prendakat-blog

[guppybibi]

Girl Dad!Simon who had to get his newborn baby girl taken away from him because he was practically drowning them in his tears. (He denies that it ever happened now)

Girl Dad!Simon who went dead asleep after the delivery, it was unintentional of course, he wanted to help you as much as he could but his body just dropped on it's own. The worst part was is that he basically missed all of the baby's 'firsts' although he managed to wake up just in time for the first nappy change.

Girl Dad!Simon who spends a little bit too much of his free time staring at his daughter. It only worsened when you guys finally got dismissed from the hospital, you tend to find Simon crouching by the crib and watching the baby's every move pretty often. It's like bird watching, he says when you ask him.

Girl Dad!Simon who sobbed more than his daughter during her first day of school, was going to say the most melancholic goodbye but she just excitedly runs off to school and leaves her dad hanging.

Girl Dad!Simon who refuses to miss any important event in your life, no matter how small it is. Will literally call during a mission so he could see his daughter's piano recital.

"Simon? Why do I hear gunshots??"

"Don't mind 'em luv."

"How do you even have your phone right now??"

"Sneaked it."

[prettyoatmeal]

Soft Sex with Simon <3

Warning!! nsfw, mdni, fem reader, dirty talk, one Y/N mention, NOT PROOF READ! A/N: Brain rot horny posting WOOF WOOF WOOF BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK Masterlist here!

***************

Thinking about soft sex with Simon!!!! <333 Where you're both desperate for each other. Where you need each other. 

Despite the stoicism he shows 99% of the time to those around him, he has a heart that swells with love whenever you're with him. That fills him with a yearning for your and only you.

For once, his lips are gentle against yours. Call it placebo, but they always feel especially soft when he's wrapped around your finger like this.

His movements become slow as if you have all the time in the world, an eternity to make each other feel good. He's slow to lay you down onto the bed, slow to spread your legs and place himself between them, slow to undress you both before his lips move downwards to meet with your clit.

But he's quick to make sure there’s a pillow under your head, he's quick to place one under your hips, he's quick to surround your sides with blankets if you feel too cold, and quick to start fingering you when he hears you getting restless.

It gets to a point where Simon's so infatuated with you, he immediately loses himself the moment he feels your warm, wet, gummy walls squeezing and sucking him in.

"Oh fuck,," He breathes, pelvis colliding with yours.

You're nose-to-nose, chest-to-chest, trapping you under him with strong arms on either side of you, and there's absolutely no space between you once he pulls your legs up to wrap around his hips. There couldn't be, no. He needs you as close to him as possible.

Your breaths mingle as he's working your insides, your nose scrunching and eyebrows furrowing with each deep thrust.

In... out. In... out.

You can feel each throb and pulse, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix each time he buries himself inside you. And Simon's eating up your every reaction. Every sigh, every gasp, every sweet moan of his name is boosting his ego. Because he's the one making you feel like this. He’s the one taking care of you.

"Shit- oh God, y'feel so fuckin' good. So tight. So damn tight," He always gets talkative like this, it’s as if he just can’t keep his mouth shut. "You make me feel so good, sweetheart. My girl.. my sweet girl."

It's so intimate, so romantic, it makes you so wet there's no need for any lube throughout. It makes fireworks go off in your stomach.

"Simon-" you hiccup as you look up at him through bleary eyes.

"Yeah, angel? What do you need?"

“More.. please, I need more.”

And he’s right at your service. His baby needs more? Of course they do. So he’s quick to shush you and your pleading. His hands quickly move down and grab your hips. He positions them higher, the new angle making him thrust right up against that bundle of nerves that he knows you love so much. A little faster than before, he’s soon in a stable rhythm and has your eyes rolling back, gasping for air and making all those perfect sounds.

“Yeah, does that feel good? You like when I’m deep in you like this, fucking you just how you need?” He asks, his voice starting to shake slightly. But you can’t respond. Not when your own vocal chords won’t let you, preoccupied by your cute whines and mewls, doing your best to not be too loud for courtesy of the neighbours. All noises resembling speech are nothing but mindless babbles.

“Shhh, I know. I know, baby,” His voice is so quiet, so sweet it makes you almost sick to your stomach, “just sit there and take it like the good girl you are. That’s all you have to do.”

It feels good. It feels so fucking good. 

The way he makes your pussy flutter, makes your stomach flip from hearing his humiliatingly high pitched moans, makes your clit ache with need, begging for some friction right about now because all you can think about is cumming around his thick cock. You need to cum so bad, and Simon’s able to pick up on it. He notices the way you squeeze around him relentlessly, the way you go a little quiet as you try to focus on your orgasm. In his arms, you’re nothing but a whining mess, falling apart from how good he was making you feel.

“Open your eyes f’me, love. Let me see how pretty you look,” You take a moment to process his words before your glossy eyes barely flutter open again, “that’s a good girl. Keep those beautiful eyes on me.”

You feel his hand gripping your hip snake between your legs and down to your wet heat. It was only then when you took notice of the lewd, sloppy sounds coming from the both of you, your combined wetness and sweat creating a loud slap every time his hips met with yours. 

The pad of his thumb gathers some of that slick before pressing against your swollen nub, in turn making you jolt under him. He methodically works your clit in rhythm with his thrusts and with how worked up you already are, you feel your nether regions burning. You glance down at his hand, working you so effortlessly. The way his cock disappears inside you, taking him so well. Suddenly you feel so close. So so so so so close. You’re right over that edge, you just need a little more.

“Y’gonna cum for me? Make a mess all over my cock?”

You nod, the tears welling in your eyes ready to fall. God, yes. And as you nodded, a grin formed across Simon’s face. His smile was so pretty it made a wave of shyness wash over you.

“F-Fuck, can feel how close you are. Squeezing me like a fucking vice,” He leaned down to pepper small kisses along your soft jawline as his fingers on your quickened.

“Simon, I-I’m g’nna cum,” You manage to choke out, feeling his hips stutter as your walls pulse around him.

“Let go, sweet thing. Make a mess for me, I’ve got you.”

You feel your hips buck helplessly under him, a cry of pleasure getting ripped straight from your throat as you cum on his cock, your cunt pulsing and gushing around him. Hot tears roll down your flushed cheeks as you bury your face into his neck, his freckled skin catching them. Your hearing goes a little fuzzy, but you can make out his long groans as he keeps pounding into you. You writhe in overstimulation below him before his hips stutter again, burying himself inside you with a harsh thrust as his potent seed shot inside you. 

You sniffle into his neck in the aftermath. You hear him mutter a few soothing words as his lips make contact with your skin again, but his words fall on deaf ears as you try and catch your breath.

“Come on, (Y/N). Let me know you’re with me.” He whispers to you, and you nod in response.

“Thank you, lovie. Good girl, shh. You’re alright. Did so well for me.” Those were the last words you could hear before falling asleep in his arms.

[dmitriene]

cw: visions of predator prey, innocence kink?

halloween with simon riley where you dress like an adorable red riding hood, it was a quick enough choice of costume, especially since simon doesn't really like to dress up, his work in the army is enough for him, so when you offered him to transform into a werewolf, which only requires a simple outfit, as well as already buyed ears and a tail, he didn't refuse.

he ain't a man that needs to play the role of a predator, he is one himself, the acting of a big, bad wolf coming to him naturally, greedy, opaque darkness of his eyes hides behind the mask and the sweep of his framing eyelashes, glancing at the flutter the little hem of your dress does, gentle, autumn breeze outside seems to be playing with your outfit under simon's gaze.

simon acts patiently in front of the public, clawed hands tugging at the fabric of his trousers all the time he's behind you, watching you just enjoy an easy walk, handing out sweets from a couple of bags that you just recently bought to the kids running by, smiling at them wide and sweet, giggling when they look warily behind your back, whispering about a scary man that stands there.

you lean a little lower to whisper in their ears that he's not a danger to them, because you were able to tame this wolf, and you're right, because all simon is focusing on right now is the way your breasts are squished together, visible from behind the round neckline decorated with ruffles, giving you an even more innocent look, and this time, his cock does throbs in the confiness of the pants, straining against his muscular, bulging thigh.

simon shows you exactly what a good wolf he is, pressing his sharp, drooling maw in the crook of your neck, huffing in your scent, a real dog, pounding in your pussy with deep, deliberate pumps of hips, filling you full, tummy bloating as you squeak hoarsely, pinned down splaying over the sheets, your ass bruised from his sloppy movements, fueled by lustfull ache that makes his fangs close around your pulse point, skin sensitive and thrumming wild, your gooey walls clutching his engorged cock tight.

you open your mouth obediently for him when he sticks a tongue in, licking over your teeth's, enjoying every little mewl and keen that pours out from your slack lips, his vulnerable, innocent girl, soppy hole stuffed full of him, milking the pulsing girth that jams against your spongy spot precisely, trembling legs giving out beneath you, leaving you jolting on the bed and accepting everything simon gives you.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[oceantornadoo]

mating(werewolf?) au with simon riley where he refuses to tether you to him for eternity, worried about your safety in attachment to him. where you refuse to be bonded to a man who thinks so lowly of himself and doesn’t include you in such a life-altering decision.

so instead, after that first meeting, it’s months of you dancing around each other. crawling into his lap when you have a bad day, his scent like a balm, but refusing to stay the night when he makes a self-derogatory comment. he tugs you into closets, nuzzling at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, but rips himself away before his scent can linger too long. you try to go on dates with other men and end up getting thrown into the passenger seat of his pickup, both of you seething as you refuse to make eye contact. there’s a new recruit staring at him starry-eyed, so you make a point to give him a good old-fashioned hickey, something totally unprofessional and completely out of pocket. it goes on and on for months until-

😀

[lumibuns-blog]

Ghosty halloween fic <3

Going costume shopping with the densest man alive. This isn't part of my ghost x soaps roomie series, just a little something I did for spooks! This is also partially a spirit Halloween appreciation post bc it's goated.

