#simon Riley Drabble

[beloveds-embrace]

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

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

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

Never too heavy for me, doll.

[dmitriene]

it's takes some time for simon to start being intimate with you, loose himself up just a little bit so he could at least hold your hand in public, accept the sweet, butterfly kisses you press against his cheek each time he's lost in his thoughts again, catching him off guard, and he can't be uncomfortable or nervous when you giggle so treacly and smile at him lovably.

start being the one who initiates touches and kisses, hold you close to his sturdy body with heavy, spanning hands, holding your chin up with a pressing, rubbing thumb, tasting your lips slowly, almost teasingly, brushing and then pulling back, making yours and his lips swell with warmth, cooling down with spit he smears messily.

simon tells you that your first time with him might not be the way you expect, rasped between insistent kisses, his tongue licking in the sweetness of your welcoming mouth, tracing against your palate, and as repulsive as it may sound, he thinks you deserve to know that you shouldn't overestimate your expectations, even through you already know how hard it is for him.

somehow, he ruins the whole image, leaving you not only boneless, but completely cockdrunk, trembling, strained legs dangle uselessly in the air, spread wide to show and see the way your pulsing cunt gushes liquid hot around his fat, pistoning cock, pumping you full enough for you to feel simon in your tummy.

absolutely filthy, purred words scorching warm against the sensitive skin of your ear, soaking in and spreading all over your veins, body warming up as you cling to simon, sink your nails with crescents and entangled lines against his wide shoulders, sputtering, mewling sounds tumbling from between your clenching teeth's, as you keen for more.

simon manages not only prove you both wrong, but also see the way you writhe in complete ecstasy, watch through opaque, inky wells of eyes how you shiver, hips twisting, jerking up as you chase the grinding, ramming feel of his swollen head abusing your spongy spot, spine breaking in a sharp arch, crumpling the sheets, as you sob his name in garbled chants.

you're not crawling out of the bed soon, not with the calloused, rough pads of fingers splayed over your twitching, pebbled clit, not after simon discovers that he can make a girl cum more than twice, hiccuping so prettily after each one, but still holding onto his scratched, almost bleeding hands.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[vouges]

word count: 750 - nsfw, minors do not interact.

Tattoo artist Simon! who had a busy schedule, very high in demand yet for some reason always had a spot available for you.

Tattoo artist Simon! who swore the discount he gave you was just a friendly gesture, brushing it off as a way to make a loyal client feel appreciated.

Tattoo artist Simon! who never did more than necessary, the touch routine and practiced, yet with you he always let his fingers linger longer than they needed to, almost caressing, before you heard the familiar buzz of the needle.

"Gotta keep still for me, yeah?" he murmured, "Can’t be messing up my pretty canvas"

Tattoo artist Simon! who felt like a fool every time his cock hardened when you’d send through a picture of your healed up tattoo, with a sweet little thank you message always accompanied by a heart that pathetically made him want to cum in his boxers.

Tattoo artist Simon! who insisted you were just another client, even as he fucked his fist to the images of you engrained into his mind. He felt like a desperate mess, cock achingly hard as ropes of cum shot out, splattering across his stomach all from the slithers of skin that he’d seen when tattooing you. God, how easily you made him feel like an inexperienced virgin.

Tattoo artist Simon! who messaged back embarrassingly fast when you asked if he ever wanted to meet up outside of just a tattooing session. He cringed afterwards, noticing the typos and the awkward combination of emojis used.

'A thumbs up and two smiles?' he thought to himself, 'Real great Simon, should've thrown in the entire happy categories of emojis whilst you're at it'

Tattoo artist Simon! who couldn't believe his luck when you and him wound up on your sofa after dinner and a few drinks at a local pub but makes no move to question it as you both kiss messily, tongues dancing and hands reaching everywhere they can with the current restriction of your clothes.

"Wow- this is actually happening, huh?" he mumbled as you kissed messily, hands grasping at each other, "God, you've no idea how long I've been waiting for this"

Tattoo artist Simon! who had to bite down on your shoulder to muffle the groan that escaped him as he bottomed out in you for the first time. Hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as if he was scared you'd disappear if he let up.

"Fuuuck-" he whispered shakily as he tried to remind himself you had neighbours and very thin walls, "God that feels so good."

