#simon ghost Riley Drabble

[dmitriene]

cw: references to simon's past.

there's those moments amidst the deep night hour when simon riley wakes up from his troubled slumber, pulled out abruptly and shaken wholly, with cold sweat dewy on his paled, moonlighted skin, beading drops drenching in the linens below, sticky, wet to the point where it's itches against his shivering body, making him run away from the feeling, from the warmth of the bed and your curled body beside.

run from his ugly self, from the plaguing fear of letting anyone, you, see what he goes through, what he hides under all those grimy, scarred layers, trying to stay unbothered, to be a ghost, but if you couldn't see through it all, peel, you wasn't going to be with simon in the first place, and the moment his footsteps paddle over to the living room, you wake up.

simon sits on the couch, hunched over, the cushions crumpling under the sheer weight of him, and every line of his body, filled out with outstanding fat and muscle, is highlighted in distress, it's seen in the uneven, rippling line of his spine, the quiet bounce of his knee, starting to tap against the floor when his feet lands down, and the wet, choked gasp that heaves up from his expanding, contracting ribs, making you move.

it's not the first time he cries, always hiding from this feeling like a little kid, forcing the bubbling whimpers and stinging tears down, melting in the bile that fills his tightening throat, burning, never escaping, not like those salty, clear rivulets streaking down his warming cheeks, skin raw from the inside, where simon sinks his teeth in to silence all the sounds, until you lean in, draping your body over his quivering back.

holding him, you brush feathery, ginger touches over the slopes of his body, the rolls of fat, filled out with scars and stretch marks, that grow out from beneath the waistband of his boxers and cracking up towards his waist, where your fingertips rub in, caressing, feeling higher, over the tissued skin, sacred scars, your palm flat over the memory on simon's once skewered rib, and if you close your eyes, you can imagine the viscose feel of his blood.

if simon falls asleep after, it's only in the hold of your caressing hands, healing, he curls in your chest, head bowing in the crook of your neck, brushing atop your collarbones, he would've kissed you, drowned himself in ringing sounds of pleasure and desperate, borderline animalistic sex, but his eyes flutter heavily, paling eyelashes tickling over your tender skin, and he limps back to slumber, knowing he doesn't needs to run no more.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[itsoutrageouss]

pt.1 pt.2 (can be read as a stand-alone)

Third follow up on the dynamic between you and Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley after he sees you cry for the first time. He’s getting so fucking obsessed with you and this next mission does absolutely nothing to help that:

It was a classic, but one you’d never experienced yourself before now; a mission where you had to gain intel from someone at a high class event. Meaning you had to get dolled up with your mission partner. Guess who?

It had been forever since you’d worn a dress; this way or work didn’t give much opportunity for it. It had been so long that you only had one in your closet- but it was everything to you- a tiny part of the persons you’d had to store away when becoming part of a military task force. Hidden away in a box on the top of your closet at your barracks.

You smoothed it out, admiring it on its own for a moment before slipping it over you, tying the back so it dipped at your waist, giving you a sense of security at the slight pressure. Your hands ran over the dark green fabric that matched the emeralds in your ears and down along your cleavage, looking like crystal droplets over the taught skin of your collarbones.

Your hair had been neatly curled- cheeks rosy, eyelids shimmering and lips a muted mauve. It was very different from the tactical gear most operations called for and it felt naked to only have the gun at your inner thigh and the smallest piece that was draped over by your hair.

Your heart pounded like a war drum as you stepped into the entrance of the base, at the double doors that led to the parking lot.

You knew it would draw attention- you’d never looked anything like this since you joined the task force and you felt so self conscious that your knees nearly buckled, feet unsteady in the heels that hugged them. But you knew you looked good- repeated it to yourself because half of this was confidence.

And so did he. Simon was adjusting the cuffs of his suit with a grunt, annoyed at the feel of the tight button up trapped under the black habit jacket that bulged over his muscles. But when he turned around his hand fell away from his cuffs mindlessly, going lax at his sides. He hadn’t known the way his heart stuttered before. He hadn’t known what to expect but you- you were a sight for sore eyes.

It didn’t help him at all with how he struggled to decipher his feelings for you. After seeing you so vulnerable and human, crying on that concrete floor he thought that was as far as he could ever go. Then you had bandaged his knuckles, and let him cuddle you in the irrevocable silence on that couch. But this was another stepping stone: you in that dress.

He could see a confidence in you that he’d either never noticed or that was brought forth by the way you looked tonight. Which would be very valid in his opinion because he’d been looking at you without saying anything for a solid minute now.

You frowned, fidgeting with the rings on your fingers because you couldn’t read his expression at all.

