not have time for any chit-chat at the moment. you had to get back to work, not that it was any better than the man who had whistled at you, because your quite the talk of the town in the marketing department. all the old men must really like you, huh.

“i am, actually. sorry about that.” you brush him off, the noise of your heels clacking against the pavement infront of the site increasing the faster you walk. you did not want to speak to some roughed up, man old enough to be your dad.

but, does that stop john? absolutely not. he catches up to you before you can even make it into the office building, and he blocks your path.

“nah, you can’t be in a rush, you’re stood here with little ‘ol me.” he says that just to spite you, and when you try to step around him, he blocks your path once more.

“i’m only stood here with you because you’re not letting me move.” you huff. did he not understand that you didn’t want to talk? he was probably just some creep that liked to hit on girls half his age, which, to be fair, is what he was doing right now.

“aye. c’mon love, giv’us a twirl.” he cocks a brow, looking down at you. he towers over you by nearly a whole foot if you weren’t wearing heels.

ugh, who was this guy? a complete and utter prick, you thought. you really shouldn’t pay him any mind.

“do you mind moving, please? i need to get back to work.” you look up at him, your lips pressed into a thin line. you were on the verge of just throwing the starbucks drinks all over him, just to be a bitch about it.

he stands there. he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watching you with his piercing blue eyes. he knows he shouldn’t pressure you, he didn’t really mean to come off as a creep. he just thought you were a pretty little thing and he liked pretty little things. but you didn’t seem to like him very much.

“mm. go on. i didn’t mean to be a dickhead, sweetheart. i’m sorry.” he eventually speaks, moving out of your way. which surprised you initially, not expecting that at all from him.

“oh, i… yeah, no, it’s okay. thank you.” you say, your voice a little small as you give him one last glance before heading into work.

until next time birdie. he thinks to himself as he watches your figure disappear into the office building.

[maryangelex]

Dark But Sweet

Maintenance Guy! Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader AU

Summary: You just moved into a new apartment and facing the struggles of opting for cheap rent. But your building's maintenance guy, Simon, is making it worthwhile.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ content ahead, all fluff, crushing, shy Simon Riley, American writing British content.

A/N: Y'all I live in the US so I have no idea how apartment buildings work in the UK, or anything for that matter, please don't crucify me. But anyways...hope you guys enjoy blue-collar Simon fics as much as I do!!

Your new apartment was the best option out of the other ones you had viewed in the past six months of searching. "New" was a very liberal term to use for it, labeling it as "new" as in "freshly moved into". Otherwise, you would have used words like "shabby", "cheap", and "at least liveable" to describe it. It had been a few weeks since you had moved in; the place was still filled with boxes to unpack, but you had tried to make it look as organized and cozy as possible to give yourself a sense of home and some motivation to live in it.

This morning, you woke up and rose from your newly assembled bed. As you walked out of your room and into the hallway connecting to the bathroom, you felt the wet sensation of a puddle of water on your bare feet. Your eyes had still not adjusted fully to being awake, all you sensed were the soles of your feet saturated in the mysterious puddle of water. Confused and half asleep, you followed the water flow to find it was emanating from your bathroom, and when you opened the door you saw the water flowing freely from the pipes under your sink. The realization jolted you awake.

"Great! Just fan-fucking-tastic!" you said to yourself throwing your hands in the air. You stomped to your room, slipping on the wet floor a few times which made your anger seethe even more. You grabbed your phone and dialed your landlord; she was already on your most recent contacts from having to pester the older woman with complaint after complaint.

"Mornin', Karen, it's me again," you said with an exasperated sigh, "Do ya know any plumbers 'round here, by any chance?"

The woman started off by inquiring what had happened that made you need a plumber, you followed by explaining to her how one of the pipes in your bathroom sink must've come loose.

"Oh, hon, let me just call Simon for ya, he's the maintenance guy for the building."

Maintenance guy, great, so he's the guy that hefty fee goes to, you thought. At least you wouldn't have to pay extra for the plumber. Why couldn't your friends have been plumbers so you could snag a deal from them?!

"Right, and is he any good?" you asked.

"Oh, he's lovely! He'll be there soon, he lives on the first floor! Gotta go now, hon, let me know if ya need anything but also please take it easy, bye-bye now!" she said in one breath, hanging up before even finishing, seemingly being at her limit with the gripes this lease was bringing you, and bringing her as a result.