Tattoo artist Simon! who quickly gave up on any attempt to be quiet once he heard how pretty your moans sounded, selfishly wanting them to grace his ears with every thrust as he tilted your head back, not wanting you to stifle your moans with the cushions underneath you.

"Shit- no, keep making those sounds," he murmured, breath hot against your skin, "Wanna hear every single one of ‘em, don't go quiet on me, doll"

Tattoo artist Simon! who honestly felt like he'd never experienced sex this good, even on a less than comfortable sofa that he knew would leave him sore in the morning, it was worth it as he felt your pussy clench around his cock, so warm and tight, milking him for all his worth.

"Fuck- so...so, good-" he almost whined, punctuating each word with a thrust, his balls slapping against your skin as he increased tempo, "Could stay like this forever."

Tattoo artist Simon! who kissed you with so much more care than you'd ever expect as you both came, you gushing around his cock as his cum shot out, painting your walls, before slowly oozing out from where you were both connected.

Tattoo artist Simon! who had to take a moment to admire the sight of your blissed out face as you lay back on the sofa, slick with sweat and his cum running out of you.

Tattoo artist Simon! who laughed as he lay beside you on a sofa that was way too small, the both of you talking about everything and nothing at all before realising you'd both denied wanting this for so long.

"I tried so hard not to like you, thinking you were too good for me- hoping it would keep the thoughts at bay," he chuckled, a contagious sound as he ran his fingers across your skin, "Didn’t work for shit obviously with you wanting me just as bad."

[r66dusthewriter]

The forbidden fruit

Pairing: Simon Riley x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: I had to close my legs while writing this.

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Little to no plot. Explicit sexual content (18+), voyeuristic themes, masked man, dry humping, (sort of?) paid sex, strip club setting.

Word count: 1.3k

You’d been a night dancer for four years, moving from uneasy to owning it, with a found family of women nearly as close as sisters. The job paid well, the security was tight and after a while, you realized you liked the power, the control of where eyes landed, who got close and when. With that power in mind, you chose to only dance and maybe talk. Ironically, that restraint, that refusal to be available on demand, only made you more desirable. 

For the last six months, everything about your nightly stage felt different because of him.

He always sat at the back and the same table. Massive, masked and imposing, the kind of man who drew stares even in a club built for spectacle. He never drank, never accepted a dance or even a chat then. 

But two months in, after seeing a creepy customer cross a line with you, he stepped in with just enough force to make the message clear. From that moment on, everyone started calling him “your guy” and he acted like it, tipping hundreds just to sit there two hours and say nothing at all to anyone but you.

“Y/n… your guy’s back,” Ani grinned as she strolled into the changing room, her voice sing-song with mischief. Around her, a chorus of teasing sighs and shoulder shimmies erupted from the other girls. You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile.

“He’s not my guy.”

“Oh, but he is,” Ani shot back, stepping closer with a raised brow. “He doesn’t pay for a single service, won’t even take a drink! Just sits at your stage like some brooding statue. Won’t look at anyone, won’t talk to anyone except you.”

She leaned in, voice dropping playfully. “Right now, he’s out there looking like a lost puppy because you’re not on yet.”

Laughter rippled through the room as a few of the girls chimed in their agreement.

“That’s your guy,” Ani said, winking.

You shook your head, brushing the last bit of powder from your face and rising from the makeup chair. You couldn’t suppress the warmth curling in your chest, though you kept your tone neutral. 

“Same table?”

“Same table,” she confirmed, still smiling.

When you arrived, he offered quietly and for the first time ever, a seat beside him. His raspy voice and thick accent sent a shiver up your spine.

“Nice to see you again,” he simply said.

You flirted, you bantered and let the tease slip into your eyes but every time another customer tried to pull you away, you saw the way his gloved hands tensed on his thighs and how his shoulders squared. And when you stood up to go chat with another client, he dropped five grand onto the table, flat and easy. “What does that get me?”

You arched your brow, heat coiling in your belly. “What do you want?”

His eyes glittered behind the skull mask. “To talk.”

Except the game changed when you suggested the massage room. Inside, he stripped off his shirt and your breath caught. His body was scarred yet beautiful with tattooed muscle on pale skin even under harsh light. You took a deep breath and let your hands roam, learning every inch as you straddled his lap.

