#simon Riley fluff

[bruisedfig]

thinking about SIMON RILEY who returns home from deployment, disgusting and exhausted, his body utterly wrecked from the overexertion he’s endured over the past few weeks—he’s battered and bruised, but alive.

and so there’s no hard rough sex upon his return—you’ll get that eventually. instead, you help him hobble into the bathroom, standing under the spray of water together in the cramped shower. it’s warm and familiar; you’ve missed it—the intimacy of being bare against one another—and it’s clear simon has too. he practically collapses onto you in exhaustion, struggling to keep his eyes open as you attempt to keep him upright. you lather his blonde locks with shampoo, listening to his grunts and grumbles—slurred words of relief to finally be back home with you.

his heavy body slumps against you while you help him out of the shower and back onto the tiled floor of the bathroom, tenderly drying the water droplets from his skin, trying not to aggravate the new bruises that have bloomed from his time away.

you tut your teeth as you dress him, studying the purple and pink marks that stain his pale flesh, your heart lurching at the sight of his injured exterior. but his quiet appreciative murmurs and praise put a smile on your face, because you know no one else gets to see him like this, all vulnerable and soft—that’s reserved just for you.

and secretly, simon revels in your gentle pampering. the way you’re instantly up as soon as his tired mug walks through the front door, coddling him like he’s the most precious thing on earth, his hollowed eyes and staggered movements silent pleas to be looked after. he doesn’t know how he lucked out with such a delicate and observant little bird; all he knows is that he must’ve done something right in a past life.

and he’d never tell you, but he relishes in the intimacy of when you curl up on the couch beside him after your shower and take his hand in yours, recapping how you’d spent the past few weeks without him as you dig out the dirt and whatever else has been living under his nails with your little nail pick. and when you finally finish and pull out a bottle of nail polish, paired with that eager grin on your face, who is he to deny you that happiness?

“yeah, alright. only cause it’s you, love,” he concedes, his voice a low murmur, sleepiness seeping into his tone as he relaxes his hand in yours again. “you’re lucky i love you.”

he lets you paint his broken and half-chewed nails while he dozes off with your soft body pressing into his. you’re his own little slice of heaven. and when he wakes up with a fresh manicure and his bird snoozing against his side? simon decides he could die happily right then and there.

[amaranthinespirit]

simon riley loves ragebaiting you. annoying you, making you mad just to see that angry flush that spreads over your face.

definitely gets turned on when you tell him off because it's just so hot to see you scold him, pushing him away because you're tired of his bullshit. thinks it's the hottest thing when you get mouthy.

also feels a pang of pride in his chest because he knows it means you're strong enough to stand up to him when you're uncomfortable. won't let him cross any of the boundaries you have set for yourself. not afraid of standing your ground.

sometimes lets you fuck your frustrations out on him in any way you please, whether it's fucking yourself down on him, or overstimulating his aching cock that was soooo turned on earlier.

or he'll be the one to pound deep into you, body pressed against your back as he mutters about you being a brat. slaps your ass when you comment that he's one too. (you aren't wrong).

but he knows when enough is enough, though. yeah, making you mad is fun, but he knows when it's too much. doesn't want to actually upset you.

gets worse if/when you're married.

[livienatzk]

husband!simon who can't sleep anywhere else. warnings!: pregnancy, mild angst.

Your pregnancy hadn’t been easy. Pain, loneliness, discomfort, breakdowns — and more pain.

Simon had been there when he could. Even as your husband, he couldn’t stay with you through all of it. He had to work.

The missions started getting longer. But you understood. You loved him. And you’d accepted this the moment you said “I do” in that quiet city hall.

You never complained — because he loved you. And you loved him. At least, he was there for the birth.

After your daughter was born, Simon — or rather, Ghost — went back to routine. Two months home, two months away. Sometimes more. Sometimes only two weeks.

Now, Ghost lay on a makeshift “bed” — a stiff mattress, surrounded by snoring grown men. It stank of sweat, blood, and war-worn exhaustion. Nothing he wasn’t used to.

But sleep didn’t come easy. Not for Ghost. Not for Simon. He’d always struggled with sleeping in new places. Ironic, really.

That night, he’d only slept for two hours. It was 2AM. He glanced around — everyone else was asleep.

He grabbed the disposable phone. Every mission, Task Force 141 got one. He still wasn’t great with tech, but a notification... that he noticed.

A new message.

He opened it.

It was a photo. You, holding your daughter in your arms. You were smiling, exhausted but glowing. The baby asleep, peaceful.

The message read: “We’re okay. Don’t worry. We love you 💕”

Simon — because for a few seconds, he wasn’t Ghost anymore — didn’t know how you’d gotten the number to that burner phone. Didn’t matter.

His chest warmed.

“I love you too,” he whispered.

He stared at the photo for a while. You looked tired. He noticed. And guilt settled in. Your daughter was perfect, in her little white onesie covered in tiny stars.

Simon missed you. Both of you.

He shut the phone off. Closed his eyes.

And that night...

Simon slept more than two hours.

[terrorizedmypsyche-mp3]

cw // porn addiction implication, anal references, masturbation, general pervyness on simons end.

not proof read lol

pervert!simon who’s never had a girlfriend, he’s honestly assumed he’s asexual. simons never even really had a crush on a girl.

pervert!simon who meets you after you’re called in for a quick job on a mission. you sit down next to him in the plane, glancing over at him.

“pretty big for a ghost, aren’t you?” you comment softly, analyzing the mans large frame… he only answers back with a small “… bit short for the military, you escape from your dollhouse or something lass’?”

pervert! simon riley, who you banter with all ride and mission.. although on the fly back you try talk to him but he’s silent as a mouse, not even looking your direction. basically a brick wall. he’s trying his hardest not to get bricked rn. you shrug it off, waving him goodbye as you hop off your stop. “good luck, ghost. hope to see you soon.” you say casually, not even bothering to look over your soldier.

pervert!simon riley who finds himself staring at the barracks ceiling that night, hand every so lightly groping himself every couple of seconds to ‘satiate’ whatevers brewinf inside of him.

pervert!simon riley who can’t get to sleep that night without fucking his fist while watching videos with girls similar to you. similar hair, hips, tits- moans… his hand is covered in sticky white fluid by 1am.

pervert!simon who, for the next month or so, can’t resist fisting his cock in the shower every morning. thinking of you, your soft little lips, he wonders how they’d look stretched around his fat fucking dick.

pervert!simon who calls in sick somedays just to stay in his room and touch himself thinking of you, going through multiple packets of tissues while thinking of you spread open for him, kneeling, laying down, bent over and spreading both your fuck-holes for his enjoyment.

pervert!simon who gets a little more depraved the longer this goes on. he’s never had a proper crush before, so now it’s like he’s releasing 30 years of repressed teenage horoscopes. he’s watching more and more strange stuff, bondage, sadism, toys, gang-bangs- all imagining your pretty little face on those girls.

pervert!simon who, upon hearing they’ll be doing a recall of the original mission and you’ll be called in again, has never signed up quicker.

[ethe-realfantasy]

How Simon “Ghost“ Riley falls in love with his new neighbour (Part V)

(angst, slow burn, you and Simon share a passionate moment after you spent the night at his… then he suddenly pulls back and disappears….

he’s big and strong and just SAFE, guys this part might be my favourite yet… my heart is ACHING (シ. .)シ)

⋆｡°✩*️✮⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩*️✮⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩*️✮⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°

Simon catches it in the corner of his eye, the way your arms fold a little tighter over your chest, how your shoulders dip in just slightly, how your fingers are subtly trembling where they rest.