You sighed as you pocketed your phone. You made your way to the closet in your kitchen that held your mop and bucket, clipping your hair up as you got ready to start your day off by mopping up the water coating almost your entire apartment by this point.

It had been about half an hour, maybe more, since you started mopping, still in your pajamas and bedhead barely held by your clip. A film of sweat was coating your body from your labor, plus the fact that the air conditioning in your apartment was turned off, something you read on the internet.

The whole time you mumbled to yourself, scolding yourself about picking such a cheap apartment, that a few bucks wouldn't have hurt, that you should've picked up another job to afford something better, and that this stupid "Simon" guy better be worth that maintenance fee.

Your mumbling and ruminating was interrupted by two knocks on the door. You put your mop in the bucket near you, your floors were slippery but at least they were no longer flooded, at least outside of the bathroom area. You made your way to your front door, knowing you looked a mess, but who cares? Certainly not you, since you expected an average maintenance guy to show up; middle-aged, stubby, probably balding, and with jeans at half his crack.

But once you opened the door, you were greeted by the complete opposite of that description.

A very tall man stood at your doorstep. Your eyes trailed up his body, craning your neck back to look at his face. He had choppy, dirty blonde hair covered by a backward black cap and rich coffee-colored hooded eyes. His outfit was extremely casual; bleach-washed gray jeans and a charcoal, loose-fit shirt that did his visibly muscular build no justice.

You were gawking at the man, like a deer in headlights as you stood there holding the door open, practically drooling.

"Um...I--..." you stuttered "S-sorry, can I, um, help you?"

He paused, then said with a gruff voice, "Karen sent me." The man looked down at you, his hand carrying a heavy-duty toolbag moved, signaling his purpose for knocking at your door.

Oh, that's Simon, you thought, your face flaring red.

"Right! Come in, sorry!" you laughed nervously, stepping aside to let him come in.

"She said you were having plumbing issues"

"Yes! I-it's the loo, there's water everywhere," you explained leading him to your bathroom, as water was still pooling slowly on the floor from it.

You showed him with a hand pointing at the leaking sink vanity. Simon eyed it, giving you a grunt as a response. He was evidently a man of few words, he simply stepped into the bathroom, dropping his toolbag on the toilet lid, and squatting down. He opened the cabinets of the vanity and examined the pipes; another grunt from him as he diagnosed the issue.

You stood there watching him, not knowing what to do with yourself, especially with his lack of conversation or explanation. As you watched him you fixated on more details on him. You noticed his heavily inked arm, the way the veins on his forearms pulsated as his hands fidgeted with the pipes and the way his face was littered with a few aging scars. You caught yourself gawking at him again.

"S-so what is it?" you asked, snapping yourself out of your trance.

"S'no big deal, just the wrong pieces barely holdin' the pipes together," he explained, almost a mumble. "Might take a while, but nothin' major."

He had a thick Manchester accent and a deep, raspy voice. Even his voice had your checks stained red, and the man was simply talking about plumbing. You nodded at his words with an affirmative hum, as if you knew anything he was talking about.

Suddenly, you became hyperaware of what you were wearing, and what you looked like. You had expected a much less attractive man to be at your home, you hadn't cared to put yourself together. But of course, instead, you had a man like Simon, when you looked the least presentable. Your hair was ratty, your pajamas consisting of stretched-out shorts and an ill-fitting tank top, covered in a mix of sweat and water from mopping. You walked away from him in shame and bee-lined to your room, to at the very least brush your hair and wet-wipe yourself. Now you were thinking about how much sillier you looked fixing yourself for your maintenance guy! Did you think you were living in a cheesy porno or something?

You shook your head and sighed as you looked at yourself in the mirror. When you came back out, you went to your kitchen to look for something to busy yourself with, when suddenly your stomach rumbled. Right, you hadn't eaten all morning. You thought to yourself some tea would be nice, for you and also for Simon, you wanted to be a good host after all.

You turned your electric kettle on and rummaged your cabinets through your tea selection, picking out two packets of Earl Grey. You leaned against the counter as you waited for the water to boil, thinking about how the day had barely started and you were already exhausted, then your mind traveled to thinking about the man in your bathroom, daydreaming about the things you had noted thus far about him.

