#simon Riley x you

[realmsturkishdelight]

"si."

"doll."

"what's this flower called?"

simon looked at the billionth flower you showed in just twenty minutes, sighing. "im a soldier love, not a gardener." though he took the pink colored flower from your hands, and placed it in the small box you brought, just to turn them into a sticker later and put it in your notebook.

"makes sense," you murmured. "though i thought you'd knew since you guys are always on the forests or mountains."

"we don't really have time to search which flower is which doll." he said softly, moving everything that was sharp in front of you, in the small forest you two discovered in your hike. you liked getting lost in nature walks with your husband, who was as useful as a swiss army knife in your eyes.

"shame." you murmured, holding his hand when you felt like you were stumbling. though you liked to be a little dramatic sometimes. as you both continued to hike, and pick flowers, you occasionally liked to touch big tree's. "how fast you can climb this?" you asked curiously, looking up at the big oak tree.

"three minutes, max." he said with a casual confidence that made you remember why you falled for this man. he could do anything, and it was impressing you embaressingly enough.

"wanna test it out?" you asked with a mischief smirk on your face. simon mirrored.

"what do i get in return?"

"a big kiss."

he started climbing that moment, finding bumps to step on or using his big knife to help him climb, going all in for a kiss. you chuckled as he sat on one of the sticks, looking at the time. "two minutes and a half, lieutenant!"

as if it was nothing, he jumped down from that tree, landing on his feet with a loud thud. "my reward." his hands immediatly reached out and you happily hugged his neck, giving him the biggest smooch.

the next time he returns from a deployment, he has a bunch of squished mountain flowers on his gear pocket, a few of them losing their leaves but it mattered to you nonetheless. because he thought the weird and rare flowers would look great on your little notebook, and you felt special that he remembered that while fighting for his life.

[laceyfaeryy]

simon riley whose insomnia went away when he met you

cw: pure fluff - no tag list

after retirement simon still felt the scars and pain as if they were fresh. he often found himself staring up at the popcorn ceiling of his shabby apartment, his large body sprawled out as the thin grey sheets were half on him and half on the cold wooden floorboard.

it was like he could hear the gun shots, the commands being shouted and the smell of smoke. if he was lucky and got some sleep, he would wake up in the middle of the night sweating, jolted awake as his scarred hand was in his chest, his breaths heavy and sharp. never did he think he would get a good night’s rest.

until you.

at first he didn’t even recognise it, his head on your lap as you watched soccer on the television, and simon never missed a game. his eyes felt droopy, the commentary from the show slowly faded as his breathing evened out, the feeling of your nails against his hair making his whole body go limp.

and when he woke up, it wasn’t like the usual nightmare induced sudden jolt, no. it was peaceful.

slowly blinking groggily before realising what had happened.

he fell asleep.

it was only for an hour, but that was the best sleep he had ever gotten.

slowly, he started to sleep more, taking occasional naps with you in his arms, where the two of you slowly migrated from watching tv on the couch to the comfort of his own bed.

his sad flimsy excuse of a bed now adorned in thick blankets and throws just to make the experience a little better.

then he started to go to bed early. usually he would be in bed at best by 1am, finding any excuse to not go, and yet he found himself bundled up next to you by 9.

then, he woke up later, finding any excuse to sleep in. “jus’ ten more minutes,” his voice muffled as he snuggled deep into the crook of your neck, pitting his whole body weight on you so you couldn’t leave.

suddenly, the bed became his favourite place.

[maskedbyghost]

ghost with a reader who’s really anxious/overthinker during sex 😩😩🥺

i got another request asking for a virgin!reader with some nervous energy but a lot of enthusiasm, so i just combined them and made it soft and clingy and a little bit feral. thank you to the anons who sent those, y’all own my brain. cw: smut, anxiety and overthinking, soft dom simon, lots of reassurance and praise, possessive but gentle vibes, aftercare, clinginess, mentions of crying (but like overwhelmed/happy crying).

you’re already hiding your face in your hands when he leans over you again, big and warm and heavy in the way that feels reassuring instead of overwhelming, and even though you’ve already said “wait” a few times and squirmed away more than once, he hasn’t gotten frustrated or pulled back.

he’s just watching you now, calm as ever, mouth pulled into a faint smile like he finds you endearing instead of difficult, and that only makes you feel more self-conscious.

“we can stop,” he says plainly, and somehow it doesn’t sound like he’s disappointed. “we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. i’d rather you be comfortable than push through something that doesn’t feel right.”

you groan and keep your face covered. “it’s not that,” you mutter. “i do want to. i just… i don’t know what i’m doing. i’m nervous. and overthinking everything. and probably being really weird right now.”

he kisses your wrist, then gently tugs your hands away from your face. “you’re not weird,” he says, looking down at you with the kind of patience that makes your chest ache a little. “you’re nervous. and that’s fine. it doesn’t scare me off, alright?”

you nod, even though your cheeks are burning and your whole body feels tense and unsure.

he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth, and then lower, to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—slowly, not rushed, nor pushing for more.

