#love simon packs

[tojisun]

biting a rock thinking about (retired) simon’s daily acts of service </33

he cuts open a pomegranate for you and pours the seeds into a bowl so it’s easier for you to eat them. he pushes your hair away so that not a single one gets caught when he zips up the zipper on the back of your clothes. he hooks your necklace for you, apologizing when it’s taking so long for him to do so because the clasp keeps slipping from his pinched fingers. he takes the fuzzy socks from your hold so he can slide them on your feet himself, his big hands massaging the back of your shins with murmured praises because he knows how much your legs are hurting after such a tiring day. he talks to your plants because you told him, in passing, how you heard that plants apparently react to human voices the way people do so he makes sure to tell them how much he loves you—he thinks it will help maintain the healthy lushness of their leaves. he brews you coffee before fixing himself up a cup of tea; then, he learns how to make iced coffee when he noticed that you prefer colder drinks. he’s always the one who ties your shoelaces, be it at home or outside.

(now that he’s retired, i love imagining simon round with all the love he carries, both for you and from you. he is softer now. happier. yes, he still prefers to keep to himself, still prefers the quiet. but now it is not tainted with the necessity to survive, instead, it is filled with tenderness and love. and you.)

[s0fter-sin]

retired ghoap going on a renovation competition show

ghost takes over the budget and he's ruthless with it; tracking every paint swatch and piece of lumber down to the last cent, haggling for every purchase and making the most of their coupons. soap's in charge of design; he can visualise floor plans better than anyone, seeing the completed spaces in his mind when they’re little more than a steel shell

they run their site like a military base, treating their builders like rookies; expecting them to follow orders but also waiting for them to inevitably mess up so they can fix it

they're an immediate shock to the judges; they fully expected them to have no idea what they're doing, to have no understanding of style or trends, but they didn't sign up just for shits and giggles

they know how to hit a brief and can do physical labour faster than the actual builders. with soap's discerning eye and ghost's practically, they design gorgeous rooms and become a real threat for the prize money. they handle the stress and sleepless nights like it's second nature bc really, it is; a few all nighters painting are nothing compared to being shot at

they also take great joy in messing with the other couples

it takes a while for them to figure out they're even married; they argue like it's going out of fashion, never holding their opinions or frustrations back but it's their love language as much as their banter. you can hear them barking at each other from across the site; callsigns and “It” and “sergeant” thrown around just like in the field

the challenges are where they have the most fun

the day to day? that's work; they're strict, both with themselves and the schedule, never letting anything fall behind or go incompleted. but the challenges? that's play time. they love pushing the brief, toeing the line of the rules purely bc they can

they get to a two part art challenge and ghost's scheming before before the host even opens their mouth. part one? one half of the couple has to design some kind of art piece that will feature in their house. part two? the other person has to gather supplies and tools and make the art

there's a time limit for how long they can take to gather the supplies; once it's up, they can't go back for more and they can only use what they can carry themselves to their station. they're in a warehouse filled with scrap and paint and tools, the choices almost overwhelming

ghost politely interrupts the host to ask for a clarification; absolutely anything in the warehouse can be used so long as they can carry it?

the host confirms; anything under the roof is their's to use

ghost thanks them and steps back in line, standing at attention and waiting for round one to start

ghost volunteers to be the one to do the art, shocking everyone since soap is well known as the artist of the two of them. but soap sees the mischief in his eyes; he knows he's up to something and can't wait to see where it goes

the timer starts and ghost immediately shucks his hoodie and gets to grabbing; stuffing the impromptu bag with everything he recognises from soap's own supplies. there's seconds to go when he bolts for soap, throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry

the other couples are pissed and call it cheating, trying to get them disqualified

ghost just shrugs, soap still over his shoulder, "they said we can use anything we can carry. i followed the brief"

soap just laughs like a mad man

they win the challenge by a landslide

everything's going smoothly, they've won enough room reveals that they’re in a good financial position, they’re ahead in their current room and in a great headspace

then soap gets injured

it's an honest mistake, a part of the roof they thought was stable collapsing and hitting soap

and ghost, always calm and in control, panics

he's on the other side of the site when he hears soap cry out and goes running; shoving past cameramen and builders, screaming to know what happened before he even sees him. he finds soap on the ground, blood dripping from his temple and it's too familiar; a thing he sees in his nightmares

he doesn't know what to do with all his fear so instead, he channels it into anger

he goes off on all his builders, demanding to know how they could be so useless and careless as to miss the unstable roof; screaming at them in a way he hasn't done since he was on active duty, tearing down a rookie for poor trigger management

all the while, his gentle hands tend to soap; checking the wound, if he's concussed, soothing him before he can slip into a flashback of his own. he growls at the cameras, doesn't let the onsite medics anywhere near him; he doesn't know them, doesn't trust them with his johnny. it's only soap's gentle convincing that makes him step back, that forces him to stop and breathe; glaring the medics down from soap's side as they check him and come to the same conclusion soap already reached

he'll be iust fine; a few stitches and he'll be right back in it

ghost goes with him to the hospital to get the stitches laid, abandoning the site to their terrified builders to look after. it takes a few days before he can handle them being separated again, can't even handle one of them going shopping while the other site manages

but soap doesn't begrudge him for his clinginess, not when he knows it's rooted in the fear of losing him. he just keeps him close and calls him his good luck charm when they win the room reveal that week