You were crushing on your maintenance man and you decided to act on it, unabashedly. You briefly walked back to him and asked, "How do you take your tea?" with an awkward smile. Your sudden question startled him a bit, he looked at you and gave you a polite response, saying not to go through the trouble but you insisted.

"Cream, one sugar," he said with. a hint of shyness, giving up on your persistence. Your smile grew and you nodded before running back (slipping) to the kitchen to fix him a cup.

When you came back with two cups in hand, he took the one you reached down to him.

"Thanks, love," he said nonchalantly as he sipped the contents of the mug.

Love, you repeated in your head as your stomach did a flip.

"Sorry, I should've asked which tea you liked, I have a ton to choose from. I just picked out Earl Gray, thought I couldn't go wrong with that," you chuckled nervously bringing the mug against your lips as you leaned by the doorframe, trying to make conversation with him.

"My favorite," he said, looking up at you with the mug still on his lips, taking another sip.

Your face beamed with a big dumb smile, "Is it really?" he nodded in response. "Ya look like an Earl Grey kind of guy!"

Simon chuckled lightly at your comment, "Is that so? What does that look like, exactly?"

You laughed with him, your cheeks pink with a hint of embarrassment and shyness now surging in you, "Oh I don't mean it in a bad way! Just... dunno, dark but sweet maybe?"

A hum rumbled in Simon's throat as he swallowed his tea, putting the mug down beside him and sitting on the floor casually as he looked at you again with those rich dark eyes, the hint of a cocky smirk curled on his lips, "dark but sweet, huh?"

You nodded at him, still smiling. "Just what I've gathered," you said with a shrug.

The two of you were silent for a moment, you noticed how Simon raked his eyes over you momentarily.

"Sorry, I'll leave you to it, then!" you snapped with another awkward laugh as you stumbled back to the kitchen, leaving Simon to return to his work. You were trying your best to withhold the smile tugging at your cheeks but it was impossible, you wanted to squeal like a teenage girl at the way you cheekily flirted with him and made him laugh.

As Simon tinkered in your bathroom, you occupied yourself by unpacking a few boxes with items that belonged in your kitchen and living room. It was already almost noon.

In your peripheral vision, you saw Simon standing outside of the bathroom, drops of sweat covering his forehead as he adjusted his black cap. It was still hot as all hell in your apartment.

"Sorry, love, can I bother you for some water?" he said, taking the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face and neck. You watched hungrily as his shirt rose in his grasp, revealing his lower abdomen; his torso was toned, his v-line protruding from his jeans, decorated with light brown hairs and rivulets of sweat.

Your pupils were blown as your eyes fixated on him, his unintentionally sensual performance. You gulped, heat pooling in between your legs from the sight alone.

Simon looked at you puzzled by your lack of response. You snapped out of it as you moved to fulfill his request "Y-yeah! No problem!"

You handed the man a glass of cold water and he took it from you, gulping it down. As he did so you watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down with every gulp. You were staring at him again, today. Your stomach was fluttering and the heat between your legs seethed the more you watched the man. You were pining for him at this point and it was embarrassing how hot and bothered you so easily were.

Simon let out a satisfied sigh as he handed you the glass, thanking you as you took it from him.

"I should be done soon, sorry for the delay, the fucker that put it together did a shit job."

You nodded and told him not to worry as he walked back into the bathroom. If anything, now you were worried he'd be leaving too soon. You enjoyed his company too much already. That's when you had a bright idea of how to keep him just a bit longer.

A few minutes later, Simon walked out of the bathroom with his tools in hand, announcing his conclusion with an "all done." But he was taken aback by the sight of you with a sandwich and a glass of juice in your hand, placing it on the table for him.

"Oh, I didn't think you'd be done so soon!" You said feigning innocence; it was almost theatrical, how you looked at him with pleading wide eyes like a puppy begging him to stay and eat.

"You didn't have to," he said quietly, a bit embarrassed by the act but he couldn't help the fact that his stomach rumbled, and it was hard to say no to a face like yours.

You give him a silent invitation to sit and eat by placing your hands on the back of the dining chair. "Please, it's my way of thanking you for today."

And so he gave in once more, sitting down and devouring the meal. You joined him on the nearest seat with your own. The man was famished.

"Your boyfriend's a lucky man," he said between bites, looking up from his food expecting your response, a bit of hope in his eyes maybe?