“you don’t need to have it all figured out. you don’t need to impress me,” he says. “just be here. with me.”

he says it so simply, so easily, and you believe him, even if your body still feels stiff and your mind won’t stop racing. you want this, you want him, but the anxiety is crawling all over your skin and your heart’s pounding so loud it’s hard to stay in the moment.

he settles between your legs again, not moving too fast, one of his hands resting over your stomach like he knows you need the weight there, something to ground you and warm to hold you still.

“just breathe,” he murmurs. “i’ve got you. we’ll take it slow. nothing has to happen all at once.”

you feel tears sting your eyes, not because anything’s wrong, but because he’s being so good to you. so calm, so kind, and it makes everything a little easier to manage.

when he starts to push in, it’s barely anything, just the tip, and your fingers immediately grip his shoulders and your whole body goes tense, not from pain but from how big it feels and how intense it suddenly is.

he doesn’t move. just kisses your temple and waits, his breathing shaky but controlled.

“you’re alright. you’re doing so well,” he says, brushing your hair back from your face. “just tell me what you need, and i’ll give it to you. we’re not in a rush.”

you nod, and he murmurs, “that’s my girl,” in a way that makes your heart clench and your body relax just a little more.

when you whisper, “okay,” he starts to move again, gently easing in until he’s fully buried inside you, and even though it’s a lot, it doesn’t feel too much—not with the way he’s looking at you, not with the way he’s holding you.

“you feel so good around me,” he says, his voice thick with restraint. “you’re doing so fucking good, sweetheart. i know it’s a lot. you’re taking me so well.”

you let out a whimper, both from the stretch and the weight of it all, and his hands are everywhere—holding your hips, stroking your sides, curling around your thigh like he doesn’t want to let go.

he stays slow, keeps his movements careful, and he doesn’t stop talking, just keeps giving you little things to focus on.

“you’re not too much,” he murmurs when you try to hide your face again. “you’re not doing anything wrong. you don’t need to worry about how you look or sound. i want you just like this.”

you try to believe him. and it gets easier when you stop thinking and just feel—his body against yours, his hands gripping tight, his mouth at your neck, the little praises he keeps whispering in between shaky breaths.

when he reaches between you, his fingers find your clit, and you jerk a little in surprise, but he doesn’t stop—just keeps rubbing you gently, patiently, watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters to him.

“there you go,” he says. “that’s it. let me help you.”

and somehow, despite how nervous you were, despite how unsure everything felt just moments ago, you’re already on the edge before you even realize it, gasping into his shoulder as your body starts to tremble.

“you gonna come for me?” he says, and his voice is rough now, but still so sweet. “yeah? let go, baby. i’ve got you. you’re safe.”

and you do—you come with a shudder, gripping him tight, burying your face in his neck as your whole body goes hot and soft and overwhelmed in the best way, and he holds you through it, breathing hard and kissing the side of your head, whispering, “that’s my girl, fuck, that’s it, you did so good.”

he doesn’t last long after that, not with how tightly you’re wrapped around him and how much he’s clearly been holding back, and when he finishes, it’s with a low groan and a few rough thrusts, then stillness as he stays inside you and clutches you like he never wants to let go.

you’re both quiet for a moment, your limbs tangled, your skin flushed, and you’re not thinking anymore—you’re just tired and happy and full and feeling safe in his arms.

he kisses your shoulder and pulls you closer.

“you don’t have to be brave with me,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “you just have to be mine. i’ll take care of the rest.”

he doesn’t pull out right away. he just stays there, breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling against yours like he’s trying to memorize your body's rhythm.

you’re still a little dazed, arms limp around his shoulders, and your thighs are trembling but you don’t want him to move either, not when you feel so full and warm and safe like this, not when he’s still murmuring little things against your neck like, “you did so good,” and “you were made for me.”

and then, eventually, he does move, carefully easing out of you, and he makes this low, strained sound like it physically pains him to separate from you.

“fuck,” he mutters, half to himself, dragging his hand down his face like he’s trying to stay composed, but his brain’s still short-circuited. “you—fuckin’ hell, you just…”

he glances at you, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to say something too intense.

“you alright?”

you nod, still catching your breath. “tired. but yeah.”

and then he’s back on you in a second, cupping your face, brushing sweaty hair off your forehead, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw, like he needs to check every part of you to make sure you’re okay.

“good,” he breathes. “that’s good. ‘cause you were perfect. you don’t even know—”

he cuts himself off with a laugh that sounds a little overwhelmed, like he’s trying to play it cool and failing.

“what?” you ask, half asleep and smiling now, because he’s acting like you just knocked him flat.