He glances over. “You cold?”

You look up at him and give him a small, soft smile.

“A little,” you murmur.

Without a word, Simon turns, walks a few steps toward the bedroom just beside the bathroom, his room, and disappears inside. You stay rooted to the spot, not sure if you should follow, not sure what he’s doing.

Then he reappears, a black hoodie slung in his hand. It looks soft and big.

He holds it out to you and you take it with both hands, brushing his fingers slightly as you do. It smells like him.

Simon nods toward the room he just came out of, jerking his chin in that direction, his voice low and rough. “That’s your room f’tonight.”

Your eyes widen, surprised by the offer, by his thoughtfulness, but you only nod, wordless for a moment, clutching the hoodie against your chest.

Then you look up at him with big eyes, still glassy from everything that happened. You stand before him, raw and vulnerable, but there’s also a flicker of softness and gratitude in your eyes.

“Thank you, Simon.”

It’s the quietest thing he’s ever heard, but somehow it lands right in the center of his chest like a fucking grenade. So full of softness, sincerity and a little ache. Your voice isn’t just soft, it’s beautiful. And it’s his name that you say like that.

Simon swallows and looks away. He doesn’t know how to respond to that, he doesn’t know how to stand here and be wanted in this… gentle way. Like he’s something safe, like he matters.

He clears his throat.

“Go on,” he mutters, motioning again to the room. “Get some rest.”

But he stands there a moment longer, just watching you as you disappear behind the door to his room, hoodie still clutched in your hands.

And for the first time in longer than he can remember, Simon’s chest feels warm and quiet.

He moves slowly now. The house is dim, lit only by a low lamp near the corner of the living room. He pulls a folded blanket from the basket beside the couch and lays it out with practiced hands, movements quiet, methodical, like setting up camp. Like being on base.

He tugs off his shirt first, then his socks. His pants next. When he’s left in just his boxers, he eases himself down onto the couch with a low grunt, worn muscles sinking into the cushions.

But there’s no peace.

The man’s voice cuts through the walls again, it‘s muffled, slurred, raised in rage.

“You serious?! Open the fuckin’ door! This is what we’re doing now? Hiding from me? You’re unbelievable, you hear me? UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE!”

Simon’s jaw clenches. He stares up at the ceiling, teeth gritted so hard it aches.

How the fuck were you ever involved with a man like that?

With that voice, that venom, that control. It doesn’t make sense, not with you. Not the woman with sparkling eyes and shy smiles and soft words. The woman who baked him brownies for helping with her water valve. The one who pet Riley with so much love in her eyes and thanked him like he’d saved her life.

The one whose voice cracked so beautifully when she whispered: Thank you, Simon.

That woman… and that man outside? He doesn’t get it.

The shouting continues, louder, more erratic. Something crashes, maybe a trash can, maybe the drunk bastard’s own sense of pride shattering in the front yard. Simon doesn’t move, he just stares at the ceiling, his body tense and still like he’s back on overwatch, waiting for the right moment.

And then, finally… silence.

There’s one last slurred curse, the scrape of his shoes and tires screeching down the street again.

He’s gone.

Simon exhales slowly, eyes still fixed on nothing.

His muscles don’t relax, not really, because you’re still in there, in his bed. And the echo of your voice still hasn’t left him.

—————

It’s late.

Nearly 2 a.m., if Simon’s internal clock is right. Could be later. He hasn’t looked, he lies still on the couch, one arm behind his head, blanket pushed halfway down his chest. His eyes are wide open in the dark, listening.

He hears you before he sees you. The soft shuffle of your feet on the floorboards and the faint creak of the bedroom door. You appear in the kitchen, the light from above the sink spilling over you. His hoodie swallows your frame, your hair’s a mess, sleep-soft and a little tangled, like you’ve been tossing in the sheets.

You tiptoe carefully, you don’t want to wake him.

Simon watches through the open living room doorway, still as stone, hidden in shadow as you pour yourself a glass of water, slow and quiet, holding the glass in both hands.

Then you drift toward the front window, curious and hesitant. You want to see it. You want to know what happened, what you missed, what you lived through but didn’t face head on. You peek out through the edge of the curtain and see everything:

The tipped-over trash can. The footprint smeared against your front door. The tire tracks arced across your lawn like claw marks.

You stare for a long moment. Then you exhale slowly, as if you’re letting it settle, as if you’re trying to be done with it or maybe just trying to find a way to live with it.

And then you glance over your shoulder toward the couch. Simon doesn’t move. He keeps his eyes half-lidded in the dark. You can’t see them, not from where you stand, but he sees everything. Every detail of your face.

You just smile, softly and gently. A quiet thank you, maybe.

Then you turn and slip away again, the bedroom door clicking shut behind you and Simon stares at the ceiling with his heart thudding.

He’s still wide awake.

—————

At first, it doesn’t feel real.

You wake slowly, curled into warm sheets, the air thick with a scent you can’t place in the haze of sleep, something clean and woodsy, laced with the faintest trace of laundry detergent.

The mattress is firm beneath you, the pillow thick and the blanket heavy.

This is not your bed.

Your brows knit slightly, still not awake enough to remember and then it hits you…

The broken plates, the pounding on her door… Your eyes open and you blink at the unfamiliar ceiling. Everything is quiet and still. It’s his room.

Your breath catches in your throat. For a second you think it was just a dream, but no. You’re in his bed, wrapped in a blanket that smells like him, wearing his hoodie. And suddenly you’re hyper aware of it… of him... of last night.

The way he stood in the doorway, watching you as if making sure you didn’t break further. The way he didn’t ask questions, just quietly acted.

You glance around the room. It’s neat and sparse, without a trace of clutter. Just like him.

Your hands come up to your face as your heart twists and you sink a little deeper into the bed, eyes fluttering shut again just for a second, as if you can soak it in a little longer. Because this, being here, being held by his things, wrapped in his care, it feels like safety. Like a warmth you forgot you could have.

—————

The bedroom door creaks softly as you ease it open. Immediately, you blink against the faint morning light spilling through the hallway window, rubbing your eyes. The floor is cool and the house still smells like him, but with a touch of brewed coffee in the air.

You take a quiet step forward and nearly trip.

Riley lifts her head sleepily from her post on the floor, directly in front of the door. You smile, hand pressed to your chest.

“Hi pretty girl,” you whisper, crouching down for a second to pet her. “Were you guarding me?”

Riley thumps her tail once against the floor.

You exhale slowly before you straighten and tug at the hem of Simon’s hoodie draped over your thighs. Then you head toward the kitchen.

He’s already up, standing by the counter, his back to you, pouring coffee into a battered steel mug. He’s changed into a dark shirt and jeans. The curve of muscle under his shirt pulls your eyes like a magnet, but it’s the way he moves, quiet and intentional, that knots something warm and achey in your stomach. He doesn’t turn right away, but you know he knows you’re there.

Of course he does.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says after a quiet moment, his voice low from sleep. “There’s coffee.”

You step into the doorway, your fingers curled into the sleeves of his hoodie. You look soft, your hair is still a little messy, your eyes puffy from the night before.

“You didn’t wake me,” you say gently.

That makes him glance over his shoulder.

You smile sincerely and tuck a bit of hair behind your ear. “Are you always up this early?”

He shrugs, turning back to the coffee. “Didn’t sleep much.”

There’s a moment of silence as you step into the kitchen. He watches you from the corner of his eye, your legs under his hoodie, the shy way you move, like you’re not sure you belong in this space even after everything that happened.

But you do. And he hates how much he wants you to stay.