“You should wear a suit more often,” you said, roving shamelessly over his hunky figure, looking even taller with the dark suit on, his thick thighs coming to their right. You wanted to kiss his knuckles again.

Kiss a lot of him, actually.

“Fuckin’ annoying” he grumbled and rolled his shoulders in the suit, the jacket creaking with the motion. It was his way of accepting the compliment without, and you both knew it. He wanted to compliment you too, but there was so much he wanted to say that absolutely nothing came out. And when he saw the shameless hunger in your eyes as you trailed the movements of his hands, he definitely couldn’t speak. Had you always looked at him like that? Or did these past weeks open gates for you too?

You gulped down the disappointment when he didn’t say anything after a long beat of opportunity, masking your expression quickly as your spine straightened, hands smoothing down the fabric along your hips. “The car is waiting” you say, silence unbearable as your heels click on the linoleum, walking into the moonlight lid parking lot.

You both go over the mission details in the car, but his eyes kept finding their way to your silly curls bouncing around your face, the light in the car shining off of your lips. He gritted his teeth.

“Where’s your gun?” He asked because he would never forget that the mission was so much more dangerous like this- despite the rest of the task force being on standby, you could both get hurt way easier in this attire- especially you. He could wear a bulletproof vest under his button up. You could not- and ghost had yelled at you to find something else to wear but you refused. This was your lucky dress.

Then you unconsciously did the hottest thing he’d ever seen in his goddamn life as you spread your thighs slightly in your seat, fingers grazing and pulling aside the satin material of the slit in your dress to reveal your bare thigh, gun strapped to the plush of your inner skin. He might’ve died, and you had no clue, simply pulling the dress back in place and looking over the blueprints one more time.

The air prickled at your skin and you tugged the shawl closer around your arms when his large hand slipped over the satin, landing on the bare skin on the small of your back. The contact was electric and you both stiffened, looking up at the adorned building ahead, checking your earpieces before walking up the shiny stairs.

Right before the staff opened the golden double doors for you, giving out your fake names, he leans down to the shell of your ear.

“You’re the most gorgeous fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen, love, I can’t focus.” He managed to grumble out just before nudging your lower back gently to start walking. His eyes immediately honed in on the people and the layout. But you felt frozen in place, eyes widening impossibly much at his singular, lethal sentence.

That he’d ever seen? Of everything in the entire world he’d ever seen? It rung around your skull, zapping all the way to your toes that curled inside the heels, a unusually giddy feeling wracking up and down your spine, making your hips sway a little more as you followed his guiding hand.

He could feel your warm skin under his palm, the way your muscles moved with every sway, and immense satisfaction coursed through him when he noticed the subtle change his compliment had caused.

Maybe tonight he would pretend- for the mission of course- that you really were his. Really give it his all- make up a story of how you met. Tell people he’s gonna propose. No no no what the fuck? He’s taking it way too far. The mission came first. The thrill of showing you off on his arm came second.

That’s what he said, until a woman commented on how lucky he was, both his and her eyes watching you as you stood next to one of your targets for intel, sipping a champagne glass and twirling your hair.

“I am. I really am.” He said, not noticing the woman had already left.

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

FICMAS - DAY 8 - CHRISTMAS SHOPPING

Title: Helicopters and Mugs

Synopsis: You and Simon go out to the shops to buy the Task Force Christmas Presents

Warnings: None, I don't think. I describe Simon as a serial killer type look, though. I think it's funny idk

AN: Holy shit has this series taken FOREVER to post. I hope you all enjoy this one, I think it's cute?

"Fockin' cold out, innit?" Simon grumbles out, pulling you with his mitted hand by your shoulder closer to his figure. It's snowing, nearly 30 centimetres on the ground (approx. 1 ft), and it is cold as sin. He's wearing gloves with skeleton hands on it--of *course he is*-- and a black trench coat, he has a mask on, and a black beanie--he looks like a bloody serial killer.

But he's *your* serial killer. He's a tall lad--approximately.. 1.88 metres (6'2" or 6'3", I'm bad at maths!) and he's built like a brick shithouse. Needless to say, you're warmed by his disgustingly large body, that smart coat he bought you, a jumper underneath, maybe some boots, and good denim.

You nod a small nod, "Cold, yeah.."

He huffs out, shaking his head in annoyance as he guides you down the street into the first of shoppes.

"What're you gettin' Kyle again?" He asks in that grumbley tone as you pull out your little Christmas plan from your pocket.

You glance through your list, "New hat, and as a gag gift one of those helicopter toys."

Simon barks out a laugh, smirking under that mask.

"And Johnny?"

"Oh- a sketchbook and some good coloured pencils!" You beam up at him, and he just rolls his eyes fondly.

"And Cap'?"

You look down at your list, "World's Best Dad mug. His old one broke and it's not a gag gift, surprisingly."