“you don’t get it,” he says, dragging the sheet over your bodies as he settles beside you, still so close his thigh is hooked over yours. “i’ve been picturing this—wanting this—for so long, and now that i’ve had you, now that i’ve seen how good you look like that…”

he kisses you again, this time slower, deeper, like he’s trying to anchor himself back down. “you’re in trouble, sweetheart.”

you snort. “me?”

he nods seriously, brushing your lip with his thumb. “yeah. you. ‘cause now i’m not gonna let you go. ever.”

you laugh, but your stomach flips a little, because the way he says it isn’t a joke—he means it.

he means mine in a way that’s not just possessive, but protective, like he’s decided you’re the most important thing in the world and he’s not letting the universe take you from him.

he’s back to touching you again, tracing patterns over your shoulder, your waist, your hip—hands never still, like he can’t help himself.

“you’re sore?” he asks after a few minutes, voice quieter now.

“a little.”

he hums and shifts. “stay here,” he says. “don’t move.”

you close your eyes, already half-asleep, but he’s back fast—warm towel, glass of water, his shirt that he slides over your arms even though it’s way too big on you.

“you didn’t have to do all that,” you mumble, but he just shushes you and kisses your forehead.

“yes i did.”

you end up curled in his chest, limbs tangled, your face tucked into his neck while he rubs your back in lazy circles. he’s not even pretending to sleep—he’s just staring at you with this dumb little proud look like he just won the lottery and doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“you’re mine now,” he says again, softer this time, like a promise more than a claim.

“i always was,” you whisper.

and the way he holds you tighter after that, you feel it in your bones.

----------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs

[l-otti]

Florist! Simon when he takes you out to see fields of flowers and when he hears you marvel "it's beautiful" whispers a "yeah, she is" as he looks directly at you!!

[ohcroculus]

just a fever ── simon 'ghost' riley

summary; he's not scared of a lot of things. except the first fever of his daughter.

wc; 0.4k

he has faced down barrels of guns with steely calm, walked through burning houses with his mask soaked in soot and blood. fear doesn't live in his bones anymore—at least, not the kind that comes from battlefields or the breath before a bullet flies.

but this... is new.

grace is burning up in his arms, small limbs restless and face flushed red with fever, and simon's chest feels like it's caving in. her breaths come fast and uneven, and her fingers, always clinging to his dog tags when she's sleepy, twitch like she’s too hot to hold onto anything.

she's just a baby. not even two.

he paces the living room barefoot, her little form tucked tight against his chest, his shirt damp where her forehead rests. you're on the phone with the pediatrician, voice calm but tight—trying not to let him hear the edge in it.

but he does. he hears everything at this point, every beat and every breath.

his hands are too rough for this. trained for holding guns, not tiny bodies burning with sickness. he keeps checking her temperature with a trembling hand against her neck, like it'll tell him something new. like anything will change.

watching grace whimper weakly in his arms, no strength to cry—he can’t protect her from this. and it unravels him.

you turn to him, finally off the call.

"they said it's common. her body's just learning how to fight things off. fever's a sign her immune system's working."

he nods slowly, but his eyes—those same eyes that have stared down warlords and monsters in masks— look hollow now.

"grace is strong," you add, gentler, placing a hand on his arm. "just like you".

but simon doesn’t feel strong. he feels helpless.

"she's never been this hot," he mutters, voice low, rough like gravel. "she looked at me like she didn't know who I was."

"she's tired, love. she knows who you are" you say softly, caressing his shoulder "you're her dad. of course she knows."

she stirs then, tiny fingers curling into his shirt again. her lips part and he hears the quietest murmur—“mgh…”

he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for an hour. cradles her closer. he doesn't even notice the wetness in his eyes until your hand brushes it away.

later, when grace is finally resting, fever breaking with a cool damp cloth and a lullaby that only you know how to hum right, simon stays by her crib. mask off. eyes open.

no guns. no enemies. just a man watching the smallest person he’s ever loved fight the first of life’s many battles.

he doesn’t flinch at gunfire.

but he’d rather take a bullet to the chest than watch his little girl suffer again.

a/n: making a series about simon being a dad !!! (probably a series of u meeting him too........ im down for it) (soon the masterlist)

[cutiecusp]

Simon Riley watching you as you put on your make up. Tw. Mentions of his mother's trauma.

...................

"Wha's tha for?"

Putting your brush on the palette, you apply your highlighter. Tilting your cheek to show off the colour.

"Highlights my face, Si. You use it where the light hits your face."

He nods, taking it in.

"What's the sparkly stuff I got you for your birthday?" He asks after a minute.

You pull out some of your make up, a soft smile on your face as you explain your steps, watching him take it all in,a mental note to replenish anything you are low on.

"It's a skill, love. An artist with all that shit." He gruffs, an almost proud smirk on his face.