“I’ll pour ya one,” he mutters, already reaching for another mug. He’s nodding toward the chair at the small kitchen table.

You sit in his kitchen, in his clothes, in his silence as he brings you coffee. He sets it down in front of you without a word, but with a searching look. Your fingers wrap around the mug.

“Thank you,” you say softly, eyes lifting to meet his.

Simon stares at you and you almost die blushing. Then he leans back against the counter, arms crossed, gaze flicking between the window and you. There’s so much he wants to say and none of it knows how to get out of his mouth.

“I gotta head out,” he says.

Your eyes lift to his instantly and you nod.

“Only a few hours. Shouldn’t be long.”

Your thumb brushes over the lip of the mug. “Okay.”

“You can stay. If you want,“ he adds. “I mean,” he gestures toward the floor where Riley is curled up, “Riley’s not gonna shut up if I take her to base with me. Figured… if you wanted the company, you could have her.“ He rubs the back of his neck. “Or, y’know. Head back. Whatever’s comfortable.”

You hear what he’s not saying.

“You’d really leave her with me?”

“She likes you,” he says roughly now. “Doesn’t like most people.”

And neither do you, you want to say.

Instead you just nod, holding his gaze with soft, glowing eyes. “Okay. I’ll stay with her.”

He gives you a short nod back. “You can let yourself out. I left my phone number on the table, just in case.” he mutters. “I’ll be back later. Might swing by yours to pick her up.“

He turns to grab his keys off the counter, and Riley lifts her head, as if sensing the movement. He pets her gently, murmuring something into her ear and heads toward the door, letting it close shut behind him.

—————

It’s later than he meant to get back.

The sky’s already streaked in gold and blue and the air cooler is now. His boots crunch the gravel as he steps out of the car, the weight of the day still clinging to his shoulders. He rounds to your door, knuckles rapping once, firm, but not loud.

The door opens, and there you are. Your hair is tied up lazily and you stand in front of him in a flowy dress, barefoot and careless.

“Hi,” you say and it’s so quiet, so soft.

His brows knit slightly. Why the hell are you always so… sweet? Like he didn’t just come from a world that teaches men like him how to survive by forgetting softness exists.

“I’m here for Riley,” he says, his voice a little rough, hands still in his jacket pockets.

“Oh… yeah,” you say, stepping aside and opening the door wider.

The moment he’s visible, Riley rushes over, tail wagging wildly, ears up in full glee. She makes a happy little bark, bumping into his legs with full-body excitement.

Simon crouches, something finally easing in his expression as he runs a hand down her back. “There she is,” he murmurs, affection buried in his tone. “Missed me?”

Riley wuffs and licks his cheek, and Simon lets her. He stands again and gives you a quick glance, already backing toward the door. “Well. Gotta head back. G’night.” He starts turning already.

“Do you wanna come in?” you say softly.

He stills and turns back.

“I cooked something. I thought maybe you’d be hungry? After work?” you say, shifting your weight nervously. There’s no pressure in your voice.

Simon looks at you for a moment and it does smell good, whatever you’ve made… real food, not his bare-bones rations, not the shit they throw together during long shifts.

But mostly it’s you and that look in your eyes. The way you say it like it’s normal, like it’s easy to invite someone like him in and feed them. His jaw works for a second before he exhales, barely audible.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Could eat.”

Simon steps inside, a bit hesitant at first. His large frame moves through the doorway like he’s not sure if he’s meant to stay or just passing through. His eyes roam briefly over the place as you guide him toward the kitchen.

“You feeling better?” he asks, voice low but not unkind.

You glance over your shoulder as you grab two plates. “Mhm,” you hum. “Thank you again… for yesterday.”

He shrugs a shoulder, mouth twitching like he wants to wave it off. “It was nothing.”

But you just smile to yourself, that quiet little curve of your lips that says you know better. That you see more than he thinks.

You serve him dinner, your movements soft and practiced, and you sit at your small kitchen table. It’s cozy, quiet, filled with clinks of cutlery and murmured conversation. He answers in his usual dry manner. You’re easy to talk to, too easy, and he finds himself watching the way your eyes sparkle when you make conversation.

Once you’re finished, you stand to clear the table, stacking the plates carefully and walking to the sink. Simon hesitates only a moment before following, bringing his glass. He doesn’t say much, but he stands next to you as you rinse.

Then you walk him to the door.

“Goodnight,” you whisper softly. Then you lift your head to his. When your lips brush the edge of his cheek softly and you press a light kiss there, he goes still. Completely, awkwardly, still.

He blinks and straightens, his hands are at his sides, stiff and unsure what to do with them. His breath catches in his throat, because what the fuck was that? Why would you…?

But you only smile shyly, your head ducking just a little like you didn’t just knock the wind out of a man built for war.

Suddenly there is a loud knock at the door. Sharp and repetitive. It slams into the moment like a hammer. Simon’s head jerks toward the door instantly, already assessing, eyes narrowing.

Your smile drops and your shoulders tense. You don’t have to say it, he knows who it is.

The knocking turns to pounding.

“C’mon, baby, just open the door,“ the man says from the outside. “You have to forgive me. It was just one time, alright? You know I love you!”

Simon doesn’t move at first, his eyes are on you. He watches the way your face crumples, like a slow cave-in, the way your breath stutters in your chest and the way you can’t quite look at him.

And then he exhales, slow and cold through his nose and rips the door open without hesitation.

Simon’s presence is lethal.

The man on the porch staggers back a step instinctively, clearly not expecting Simon, not expecting to be looking up into the eyes of someone a full head taller, all broad shoulders and with a dead stare that makes men freeze on the battlefield.

Simon says nothing for a moment. He simply looks down at the man like he’s the most pathetic thing he’s ever seen.

“Who the fuck are you? You her new lapdog or something?“ the guy snaps, puffing himself back up.

Simon doesn’t answer, he doesn’t speak at all. He just looks at the guy… just that cold, hard stare. It makes the guy go pale, makes his hands twitch nervously at his sides.

The guy scoffs. “She’s mine. We had a fight, so what? She’ll come around. Always does.”

Simon’s voice is low and deadly calm. “You need to leave,” he says, final and cold, as he takes a slow step forward. “Before I make sure you don’t come back.”

The man stops talking. The silence that follows is suffocating. He fidgets and swallows. Then he glances past Simon at you, but your eyes are cast down, arms wrapped around yourself in quiet defiance.

And when he looks back at Simon, he sees it: Simon’s not bluffing.

The man stammers something under his breath, turns, and walks off fast, shoulders hunched like the cold air suddenly bit him.

Simon closes the door slowly, the finality echoing like a warning.

When he turns, you’re still behind him, staring up at him, lips parted slightly, eyes glistening with gratitude.

“You alright?“ he asks with a low voice, but he doesn’t meet your gaze. His eyes linger on the door for a moment longer, then drop to the floor. He exhales through his nose, short and rough.

“Mhm,“ you say, stepping a little closer. Your voice is warm, fragile and honest.

“Dunno how you ended up with a bastard like that,“ he mutters.

Your smile fades slightly, your eyes dropping to the floor.

“I mean,” he shakes his head, jaw tightening, “you’re…” He stops himself.

But the words hang there. He wants to say:

You’re kind and soft. You smile at strangers. You laugh easily and wholeheartedly. You cook for people who don’t ask. You pet dogs like it’s the best part of your day. You deserve someone better than him. You deserve someone better than me.

You wrap your arms around yourself. “It wasn’t always bad,” you say quietly. “He used to be… different. Or I thought he was.” You shrug. “It’s hard to explain. I think I just didn’t want to believe I’d let myself fall for someone like that.”