You massaged his chest with slow, lazy circles, feeling his heartbeat thumping strong under your palms. His gaze burned into you, unmoving.

“I don’t usually do this,” you whispered, voice shaky, suggesting to get one of your coworkers to give him a proper massage.

“It’s good,” he rumbled, voice thick with want.

You grew bolder then. His hands found your thighs, strong and warm on your skin, thumbs pressing just enough to make you gasp and accommodate over him. That’s when you felt his cock, hard and hot under you, causing a sharp ache to throb between your legs, making it hard to ignore how you’d been starved and untouched for so long it almost hurt.

His fingers tightened, pupils blown out as he met your eyes. “Want to get off?” he asked, low and serious.

You shook your head, breath trembling, but not with fear.

His gaze lowered to your parted lips, ears straining to hear how you softly sighed. “Or move?”

Your hips answered for you. Slowly at first, you rolled against him, feeling every contour of him through your thin panties and his jeans. Even like this you could tell his cock was hard, thick and impossibly big. The friction quickly sent a bolt of pleasure straight through you, causing you to tilt your head back and moan aloud.

He groaned at the sight, a raw and needy sound while his hands gripped your ass under your ridden up dress, guiding your movements. It was obscene, the slide of your slick center over his clothed cock, the drag of denim against silk and the unmoving eye contact, all while every grinding thrust sent waves of heat through you.

The air soon filled with desperate sounds, your soft whimpers and sighs mixed with his deep grunts and the harsh rasp of his breath behind the mask. You pressed closer, grinding down harder and his cock twitched against you, leaking through his jeans and making a delicious wet spot that matched your own. 

Your hands rested on his firm, toned abdomen, the heat of his skin grounding you as you moved. You took your time, savoring the moment, every rise and fall of your hips a slow climb, every subtle shift drawing you closer to the edge. His muscles tensed beneath your palms, each breath he took syncing with yours, heavy and hungry. You rocked against him with growing urgency, letting the minutes stretch, letting the pleasure build until your body trembled with the promise of release.

He tilted his hips up to meet your rhythm, his grip strong but worshipful. You could feel yourself getting wetter, soaking through your panties with every pass.

“Fuck—” he growled.

“Uhhh!—” You moaned, walls contracting around nothing. Being an absolute slut for vocal men didn’t help your case, you couldn’t hold it back any longer. Sparks shot through your core, pleasure mounting higher and higher while your clit ground perfectly against the ridge of his cock. “Fuck, I’m—”

“Let go,” he ordered roughly. “Want to watch you come for me.”

Your orgasm hit hard, knees shaking and body shuddering while a strangled moan tore from your throat as you ground down and rode the wave out on his lap. You felt yourself gush even more, soaking him and your panties, the heat between your bodies almost unbearable.

He cursed again, grabbing your hips and rocking you harder against him, forcing you to match the pace burning in his blood. His cock throbbed against your soaked panties as he did, keeping a sinful rhythm until he went rigid under you. With a deep, muffled groan, he came hard. His body tensed beneath you, cock straining as his orgasm surged through him. The heat of it soaked his jeans, messy and uncontrolled but he didn’t care. His head fell back with a heavy exhale, fingers still gripping your hips like he couldn���t quite let go, like he didn’t want to.

You slumped down against his massive chest, catching your breath while his hands stayed on you, fingers denting your flesh.

For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breaths and the steady thump of his heart against your cheek. You’d never been this undone without a single piece of clothing truly removed, never felt so wanted or so fucking satisfied.

“Simon,” he panted, the name falling from his lips like a confession, knowing you’d never ask due to the rules of the club.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you murmured against his skin, voice threaded with something dangerously close to comfort.

“Likewise.”

If anyone had heard the sounds coming from behind that closed door, they’d know whose girl you really were now.

[sgtgarricks]

Your Butcher!Ghost (was it butcher!Ghost? The one where ghost feeds you is whay reminded me of this ig ( •_•)) reminds you of Texas Chainsaw Massacre’s Leatherface—hulking and terrifying, but not evil, not really. Just made into a monster by the man who raised him.