"It's taken me a long time to figure out what I like. I won't even tell you about thin brows, dream matte mouse or foundation lips." You laugh.

He looks at you, brushing a hair out of your face.

"You are beautiful, you know?" He says softly.

"With all the make up, without it all, I love seeing you do your thing."

You smile, finishing off your face with setting spray, beaming at yourself in the mirror.

"Love you too Simon."

He smiles back and squeezes your hand.

What Simon doesn't tell you is for years he had to watch his mother use make up to cover up bruises and marks, so to watch you be creative and use make up for something positive heals him a little, even if he doesn't know what half the stuff does.

"Love you too, sweetheart." He says instead.

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @skeletonsucker @ghost-soaps-shadow

[oaksgrove]

Till Death Do Us Part

pairing: Husband!Ghost x Wife!Reader

synopsys: Mornings with Simon mean aching joints, teasing remarks, and the quiet kind of love that lingers through every stretch, every kiss, and every grumbled complaint. You're both falling apart—but at least you're falling apart together.

warnings: Pure fluff, domestic softness, and good old mutual old-person pain.

word count: 827

The morning light filtered through the curtains in golden streaks, painting soft shadows across the bedroom walls. The warmth was just enough to make the thought of getting up feel impossible. You sighed, stretching just a little—

Pop.

"Bloody hell," Simon groaned beside you, voice gravelly from sleep. You turned your head slightly to see him stretching one arm above his head, only to freeze halfway through. A deep frown settled on his face as he slowly lowered his arm back down, careful not to jostle the bed too much.

"Neck again?" you mumbled, still half-asleep. 

He huffed out a breath. "Slept wrong. Feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it."

"You always sleep wrong," you pointed out, stretching—and immediately regretting it when your back tensed up. "Fuck, my back."

Simon snorted. "And you say I’m bad."

You stretched experimentally, only to grimace when your lower spine gave a loud pop. "Yep. But at least I can still move my neck," you teased, earning a halfhearted grunt from your husband.

Simon let out a long sigh, then, with the grace of a much older man, turned onto his side to face you. His fingers brushed over your arm, tracing absentminded patterns on your skin. "Reckon we should just stay here all day," he murmured.

You smiled, letting your eyes drift shut. "Bold of you to assume we could move even if we wanted to."

"Fair point," he chuckled, voice warm with affection. He shifted closer, tucking you against his chest with an arm draped lazily around your waist. "S'pose I could get up, make some tea."

"Mhmm." You nuzzled into the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of him—soap, warmth, and just a hint of old gun oil. "Or we could just stay like this forever."

He hummed in agreement, his fingers idly running along your spine. The room was quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the distant hum of the heating unit.

Then—grrrrowl.

You froze.

Simon stilled for a beat before exhaling a deep sigh. "That better not've been me."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Nope. That was me. My stomach wants breakfast, apparently."

Simon shifted just enough to look down at you, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Didn’t you say we should stay in bed forever?"

You grinned. "I take it back. Food first, then we can be lazy."

He groaned dramatically, rolling onto his back again. "You’re a cruel woman."

"And you’re my big, grumpy husband who’s gonna make me breakfast," you said sweetly, pressing a slow, sleepy kiss to his bare shoulder. "And yet you married me anyway."

Simon sighed, turning his head slightly to look at you, his brown eyes soft despite the exhaustion.  "One day, you’ll realize I only married you for your cruelty."

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before finally sitting up—slowly, carefully. "C’mon, old man. Let’s get you moving before you seize up completely."

"Oi," he grumbled, sitting up with a wince. His hand came up to rub at his shoulder, then his neck. "One day, you’re gonna wake up with carpal tunel, sciatica, and a fucked-up shoulder, and I’m gonna laugh at you."

You rolled your eyes fondly. "Already got the bad back and neck, Simon. Keep up."

He sighed heavily, then reached out to squeeze your knee. "Guess we’re both falling apart, huh?"

"Yep," you said cheerfully. "But at least we’re falling apart together."

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "C’mere."

You barely had time to react before he pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you in a loose, sleepy embrace. His lips pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, then to the top of your head. "Love you," he murmured, voice quieter now.

You smiled, resting your forehead against his chest. "Love you too, Simon."

You and Simon weren’t perfect. Some days were harder than others. The pain, the exhaustion, the distance—some days, it all caught up.

But neither of you had ever asked for perfect.

You had each other—aches, pains, and all.

Simon had been through war, and had lost more than he could count. But when he came home to you, to a place where he didn’t have to be Ghost, to a quiet life filled with books and old records and the simple act of drinking coffee together in the morning, he knew that was enough.

It was the way you rubbed his knuckles after he spent too long holding a gun. The way he made you tea exactly how you liked it, even when his hands ached. The way you took turns stretching each other’s backs because one wrong move would leave you both groaning in pain. The way he always pulled you close at night, even when his body protested, because he knew you slept better that way.

