#(its about simon)

[bluegiragi]

down on my knees

full version on bluesky | twitter | patreon

early access + nsfw on patreon

this short comic was drawn as fanart of the fic Won't you help me (down on my knees?) by @c4tto626, which is very explicit and incredibly hot and also gave me brainworms <3 send them a kudos and a nice comment if you like the fic!

[drgnflyteabox]

mdni - implied fat!reader x bluecollar!simon riley drabble - simon is a bit of a creep also lol

Bluecollar!Simon Riley whose house floods so he has to spend the next few days in a cheap, seedy motel

First morning there he's leaving for work just as the sun is rising. Its hot, humid, and he's a shitty mood because he'll be working all day and it's only gonna get hotter

Simon Riley who smokes a couple cigs before he goes, sitting on a plastic lawn chair on his concrete faux patio when he sees you

You're flustered, damp with sweat and skin sun-kissed. You've got a laundry basket on your hip and immediately he's imagining a baby there instead. His baby.

Simon Riley who's shameless about staring at you struggling with the laundry door, dropping your clothes and giving him a view of your wide hips and plush ass in very short pajama shorts

You're so flustered:(( nearly in tears while you pick everything up. The shorts are a little tight, a little worn, and the thin material gives him just enough of a view of your pussy that it sustains him the whole day :')

All he can imagine is coming back and sinking into you :') not even necessarily fucking right away, but keeping his cock warm and relieving the tension in his body. He deserves that, no?

He's not creeping, necessarily, when he takes note of the lotion you use. Vanilla. He just happened to be having a smoke and walking right by your window, where you've got one foot propped on a chair rubbing it into your skin.

Your room is tidy. Despite the stained walls, cracks in the ceiling and overall dingy-ness, you've managed to make it look cozy.

New sheets, a fluffy blanket, string lights strung across the wall. Beside you, lotions and creams and washes - he snorts a little to himself. The bathrooms here don't have any counter space or mirrors to set them down on.

But his house does. In fact, most of his shelves are empty everywhere. His pantry, his closets. The only thing he's got are work clothes and beers in the fridge. Maybe a stray heel of bread.

Simon Riley who decides he'll have you move in before he even talks to you, before he starts memorizing your schedule on the weekends and evenings he gets home. You're struggling, on the edge of homelessness, but he knows you'd be the perfect wife and mother. That you'd bring light and warmth to his house, fill those empty shelves and empty rooms...

[razzafrazzle]

i was obsessed with them when i was 8 and i am still obsessed with them now

[image description: a page of drawings of marceline and simon from adventure time. on the left is marcy wearing a white cropped sweater, a short black skirt, red tights, black fingerless gloves, and black boots. there is a caption that says "Average Bisexual" next to her. next to that is a short comic of marcy and simon, where marcy is floating over simon as he reads a book. marcy asks, "hey simon. ever kiss another man before?", to which simon replies "well sure." below them there is a caption that says, "he then failed to elaborate." next to that is a drawing of simon with his hands clasped together, with a smaller, uncolored sketch of simon looking surprised above him. the entire page is colored in a watercolor style. end id]

[s0fter-sin]

thinking about the way ghost doesn't hesitate to start killing shadows when graves betrays them but soap only takes one hostage

you can almost hear the voice in his head telling him it doesn't have to be this way; they can still talk it out

"i'm calling shepherd"

his first instinct when confronted with betrayal is to play it by the books: to go up the chain. that goes against everything we've seen him do. he bucks authority at every chance except for the one time he's confronted with the barrels of his allies' guns

he wants a peaceful resolution; for the first time we've ever seen, he doesn't want violence to be the answer. there has to be another fix, a solution that doesn't end with him killing the same men he's been working with; his friends

nothing's happened yet

it doesn't have to go this way

but ghost has been betrayed before. he knows the way this ends; either with him six feet under or his enemy

he doesn't hesitate

it's only when they knock alejandro out that soap shoots; when they spill the first blood and cross a line they can never come back from

only when ghost orders him to run and he has to cover his retreat

and somewhere along the line, between civilians’ screams and taunting voices, between his shaking breath and ghost steady in his ear, that naivety is stripped away; his trust turned to teeth that he uses to sink into throats of men he'd have given his life for

"be careful who you trust, sergeant; people you know can hurt you the most"

he's learned the price of trust

just like ghost did

but unlike ghost, he has someone to guide him through the aftermath

"good advice, It"

[teawithcherries]

wrong number

Ghost receives a text that leaves him absolutely reeling. OR the guy that you texted on accident is weirdly flirtatious and you're kind of into it?