In his defense, he didn’t really have any time to react; before he knew it, you were smacking at his forearm. No words were spoken as your mouth was currently preoccupied with the sugary sweet boba drink you had insisted on despite the weather in Manchester being near frigid, but he could tell that something had caught your attention from your excited squeals. He barely had time to turn his head in your direction before you had his hand in yours and were pulling him along behind you.

“The ‘ells gotten into ya?” He asked gruffly, though making no attempt to stop you

You chewed the boba as quickly as you could; swallowing harshly in your haste and forcing some of the milk drink down the wrong pipe, causing you to break into a coughing fit

“Hey, woah, slow down there, sweet’art yur’ gunna ‘urt yur’self” He swiftly removed his hand from yours and plucked the drink out of your hand; the large size looked tiny in his fists, The other hand moved to gently pat your back as you regained composure

“Mind tellin’ me what all a’ this shite’s about-”

You suddenly snapped up from the hunched over position you took while coughing and pointed out in front of you, “Look!” You practically had stars in your eyes with how excited you were, grabbing onto his sleeve in desperation.

“Wot…?” Simon turned in the direction you were pointing and only saw a line of storefronts—nothing special really.

“No look!” You dragged him closer to one of the storefronts specifically and pointed aggressively at the window; he just stared completely dumbfounded at what you were trying to show him.

“Do you even know what this is?” You asked exasperatedly 

“Clearly not,” He answered plainly 

“It’s a Spirit Halloween!” You look at him like you expected him to suddenly know what you were trying to say.

“The fuck’s a ‘Spirit Halloween’?” He looked down at you with his arms crossed over his chest and his brows knitted together

“You don’t know!?” you looked at him like he had gone mad

“Jus’ said I don’t.” he murmured from behind the mask

“Oh my god Si’ are you being for real right now?! This is like... the best store ever and-”

“No thats a tesco lovie” He said so plainly that if you hadn’t known him as well as you did, you wouldn’t have known he was joking. You just glared and scowled at him and how his eyes crinckled with a smirk hidden under his mask.

“Anddddd, I thought they were only in the states! I had no clue they were over here too!” You were practically jumping up and down with excitement, all the while keeping your death grip on his jacket sleeve.

"Cool.” he turned to continue on the route you had been taking back to your flat.

“Nuh uh!” you pulled him back

“Yuh huh” he looked back at you, unimpressed with your theatrics 

“Please Simon!” You begged, and he should have known better than to keep eye contact with you when you hit him with those puppy eyes, but he wasn’t fast enough. How could he say no to that pouty little lip?

“Fine. But we’re jus’ lookin’ right love?” he allowed you to pull him inside the automatic doors

“Mhm!” you replied, already halfway in the door, and he could practically feel his wallet getting lighter as he crossed the threshold, but nothing was too expensive for his sweet girl.

He took one step into the dimly lit store, with hastily put together display racks, a variety of what seemed to be costumes, and...were those handcuffs?

“‘s this a fuckin’ pleasure shop?” he deadpanned and looked down at you

“What?! No! Its a costume store, like for Halloween!”

“Looks like someplace you’d find a fleshlight ‘er somethin’.”

“Ew! no stop," you smacked his forearm again “You’ve serviously never been to something like this?”

“Never really celebrated as a kid, the old man was never really into that shite.”

“Oh…” you suddenly felt bad for all your previous teasing, remembering Simon’s less than ideal childhood and how he had grown up. He never had the opportunity to go costume shopping with family and friends. So what better time to change that than now?

“Well then, I’ll just have to show you around!” You beamed, dragging him to the closest aisle.

That happened to be the part of the display with all the fake knives and things for peoples costumes

“Wot they sellin’ these for?” He asked, picking one up and making it seem miniscule in his grasp as he expertly flipped it around in his hand.

“Oh uh…” You tried not to stare at the little show he was putting on that was definitely on purpose, “ya know for like dressing up as murders and stuff.”

“Who would wanna dress up like Ted Bundy? thats fuckin’ borin'." he put the knife back and picked up a different one, inspecting it and flipping it all the same.

“No fake killers, ya know like Freddy Kruger?” you tried to grab the knife from him but he pulled it away from your grasp and you huffed in annoyance 

“You tryna’ disarm me now,” he cocked one eyebrow

“No I’m trying to teach you about Halloween, you dork.” You were able to successfully pull the knife into your hands as he let you and as he turned his back to look at the machete that cought his eye. You attempted to playfully poke at his back with the fake knife. When you tried to make the first stab, however, his left hand flew out to grab the plastic blade of the knife, and his death grip kept it from moving any closer. You sighed in defeat as he hadn’t even turned around and was still looking at the packaging of another item in his other hand.

“Nice try,” he smirked

“Uhg, you’re no fun,” you teased “It’s not my fault your like a Marine or whatever the British equivalent of that is.”

He turned back to you, a loving and soft look in his eyes. “I’m an SAS soldier sweet’art”

"Yeah, yeah, close enough... OH!OH! look at those!” You pointed at some fake guns at one the wall, and you immediately ran over to them, and he followed like a dog, hopelessly in love with everything you did.

By the time he reached you, you had picked up a fake pistol and were comically squinting one eye as you pinted it towords one of the displays. “How’s my form?” you asked eagerly 

Utter shit “Not bad,” he shrugged, looking over the weapons himself.

You began to make fake ‘pew pew’ sounds, and you moved from one decoration to another. He just smiled to himself, finding comfort in the fact that you weren’t familiar with combat; you didn’t know what real gunfire sounded like on the battle field or what it was like to see death close up. You were so innocent and soft, the opposite of him. If he could, he was going to do everything possible to keep it that way. So he saw no harm in having a little fun.

“How accurate are they?” You suddenly appeared next to him, and the larger, yet still very fake, rifles he had chosen looked at.

“They look like toys,” he laughed, picking it up and holding it up as he would a real weapon, squinting his eye just slightly and pressing it into the crevas of his shoulder. Making short and tight sweeping motions while looking hardened down the barrel. “‘S a little light,” he commented before lowering it to look at you.

You stood there completely motionless, your hands balled at your sides, your mouth slightly agape, and a red tint dusting over your cheeks. He had looked so fine when he got all serious like that; it was almost impossible for you to retain any composure while his eyes had the icy stare to them.

“S’mthin wrong?” he asked, a hint of understanding in his voice

“No no, nothing. Let's go look at something else!” You panicked and quickly pushed him towards the next section. That just so happened to be full of masks.

“Think it’s time for a switch-up babe,” you grinned “That skull mask is getting boring.”

“An’ whot would’ya ‘ave in mind?” He questioned, poking gently at your side.

“This!” you removed one of those fake rubber horse masks from the rack it was hanging on

“Absolutely not” He galred at the thing like it was trying to kill him

"Pleeeeeeease,” you begged him, standing up on your tippy-toes to try and wrestle the mask on his head

He caught both your wrists easily “Not happenin’ love.”

“Quit being a baby and wear the horse!”

“‘M not bein’ a fuckin’ baby.”

“Yes you are!” You pleaded, “I’ll give you a back massage when we get back!”

He stopped struggling for just a moment, clearly thinking it over. “you were gunna’ do that anyways” he grumbled

“Ugh, just-just-” you struggled

“Bloody hell,” he pinched his brow and dragged a hand over his face. “fuckin’ fine, give it 'ere,” he stretched out a hand. You giggled and quickly gave it to him, but he paused halfway through lifting it up.

 “No pictures?”

“No pictures.”

He finally pulled the stupid mask on, and it was everything you hoped for and more. The stoic Simon “Ghost” Riley now had a realistic horsehead on top of his muscular frame; his forearms flexed as he crossed them over his chest.

“Happy?”

“Very much,” you beamed before sneaking a quick photo, which he immediately noticed

“Oye!” He took the mask and grabbed at your waist as you tried to scamper away. “Gunna be the death ‘o me ya know that?” he sighed before relinquishing his hold “Just don’t send it to Johnny; fuckin wanker won’t lemme’ hear the end of it,” he finished with a grumble.