[lilachsgifs]

[  🐦‍⬛  ]  in the source link, you’ll gain access to currently #116 gifs of simone ashley  in “bridgerton” season 3. she was born in england, and is indian tamil, so please cast appropriately when using my resources. all of these gifs were made from scratch, made for roleplaying purposes. please don’t redistribute or  claim  as your  own. please like & reblog if you wish to use them.

[kechiwrites]

Bd ghost who asks “whose pussy is this.” and won’t resume until reader says the special words (the special words are “yours daddy”) 🫡

see now you got me considering...

baby daddy ghost and reader

cw: breeding kink, daddy kink, mentions of pregnancy

because i truly believe this would end in a stalemate, can you imagine? the GALL. the AUDACITY of this man to try and make you call him daddy, SIR YOUR BIOLOGICAL CHILD BARELY KNOWS YOU.

but jesus would he make it hard to stay strong, sinking deep inside your messy, weeping cunt inch by inch, sliding into your pussy like he never left. His hands are all over you, pushing against your stomach, skating over your stretch marks, pressing into your hips, meticulously cataloguing every unfamiliar change and quirk of your figure now that you've had Tommy.

and the filth is pouring out of his mouth, groaning about how happy he was about fucking you full, leaving an indelible, undeniable mark on you, how disappointed he is that he didn't get to see you get really heavy and round with his kid. How he wants to do it again, and he won't fuck it up this time. can't fuck it up this time. he says he'll marry you, make the four of you a real happy family; you, him, tommy and tommy's little brother. the kid he's fucking into you tonight.

he thrusts against your swollen cunt, holding your face in one of his hands so you can't look away when he presses his forehead to yours, urging you, begging you to call him daddy, "tell daddy to fuck a baby into you, tell me you want it."

it's only because you were pent up, you'll rationalize when he's in your shower and you're remaking your bed. If he'd caught you at a different time, you wouldn't have conceded. wouldn't have whimpered for daddy to keep fucking you. wouldn't have willed your body to him when he asked.

thankfully, you mutually decide to never bring it up again.

[reallyunluckyrunaway]

Remember that "if straights had to come out" scene in Love, Simon?

Misha must've seen it, because he really said: "Bet".

[mlentertainment]

i need to think about simon and patty or else i'm going to start breaking things :)

[valeffelees]

HI HELLOO 📓 !!!!

HELLO HELLO! 🖤🖤

okkk, lemme think... OH, ok. i've got one, and i think i'm just going to have to accept the reality that i have no true "unwritten" AUs 'cause i do have a couple thousand (yes, thousand) words of this fic in a docu somewhere, but i can't even remember what the working title for it is at this point.

i think it might be "There's a Werewolve in London" or something? but really, who knows. LOL and so, yeah, the plot is about werewolves.

i'm gonna hide the rest of this under a cut tho bc turns out i don't know how to be normal about my fic ideas??? and this is just, so fucking long. like, i-would-not-blame-you-if-you-didn't-read-it fucking long.

but hey, at least i had fun! 😂

i dunno if i've already talked about this fic before? i'm nervous i have just on account of how OLD this idea is, it's one of my early early early snowbaz fic ideas bc i went through a phase where i was just, desperate for werewolf!Simon content??? but n e way, the tune of the plot goes: at the beginning of seventh year, Simon goes out on a mission and disappears without a trace, so of course the WoM has to assume the worst bc there's just no way for a magician with that much magic to blink off the map unless he's... well, yeah.

but life goes on. the Insidious Humdrum stops attacking Watford, the holes in the magickal atmosphere stop spreading, so really, what else is there to do?

Baz plays football. he studies in the library. he turns nineteen. he finishes at the top of his graduating class, wins a half-dozen academic awards, and skips the Leaver's Ball. he moves to London by himself and adopts a cat. what he doesn't do is think about Simon Snow, because he's twenty-three, and in university, and life goes on.

and then one day Baz is on his way to class and he sees a familiar mop of bronze curls and okay, fuck, sure life goes on, yadda-yadda, whatever, he knows those curls. he knows those shoulders, those freckles. he knows—

Simon Snow. older and healthier and standing there in the middle of the library, browsing fucking books. after a moment, Simon's nose flares and his head snaps up. "... Baz?"

and Baz thinks that, really, it's a bit cruel of the universe for him to still be in love with Simon Snow, even after all these years. (he thought, at least for a while, that he wasn't anymore, bc it didn't ache so deep when he thought about him) (but that was when Baz thought he was dead and Simon wasn't in front of him with his eyes and his mouth and that little pinch between his eyebrows, alive alive alive.)

