#ESPECIALLY SIMON AND WHAT'S HIS NAME

[shortcakelils]

I'm so normal abt him he's so cool

REF OF MY OC TANTUM!!

he is Folium’s counterpart and my 2nd oldest oc :DD

more doodles and facts under cut!

He plays volleyball, and got a full ride sport scholarship because of it!

went to the same Highschool as folium

is chill and laidback, never really pushed himself academically

Switches between setter and blocker

enjoys dramatic doctor shows

wears long skirts and sport shorts, no inbetween

[netteisms]

Picture This is literally the Sharma family plot we should have had in season two.

[succubusvalentine]

Simon Riley with a wife that loves to cook him lunches. I like to think this is in the same universe as this blurb. CW : None. Pure fluff

Simon loves waking up, having a shower, and then coming downstairs to see a plate of breakfast on the kitchen island, and you, in the kitchen, wearing one of his shirts as your pyjamas.

Simon loves wrapping his arms around your waist as you cook whatever you're making for him.

And it's not as though he demands it, or expects it. Ever since the two of you got married and you got to work from home instead of in the office, you would make Simon lunch.

It wasn't always in the morning, either. Sometimes you would just show up to the 141 base, greeting everyone with a sweet smile. Before handing Simon a still warm container of food.

Simon loved your cooking, but something he loved even more was the ego boost he received from his mates. Johnny especially.

Johnny always commented on what Simon had for lunch. Expressing how good it was and how he wishes he had a 'bonnie lass' at home that would make lunch for him.

Then, Simon made the mistake of telling you about Johnny's words.

Simon had said it in passing while the two of you were cuddling in bed. Chuckling to himself, not even noticing the pout on your lips.

He shouldn't have been surprised when in the morning, he saw two containers, instead of one. One labeled "Simon ‪‪❤︎‬", the other labeled "Johnny ‪‪❤︎‬".

Simon slid the container across the table as he sat across from Johnny. The scotsman looking confused before his eyes lit up.

"She cook this for me, did she?" Johnny smiled brightly.

"Aye. But don't get a big head about it" Simon glared.

"How can I no' get a big head aboot it? sweet lass she is. Migh' have tae steal her from ye"

"don't even think about it"

"She e'en put a heart nex' tae ma name, Simon. She must fancy me"

"I'm telling her you hated the food"

"No! dinnae dae that ye big brute! she'll think A'm a bastard!"

"You are one"

Simon brought home two empty containers that night. Telling you about how Johnny groaned with every mouthful and nearly licked the container clean.

You also started receiving sloppy kisses on the cheek from Johnny whenever you brought lunch in during the day for your husband and his best friend.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[machveil]

Roommate!Simon Riley that doesn’t correct people for thinking you’re dating. Simon’s minding the trolley while you grab a box of cereal at the store, idly standing by while watching people dip in and out of the aisle. when an older woman says you make a cute couple he just nods and says ‘thank you, ma’am’. he especially doesn’t correct someone when he stalks up behind you, a protective hand on your hip when they scoff and ask, “Is this your boyfriend?”

Roommate!Simon Riley that knows you like the back of his hand - ever changing, but still familiar at the end of the day. a new scar marring his knuckles? he’ll memorize what you like from that new café that opened down the block. a new nick on his wrist? he’s picking up that new movie you were gushing about wanting to see, a genre you wouldn’t necessarily choose usually - he’s ignoring how the main love interest looks like him. at the end of the day, some things never change, like how he’s memorized your smile and the way your nose scrunches

Roommate!Simon Riley that’s fallen into a comfortable pattern with you. your friends always say you act like a married couple, but you wave them off. so what if you guys are in the bathroom at the same time? you need to squeeze a shower in and Simon wanted to brush his teeth - besides, he can hand you a towel when you’re done. so what if you sleep in each other’s rooms? the damn AC is busted again, it’s not your fault Simon is as warm as a furnace and welcomes you with open arms

Roommate!Simon Riley whose favorite start to the morning is seeing you bleary eyed and groggy. your hair is messy, pillow lines across your cheek, and your t-shirt is askew - perfect. he doesn’t care if you have crud around your eyes, he doesn’t care if you haven’t brushed your teeth yet, he doesn’t care that you’re wearing his t-shirt— Simon pauses, eyes glued to you. his last name decorating your back… maybe Simon does care about you wearing his shirt

[callsignpxnguin]

Sorry for all the smut I’m ovulating 🥰 🥰

Simon Riley has a massive dick. And not in the typical pornstar, 15-inches, a dildo was modelled after it type of way. It wasn’t perfectly shaped, or symmetrical, or anything you’d expect.