Simon’s eyes are on you. “You didn’t deserve that,” he says firmly.

You nod. “I know.”

A silence settles between you, heavy, but somehow not uncomfortable. You look back up at him and your gaze searches his.

“Simon?” You say his name like a secret.

His eyes lift.

You‘re flushed, cheeks warm from more than just embarrassment as he looks down at you, face angled just slightly. Like he can’t help but tilt toward you, even if every muscle in him holds still. You‘re close, too close. But he doesn’t lean in.

You rise up to your tiptoes, heart racing, merely millimetres away from his lips. You’re not quite kissing, just close enough that your breath grazes his jaw. He is towering over you, his frame caging you in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice like silk.

His eyes flutter shut for a brief second, like it physically hits him. He hums in response, low in his throat. A small sound, deep and conflicted, like the only thing keeping him from leaning forward is the fear that if he starts, he won’t stop. Your breath is still brushing his skin and your body barely inches from his. You’re smelling so damn good, he thinks.

You tilt your head, eyes not leaving his, like you’re watching to see what he’ll do.

“I always figured,” you whisper, “you’d look good hovering over me.”

Simon’s breath hitches and his jaw flexes. The restraint snaps like a bone under pressure. His hand comes up fast, rough fingers curling behind your neck, and he pulls you in with a sound, low, guttural, like a man who’s been holding something in for far too long.

His mouth crashes onto yours. It’s not gentle. He’s not asking, he’s claiming. It’s heat and hunger and need all at once, his body pressing you back just slightly, not with force, but sheer presence. His other hand finds your waist, grounding you to him like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

You gasp into his mouth, fingers gripping his shirt for balance as he kisses you like it’s oxygen he’s been denied. He groans, deep in his chest, when you kiss him back, when your lips part, when your body melts. And for a moment, the world is quiet.

Simon’s lips are still on yours when you tug his shirt, gently guiding him back toward the couch. He resists for a breath, half a second of hesitation, but you deepen the kiss and it undoes him all over again.

You sink onto the cushions and tug him with you, and he follows, dizzy from the feel of you, how warm you are, how willing, how soft you are.

He sits and you straddle him, as everything else disappears.

Your fingers thread into his hair. His hands grip your thighs, sliding up beneath the hem of your dress finding bare skin and heat and softness that makes his breath stutter.

He groans into your mouth when you roll your hips against him, when your body presses into his, all soft curves and whispered need.

“Christ,” he mutters against your lips.

He’s trying to stay in control. He’s trying.

But you taste like everything he’s been denying himself. You feel like home and sin and every buried want he’s ever tried to crush.

And just when he feels himself slip, Simon growls low in his throat and grabs your waist. In one swift motion, he rolls you gently beneath him, bracing his weight above you, his chest heaving, forehead resting to yours.

And then he pulls back and straightens.

“I should go.” His voice is rough, strained, like it hurts to say it.

His hand brushes your cheek before he pushes off the couch, putting distance between you, between the heat.

Not because he doesn’t want you. But because he wants you too much.

You lay there, lips kiss-bitten, breath unsteady, staring up at the ceiling like you’ve been spun inside out. You blink up at him from the couch, still laid back, your breath uneven. Your eyes are wide, hurt, confused and shining like you’re trying to understand… why he stopped.

Doesn’t he feel it too?

Simon stands a few feet away, shoulders tight, chest still rising and falling like he just ran a sprint. He looks at you like it’s killing him to be standing there. His eyes are heavy and his jaw is clenched. He’s still tasting you on his tongue.

Your voice doesn’t come, but your expression says everything. Did I misread this? Did I imagine it?

He doesn’t say anything at first, but swallows hard. Then he steps closer again, kneeling slightly, just enough to reach out. His rough fingers graze under your chin, lifting it gently, like you’re fragile. And he looks at you like he wants to say everything he can’t.

“Take care,“ he says gently.

The words hang between you, tender and distant. A contradiction, a goodbye maybe, that’s not quite a goodbye.

Then he straightens. “Riley,“ he calls out firmly. Her ears perk and she pads over.

Simon doesn’t look back. He heads to the door, opens it and steps into the night. The door shuts gently behind him.

You stay curled on the couch, knees drawn up, fingertips brushing your lips like you’re trying to remember exactly what it felt like. Like you’re trying to understand what just happened.

—————

He slams the door shut behind him harder than he means to.

Riley lifts her head, tail thumping once, but even the dog can feel it, the storm in his chest. Simon doesn’t even take off his boots, he just paces. Back and forth, across the small space of his living room. His jaw is clenched, his hands flexing at his sides.

All he can think about is you.

Your soft lips, your flushed cheeks, the breathy way you said his name right before you rose up on your toes and thanked him like he was worth something.

And then that little thing you whispered, barely there, just enough to tip him over the edge...

I always figured you’d look good hovering over me.

Fucking hell.

He growls under his breath and scrubs a hand down his face like it’ll erase the feeling, like it’ll make him forget the taste of your mouth or how you felt when you climbed into his lap and kissed him like you meant it, like you wanted him.

He wanted to do more... so much more.

Unholy things, slow things, hard things. Things that bastard ex of yours clearly never even dreamed of doing. Things that would’ve made you forget every damn thing that came before him. He would’ve made you feel so good.

He could’ve had you right there. He still feels the way you sighed into his mouth, how your hands tangled in his hair like you needed him.

But no, he couldn’t do it. Not like that. Not when your mind was still wrecked and your heart was still raw and frightened. He clenches his jaw tighter and grits his teeth so hard it aches.

You don’t want this, you don't want him. You were overwhelmed, that’s all, emotional and fragile. You didn’t know what you were doing. That’s what he tells himself. But deep down what he really means is:

You wouldn’t want me if you knew me.

He sighs, sinks down onto the edge of the couch and buries his face in his hands. Riley pads over and rests her chin on his knee. He strokes her head absentmindedly, rough fingertips brushing her ears.

He should feel proud, he did the right thing, after all. But he doesn’t feel proud. He wanted you. And for a second… he could swear you wanted him too.

⋆｡°✩*️✮⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩*️✮⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩*️✮⋆｡°✩⋆｡°

@harperdoodle

@tessakate

@sophieliz

@izzystradvo

@scaleniusrm

@taxidermyfawns

@mer-not-man

@fertilise-me

@clara-geekhime

@grapejuicenads

@cacklebot

[cinnamongrl2006]

Simon Riley is a loverboy warnings: established relationship, mentions of pornography, very fluffy Simon Riley blurb

He loved you, that much was obvious. Your initials were carved onto the handles of his guns— messy handwriting, all passion and longing— and a wrinkled polaroid of you accompanied him everywhere he went. He'd stick it to the wall beside wherever he slept, stick it to the ceiling if he got to sleep in a bunk bed (one of those with the loose springs that shriek at every movement, that poked into his back and made him miss your touch more than ever).

Johnny had asked him about it one day, half mocking Simon, he was just in disbelief that their closed off lieutenant had found someone, and reasonably so. It was late at night, they'd been sitting still for hours, the target had yet to exit the building they were watching— Price had told them to wait.

So, he tried to make small talk, gossip a little. He said he'd seen that old polaroid in his quarters, seen it get tucked away in his pocket, tacked to walls and ceilings. He'd seen Simon hold it in his hands when he sat in bed— his breathing leveled, face hidden by his mask, mumbling something under his breath before he laid down to sleep. He'd made some stupid comment like what porno she sneak out of?, a comment that would usually earn him a chuckle and a tap on the arm, but that this time earned him a slap to the back of his head and a grumble.