It was love—not perfect, but yours.

And honestly? That was more than enough.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap @rainyjellybear @anonymouse1807 @twoandahalfdimes

[lxvvie]

Drunk!Simon is the type of bloke who not only tells you that he thinks he’s drunk (because he is), but that he also has nice tits, too. Nice tits that get hot every time he drinks. Or something like that. He’s drunk, luv.

But good genes, that.

Don’t believe him? There’s only one way to find out, sweetheart.

”Touch my tits.”

With your face. Preferably.

[tojisteddy]

getting simon a little plush snoopy that reminds him of you so he has something of yours to take on deployments with him

I Miss You | cw: fluff, fluff and even more fluff.

“You don’t like it?”

“No birdie, ‘s a cute lit’le thing just—” Simon pauses, rubbing his face while he chuckles, eyeing the object that sat in the nailed box.

“What’s the snoopy for?”

You’d read on some blog, while aimlessly adding things to your cart, about this girl posting pictures everywhere she went with this little snoopy. You loved snoopy. Adored the little dog, had plushies around the house, blankets in the closet, mugs that Simon made your tea in, stickers— the whole nine. Simon wouldn’t be surprised if he came home after a mission and you had Snoopy tattooed on your forehead (he wouldn’t love you any less).

You thought, it’d be good to have a little something for each other while he was deployed. Your snoopy, that you sent over to Simon, had your name on its dog black tag, a pair of overalls and a cute little orange bow horribly sewed into it. It was fucking adorable, a mini you in Simons eyes.

“It’s so- want you to think of me Simon. Thought it’d be cute.”

Simon could hear that heart melting pout on your lips. His heart swooned, almost flew out his chest and right back home to you. “I have one too! Made a little mask for it with your name ‘nd everythin. I’m gonna take pictures with it while I’m around, can you maybe- if you want to-“

“ ‘F course I want to baby.” It slipped off his tongue before he could realize what he said. Not that he actually wanted to take pictures, he was horrid at taking pictures. That was something he left in your hands. But if that’s what you wanted, Simon would never say no to you. He’d do the best he could.

“Good. I already made up my mind about it Si, so you have to do it properly. Okay? I wanna see what you see!”

Little minx, you knew exactly how to get what you wanted out of the large man. He wouldn’t have it any other way. He laugh leaves his pink lips, deciding to end the call so you could get your sleep, he glanced at his watch. 0300 hours, he’d need to be up in two, you were five hours behind.

“Hug little S.S for me yeah, hold ‘em while you sleep” he yawned.

“S.S?”

“Snoopy Simon, how are ya gonna tell us apart luvie?” You rolled you eyes, ends of your lips curving up.

“Love you Si.”

“Love you more doll.”

Simon couldnt lie, it was comforting having a little thing to remind him that you were at home. Patiently waiting for him. He couldn’t exactly send you pictures from his phone, but he found a disposable camera. The first picture with your mini Snoopy blurry as ever, he got the hang of it though, making sure to sure you the scenery of his locations. Gaz and Soap, the little devils, stole the precious plush and Simon went on barking at them about not roughing it up. They ended up in the photos too, along with Price while he was asleep.

You thought Simon forgot all about the idea, till you got a stack of printed photos in the mail. And there your mini Snoopy was— at the beach, in the grass, on Simons bed next to some pictures of you, at some bar— there were even some with Simon (mask on of course) his thumb up and having Snoopy put their little paw up. You squealed, rolling around in your shared bed and then your eyes found the ghost faced Snoopy that laid on your bed from the previous night. You smirked. 

“We have to step our game up S.S.”

You sent your pictures with a disposable camera too, following the rising trend, some at the fair, the park, your pet bunny hopping into it and getting hair all over it, you at the beach, some with your friends and your mom. It was too cute for Simons heart, there was one he put in his wallet that he was too proud of.

You in nothing but his shirt that went to your thighs, little S.S laying in your hair— he grew to love you a little more, his heart beating a little fast just at the thought of you, your handwriting on the back of the photos.

Simon came back 3 months later, more excited than usual, your mini snoopy chained to his waist with pride. You were a giggling mess, running and jumping into his muscular arms. He squeezed you tight, kissing your cheeks then your lips.

“Welcome back S.S.”

He playfully squishes your nose, “Good to be home little snoop.”

a/n: Bun and I literally love snoopy and then I started listening to I Love You by Faith Evan’s— perfection. I had fun writing this🥺.

most recent masterlist

[kruegerspillow]

Cold. You felt cold.

Your toes were basically freezing cold. Your body was trembling all over and you could feel your teeth chattering. The blanket was no use to a room like this, you thought to yourself.