“Already did”

“You-” 

“Look over there!” You scurried off to go to another aisle, and he just huffed after you. It took you a couple moments of browsing to realize that your boyfriend wasn’t shadowing right behind you like he always was. You peeked your head around a couple of the aisles,

“Si?” you called out, slightly worried

"Sorry love, jus’ over ‘ere” he responded immediately 

You made your way over to where he was standing, looking pensively at the very back wall. Your face began to heat up when you realized what he was looking at. You two were now standing in front of the section with all the “slutty” Halloween costumes. Tiny nurse outfits, a body suit with more holes than fabric that was supposed to be a bat, a short and tight cop jumpsuit, complete with handcuffs and everything, the whole nine yards.

“Thought you said this wasn’t one a them freaky stores?” he smirked

“Its not, these are just halloween costumes,” you explained

“Can’t be,” he commented, pointing to one of the costumes. “That poor slag’s practically got ‘er knockers out.”

“Well yeah, cause halloween is like the one night a year girls can dress like total sluts and get away with it,” You informed him

“‘S that right?” he asked, acting as if this was some new kind of information “You gunna’ dress ‘like a slut’?” he purposely put the last part in air quotes 

“Maybe,” you blushed. “I haven’t decided.”

You began to rifle through the racks as he huffed out through his nose. You pulled out a playboy bunny costume, complete with large ears, fishnet tights, and little cuffs.

“What about this?” you teased, holding it up to him

You watched as he stiffened and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The longer he looked at it, the more feeble his attempts at adjusting himself in his pants became.

"Sure,” he cleared his throat, “but that things not seein’ the outside ‘a the flat after this." He loved and trusted you deeply, but the idea of letting you walk around downtown in that? Not knowing what kinda freaks there were out there, especially if he wasn’t there with you? Yeah, not happening.

To his surprise, you just chimed, “That’s fine, was going to wear something like this out anyway.” you held up a black onsie covered in a skeleton design with a skull on the hood that ended in small shorts 

‘Cute’ was all he could think

“Wait then wots ‘hat one for?” He pointed back at the playboy bunny costume you held in your other hand.

“Oh, ya know...like,” you mummbled nervously, “like you said...for at home." You felt your face begin to heat up

“Oh.” That was really all the confirmation he needed to begin dragging you to the checkout, wanting to get home as quickly as possible.

“Wait, hold on, we didn’t get anything for you!” you exclaimed

“What the ‘ell would I get?” he asked

“A ghost face mask,” you grinned mischeviously 

“A wot?”

“Ghost face mask,” you pointed to the display of white masks and accompanying black robes

“M’ already ghost face,” he stated plainly, looking down his nose at you

"No, like the character!” you tried to explain, exasperatedly

“Ya’ got the real thing,” he smirked, maneuvering you back towards the checkout, “even better.”

“It’s different!” You whine, not fighting the large hands guiding your shoulders, “We really need to get you to watch more horror movies.”

"Fine,” he grumbled, “but after.”

“After what?”

He looked down to see you feigning ignorance, squinting your eyes as you looked at him with that teasing smirk. 

‘You’re lucky I love you.’

Tags: @sleep101@urbimom@noisydelusionlove@plk-18 @pinkyfqiry @wwe1rdc0re@vmaxis@jenlvr01@lovelovelovelovelove987654321@ifsunmibts@callmeluno@nina-from-317@strawberrygateau@leryg0@weemansoap@dreamtofus@imjustheretofightforlove @electricmentalitypersona @castellomargot @foxintheferns @weallhaveadestiny @identity2212 @trashitytrashtrash @glitteryarcadefart@thepowers-kat-be @xi1dius @idkhowbutifoundyou @lostintransist @imhungry675 @ravenpoe67 @night-girl-301 @gsvgs

[tacticallovers]

Thoughts: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader

Summary: You and Simon both have a lot of thoughts, some of which Simon would really like to know especially after the intimate moments you two share.

Warnings: Suggestive, mentions of sex, swearing

Word Count: 603

If there was one thing Simon enjoyed, it was seeing you during the aftermath of an intense sex session. 

He watches as your body, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, rests beside his against the sheets. Breasts rise and fall with each labored breath falling from your lips. His dark brown orbs drink in the hickies and bruises littering your bare body… Those all by his hand (and mouth) alone. 

It fills him with a sense of pride, seeing you like this. Bruises from his fingertips mark your hips, and the indents of teeth are prominent on your neck and shoulders. 

Simon reaches out a hand to drag his calloused fingers along your skin, tracing the marks along your hips he left behind - eyes flickering towards your face while he silently wonders if you minded or even worse, if he had hurt you. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask, breaking the silence between you two. It being an often occurrence after you two were intimate.

He grunts in response which causes you to reach a hand up to lovingly run it through his short, blond locks. Simon leans into your touch, eyelids fluttering closed. It was moments like these that he enjoyed the most. Moments where the world and inside his head were quiet, the only thing being the two of you wrapped in each other’s embraces. 

Despite Simon being a man of few words, his thoughts were often overpowering. Quite contrasting to his stoic, silent demeanor. He preferred to let his actions do the talking. And did they talk… Especially as he presses forward and captures your lips in a passionate kiss, nose nudging against nose when he tilts his head to deepen it. It leaves you breathless, much like the feeling of when his thick cock entered you at the beginning of you two’s night. And the way he thrusted into you with your legs slung over his shoulders had your head spinning at the mere memory alone even though it wasn’t all that long ago.

You giggle into the kiss before pulling away to catch your breath, chest beginning to dully ache with a contentness that always came when you kissed him. 

“What’s so funny?”

You shrug in response and instead wrap your arms around his neck to tug him closer, his cock resting against the inside of your thighs that are slick with the concoction of you two’s cum. His chest rumbles against your breasts in thought, and his head tilts curiously to the side down at you - his arms wrapped around your waist.

“It’s nothing,” you hum. Simon doesn’t accept that as an answer though, and his strong arms tug you impossibly closer to his firm body in an almost bone-crushing hug. 

“Must be somethin’,” he rumbles out, and you know he can see right through you. He was good at that. Hell, he had to be with the career he was in. 

“What’s got you laughin’?”

Your cheeks flush with warmth as you shift in his grip, attempting to pull away as you squeak out.

“I’ve got to use the bathroom.”

“Too bad.”

Simon’s arms wrap tighter around your bare form as he traps you against his own bare body, and that makes you begin to giggle even harder despite how embarrassment creeps into your mind along with those dirty little thoughts about your boyfriend that’s right in front of you.

“Simon!” you squeal and try to pull away, but he’s relentless just as he always is - not letting you budge even an inch.

“C’mon, love... I’ve got all night to figure out what you’re thinkin’.”

[0kurakura0]

Imagining just a normal night of both you and ghost coming back home after a long day.

You’re just sitting on the couch in y’all home watching the telly tired after a long day of work. (Wearing Simon’s hoodie 😜) and just quietly sitting there as you hear the door open and the shuffling of Simon taking his shoes and jacket off and putting his stuff down. As you are sitting on the coach you feel him wrap his arms around you from the back as he kisses your head and proceeds to sit next to you. You lean into him hugging him as he lays comfortably at your side and you begin to stroke through his hair. The 2 of you continue watching what ever is on without saying a word. Just staying comfortable next to each other. 💕

[simonsrileyhusband]

Hey I know a lot of things are happening in the world rn, so feel free to ignore this❤️

I was thinking about Reader who is also in the military. When Simon and him get to retreat to quarters for the night, both deeply exhausted from a mission, and just want to be close. Keeping constant physical contact.

Can sfw or nsfw, idc. But just the prospect of **closeness** has me reeling with feels

simon groans as he walks to your room, his shoulders heavy, his back aching, his legs tired of the boots, he was tired.

when he opens the door he locks it behind him, kicking off his boots and mask, throwing it on the floor.

"hey love." he mumbles out and walks to your bed where you were sitting, his body pushing your down as he lays on top of you. "long day?" you whisper, running your fingers through hiw short hair, simon only hums.

it was a little routine the both of you had, simon could only sleep if he was melting into your body.

[xyras-maze]

Hunted

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Cw: PiV, public sex, unprotected sex, prey/hunter

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN Y'ALL!

Thanks to my friend Aiya for helping me with this<3, if I missed any content warnings please lmk.

You pulled up into the parking lot of the Halloween attraction organized in your town; you were supposed to meet your friend, Celeste, here. As you got out of the car and noticed your tall, blonde companion coming your way.

"Girl, you look so hot!" She exclaims. "Thanks", You couldn't help but smile at the compliment,

"So do you." She really did look amazing. Her long, straight hair was flawless as always, and she wore a bloody nurse costume with high heels, which doesn't seem like a good idea to wear here, but it's her choice. You headed to the main attraction—the haunted house. It was a large, two-story building. The walls were wooden, an ivy making its way to the dark roof. Most of the windows were blacked out by pieces of dark fabric; however, some of them weren't; instead, they had spiderwebs and other decorations.

The interior was equally dark and made to resemble an old, unoccupied house. You turned right and entered a large, dimly lit living room. The room looked dusty; however, it seemed to not be real as your allergic friend wasn't reacting to it. There was a dresser on the other side of the room, with another door right next to it. In the middle of the place there was a round coffee table with a gramophone on it, next to which was a rocking chair covered by a white tablecloth.

"That looks so cool!" Celeste exclaims. You agree as you step further into the room. You looked around and proceeded to go further. You approached the door as a masked figure jumped out of the closet. Your screams filled the room, which turned into laughs as your friend was being chased by the creature.