Leatherface!Ghost, who was once a boy named Simon. A quiet thing. Raised on blood and bone, hidden away in the rotting belly of a house that hadn’t known sunlight in decades. His father—the real monster—taught him how to use a blade before he could speak full sentences. Told him that pain was a currency. That outsiders were intruders. That love was for the weak. But somewhere in that fractured mind, some soft thing survived. A remnant.

Leatherface!Ghost who spots your car when it limps into town on a shredded tire. He’s watching from the treeline near the old gas station—silent, unmoving, massive. His skull-like mask blends with the shadows, and for something his size, he moves like fog. You don’t see him. But he sees you.

You’re standing by the car, arms crossed, frustrated and helpless. He watches the wind whip your hair into your face. Watches the way you swat it away with a little huff. There’s a wrinkle in your brow and a softness in your mouth that cracks something open in him.

You don’t know it, but the moment you sighed, he decided. You’re his.

Leatherface!Ghost who returns to the house—an ancient, creaking carcass filled with chains, bones, and whispers—and tells his father what he saw. His father snarls. Says, “We don’t keep pets, boy. You wanna love somethin’? Then you kill it proper.” But this time, Simon doesn’t back down. He doesn’t bow his head. He just sharpens the chain and waits.

Later that day, he’s stalking the woods near the road. The boy who touched you too much—laughing too loud, fingers on your waist—is walking ahead of the others. That’s the one. That’s who he starts with. The chainsaw revs like an animal, and Leatherface!Ghost barrels out of the brush like a nightmare made flesh.

It’s messy. The way he likes it.

Leatherface!Ghost who drags the body back to the cellar, but not before cutting off a piece of the kid’s varsity jacket. A trophy, maybe. Or a warning.

Leatherface!Ghost who watches you from the dark as you wander into the woods, looking for your missing friend. You’re scared, calling his name. Voice trembling. You don’t even know you’re being herded.

He could take you then—but he doesn’t. He lets you run. Just a little. Just enough to make your legs burn and your breath hitch. He watches your eyes dart back and forth, your chest rising and falling in panic. It thrills something sick in him. Not because he wants to hurt you—but because it makes the moment of capture feel like fate.

Because in this town, people don’t just die. They disappear.

The locals know the stories. The gas station clerk who keeps his mouth shut. The signs that say NO SERVICE. KEEP OUT. The way radios cut out when you pass a certain mile marker. The scent of something rotting when the wind shifts.

And then there are the ghosts. Not the metaphorical kind. The real ones. Spirits of the ones who didn’t make it. They linger around the house, wailing between the walls, clawing at the floorboards. Sometimes, you swear the bones upstairs move. The house is cursed—fed by the blood spilled within.

And Ghost? He’s not just a man anymore. Not really. The house has sunk its claws into him too. The chainsaw isn’t the only thing that screams.

Leatherface!Ghost who finally catches you—mud-slick and sobbing, too tired to keep running—and lifts you like you weigh nothing. He doesn’t hurt you. Just holds you against his chest, heart hammering behind the leather mask, and growls low in your ear, “Mine.”

The ghosts in the walls fall silent. Watching. Waiting.

And somewhere deep in that blood-soaked house, his father begins to realize: he’s not in control anymore. Simon has found something he wants more than fear. More than obedience.

He’s found you.

And nothing—not blood, not chainsaws, not even death—is going to take you away from him.

- @z0mi3 (should I turn this into something more? 🫣)

cw: leatherface! simon, mentions of murder, kinda fluffy? he's not mean, just emotionally constipated.

i don't think i named his occupation but he could very well be a butcher!!! he's built for it. big like a tank, is not squeamish and has deadly precision with a knife. add serial killer to that mix? oooofff.

you probably weren't there on purpose, planning to stay maybe a day or two just to relax a bit before continuing on with your little road trip with some friends. but stopping there was your biggest mistake.

he may be messy, but he's meticulous. plans out where he's going to make the boy run. slashed your tires with a purpose so it would stop right next to the forest.

the perfect hunting ground for him. it's been a long time since he's had the pleasure of hunting a little rabbit.

you run and you run, but deep down you know it's useless. that you're able to get this far is because he let you. he's playing with you. something about that really irks you.

when you stop in your tracks and just stare at him for a distance, he's amused. you even try to negotiate with him, about how your parents could give him money, lots of it. so he could get a nice haircut, some new clothes.

oh, how adorable.

that's alright, he'll teach you. you'll learn that you don't need to worry about pesky little things like money here. all you need to do is to look pretty and let him take care of you.