Simon shakes his head, amused. He leads you into a toy shoppe, "C'mon... We'll get the bloody 'copter first."

Inside the toy shoppe is a fucking nightmare. Parents and kids and grandparents all trying to shop for "the perfect gifts."

"I wonder if they'll have an art supplies section," you says up to Simon, who moves his hand to the small of your back, clearly not liking the amount of eyes on you.

He merely grunts in response, leading you to the boy's section.

You find all the cars and trucks and toys like that and look around, eyes all wide.

"I- I'm never gonna find a helicopter in this mess!" You say up to Simon, who looks down at your shock in amusement.

"Sure you will."

You scoff and roll your eyes at his encouragement, walking down the aisle a little bit, scanning every shelf as closely as you can, begging to find a stupid helicopter.

You eventually find one. It's not model, it's make so the little propellers don't get in three year old's mouths, but it's perfect. You pick up the box and beam up at Simon.

Simon huffs and rolls his eyes, "Yep. Good job. Let's go."

You and him make a leisurely walk to the registre and you narrowly get to pay, but Simon gets to hold the bag, like he'd let you.

You get to a supermarket a while later, Simon driving you.

"Alright. We'll get everythin' else 'ere," he says, hand firmly planted on your thigh, thumb rubbing the inner part.

You nod, check marking Kyle's gift and looking at the list.

"I was thinking we should get Kate flowers and an apology note signed by the force for being so rambunctious," you say thoughtfully, illiciting a bark of laughter from Simon.

"Tha's a good idea," he says, an unmistakeable smirk on his face.

He parks and guides you in, hand on the small of your back again. He glares every pair of eyes that notice you down, like a silent protector. That's what he calls himself to himself, at least, a silent protector.

You get to the little art supplies section and guy Johnny the best looking coloured pencils and sketchbook you can find. Then you go to where the mugs are found and find John a "World's Best Dad" mug.

Simon rolls his eyes as you ask him to take a picture of you and the mug together, taking it and quickly sending it to himself on your phone, handing it back like he did nothing.

Then by the time you get to the hats you're tired.

"Si," you say, holding up a hat, "take your beanie off and try this on. If it fits your head it fits his."

He tries the hat on. It's a sturdy cap, a very dark grey colour and it has some sports brand's logo on it.

It fits his head and you purse your lips as he hands it back to you.

"Wha'?" He asks, stepping towards you, "somethin' the matter?"

You shake your head, shifting your weight and tilting your head, "I.. just don't know if he'll like it. It isn't like his current hat."

He puts his arm around your shoulder, his beanie being onto his head with his other hand, "Birdie, it don' matter if 'e wears it or no'. I 'magine 'e'll like it no matter wha'."

You nod a small nod, putting the hat into the basket along with everything else.

"To checkout," you say with a small smile, leaning up to kiss Simon's clothed cheek.

"To checkou'," he confirms, guiding you along happily.

[beloveds-embrace]

Telling Ghost/König you are too heavy for him to pick up or sit on his face, and he doesn’t say anything at first so you think he just accepted it even if your heart kinda twinged a little in pain because you know you are just not skinny enough-

Only for him to send you a video the next day: in the gym, looking mighty hot in a compression shirt and sweatpants just a touch low on his hips, and lifting a bar with ease. On a closer look? The weighs attached to the bar weigh far more than you do. And he so easily maneuvers and controls and manhandles it…

Between the heat curling in your stomach, face pink and thighs clenched shut, you almost miss the incoming text.

Never too heavy for me, doll.

[heavenbarnes]

thinking about your older bf!simon that cannot cope with being far from you.

when you’re in the shower, he’s sat on the lid of the toilet on his phone (watching those rug cleaning videos) enjoying your faint singing under the stream of water, the smell of your body wash on the cloud of steam- ready to pass you a towel or get your back.

when you’re at your desk, working from home or studying, he’s just on the other side of it reading the paper with one outstretched leg tangled with both of yours. he’s dead quiet when you’re on a call, just happy to be around.

when you’re doing laundry, collecting the clothes in the hamper and crouching to stuff them into the washer- turning around and accidentally colliding with a thick wall of muscle.

“sorry, love”

he steps aside but you can hear his soft footfalls as he continues to follow you throughout your home.

when you’re both watching something on the couch, what starts as his pinky locked with yours turns into his arm around your waist. that turns into your head on his chest, which culminates with you falling asleep in his lap with his cheek on your head and soft snores emanating from his lips.

when you grocery shop, you push the trolley but his chest is to your back, arms either side of you and hands clasped over yours on the handle. you can thank his military training for his uncanny ability to tell exactly when you’ll stop walking.

when he wakes up in the middle of the night, on a rare occasion when you’ve managed to slip out of bed without him realising, he’s immediately in a panic calling your name.