Simon asks how Baz found him, and Baz says, "found implies i've been looking for you," and Simon replies, "right," and is clearly just, so fucking uncomfortable, like this boy wants to get the fuck out of there, but Baz knows that if Simon leaves now he'll never see him again, he's so fucking sure of it, so as Simon is bumbling his way through something to the tune of, "haha well funny catching up, see you around, mate—" Baz blurts out, "do you want to get coffee?"

and Simon stops, and stares at him for a minute, and looks down at the takeaway coffee cup Baz is clearly already holding, and then shoves his hands in the pouch of his hoodie and is like, "yeah, okay."

so they go for coffee, right, and Simon of course eats his body weight in pastries (but he's funny about it) (Baz doesn't comment, but he won't touch things with chocolate, with raisins, with nuts or seeds, and he doesn't actually order a coffee, or even a tea) while Baz sits across from him trying to figure out what to say, but Simon has always been the brave one and starts up with some small talk, polite things, like they're old friends or something, asking what Baz is studying, if he still plays the violin, and then strangely, "do you have a cat?" and Baz is like, "... i do. Olivia. she's orange." and Simon just nods, and keeps eating, and Baz realises Simon isn't going to be the one to bring it up so he finally asks, "Snow, where the fuck have you been?"

but Simon like, dodges the fuck out of that question, he doesn't even acknowledge it, he replies with something like, "i like these," about whatever baked good he's shoving in his face.

Baz: "Snow."

Simon: "i love pumpkin, i make a thing sometimes, like a butter. pumpkin, brown sugar, maple syrup. s' good."

Baz: "Snow."

Simon: "this has been nice," and then he's pushing back his chair and brushing the crumps off his lap and shrugging into his coat and he drops two ten-pound notes on the table and then he's turning to leave, he's leaving, so Baz lurches forward and grabs his sleeve and says, "Simon," and Simon stops, and takes a breath, and mumbles, "please don't ask me again. i can't say no to you, Baz. so please, don't. because i'll tell you. and i can't."

and Baz doesn't ask again. but he tells him, "the whole World of Mages thinks you're dead," and Simon replies, "i know," and looks back at him over his shoulder, "do me a favour and keep it that way."

Baz: "then let me see you again. i don't want this to be the last time."

so Simon agrees and they start meeting there, at that coffee shop, every day, the hour between Baz's morning and afternoon classes, and he doesn't ask about it again bc Simon is here, showing up, and that's fine, that's enough, he doesn't need to know, and if Simon is a little different, well, that's fine, too. and they carry on like that for a whole month, or just about, and one day they're wrapping things up and like usual Baz says, "tomorrow?" and Simon's face falls a bit as he replies, "i—can't, tomorrow. or the day after, i'm, well, i have a thing but, Tuesday?" and Baz wants to ask, but he doesn't.

"Tuesday, then."

and so—holy shit, am i still talking? i'm gonna have to add a cut to this at the top, i'm sorry. but n e way, it is by the pure chance power known as 'this is a fanfiction' that that night Baz goes out hunting later than usual. had a friend-date with a girl in one of his classes and had to stay up later than he thought to catch up on studying, so he goes out and instead of going poking through catwalks for rats and shit, he decides to take a drive so he can get his hands on something more substantial and maybe go on a bit of a walk, so now Baz is in an ambiguous Forest location and it is the middle of the night, and the weather fine, and the moon is full, and... it's very quiet.

nature is never this quiet, even around him. and that's when Baz hears it. a low, thick growl that makes every hair on his body stand, and before he can think better of it, fight or flight has him sprinting, and something is giving chase, something fast enough to keep up with a vampire, snapping at his heels, and Baz isn't stupid, but Crowley, that's just his luck, isn't it? the one time he decides to hunt in the forest at night on a full moon, there's a fucking werewolf in London. teeth catch the ankle of his jeans and Baz goes down, and instantly rolls himself onto his back and hikes his legs up to catch the wolf on the chest and hold it back from his throat, his back drags and drags and drags into the ground until he slams into a tree, and there are teeth snapping for his face, and through the dark, its eyes are sharp and bright as moonlight and narrowed to a point and blue blue blue—

and he knows that blue, like he knows the toffee-brown of its fur, the dappled pattern of spots in its coat—

"Simon?"

and it, he, stops. Simon is panting, and staring at him, and still baring those huge (fucking huge) teeth at him, and so Baz says his name again, and he blinks. and blinks again, his eyes blowing in the dark, softening, recognising him, just for a moment. and then he's gone, disappearing into the trees, the sound of his paws pounding the ground echoing in Baz's head long after he's stopped hearing them. or maybe that's his heartbeat.