You proceed to go into another room, now alone. You enter a bedroom, presumably a child's since the bed was quite small and the room was full of toys. You heard the door open behind you.

"How did you manage to escape with those heels on?" You jokingly asked your friend as you went further into the room and looked around.

"She hasn't," a familiar, gruff voice answered behind you. You turned around to see your boyfriend, Simon, staring at you.

"Simon..? What are you doing here?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were going here? What if something happened to you? You don't know what kind of psychos come here to hurt people," he snapped.

"Simon.. I really wanted to go," you explained.

"You should've told me," he reasoned.

"I'm sorry," you said as Simon looked you up and down. His whole body blocked the door, which just reminded you of how big he was.

"You can make it up to me, you know."

"Wha—what do you mean?" You asked. No way he meant it like that. You're in a public place.

"Exactly what you're thinking," he answered, and you noticed his bulge pressing into his jeans.

"Run, doll. Don't let me catch you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Oh. That shouldn't make you so excited. You couldn't help but run, although knowing he'll catch you anyway. You sprinted out of the room and ran upstairs. You heard heavy footsteps behind you from the moment your silhouette disappeared from his line of sight; after all, he had to give you some time to start running; that's way more fun. You slipped on one of the last stairs but managed not to fall and got back to running. You had no idea where to go, so you turned right. There were 3 doors in front of you, and you quickly, yet quietly, went into the middle one. You entered a small kitchen. No other doors, no place to hide. Not good .You looked around and hid under a table, a tablecloth, which didn't cover your whole figure, but enough to not be visible unless someone lays down and looks for you. The table was tiny, though. You couldn't move without risking hitting your head or moving the cloth. You heard the footsteps getting closer. He opened the door to your right. All you heard was silence apart your breathing, which seemed as loud as a scream. You heard the door close, and then you heard another door opening. The door to the room you were in. His footsteps are now slow and calculated. You tried to calm your breathing down and stayed completely still. He walked around the table and stopped right behind you. "I can smell your perfume," he said.

Fuck. If you knew this was going to happen, you wouldn't have worn it.Maybe he's bluffing, though. So you didn't move and held your breath, afraid but also excited.

You heard complete silence when suddenly you felt a grip on your ankle. You squealed as he carefully dragged you out of your hiding spot.

"Found you," he leaned down and whispered. "Time for my reward."

He lifted you up and put you down at the table. He spread your legs and stood between them as he leaned in to kiss you. The kiss was passionate and demanding, and you were quickly out of breath from holding it earlier. His hands explored your body as he broke the kiss and looked you in the eyes, his gaze dark and full of lust.

"Please Simon," you begged for more. He leaned back in and started kissing and sucking on your neck as his hands traveled to your upper things. He gave them a light squeeze, and you lifted your hips up, allowing him to expose your body. He moved the clothes out of his way and ran his finger through your labia.

"Did that turn you on? Being hunted like that?"

You never told him that this is a fantasy of yours, but it turned you on even more than you thought it would. He inserted one of his fingers inside, but it wasn't enough. You needed him. Now.

"Simon, I need you," you begged.

"Are you ready?" He asked. He wouldn't want to actually hurt you, since he was far from gentle, but you didn't have much time. You nodded, and his hands moved to pull out his member. He was rock hard as he stroked himself a few times and positioned himself. He glided his cock up and down your slit and slowly inserted his tip into you. When he didn't spot any sign of discomfort on your face, he went all the way in, stuffing you full.

As much as he wanted to make this last longer, you had no idea when another group would show up. He groaned at the feeling and started to move in and out, setting a quick pace. He grabbed your hair and kissed you. He was so big, and it felt like heaven on earth. His hands traveled around your body as the pleasure consumed you.

"Don't stop, please, just like that," you moaned as you felt the pleasure build up. One of his hands grabbed your thigh to spread your legs wider as another moved to rub your clitter the way you loved.

"Come for me, baby," he said, and as if per order, you did.

He groaned as you squeezed around him. The hand, which was just rubbing your nub now gone, moved into his mouth so he could taste you.

"Taste so good," he growls as he keeps up the pace.

He picked you up, and you wrapped your legs around his torso as he continued fucking you. The switch in positions made his cock feel ever bigger inside you, hitting all the perfect spots.

"Look at me," he ordered.

The eye contact was intense, as pleasure and lust filled both of your eyes.

"I'm close," he warned, "where do you want it?"

"Inside," you answered confidently, feeling your own orgasm approaching again.

After a few deep thrusts, you tipped over the edge again, and as you clenched, he spilled his release inside you.

A few moments of catching your breath and you're putting your clothes back on.

"Didn't know you were into this kind of thing," he said. "We should do it again soon."

You blushed at the suggestion as you both headed to the exit. Only once you were back in the car did you notice missed calls from your friend, whom you completely forgot. Oops.

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

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TW: attempts of physical abuse (throwing objects), basically reader's mother being a really horrible narcissistic abusive person.

[Please read while listening to this.]

Listen to that. The opening strains of that old Elvis classic began to swell; a hush fell over the assembled guests. All eyes were drawn to the dance floor where Sabrina now stood, radiant in her lovely gown, and Andrew looked at her with such veneration, as if she had hung the very moon in the sky. In the arms of her now-husband for their first dance as a married couple, the newlyweds shone brighter than the stars outside the manor.

Sabrina’s cheeks flushed rosier than any wine—joy, adoration, and yes, a little champagne too—had left her glowing in a way you’d never seen before this man came into her life, and your heart swelled with happiness for her.

When at last the song ended and they shared a lingering kiss, you joined the room in applause. Someone handed them a mic, and the two tried to pass the mic to each other until Sabrina was the first to give a speech. Andrew squeezed her hand, gave her an encouraging smile, and nodded.

Clearing her throat, Sabrina spoke into the mic. “Hi, everyone,” she began, voice ringing out sweet and clear through the speakers. “I just want to say thank you all for being here on this special day. Sharing it with my family and friends who mean so much to me has made it truly magical.” Another applause returned her gratitude before receding again when she was about to continue.

With misty eyes, Sabrina then turned to her step-father. “I want to thank Jim, for raising me as your own since I was little. You’ve always been the best dad a girl could ask for.”

Then, you watched her smile at her mother. “And Mom, where do I even begin? You've been my rock since day one. From keeping me sane while wedding planning to celebrating with me every step, you know I wouldn't be here without you. I wouldn't be the strong, independent woman I am today without you and Jim. I love you both so much.”

When Sabrina's parents—Jim and Joyce—approached her and gave the couple a big hug, another round of applause arose from the guests. But as Joyce placed a final kiss on Sabrina's cheek before stepping back, the world seemed to dim around you.

Suddenly, everything is so foreign—the image in front of you was never presented to you. Aunt Joyce looks genuinely happy for her daughter, and Sabrina hugs her like she cannot imagine life without her mother—which, at some point in your life, you did believe too. Mother’s words, “You won’t survive without me,” ring like angry bees.

Yet now, the thought of sharing a roof with her again feels unbearable.

Joyce and Sabrina look... uncomplicated, despite your mother's statements about how your aunt wasn't prepared for motherhood. And suddenly, everything feels numb, and you're disconnected.

In your reverie, you missed some of the speeches, only blinking back to reality when Sabrina and Andrew’s enthusiastic cheers echoed through the room. The crowd roared as the romantic notes of the new music played, “Until I Found You” inviting guests to join in the dancing.

As you do at the few parties you’ve been invited to in your entire life, you stay away from the dance floor and become a loyal wallflower. However, this time, with a companion—a better people-watcher than you, Simon. The man sweeps his brown irises around, examining people before one makes him chuckle under his mask.

“Look at that old man, still got it in ‘im, eh?” He commented, his tone tinged with amusement.

Your gaze trails Simon's. Among the dancing couples were your other uncle and aunt, their smiles highlighting the lines on their seventy-something faces, clearly having more life in them than many of the younger ones. You chuckled to yourself.

“Actually, that’s Uncle Mick and Aunt Sarah,” you reply, watching the old couple share a laugh amidst the music. “They’ve been married longer than I’ve been alive. Slow dancing is kind of their forte.”

More people-watching, but you fail to notice how often Simon steals glances at you between his own. And by the luminosity of your eyes, he is drawn like an insect in a blazing fire. His slow, "near-dying" heart has yet to realize the change in him. Simon plays on the edges of the rotting wood.

Straightening his gaze, he strikes up a question: “If that old bugger can still cut a rug, why ain’t the famous ballerina ‘avin’ a spin, eh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Simon’s gruff invitation, the sound bubbling up from deep in your chest with a foreign carefree ring that you didn’t recognize. Meeting his eyes, you saw amusement there but also something that told you he was serious. Heart tiptoeing at the edges of your ribs, your fingers busying themselves with their own bustle.

Biting your lip, you gazed up at him through your lashes, feeling a smile curling the corners of your mouth. "I don't know," you shrugged your shoulders. “I might suck at slow dancing.”

Simon scoffed. “Absolute bollocks.”