1.1k words. lieutenant!Ghost x chef!reader (f). reader’s age unclear but 18+ (not a minor!!). divider by @plutism.

Unknown: SOS!!!!

Ghost immediately goes deathly still, eyes zeroing in on the text message notification that blinks across his phone before disappearing.

Having a SAS issued phone means that his phone number should be impossible to find. He doesn’t receive spam texts or calls and the few people who have his number know better than to bother him when he’s on paperwork duty. Which means that something is not right.

His phone buzzes again, and he feels his gut churn sourly.

Unknown: (1 attachment)

He doesn’t have time to think, he just braces himself for the worst. A photo of Johnny bleeding out with a gunshot wound? Coordinates to a location where Gaz is being held hostage? 

He’s already reaching for his kit in case he needs to jump on a helo when the attachment, an image, finally opens up.

The breath that was suspended in his chest slowly releases like a deflated balloon as he tries to make sense of the carnage on his phone screen. Yet, it isn’t one of his squadmates that’s crying out for help. Rather, it’s an image of a Cornish hen that’s been burnt to an absolute charred crisp. 

His mind is racing at a speed that he can’t quite process, his eyes methodically scanning the photo for any clues or hidden messages in the image. 

Yet, even to his trained eye, the image is perfectly normal. The background of the photo is a standard flat kitchen, slightly disorganized with cooking materials and ingredients scattered about. Your feet are visible in the corner of the photo, you’re wearing a pair of girly pajama shorts and bunny slippers.

His brows scrunch together in confusion, thoroughly perplexed and slightly annoyed at the mental gymnastics that he is undertaking to try to make sense of these messages.

Ghost: Who are you?

Your reply is instant, confirming his suspicion that you have truly somehow managed to message him by accident.

Unknown: It’s (♥︎), your classmate from culinary school!

Ghost glances at the image again, brows scrunching in disbelief that you are training to become a chef considering the charred and blackened state of the bird.

Ghost: Wrong number.

Unknown: Ah, how embarrassing. So sorry to disturb you! I must have jotted down my classmate’s number incorrectly during class. Have a lovely rest of your evening! 

That’s that then.

He sighs and sets his phone on his worn desk, glancing back at the mountain of paperwork that awaits him. He’s several hours away from finishing up, and Price will absolutely have his head if doesn't get it all done.

Yet, for reasons he isn't willing to unpack, the image of your bare legs tucked into those ridiculously fuzzy bunny slippers lingers in the back of his mind. His fist twitches, annoyed with himself for getting so hot and bothered over a mere glimpse of bare ankle.

You’re just another nameless, faceless muppet in the void of the digital age. Even responding back to your text message is probably a breach of security protocol that could land him in another hour long cybersecurity training seminar if he isn't careful.

So Ghost isn’t sure why he bothers picking up his phone and typing a message at all, but his thumb hits send before he can ponder it any further.

Ghost: Chicken seems a bit burnt.

Being the asshole that he is, Ghost can’t help but chuckle wryly at his own joke. He figures you’ll probably ignore his message. Maybe you’ll even take offence to it and block his number. So when his phone instantly buzzes with a response, his interest is fully captured.

Unknown: You think? I worried it might be a bit underdone.

The corner of his mouth twitches upward beneath his mask.

Ghost: I could be wrong. You’re the chef after all.

Unknown: Well, there’s plenty to go around if you fancy charcoals and mash.

He's fully smiling now, embarrassingly chuffed that you're playing along.

Ghost: You asking me on a date?

Unknown: Depends. Are you a serial killer?

Ghost: Depends on your definition of a serial killer.

It’s silent after that and Ghost can’t help the kernel of disappointment that takes root in his chest. Easygoing banter is far and few between for the lieutenant who has spent the last 48 hours trying to make sense of the mountain of paperwork that piled up on his desk during his last mission. He was enjoying this exchange with you far more than he cares to admit, and several minutes pass with no response before he glumly locks his phone and returns his attention to his desk.

A full day passes and Ghost accepts that he has scared you off.

Yet he can’t blame you. He knows full well that there are loads of creeps and nut jobs on the Internet who could take advantage of you. And even so, you’d be better off messaging any one of those weirdos rather than him. Because, after all, he’s ... who he is.

Three days later, Ghost is seven kilometers into his evening jog around the training field when his phone buzzes again unexpectedly. His eye twitches but he doesn’t check it right away, chiding himself for the persistent flare of hope in his gut that refuses to be extinguished. He’s been pathetically rushing to his phone with every notification he receives since your last text message came through and feeling disappointed every time it isn’t you.

It’s only when his phone buzzes again that he decides to bite the bullet and check who's texting him.