"Respect my bird, Soap." He'd said, deep voice coated in annoyance, almost venomous.

It was obvious he loved you when, you came to pick him up after he got back from being deployed. Obvious in the way his gloved hands immediately found yours, in the way a weight seemed to lift off your shoulders; in the way his gaze, concealed with a balaclava, was so soft, so loving.

They all heard it in his voice, sweet, almost saccharine; saw it in the way you'd touch him, and he'd let you. You could poke his side after making a joke, and he wouldn't flinch, wouldn't bend your arm back or slap it away; he'd laugh, he'd hold your wrist in his big, calloused hand and laugh lightheartedly.

Soap and Gaz watched, enthralled, as you completely took over Simon's personal space, your hands moving up and under his t-shirt, your face settling in the crook of his neck as you held him close, squeezing him tight "to make up for lost time". They watched as Simon grunted out complaining, but lifted up the lower section of his balaclava and kissed your forehead, then your lips.

Ghost was their closed off lieutenant, but Simon Riley was completely wrapped around your little finger, and he loved every second of it.

────୨ৎ────

tags:@laceyfaeryy @cherrycolaheartss

[dontmakemebabyblue]

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑻𝒐𝒐 𝑴𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝑰𝒔 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑹𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆❀⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆❀⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆❀⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆❀⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Your parents trusted exactly two people with your safety: your older cousin Johnny… and a woman named Maria from church who once fought off a mugger with a stiletto heel. Unfortunately for you, Maria was out of town. So that left Johnny.

“Please, Johnny,” your aunt had said, like you were twelve and not twenty-two with your own job, your own flat, and a death grip on your social awkwardness. “Your cousin with you tonight. You always say the boys you work with are decent.”

Soap had groaned, eyes to the ceiling. “Mum, I’m not takin’ her to the pub. It’s not a bloody daycare-”

But as always, he caved.

Which is how you found yourself squeezed into a booth between Kyle and Johnny, nervously twirling your straw in a gin and tonic while the most intimidating man alive sat across from you, absolutely silent.

Simon Riley.

And you were certain he hated you.

The rest of the team? Loved you instantly.

Kyle laughed at all your jokes, even the bad ones. Johnny playfully roasted you all night like any older cousin would. You clicked fast, slipping into the rhythm of the group like you'd always belonged there.

Except for Simon.

He sat at the edge of the group like a storm cloud, nursing a whisky and answering your every attempt at conversation with one word responses.

"Did you grow up in Manchester?" you'd asked at one point.

He'd blinked slowly. "Yeah."

End of conversation.

And yet… he never walked away. He never left. He never stopped watching you.

The pub nights became a semi regular thing, mostly because Johnny decided he didn't mind dragging you along, and Kyle especially enjoyed how you lightened the mood. You'd get everyone laughing with one of your dramatic impersonations or half baked jokes, and even when Ghost didn't speak, he was always there.

Sitting close.

Watching.

You just figured he couldn’t stand you.

You were too much. Too loud. Too bubbly. Too… bright.

And someone like Simon Riley? He was quiet, composed, dark in a way that didn’t scare you but made you want to know what he was thinking. You couldn’t help but be drawn to him.

Even if it hurt a little every time he said nothing when you laughed too hard at Gaz’s teasing.

What you didn’t know, what nobody told you, was that Simon had it bad.

He’d thought you were pretty the first time he saw you, sure. But it wasn’t until your second night out with the team, when you told a joke so ridiculous even he chuckled under his breath, that something clicked.

And then he couldn’t stop noticing things.

The way your whole face scrunched up when you laughed. How you talked with your hands. The way you remembered everyone’s drink order without being asked.

But he kept his distance.

Because what would someone like you want with someone like him?

He couldn’t risk it. Not when the team liked having you around. Not when Johnny might strangle him for even thinking about his cousin like that. Not when you could do so much better.

So he stayed quiet. Cold. Safe.

You cornered Kyle one night while Johnny was at the bar, your voice low and slightly tipsy.

“Hey… does Simon hate me?”

Kyle blinked. “What? No.”

“He never talks to me.”

Kyle smiled into his pint. “That’s just Simon.”

You sighed. “I feel like I annoy him.”

From the corner of the room, Simon watched you whispering to Kyle, his hand tight around his glass. When you leaned in closer, his jaw clenched.

Kyle glanced at you, then at Simon, then rolled his eyes. “Right. This is getting ridiculous.”

Kyle and Jonny had a plan.

It wasn’t subtle.

The next time you all met at the bar, Johnny "accidentally" left to take a call, and Kyle "suddenly remembered" he had to meet someone and bolted, leaving you alone with Simon at a corner booth.

You looked at him, wide eyed.

He stared back, rigid.

Silence.

You cleared your throat. “so… how's your drink?”

He nodded slowly. “Fine.”

He didn't say anything else.

After a moment, you sighed, staring at the table. “You really don’t like me, huh?”

Simon stiffened. “What?”

You fiddled with your ring. “You never talk to me. I figured I was too loud or annoying or… whatever.”

He was quiet for a long time.

Then, softly almost a wispier: “You’re not annoying.”

Your head snaped up.

He was staring at you, dark eyes unreadable.

“I’m just… not good at this.” His voice was low, rough. “I like having you around. You’re… sweet. Bright. You make the team feel lighter.”

Your breath caught.

“Then why do you never say anything?” you asked, almost laughing. “I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said quietly. “I think I might be in love with you.”

Your heart stopped.

“What?”

He looked like he regretted it instantly. “Forget it.”

“No—wait—what?”

He stood up like he might leave, but you grabbed his hand. He froze.

You squeezed it. “I thought you didn’t like me because I’m too much. Too loud.”

Ghost turned his hand, gently linking your fingers with his.

“I think you’re perfect,” he said quietly.

You grinned, eyes shining. “You want to maybe… get dinner sometime? Just us?”

A pause.

Then a slow, almost invisible nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

From the bar, Johnny and Kyle watched from a distance, smug.

“Took ‘em long enough,” Kyle muttered.

Johnny groaned. “If he breaks their heart, I’m going to half to kill 'em aren't I?"

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆❀⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆❀⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆❀⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆❀⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

sorry this is lightly proof read lol💀

[oddlynerves]

short ramble thing

can you guys imagine the thing that guys do to their girlfriends by shadowboxing them bc of cuteness aggression but its just ghost

he just can’t handle how much he loves you because he’s really never felt this much affection towards someone so he would just kiss you then start shadowboxing you out of nowhere and every single time you just stand there like wtf is happening

or he’d do a grabbing motion towards your face then promptly proceed to start shadowboxing you

[dmitriene]

simon riley uses you like his chew toy, quite literally, when his gums start to ache, teeth's grinding together, trying to conceal, swallow this consuming, itching hunger all the way down, but it's churning up back each time he casts an eye your way, tracing the glimpses of your skin, each delicious, supple curve of your body, tongue peeking out to sweep over his drying lips, urge to bite tingling at his canines.

he wants to see your skin wearing his marks, outstanding blooms of hickeys, fresh, sinking indents of his sharp teeth's, bruises that mirror his calloused, long fingers, mapped all the way up from between your thighs and to your rib cage, it's not possessiveness, somehow, it's simon's tenderness, that wants the taste of your skin filling his mouth, brushing over his tongue, clenched between his closing jaw, like a dog with a bone.

simon wants your strained gasps to flow through his ears, hitch over as soon as his lips brush over your body, tracing their patch, to see how you shiver even with the heavy warmth of his body pressing down, even with his cock snug inside your soppy cunt, the swollen curve of his leaking tip butting against your tender, spongy spot, making all your nerves sizzle, make you clench, gushing as a confirmation of pleasure, arching sharply to present.

someday he's going to devour you, fill his greedy stomach with only you, and you wouldn't bat an eye, laying willingly under him, tilting your neck when the light catches on his gleaming fangs, strings of saliva stretching along with his jaw, and through his eyes are eclipsed even in the dim lightning, blunt nails sinking into the curvature of your hips almost painfully, tugging, you sigh his name.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[azureemerald]

I started using asmr videos to fall asleep a while ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Simon doesn’t mind the noise. He’s used to sleeping through worse and it beats the dead quiet that lets his thoughts run rampant. Anything is better than those, honestly.