At his disapproval, your smile widened, teeth peeking out from behind those pretty lips. You gazed up at him, searching for something intently.

Somehow in that moment, the noisy celebration around you seemed to fade into a blur, narrowing your world until it was just Simon standing before you. Your chest warmed, as if caressed by the sun on a lush spring day. Capillaries rushed, painting your bones pink. Pink.

Gathering your courage, you mimicked Simon's invitation. “Unless... you're willing to be the judge of that yourself?”

The question came out just above a whisper, heavy with promise. With your heart dangling at the tip of your throat, anticipation mixed with anxiety gnawed at you faster than any termite. Simon gave a subtle nod towards the dance floor with his chin.

“Come on then,” he rumbled.

As Simon led you, you couldn’t help but feel like Cinderella herself; this room made a fairytale for you. He wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you close so your bodies swayed as one. You shyly wrapped your free hands around his neck.

The romantic music continues to flow, caressing your ears with the singer's warm voice, Stephen Sanchez, if your memory serves you right. The merciless thumping in your ribcage persists, and you wonder if Simon feels it, if he has his own version resonating in the hollow of his chest. Settling into a slow sway, you feel his shoulders relax.

“You’re not gonna turn into a swan on me now, are ya? Would be a right shame to ruin such a lovely dance.” Simon asked, tone lighthearted. After mentioning your upcoming ballet performance, he doesn’t slow down his series of jokes about it.

You threw your head back in laughter. “You know that’s not how the story goes.”

Simon's grin grew wide beneath his mask. Cocking a brow, he said, “Oh yeah? Enlighten me then, love.” He challenged.

Taking a deep breath that lifted the smile still on your face, you began the long story of Swan Lake—about what happened to Odette and her flock by the sparkling lake and mostly things you had memorized many times. "So when Siegfried finally learns the truth, it’s too late—Odette ends her life by jumping from a cliff.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he reacts, and you let out a girlish laugh. “That’s tragic.”

You shrug. “I always thought it was kind of romantic.” You giggle again—God, the way this man can make you giggle like a silly schoolgirl—when you see the reaction reflected in his eyes.

“You’re a right bloody psycho, you know that?”

You deadpanned. “I’m not a psycho.” Your tone was flat, trying to be serious but the stubborn grin that followed ruined it.

“She should’ve just gone for another bloke.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, she can’t. She’s been cursed to be a swan forever.”

“Then she should’ve just lived out ‘er days as a swan then,” he said with pragmatism, very much lacking the charm of a fairy tale with all those logics. “Should’ve chased that arse’ole prince all over kingdom for revenge instead. Give ‘im a good peckin’.”

You exhaled in exasperation, but your lips held back a smile. “Please just stop talking.”

Simon chuckled, and fortunately, for his own good, he did. The music was nearing its end, but you were still swaying. Something caught his gaze over your shoulder. He looked back at you, raising a brow to make a suggestion.

“Should we do a spin?” he asked.

“What?”

He nods his chin behind you, and you follow suit—a young couple laughing as they twirl. “Should we give it a go?”

It's somewhat whimsical, somewhat absurd, that not only is this hulking man dancing with you, but he also wished to twirl you like you were partners in some grand ballroom. Yet, as you stare into his smiling eyes, you swear there’s a hint of excitement in them. And what good is a ballerina without a performative twirl?

“Okay,” you accepted his offer.

You placed your hand in his, feeling the rough calluses of his fingers but somehow right against your skin. At your subtle cue, Simon raised your joined palms, spinning you outward in elegance and then back into the solid wall of his chest.

“One more time.” You said, and he did as you asked.

You cup his mask-hidden jaw, feeling for each woven polypropylene against your fingers. The plum of your smiling lips swells with desire, and without thinking, you press your lips to his cheek. Your heart skips a beat, gripped by a jolt of trepidation, fear, and regret that perhaps you have crossed a line, that you might drive him away.

But Simon doesn't.

Instead, he seized your waist and drew you close, eliminating any distance between you. The air was snatched from your lungs in a stolen gasp with the force of his possessive move. Like a lover accompanied by passion as he reaps longing.

(I swell with hope, in the sweet desire of a girl seeking love.)

“I’m dyin’ for a smoke.” He confessed.

You glanced around at the lively party still swirling around you. Turning back to him, you suggested, “Should we slip out the back then?”

“Sure.”

Smiling up at him, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze before untangling them from your waist. “You go on ahead—I just need to swap to flats real quick.” You gestured to the high heels that had been enveloping your throbbing toes for hours.

As Simon nodded and turned to go, you hurried off the floor, limping just slightly. The celebratory noise faded as you stepped to the left side of the manor, where the hallway to your room stretched in silence. You turned the doorknob, and the old wood swung with a low creak.

Walking to your suitcase, you flipped it open, took out your Mary Janes, and replaced your high heels with them with a sigh of relief.

Just as you moved to stand, you heard footsteps approaching, then a shadow fell across the open door. Too small to be Simon. Looking up with a start, your heart nearly dropped when you found your mother standing there, arms crossed in a frown full of distaste.

“I've been watching you all night with that… man. You're getting far too comfortable, are you?”

That tone—that same tone that you had heard countless times growing up, signaling the beginnings of an argument. Your shoulders tensed. The pulse inside you quickened as your defenses began to rise, readying themselves in anticipation of the barrage of barbed words that might come next.

The oceans dividing San Francisco and London were supposed to end whatever connection existed between you both—to pretend that it didn’t exist. It should have been a clean finale, allowing you to simply live as a normal girl with normal reactions to everything, as if nothing bad had ever happened to you.

Yet, look, your traitor body is gearing up for battle just the same. Your mind may lie, you may lie, but the wound bearer presents the results of years of being forged beneath her. 5,351 miles stretched, but you are still the same sixteen-year-old girl who bit her tongue, holding her words like a criminal about to be executed on the spot.

What a mother-daughter relationship you have.

You watch warily as Mother begins circling the room, her high heels clicking ominously, slightly showing the red soles beneath them. Louboutins, you remember. You also remember all too well how much those had cost—the very shoes you had “helped” fund years ago when you foolishly still let her access your bank account, even after you turned nineteen.

“Do you know why he’s here?” Mother tries the first question, testing the waters.

Like a frightened little girl—that same little girl from that sunny day so many years ago—you deflect the real question, “Because I invited him.”

Mother, unimpressed, casts you a sharp look, as if daring you to dare her. “You know what I mean. Do you know why he’s here?”

You bit your lip, grasping at straws. “He’s… my boyfriend.”

Mother scoffed mockingly. She turned to you, face contorted in amusement as if you had just told the funniest joke. “Boyfriend? Please. Is that what you think?”

You flinched back as Mother suddenly whirled to face you, her sculpted features twisting into a reflection of pure, unbridled rage. The similar pair of eyes glared at you wide. She buried her nails deep into your epidermis, and you gasped from the sting.

“The only reason a man would want you is between your legs. You think you found love, but really he's with you only because you're easy. You’re just a cheap fuck to him, (Y/N).”

The hot, stinging droplets gathered and spilled over without your permission. You hated yourself for fueling her twisted satisfaction. Hating that she still knew exactly where to aim her barbs to find their mark after all these years.

But nothing compares to the fact that she is your mother. She is your mother, and yet, how could those words come out of her mouth so easily? As if her criticisms had festered within her mind and she was finally allowing them to escape. There's a small, broken part of you that can't help but wonder—and why do you even wonder? You know yourself better than she does, surely.

Or do you?

Or is it true that there really is nothing to take beyond your body like the unloveable, worthless child she always says you are?

You felt a spark of anger flare. “How could you say that to me?” you choked out, baring your wounded heart. Wrong move—you know this, proved many times that showing emotion had never gotten anywhere with Mother before.

But the younger, wounded teenager in you would always crave some kind of validation, some sign she truly cared. Perhaps hidden beneath the person she's become, she still holds a flicker of the warmth she once felt for you. You’re her daughter, and she’s your mother—shouldn’t that be enough for her to finally treat you like one?

“I’m only telling you the truth so you won’t be naive. Do you think he’ll love you when there are so many girls out there who are much prettier than you?”

At times, the wiser you knew not to take Mother’s words to heart—your survival instincts, born of too many experiences, told you not to let her poison seep into your skin. But more often than not, you didn’t know better. Right now, you don’t know better.

(Prying my mouth open, she dripped her bitter blood until we were indistinguishable.)

Clenching your fist, you say through gritted teeth, “You don’t know him.”

Mother’s features bent in hate at your rebellion. The young daughter no more, grown into someone who dared to talk back rather than just gulping down her every word raw.

“And you do?” she spat. “How long have you known this man? Don’t be stupid.”

“It’s none of your business,” you retorted, but not convinced enough for her to see the gap in your expression.

“Not my business? Of course it’s my business – I’m your mother!”

Summoning the last of your courage, you mumbled, “You’re not… my mother.”

Her neat eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What did you just say to me?”

It was a second chance, one she rarely gave. For a moment, you considered taking it back—rewording your reply to something less confrontational, something safer. But you were sick of it—years of carrying her wounds you hadn’t even caused, weighing your body down and sinking them deeper into pitless hell. Of always looking past her anger and ego, finding justifications and reasons to tolerate her. Of being under her control when the young girl inside you needed her anger represented.

