#rainwrites 𐙚
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that "how my s/o would approach me if it was the 80s" trend except simon is just straight up throwing you over his shoulder and walking off camera
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incredibly sleep-deprived military dog handler!reader taking the leash from johnny's hand and instead of petting the dog's head, you tiptoe to reach up and pet his head instead. like full on stroking his hair and cooing praises at him, especially an enthusiastic good boy! before leading the dog to the back and leaving behind a very flabbergasted johnny, whose pants are tightening in record time.
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simon would totally not wash his hands after playing with you. even after inhaling the heady, dizzying scent wafting from between your thighs, even after eating you out and finger-fucking you past coherency, until you're squirting on his palm, he'll still smell his fingers. just fuckin' savouring the smell of cum, each deep breath in making him throb and leak in his pants.
you can't say you're not flattered, but god, is he a creep. he'll sniff his fingers right in front of you, shrugging whenever you scold him for being gross, and sometimes he'll just stay between your legs, breathing you in until he's had his fill, pressing lazy kisses to your slick folds when you get too fussy. he sulks whenever you shower before he can get a real good whiff, clinging to you and trying to tempt you into having a nice, filthy fuck underneath the blankets, just to get you dirty again.
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i need johnny making out with a random girl in front of poor reader because his brain told him that you would finally stop playing hard to get like you've been the past few months and finally claim him as your boyfriend (and hopefully husband in the near future). he thinks you're about to storm over to drag him away so you guys can fuck it out or something, but instead he sees the blood drain from your face before you abruptly turn and leave the room.
cue the girl—who, by the way, is not a girl at all and is actually just his lieutenant—snapping at johnny to go and fix his silly mistake 😔 stupid stupid mohawk man
#simon's not complaining about being kissed but also if johnny keeps fucking around he might just nick you for himself#soap#john soap mctavish x reader#john mactavish x reader#rainwrites 𐙚
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getting the biggest, scariest bastard at the pub in your bed must have been one of your greatest achievements, especially after watching the way he turned down a few girls prior to you.
he glanced at you each time, disregarding the way the poor things scuttled off in embarrassment; their confidence dampened. it's like he was preening under your attention, and even underneath that silly balaclava of his, you picked up on the way he seemed to flush. his shoulders became more square, and his chest seemed to puff out more. the air around him became more charged with his cockiness rather than the pointless attempts at hiding himself from the other patrons. surely he's aware that he's the centre of the room, no matter which one.
he only grew more bold until he was right at your side, and you held his gaze the entire time.
now, he rewards you with the greatest dicking-down of your life, his fat cock stretching you impossibly thin, the thick girth bullying its way into you over and over again. he fucks you like a man starved, touches you as if he's trying to sink his hands beneath your soft skin and stroke your bones.
although nothing could have prepared you for how fucking filthy his mouth is. his voice holds the right amount of grittiness, the kind that makes your eyes roll back as he whispers the nastiest things in your ear, his accent adding to the thrill his words send down your spine. each moan that fell from his mouth, each promise of ruining you for anyone else after him, each pet name he called you had you going brainless on his cock, your sensitive bundle of nerves twitching under the pads of his fingers as he follows through with his promise. maybe if you were any more lucid, you might have realised it sounded more like a threat rather than just plain dirty talk.
the next morning, you woke up to an aching body, a bottle of water and a box of tylenol on your bedside table, and no stranger in your bed. this may be the greatest one-night stand you've ever had.
well, it was until you realised a couple of weeks later that you're still getting off to the image of him blanketing you and that damn voice of his purring low in your ear. your fingers circle your clit, your eyes unfocused as you imagine him on top of you, taking you deep right where he belongs, and when you think about how he growled at you to soak his cock like a good girl, you come all over your fingers with a humiliatingly loud whine.
it only gets worse from there. you can no longer come to porn unless the person in the video resembles the big boy who rearranged your guts, and even that is a feat of its own. you can't find anyone who has similar tattoos, similar scars, or even a similar voice. reading smut can only get you so far, and some nights, you go to bed feeling defeated because you just couldn't orgasm.
you get so desperate you start searching for those dirty little audios people post online, and for a while, you manage to make yourself come (maybe not as hard, but at this point, you'll take anything). the voices that rumble through your headphones aren't as husky as your mystery man, and their accents aren't exactly close to his, but it holds you off... until it doesn't. and now you're desperate to find him again, but he's probably long gone now.
you can't believe it; the fucker really did ruin you.
it's not until a few months later that you hear that familiar voice again, and your knees almost give out in the middle of the damn store.
(they actually do when simon, he tells you through hungry kisses, bends you in half in the dreadful alleyway, your poor cunt taking each brutal fill of that cock you've been craving so badly.