“in here, my love”

as soon as his heart settles, he realises the bathroom light was probably a dead giveaway. you’re taking a wee, you’ll be back in a minute.

that doesn’t stop a sleepy simon from leaning in the doorframe, shielding his eyes from the big light as he waits for you to finish up.

even on the short walk back to bed, you can feel fingers twisted in the back of your shirt- almost like you’re leading the way.

minute you’re both on the mattress, you’re being wrapped up in his arms, slotting you perfectly into the curve of his front- almost like you’re made for him.

(and you are)

[dixonsgirl93]

You take out your little tin of Vaseline, taking a small amount on your finger and bringing it to your lips. You feel Simon Riley’s large presence walk up to you. He leans one hand against the wall. He’s standing so close you could almost see his pupils expand a little when you looked up into them.

Your heart racing, you hold his gaze and rub your finger over your lips. Dip into the tin, back onto your lips. You rub your lips together.

“Can I have some?” Ghost’s gruff voice rumbles from beneath his mask.

“You want lip balm?” You ask, somewhat incredulous. He didn’t seem like the type.

He merely nods, never talking his eyes off yours.

“Okay.” You say, the word sounding more like a question. He lifts his mask just above his mouth. You go to hand over the tin. His hand comes out but instead of taking the tin, they find your chin, gently gripping you and pulling you closer. His lips land on yours, firm but a lot gentler than you were expecting.

He pulls back, rubbing his lips together. You blush furiously.

“Thanks, love.” He mumbles, pulling his mask back down. He walks away then as if nothing just happened.

[secretlovezz]

Casual intimacy with Simon "Ghost" Riley.

He loves to shower with you.

Hopping into a steamy shower together and washing each other's skin clean after you both get home from a tiring day at work. The feeling of you scrubbing shampoo through his freshly cut hair fingers softly grasping at the strands even after he tells you it's not necessary. Sometimes, he'll wrap his arms around your waist and squeeze as you wash your face. He'll kiss gently at your skin as droplets of water drip from your body to his lips and let his nose dig into the crook of your shoulder to inhale your clean scent.

He loves grocery shopping with you.

Getting to keep his large palm against the small of your back rubbing up and down every once in a while to show that he's with you. He likes to listen to your voice as you read down the list of things the two of you need and the way you point your finger and bossily tell him to fetch a certain item. He pushes the cart for you when it starts getting heavy with items even after you complain and tell him "You could do it yourself." He enjoys being strong for you, finds pride in being able to carry and hold all of the bags when the two of you get home from the shops.

Simon Riley really loves these seemingly little moments of intimacy with you.

[bunny-jpeg]

simon riley knew the years were catching up to him. he could feel the dull throb in his knee. his back started to hurt when he sat in the wrong position for too long. he even would a grey hair the other day. he honestly wondered if his boys were still working, or were the years of drinking, smoking and combat the thing that killed them all. he wanted to put that to the test. and you were his little test subject. it was hard for you to deny your commander, especially when he shoved you into the cramped areas that only became more cramped with his large body in them, and his cock drilled into your poor achy cunt. he'd often comment about how your sweet cunt drooled for him, coated his cock in slickness and practically begged to be filled, to be bred.

he'd often shove his fingers into your mouth as he fucked you from behind. his gruff voice in your ears, telling you to shut up mixed with promises of a stuffed cunt. up against shelves, over desks, in the back of military vehicles. on your knees, on your back. anyway he could have you, he was going to take the chance. if you have one more period, he's going to tie you down the bed and use you until that poor pussy of yours is drowned in his cum. you don't get it, you're too young and stupid to be worried about your biological clock. you think your breeding days are forever, but simon's wants to make sure every second counts as he has you bent in half with a milky ring around the base of his cock.

that soft little stomach of yours is gonna get nice and filled with his brats. little rileys running around, their grabby hands all over mama. you'd be off base and some place where the little ones can run around. and while they're down for their nap, simon's gonna make sure his woman gets some loving. as he spit in your mouth before he bruised your hips as he had you shoved over the edge of his bed. his hand in your hair as he made you whimper. maybe he was a sick man, but he had to make sure you got pregnant before he threw out his hip or knee. he could twist you into positions that allowed him to be more comfortable, you were young and flexible. you could handle being almost upside down while simon lapped at your cum soaked pussy, pulling a fifth orgasm out of you that night alone. his cum thoroughly stained your bed sheets and the lips of your pussy. your hole tender and coated in the creamy film of simon's cum. a promise of things to come.

it only took less than a year before you were feeling the aches of pregnancy replace the aches of sex. now he kept a broad hand over your swollen middle. you were gonna be a mama soon. and simon had the privilege of being the father. even with you on your back and your ankles over his shoulders, his cock drilling into you, you looked more beautiful than ever. a good woman always looked better on her back.

a/n: "what's a bunny's favourite music genre? hip-hop!"