RAHHHHH love me a good ol' fictional stalker. can never get enough. and yes. TURN IT INTO SOMETHING MORE!!! i yearn for it <3

[cosmicamor]

⌞ 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘 ⌝

❛ 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭. ❜

★ . . . 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒

spotify playlist ⭑ p links

★ . . . 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒

…coming soon

★ . . . 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒

…coming soon

★ . . . 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐒

simon’s a big meanie and leads you on. coming soon.

simon fucks you over the kitchen counter. coming soon

telling simon you’re pregnant. coming soon.

★ . . . 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

…coming soon

୭ back to main masterlist ┆ join my taglist here .ᐟ

[lustjunkiie]

thinking of old, retired!simon riley who hangs out pubs in his free time. he’s a tank of muscle, with a soft layer of fat over it all. he’s got the peak dad bod, and he’s a bit tanner than he was from working in his back garden. his tattoos are lining his body and he is scrumptious.

and he meets you. young little thing, sweetest bird he’s ever seen. shining, soft grins and plump, curvy edges.

he nearly drops to his knees to pray for you to grace him with your presence when you do it on your own volition. he forgot he was even playing blackball, the cue still held tightly in his hand. he was just practicing, just a hobby.

“mm, can ye teach me how to play?” you ask, and you’ve got a thicker accent than he does. he drinks it up, with a straw and all. he nods, handing you a freshly chalked cue.

you struggle enough to learn the mechanics for him to decide to stand behind you, front pressed to your back as he bends you over with his body weight — one hand on your waist and the other steadying your cue as you aim to break.

fuck. he’s so hot, burning even through your skimpy dress. his voice rumbles in your ear,

“c’mon, birdie, just steady y’rself. even out yer breathin’.” he instructed, as patient as ever.

you beat him when you guys actually started playing! yay! and then… you decided to make a silly little bet.

“if you can beat me,” you whispered in his ear, liquid temptation mixed with the way you were pulling him by his shirt collar down to your level — you knew he could easily beat you — “i’ll go home with you.”

simon has never won a game of blackball so fast.

[orbitganymede]

baby daddy simon who dated you for a year before you got pregnant, you’d gone through most of the pregnancy alone, him being deployed 3 weeks after you found out and gone until the very last month of it. the both of you had tried at keeping the relationship together, but the distance and loneliness got to you, you’d been fine when it was just you but now with baby, you can’t let the father go in and out of their life. he wasn’t very happy with the decision to end your relationship, in his mind you were together forever now, tied together by this beautiful thing you two created, he didn’t even want children before you told him you were expecting but his whole world view changed when he realized that he not only had you to protect but a baby as well.

but you’d moved out against his wishes, finding a small flat you like and making it home for you and baby. he would come over sometimes, when he could, and spend some time with baby but honestly he felt more like some glorified uncle, would be convinced he was nothing to this child until he saw those brown eyes staring back at him, the ones that are so completely his, and he comes to the conclusion that this isn’t gonna work.

he starts small, coming over once a week instead of every other weekend, takes the two of you out for dinner instead of letting you cook or ordering in. stays late enough that you offer him the spare bed in the guest room, even with the distance you’ve put between yourselves, you can’t help but care for him, knowing nobody else will.

then he puts more pressure on you, making sure you see just how valuable he is, taking night shift feedings and waking up early with baby when they’re fussy. he offers to take baby for the night so you can go out with your friends, do things you haven’t been able to since baby’s arrival, even pays for a spa day for you to really relax. he stocks your fridge, full of the snacks you love and a bottle of wine for the hard nights. he buys and sets up new decor in the house, finally gets you the pretty white vanity and a new washing machine that doesn’t squeak. he really just does what he considers ‘husband duties’, things that he should have been doing this whole time.

and when you don’t budge on the separation, he goes nuclear, “no, love, i haven’t seen your birth control pills”, “look how cute this baby is, remember when ours was that small, sweetheart”, “you’re so stressed darling, let me help you” which basically means you end up getting rawdogged within an inch of your life, condom long forgotten, one of simons hands held over your mouth to muffle the sounds you’re making. he just hopes he’d tracked your cycle right, that you’re actually ovulating, because you can’t possible refuse his ring after having two of his babies right? you wouldn’t do that to him, would you pet?