"she's fuckin' squeezin' me, sweet'art. missed me tha' much?" he chuckles hoarsely in your ear, and you would have fallen over if not for his firm hold keeping you upright.
yep, he can fuck right off again. you'll get your lick back. just as soon as your legs stop shaking and you're not seeing double.)
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simon 'i've never been in a relationship before but that pretty bird who keeps staring at me looks like she wants me' riley x 'he pisses me off so bad i want to smack him' reader or smth like that
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the moment simon leaped on you, you screamed, your legs giving out after running for so long. the chase was fun, and he enjoyed letting you hope that you would actually escape him, but you've failed. now, you have to face the big, greedy brute pushing all his weight on top of you to ensure you won't think about doing something stupid like this again.
"what a pretty bitch i've hunted," he murmurs as you wriggle underneath him, trying to get free. his palm smacks your thighs when you refuse to open them, and you close your eyes, embarrassed, because you know that when he brings a gloved hand back up, it will be covered in your wetness.
he chuckles meanly as he shoves his fingers into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue and making you gag a little when he slips them back just a little too far.
"i've never seen prey so happy to be caught." he taunts, sliding his fingers from your mouth down to your throat, holding it with a firm grasp. the pressure makes you feel dizzy, and you attempt to buck your hips up, eager for any kind of friction. he hasn't even done much, and you're already going mindless on the ground.
"gonna 'ave so much fun playin' with you, pup."
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nothing made sense before you. it was like a fog permanently rested over simon—a dark, heavy cloud that weighed on his shoulders, constantly soaking him in his sins and grief. the cavity in his chest worsened the older he got, darkness spreading all over his heart until his ribs were nothing more than an empty cage, and he got better at ignoring the aching pain and the need to become someone meaningful. he fully accepted that he would die on the field and be forgotten, that he would become a fleeting thought, and the riley name would finally—properly—perish with him.
well, now that he thinks about it, he can't help but feel eternally grateful for you. how could he have lived like that?
the new life he leads now is nothing like what he was used to. he sits on the couch with a beer in his hand, the other resting on his full belly as a football match drones on in the back. pictures hang on the walls with your bright smile in each one. your scent sticks to everything in the house, especially on simon's shirts, and your plants and flowers sit on top of the shelves and table. the smell of toffee wafts into the living room, each wave making his nose perk up and water pool in his mouth even though he's certain he can't stuff anymore food down.
he's staring at you. he's watching the way you move around the kitchen—how there's not a lick of tension or stress in your body as you go about making the sauce for the sticky toffee pudding. your shoulders are relaxed, and you sway a little, humming one of your favourite songs as you stir the pot. you curse quietly when you accidentally burn yourself, and when you peek behind you to see if simon saw that—he did—you flash a bashful smile and return your attention back to the stove.
simon thinks you look so angelic like this. it's like you were crafted by the big man upstairs specifically for him, because he doesn't think he's ever felt so comfortable around someone in his life. he always feels so weak in your presence, his chest torn open for you to see him in his entirety, and he doesn't hate it. he doesn't hate being seen—not anymore. not if it's you casting your soft gaze upon him.
how can he thank you? how can he make it up to you for dragging him out of that hole he could never seem to claw his way out of? how can he ever explain how you cleared a way for him through the fog, how you soaked up the pain that kept pummelling down on his shoulders and transformed it into something misty and gentle, how you filled his chest with your everlasting joy until he finally felt his heart sing for the first time in years?
it will never be enough. he will never be able to repay you enough for the love and devotion you've shown him over the years, for the everlasting patience you had while he was still in the military, for the gentleness you've taught him through your own words and actions.
he's not a good man, and he doesn't deserve good things. but you've blessed him with your love and your tenderness, and he will never stop trying to make it up to you. he will love you fiercely and proudly; he'll flaunt the ring on his finger and carry a piece of your heart with him whenever he goes. he'll spend the rest of his life and the lives after that loving you.
when you bring him a plate of pudding paired with vanilla ice cream, he looks up at you with glazed heart-shaped eyes and brings you in for a sweet little kiss. you smile into it and return the love you feel radiating from him tenfold.