Most of the time it’s just noise, unboxing videos, packing orders, restoring old toys, or something to do with art. Usually, it was on her phone, light noise that didn’t distract. Very rarely there would it be talking, intentionally making triggers, as she put it.

Sometimes he’d let her put on an ambient video on their screen in the bedroom. Rain, thunderstorms, snow and almost always with a fire crackling. He didn’t quite get it,as it rained so often outside their shared home. But the noise kept her anxiety at bay. She hated the silence too.

It wasn’t until she humorously found a video of someone cleaning a rifle that he finally got it. The familiar sounds and clangs soothed him and before he realized it, he was sleeping like a baby. A full night of uninterrupted sleep that lasted past six hours.

It unsettled him at first, to be the one waking up after she was already out of bed. He calmed down after checking the apartment. She was in the kitchen with her coffee and the kettle on for him, not even looking up at his paranoid perimeter check. Bless her, she understood him completely.

He settled down right after, but he still wasn’t sure what to do with the knowledge he could be lulled to complete slumber like that. His body didn’t know what to do with a full eight hours of rest.

He slept better when he was with her. That was something he realized early on. The fear of losing that, of this, of her, kept him from enjoying that sleep for too long. Always up before her, her coffee started as soon as he saw her shift on the bed through their bedroom doorway. Very rarely did he stay in bed after waking.

She noticed though. It wasn’t like she used it against him, but when the thoughts in his head wouldn’t let him rest, she put the video on their tv. His eyes would focus on the motions, listening to the noise, criticizing the work at some points and then suddenly he was waking up after the sun was out.

He understood then.

He let her start putting her videos on their tv after that. Those never put him to sleep, but it was soothing enough to know what it did for her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I thought of Simon seeing one of those rifle cleaning asmr videos and being like;

“I do this for work. How would this make me feel relaxed?”

Then he’s snoring two minutes into it.

[pythonmoth]

(Teach me how) to Love You

simon “ghost” riley x gn!reader

cw: miscommunication. simon’s childhood trauma mentioned. little hurt/comfort. fluff.

wc: 2k

Pt.1  Pt.2  Pt.3

Simon’s convinced he’s never had that much fun before.

Your childhood bedroom was filled with memories, a few awards here and there, and so many photos of you. It was very easy to tell you were loved, and Simon couldn’t have enough of it.

He was too busy taking pictures of everything to notice the growing worry on your face. As carefully as possible, he took pictures of your old drawings, of a silly framed photo of you with black eyeliner and some hair covering your face. Simon didn’t know what it was to have memories worth remembering, so to see all of your belongings around, kept safe by your parents, Simon wanted to cry. Part of him wished he had been part of that, but deep down, he knew he wouldn’t have been welcome, especially not by someone as good as you.

All of those problems would’ve affected you, but because you two met later on, he was able to be himself instead of the broken shell his past left of him.

“Are you upset with me?”

The question had Simon turning sharply, his mind coming to a stop. “No. Why?”

“You reacted weirdly when I introduced you as my boyfriend to my grandma. I thought it was okay, but I should’ve checked. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset at all. If anything, I’m even happier than I was this morning,” Simon hummed, leaving his phone on your bed. “I was just surprised.”

“Surprised? Why?”

Simon didn’t know how to explain his fucked up brain didn’t catch up on things, and that he hadn’t known. In a way, he knew he was justified, because you never brought it up either, but Simon was not playing that game. His heart pounding in his chest, Simon gently took your hand. “If I say something stupid, will you be angry?”

A little frown made your mouth tilt down. “Well, I am upset now. You are not answering my question.”

“I can see that,” he cleared his throat. Needing a moment, he went to sit on your bed; his phone slipped to the floor but he barely paid attention to it, only focusing on you standing in front of him, shielding him from whatever you deemed dangerous. His own head, most of the times.

“Simon,” you signed. Your hand went to his shoulder, squeezing it and shaking him just enough for him to feel it. “Talk to me.”

“I… I didn’t know I was your boyfriend.”

Simon’s worst fear became true right there —a real frown on your face, because of him. The expression brought back bad memories, his throat closing up in a heartbeat. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”

“No. No, it’s not a joke. Come here.” Trying to keep his composure, Simon guided you to sit next to him. He kept his hands on your arms, hoping you wouldn’t suddenly pull away. “I didn’t know. I mean, I’ve liked you for a while, but I just assumed we were very close friends, and I didn’t even cross my mind you could ever be interested. Hell, I didn’t even know it myself.”

You were silent, the confusion only growing in your eyes. Simon wished he had the guts to get on his knees and beg you to stop looking at him like that. If you had yelled at him, he was sure he could handle that. Silence? He wanted to hug your thighs and cry.

“You’re serious.”

“I am.” Simon croaked, a burning sensation of fear making his stomach twist.

“When you told me you thought you were in love with me…”

“I had just realised it. I was confessing.”

Simon didn’t know what to expect. As a child, he was used to his parents snapping at him if he made a mistake; his cheek would burn if his mother decided it was a good idea to slap him so little Simon wouldn’t spill the milk again, or he would end up screaming in fear because his father was taking out his pet snake to teach him a lesson for talking back. Sometimes, the worst days for Simon, his father would entertain himself by smoking and using little him and baby Tommy as ashtrays, their mother long gone.

To have you go silent in front of him, processing things your way, Simon was unsure of what to do, so he could only try to fill the silence in a way he never had to before. He never felt the urge to overexplain himself to you, until that day.

“Listen, I— I fucked up, okay?” he rushed, looking away when your lips parted, no doubt to tell him to get lost. Simon’s hands gripped your wrists just enough for you to stay still, not restricting but pleading. “I didn’t know, but that’s no excuse. I should’ve known, of course, and you did nothing wrong. And if you want to hate me, that’s okay, I deserve it. Just give me a chance, will you? I promise I’ll change. Anything, everything.”

“What? Of course I won’t.” Your voice was high, disbelief clear in your face. “Hold on—”

“No, you’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll… Okay. I’ll drive you back tomorrow. I promise I won’t take long to grab my stuff once we’re there. I think Johnny’s flat is empty, if he moved in with his boyfriend like he said he would, so I might be able to live there.”

“What?” Your voice was smaller this time, but Simon couldn’t catch it, not with the way his heart was beating so loud he could barely hear himself think. He stood up, already rushing to grab his backpack and his phone. He could sleep in the car, and stay out of your way until you were ready to leave.

He fucked it up. The only good thing in his life and he screwed it up because he took too long to see it. Simon had nobody to blame but himself, and he couldn’t even look at you; he didn’t have the strength to try and beg.

Simon’s hands were trembling and you were still in silence, no doubt wondering how can anyone be this stupid. How could he not know? It was so obvious, too. He had to find a way to move on, because you didn’t want him anymore, and he was so, so alone again. He just never thought it would end like this, with Simon dragging his broken heart behind him. Or maybe he did. Nothing good ever lasted for him. 