Baz gets the fuck out of there as fast as he can, but he doesn't sleep that night. he stays awake until dawn, and then he's back in his car, back out at the forest, waiting. the sun comes up, and Baz almost thinks he has it wrong, but then the trees shift and Simon Snow comes stumbling out looking like he's been run over by a fucking train, he's in joggers and a zip-up hoodie, his chest is bare and so are his feet, and he doesn't notice Baz at first but when he does, he stops walking and glances behind him like he's thinking about running back into the trees (LOL), so Baz is like, "come on, Snow, i don't have all morning," and Simon does the world's most awkward monster-walk-of-shame in history, toddles the fuck up to Baz's car and gets into the passenger's seat without a word.

in the car Baz asks Simon if he remembers what happened. Simon says, "a little. m' sorry for, um—" and Baz tells him it's okay, and they don't speak again until they're pulling up outside Simon's flat where Simon opens the door, and gets out, and then stands there for a second before ducking his head back in and asking if Baz wants to come up for breakfast. "i won't be awake very long," Simon says, "but we can eat. and you can stay, if you want."

Baz, of course, does, so he follows Simon up, and this is kind of where the idea starts to fall apart and the details turn to mush, but i know Simon makes breakfast and Baz sits on the kitchen counter and lets him talk about things at his own pace, and that Simon has a roommate, an older werewolf from his pack named Drew who comes in while Simon is in the shower and tries to tear Baz in half, and prolly would've succeeded if Baz wasn't a magician, and the gist of the story from there is mostly about Simon and his pack, who've come to England from Wales to help a local pack whose youngest wolves have been going missing during the full moon, and Simon and Baz running into each other and doing their whole... thing, has really just been a chance encounter in the middle of something much bigger, and of course, now that Baz knows about it, he's hell-bent on helping.

there's also a neat scene (and actually, this is the scene that inspired the entire idea of this fic) where Simon and Baz go to the Bunces at some point and Penny is going on and on about how, "this doesn't make sense, there haven't been werewolf packs in England since the 1750s," and Simon laughs and opens her kitchen window and leans way out and cups his mouth and howls... and a minute later, a dozen voices howl back, and then he rests his elbows on the windowsill and grins over his shoulder at her and Baz and says, "turns out magicians don't know everything."

and yeah, i think i should stop talking now, but that is my werewolf!Simon fic. 😄

[jekyllnahyena]

have some Johnny doodles from yesterday. (I imagine having Reg and Ghost close is like having two grizzly bears shadowing u. He thinks it’s funny)

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

ok crying made me so so so very tired actually i think its time for bed

[writersdrug]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of man who:

In your shared home, always sits with his legs spread. Manspreading king. Adores it when you cross your arms and give him a disapproving look, saying there's no room for you. "Course there is, luv. Jus' sit between my thighs."

Refuses to let you do simple tasks around the house, like making tea, folding his underwear, or putting away the dishes. One might think it's a sweet, husbandly gesture - but he's just super picky. You made tea in the microwave once, and now you're banned from ever touching his tea stash. Likes his underwear folded in a specific way, and you don't understand the importance of it. He got tired of you stuffing his underwear in his drawer, so now he folds it himself. And the dishes? Couldn't stand how you put them away. "There's no rhyme or reason to 'em." "I didn't think there had to be, Si-" "Just gimme the damn bowl." Fewer chores? You aren't complaining.

Looks like he's always on edge - and he is, kinda. When he's out with you, he can't help but be alert and watchful, and extremely protective of you. You've tried to get him to loosen up - it's the supermarket, what could happen? - but have just come to accept it as his nature. Plus, you get that giddy feeling when you see other men look straight down at the floor, avoiding Simon's stare as the two of you pass.

Is the grumpiest, poutiest, and most indignant man ever when he gets sick. Doesn't want you doting on him in case you catch whatever he has. But, wait - where are you going? "Get your ass back in this bed - 'm cold." Grumbles like a child when you force him to let you get up to grab him soup, tea, or medicine. And no, he doesn't care how sick he is, he's not wearing that stupid, floppy ice pack hat.

Brings Johnny over unannounced, and you've grown used to it. The moment you hear that Scottish yapping out the front door as the key unlocks, you grab a third plate for dinner - he insists you don't need to feed him, but you always make extra for Simon's lunch the next day regardless, and the last time he'd said that, he ended up grabbing an extra fork and picking from Simon's plate. Which, of course, had Simon up at 1 am making instant ramen because he was still hungry, but didn't have the heart to ask you to make him a decent meal. So, yes, Johnny would be fed.

Loves spoiling you on your birthday. What is a man if not someone who spoils his partner rotten? Orders in food from your favorite bakery, sets all your presents neat and nice on the table (the excellent wrapping job done by yours truly, Gaz), flower petals sprinkled on the ground and the table top (also Gaz's idea), and a seat on his lap so for you while you open your presents. Loves watching your face light up, and each little "you remembered?!" fall from your lips as you open each gift. Scoffs and shifts in his seat. "I's not that much of a fuss, luv..." as you squeal excitedly, but you know he's biting back a proud smile. The blush, he can't even attempt to hide.