[itsoutrageouss]

It’s the first time Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley sees you cry that something in him changes profoundly. You had always had your different skill sets out on the field, it was what made you such a powerful duo for the task force. You were sly, agile, a killer in the dark and he was a brute show of force and strength, able to kill with his bare hands. You argued a lot, though. Your differences that made you work so well also made you clash time and time again. He found you annoying. You found him arrogant.

But after a mission, Ghost finds you collapsed on the floor in an empty building— Crying. He’d never seen you do that before, but he knew you were a softer more sensitive soul, you were just good at hiding it.

He was moving before he realised it, crouching down in front of you, eyes narrowed as he tried to find your gaze that was lost in a heap of warm tears. His hands got clammy and his throat dry because how could he make it stop? It was like the sight had reached in and seized a part of him long gone, maybe one he’d never found before now.

“Stop crying.” He said foolishly, but his tone had lost its usual edge, and the very rare lilt of pleading had laced into his voice. Why did he suddenly grab your shoulders and press your trembling body into his? He had no clue but he wanted to shield you from whatever had made you look so vulnerable before him.

A part of him didn’t like seeing this, didn’t recognise the garbled sound of soft sobs, the way your body’s strength seemed to evaporate into a fragile, soft one that he wanted to pick up and put back together. Another part of him was sucking in this moment, afraid it would get lost and maybe feeling a bit guilty about it. But this feeling of… was it protection? Protection, yes. He’d never had it like this before. Usually, protecting means killing and hurting. Right now it meant nurturing as your small hands reached around his neck and you curled into him. He reacted immediately, sitting down and scooping you into his lap.

He closed his eyes, his chin resting on your head with a sigh. He had no idea what came next. This had to change your dynamic in some way because he couldn’t ever look at you the same. He saw your softness and maybe he fell in love with it right there, and wanted to be the one you showed it to. Only him.

“Im sorry” You whispered into his chest. His hands flexed around you, fighting the urge to smother you even more against him.

“Dont say that. Just keep holding onto me.” His voice was more hoarse than usual as his fingers unconsciously combed through your hair.

Whatever had happened, he was sure you felt it too, or you would’ve never let him this close. And he wished for everything you would let him again one day.

series masterlist

[laceyfaeryy]

MDNI 18+

simon riley with his favourite cam girl

cw: masturbation

simon didn’t care that all of his money went to a girl that he didn’t know, a girl that was filming herself behind the camera.

“thanks for the donation sr141,” your shy face flashing a smile as you slowly untied the front piece of your shirt, his eyes glued to the screen savouring each moment. simon’s cock chubbed in his hands, slow strokes as his eyes remained trained on the screen.

he’s seen your naked body numerous of times, but yet every time you undid your clothes it felt like the first time all over again.

it was adorable just how shy you were, the faint blush in your cheeks as you displayed your pretty glossy cunt to the camera, playing it with your hands.

sr141 sent $400 > look so pretty baby

he almost came in his pants when you flashed the camera a smile. “thanks for the donations again,” you mumbled softly as you took out a toy - a dildo. “i wanted to do something new, maybe a toy?” you asked the chat as you held it up. god, what simon would do to be that.

the chat spammed with responses, sometimes he wished that it was a private call - these men didn’t deserve you.

sr141 commented > please, want to see your pretty lil cunt take it

he watched as you gently rubbed it along your glossy cunt, making it glisten with your arousal before sinking in. “it also vibrates,” you moaned as you thrusted it in and out of your cunt. simon was mesmerised, the way your cunt took the toy all the way in made him imagine how it felt to be buried deep snuggly in your cunt.

would you feel as tight as he imagined? would you make all those pretty noises you were making now?

sr141 commented > turn up the vibrations pretty, want to watch you fall apart

the way you blushed whenever simon commented didn’t go unnoticed, it added to his delusions that maybe you noticed him, maybe he would be offered a private call.

his strokes moved with yours, watching the way your body trembled when you turned on the vibrations, small moans coming in between your laboured pants. you were already making a damn mess on the bed, and you haven’t even came.