Two warm, firm arms wrapped around him and everything in his mind went blank, his eyes widening. Your chest was flush against his, the echo of your words vibrating inside of his ribcage but he couldn’t understand them. Simon was convinced you hated him, but there was no hate in the way your body rocked his, working like a strong shield and a thick blanket of comfort.

You were saying something, but his ears were buzzing, and his mind was like a puddle of fear, so he just stood there, his hands hovering over your back, not daring to do anything for a long moment while you hugged him. Simon could only stare in disbelief, not truly believing it, when you cupped his cheeks, worry and love in your eyes as you tried to speak to him.

“You idiot,” was the first thing Simon managed to understand. His lips parted, wanting to tell you that he was, the biggest idiot, please don’t leave, but your hands were firm, squishing his cheeks so much that he was unable to speak or move his head. “I don’t hate you. The fuck.”

“Ah?”

It was your turn to sit him down, handing him a pillow for his anxious hands to squeeze. Simon stared as you sat down next to him, all thoughts leaving his mind when a smile bloomed in your lips. “Okay, shut up and listen to me.”

The ten seconds of waiting was torture for Simon, watching you take a bottle of water from under your bed —he didn’t even want to know for how long it’s been there—, and take a sip before handing it to him. Your eyes told Simon he had to drink, but he didn’t dare moving.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Simon asked. Unexpectedly, that made you burst out laughing. He gaped, torn between feeling offended or hurt.

“No, of course not! No, Simon, I’m… not breaking up with you,” you huffed. The fondness in your tone caught him off guard. It didn’t make sense to him. “If you do move out, I will, though.” 

His expression must've fallen, because you were suddenly hugging him again, patting his back.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be teasing right now,” you sighed, still fond. Your arms let go of him, but your hands remained on his wrists, your smile softer now. “I’m sorry. It was my mistake not making sure we were on the same page.”

“No, but it was my—”

“My fault, Simon, for assuming,” you interrupted him calmly. “I don’t want you to change yourself for me, and there’s nothing in you that needs to be changed either. I love the person you are now, as I loved the person I met almost three years ago. They’re different, but they’re both you.”

You let the silence stretch for a few seconds, making sure he genuinely understood. When Simon only stared, his nails digging into the pillow, your smile widened. 

“There was no way you could’ve known, because we never talked about it. I don’t hate you, and I hope you didn’t mean it when you said you will move out,” your hands squeezed his own, hopeful. “Now, if it’s okay, I’d love you to be my boyfriend.”

Those words sent a rush of heat to his chest, choking him up. “Okay.”

“Are you going to cry?”

“Yes.”

“Can I hold you, then?”

“Please.”

As all the nights before, you slept curled against his chest, his arms wrapped around your shoulders as the two of you breathed each other in. There was nothing different, no sudden desire he had been holding back, no difference in the way he held you that night, and there were no hidden intentions in your lips pressing to his collarbone, murmuring something Simon didn’t care to understand. He only held you tighter against his chest, wondering if it’s the same for others, but it felt damn good.

Nothing truly changed, but everything was different now, because that one time two years ago, he thought he might understand the concept of romantic love while holding you —this time, he fell asleep with the certainty that it was love. It slept patient for two years, over a hundred weeks of it napping in a corner of their shared flat, arms crossed, wondering when he’d realise. 

Now, all Simon had to do was look down at you, sleeping soundly in his arms, to fully understand it then.

Love was Johnny, who saved his life, the fresh clothes and the warm meals he prepared for Simon; it was Gaz, who always made sure he did well in school, and who had found help for his addictions, the one who instantly knew when he wasn’t happy; and Price, the older brother Simon didn’t know he needed, who would share his tobacco with him so Simon didn’t have to get it behind their backs, always making sure he didn’t overdo it —the one who taught him how to mourn Tommy, letting him heal. The world hadn’t been kind to Simon, but his friends filled his heart in a way nobody had. That was love.

You were love. Your patience, your laughter, your wits and the way you sang in the shower, loud enough so he had no choice but to join from the bedroom with his awful howling. You were love and comfort, your voice calling him into the bathroom because you had forgotten the towel, your half-playful whines of complaint when he forgot to do the dishes when he said he would, and your sudden pillow fights when he was bored out of his mind.

There was love in your shared routine, in your cuddles at night, in the calm discussions when the other had been accidentally too mean or when he was too late from work and found you snoring in the living room, your bed too big and too cold without him there.

There was love in every little part of you, floating over you like a second skin, and Simon was nothing if not greedy.

masterlist | buy me a coffee

taglist: @just-a-little-nut @identity2212 @outfor-v @british-ppl-scare-me @sheepispink

up on ao3!

[tojisteddy]

hey teddy first off i just wanna say i love country!simon and lucky!reader series sososomuch 🥹🥹

i was scared to ask but i have a request for you to write about younger simon and lucky or headcanons about them. they were briefly mentioned like twice throughout the series so far and i really just want more. 😭💗

i feel like they’d be so cute idk i love u teddy ur the best keep up the amazing work💞💞😁

Younger Country!Simon is extremely quiet. Almost mute, he doesn’t have much to say and there’s really no one to say it to since no one talks to him :(. Even adults tell their children to stay away from him because ‘he’s cursed’ or ‘hes got bad juju’ People in town aren’t the kindest.

There’s a lot of built up anger and sometimes, he’ll swing on people just to feel something. Anything. Got a few more scars, got jumped a couple times, got even better at fighting to the point he had to change schools. He quickly got that together though, with the help of some therapy and lucky!readers parents supporting him.

He hopped around from foster home to foster home till he landed in a group home that was for “troubled boys.” The woman in charge, Ms. Clarice, told the boys they were just “a little misguided, needed a good hug ‘s all.” She loved every boy walking through to pieces, even made sure they got a proper job or somewhere to be when they got out the foster system (which is a hard feat). Ms. Clarice is someone Simon will be forever greatful for. One of the handful of people who sat on his side during the wedding. I think he’d spent a lot of time enjoying her company, helping her cook, doing the laundry, getting the younger kids to bed or taking them to school. listing to her hum and go on about how much of a good boy he is. It’s something a trauma filled child like him needed to hear. But Simon was lucky, got in contact with Price’s family. He became somewhat of a mentor to him, got him back into horses and farming.

younger county!simon spent a lot of time in the fields or by the rivers, taking in the sunshine or the cool water, fishing with his hands, and running till he couldn’t feel his lungs. I think he’d be the type to get a rock collection cause he didn’t have anything better to do. He’s not particularly interested in video games and tv all too much.

younger county!simon was upright by the time he was 21, had some money saved up. Finally went to the courthouse and got a hold of the property that was left for him, but he was still working for John. Him and his wife influenced him to stick around just for a bit longer, he was still a baby in their eyes and a farm is a big responsibility. Even more so when you’re rebuilding a farm by yourself. So he stayed with them, ended up at a few shindigs and partied, became friends with Soap and Gaz, lost his v card 3 times over don’t ask.

(Imo I don’t think lucky!reader and county!simon interacted much when they was younger. Very much a hi and bye. Especially since he was shy, the thought of you making him blush that hard is embarrassing for him so he keeps his distance. But you have no recollection of it. But you’re prone to think he’s bad for staying away, your mother taught you better than that. You thought he was an interesting fellow with his bandana around his face. Didn’t question him about it either.)

Younger lucky!reader is just a an outgoing as you were when you were younger, didn’t mind confronting people head on or telling someone you liked their dress.

Younger lucky!reader spent a lot of time under your grandparents because you’re one of the youngest kids, learned how to do just about anything. You may not be the best at whatever you, whether your painting or sewing or cooking, but if you try your hardest it’ll come out perfect (or just fine, you take what you can). You hung out with anyone and made a lot of friends, from nerds to jocks to the cool kids to the super rich ppl who dont talk about being rich. And when you went home down south, you were running around with your cousins, driving around while UGK or Destinys Child, doing line dances at the functions with your cousins, having your first kiss with some random boy in town.

You spent your highschool and college years partying, rebellious in your own right. You did good in school so your parents couldn’t exactly ground you when you snuck out and if they did you found enjoyment in your aloneness. Read a book, painted, learned to crochet, reorganized your room. Your parents just let you go about your business and you always came back at a proper time.

Because you spent so much time around different types of people, you have a slightly bad habit of not being able to spot the real bad people out of the good. You desperately want to see the good in everyone, give people grace that they need. But sometimes people don’t deserve it. You continuously learn that the hard way.

Younger lucky!reader went to college for accounting or something in business, was it exactly what you wanted to do? No. You didn’t know what you really wanted to do, you didn’t mind trying a bit of everything. But there’s never any time for that. So you chose the safe option, and was a promising career, just something to get your parents off your back. Just before you reconnected with Simon, and everything fell into place.

a/n: sorry this took 3 generations.

most recent more country!simon

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙🕷️ @loveh4milton @drewmyman001 @scorpiosaintt @c4rp3d1ew @jakefuckingsully @sophie1028 @bieberismysoulmate @sleepybunny15 @ha1lstorm @deeninadream @ravenxrrl @r0ttenpvp @shiiniingstarrs @simplife21 @bandzonbandz @poopooindamouf @crypticlxrsh @sousourulesthegalaxy @bunnybeaches @the-ghosts-mockingbird @blkkizzat @imsolotrash @yeaimconceited @hisuccubus @ami-s-k @angelicdewdr0p @clownerylynn @queenofklonnie22 @iiiluvk @ghostiesori @gutsofgod

(message me if you want off the taglist)

[kruegerspillow]

sleeping with simon riley includes...

a bunch of coughing and groaning in the middle of the night (yeah... he needs to stop smoking)

random muttering and mumbling from him/you

nightmares. he will literally jump out of the bed which causes you to be startled sometimes (he offered to sleep on the couch due to his nightmares....)

his hands roaming around your body as if he wants to memorize every part of you (he does)

cuddles of course !!! it doesnt matter if hes the big or small spoon he just needs to be with you.

either of you falling off of the bed, at least once in a while

the blankets being left aside because simon says its gonna be 'too hot' (no, he just wants to be your personal heater lmao)

laying on top of each other. yeah, you might end up sleeping with your head resting against his chest.

HAIR STROKING. will stroke your hair until you fall asleep soundly

sigh... drooling. he drools a bit sorry to break it to you guys

a lot of admiring. he'll admire you as you sleep, its the only view that helps him doze off

FOREHEAD KISSES. either you or him. if he stirs awake he'll just give you a small forehead kiss before holding you closer to him (if thats even possible) and dozing off once more

nuzzling. he loves to nuzzle into the crook of your neck :(

tangled legs. his legs are gonna be intertwined with yours oooor one of his leg is going to be on top of yours.

kruegerspillow © 2024 — reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[inkmonster21]

Sweet on You

Simon “Ghost” Riley x BakerReader

When Simon returns home from deployment, the blaring TV next door is gone—replaced by the scent of warm bread and soft humming through the walls. You’ve just moved in: a bright, charming baker chasing your dream with a new shop down the street. He’s guarded and quiet. You’re sunshine and sugar. What begins with cinnamon rolls at the door slowly turns into late-night chats, quiet confessions, and something neither of you expected: comfort, healing… and the kind of slow-burning love that sneaks up on you.

1. Fresh Baked and Unprepared

2. Treats & Telltales

3. Sticky Fingers, Soft Hearts

4. Out of Place, Right Beside You

5. The Boys Walk In

6. Let me Stay A Whole

7. The Warm You Stayed For

8. Bread & Breakdowns

9. A Real Date

10. Something like Home

11. All Yours

12. Mind your Business

13. Not Yours

14. That’s my Girl

15. I Didn’t Mean to Say it Like That

[simonsrileyhusband]

photos of simon you took:

photos of simon that johnny/kyle send you:

photos simon send you:

(the guys in the photo are johnny and kyle)

[ashenwraithlow]

Puzzles 🧩

Simon “Ghost” Riley x You

Simon helps you with a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle

𐙚───────────────ᝰ.ᐟ₊ ⊹

You’re twenty minutes deep in chaos when you feel him standing behind you.

You don’t even look up, just smile as you nudge the edge of the jigsaw box with your elbow.

“Wanna help?”

There's a low grunt. “Help with… this ?”

You glance over your shoulder. Simon’s looking at the puzzle as if it’s trynna pick a fight with him.

“Come on,” you urge, patting the space beside you. “I’ll let you do the edges.”

He grumbles something under his breath but sinks down anyway. Cross-legged, knees brushing yours and starts silently sorting through pieces.

𐙚───────────────ᝰ.ᐟ₊ ⊹

Five minutes in, he hasn’t said a word.

You peek over. “You okay?”

He lifts a corner piece. “You bought a puzzle with a field of sunflowers.”

You smile innocently. “Lookin' good.”

He squints at a pile of twenty near-identical yellow pieces. “More like a bloody nightmare.”

You chuckle.

Simon inhales slowly, he’s trying to keep calm. Then without warning – slides a blue sky piece neatly into place.

Click.

His eyes flick to yours.

You raise your brows, grinning. “Good job.”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. But you catch the way his mouth twitches at the corner.

𐙚───────────────ᝰ.ᐟ₊ ⊹

Ten minutes later, he’s fully committed.

Elbows on the coffee table, brows furrowed muttering things like “I think someone just sneezed while holding a knife and called it done” and “Who designs puzzles like this? Sadists?”

You hum beside him, doing the border. Every so often, you sneak glances, watching him get this little crease between his brows when he concentrates.

He's so serious about it. And you're so deeply in love.

You hear him says it: “This is harder than infiltration.”

And immediately burst out laughing.

He shoots you a flat look, but you can see the amusement in his eyes. You lean over and bump your shoulder into his.

“Bet Price never trained you for this, huh?”

“No,” he mutters, flipping over a piece. “But Johnny would’ve rage-quit by now.”

You giggle.

Simon doesn’t smile outright – not yet – but he does nudge a corner piece into your side of the puzzle.

“Thought that one was yours.”

Your heart warms at the little act of teamwork. You gently slide your fingers over his and take it, fitting it into the edge with a soft click.

“Look at us,” you smile softly. “Building a field of sunflowers together.”

Simon snorts. “Romantic.”

You grin. “It is, actually.”

You hear his exhale – half sigh, half chuckle – and he finally leans back, stretching his legs out under the table. He watches you work for a second. Coming up with a casual comment:

“Didn’t think I’d like this.”

You glance up. “Yeah?”

“Mm.” He’s quiet. “It’s… peaceful. With you.”

Your chest does that thing – that quiet ache you always get when his walls lower just enough to let a flicker of softness slip through.

You nudge your hand across the table until it rests beside his.

He glances down. Says nothing. Then hooks his pinky around yours.

And keeps puzzling like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

𐙚───────────────ᝰ.ᐟ₊ ⊹

Holly shit who allowed this level of sweetness?