You scoffed, "Yeah, he'd be lucky if he existed!"

Simon gave you a smirk, which you returned.

"So you live on the first floor?"

"I do, helps tend to people in the building better."

"Good, I'll be needing you around a lot," you said with a relieved sigh; this apartment needed all the help it could get.

"At your service, love," Simon said, tipping his glass to you before finishing it.

You watched him and felt a hint of sadness welling in your chest. You enjoyed Simon's company; he was kind and quiet, as alluring as he was attractive. He stood up from his chair and thanked you for everything, then grabbed his tools and made his way to the door. You accompanied him, showing him out and opening the door for him.

"Thanks again, love," he said lowly, his tone was kind and a bit sultry, "I'm in 1B if you need anythin' else."

"Thank you, Simon," you said with a smile as you watched him nod goodbye and be on his way.

When you closed the door behind you, you leaned against it, finally letting out that squeal you had pent up all day. You giggled to yourself, immediately dashing to get your phone and dialing your best friend.

"You're not gonna believe this!"

A/N: Guys!!! This was too long!!!! Part 2?!?!? I was kicking my feet, twirling my hair and giggling writing this please let me write part 2!!!

[livingfictional]

My head is filled with blue collar!simon. I'd wake up at 5am just to cook this man breakfast, I'd do his laundry, just give me a chance plea-

[ghostlywhiskey]

the urge to write another part to service you just because mechanic!simon has a chokehold on me and i'm fighting for my life

there is the line of either leaving it how it is or let me cross this line and just go fucking berserk to deep dive blue collar simon more

like im torn. i can picture the man coming to ur apartment and telling you x, y & z needs to be fixed, he's got a 2 bedroom ranch styled house 100% only stairs in that house go to the mf basement because he doesnt need much but the backyard and front law look like its from a magazine, sex in the bed of his truck i simply dont make the rules...my brain is filled with more. wow. anyway.

part 2 perhaps.

[sunsetsimon]

GAGGHHH i need a pt. 2 of blue collar simon😔😔

ask and ye shall receive hehe

☼ he's so serious about quality when it comes to attire for work. buying expensive work boots, cargo pants, and jackets to protect himself from the elements. a toolbelt hangs heavily on his hips, weighed down with multiple screwdrivers and a hammer. they sway with each step he takes, ordering the rookies around when he sees them sitting doing nothing.

"get your asses up, we've got work to do," simon orders, slapping one on the shoulder from behind, nearly making the grown man jump out of his skin.

☼ you can't help but swoon when he comes in from work, dressed head to toe in dirt caked gear. his tanned arms are kissed with a light sunburn from being exposed to the sun all day, a small bruise here and there. his frown immediately turns to a smirk as he sees you, noticing the way your doe eyes look him up and down, contemplating if you want to climb him like a tree now - or later.

"what's that look for?" he asks, kneeling in the doorway to unlace his boots. you approach him, running your fingers through his messy blond hair to rid it of a few specks of drywall, he almost groans.

"nothing... just admiring my husband," you say, a mischievous smile on your pretty lips that exposes your true intentions.

"mm," simon hums, reading you like a book. he runs his fingers along the back of your thighs, up under the hem of your shorts that barely cover the thin cotton of your panties, waiting excitedly with a bow on the front - a present for your hard working husband of course.

"haven't even been home for a minute and you're already purring for me," he says, rubbing his thumb in a circle on your clothed clit, making your knees weak.

☼ very overprotective and possessive if you come to his job sites. oh no! he left his lunch, you realize, quickly changing and following his location through your phone. when you arrive the area is sectioned off, materials lie around in piles and dust flies freely, giving you a tickle in your throat. you look around at each person, unable to discern who's who, masks and hard hats making everyone look the same.

"lookin' for someone?" you hear. a man a few feet away from you asks, pulling down his mask to reveal a short brown beard - definitely not simon.

"yes i'm looking for simon!" you say, continuing to look from person to person but not seeing him anywhere.

"huh.. he's this way," the man gives you an odd look then waves, signaling you to follow him into the dirt.

men gawk as you walk by, power drills pausing mid air as they wonder what this pretty little thing is doing walking around their job with a large black lunchbox in her hands. as you get deeper into the site you hear a gruff voice that you'd recognize anywhere. his back is to you, speaking loudly to someone as he points at different places on the bare boned structure.