Is somehow a magnet for your young nephews. Every time he comes along to your sister's place, he's either making conversation with her husband in the living room, or he's interrogated and cornered by her two sons. And, lord help him, he doesn't understand it either. He'd always expected kids to look at him like a monster, but, especially with these two, that was never the case. They'd ask him for stories about "being in war" - half of the time, he'd make up some not-too-gory adventure, sparing them the details of real war. The rest of the time, he'd talk about "Soap, my mate who blows everything up." And they'd listen with wide eyes and jaws on the floor.

Has scared you unintentionally, more than too many times. He'd come home at three in the morning from a mission, and all he wanted was to quietly peel his dirty uniform off and slip into bed with you. His main intention was to avoid waking you up, because you'd force him to shower before joining you in bed - and he was too tired for that. However, you'd been rounding the corner, up for your 3 am glass of water - you screamed as you saw the hulking, dark figure by the front door, launching your phone at him. He'd caught it effortlessly and shoved it into his back pocket. "What've I told ya 'bout using the bat?" "I was just getting water!" "I coulda been anyone." "Well you're not." "Missed ya, luvie." "Missed you too- but you're grimy. Go take a-" "No." He grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, ignoring your protests as he hauled you back to bed.

[beloveds-embrace]

Chubby reader x monster!141…. Chubby reader where you are at all-time-low after your ex cheated on you with the woman you had always been insecure of (she was everything you were not), so now you are just done. Done with him, with her, with your terrible work that forced you to come in even while sick, done with life.

So you go to a bar, and intend to fully drink yourself and all your sorrows away. You don’t even care enough to ask any friends to accompany you- they knew. They fucking knew. Calling them friends anymore is just stupid- and you don’t care enough to look around at anyone; you know you aren’t anyone’s preference either.

When a man, big and burly, curling horns and two big ass wings (maybe one of those dragon shifters? You know harpies have feathers, but the rest of your brain is too muddled) sits down next to you, you just ignore him and continue nursing your drink, trying your best to bite back the tears in your eyes.

“That’s enough now, love,” he croons, and much to your confusion, he takes the glass away from you. His voice is rough and rumbling, like thunder. Too hazy, too drunk, you don’t even care enough to get angry at him. No, your eyes fill with tears instead. “No, no, calm down. Let’s get you out of here, alright, little love?”

Another man joins your other side, just as big and burly but shorter than the dragon man who is making you tear up by holding your drink, your source of solace tonight, hostage in his hand. This one is a werewolf, his ears flicking in your direction much like his grin and his tail eagerly thumping to and fro against your chair.

“Sweet lass,” he croons, your teary eyes flicking towards him. You can see his hands clench in the air. Why, why, why- you just wanted to drink away. They are both so handsome, such a shame they clearly don’t like you and are just bothering you for the sake of bothering you, a fat woman in a miserable corner. “Enough tears and enough alcohol, aye, hen? Yer aff yer heid!”

His words are so strange, your tears momentarily pause. “What…?” You wonder outloud, shivering when you feel a warm breath across your neck, warming your skin. The dragon. His hand settles on your lower back, nudging you to get off the chair with them, and you feel like crying again. He probably can feel all the fat there, how horrible-

“Careful there, little love.” Dragon steadies you with two hands when you get dizzy, and with weak hands you try to swat at him, try to move away, but the werewolf is at your other side and keeping you pressed between them.

“S’op… stop callin’ me that,” you mumble. The tears roll down then. “Not- not funny, not at all-“

Two other hands on your back, a tail thumping against the back of your thighs, you are still led outside even as you babble about everything. Your size, your ex, the one your ex cheated, your work, your ex-

You want your damn drink back.

For their part, Price and Johnny didn’t think coming out for a drink tonight would lead to finding their last soulmate. The second they had entered the dinky bar, John had expected to need to puff out a deep, smoky breath to keep his nose clean from all the overwhelming smells and Johnny had prepared to to keep his nose happily pressed into John’s skin.

They hadn’t expected to smell you, something like the smell of stepping into a warm home after spending time out in winter, something like watching soft, golden sunlight stream into the nest room on a morning they spend sleeping in with Kyle and Simon. Like soulmate, like the last link of John’s hoarde and Johnny’s pack, and he has no doubt that you are Kyle’s nest and Simon’s. Simply his. A part of him just as you are a part of them.

Driven so wholly by instincts, seeing you drunk and crying pushing them even more into said instincts, they easily you herd along with them, back to their home. All explanations, everything else can wait until tomorrow. You are so soft to the touch, all tender and squishy, they already think you so perfect. In the back of the car, it doesn’t take seconds before you are dozing off and dead to the world, already so trusting.