#i will never get sick of writing this trope <3#ghost#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#rainwrites 𐙚
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every day, simon cherishes the moment you both go down for a nap. he looks forward to the pause in your daily routine where you both can just lay down in bed, embracing each other while dozing off.
he loves falling asleep last because it gives him time to stare at you for as long as his eyes are open without you bashfully batting him away. he loves resting his head on your chest and listening to your heartbeat because the steady thumps soothe him, a solid reminder that you're here, you're safe, you're alive. he loves pressing soft kisses to your forehead, murmuring his gratitude and eternal love into your skin, as if it'd be etched there forever so you had a part of him always.
he absolutely loves these moments and treasures them deeply, because before... there wasn't anything like this.
for him, yes, but for you too. you both had awful childhoods—two sides of the same coin. walking on eggshells around the people who were supposed to protect you had affected you greatly growing up, and the heavy hands and venomous words that were directed at you countless times left their hideous marks, rendering you unable to truly relax. sleeping during the day was out of the question; anxiety bubbled in your stomach whenever you felt yourself getting comfortable instead of doing something useful, and you just couldn't shake yourself out of the habits you picked up when you were younger.
it hurt simon so much seeing you like that because he saw himself in you. he recognised that visceral pain you carried—the type of pain that left scars deeper than any weapon ever could. he noticed how you carried yourself, as if you were trying to shrink and become invisible. how it seemed like you could never fully take a deep breath, as if your troubled past had liquified and made a home in your lungs, restricting you from ever truly feeling the sweet sensation of comfort.
he understood what you both had and what you both felt. he understood the desperation of trying to make sense of the pain and of trying to validate it, because what was the reason for all of this hurt and trauma if there wasn't something soft and loving waiting at the end of it?
but there was because you found each other, and he's never felt more determined to help you breathe. he's never fought so hard to save a life rather than take it, and he's so fucking glad he did because you're here in his arms now, dead asleep while the sun's shining fiercely amongst the clouds.
he thinks it's one in the afternoon now, and it's beginning to get stuffy, but he doesn't dare move. no, he hugs you tighter, lets out a quiet sigh of contentment, and allows himself to succumb to rest. you both can continue cleaning out the garage when you wake up.
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i know it's been done many times before, but i just love gross weird creepy awkward simon and his cute harmless bird.
like she's so intrigued by him, so infatuated with this odd man. she giggles at his dark humour and crude jokes, a genuine smile on her face as her shoulders shake from laughing so hard while he's huffing out a sound of amusement of his own. meanwhile, everyone else has an uncomfortable look on their faces, giving them both judgemental stares.
he's the type to tug her close to him and kiss her nasty, uncaring if they're in a public setting. he sucks on her tongue and spits in her mouth, a big hand reaching down to squeeze her ass before disappearing up her skirt. he doesn't really care if others watch or not, and he grips her tight when she tries to escape, swallowing all her squeaky little noises with a satisfied hum.
there's no shame when it comes to him. he lets her know when he's going for a piss and asks if she wants to come, not bothering to close the door (he demands that she leaves it open when she goes too; it's only fair). he uses her hand to jerk himself off when she's busy or not in the mood, heavy groans rumbling from his chest because it feels so much better than rutting into his rough hand—not as lovely as her soft, pretty cunt though. he lets his tongue dip low to lap at her asshole and ignores her whiny protests, promising he'll make her feel good in a second, groaning to himself as she grinds against his face.
ughhh he's just so unusual. sometimes he stares at her too long for it to be considered cute, dark eyes burning into her very soul for so long that she has to remind him to blink. he corners her just to get a whiff of her perfume, heavy breathing down her neck like he's getting worked up just from smelling her.
when he comes home from deployment and tells her about the things that happened while he was away (lost one of my good knives in tha' prick), she's sitting pretty on his lap and chirping out her responses, urging him to tell her more. she says it's good for him to get it off his chest, but really she likes hearing his gruesome stories. it makes her heart flutter that he's so skilled and competent.
others have come up to her asking if she's okay and if she's aware of the weirdo following her, and she's like "yeah that's my man :)" she tries her best to drive them away before he starts sulking over yet another person interrupting their parallel play.
she just really loves how strange and off-putting he is.
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simon would coo some depraved shit like "look at tha', they're kissing" during sex and he's talking about the fat head of his cock rubbing against your bud, purposely missing your hole every time. meanwhile, you're grumbling at him to hurry up and threatening to smack that cocky look off his face (he could be convinced to finally fuck you if you do that, who knows).
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giving simon a blowjob for your own comfort because today was stressful and you were two seconds away from swerving off the road into a tree on your way home, and all you want is something in your mouth to distract you from your prick of a boss.
you're sitting between his legs, a large hand threaded through your hair and a pillow shoved beneath your knees. he's so thick, your lips stretched thin around his cock as it sits limp and heavy in your mouth. it always starts like this: you taking simon in soft and gradually feeling him fill out on your tongue. he tastes so simon, a little salty and sweaty, but he also smells faintly of body wash, and the musk of him completely overwhelms your senses and lulls you into a deep sense of security.
simon thinks you look so pretty like this. adores his girl on her knees, sucking him in so good, mouth warm and wet. your soft tongue rests beneath his cock, occasionally twitching and rubbing up against him before stilling again. your eyes have slipped shut now, and usually he would coo at you to open them because he loves seeing how teary they get when he's filling you up like this, but he's feeling a little nice. it won't last long, but he'll let you have this moment.
he chuckles fondly when you rest your head against his thigh, a content look on your face. you look so sweet, and he feels a little bad for thinking of all the things he wants to do to you right now.
but something in his eyes flickers, and whatever little amount of guilt he was feeling has been snuffed out because when he notices saliva escaping out the corners of your mouth and running down your chin, he bucks his hips up, a sick part of him buzzing in approval when he hears you choke a little and sees your eyes open, staring up at him in question. there's a furrow in your eyebrows and he pets your head, settling back down against the couch.
"sorry," simon rumbles quietly, huffing in amusement when you roll your eyes a little but ultimately accept his apology and flutter them closed again. he mumbles an affectionate brat but lets you get away with it.
he's fully hard now, and he's struggling to not just slip in a little further until the tip presses against the back of your throat. he knows that this is more for you than him; you're doing this for yourself because you like to decompress this way. it eases your mind and sends you away to a little place where the only thing you're thinking about is simon. it would be selfish of him to take that away from you.
yet he does anyway. he wouldn't be yours if he wasn't a dick sometimes. he'll earn your forgiveness later.
your eyes shoot open when you feel fingers pinch your nose shut; whatever sound was about to come out of your mouth is muffled by simon easing more of his meaty cock down your throat. suddenly it feels like too much, and your wet eyes dart up to simon, but he only strokes your cheek with his thumb, a warm look on his face.
"there are those bright eyes of yours," simon murmurs, his gaze so soft and loving as he slowly begins to work your head down on him, letting his fingers slip from your nose and instead rest on his knee. "good girl, doing so well f'me, pet. breathe—tha's it."
the change in pace has you whimpering, saliva spluttering out onto his lap and running down your neck. he's not going too rough, not as rough as you know he wants to be, but it still has you going limp as he uses your mouth.
"tight little throat," he groans quietly to himself, his cock pulsing on your tongue, so fucking fat that you almost can't breathe. you have no choice but to take it, whines getting stuck in your throat. the taste of pre-cum swirls around your mouth, mixing with your saliva, and it has you keening for more.
"gonna cum righ' here, baby," he croons, a hand going down to rest on your throat, rough fingers rubbing gently to feel himself filling you up, making you accommodate for his length. "so fuckin' good to me."
simon groans deeply when he cums, his hand keeping a firm grip on your head as you take it all in, unable to stop yourself from choking. he stays like that for a few seconds longer after his orgasm before finally relenting to give you a break, pulling himself out to examine your ruined state.
you're a right mess—a mixture of tears, saliva and cum all over your face. he shushes you when you cough and whimper a little and leans down, inspecting you closer. your mouth parts open slightly, and—fuck, there it is. his cum pooling in your sweet little mouth.
"sorry, sweet'art. overdid it a bit, didn't i?" he hums quietly, petting your hair apologetically when you whine in response. "it's alright, come here lovie. i'll make it up to ya."
you moan softly when he begins to lick into your mouth, mopping up the cum you couldn't swallow with his tongue until he's kissing you, wet and sloppy and much too disgusting, but you don't care. he's nasty with the eye contact too; eyes cracked open as he stares down at you, his still hard cock twitching in his grasp.
when he parts, a thick string of saliva drips between you, the sight stirring heat in your belly. it's a filthy mess of fluids covering the both of you, but simon only cares about returning the favour.
"on the sofa, love," he murmurs, patting your cheek gently and spreading his legs to allow you to get up. he rids himself of his shorts and tucks his cock back into his briefs before sliding between your legs, peeling off your pants and soaked underwear.
your cunt sits pretty on display for him to salivate over, his eyes focused on the wet mess between your thighs before he's leaning in and pressing a kiss on your clit, then on your hole. he's fucking kissing your pussy as if it were a person, and you think you're going to combust, and then he looks up, his dark brown eyes warm and dilated. yeah, you're definitely going to burn up and sizzle away if your heated face is any indication.
"let me apologise properly, sweet girl."
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i can imagine simon being noisy as hell in bed and reader being sick of it 😭 he's groaning, grunting, talking the most dirtiest shit ever in your ear, too pussy drunk to keep his mouth from running
as annoying as he is, teasing you about how you should've told him you wanted to go toilet because you're bloody soaking me, sweetheart, his words and noises are getting you closer to your orgasm much faster than you'd like to admit and you can't find it in you to snap at him to shut up :/ stand upppp
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