“‘m gonna cum, it’s too much,” you whined as your hips buckled, simon fantasying that he was the one in between your legs, tongue deep inside your cunt savouring your taste. sometimes he wondered maybe, just maybe he would make a special appearance. flaunting that he has a pretty girl to fuck in front of the cameras, claiming you.

the moment you came so did he, spilling his thick cum all over his calloused palms as he watched you lay breathless.

sr141 > just came with you baby, you were amazing

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[elysianightsss]

Something something becoming an accidental prostitute for Simon lol.

Hear me out though, you’re at a bar. You’re making out, you’ve had a little too much to drink. Not enough to be completely gone like you’re sure Simon is but enough to be making out with a stranger.

Then you’re back in his truck, he’s practically begging for you to let him fuck you and you say no. You ‘don’t do that type of shit, one night stands and all that’ you say. Simon’s next thing is to beg for a blowjob, you again say no. ‘Part of the boyfriend package’ blah blah blah.

Then Simon delivers his final offer. He is so desperate he offers to pay for a handjob, he cringes after the words come out of his mouth thinking you’d be offended. But to his surprise you say yes. You need the money, and want him to feel good so why the heck not.

And it’s the best damn handjob he’s had in his life.

He drives you home and soon enough after a few days he’s at your door offering more money for another handjob. You feel a little dirty but when his calloused hand slides up your thigh and his hot breath is fluttering on your neck, the feeling fizzles away into something else.

Seeing him come undone with just your touch drives you wild, it becomes increasingly difficult not to do more for him. So when Simon comes over again, this time you kneel in front of him watching as his dark eyes widen when your knees hit the ground.

And just like your handjobs, it’s the best damn blowjob he’s ever had in his life. All sloppy and filthy, not like he imagined but so much better.

You don’t ask for anything but after Simon has kissed you goodbye -(after he’s done begging to let him make you cum)- you turn to find a stack of cash on the coffee table, almost double the amount he’d given for the handjob.

It’s not long after that, that you give in and let him spend hours between your thighs. He even pays you for that, mumbles into your cunt that it’s just as good as your lips around his cock as he ruts his hips into the mattress. You don’t see it until later, long after he’s left, but there is a triple stack of cash on your nightstand.

A day later you receive a text from him saying he’ll be gone for a couple of weeks on work but he can’t wait to see you when he’s back. You feel a strange fluttering sensation in your tummy that makes you feel sick. You thought Simon was the type to hide his feelings and be more stoic and blunt so seeing that message from the hulking giant has your stomach in knots.

It stays that way, you can’t rid the feeling so much so that when he finally shows up at your door you tell him whatever it is between you had to end. It was certainly not the welcome Simon was expecting after dealing with a gruelling mission with nothing but men for weeks on end. He feels something snap in his mind and suddenly he’s throwing you on the bed, gripping your jaw, brown eyes glaring into yours as he speaks, “I’m not goin nowhere sweet’art.”

You ‘fight’ with him blah blah blah but let’s get real you let him finger fuck your pussy until you go cross eyed. You let him fuck you into the mattress until you can barely remember your own name. You let him kiss your neck until the sun starts to rise. And you let him pull your body into his as you both drift off to sleep together.

In the morning you hear the envelope, heavy with weight to it, placed down on your nightstand. Then Simon kisses your forehead and whispers he’ll be back later to take care of you.

Then, the money stops appearing but he’s still fucking you. Soon the rent is paid in cash by an anonymous ‘good samaritan’. And before you know it, you’re waking up with a glittering diamond on your wedding finger and a swollen belly that moves when Simon says I love you.