He’s fully expecting it to be another stupid meme from Soap in the 141 group chat. Which is why he skids to a stop, heart suddenly pounding in his chest, at the sight of a message from your phone number (which he has memorized at this point).

It’s his trigger finger that flies to open your message, eyes fixed intensely, almost nervously, on the pixelated screen of his outdated phone.

You’ve sent him a photo of a sausage roll, a proper sausage roll, that’s cooling on a wire rack in your kitchen. He's already salivating at the sight of the juicy blend of ground meat packed neatly and precisely into a flaky case of golden pastry, as well as the sliver of your bare thigh that's showing in the edge of the photo.

He assumes that you’ve accidentally messaged him again instead of your classmate until he sees the message beneath the image.

Unknown: Just wanted you to know that I’ve been testing some other recipes for our date. 

Unknown: Thoughts on my sausage rolls?

Ghost doesn’t even realize that he’s grinning like a madman until his face starts to twitch uncomfortably. He hasn’t smiled so hard in months, maybe even years, and the mechanics of beaming like a lovesick idiot have almost been forgotten by his stiff facial muscles.

He responds immediately, almost afraid that you might slip through his gloved fingers again if he is even a second too late.

Ghost: That’ll do.

(thoughts on part 2 from reader pov? i want them to talk on the phone and see ghost be all cute n awkward TT)

[unspecifiedfigure]

there’s a space in my heart and it’s just your shape 🍻🚬

[naivegh0ul]

ghost who is soooo sensitive. like crazy sensitive. he struggles not to cum instantly when he's inside you because you just feel so good. so warm and wet and tight and fuck, he's cumming.

and when he cums, he cums. dumps bucket loads inside you. his voice gets all high and whiny when he cums, too. his hips jerking and his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck bc he's so embarrassed that he came before you even started.

the best thing about his sensitivity tho is that he can go again once he's finished cumming. doesn't matter if he's barely finished emptying his balls, he's going again, mouth on yours as he thrusts his sticky, cum-covered cock into you.

[callmecoke]

This going straight into the drafts but my mildly unpopular opinion is that I think it’s fair when people complain about 90% of cod fics being the same cookie cutter content of subfem dom ghost content that’s mildly mysoginistic and is just a carbon copy of the smut that came before it.

And it’s not saying that those fics are (entirely) bad, they can be completely fine when the mood strikes but if you’re looking for any alternative kinks, or comfort fluff, or angst-comfort, or angst, or literally any other cod character that isn’t the top four (ghost, konig, price, soap) you’re pretty much left with scraps.

And whenever people complain about it, it’s met with a dismissive “well why don’t YOU write those fics? Writers don’t owe you anything, you selfish prick!” Which A, rude, and B, we ARE.

I consistently try and make the content I personally want to see more of. More sub characters, different characters that aren’t the same four, more angst and comfort, more fluff. And I get lucky if I break 100 notes because that content is pushed to the bottom of the bucket. But my poly 141 stuff? The smut with soap? My top posts of all time. You know, the ones that I didn’t put actual effort into and spat out on a phone.

And ultimately, I don’t want to be doing this forever. I write this so that one day someone else will get inspired to do it and I can step back and read something I enjoy. But no one’s doing that because the work isn’t valued as much as “big scary ghost dominates small fem reader” smut. And it’s tiring. Because that’s not the content I want to make, but anything else will be left out as scraps that no one will eat.

[derpycatsu]

ohhh so hes pathetic. ok. got it. Deploy The Hyperfixation

[suburbanbonfire]

swimming upstream v2

[gomzdrawfr]

Warning

Bonus:

[bluegiragi]

every once in a while I’ll be possessed by the urge to write something for these two, and never finish it 🤷‍♂️ Ghost POV, pre-relationship, pathetic fluff

—

Sometimes, in a fantasy he never allows himself to entertain for very long, he fucks Soap slow in a cabin somewhere, lethargic little rolls of his hips spurring quiet sighs of pleasure from his perfect fucking mouth. Outside, it’s woodsy, or there’s rolling fields, just green somehow, he doesn’t much care, and thin sunlight and morning dew combine to mist up the windows. Johnny’s all golden skin and soft moans underneath him, one hand tangled in the short hairs at his nape, the other running up and down the planes of his back and the thought of it makes something cave in inside his chest.

It’s a pretty dream, and it fits in his brain like a circle in a square hole. Simon Riley isn’t made for pretty things, which never used to bother him much as he never sought them out in the first place. His hands were rough and mangled, deft at wielding a weapon and little else after so long in the service. And John Mactavish is far from a blushing virgin needing his hand held, but the feeling he inspires is all too delicate to ever do much more than prod at helplessly.