It’s just… huge. Girthy and veiny and long, and always hard as a rock whenever he was with you.

The first time you laid eyes on it, your eyes almost fell out of your skull.

He’d never admit it, but he immediately felt self-conscious. He hadn’t been with an awful lot of women, and most of the time he and the woman in question were both pretty drunk.

Fortunately for him, you thought he was gorgeous no matter what (especially when it came to his cock) and even better, you were moaning his name within seconds of him spearing it into you.

“Feels good, huh?” He groaned lowly as he pounded into you, every thrust making a lewd slapping sound that had your eyes rolling back in delight.

“So good— god, so good…” you could only mewl in response, clawing at his arms so you wouldn’t fall apart.

You were so full. You didn’t know how people could function on a daily basis without always feeling this blissfully full. “Simon, god, oh, god…”

He only grunted and kept going, speeding up as he felt the familiar feeling of you tightening around him even more so than you already were. “That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it…” he broke off suddenly with a much louder groan, when you suddenly felt a heavenly warmth shoot up even further than where he managed to impale you, all the way up into places you didn’t think were possible to touch.

That was all it took for you to join him in his pleasure. You went over the edge at just the sensation, limbs trembling and chest heaving in the aftershocks.

“That good?” He asked, after a few minutes of silence where only your satisfied pants filled the air.

“So… good…” You gasped. In your head, you decided to never let this man go.

[amaranthinespirit]

roommate!simon riley realizing you've been stealing his clothes

simon didn't notice his clothes had slowly been disappearing from his closet. he was always gone on missions, and it wasn't like they didn't find their way back into his drawers at the end of the day.

there would be instances where he was looking for a particular hoodie that had disappeared without a trace, only to find it hanging in his closet the next day.

naturally, he was puzzled by this, but as long as everything returned to him, he didn't mind. he figured you had something to do with it, and to him, you were a harmless little bird. what harm was it to let you steal a shirt or a hoodie from time to time? especially if you needed something big and warm.

until he realised the harm it could cause when he found you in the kitchen with nothing, but his black shirt, 'riley' written across the back in big, white letters.

it was dangerous.

simon hadn't ever saw you in that light, hadn't ever imagined having any sort of claim on you other than being your roommate.

but now?

now you had his name over you.

now he wanted to see you with his last name after your first.

and he'd start making that happen by bending you over the kitchen counter, buried deep in your pussy after he pulled aside your lacy thong.

you'd gasp at the unexpectedness of his actions and keen to the feeling of his hands all over your body, his thick cock pounding your cunt. "fuckin' temptress." his gruff voice muttered into your neck, trailing sloppy kisses over your skin.

he'd knock every breath out of your lungs, make you delirious to where you didn't even question it when he muttered about giving you a ring and putting a baby inside you while rubbing your tummy, feeling where the tip of his cock nudged your stomach.

simon riley knows what he wants, and when he does, he doesn't stop at anything until he gets it.

[sab0dssey]

I LOOOVVVEEE BIG BABY GHOST. ۫ ꣑ৎ . Simon Ghost Riley x f!reader

Husband!Simon who is a totally a big baby with you. He’ll come after from mission or work, the thing he done first is throwing you to bed and cuddling you. His head on your chest, his arms wrapped around your legs. If you stop caressing his back and hair while he was tryna sleep, he’ll groan and bit your arm.—Don’t worry biting is his love language— When he fell asleep he hear nothing. Is TV volume on full? He won’t hear it.—Because of his snores—

Husband!Simon who never take off his ring. —Except dangerous missions.— His ring is a symbol of his love for his wifey.

Husband!Simon never touch, never talk or never even makes an eye contact with any women. He has his own woman so he don’t need any other woman. He is very devoted and devoted to his wife. He has eyes for no one but her. It is as if a spell has been cast on him, and no one except his own girl interests him. What a man…

Husband!Simon who enjoys walking around the house shirtless. He knows you enjoyed his muscular body. Especially his back and biceps…He teases you with doing that. Enjoys your hands roaming around his muscular top.

Husband!Simon loves to tattoo small things about you. The tattoos of things reminding him you. He’s not always at home, so he wants to remind himself about you you. He already has your photo on his wallet, but he thinks it’s not enough. This man is so in love.

Husband!Simon if you stole his wallet and went shopping without telling him. Damn, he never complains. He LOVES you spending his money. Because after all he loves to spoil you. —If you won’t spend his money, don’t worry, he’ll buy expensive things for you— He actually turns on when you came with shopping bags, and that bratty attitude of yours…

Husband!Simon knows his teammates. And he knows how asshole are them. So he always hides you from them. They know Simon is married—They learned that he’s married, after 2 years later of his wedding, don’t mention that..— But his teammates never saw her face, or never knows her name. Because Simon mentions you, if that’s necessary, saying My wife.

Husband!Simon his ego is high. He always wants to win arguments. It just…his nature, y’know. He feels good when he wins an argument. It's like being right, satisfies his ego. Even when he's in a situation where he can't be right about something, he finds a way to be right. It's always been like this.

“Don’t I said don’t go somewhere without telling me?! Do you have ANY idea how I felt when I couldn’t saw you at home, when you already said you’ll be waiting me at home?!” He yelled. His ears turned red from anger—mostly from panic— His hands turned to fists. The veins in his forehead, arms and hands would’ve be seen from meters away.

He rubbed his forehead, trying to calm himself down. His head snapped towards your when he heard a soft, quiet, “‘M sorry…” from you. Head bowed down, fidgeting her fingers.

That’s it. That’s all he needed. That’s allll his anger needed to hear, to ease. He melted like a butter on sun. He exhaled all breath from his body. And then pulled her to his chest, wrapped his arms around her fragile body. Holding her head on his chest tightly. He regretted everything in that moment. He regretted for yelling her. He regretted for being angry to her.

“‘s alright, darling…” he breathed into her vanilla scented hair. He was short tempered man. But not to her. He would yell anybody who pissed him off. He would yell until his throat aches. But when he saw his girl’s tearfilled, puppy eyes he would melt immediately. He would have forget even his own name, let alone his anger…

(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

[maskedbyghost]

more possessive!reader and our man Simon? hell yes!

You leave your stuff at his place like it’s your second apartment. Hair ties on his nightstand, your clothes in his laundry. That one lip balm he pretends not to use but absolutely does. He once found your earring on his pillow and sat there staring at it for ten minutes straight.

You correct girls when they flirt with him. Not rudely. Just with some subtle things. “He doesn’t like gin, actually,” with a little smile. “Simon’s more of a bourbon guy.” Meanwhile, Simon’s standing behind you, blinking like a confused dog. He didn’t even know he was a bourbon guy until you said so.

He starts dressing the way you like without realizing it. You complimented his black joggers once? Suddenly, they’re in heavy rotation. Mention his cologne smells good? He’s wearing it to the grocery store. You say, “I like when you leave your hair messy like that,” and now he’s suspiciously tousled 24/7.

You use your phone like a weapon. Screenshotting girls who like his pics. “This one again?” with a raised eyebrow. Sending him selfies when he’s out late with a little “missing you” just to make sure he’s thinking about you.

Simon tries to stay cool, tries to act unbothered. But then you say something like, “I don’t like when other girls touch you,” and he’s short-circuiting. Sitting there all red-eared and tense like his body’s trying to pretend it’s not turning into goo.

You say “mine” a lot. Half-joking. Especially when someone flirts with him in front of you. You’ll just wrap your arms around his waist, smile up at him, and go, “God, you’re so mine,” like it’s nothing, and he eats it up.

He tries to “set boundaries” exactly one time. It lasts approximately three days before you show up looking hot, acting normal, and sleeping in his bed like nothing ever changed. He doesn’t bring it up again.

He gets real quiet sometimes. He just looks at you like he’s still trying to figure out how the hell he got here, with you wrapped around him, calling him “baby” like it’s always been his name. And then he just mutters, “How the fuck did I ever think we were just friends?”

He calls you bossy. You take it as a compliment. And let’s be honest, so does he. You tell him where to sit, when to eat, what show to watch—and the worst part? He likes it. It’s the only time his brain shuts off. Just nods and goes, “Yes, love,” like you didn’t just grab him by the collar and steer him like a Roomba.

You never pretend to be casual about him. You look at him like he belongs to you. Like the very idea of someone else getting his attention is personally offensive. He’ll be tying his boots, not even thinking about anything, and you’ll mutter, “I hope no one tries to flirt with you today. I don’t feel like playing nice.”

You get real smug when he shuts down other women. Like, you knew he would, but it still hits different hearing him say “nah, I’ve got someone” without hesitation. You’ll just smile to yourself and say, “Good boy,” when he gets home—and he’ll pretend to roll his eyes while trying not to get hard.

You don’t get jealous. You get territorial. There's a difference. Jealousy is insecure. Territorial is knowing you’ve already won and still refusing to let anyone look at your prize without remembering whose he is.

And he loves it. Loves the way you don’t play games. Loves that you’re all in. Loves that being with you feels like being chosen every day.

PART 3

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@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

[orbitganymede]

18+, MDNI

having a one night stand with simon and thinking you’d never see him again, he was a good lay, giving you orgasm after orgasm and speaking absolute filth into your ear when he was deep inside your cunt. you’d say maybe the best you’ve ever had, but that didn’t stop you from leaving early in the morning from his sparsely decorated flat, a note left on his side table that simply said you’d had a good night and you hoped he did too, you even added a cute little smiley to the end. then you’d gone on with your day, with your life.

until, about 2 weeks after, there was a knock at your door, it’s late, already having put on your pjs and started searching your pantry for something to make for dinner. and when you open the door, your surprise is palpable, there simon stood, long, strong legs covered in cargo pants, pretty brown eyes locked on you, a black surgical mask covering the lower part of his face, hiding the long scar that you remember feeling rub against your thigh. he holds a bag of takeout and then proceeds to shoulder his way in, leaving a small kiss on your cheek through the mask before making his way to your couch.

you want to ask how he found your place, how he knew you were home, and why the hell he’s here. you actually do ask the third one, which he answers with a simple, gruff “dinner”. you nod slowly, finding your way to the other end of the couch, but are met with a huff and a large hand pulling you closer to him, making sure your leg is pressed right up against his. he plates your food, then starts eating his own, makes small comments about the taste and asks questions about your day. the night seems almost normal, like something you’ve done before with him, disregarding the fact that you’d only been around each other for 2 hours tops and almost all of that time was spent by you trying to do something other than moan his name.

when you’re done you expect him to leave, to go on with his night, or maybe you to wake up from a dream. instead he makes his way to your bedroom, sits down on the bed and tells you how he can’t stop thinking about your lips around his cock. and yeah, you fold.

that’s how you end up learning that his stamina is insane, especially for an older guy, and he likes to see your face, makes sure to face you towards a mirror in full nelson or holds you in mating press with his pink (scarred) lips against yours. maybe you also learn that his phone lock screen is a color scarily similar to your irises and you see a file with your full name (one you hadn’t given him) front and center when he rolls over to unlock his phone, he says something about how he needs to send a message to ‘his team’ about dinner this weekend to meet his new bird, you wonder what kind of sports team he’s on, gotta be rugby with a build like his, but your thoughts don’t stray too far before he’s ready to go again, something about three being his lucky number, that this time it will take.

[lxvvie]

Not many people can corner Simon Riley and live to tell the tale.

Not many people would even consider doing so, sweetheart, but you're not many people. You're in a league all your own.

It's you welcoming him home by trapping him against the wall, knowing full well your soldier was very capable of freeing himself, but what was the fun in that? Simon's interest is piqued. What did you want from him? What were you going to do to him? Did you want to see him fuckin' feral, embarrassed and turned as he stroked his cock again for you, darling? You want him naked on your bed, kissing on his tattoos and the newest set of bruises, your soldier blushing as you loved on him like no one ever has before?

Bloody hell, just... just say the word. He'd do anything for you, baby, you know this, just—

Fuck.

It's Simon, falling apart at the seams again when you kiss him.

And you take control.

You take control, sweetheart. Your lips are firm. Soft. Softer than his, and you taste better than any fuckin' drink, food, or ciggie he's ever had in his life. It's Simon and those hands of his, hands that have held weapons and taken lives, holding you like you're the most fragile fuckin' thing because he'd never forgive himself if he'd hurt you, especially when you feel so good in his arms.

It's you deepening the kiss, claiming whats yours, exploring just about every part of his mouth that you can, being a fuckin' tease and playing tongue tag, and fuck, Simon's breathless. Lightheaded, euphoric, hard. Whatever the fuck you wanna call it. He'd call it heaven if he ever believed.

But Simon would be damned if he said you hadn't made a believer out of him.

It's you pulling another coup de grâce, biting down on his lower lip before you pull away completely, enough to break skin, make his cock jump in his pants, and have him feening for more like some fuckin' schoolboy with a crush. Goddamn.

Fuck are you doing to him, sweetheart?

It's you and Simon staring each other down, pupils blown, panting for air, pressed so tightly against each other you might as well merge bodies, and you don't wanna put a name to what you're feeling. Not yet. Simon doesn't let go, doesn't wanna let go, and you're not complaining, not when you're busy taking in your masterpiece of a soldier, flushed and desperate and hard and Jesus fucking Christ.

Mine.

Your soldier who never breaks eye contact with you and runs his tongue over his bottom lip, over your mark, and the slight sting makes his heart skip a beat and his cock jump again.

Yours, sweetheart.

And Simon is in heaven.

[yourstrulyrani]

husband!simon riley

a/n: AHH my first work so exciting! anyways i have currently been a hopeless romantic so what better way to cope than by making some headcanons about my fav mancunian?

husband!simon riley who ABSOLUTELY adores it when you wear his camo hoodie that has his last name 'RILEY' splayed on the back of it. the way the hoodie falls to your knees because the man is built like a tank and his clothes, especially this hoodie, proves it.

husband!simon riley who not only wears his wedding band, but tattooed your initials on his ring finger. he understands the wedding band is already a symbol but "love, i need something permanent."

husband!simon riley who rarely brings work home. he's completely different on base or on missions. he's a killer, a strategic soldier who completes his missions and does it effortlessly. but when he comes home, he's just your simon. he is your husband, a man deeply in love and devoted to you. he doesn't like to talk about his missions. he doesn't want you to worry. he would much rather whisper sweet words in your ear as his face is nuzzled perfectly between your shoulder and neck.

husband!simon riley who loves touching you. when you're cooking, he wraps his muscular arms from behind around your waist. when you're lounging on the couch, he has his large hand on your thigh, massaging and appreciating the softness. when you're fast asleep, he makes sure to move closer, running his fingers through your hair being careful not to tangle or damage it during the process. he thinks being able to touch you is an honor. it grounds him knowing that you're real.

husband!simon riley who NEVER lets you pay for anything. it's not to make you feel you are incapable of managing the finances. instead, he just wants you to be comfortable enough to not worry about money. all the bills are payed by him, groceries, and even your subscriptions. he makes sure you know his bank information and made you an authorized user on his card. "i have money, sweetheart, so just let me take care of you. you're mine. you deserve it."

husband!simon riley who thinks it's hot when you get mad. he still has yet to know why. but he thinks it's something about the way you have so much temper in your little self you could "start world war 3 if you wanted to, lovie."

husband!simon riley who loves seeing you with kids. his relationship with his parents wasn't the best: an abusive father and a distant mother. he never even wanted kids until you came into his life. he feared becoming like his dad. but with your reassurance and seeing the way your eyes brighten and your giggles get louder every time you're with kids.. he now doesn't mind having some mini rileys around the house. when he develops baby fever, in the deep of the night with you asleep softly against him, he thinks about your belly swollen and your body womanly with the baby you two will love deeply.

(i literally need him so bad now this isn’t funny okay bye let me go watch the australian grand prix)

~ yours truly, rani ♥︎

[cantharel]

Being Simon's pretty little thing was almost a perfect dream.

People could know Simon as the imposing, serious, brooding, scary figure. But with you? He was a softie.

Ask him for anything, and he'll go to hell to find it for you. He was the type who wouldn't let you pay for anything, especially when the two of you went out together. If you wanted an ice cream, he'd pay for you. Flowers? Take your pick, and he'll pay. A stuffed toy? He'll give it to you. A nice outfit in the display window? He just lets you go into the store and buy what you want.

Simon makes enough money to spoil you. Even though he's very conscious about his spending, he doesn't mind spending more than he should on you. You're his pretty little thing. He loves you too much to deny you anything.

And that wasn't just about material goods. Ask for a kiss, and he'll bend down to give you a kiss as sweet as honey. Feeling needy? He sits down, spreads his legs, taps his lap, and waits for you to straddle him, making him into a big cuddly bear. He'd let you kiss him on the face, steal little kisses, smiling at you all the time, looking at you with those lovesick puppy eyes.

If he was working from home, you'd be on his lap, offering him cuddles and kisses whenever he needed them. Simon liked to have his personal space, but with you, he made an exception. What could be better than holding his pretty little bird?

Even though he had brute strength, he was so gentle with you. He never picked you up in a way that could hurt. He was always gentle with you, treating you like a delicate little flower. Even in cuddle sessions, he held you tightly but never hurt you. Under no circumstances would he do that to you.

He would never forgive himself if you weren't comfortable around him or if you were afraid of him.

Do you want to make Simon even more whipped for you? He just needed to wake up to your affectionate gestures, your soft lips filling his face with kisses, whispering how much you liked him. Simon might not have liked waking up early, but you managed to make him like it anyway.

Once you whispered 'I love you', he quickly replied quietly, mumbling to himself:

“I'm goin' to marry you one day, little bird.”

And you can start dreaming about a ring, because he's going to give you one. Mrs. Riley seemed like a good name.

Guess who is in her Simon's phase again?🫠

[theorist-fox]

Can I interest you in some silly sex with Simon? 🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️

18+

Word count: 1k.

CW: nothing really. Just silly sex. Just giggling sex. Just I-need-to-give-this-man-some-humanity sex. Simon is ticklish and you find out, that's the plot.

Masterlist 🦊

You look delectable straddling his hips.

Naked and soft, plump tits sitting prettily in his hands. His thumbs swipe idly around your perked nipples as you ride him slowly, early morning sun peeking through the curtains and lapping at your skin. What a way to wake up, what a sight.

He stares at your lips and how they part for him—something he still has to get used to, though he probably never truly will. How dulcet does his name sound if it’s your voice whispering it, how beautiful your eyes when they take in his face.

Soft hands are pressed on his chest for leverage, and you’re treating him with a view he keeps pinned to the forefront of his brain—gliding your cunt until you’re chock-full of him, stroking yourself until you’re shivering.

He likes it when he’s on top, sure. He’s used to taking the lead and orchestrating every detail, in and out of the job. 

But when you allow him to sit back and take it? Hell, sign him up. He’d do it every day. Especially when it’s this lazy sex here, in which you’re canting your hips to cum before he does, giving him the blissful chance of feeling you clench around him when he's still hard. 

Goosebumps rise under your nails as they graze down his chest and brush his stomach. Your hands wander blindly on his belly, then his sides, as you clock his eyes with your heavy ones, panting softly, idly—my beautiful, beautiful girl.

But then you inadvertently brush his ribs, and he stiffens—even squirms, and your movements come to a halt.

You blink as conscience returns to you slowly, and the room sinks into tense silence. His cock twitches inside of you when you tilt your head inquisitively, squinting your eyes.

Experimentally, you brush your fingertips against his ribs again, and his biceps flatten to his sides, trapping your hands.

Your eyes widen, and his do the same.

“Don’t.”

You gasp, “Oh my God.”

“Darling, no.” He warns, but you’ve clearly made up your mind already.

Your lips are curled in a smile that promises mischief, and he can only give up, sit back, and count his losses.

“Darling, yes.”

Simon feels your fingers wiggle under the tight press of his arms, but no matter his strength, they're seemingly useless against that playful resolve you're displaying.

His cock is still embarrassingly hard inside you, and Simon reckons it won't soften any time soon. You don’t seem eager to get off him either, thus prolonging the torture with each tiny movement you make.

He inhales sharply and fights tooth and nail to school his expression into neutrality. His eyes are narrowed, and his jaw is locked tight. The only thing giving him away is the flush of his cheeks, getting pinker by the second because he refuses to open his mouth to breathe a much-needed lungful of air. Knowing that if he would, he'd bark a laugh that would proclaim you as the winner of this fight.

He would never.

You roll your hips, then—cheap trick. He unravels with a shaky breath, and his biceps give out enough for you to slip your hands away.

And then, he knows he's done for.

“Cut it out.” He barks, trying to sound stern and miserably failing. He knows because you're laughing even harder.

Your fingers feel like tiny bugs crawling up his sides, and they make his breath catch in his throat.

“Never.” You say, with a grin that scrunches your nose. A smile that would normally make his heart throb, but right now just makes him wish he were a lesser man so he could throttle you.

“Fuckin’-“

You chuckle.

You evil little cunt.

Resistance lasts a few more seconds before he bursts.

It’s not a full laugh that leaves him; more of a wheeze that makes you chortle like a wicked witch. His chest heaves as your fingers frantically tickle his sides. Tries to get you off him by shaking his hips, but that only makes the two of you falter and moan, and then chuckle and catch your breaths.

His shoulders shake in a breathless, choking laugh that pitches upward as you continue with your assault (yes, assault—he is not being dramatic), eyes veiled with tears of frustration and mirth. He shrieks when your hands travel under his armpits—the sound makes you giggle in a way that would have him melt. 

“That laugh’s lovely, baby.” You say with a smarmy grin he wishes he could wipe with a kiss, hands unrelenting against his sides. “Sound like a kettle whistling.”

He tries to glower and push you off, but you’re surprisingly strong when you’re focused. Right now, your only goal is to apparently make him hate you—he'd rather be held at gunpoint than being forced to hold in a laugh that makes his stomach hurt.

Simon now looks shockingly harmless, with his cheeks flushed bright red and his voice an octave too high—wouldn't look dangerous if he tried.

“Tea ready, yet?” You add, batting your lashes, because why not rub salt into the already embarrassing wound marring his pride.

It’s that unfathomably stupid joke that finally makes Simon crack. He barks out a laugh that bubbles up his throat, rippling through his stomach so suddenly that you bounce above him. Your own laugh follows soon after, because each time you manage to steal one from him, your heart vibrates with loving triumph.

But still—he is Simon Riley, isn’t he? Member of Task Force 141. Lieutenant in the UK Special Forces, SAS. The Ghost. There is some pride in there, one he'd like to keep intact.

He tries to recollect his breath, sniffling, and his arms shoot out to wrap around your waist. He rolls onto his side, taking you with him.

It’s then that you find yourself in a position of utter disadvantage, on your back with your big brute of a boyfriend holding you down. You’re wide-eyed and still smiling with barely contained giggles, and he’d be lying if he said it doesn't make his heart soar.

Sure, he’s panting, still proper flushed and apple-cheeked, with shivers wrecking his spine and unshed tears in his eyes—but he takes great pride in having won yet another fight (again, not overreacting at all, if you ask him).

He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.

You fix him with a look. “Simon, no.”

Before you can add more to your complaint, he rams his cock into you until your chest stutters, your lips mouthing around a shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.

He fucks you into the mattress, then—once, twice, until the remnants of laughter vanish from your face and you’re trembling in bliss, eyes rolled back under heavy eyelids.

He places a sloppy kiss down to your collarbone.

“Simon, yes.”

[sai-int]

fwb!simon, reader catches feelings- NO. FWB!SIMON BUT SIMON CATCHES FEELINGS. [ pt 2 ]

--

it's quite simple.

simon comes home from a mission, he's restless, twitching, pacing, can't figure out what to do with his hands.

so what does he do? he knocks on your door, waiting anxiously until you open it and he's scooping you up, hauling you across the hall and into his basically empty apartment, and fucking you into the mattress for the night.

and you're just so good at taking it—whatever he gives you and whenever he gives it. you cry, whine, beg and plead for his cock in all the ways you know how—until you go blue in the face—and simon fucking revels in it. he's all harsh words and degrading names, calling you a filthy slut, his cocksleeve, a fucking cumdump—you name it, he's probably said it.

it's perfect, until it's not.

he's spent months fucking you stupid, night after night. he fucks you even when he's not restless. he fucks you when he's bored, when he's lonely. especially when he's lonely.

simon riley's a gridlocked man. hardly anything ever gets past him, but it didn't take many rendezvous between your thighs for him to forget that.

his mask would come fully off—not just above his lips—and you'd still kiss him breathless, still scream his name until your throat went hoarse. you weren't afraid of everything underneath. if anything, you liked it.

It's not like the both of you frequently exchanged actual conversations, but he could tell by the way you dripped and soaked his sheets even more than you ever had.

after that, he even began to gather enough courtesy to let you get some rest after he fucks you, letting you stay wrapped in his sheets for whatever sliver of the night was left.

you never pushed, and that's what he liked most about you. you always went by his terms because you never really cared as long as you got fucked six ways from sunday.

so, you always left when he woke without a problem. that was the arrangement and you were more than fine with getting a good fuck only a few steps away from your own home.

then even you began to notice the shift.

simon could never fuck you badly, per se. but he began to fuck you more softly. tenderly, as if he was suddenly aware that humans shouldn't be bent in half as long he's had you pinned underneath him in the past. he'll rock his hips into you with similar fervor, but he'd caress you, rather than grab at you. hold your forehead to his, rather than choke you with his thick hands.

then came the praise. god, it's like fucking a completely different man. from one week to the next, you're no longer a slut or a hole, you're pretty girl and angel. it makes your head spin. you try to pinpoint the change and why it happened, but you can't. somehow, you cum twice as hard now.

it all came to an ugly head when he spent the better part of 2 hours between your thighs, moaning and groaning as if you were doing him a service.

now, you weren't going to complain, but love just wasn't in the cards for you right now, and the looks simon was giving you from where he lapped at your cunt were filled with adoration, like he was waiting for you to tell him how good he was doing.

hell, you could see a phantom tail wagging each time his eyes met your own. and after a session that felt more like making love than an explosion of pure lust, you could feel his eyes lingering on you as you slipped your panties back on.

"what?" you hum, not wanting to face him in fear you'd see that godforsaken look in his eyes again.

and you were right, because he's staring at you like he's about to drop to one knee. "nothin'."

you toss your shirt back over your head and steel yourself as you turn to face him.

"simon," you start and he's already hanging on your words, "what's going on with you lately? i don't mean to sound rude but—"

this is it, he thinks. it has to be now, or nothing will change. he's not a religious man, but if he's ever prayed to god for anything, it's for this to become something real.

"'m in love with ya."

one blink, then two. two to three, three to four. you stare at him as you try to piece together what he's saying.

"simon, i don't think you understand—"

"—i do. i do understand and i want ya, bad. so bad, i can't even stop thinkin' bout ya, sweetheart. even when y'not 'ere im thinkin' about ya. everything about y'is perfect, and i don't think i can function without y'with me."

this is the most emotion you've ever seen out of simon and it rocks you to your core. if you didn't know better—and if the lighting wasn't so dim—you'd think he was tearing up.

you didn't know how to break it to him.

[geneviveleocardius]

some husband material headcanons with simon riley

late-night garage dances are his quiet way of loving you. when the house is quiet and you’re both waiting for your daughter to get home from a party, he’ll pull you into a slow dance. he doesn’t say much, just rests his chin on your head as the two of you sway to soft music in the dim light.

if you’re too tired to shower, he’ll gently coax you into letting him wash your hair. his hands are rough but so careful, massaging your scalp in a way that makes your shoulders relax instantly.

when you’re at the beach, you trace your name on his back with sunscreen, leaving the rest bare. later, when the tan sets in and your name is etched on his skin, he looks at it in the mirror and smirks. he loves the quiet claim you have on him, even if he pretends to roll his eyes when you point it out.

simon takes his time applying sunscreen to you at the beach, even though he could be quick about it. he’s meticulous, rubbing it in gently over your shoulders and back, making sure you don’t miss a spot. “can’t have you burning, love,” he says softly. he always uses it as an excuse to trail his fingers along your skin, a subtle moment of affection.

he’s big on touch, even if he doesn’t always initiate it. his favorite moments are when you lay your head on his chest at night and trace the scars on his arms. he doesn’t always talk about them, but he likes the way you don’t shy away from them either.

he’s the kind of dad who stays up until he hears the door click after a late night out. he’ll mutter about the time under his breath, but he softens immediately when your daughter leans in to give him a quick hug before heading to bed.

if he hears you sigh in frustration while cooking or doing something around the house, he’ll quietly walk over, take whatever you’re holding, and finish the job without a word.

he doesn’t say it often, but he loves being domestic with you. folding laundry, fixing things around the house, or even grocery shopping together is calming for him.

simon keeps a picture of the two of you tucked in his wallet—a candid photo of you laughing. when he’s away, he takes it out to remind himself what’s waiting for him back home.

he’ll let you put ridiculous face masks on him during a lazy evening, even though he grumbles about it. “this better not make me smell like a bloody fruit salad,” he mutters, but he stays still for you.

he’s terrible at hiding his smile when he hears you laugh. even in the most mundane moments, your happiness is his favorite sound.

sometimes, he’ll sneak up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and sway you gently to a song only he can hear.

if your child ever talks back to you or says something disrespectful, simon doesn’t let it slide for a second. his voice is calm but firm as he says, “that’s your mum you’re speaking to. apologize—now.” he rarely raises his voice, but the weight behind his words is enough to make them realize they’ve crossed a line. later, he’ll sit down with them, explaining why respect is non-negotiable. “she does everything for us. you don’t ever treat her like that, understood?”

when you have surgery, simon steps into full caregiver mode, even though it’s not something he’s entirely used to. he carefully helps you into the bath, always making sure you’re comfortable and secure. his touch is gentle as he washes you, murmuring, “tell me if anything hurts.”

he dries your hair after the bath, combing it slowly so it doesn’t tangle. “you’re still as gorgeous as ever,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

he insists on carrying you to bed, even if you tell him you can walk. “don’t argue with me, love. you’re meant to rest.” he tucks you in, makes sure you have everything you need, and stays close by in case you need him during the night.

simon takes every opportunity to teach your child the importance of kindness, especially toward you. he models this by being gentle with you, always showing them how love and respect are expressed.

he’s a firm dad, but never unfair. when he has to scold your child, he always makes sure they understand why their behavior was wrong, but he’s quick to reassure them that he loves them no matter what.

during your recovery from surgery, simon takes over all the household duties. he’s not a great cook, but he’ll follow recipes to the letter to make sure you’re well-fed. when something doesn’t turn out quite right, he mutters, “bloody hell,” but doesn’t stop trying.

[quarterlifekitty]

I think of Gaz and Johnny as nosy bitches, especially when it comes to ghost, and they’re always trying to look over his shoulder to see what he’s doing on his phone

And they start noticing a contact that keeps popping up (not saved with a real name, no one in Ghost’s phone is) and getting sent money. Hundreds at a time. Heart emojis being sent in response.

They compare notes with each other, Soap and Gaz, and they come to the conclusion that he’s finally done it. ghost has gotten so terminally bitchless that he’s letting some bimbo fleece him for all he’s worth.

They’re debating how to intervene, tell him it’s not over, he’s tall enough that he could find a real girlfriend probably, when he invites them over.

And you’re completely normal. It’s clear you love Simon a lot, and while you have a lot of hobbies, there’s no designer purse or high end rhinestone nail extensions, no souvenirs from Paris.

“L.T. I’ve gotta ask. All tha’ money… the hell was it all fer?”

“Premium season pass to the zoo.”