By tomorrow morning, Simon would be easily able to track down where you live and get all your items. And also find that shitty ex of yours. John hasn’t yet decided if he wants to thank or beat him.

Watching the way Johnny holds you in his lap from the rearview mirror while he drives, hands squeezing your lovehandles with a low groan, mumbling about how much he already adores you, soft bonnie hen, all theirs- John decides he doesn’t give a single fuck about your ex at the moment. He needs to hold you between his arms and wings, in the comfort of his nest.

Fuck, he might end up breaking more than just a few speed limits.

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (A bet with Simon about wearing a vibrator secretly and not to come in public)

A bet with Simon brought you to the predicament now. Squeezing through the crowded station’s concourse with his hand around you waist, looking like a normal couple, but no one knows there’s a remote controlled vibrator—designed to stimulate your g spot and have a little curve hooked snuggly against your clit—buzzing freely inside you.

Don’t come in 10 minutes, then you can do anything to him, his words ignited the competitive fire inside you.

The weather is cold, allow you to excuse your flush with it, hide your face in the scarf slightly when your moans sneak their way out.

“Only 3 minutes passed, sweetheart.” He leans down to murmur as he lead you across the concourse, the sultry tone disguised within, only able to get noticed by you. You shoot daggers back at him, try not to drop to your knees whenever someone accidentally bump into you in this packed station, making your thighs shifted in the force and the vibrator digs further into the sweet spot.

You meet his eyes behind his disposal mask and black cap, and you know the bastard is laughing at you from the crinkles at the corner of his eyes.

Your eyes are glossy with the tears from the constant stimulation, trying to threaten him with those bunny eyes but failed adorably. He can tell you’re teetering on the edge, and he’s been enjoying your fluster too much, his trousers straining behind the cover of his long coat. How can he not when you look absolutely cute like this, stopping between of your steps to forbear the orgasm, arms holding with his tighten and press your cheek against his bicep to stifle the whimpers.

You let out a sigh of relief when he dials down the intensity, look up at him with a hint of disbelief. The vibrations keeps sending shivers down your spine, your legs are doing their best to stay straight, but it’s much better than they were seconds before. So you give his hand a squeeze, resume the walk across the massive concourse.

The walk is torturous, every steps is worsening the divine ache between your legs. You didn’t like how the vibrator rutting into your sensitive clit, your panties isn’t soaked with all the juices and you’re not clenching that tight cunny under the onslaught of pleasure. You brainwash yourself repeatedly, the vibrations never cease, and you’re dancing on the edge even after Simon turned it down a few notches earlier. One minute left, just one minute…

Of course it won’t be that easy, he just wants to prolong your pleasure and get the show go on as long as it could, before finally breaking you.

Just as you two almost reach the main entrance of the station, you almost tripped when he abruptly changes the intensity once again. Covering your mouth and fully cling onto him, you’re totally speechless when he leads you to stand aside in the station, pulling you into his arms and coos lowly.

“Come for me, love, let it out.” His hand patting soothingly when you bury your face into his chest, muffling all the cries as you get pushed over the edge, gushing in your panties and you know it’s definitely ruined by now.

A few people spare a glance at your way, curious about what just happened before going on their life. Yet you’re totally unaware of it, trying to quiet your whines and you keep tucking yourself in his arms.

Simon adjusted his coat, enough to engulf you in it, and he keeps crooning sweet nothings into your ears “You’re so beautiful, so gorgeous when you came in my arms, love.” His voice soothing you along with his palm rubbing on your back, hiding you in his coat and shield you from the world, even though he’s the one bringing you the luscious torment.

Supported by his strong hands so you won’t fall to the ground with wobbly feet, you lift your head from his chest after your breaths slows down, and you manage not to punch him in the face when pat your head and remind you the truth.

“9 minutes 47 seconds, you didn’t make it to 10 minutes. what a shame.” Simon’s chest rumbles with the quiet laughters. You see the mischief in his rich brown eyes, and hell, he’s definitely thinking about how he will get you to do from losing the bet.

[lilachsgifs]

[  🐦‍⬛  ]  in the source link, you’ll gain access to currently #47 gifs of simone ashley  in “bridgerton” season 3. she was born in england, and is indian tamil, so please cast appropriately when using my resources. all of these gifs were made from scratch, made for roleplaying purposes. please don’t redistribute or  claim  as your  own. please like & reblog if you wish to use them.

[urmomschocolatemilk]

Got a request for something like this a while ago n I lost it, but here it is!! ^_^

Simon who “secretly” likes to be pampered and dotted on by you as much as he likes to pamper you.

He’ll put up a fight and pretend to hate the time you spend doing your skincare routine on him, cleaning up his beard stubble and shaping his eyebrows but he loves feeling cared for.