The past few days have been hard. There were a bunch of paperworks scattered on your desk and there were still…three or four more events awaiting you. The last few weeks before summer had always been hell, and if it weren’t for Simon, you’d be dead to the core.

“Love?” Simon murmured, feeling you shift here and there. “Cold?”

You let out a muffled sigh, too lazy to give him a proper reply. But even with no words, he could read you like an open book. The shuffling of sheets could be heard from beside you before the AC beeped. Simon turned off the AC, placing the remote aside before crawling back to you.

“There ya go,” he sighed comfortably as he snuggled closer to you, arms wrapping around your waist. He breathed in your scent, nose nuzzling against the pulse on your neck. You could feel yourself heating up.

“Simon…”

He hummed in reply before pressing a few kisses down from your jaw to your shoulder. You felt your breath hitch as he sucked on the skin, leaving a few, pretty bruises on your skin. His eyes fluttered shut as he listened to your noises, enjoying it just as much as you do.

“Missed feelin’ ya ‘round me,” he practically whined against your shoulder. “Will you let me take care of ya?”

And, God, how could you refuse?

kruegerspillow © 2024 — reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[abusivegymrat]

Think of a reader who can’t fucking sit straight even the manliest men are anxious fucks while they consider manspreading near her, before deciding against it.

Think of a reader who could and would have her feet on the table in front of the fucking president or something.

Think of a reader who puts her feet on Simon’s shoulders while sitting behind him in briefing, while the entire room freezes in fear.

Think of a reader who nudges his temple with her boot when he opens his mouth to object behind the balaclava.

Think of a reader who got uncomfortable in a vehicle during a co-op mission with some other team, and even though she’s reckless, she knows her limits and shows respect. So she’s not sitting weird, not when everyone’s trying to fit.

So think of the reader’s reaction when the men near her finally take this chance to manspread as if it’s a competition.

“Close them the FUCK up, your dick isn’t even that big. It doesn’t need more space than me.”

haha this happened to me in metro today, the woman saying that was so badass omg😭

[laceyfaeryy]

MDNI 18+

“i hate you” reader x “you don’t feel like you do” simon riley

౨ৎ⠀ׄ⠀. ━ hate sex with simon riley, where your words don’t seem to match your body’s reaction

cw: vaginal sex, degradation, asshole! simon

simon was a cocky man, especially when he managed to turn you into a moaning mess.

“knew sum dick would jus’ turn yer lil attitude around.”

his ego swelled as a moan left your swollen lips, tears streaming down your face as your nails dug into his back, marking it.

“this doesn’t change anything, you’re still an asshole,” your breaths coming out in short and ragged pants as you tried to catch your breath.

simon felt his cock chub at your attitude.

“keep tellin’ y’self that birdie, but yer lil cunnie is sayin’ quite the opposite.”

your attitude filled his desire to wreck you even more, to destroy the pretty little ego of yours.

his cock plunged deep, each thrust hard and calculated as your gummy walls clenched around him, stretched out obscenely like it could barely take him.

“she’s a desperate one i tell ya.”

despite the copious amounts of time you spent telling him to go “fuck himself”, you seemed to enjoy helping him out.

“for a girl sayin’ how much she hates me, yer cunt seems to be a gushing mess.”

his thumb would rub your sensitive clit, abusing the nerve as he watched you whine and shake under him, completely at his mercy.

god he was having fun.

throughout the night he spent his time torturing you, slowly exploring every inch of your body as he found new ways to make you scream.

another finger shoved up your cunt making the stretch burn slightly whilst he spat in your mouth, cleansing it from all the filth you spat onto him.

his large tatted hand wrapped around your throat squeezing the sides gently, whilst the other hand was wrapped around your sides, pulling you flush against him as he thrusted deep inside you.

“after this yer gonna come begging for more, gonna ruin every man for you.”

watching you come on his cock was pure bless, the usual sharp remarks that came from your mouth gone as you moaned loudly, your throat sore from the screaming.

he never thought that the girl who was always talking about what an asshole he was, would also be the girl whose cunt was milking him dry.

“this lil cunnie knows where home is yeah?”

tag list:

@happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone @other-fandoms-reblogs @goonette6969 @doubledizzy22 @lucienofthelakes @arabellatreaty @tessakate @kayden666 @ghostsd8s @ama-eve @webmvie @your-internet-tenshi @novthewolf @1ilo @simpingreader

[maskedbyghost]

+18, mdni

He stops with a sharp breath, his hands locking around your hips, fingers digging in hard. He’s close—too close—and you can feel it in the way his thighs tense under you, in the way his chest rises unevenly.

"Wait," Simon rasps as his one hand leaves your hip and finds your face, pulling you down until your mouth is on his.

It’s that lazy kind of kiss—lazy and wet, all tongue, just the way you love it. His lips are warm, soft, and parting with a hum when your teeth scrape just a little. He kisses you like he’s trying to catch his breath through you, like if he slows it down, he might not cum right then and there.