And you repeated it without rewording: “You’re not my mother. Not anymore.”

As it left your lips, you saw a flicker of change in Mother’s expression—was that hurt in her eyes? So foreign was her expression that you almost doubted yourself. Regret seized you along with the guilt and self-loathing that gripped your heart.

Then, the hurt blinked away as if it was never there. “Look at you,” she hissed, “throwing away your mother, the woman who birthed and raised you with great difficulty, all for some worthless man. I'm not even surprised if you end up pregnant in a few months, or maybe you already are. Don't say I didn't warn you when he leaves you with a bastard child.”

And they were right when they said that anger is the most effective key.

Moments ago, you can still find the shadow of that sixteen-year-old girl remains within, with pieces of her innocence—a bit of a child’s grin. Her body is still in fear, yet her eyes are always yearning for praise from her mother’s voice.

However, as the grown woman you are ignites in a seething cauldron of fury—disagreement with Mother’s treatment—the little girl begins to fade, reduced to ashes amidst the fire. The “why” question echoes loudly with demands. I'm your baby—you made me; why do you hurt me?

“Why? Why are you so sure only bad things will happen? Why can’t you believe I can find happiness?” Warm tears welled up, tasting salty on your lips as you asked.

Mother raised a warning finger. “Don’t use that tone with me.”

But you’ve passed the point of backing down. “Why? Why are you so convinced I’ll always be unhappy? WHY?!”

(As if it had been written long before my creation.)

Taking a sharp, short breath, you feel self-control slipping away. Your lungs hitched with condemnation, constricting you, trying to escape the hell Mother handmade just for you. You’re crossing the line; something scolds (the same voice your mother planted early on) inside your head, but you refuse to give in.

The dim red light between the cracks in your skull grows brighter, and the next thing you say are the words you've been holding back for so long:

“I’m not you! And what happened with Dad was not my fault!”

And finally, silence fills the small space between you, followed by the faint echo of your voice. As the last syllable faded, the words that had been spoken left you feeling conflicted. That little girl would consider this disobedience—the result of the doctrine your mother spat at her every day—but all you know now is the strange lightness in your heart, as if shedding a massive burden that you didn’t realize you had been carrying your whole life.

Mother took a sharp, hissing breath, and you saw the subtle quiver in her clenched jaw. “You're out of line,” she said.

“I'm out of line?! You were the first one to cross that line, over and over, hurting me for years, but now that I finally do it to you, now I'm the one who's out of line?!” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a rush, all the pain and anger that you had piled up erupting to the surface. “You've always hurt me, said awful things, made me feel like nothing! But the second I did it to you, suddenly I'm the bad one? That's not fair!"

In the blink of an eye, she extends her perfectly manicured hand to grasp the first object within her reach—a heavy crystal paperweight on the table. Your eyes are glued to it, feet ready to flee when she hurls it at you.

“You fucking ungrateful bitch!” she screamed.

Some distant, rational part of you knows you should dodge. But a darker impulse held you frozen, as if welcoming the blunt object to damage your epidermis and even more so to become evidence of her abuse. And perhaps, once the crimson drips from your split temple, it will be enough to reveal the true identity she has been hiding—to destroy the loving mother image she has carefully built for years.

You will make a spectacle of the wound, perhaps even exaggerating it a bit like Mother always did.

It came so close when it landed on the floor next to you. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Mother’s face flushed like the devil as she shouted, “I should never have given birth to you!”

Strange, that relief is what washes over you when her words land in your ears. Because for the first time, the two of you agreed on something – she wished you had never been born, just as you had so often wished the same.

Those “precious” teenage years were filled with alternating fantasies—some days hoping she might die, others wishing it was you instead. But you were never able to go through with killing her, or yourself. Because being without Mother meant being utterly lost and alone, and you were too cowardly to cut your wrist open. More days though, you regretted it—how it might have all ended sooner if only you had been braver.

You wonder who's to blame to just make sense of it—perhaps Mother's mother had been cruel, and she thought she had broken the cycle. Perhaps Joyce, for always being the golden child despite everything. Perhaps Dad. Perhaps you.

All those long, drawn-out years, you stayed, you suffered for her. Because the little girl in the bright pink shoes—the color that matched Mother's favorite dress before she threw it away—loved her mother so much. Always making excuses for her. Maybe she didn't know how to love me, or I didn't understand her way of loving me. Maybe somewhere in her anger were kisses in her own language.

You stood frozen as hollowness spread through your chest, as if the eruption had cleansed you until nothing but an empty clarity remained. Even when Simon entered the room, you didn't notice his presence until he spoke.

“Fuck’s all this?” His question didn’t really wait for an answer as he rushed to your side.

Mother smoothed her hair imperiously, then said: “We were just having a talk.”

Simon’s brown eyes scan the scene: the shattered paperweight, Mother’s suspicious fist. He then turns to examine you carefully, searching for any injuries and only letting out a slight sigh when he finds none.

“Go wait in the car. I’ll sort our things.” Simon orders, and without argument, you nod, walking out of the bedroom.

The room felt heavier with tension after you departed, leaving Simon alone with your seething mother. He moved with purpose, in a quick and efficient mind, as he gathered your things—a toothbrush and hairbrush from the bathroom, dresses from the closet, pulling out drawers for any other items. After throwing them into your suitcase, he tidied up his own things with even more haste and less care.

As he picked up his abandoned tie, Mother cleared her throat. “You don’t need to do this, you know. I know my daughter better than anyone, and she’s not what you really need.”

For a moment, Simon paused, jaw working as he reined his temper. Mother thought she had his attention—finally getting him to listen to her. But soon enough, he resumed his task as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

Undeterred, she pressed on. “There are prettier, worthier girls than her. Ones who won’t cause you so much trouble.”

Simon’s hands stilled at that, Mother thought she had succeeded in making him consider. Slowly, he turned to face the older woman. But what she read in his eyes was not a realization or even a spark of curiosity. No, it was a look that suggested he knew a lot about people like her, had seen a lot despite him being a decade her junior.

“That what you tell ‘er then?” He began, hate raining down like hail in his voice. “That she ain’t good enough, or pretty enough? That she’s nothin’ but trouble?”

The woman met his gaze, and Simon noticed how her eyes were shaped like yours, except colder, full of twisted conviction whenever she talked about you. “I only speak the truth, for her own good. Someone has to keep that headstrong girl in line before she comes to ruin.”

At that, he let out an impolite scoff, but Simon gave zero fucks. “Yeah? Cause all I see is you tryin’ to keep ‘er under yer thumb.”

Simon watched as the woman's face contorted into an ugly frown of dislike; her mask had been abandoned somewhere. He wondered how you survived all those years at home, how you could still say you “love her to bits” on your first meeting.

But he supposes that’s how children are. Misplaced unconditional love for their lifegivers. Sometimes, his critical mind thinks it’s a shame for the Man in the Sky to give little humans to people who don’t deserve them—to abusers, addicts, snakes like this one right here. But then again, Simon had no right to complain when he stopped believing in any of all that years ago—after he lost everyone that mattered.

"I'm her mother." She repeated.

“And she’s yer daughter. Not yer pet or yer little dog to order about.”

As Simon returned to tending to the bags, the woman took a slow, deep breath. "I know men like you," she replied. “You think you're protecting her—you think you're saving her, but all you want is a girl to use and toss aside once you've grown bored.”

Simon’s tedious task came to a halt, the zipper of the bag half-open. He furrowed his blond brows, brown eyes focused on nothing. Before long, he gathered the bags and shouldered them, his free hand dragging the suitcase as he walked through the gaping door. That woman spoke again, but he turned a deaf ear to her venomous spit.

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[darlingsblackbook]

Right Next Door

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary : Your mysterious neighbour helps you out when a date goes wrong, what happens when you try to befriend him?

Warnings : Creepy guy, Simon Riley, Delusion

°•♡○° Masterlist °•♡•°

The air was biting cold as I climbed the steps to my apartment building, my heart pounding as I tried to maintain a polite smile. The date had been a disappointment from the start, but I’d wanted to see it through, thinking maybe I was just nervous.

Yet, every attempt to cut the night short had fallen on deaf ears, and now he was right behind me, insisting on escorting me all the way for my own 'safety'.

I fumbled with my bag, pretending to search for my keys. “Thanks for the evening,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint and turn around.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet.” He laughed, sidling a little too close, his shoulder brushing mine. “The night doesn’t have to end here, you know. Let’s go to yours for a nightcap.”

I forced a laugh, swallowing down the anxiety building up. “I… don’t think that’s a good idea.”

His face shifted, a flicker of annoyance crossing his expression. “Come on,” he murmured, edging closer, his hand reaching to touch my arm. “We had a nice time. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel it too.”

I forced myself to meet his gaze, my voice firm. “I’m just… not interested in taking things further tonight, maybe another day.”

His smile faltered, frustration creeping into his tone. “What’s the problem? You were all smiles back there. Now you're not interested?"

I tried to step back, but he mirrored my movements, closing the space between us as I reached my door and closing in on me. "You know it's not fair to lead a guy on, right?"