[dmitriene]

cw: breeding kink.

simon ghost riley asks you for a baby, with his cock a heavy weight against your fluttering, glossy folds, glistening wet with pooling slick at the seam of your cunt, smeared along your clenched, supple thighs, the leaking tip of his cock is right there, teasing over your twitching lips, sopping, parting around his meaty girth with viscous strings of your gathered arousal, his muscular, beefy chest plastered against your arching back, as he tugs you forcefully, grasping at your supple sides.

pleads you to give him it, and you can't think, not with your woozy mind floating somewhere distant, lightheaded, his cock filling your pulsing hole just in time as your pussy gushes down, slicking down the root of his twitching, swollen cock, breaching inside of you, stretching out your thin, sensitive walls and feeling how you squeeze down tight, making his hips jump, flat against your plump, round ass, the heaviness of his taut balls right there, brushing over your puffen folds.

you sob and moan, feel the searing, blooming heat just below your belly, coiling, burning a patch to the neglected, warm nub of your clit, as your hips squirm, pushing back, sinking down, slick heat of your pussy clenching around his ramming, girthy cock, clutching him in, chocking along the gummy ridges of your squelching hole, as simon ruts in, your leg gliding along his, shivering at the feel of his short hairs fuzzed up, his hands mapping over your body, calloused palm flat over the fat of your tit, fingers sinking in, groping.

simon's voice is broken behind you, panting against your parting mouth, when your head lolls aside to meet his kisses, his tongue licking over your pouting, wobbling lips, coating them in drool, sticking his tongue against yours, suckling, flesh of his lips chapped, tissued, and you hiccup in the feeling, as he fondles with your tits, alternating messily between all this lovely fatness, snarling, growling that you will look good with them lactating, full with milk for the baby you would nurture in your womb.

he wants a family, wants you going around with your belly full, bloated out because of the pregnancy, and he needs your cunt to take every drop of his cum, thick ropes of seed spurting against your cervix, his tip butting in, twitching and filling your seizing, gushing cunt, your whole body quivering, writhing at every fresh, steady roll of simon's broad hips, cock plugging your creamy hole, as he shushes your overstimulated, breathy cries, your orgasm still haven't left your body, cramping in your stomach.

it's gotta take in, hoarse, gritted voice rings in your ears, your body long gone boneless, limbs light, easily arranged as he makes you curl, calloused hands smoothing over the dips of your body and your soaked thighs, his cock sliding even deeper, a short, smooth glide, as you hiccup in the pillow at your right, bleary eyes searching for simon, as his thumb presses under your jaw, directing your face aside, where you meet his smoldering, softened gaze, nuzzling in his bristled cheek, and just like that, you pass asleep.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[luvbabydoll]

stuff ditzy!reader says to simon while they’re having sex

you’re all breathy and whiny under him, blinking up at him with lipgloss kissed half-off, and go:

"wait— does it like… count as cardio even if i’m like... just laying here bein' pretty?"

and simon groans against your neck, "christ pet, you're gonna kill me."

but he's smirking. because he loves that you’re soft. that you're sweet. that you trust him to be the big scary soldier man while you get to be pretty, cared for, and spoiled.

[heavenbarnes]

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

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

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

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

“sorry, love”

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

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

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

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

“in here, my love”

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

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

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

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

(and you are)

[sgtgarricks]

simon would sit you on his lap and feed you meat he’s cooked to perfection after his hunt. if you let out the slightest of moan from the taste this man would instantly get bricked up. has a praise kink. loves to see your reaction to his food.

“mmm, you like that lovie?” while you just nod excitedly.

sometimes you really can’t help yourself so you start grabbing his hand and sucking his fingers into your mouth. you’re not even trying to be sexy about it! it really is that good!

too bad, because he will lose his shit and immediately drag you to the bedroom and give you another serving of #meat

[alexthetrashyracoon]

“You look like my boyfriend.”

Simon raises a brow at that statement and sits down in the nearby chair. His eyes on you. “Is that so, lovely?”

“Mhm,” you agree with a confident nod and loopy. “No. My boyfriend is prettier than you.”

He isn’t sure if he should take it as a compliment or as an insult, for now Simon decides to not comment on it. “You must be lucky to have such a pretty boyfriend then.” He grins and sips his cheap hospital coffee.

“Oh, I am! He’s pretty and cool and strong. And you should be careful because he’ll be here soon!” You pout, shoving your lower lip forward.

Cute. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be gone before he shows up.” Simon reassures you and pats your thigh.

You don’t reply, the remaining anesthesia must still be running its course through your body after the surgery in which the doctor took out your inflamed appendix, snoring softly in the otherwise quiet room. “Good thing your boyfriend is already here, lovely.” Simon chuckles before tugging the thin hospital blanket higher over your chest and keeping watch as your chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. “And he will be here when you wake up again. He will always be there, my lovely.”