"simon!" the man announces his presence, making simon turn around, his eyes immediately locking on you. he doesn't excuse himself or acknowledge who led you to him, only grabbing your wrist and leading you away from their lingering eyes.

"the hell are you doing here?" he asks, his brown eyes darkening so intensely it intimidates you.

"i brought your lunch!" you say innocently, lifting the lunch box into his view, "you forgot it at home."

different emotions flash across his face rapidly, until he lands on one that softens his furrowed eyebrows, grabbing the heavy pack from you with a sigh - relief is what he feels. "would've just grabbed something nearby, love. these guys must've been looking at you like you're their next meal or somethin."

"maybe, but they should know now i came for you."

simon licks his lips, turned on by your loyalty, your want to provide for him and take care of him while he works his ass off so you can stay home and look pretty. he grabs you by your chin, pulling you into a sloppy wet kiss that lasts a bit too long to be considered appropriate for the public. he's obviously making a statement to the curious eyes that linger from his men. mine.

"lemme walk you out," he says nonchalantly when he pulls away, ignoring your blushing cheeks at the very intense display of affection, leading you with a hand on your lower back that slips down to take a grip of your plushy ass when he notices someone staring too hard.

[callsignfoxy]

I'm in love with the blue collar simon

I can't wait for the next parttsjsj

Omg thank you!! I'm trying to decide where I want it to go before I continue with the next part. I originally had my own OC for it, but I've been trying to generalize it more for a reader/you experience. This means a lot to me thank youuuuuuuu ❤️❤️❤️❤️

[tojisun]

found you today through your plumber simon story and hngggg how can you take a concept that's so overdone and still nail it??? THE TALENT

(I need more of those plss)

aww im glad u liked the lil drabble teehee and thank you so much!!

(idk if this will serve the way the first past did but—)

just. blue collar simon makes me shrivel up in need. he’s just so…capable. so competent. he’s suave and ruggedly charismatic. he sees what he wants and knows how to take it; how to coax it out of you.

simon sees how wide-eyed you are when you look up at him, sees the shyness in the way you give him that drink he asked for, sees the way you curl into yourself while you explain to him the problem you’re having with your kitchen sink, and he physically has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from preening.

you stuttered out your concerns, ducking your head down when you noticed how much eye contact he’s keeping, only for your lungs to constrict when all what your quiet murmur did was make him lean ever so closer to you.

“sorry, miss,” he drawled, shuffling to rest his hand on the counter. “just can’t hear y’well, s’all.”

“oh, okay,” you replied, voice all sticky because what else could you say?

and simon just watched with narrowed eyes and pinched lips because darlin’, you didn’t even know what you do to him.

simon didn’t really fuck you then, not with how you laid there on your kitchen table, loopy and twitching, eyes faraway while your body came down from the intensity of your orgasms.

little lady, you fuckin’ squirted. you drenched his mouth and made his fingers all pruny with your slick.

god, doll, you were so pretty, all sweaty and drooling, unable to even properly kiss him back when he leant down to nab a taste of those spit-slicked lips. all you could do was whine, your body locked while your cunt spurted uselessly, still so overstimulated by the way he stuffed you.

you pawed at the tent in his jeans when you finally came back to, and who was simon to deny you of his cock?

you sucked him messily, but simon’s never been so horny until then. you couldn’t even swallow his prick properly, your mouth tired and your body still putty, but simon came the fastest he’s remembered, shooting his spunk all over your sweaty face.

simon would’ve snagged a photo of how you looked but the pipes really needed some fixing. so he tucked himself back in his jeans, then slapped the inside of your thigh softly, his eyes still on your puffy cunt.

“a’right. this bloke need t’work again, is that not right miss?” simon crooned, dragging his hand along your leg, watching your skin dimple with the weight of his hold.

you warbled a response.

simon chuckled and pressed forward to brush a kiss on your forehead before forcing himself to walk away because he’s still on the clock.

not like he’d even charge you after all of that.

.

it’s two weeks later when you finally called the plumber again. sure, you had to slam the hilt of your knife on your pipe until it finally dented, but it’s not like the plumber—mr. simon—would need to know.

your call gets picked up after the second ring but before you could even offer any greetings, all of which you’ve rehearsed in front of the mirror over and over again, he says, “well, that sure took y’while, didn’t it doll? almost had me worried that you wouldn’t call.”

you breathe in sharply, your pussy tingling already. he chuckles.