An age ago, Simon remembers using these hands of his to sweep floors and spray down mirrors at a motel, his shitty attempt at scrounging up some last minute cash for his ma before he shipped out and left his old life behind for good. Wasn’t much good at that either, but it was passable for a 16-year-old who was tall enough to look 20, and enough for a motel manager who could tell the difference but was too high and stingy to care.

In a fit of insanity, he thinks about cleaning Soap’s apartment, giving the kitchen countertops a cursory wipe, changing the sheets on his bed. There’s a spark of lust attached to the latter mental image, but its almost an afterthought, not substantial enough to save himself from embarrassment and he groans, rolling over to mash his face into the mattress.

It’s all a bit fucking pathetic, really. Simon Riley, resident bogeyman and otherwise consummate professional, fantasising about being his sergeant’s damn house maid.

[oneluckygoose]

Nothing just Alec being hesitant to leave Simon with the Consul and Inquisitor in City of Glass and immediately being suspicious of the both.

Nothing just ALEC HOLDING ONTO SIMON’S ARM AND NOT LETTING GO UNTIL THE INQUISITOR SHOWS UP

Nothing just ALEC TRYING TO LEAVE WITH SIMON AND KNOWING SOMETHING WAS UP

Nothing just the fact that this came right after their conversation in Alicante about how Alec was gay and Simon was being honest saying how he felt about Clary and that Alec should try to love Magnus

Nothing just Alec learning to care about Simon, and learning to care about Magnus, and growing out of what he was taught about downworlders and mundanes

[nonulli]

done before? probably. do i still love the idea of Johnny meddling in Simon's love life? absolutely.

Something something… you and Simon had been childhood best friends turned high school sweethearts. Of course, he leaves for the military, cutting out everything from his past life, you included. It was really for the best, he reasoned, he was a broken man from the start and you deserved someone better, someone whole.

But then, years later, there’s suddenly this nice guy that always seems to come around when you least expect it. At first, it was just an incidental meeting at a coffee shop where you had embarrassingly walked straight into him and spilled your $7 drink all over the front of his shirt. Luckily, the man was kind enough to give you some grace, laughing it off and buying you a new beverage before you even really had a chance to argue that really, you were the one that caused the mess, shouldn’t it be you that owed him a favor?

It was easy to forget all about it.

Until it happened again at the bar. Not the drink spilling part, but the strangely coincidental circumstance of bumping into him, thankfully not literally this time.

He sat down right next to you on the empty stool, giving you a grin that you swore was a little fake in its surprise to have seen you again. Small world, huh?

But then it happened again. And again. And again.

Over the course of a few weeks, you swear you had a tracker on you with how often the friendly Scot seemed to be in your orbit. It didn’t bother you all that much, he was kind, maybe a little flirtatious, which you tried to shut down with one of your usual lines, I’m not really open to dating right now. but the man just brushed it off like it was a silly idea.

I ain’t courtin’ ye, bonnie.

But then why was he always around? Why did he help you bring in your groceries and invite you out to get drinks or coffee at least once a week? Maybe you were just being cynical, expecting that every nice man had some ulterior motive.

Yeah, that was probably it.

At some point you would have to admit that you two were friends. You would talk his ear off about all the stress at work and he would chime in occasionally with stories about his buddies.

Got a mate we call ‘Ghost’, A think you’d get along, bonnie.

Was he trying to set you up with his best friend? So weird.

But it all made sense when he invited you out to get a drink with his ‘friends’ and it turned out that they were more like teammates, brothers-in-arms. He never did mention what he did for work, actually.

And now that you took a closer look at this masked ‘Ghost’, his eyes looked rather familiar, not to mention the way they widened when he spotted you walking closer, Johnny yapping in your ear about ‘fate’ or something.

Yes, Soap did notice Ghost sulking over an old picture of you and had to do his own investigation. What luck that the woman nearly rammed into him the first time he went to scope her out? It was fate, really.

[hai-nae]

a com for mermay, my first ever time contributing 🙊 see uncen here on twt detail/full zoom under cut, it's my fav johnny face now! 🥰

[yippee-optimistically]

NO YOU DONT the fog is coming 😂 😂 varied lotf doodles I LIKE THEM A LOTTTTT good good book. yesss

design/inspo for the design of roger from mikeru .. the simon says animatic got stuck in my head real bad

som kind of first pass designs .. yess

so insanely self infulgent au bc i want them to be friends but pls believe me when i say I UNDERSTAND THE BOOK i just like to play with them like dolls

this 1 i really have no explanation for i just think hes silly. simon you bugly af

simon sewing project coming soon i just need 2 figure out how to sculp some bugs ON GOD !!!!!!