Your body doesn’t get the memo.

You're already soaking, but that kind of kiss? That slow, wet drag of his tongue against yours? It makes you clamp down around him so tight he chokes on a moan.

“Fuckin’—love,” he grits out against your mouth, voice rough and cracking. “Stop squeezin’ me—I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.”

You smile into the kiss, smug and breathless. “Then stop kissing me like that.”

He stares at you for a split second—just one—and then drags you back down, kissing you deeper, messier, like he’s punishing you for talking back.

You keep squeezing.

He bucks once, twice, hips jerking under you like he’s losing the fight. "You fuckin'—ngh—"

You feel it when he gives in.

His head drops back, jaw slack, hands gripping your ass like he’s trying to anchor himself. You ride it out slow, lips still brushing his, feeling him pulse inside you while you grin like a little menace.

“You’re evil,” he mutters, breathless, his eyes half-lidded.

“And you’re terrible at resisting me.”

----------------------------------------

gooood morninggg

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs

[intakeofbreath]

⎯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ.

wc: {494} tw: explicit sexual content, breeding kink, overstimulation, mating press, size kink, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, praise + light degradation.

you should’ve known the second he came home growling your name that it wasn’t going to be soft tonight.

your legs are pinned wide to the bed, pressed up so high your knees nearly touch your shoulders. his body’s over yours, heavy and solid, every thick thrust grinding the breath from your lungs.

“fuckin’ tight,” he mutters through grit teeth. “always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

he doesn’t pull out. not even a little. just drags in deep, deeper, til your body’s trembling from how full he’s got you. your hips twitch, trying to move, but his hands clamp down on your thighs, holding you open, keeping you in place.

“not runnin’ from it,” simon growls. “you wanted this.”

you nod frantically, blinking through the tears that pool at your lashes. your body’s so overstimulated already—clit puffy and swollen from the last two orgasms he forced out of you with nothing but slow, deep strokes and soft praise in your ear.

now he’s chasing his own. his thrusts get faster. harder. more desperate.

“need it,” he huffs, sweat dripping off his brow as he pounds into you. “gonna fuck a baby into you, yeah?”

your whole body jerks. the sound you make isn’t even a moan—just a broken, breathless whimper.

“yeah,” he pants, eyes locked on the spot where he’s stretched you wide. “fill this little cunt up—keep you so fuckin’ full, no one’ll even think you’re single.”

you sob his name.

“mine,” he grits. “say it.”

“yours,” you gasp. “yours—yours—yours—”

he slams in to the hilt and stays there. buried deep. cock throbbing inside you as he spills, hot and heavy, til it leaks out around the base.

but he doesn’t stop.

your thighs twitch when he starts moving again, slower this time—grinding, not thrusting. like he’s making sure every drop stays inside you.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he whispers. “you can give me one more.”

“can’t—simon—too much—”

“shhh.” he kisses your temple. “yes you can.”

his fingers drift to your clit. soft little circles, coaxing, teasing, pushing you back up that edge.

“gonna take it like a good girl. let me fuck another one into you.”

you cry out, body shaking, brain blank with pleasure.

he’s groaning again—thick voice in your ear, full of filth and worship and love and need.

“not stoppin’ til you’re bred. over and over. gonna keep goin’—you feel that? feel how easy you take me now?”

you can’t speak. you’re gone. mindless. just whimpering into the sheets as another orgasm crashes through you, stars popping behind your eyes.

simon kisses you through it. lips on your cheek, your throat, your lips.

“atta girl,” he murmurs. “that’s it.”

you’re not sure how long he stays inside you. not sure how many times he comes again. just know that by the time he pulls out, you’re full. dripping. aching in the best way.

and when he finally gathers you up in his arms, you’re already half-asleep—body spent, heart full.

[itsoutrageouss]

Part six of Simon seeing reader cry for the first time. This one is really just Simon’s pov of you, and he’s heading into the jealousy stage… he’s low-key growing obsessed? Enjoy.

Simon was fuming. Not with you exactly, it wasn’t your fault you were such a delicate, pretty little bird- of course you’d get attention at a scummy pub like this. And it wasn’t like you were his territory, his to claim in some way.

But if the bartender didn’t hurry up making that drink you wanted so that the handsome stranger next to you could move on, he’d get up from the cramped booth and make it him damn self.

You clearly weren’t the type to just bring someone home. Or were you? Fuck, was that a sexist prejudice he just had? He runs a hand over his face, over the surgical mask he had put back up the minute that man approached you to try and mask any reaction he might have. He’s so used to his grimaces being hidden that he was scared he couldn’t control them.

Soap nudged his arm that barely moved as he laughed heartily at his own story. Simon didn’t flinch, his eyes didn’t leave you. Aye, Soap noticed, shooting Gaz a knowing glance but none of them dared say anything because they were still having a good night.