[simonrileysfavteacup]

Tommy.

He came out looking exactly like his father. He acted exactly like him. He didn’t sleep, he had nightmares too often, he loved watching telly, he wouldn’t sleep without you near him, and so much more. 

While you make lunch, Simon sits on the couch with Tommy, watching a football game. The little boy was in his own jersey, babbling everytime his father yelled at the tv. The sight was adorable to anyone who had eyes. He copies his father, bottle in hand, drinking every time his daddy takes a sip of his rootbeer. Tommy’s eyes light up as his daddy turns to him. “Team sucks, don’t they, bubby?”

Tommy didn’t understand, obviously, but he babbles away anyways, like a fan meeting their favourite celeb. Simon was tommy’s favourite person. You always said that they were twins. Tommy always wanted to do everything his daddy was doing. 

“Should we just eat on the couch?” You ask, carrying two plates in hand. Simon nods, patting the spot next to Tommy. You hand Simon his sandwich before turning to Tommy and sitting next to him. You pull the bowl of soft rice off your plate, feeding Tommy little bites off the plastic spoon, He continues watching the game with his dad, chewing with his little gums. 

He’s halfway done the rice before Manchester scores. 

Simon stands up, cheering as loudly as he can. Tommy tries to copy him, knocking over the bowl of rice.

Luckily, it doesn’t spill too much. 

A few grains land on your lap. Simon chuckles, sitting back down. 

Bastard finds this funny.

You throw a spoonful of rice onto him. Tommy laughs, reaching his hand into the bowl and picking up a handful of rice. He shoves his whole fist into his mouth, giggling. 

Simon gasps. “What did ya throw that at me fo’?” 

“It’s funny,” you giggle. 

Simon pulls Tommy’s fist out of his mouth. “Bubby, say ‘bad mommy’.”

“Hey!” You pout. Tommy giggles.

Simon leans over his son, kissing you softly, Tommy’s fist hitting at his chin. He kisses the baby boy’s cheek, smiling. “Love you too, bubby. And you, lovie.”

“I know.”

[the-raindeer-king]

"I want to go home."

Your boyfriend sighs in response, not bothering to hide his annoyance. You can't blame him. You were the one who wanted to go to the flea market. He had wanted to stay at home, to sleep in on his rare day off.

"It hasn't even been an hour, love," he replies, his eyes roaming over the throwing knives at the stall you're standing in front of.

When you don't respond, Simon finally turns his attention onto you. He sees the frown tugging at your lips, the anxious expression in your eyes. You'd been so excited to come here, so why are you frowning now?

He takes you hand, leading you through the stalls and the crowd, trying to find somewhere a little less crowded. Thankfully, there's some picnic tables that you can sit down at, shaded and void of people.

"What happened?"

You stare down at your shoes, quiet for a moment. Then you explain, voice soft and anxious, "I saw some girls looking at me, and when I looked over at them, they started laughing."

Simon grits his teeth, staring at you. He knows about your struggle with your self confidence, and he hates that you don't see yourself the way he sees you. Simon thinks you're absolutely gorgeous, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Far more gentle than you'd expect from someone like Simon, he takes ahold of your face in his hands. His words are a little less gentle.

"Who fuckin' cares what some noisy birds think? You look beautiful, love. You are beautiful."

It's easier to hear than to believe. But this is Simon, and he may be a lot of things but he's not a liar. So you let his words warm you from the inside out, and when you smile at him, he smiles in return.

"I love you," you whisper, and he grins, pulling you to your feet.

"Love you too, doll. Now, come on. I wasn't done with those knives."

[ervotica]

// simon riley x reader, stalking, forced entry, possible series

There’s a man in your flat.

A one night stand from a few months back, the type of man you should’ve never entertained in the first place.

The type of man that oozes obsession, that keeps you tucked obediently under his arm like a good pet from the minute you meet – sitting between his legs on a barstool, seeping his warmth into your back, taking lazy sips of his pint over your shoulder.

When Simon Riley wants something, he gets it.

Even if it means memorising your route home and cutting himself a key for your front door, mysteriously walking in one day like he’s always been there, traipsing mud through your hallway with his combat boots and eating all the crisps out of your cupboard.

He’s asleep on your sofa when you push through the front door, snoring like a chainsaw, still clad in that heavy military uniform.

You sway from side to side on the balls of your feet, lip worried between your front teeth as the man stirs and cants his body towards you. Damn military hearing, you don't even have time to run the way you came in.