My fingers finally found the keys and I gripped it tightly between my fingers, trying to resist the urge to ram it into his eyeball.

He trespassed the line even further as he leaned in, his gross breath burning against my cheek. "Just one kiss,” he muttered, his hand pressing against the doorframe to cage me in.

Panic flared as I shook my head. “Please, I’d rather you didn’t. I just… don’t feel that way.”

His expression darkened, eyes narrowing as he leaned even closer. “Teasing me all night just to leave me hanging, huh? That’s how you get your fun?”

I felt the words stick in my throat, my pulse racing. His voice grew harsher, thick with frustration as he got angrier. “You think you’re too good for me? That it?”

I barely had a second to process his words when a shadow appeared in the hallway, and I felt a wave of relief and fear as I recognized my neighbor—Simon Riley.

The big guy who had moved here a few months ago, aside of the few times we passed each other in the hallways, I rarely saw him. He was always quiet, I've never heard him talk and not a peep of noise was heared through the walls.

Something about his size and the dark clothing he always wore ( and the usual grumpy expression on his face ) had, for some reason, caught my eye. Maybe it had something to do with all the books I read with the typical older grumpy man and the sweet sunshine girl trope.

That trope was unfortunately a guilty pleasure of mine, having always wanted to feel safe, protected and taken care of by someone. Someone in whose presence I could just turn my brain off without a worry and know I'll be fine

Maybe those desires were born from my feelings of loneliness and my hard time in making friends. Maybe, it was because I wanted someone to love and accept me as I am and see me as me and still fully and wholly love me.

Sometimes, when I would just think and daydream of having such man, I couldn't help the flashes of my neighbours face in my mind. I wanted to actually love and be loved so badly instead of just imagining it, so I had decided to go out for the first time in a very long time, unfortunately I just ended up putting myself in this situation.

But, as I saw Simon standing in the doorway of his flat, right next to mine. His presence as imposing as ever, I was immediately swarmed by images of being wrapped up and safe in those tree trunk arms- ( valid )

His gaze was calm, but the tension radiating off him was anything but. He took a step forward, his voice low and laced with quiet authority that made my brain tingly in all the right ways.

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome,” he said, voice gruff and cold. “Leave.”

My date turned, his confidence faltering for the first time, though he tried to laugh it off. “And who are you, her guard dog?”

Simon’s jaw clenched, and he took another slow step toward him. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk away. Now.”

The guy scoffed, glancing at me as if I would defend him, but I could only stare, feeling my pulse in my throat as Simon’s presence loomed, unyielding and almost terrifying in its intensity.

“Fine,” the man muttered, backing away with a huff. “Good luck with that one. She’s just a tease anyway.” He threw a final look over his shoulder, muttering curses under his breath as he disappeared down the stairwell.

I let out a shaky breath, the tension in my body finally loosening. My eyes met Simon’s, and for a moment, I was acutely aware of how close he still stood, the quiet strength and warmth radiating off him.

“Thank you,” I murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Simon’s gaze flicked over me, taking in my tense posture, the unsteady breaths. “Get inside,” he said softly, his tone softer but still firm. He didn’t move, just kept watching, waiting until I stepped back into my flat.

I wanted to say more—to thank him properly, to explain—but my voice failed me. I just nodded, stepping back into my apartment as he remained outside, a silent sentinel. As I closed the door behind me, I felt the echo of his presence linger, leaving me wondering who Simon Riley really was behind the walls he kept so carefully constructed.

°•♡•°

I leaned against my door, heart still racing from the confrontation with my date. What just happened?

I pressed my palms to my cheeks, feeling the heat rising in them, embarrassment crashing over me in waves. I wanted to scream at myself for letting things get so out of hand.

Why hadn’t I been firmer?

My date’s cruel words echoed in my mind. “Teasing me all night…” Had I really been that confusing?

I knew I had always had a hard time speaking to people, but I did not think I had been teasing or anything alike at all. In fact, I was pretty sure I was keeping my distance the whole night.

I sank down to the floor, knees pulled to my chest, wishing I could disappear. It wasn’t the first time I had been made to feel this way, but it hurt more than usual. I hated that I had let him walk me to my door, thinking it would be harmless, but now, all I felt was a sense of violation mixed with anger.

But as I replayed the events of the night, my thoughts drifted to Simon. The way he had stepped in, fierce and unwavering, how his presence had made me feel safer. His intense gaze, the way he commanded attention without even trying, sent a flutter through my chest. Why did he even care?

In the days that followed, I found myself stealing glances at Simon whenever I heard him in the hallway or caught sight of him through the window. He always seemed so focused, moving with purpose and intensity that made my heart race. He was intimidating but also…protective. I couldn’t help but admire the way he carried himself, confident and strong, making it hard to believe he even lived next door to me.

I found myself thinking about him more than I wanted to admit. What was it about him? There was something in the way he furrowed his brow when he was deep in thought, or how his lips curled slightly when he was amused, that made my heart skip a beat.

I’d catch myself daydreaming about what it would be like to get to know him, to see the softer side that lay beneath his tough exterior.

But would he even be interested in someone like me?

One evening, as I sat at my kitchen table, the smell of cookies wafting through the air, I decided I needed to make a move. Maybe a little gesture would help break the ice. I figured I’d bring him a treat and see how he responded. I hesitated, biting my lip as I gathered my courage, reminding myself that it was just cookies, not a marriage proposal.

After baking, I carefully placed the cookies in a small tin and knocked on his door, my heart pounding. I waited, second-guessing myself. What if he thought I was a silly little girl for doing this?

When the door opened, Simon stood there, dressed in his usual casual attire, the warmth of the lights behind him casting shadows across his face. “Yeah?” he asked, his deep voice grounding me despite the chaos in my head.

“Um, I made some cookies,” I stammered, holding out the tin. “I thought you might like some.”

He glanced at the tin, then back to me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, though he accepted it without hesitation. The briefest smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and for a moment, I felt a flutter of hope.

“I just wanted to thank you for helping me the other night,” I added quickly, my cheeks warming under his gaze. “You really saved me.”

He nodded, but the moment felt fleeting, like catching smoke in my hands. “No problem,” he said, his voice steady. “Just doing what I had to.”

And just like that, he closed the door, leaving me standing in the hallway, heart racing, filled with a mixture of elation and disappointment.

Was that all?

I turned to leave, feeling a knot of longing tightening in my chest. I wanted more than just a quick exchange; I wanted to be seen by him.

In the following days, I couldn’t help but keep an eye out for him. Each time I spotted Simon in the hallway, my heart raced, a blend of hope and anxiety filling me. I’d muster the courage to say something, anything, to bridge the gap between us.

“Hey, Simon,” I’d manage, my voice barely above a whisper as I tried to catch his eye. He’d glance my way, a quick nod, but his focus would shift immediately, and I’d feel that familiar pang of rejection in my chest.

Days turned into weeks, and I found myself trying harder to initiate conversations. I would catch him on his way to the gym or returning from work. Each time, I’d greet him, my heart pounding, and every time, he’d respond with a grunt or a nod. I wanted to learn more about him, to break through the walls he had built around himself, but he always seemed to have somewhere to be.

One afternoon, I spotted him in the hallway, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. My pulse quickened, and I took a deep breath. “Hey, Simon! How was your day?” I asked, attempting to sound casual.

He looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he replied, “Fine.” He didn’t elaborate, and I felt a heaviness settle in my stomach.

“Just…fine?” I pressed, hoping to elicit more. “Did you have a busy week?”

He sighed, shoving his phone into his pocket. “You could say that.”

I bit my lip, trying to think of something else to say, but the silence stretched awkwardly between us. “Well, if you ever want to talk or hang out, you can—”

“I’m not looking for friends,” he cut in, his tone sharper than I expected. “I did what I had to out of duty. Don’t think about it too much.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I could only stare at him, my heart sinking as his gaze shifted, avoiding mine. “It’s nothing personal,” he added, but it felt cold, devoid of the warmth I’d hoped for.

“I understand,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. My hands trembled slightly, and I fought back tears as I watched him step past me, leaving me standing there, shattered.

I felt the weight of his dismissal settle heavily on my shoulders, a reminder of how invisible I really was to him. My heart ached, not just from his words but from the reality that I would never be more than an afterthought to Simon Riley.

As I stepped into my flat, the door closing behind me, I sank down against it, tears slipping down my cheeks. I had wanted to be seen, to have someone recognize my worth, but instead, I was left with the painful truth: Simon didn’t want me around, and that stung more than I could express.

Each encounter with him became a reminder of my own insecurities, and the ache in my chest grew heavier with each passing day. I felt lost in the maze of my feelings for him, unable to reconcile the admiration I felt with the reality of his indifference.

All I wanted was a connection, but somehow, it felt as if I was always reaching for something just out of my grasp, destined to remain alone while he moved on, unbothered by my existence.

[readwritealldayallnight]

“I also grabbed that oatmeal you liked.”

“Mhmm.”

“You know, the one we tried a few weeks ago, and you were certain you wouldn’t like.”

“Mhmm.”

“Luckily by the time I made it out of the gym they wer-”

“Mhmm.”

You finally glance up from where you’ve been unloading the groceries onto the kitchen counter, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you look to your boyfriend.

Sure enough, Simon’s not listening to a word you’re saying. Eyes locked on the steady jiggle of your tits in your tight new sports bra, as you continuously bend down and bounce back up with item after item.

He doesn’t mean to ogle you so obviously. Well maybe that’s not so true. Really he doesn’t mean to be ignoring you as he ogles you so obviously. But today it appears his lower half is in control of his attention span.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you wonder how long it’ll take him to snap out of his trance.

“So yeah, thought we might start having oatmeal more often now.”

“Mhmm.”

“Maybe three meals a day.”

“Whatever you say, love.” He answers, eyes still fixated on your chest, clueless as to the smirk beginning to spread across your face.

“Might even change my license plate to ‘oat-mobile’, watcha think ‘bout that?”

“Sure thing.”

You’re shaking your head to yourself in disbelief, a smile still splayed on your lips. At this point you’re turning around to put things into their rightful cupboards. But you think there isn’t anything behind you he won’t stare at either? While you’re wearing those workout shorts??

“Looks like they updated the class schedules at the gym too.” You continue, glancing back over your shoulder and seeing that, sure enough, Simon’s gaze has shifted to your ass.

“Mhmm.”

“Think they’ve got some new trainers or somethin’.”

“Mhmm.”

“Heard one of em’s quite hot. The men’s personal trainer. Maybe I’ll ask if he stretches the women out too.”

“Okay lov- wait what?!”

Got him.

[joonieskinks]

simon ghost riley is sometimes a little blunt (warning: smut)

You adore him for who he is, but it still unnerves you with just how blunt he can be at times.

It usually happens privately with just you:

“In about 5 minutes, I’m gonna eat you out.” He says as you are in the middle of The Goblet of Fire on the couch. You almost choked on your popcorn.

Or you’re doing laundry in the morning. “We need pineapple juice next time we’re out, want you to enjoy swallowing next time you’re suckin me off.” Jaw dropped.

He does it in front of the team too- and sometimes it’s even worse:

You accidentally dropped your lip balm onto the bar floor while fishing it out of your purse and bend to pick it up.

“Haven’t seen that angle in a while, dove. It’s been too long since we done doggy.”

It’s a never-ending series of eyebrow raises when Simon decides to open up his mouth and you’re around, needless to say. You brunt all of the embarrassment and the deep blushes, Simon couldn’t give a shit. He didn’t even clock it when John, Johnny and Kyle would all give him shocked looks. Man just owns it. Completely unbothered.

“Youre wearin the skirt you wear when you wanna get fucked. That your goal?”

“Simon!” You hiss, you can feel the red hot heat rush to your face.

But he just stares back at you, waiting for your response. You can hardly believe how composed he is when his Captain is right there glaring at him.

“So?”

“I need another beer.” John excuses himself, he can’t even look you in the eyes right now. Kyle joins him shortly after making a run for it, but you’re left with a quiet Johnny patiently waiting for you to respond. Eager, almost. Joy.

“You can’t just say things like that in public, especially not in front of your friends!” You lecture, pulling down your skirt in the process.

“Why? If you wanted to fuck, you could’ve just said so, love. Give me 2 to down this pint and I’ll meet you in the toilets, yeah?”

“Simon!” You smack his thigh.

“Can I watch?” Johnny asks excitedly.

“No!-“ “Fine.”

Johnny’s face lights up while yours gives Simon a death stare.

“Do you want it or not?” You roll your eyes and throw your purse over your shoulder.

“You two are ridiculous.” And they watch you walk away.

Simon only shrugs, pounding back his beer before coming after you. Doesn’t make a difference to him if he fucks you here and now or at home and later.

“… so is that a no?” Johnny asks with puppy eyes.

[zvdvdlvr]

imagine ur bd being out of the picture and your little girl running up to si ☹️🤍

   “Daddy!”

   Simon looked down, eyes wide at the little girl wrapped around his right leg. Johnny eyed him carefully. He was thankful none of the other café patrons paid any mind. “I’m not your daddy, love,” Simon said. He tugged his leg away gently but the strength of a child is hard to match.

     “Annalise, get off that man,” a woman cried. In the blink of an eye, she knelt near Simon’s leg and tugged the child away.

     “Dada!” She shrieked. Annalise’s chubby hands reached out for Simon’s. “Is dada, mama!”

     You shook your head. “I- I’m so sorry, sir. Her dad was in the military. Anna thinks everyone in fatigues is dada… Do you want me to get either of you a coffee to pay you back? I’m truly sorry.”

     Soap discreetly elbowed Simon harshly in the side. “‘M quite alrigh’ lass. Simon, here, would take a coffee if your serious. If you’ll excuse me, I got to go. Bye, little lassie,” the Scot rushed, face lightinf up at the way Annalise giggled as his parting.

     Annalise was still cooing and reaching for Simon. You just shifted her on your hip and rubbed her back. “Simon, yeah?”

     “That’s me, ma’am,” Simon nodded, feeling suddenly extremely exposed without the balaclava he had decided not to wear for one single occasion. “You don’t have to pay me back-“

     “Nonsense. I would feel like a bad person if I just let my kid latch herself onto your left and call you dad and then just swoop her up and leave,” you said, reaching for your wallet before walking over to the ordering counter. “What can I get you?”

     Simon ordered a small of his usual, watching you pull the money from your wallet without glancing at how much it costed. He observed you in that split second- a beautiful baby girl on your hip who thought any man in camo was her dad. So he had been in the service… Simon watched you smile kindly at the teen behind the counter who fumbled for your change. You murmured a quiet, “It’s quite alright, take your time.” A well-mannered, well put-together individual who was also very attractive. Simon knew what Johnny was doing when he left and Simon would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought you were a catch.

     “I seriously appreciate the coffee, ma’am, but it was unnecessary,” Simon said as you tucked your change back and waited for the drink. “As long as the kid’s alrigh’, I don’t need anything in return.”

     You smiled. You smiled at Simon and he swore his cold heart jumped in his chest. Clearly your bright smile disarmed Annalise as much as Simon because she let out a bubbly laugh and put her hands on your cheek. “What if I said I wanted to?” You asked coyly.

     Simon watched Annalise play with a baby hair near your face. “Then I’d say it’d be a cruel thing to tell a gorgeous woman no.”

[ghostsgrl666]

roommate!ghost who's waiting for you when you get home in the middle of the night after going out with your friends. Sitting on the couch in those fucking grey sweatpants when you stumble through the door and drop your keys. Has to stare at the crack on the ceiling when you get down on your hands and knees to find them, pretend for his own sanity that he hasn't seen the tiny excuse for underwear you've got on under that little black dress.

Like clockwork, he's got you sitting on the icy bathroom counter as you giggle, telling him all about your night. He's got cotton pads and makeup remover in one hand and the other holding onto your thigh because you started unconsciously squeezing his broad frame when he stepped in between your open legs. He gently wipes away all the traces of the night, carefully mapping out the contours of your face like you're a masterpiece he's carved from some precious stone. Until he gets to your lips. The shiny, fucking sparkly gloss is all thats left on your skin but his hand freezes as he studies the crease in your bottom lip. You catch up two seconds later in your dreamy, relaxed haze, and without even thinking about it you close the gap, softly pressing your lips to the one's silently hovering over yours.

His breath catches and his grip on your thigh becomes molten hot as you just as quickly pull away. Innocently you smile at him, like you hadn't just killed him, like you hadn't just made him start planning your wedding down to the way your eyes would shine as you walked down the aisle, all for him.

Your laugh is the only thing that can pull him out of his stupor, "you have no idea how long i've wanted to do that." 

But he does, he really, really does.

[simonrileysfavteacup]

You stir awake, sighing as you roll over to face your sleeping husband. You sit up, fixing your stretchy shirt over your very swollen belly. You pat Simon’s side. “Si? Si! Si!”

He groans as he wakes up, rolling over and shoving his head into his pillow. “Go back t’ sleep.”

“I want a big mac.”

He groans louder. 

“Please, Si? I’m super hungry. And bubby keeps kicking.”

He sighs, “Look ‘t the time, lovie.”

You almost tear up. 

When he notices the frown on your face, he sighs again, getting up. “Which one is the closest?”

You smile, almost jumping with joy as you lean up to press a million kisses to his cheek. “The one on 42nd.”

He leans down, kissing your belly and your lips before heading off to get dressed. 

He returns 20 minutes later, a bag and 2 drinks in hand. You practically moan at the smell as he hands you the bag. 

“I love you,” you moan as you take a bite of your burger. He chuckles, eating his own. “Bubby loves you too. He’s kicking every time I take a bite.”

“Bet ‘e does.” Simon kisses your belly as you stuff a few fries in your mouth. “Lovie?”

“Yeah?” you ask with a mouth full. 

“Do ya think he’ll like me?”

“For the millionth time, my love, you are nothing like your father. You’re far too kind and too amazing and too sweet. He’s going to love you. Just like I do.”

He chuckles, “Love you too.”

He leans down, kissing your belly. 

“Both of ya annoying little buggers. Always fuckin’ hungry.”