When you first ask him he put’s up a little bit of a fight but it doesn’t take to long for him to agree, mumbling a “fine,” and laying his head down in your lap.

All his complaints and grumbles quickly dissipate once you get started. After all there’s nothing to complain about when he’s being lulled into relaxation by warm towels and the scent of your perfume.

He keeps his eyes closed the entire time, only opening them when he feels the absence of your hands on his face for a moment to long or opening when he catches you snickering quietly.

“There’s nothin’ funny ‘bout this,” he grumbles, and that makes it even funnier to you.

Once you’re finished he sits up, watching as you pack your tools and when you finally look up at him and see the product of your work you’re almost in awe.

“What?”

You grin “You’re glowing Si!”

[bi-writes]

Could you do one of Simon forgetting to bring his lunch and so his wife brings it except she turns up in a cute sundress??

mail-order bride (18+)

"simon...simon riley?" you ask.

the officer raises a brow, looking down at your ID and then back at your face. he frowns a little, scratching the back of his neck.

"he's a lieutenant," you add, biting your lip. "uhm...and he works with...with john."

"john?"

you suck in a shaky breath, biting your lip nervously.

"captain john price?"

the officer just glares at you a little before picking up his radio.

"yes, ma'am. wait here."

he turns his back to you, walking a little ways away, and you hear him speak into the radio lowly.

"...got a civilian here asking for lieutenant riley..."

"...negative, sir..."

"...oh. affirmative, sir. right away."

the officer comes back, giving you your ID back. he looks sheepish now all of the sudden, and he smiles at you, which unnerves you almost.

"u-uh, so sorry ma'am. you can park near the main office, right that way," he points to a building far to the left, "i'll have someone come meet you there to take you inside. again, apologies...we're going to put you on a list, mrs. riley."

you frown a little, shrugging. you're not upset. it's a miltiary base, for christ's sake, and you've never been here; of course they would be apprehensive about letting you in. but the private looks terrified out of his mind, so you just smile a little and make your way towards the parking spot he pointed out.

when you get out of the car, you push the door closed with your hip, picking up the bag in the passenger seat. there's a woman standing by the door, smiling and waving at you. she looks very smart, in a nice pantsuit. you smooth your dress down, smiling back at her, and you swing your purse over your shoulder before making your way to her.

"hello, mrs. riley. the lieutenant's wife, i hear?" she asks. you nod and shake her hand.

"y-yes...he...he said he was just doing administrative stuff today, but he forgot some things so...i just wanted to do something nice--"

"right!" she nods her head towards the door. "i can escort you to his office. uhm...i believe he's debriefing with captain price this afternoon, but i'm sure he can make some time." she winks at you when she says that, and you bite back a shy smile.

she takes a seat at her desk, picking up the phone. she yaps for a few minutes, and you take a seat in an empty chair, smoothing your skirt out. your wearing one of simon's favorites, the cherry-printed mini dress he loves so much, but you realize maybe he might not be the only one. there's a myriad of privates and soldiers that walk past you, and you hear some whistles by some of the bolder ones. you suddenly feel very self conscious, tucking your legs underneath yourself. you're wearing white strapped wedges, your hair styled nicely with a bow to match the dress, but now you feel silly, stupid.

why would you go to a military base dressed like a fucking pin-up girl?

"wot are you doin' 'ere?" a rough voice demands.

mmm. that's why.

you look up from your chair, smiling wide when you see him. simon stands with his arms crossed over his tact vest, tilting his head to the side as he glares at you from under his skull mask. you've never seen him strapped before, though. he's got a gun tucked into his thigh holster.

"h-hi," you pick up the basket next to you, standing up, and when you come close, simon is rough, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you near him with a short growl.

"oi," he snaps, but you just flutter your lashes at his harsh voice, smiling bigger. "can't fuckin' come 'ere lookin' so pretty."

you giggle, and even though you're wearing heels, you still find yourself standing on your toes as you try to get close to him.

"you forgot what i packed for you, simon. how could you forget?" you pout a little. he sighs deeply, smoothing his gloved hand down your back before nodding his head.

"c'mon. can't 'ave ya out here. fuckin' muppets starin' at my wife."

he turns and immediately starts walking. he's entirely too fast, and you skip in your wedges practically to try and keep up with him. when he notices, he slows his pace, and you grip the basket better in your hand before reaching for his with the other.

your hands intertwine, and you look around as you walk, reading the plaques on the wall, the shiny medals, waving at johnny when you see him holding a bag of crisps upside over his open mouth.

when simon shuts the door behind you in a dark office, you set the basket down on the desk, pushing back the kitchen towel fabric.

"okay, so i brought those muffins you like from that little shop. they had blueberry this morning, oh my gosh, simon, they also started putting out these little scones that--oh!" you gasp as he grabs you from the fat of your hips, a big flat palm over the base of your spine as he pushes you flat onto your stomach onto the desk. "simon!"

simon sucks on his teeth as he flips up your skirt, letting out a low whistle as he palms your ass, spreading the fat of it so he peek at the seam of the white lace you're wearing. you lay your palms against the desk and whimper, not used to simon being so rough, so upfront, so bold.

"can't just come here all dressed up, baby," simon grunts, shaking his head. "and not expect me to take wot i need...been surrounded by nothing but wankers all fuckin' day..."

you relax a little, giggling.

"simon," you sigh, your eyes closing as you push your hips back into his hands. "i missed you so much..."

"tha' why y'came down 'ere, luvvie?" he asks, smirking under the mask. "ya missed me? missed y'r husband? what'd ya miss, baby? tell me."

you arch your back a little, bowing it, and you laugh when he gives your ass a firm grab before picking you up and spinning you around, caging you against the desk. you smile up at him, dazed, a little dizzy, and he winks at you, eye-black dark and deadly around those killer brown eyes. he's so big, so hot, and you're suddenly very aware of how big simon looks in all his gear.

"i don't know," you say softly. "it's so cold in bed at night..."

simon snorts, "tha' right? 's cold? the lil' shits don't keep ya warm?"

"our girls like to sleep on your pillow, i think they miss you, too."

"fuckin' lil' bastards," simon chuckles, and you sigh, sliding your hands up his vest and tugging him just a little closer. your spread your knees to let him between them, and he reaches down and grips your thighs, hiking them up around his hips as he sits you onto the edge of the desk. "fuck, you're so fucking pretty..."

you tilt your head back for him.

"i miss eating with you. it's so quiet when you're not around."

"mmm. i bet, luv."

"and i miss you when i'm alone," you whisper. "i miss you when it's just me..."

simon narrow his eyes, "tell me, swee'eart."

you reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down towards you. you kiss him over the mask, tasting sand and ash, licking over his lips through the cotton. it's lewd, disgusting, but he groans under the fabric.

"when, simon? when?" you ask, and he hums lowly.

"when? 'ow about right now?"

"no way, you're so gross, simon," you giggle. "our first time is not going to be on a desk in some dingy office where you work--"

you seize when he cups you between the thighs, big gloved hand palming your cunt through your lace panties. you arch your back and gasp, gripping his biceps tight as you lean into his touch.

"don't need t'make it our first time," simon tilts his head to the side. "can still make it real fuckin' nice, baby."

"oh, now you wanna touch me?" you suck in a shaky breath. "just because some of your men wanna look up my skirt?"

"oh, for tha', i'll make ya scream my bloody name, for oll of them ta hear," he growls, and you smile wide up at him.

"guess they need to learn i'm a lieutenant's wife," you giggle, and simon whistles low, tugging your panties to the side, and you whimper when you he prods at your entrance with two big gloved fingers.

"ahhhh..." simon hisses. "ya like tha' title, tha' it, baby? yeah...yeah you like tha'..."

"i like it," you whine, and when he meets your watery eyes, he plunges those big fingers deep, thumbing at your clit. your mouth falls open, your nails digging into his sleeves, and you suddenly wish you had asked him to take you to get your nails done so you could really claw it. "i like it..."

"could make these boys lick the fuckin' ground ya walk on," he mutters, and you whine when a particular rough thrust of his hand squelches between your thighs. "they'd do anythin' to please me, baby...even johnny would chew your bloody food for ya if i asked him to--"

you reach down and grip his wrist, your thighs shaking as you jolt. it feels so good, your entire body is on fire. his fingers are petting a nice little spot inside of you, stroking it as he pumps his hand nice and steady inside of you. his thumb is working you in gooey circles, flicking at your clit and putting taut the little string in your lower belly. your whole brain feels like it's fizzling, your blood rushing, and you stick out your tongue, licking over his masked jaw as you start to feel like you're gonna pass out from the wet slick, slick, slick sounding from your wet cunt.

"simon--simon--" you pant, and he groans, nodding his head.

"so pretty, baby," simon breathes. "so fuckin' tight, gonna 'ave to work ya open before i give ya my cock, lovey..."

"it's so big," you mumble, and simon coos, nodding his head.

"i know, baby, i know, 's big, real big...but you can take it, remember?" he laughs. "you can take it woteva i give you..."

you nod.

"i can take it--i can take it--!"

your vision blurs. there's tears coming down your face, sweat lining your forehead, your back, but you can't wipe the giggly, lazy smile off your face. simon cups the back of your head with his free hand, sitting you up, and when he pulls his fingers out from between your legs, his gloves are stuck to his hand practically, completely soaked through.

"y'r so pretty when y'cum," he murmurs, and you stick out your tongue for him. he gets the message, shoving his mask up just enough, and he bends to kiss you warm and wet.

"well then," you meet his eyes, all languid, all relaxed, a devious little grin on your sweet face. "why don't you give me another then?"

simon grins, all teeth.

"woteva ya want."

[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.