He opens his arms and beckons you closer. You shuffle over to the settee, unimpressed, and squeal when he tugs you down and into his arms.

“Alright, love?” he rumbles. “You’re late home from work.”

You cock a brow. How does he know that?

He tucks a hand between your legs and uses the flat of his palm to hike you further up his body. You brace yourself against his chest before he’s tutting, peeling your arms off of him and nuzzling his face against yours, the scratchy fabric of the mask wetting your lips when he slips his tongue out to taste you, a hand at the scruff of your neck.

You suppose you’d better get used to this. He doesn’t seem to want to go anywhere.

[dmitriene]

skincare with blue collar simon riley, you know that if you hadn't noticed, he wouldn't have said a word, just as he wouldn't have seen it himself, but you're lucky enough to notice the clogged, almost darkened pores on his face and gradually forming pimples, as well as blemishes from the old ones because of all the dirt that gets on his face.

all his skincare is water, not even a bar of soap, and not only was his skin quite sensitive before, his work did not leave him a chance for self care at all, unlike you, with a good set of jars to moisturize and keep the skin in order, in case something goes wrong, and you needed them, your hands fully armed, as soon as simon got home.

you dragged him into the bathroom almost from the doorstep, forcing him to throw off his work uniform and climb into the already prepared, warm bath with fragrant foam, which you prepared a couple of minutes before his arrival, since simon has a habit of texting you once he gets on his way back home, and he will not refuse a few minutes of rest in the bath, especially when his darling drags him there.

of course, it takes more time, wiping off the excess dirt from his rough skin, which has crept under both his clothes and nails, relaxing simon by rubbing the washcloth against him in a circular motion, over his tense, broad shoulders, down his wide, meaty biceps, to the scarred chest, padded with a good layer of fat, his pale eyelashes quivering, tired eyes closed, letting you do your thing, especially when you get to work on his hair.

unkempt, locks outgrown and sticking from side to side haphazardly, a little coarse under your fingers as you rake your nails up and down his nape, wetting the top of his head before squeezing a couple of drops of shampoo into the palm of your hand, starting to wash his hair, pressing your fingers into his scalp, causing simon to make sounds almost similar to the loud purrs of a loving cat, tilting his neck back.

taking care of his face passes without any complaints, he obediently puts his face on your palms, practically burying his nose in them, enjoying a couple of warm kisses with an almost sleepy smile, all while you apply facial foam to his skin, stroking and then washing away with wet palms, cleansing his face before gently sticking black pore strips on his nose, warning that the removal process can be unpleasant.

simon doesn't care as long as you do it, pampering him after a hard day of work, continuing to massage his neck and then shoulders while waiting couple of minutes before you'll need to remove the strips away, maybe then you will join him, and he will definitely take care of you too, for example, cook dinner while you rest, tucked in the warm bed.

after being spread on his fat, girthy cock, clutched tight inside your pulsing walls, your moans breathy and silenced by the needy, insatiable kisses, each one biting and messy against your lips, as you hiccup, the thick tip of his head rutting in the same spot over and over, making you gush and claw at simon's wrists weakly, his hands busy palming at your breasts with pleased hums.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[itsoutrageouss]

pt. 1

more on the dynamic after Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley saw you cry for the first time…

Things were in fact different from now on. Not in an obvious way but you both noticed it. You had been embarrassed the next day, scared he saw you as weak for crying in his arms like that.

And now his eyes softened a little more every time he looked at you. He remembered how precious and frail you had felt in his hold. He longed for it in a way that made him practice his punching until late in the night, grunting and groaning as the dummy got the best of his strength. His knuckles were bruised, a manifestation of the foreign feelings he tried to let out in the only way he knew- violence.

You were up, snuggly sitting with a mug of tea when Simon comes in, doors swinging open. It was late. Late enough for the owls to hoot and the moon to be at its highest.

He was panting, sweat glistening on the strained muscles of his arms. He stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted you in the corner of the recreational area. You blinked at him, studying his demeanour with intrigue.

It made him shy. He got fucking shy from the way you stared so shamelessly and intensely. He hadn’t noticed it before. The way your eyes lingered on his arms. Maybe it was new thing, or maybe he hadn’t taken the time you really look before now.

“You’re up late.” You whispered, voice small in the silence. His chest heaved as he stretched his fingers, rolled his neck.

“So are you.” He countered. There was a question in both of your statements but none of you decided to answer. Maybe you were awake for the same reasons, he thought. The mere thought was enough for his legs to move towards you, the couch dipping and creaking as it took his weight. You lodt your balance where you sat with your knees tucked to your chest as the seat tilted under you, making you thud into his side, shoulder to shoulder. He snickered under his breath, grabbing you like you were a porcelain doll to help you sit upright. Your mouth dried.