Finally your hands grasped around a tall glass, ice rattling as you bid the man goodbye and headed for the teams designated table. Simon hadn’t been able to read your interactions; had you been flirting? Maybe politely declining? You’d be the type- Arh there he goes again giving you prejudices when you keep surprising him everyday about what ‘type’ you actually are.

You sit down with a small, flustered smile. Fuck, fuck, Simon’s hands tighten around his own pint, that otherwise sat untouched after you left. You blink up at him, looking like he’s the one that’s flustered you but he knows that isn’t true. It couldn’t be. He’s unmoving, eyes slowly dragging you over.

“What?” You ask, nervous, maybe a little defensive and he knows that you hate not being able to read him. He’s bristling, if he was a cat all hairs would be standing on end.

“Nothing.” His voice is terse, gruff as usual but it sounds like he has to force the words from his throat, willing his lips to move. You frown, and now he knows you won’t let it go- it gives a thrill through him: he knows you now. Knows what your expressions mean, what you’re feeling.

He sees your eyes drifting off, clearly in thought before your jaw tightens and your eyes fall to your drink. You look disappointed. That’s not what he expected really, and know he doesn’t know what to do. Jesus Christ why does he overthink everything when it comes to you now? It used to be simple before you bared your soul to him and now he just wants to keep you open for him.

He doesn’t know how to address this now. Why did you look like that? After that bath, where he’d asked you to touch him and gods you had touched him and he swore he died and went to heaven; after that, what was supposed to happen? Maybe you didn’t know either. You quickly schooled your expression and leaned a little over the table to join the conversation Simon had pushed into background noise. He didn’t like that one bit, putting your walls up now? Well he couldn’t have that.

“What did he want?” Simon tried asking casually as you leaned over, his mouth almost at your ear. You tensed, a micro movement but he noticed. You hadn’t expected him to adress it head on, perhaps, as you leaned back, diverting your attention to him again.

“My number” you replied and he felt his tongue sucking on his own teeth to calm down. He hummed in response.

“Did you give it?” He asked, trying to seem nonchalant, grateful for his mask as always. Your eyes twitched, expression lacing with some sort of offence or disbelief. He struggled to stay composed, heart rate elevating a little too fast.

You shook your head but it mainly looked like you were annoyed with him, more than it was an answer. Your eyes found the table, gathering yourself before looking up at him with a seriousness and intensity he hadn’t expected. “Of course I didn’t. Why would you think that?”

Shit, you seemed genuinely upset in some way. He was flustered, caught off guard. “I don’t know. Looked like you were having a good time.” He shouldn’t have said that, jealousy shining through his teeth and he knew it.

“Well I wasn’t” you said, quick but steady.

“You’re angry with me” he said it as a monotone statement because he didn’t want you to hear it for what it was.

“No- no im not-“ you sighed, running a hand through your hair that he eyed almost nervously. “I just don’t know why you would think that I would give him an ounce of my time” you mumbled, raising your brows shortly to indicate something. He swallowed thickly.

“I didn’t think it, I feared it” he admitted and it felt vulnerable enough that he had to look away, into the crowd of people. “Smiling like a schoolgirl when you came back, dove” he mumbled, a little to himself

“At you.” You corrected, trying to meet his gaze. “I found it funny that-“ he felt you lean closer so only he could hear, if anyone should happen to try and listen in. “-anyone would even try talking to me after I had my hands around your….”

He stiffened, shoulders moving a little, mask covering the blood surging to his cheeks at your next word. He had to clear his throat, make sure Soap didn’t hear. It was right, in that tub your hands had wandered a bit like he’d asked you to. Nothing more had happened than you feeling him up, leaving him on that gruesome but wonderful edge. Hearing what that meant to you, that that moment had solidified something between you the way it had to him made him wanna fucking moan. His eyes snapped to yours, a newfound confidence in them.

“Giggling at someone trying to take you home?” He said, his tone infinitely more lighter now. You merely shrugged, the offence from your face gone. Good.

He hummed, considering you for another second before huffing in dry amusement, shaking his head and finally lowering the mask again. He picked up the pint but your smaller hand gently pushed it to the table, earning his attention again.

“You don’t need to be jealous, Simon.” You said, oddly calm, brows scrunching subtly.

“Im not” he was quick, too quick and you both knew it. He swore under his breath and picked up his pint again as he saw the winning streak across your face.

But he knew that this meant. If he was jealous of someone else trying to pick you up, he’d have to do it himself or his feelings wouldnt have a valid place to settle, no value. Ugh just his luck, now he was basically forced to take you home himself…

Series masterlist

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Y/N: To me, Simon smells like smoke, gunpowder and almonds Soap: Almonds? Is that like the shampoo he uses? Y/N: No, just the cyanide Soap: I'm sorry, the what now?