“same address?”

“yes, please,” you rasp out before licking at your chapped lips. then, “can i request for an asap service? it’s…leaking right now.”

mr. simon laughs loudly this time. you end the call before he can say anything more, dutifully ignoring the way your cheeks thrum with feverish heat.

because you’re sure that this time…

[witch-oftheflowers]

Blue Collar AU! Simon and Ximena~

AN: It's happening! Let's go I wanna see how these two are with their family if they didn't enter the military. And if they got together- enjoy!

Masterlist

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Early morning. Like always the pair woke up.

Simon's brown eyes stared at the ceiling as he debated to even get up. He rubbed his eyes a bit as he hum.

"Couldn't sleep papi?" Ximena's soft voice asked. As she rolled over a bit, her curls were in braids. Softly she was getting out the bed her hair was a mess as she did toss and turn often.

Simon nods his head as he ran a large hand through his buzzed short hair. His eyes shut for a second as he was thinking.

"Twas a bit 'arsh. But I'll manage." He got out the bed. He had a soft belly, but his built was still lean. He was fit due to his physically demanding job. He didn't mind it though as he was providing for his wife and kids-

"How's the little bugger doing?" He asked her as he was scratching his ear. Sleep was still clinging to him as he went into the restroom first.

Ximena scoffed as she finally got on her feet.

"Not gonna let the pregnant lady go first gringo??" She teased him as she started to rummage into her dressers. Grabbing he great scrubs along with a tank top for underneath.

Setting them on the bed she went out to the kitchen and made them both a cuppa.

Simon came out as he stretched a bit.

"Mamas where you at?" He called out

"Kitchen-" she coed to him as she was rubbing her stomach

He was dressed quickly. In his dark blue jeans, a long sleeve thermal black shirt. And his usual plaided long sleeve shirt, also black. His scuffled bear was noticable as he gave her a kiss.

"Little bug is a lot..but I'll manage.." she mention as he nods. Remembering he did ask her

"I'm sorry. Wish these buggers weren't all energetic." He said his voice gravely and worn..but he did what he did for the family they made. He'll do whatever the must.

"go ahead get ready. I'll make you cuppa proper." He smiled to her as he swat her arse. Letting her giggles reach his ears as she vanished from his sight.

He was pondering in his head if he should tell her. Someone he knew long ago asked if he was interested in becoming a firefighter.

He bit his lip as he knew it would bring in more for them. A bit riskier for him even. But he didn't mind the risk. He was thinking of his wife and kids. And with a fifth one on the way. He knew he needed to do better. His wifes an intelligent woman. A nurse but working her way to become a doctor. He wanted to help cover the school bills for her and the kids later on-

Ximena came back in wearing her uniform. Her hair was pulled into a bun as she gladly took the cup from him

"Gracias~ such a proper man" she teased him as she gave him a kiss. He smiled as he pressed his forehead against hers

"Xi.. I got something to tell ya." He said as she took a sip. Enjoying the taste of the honey he added.

"Hmmm? Dieme? What's wrong?" She asked softly as she glanced to him with worried eyes. Her eyebrows were knit together as she was taking in his words

"What if.. I 'ad a change in careers.." he stated as she watched him nervously sip his mug. The way his eyes were crinkling in the corners she could tell he was anxious

"For what? It seems like you've been thinking mi amor. Tell me.." she edge him on as she placed a comforting hand over his.

"A firefighter?" He said as more a question. He looked to her eyes seeking an answer before she spoke

"I wouldn't mind whatever you do. I just want you to know the risks and dangers. Besides that I wouldn't mind it Simon." She said as she gave him a firm smile.

"Whatever you decide just let me know. I'll cheer you on love. Be your personal cheerleader~" she teased him in the end as she pinched his cheeks

He smiled as he gave her a big wet kiss. Softly pulling her in for an embrace. He tickled her side and stomach a bit as she let a laugh out.

"You know what you do to me? You're to good for me Mama's. Way to good.." he whispered and teased her. Softly he smiled as he pepper kisses all over her chub cheeks

"Aye stop it- I'ma piss myself!" She swat his arm as he pulled away laughing..his deep chuckle filled her ears. Quickly he ran away towards the door

"I'll see you tonight-!" He echo the words out as he laced his shoes. Trying to avoid his wife's rage.

"Tonight my love~" she coed to him as she smiled.

The sound of footsteps filled the house as the front door closed.

The four kiddos came out as they smiled to their mommy. Three girls and a boy.

"Ok niños! Grandma and Grandpa are coming over. " She announced as they for excited.

Another exciting day for the kids ahead. And the two parents that love them. Yeah they'll figure it out with a fifth one

[shotmrmiller]

Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

--

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?" 

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn. 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside. 

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here. 

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

[rowarn]

first i would like to formally apologize.......also first time trying hybrid au so i humbly apologize if it's not as good as other people's!!! first time for everything and all that!!!

hybrid!au, angst, hurt/comfort but also hurt/no comfort, VERY mean!simon, cat hybrid!reader, dog hybrid!soap, owner!simon

part 2 !!

Simon who has retired from the military and decides to get himself a hybrid companion. Even though he doesn’t want to admit it – he’s grown lonely. He doesn’t have any family and all the socializing he did was in the military and he doesn’t have that anymore. So he decides to look into finding something to fill that gap in his life. 

Enters Soap – a young hybrid who once upon a time worked for the military just like Simon. The pup got injured in action and was forced to retire. 

Simon figures the two of them will fit together quite well. 

And he’s right! The two of them get along swimmingly. And it turns out Soap is very good for Simon. The endless energy the hybrid had (despite his injury) forces Simon to actually leave the house multiple times a day instead of hiding inside until he drives himself stir crazy. 

Now, he has to take Soap out for walks, runs, and even takes the hybrid to the park so he can run around with other hybrids and play catch with Simon. Soap LOVES it when Simon throws the ball as far and fast as he can so Soap has to spend several minutes hunting the little thing down. 

Simon actually finds himself feeling…happy. For the first time in a long time. 

Soap carves out a space in Simon’s life and the Brit is more than happy to let him take up as much space as he needs. He adores Soap. He knows the two of them are going to be companions for a long, long time. 

But then on a routine nightly walk, Soap freezes at the entrance to an alleyway, ears perked and alert as he hears something Simon can’t. His tail stops wagging and his blue eyes work to pierce unblinkingly into the inky depths of the alley. 

And that’s how they come across you; a skittish cat hybrid with no home to call your own.

Soap is ecstatic. His tail starts wagging so hard that it actually hurts when it hits Simon in the leg. 

The pup begs Simon to bring you home. He wants a hybrid friend of his own! Something ugly and dark works it’s way into his chest when he hears that – was he not enough for Soap like Soap was for him? 

He tries to tug Soap away by hooking his fingers into the leather collar around his neck but the hybrid doesn’t move, simply staring with a grin at where you sit on the ground in the alley. 

Simon doesn’t like cats. He doesn’t want a cat. And just seeing you makes him frown. 

When he finds that he can’t get Soap to move, he starts bargaining. He swears that they’ll look into finding a nice dog hybrid for Soap!! Stll, it doesn’t work. The dog hybrid has got his heart set on you for some reason. 

And that’s how you find yourself living in his home. And he’s not happy about it. 

You glare at him any time he has the audacity to walk into any room you happen to be in in his OWN damn house. It pisses him off. 

He doesn’t like you. And he makes it abundantly clear any time he sees you with the way his lips curl up in disgust. He shoos you away like you’re a nuisance even when you’re just lounging in the warmth of a sunbeam through the window. 

Where Soap eats borderline gourmet, he usually just slops some random low-quality hybrid food down for you. Sometimes, if he’s feeling particularly resentful, he doesn’t even let you eat at the table with him and Soap. 

But Soap adores you. The pup gets so excited to see you whenever he gets home from a walk or a day at the park. He hunts you down immediately wherever you may be just so he can excitedly tell you all about what happened outside – the birds he saw, the hybrids he played with, what he ate. 

And you listen intently. You’re not one for many words, Simon notes, but he often finds you muttering barely audible things to the other hybrids. You’ve never spoken a word to the human. 

Simon doesn’t know why that upsets him too – it’s not like he wants you to talk to him. He just thinks it’s disrespectful of you to ignore the man giving you food and a roof over your head. He also thinks it’s fucking disrespectful of you to steal his hybrids heart the way you have. 

The longer you’re there in his house, the more Simon hates you. Annoyance morphs into despising you. He’d have thrown you out back onto the streets by now if he could get away with it but when Soap wasn’t by his side, he was by yours. 

It ticks him off when he walks into a room and finds you purring happily with Soap curled up around you, big burly arms holding you snuggly against his chest as he snoozes. 

Simon didn’t even bother naming you, Soap’s the one who picked something to call you. Simon usually just gruffly calls you ‘cat’ if he needs to speak to you – which he makes it a point not to do very much. 

You still don’t speak to Simon. Even when he ‘forgets’ to feed you, you don’t say a word. You don’t complain or seek him out for something to eat. You just choose to starve. 

He wonders if you hate him as much as he despises you. 

And you and Soap remain the best of friends. The pup is always yapping happily to you and you’re always listening. 

As time passes, you even start to follow Soap around. It no longer seems like one-sided adoration. 

You love Soap, he brightens your day and makes you happy. You want to be around him all the time. You never thought you'd like a dog but Soap was just so sweet and kind that it was impossible to dislike him -- even when he ruthlessly kissed your face all over and pinned you down so you couldn't escape just so he could give you all the affection he wanted. You never got mad, never showed your claws (in fact, you were extra cautious of your claws with him). You slept with him whenever he wasn't busy snuggling with Simon -- and you'd never dare interrupt the two of them while they were having quality time together!!!

And that also makes Simon furious. Because Soap is his. How dare you have the audacity to think Soap is yours? Simon has put so much love and effort into his relationship with Soap and you prance in with your stupid fluffy tail and little purrs and you’ve got the dog-hybrid wrapped around your finger in no time. 

God, he hates you. 

It seems like everything comes to a head on a rainy day. The rain always makes Soap hurt, his old injury and joints act up. It leaves him docile and sometimes a little cranky. 

He had been a little short with you all day and that hurt. You already dealt with your owner, the man who took you in, refusing to show you any kindness, and now the one companion you had would barely look at you. 

It wasn’t your fault you didn’t know how much pain Soap suffered from. You loved the rainy night, it was perfect weather to snuggle up to your favorite hybrid and snooze away. 

You found Soap, sprawled on his back on the couch, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed, you didn’t think anything of it. You crawled onto the couch, intending to snuggle in right beside him. 

But when you put the tiniest bit of your weight on him, his blue eyes popped open and a loud yelp erupted from his lips. You startled, hissing as your tail puffed up and fuzzy ears pinned back. 

Soap practically lept from the couch to get out from under your weight, hitting the floor with a loud thump that had him whimpering softly to himself, curling in on his side. 

Simon was storming into the living room not a half second later – finding his beloved pup curled up whimpering and shaking and you, ears pinned, tail puffed, and taking up the spot Soap once was. 

Simon didn’t care what had just happened – all he knew was what it looked like; like you had pushed the poor pup off. 

Because to him, that’s what cats were; vile, selfish, mean little shits. 

You were dragged to the door and tossed right out into the rain without a second thought. Before you could even get your wits about you, the door was slamming in your face and you were alone. You sat on the step for a long while, shivering from the cold rain soaking your thin clothes, just waiting for the door to open again. 

But before you knew it, the lights inside were turning off and you heard the front door’s deadbolt slide into place. And you were still outside, alone with nothing to your name but an old t-shirt that you had stolen from Soap. 

Simon hadn’t even bothered to get you clothes of your own. Or a collar like Soap’s – one with Simon’s name and number on the back. You had always wanted a collar like that but you knew Simon didn’t care about you enough to even consider you his own hybrid. 

You tried your best to stay out of his way and stay quiet and as small as possible so he wouldn’t grow angry or uncomfortable with you. You didn’t ask him for food when he forgot or get under his feet like Soap did. You tried your best to be good and hoped that someday the human would come around but as the days passed, you knew that it wouldn’t happen. You still did your best to not make trouble for him though. 

It seemed he was just waiting for an opportunity to get you out of his house. 

Your tummy growled, reminding you that you hadn’t been able to eat dinner yet. You stood from the front step and wandered down to the sidewalk, bare feet splashing in the puddles, taking a last glance at the now dark and still house you called home for many months. 

With your head hung low, you made your way back to familiar areas where you knew you could dig through trash to find at least something so you wouldn’t sleep hungry tonight.