“Do you think I’m weak?” You asked him then, the words bubbling your throat before you could stop them. They had simmered for a whole week now, just under your skin. He frowned, brows set deep on his face as he looked you over.

“Quite the opposite” came his gruff reply like it was obvious. It took him a second to realise what you were referring to. Seeing you cry had made him think so much more of you than before. He saw the insecurity flash in your eyes before you looked away and he tucked a finger under your chin, slowly pulling your gaze back to his.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about it, in fact” he said, confessed it like secret into the night. He tried to keep his voice steady. At least steadier than his heart. Was he sick? Was it weird for him to be so obsessed with that one moment of you… crying?

You exhaled sharply, like his words had squeezed your lungs. Gaze narrowed, head tilted, you tried to figure him out. There was nothing but honesty and a little wariness in his eyes. Had he said too much?

“Me neither.” You replied slowly. It was enough. Enough to know. A cold blow of relief washed over him, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He only now realised he still had a finger under your chin, thumb stroking along your jaw absentmindedly. He withdrew his hand, regretfully.

If he was sick, then so were you.

“You’re hurt” you whispered, staring down at his knuckles. They were bleeding. Your eyes snapped to his, slightly wider than before as his jaw ticked, gaze otherwise unreadable. Was it because of you? The thought made your stomach twist in.. several ways.

“It’s fine.” He insisted, brushing it off and hiding his hands in his pockets. But you were already up, disappearing somewhere. He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch and closing his eyes. This wasn’t calming down his breathing one bit.

Warm fingers gently pulled on his wrist, and you felt how heavy his hand was as you pulled it into you lap, sitting cross legged next to him. He had to focus hard to remain indifferent when his hand rested high on you’re plush thigh. His fingers flexed slightly around it, gripping it with a bit more purpose than necessary. It made you struggle to open the sanitising wipes.

He hissed as you cleaned the wounds, but the care you put into it had his heart stuttering. You looked down at his knuckles, immersed in being meticulous as you wiped the valleys of his knuckles clean. He wasn’t looking down, though. He was looking at you.

“Take this as a thank you” you said just to break the silence before you slowly lifted one hand, almost like you were holding. Fuck it made it easy for him to imagine that you actually were.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’d do it again.” I want to do it again, he should’ve said. He wanted to hold you, and be the one you curled into when you needed it. Needed him.

Carefully you wrapped his knuckles. Your hand lingered around his afterwards. It looked like you were considering something. Slowly you led his hand higher until you lowered your chin and left a barely there kiss on the white bandage. He swore he died. Such a simple gesture and he felt like a madman.

You wrapped the other one. Did the same. He felt paralysed. It seemed you had understood him quite well.

“You can.” You said then, after placing both his hands down onto his own lap, now bandaged and cleaned.

“Can what?” He asked, voice hoarse and weaker than he would’ve liked as he curled his fingers. He swore it was tingling where your lips had touched.

“Hold me. Skin to skin contact can be calming. Mutually beneficial…” you said to try and reason the action, which there was no point in because the minute you had started your sentence he had wrapped his arm around you and tucked you closely into his side, using his other hand to swing your legs over his lap. Your mumbling became nothing as you nuzzled into him. He was scorching hot and you nuzzled into it, shivering.

He had never felt this good in his life. You seemed to fit perfectly into his side, your legs anchoring him down and your head resting over his rapidly beating heart- which was vulnerable as hell to him. But he allowed it when he heard you hum in satisfaction and saw your lashes flutter, eyes closing.

Just mutually beneficial cuddling, right?

pt. 3

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

Simon Riley x Reader

Title: One or two?

Synopsis: Simon wants to know how many kids you want.

Warnings: yes... This is pregnancy themed. Again. I love pregnancy fics.

AN: I think... I think I have baby fever. Also happy 1000 notes!!! :) <3333

Maybe it's how soft and supple your skin is, maybe it's that smooth voice you mumble to him at night, or maybe it's how you wear nice fabrics, the kind that brush against his skin and he can feel his muscles relax--but Simon is hooked on you.

It all started when you saw him at a coffee shop and his jaw practically dropped at how soft you seemed. You were so polite, spoke so quiet to the barista, that he had to make sure he got your number!

So when Simon saw a man that clearly didn't deserve you hitting on you after you politely declined him, of course he came up, hot black coffee in hand, and asked if there was a problem.

And when you first fell asleep beside him? He laid his head on your chest like a small child and just closed his eyes and he felt so... Held in that moment, even though your arms weren't around him that the next day when he drove you back to your place he stopped by the jeweller and got you a perfect ring.

Now you're on the couch, feet propped up, pretty little rock on your finger and he's laying on your lap, head beside your tummy, kneading at your thigh when he finally speaks.

"'Ow many kids?" Simon asks in his gruff voice, "One or two?"

You pause, looking down with a cocked eyebrow. Your hand reaches to start running through Simon's hair and he groans, relaxing entirely, "What do you mean, Si?" You ask in the soft voice that makes his knees buckle.

Simon picks his head up to look at you, "One or two kids?" He repeats, "'Ow many do ya want? 'Onestly, if it's more than two, we'll need a bigger 'ome."

Your eyes widen and your cheeks flush, and it makes Simon grin that devilish grin. He kisses your stomach, then your thighs. You let out that cute little giggle, your thighs squishing together because it tickles.

"C'mon, dovie. Ya gonna be my missus. Ya gotta know how many kids ya want," Simon says, rubbing up and down your thigh. He starts to get up, pulling you close, curled up beside him.

You breathe out a giggle, nestling up to Simon's side, "'M not sure.. maybe two?" You offer up, before Simon throws you down onto the couch playfully and gets on top of you.

He starts to plant kisses all up your stomach, then skipping your chest to kiss up your collarbone and shoulders. He kisses up your neck to your jaw, and you're giggling the entire time, squirming.

Then, he props himself up overtop of you to look into your eyes, "One or two?" He asks again, and all you do is giggle.

[heavenbarnes]

there was something to be said about the fact older bf!simon made such a good house husband.

“i forgot my lunch :( ”

“forgot to make it or bring it?”

“both?”

“on my way”

because the next thing was your coworkers slowly raising their heads to the sound outside your office, a throaty rumbling of an engine right outside the doors.

not a car, motorcycle maybe? question affirmed when it revved twice.

they shot you confused looks when the sound made your ears prick up, a sweet smile on your face as you trotted out the front of the building.

behemoth of a man sat astride a motorcycle. his leathers added bulk but there was something about him that said he was big enough without them.

he watched you walk over as he raised the visor on his helmet, the black one with a ghostly image of a skull painted across it.

your coworkers pressed to the windows, trying their best to hide behind the curtains and potted plants but failing all the same.

the man pointed to his face as you got on tip toes to press a kiss to his nose through the balaclava he had under the helmet.

“don’t make it a late one, alright?”

“yessir”

as you gave him a haphazard salute, he reached behind to give you a pat on the backside before he stood to retrieve the brown paper bag he’d been carrying.

lunch in hand, you lean in to press a kiss to the visor he’d just lowered- right on top of the lipstick print that sat in the corner of it.

the print that looked a lot like your lips.

the helmet never leaves the back of you as you walk towards the office, your coworkers scrambling to not get caught staring.

you didn’t mind, just smiled as you reached into your lunch bag and retrieved a sandwich. the one that was cut perfectly into the shape of a heart.

[ink-n-shadow]

i have this headcanon where although they’re one body, ghost and simon are completely different when they fuck you.

ONE BODY, TWO SIDES

𝜗𝜚 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: smut (minors—DNI), soft dom!simon, hard!dom ghost, switch!simon (kinda oops)

simon would take his time, lavishing his tongue across every bit of exposed skin on your body while he hummed soft praises.

“look at you, sweetheart. all this f’me? fuckin’ hell, m’honored. shhh, shhh, m’not hurrying up. let me take my time with this body, yeah? sit pretty f’me and enjoy it.”

ghost, however, would be anything but patient. he wouldn’t even bother undressing you or himself completely, leaving the mask covering his mouth and scoffing at your annoyed words.

“aye—m’not kissin’ you. mask stays on, yeah? now shut the fuck up and let me take what i need. no, m’not taking ‘em all the way off. i don’t need them all the way off to fuck my cock into you—down on your thighs is good enough.”

simon would be such switch, but especially right before he cums. he definitely whimpers (i will take no questions on this).

“f-fuck—m’close, m’so. fucking. close. no, no, no—don’t make me…don’t make me hold it. baby, please. i can’t—oh fuck, I can’t hold it…”

ghost, on the other hand, is typically the exact opposite. he’s a hard dom/top who growls and snarls in your ear (slightly muffled beneath the mask).

“stop squirmin’. take what i’m fuckin’ giving you. fuck—yeah, that’s it. don’t sound so tough now, d’ya? where’s all that sass from earlier? just needed me to roughen you up a bit and put you back in your place, hmm?”

simon would call you every sweet pet name in the book: sweetheart/sweetpea, darling, pretty thing, baby/babe, angel, dove.

ghost would call you every filthy name he could think of on the spot: pet, slut, whore, a bitch in heat, brainless thing.

it's crazy what a difference a mask and some tactical gear could do to a man.

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do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission