i-live-in-spite

[i-live-in-spite]

CW: Married sex, couch sex

"Simon! Simon, Simon, Simon!" you call out when you get home. "Simon!"

"On the sofa, love," he responds, turning to look at you. You rush to the living room, buzzing with excitement.

"I got a tattoo!" you exclaim.

Simon quirks a blonde brow at you, looking at the skin you have showing. Carefully, he asks, "Where... did you get a tattoo?"

You drop your sweatpants - which is like flashbanging your poor husband - to reveal a tattoo on your upper right thigh, close to the curve of your hip. "See? It's you! Isn't it cool?"

The tattoo is a skull, no bigger than three or four inches. It's nothing special to most people. In fact, the tattoo artist said that people get skulls like the one you have all the time. Little did he know that this... this will remind you of your husband for the rest of your life.

"Come closer," he commands, his voice dropping an octave. You do as he says, shuffling a few steps forward until your naval is eye-level with him. His brown eyes are locked on the little skull, still healing with a sheen of protective coating on it. "Jesus Christ, love," he murmurs. "This is gonna haunt me."

"Do you not like it?" you ask with a pout on your face.

"I bloody love it," he corrects, his voice growing (somehow) even huskier. "We're already married, but this?"

You shift awkwardly. "I wanted to get something that reminds me of you..."

"You're gonna kill me, baby," he grunts, pulling you straight down onto his lap. You yelp, hands flying to his sides for support. You can feel he's hard underneath you, painfully so.

"I thought it would be cute," you mutter sheepishly.

"It is cute," he assures you, gently rubbing his thumb over the covered tattoo. "Fuck, I love you."

"I love you, too," you giggle, kissing his crooked nose. "'S why I got the tattoo."

He captures your lips in a heated kiss, cupping your face with big, calloused hands. You lean into the kiss, smoothing your hands over his shoulders and grabbing his biceps. His muscles flex beneath your palms, hands trailing from your face to your waist. The kiss deepens, his tongue finding the seam of your lips. "Fuckin'... getting a tattoo for me," he growls, hooking his thumbs in your panties. "Gonna drive me crazy, Mrs. Riley."

Simon manhandles you into position, lying you on your back and pulling your panties off your bare legs. "Simon," you whisper breathlessly. "This is not what I expected."

He looks up at you from between your legs, those brown eyes boring into your very soul. "Then you don't know me very well," he chuckles, kissing the inside of your thigh.

You squirm under him, anticipation building in your core. He pulls off his own sweats, revealing his thick cock. Of course, he isn't wearing boxers today. You can see a bead of pre-cum at his head, threatening to fall onto your sofa. You spread your legs even further, fisting his shirt and pulling him on top of you. Simon happily obliges, kissing the hollow of your throat.

"Mmm, I can't believe I married a man as big as you," you murmur, moving one of your hands down to circle your clit.

"As big as me, eh?" he repeats, nudging his nose against your jaw. Simon lines himself up with your entrance, barely pushing the tip in. You moan, the sound leaving your throat like it can't wait to escape. "Already moanin' for me."

Simon pushes forward, knowing that you need him to go slow at first. You stretch easily around him, like your body knows how to drive him insane. His tip hits that spongy spot inside you, eliciting a sound that is music to his ears. "Simon," you mewl, arching against him.

You slide your hands under his shirt, hands finding the beautiful muscles of his back. You drag your nails down his skin, each thrust driving you higher. He's a goddamn good lovemaker. Simon knows exactly what you need. "'Atta girl," he praises, trailing kisses up your neck and to your mouth. You're both panting, desperate for each other.

Heat floods your body, building higher and higher in your belly. The sound of skin against skin fills your living room, only drowned out by your moans and little grunts from your husband. "Si- Si, I'm gonna- I'm gonna-!" you exclaim, scratching his back as you try to ground yourself.

"There we go," he murmurs, grinning when he feels your walls pulse around him. "Got that bloody tattoo, thinkin' it wouldn't drive me insane?"

"Simon! Simon, it's- it's too much!" you gasp against his neck.

"You can take it," he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. "You're always so good for me."

Simon's movements become increasingly erratic as he gets closer. You are hanging on for dear life, pleasure flooding your senses. Tears prick your eyes as he drives into you. "Simon!" you almost scream. That's what does it. With one final thrust, he spills inside of you. Simon collapses on top of you, knocking the wind out of your lungs. He presses a loving kiss to your cheek.

"It's a nice tattoo," he whispers, hands squeezing your waist lovingly. "I can't wait to kiss it."

You sigh softly. "Gotta be patient, baby."

"I know," he whines. "Tragic, really."

"We'd better take a shower," you note, kissing his nose.

He shakes his head. "No, let me stay like this," he mumbles. "Perfect in every way, you are."

[i-live-in-spite]

just thinking about how husband!simon remembers wife!reader's bra size 😭

you'd never been so humiliated, yet somehow so aroused after coming out of a retail shop. simon swore up and down that he hadn't meant to do it.

"it was a 'spur of the moment' kind of thing", he'd said.

"spur of the moment'? kiss my ass," you'd replied.

"i'd kiss your ass any day, love."

you noticed that none of your bras were cutting it anymore; the cups were a bit too big, or the straps were too loose and would fall down at any chance, or the material was falling apart due to a certain someone's roughhousing.

and this certain someone picked up on it, too. well, why wouldn't he? he was your husband, he knew these things. he'd sit in bed and watch you getting ready for bed, his eyebrows scrunched in a little as he watched you mutter to yourself while staring in the mirror, giving an exasperated huff before changing your bra out for something else to sleep in.

he'd heard enough of your mumbled complaints for him to plop you down in the truck and drive you both into town, tapping his calloused fingertips against the steering wheel as he pulled into the carpark outside the retail shop.

it was pretty easy to navigate once you got inside; kids and babies at the front, men on one side, and ladies on the other. you spent a little while looking through some different options, asking for his opinion on a few. obviously, he liked anything you put on, so his opinion wasn't very helpful. thankfully, one of the shop clerks noticed your indecision and decided to approach.

you told her what you were looking for, and she asked the few routine questions: what colour? what style? what size?

before you could open your mouth and tell the young lady what your bra size was, simon stepped up, holding a few things you'd chosen under his arm.

"she's about..." he held up one hand in a claw-cupping motion, as if he was holding something that only he could see. "...this big."

your face flushed with embarrassment as the clerk nodded, looking a little confused but walking off to find what you needed.

and you didn't stay much longer in that shop.

as soon as everything was paid for and you'd both returned to the car, you buried your face in your hands and gave a nervous, humiliated laugh.

"simon! i can't believe you did that," you groaned.

"i can," he said gruffly. "got the right size, didn't i?"

you bet your ass he snapped that thing off you as soon as you were getting undressed.

and what was his logic?

i bought 'em, so i get to take 'em off.

RAAAA i hate this it's so short but i seriously couldn't find it in me to make it longer stupid writers block 😔

ENJOY :3

[i-live-in-spite]

𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you get upset when eddie's friends think you're clingy. he sets you straight with some unbridled affection. requested here. fem!reader, 2.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The diner is bustling with life and smells alike, people in their summer jackets eager to sit down and dig into a plate of greasy, fatty meats. You're just as excited, your fingers curled into Eddie's sleeve and following his lead as he weaves through a gaggle of kids playing between the bar and the booths. 

"Sorry, sir," a young girl says to him, springing out of his path. 

"That's okay," he says, leaning back to squint at you curiously, "Do I look like a sir?" he asks you.

Pale faced, dark-haired, the remnants of last night's eyeliner clinging to his bottom lashes, you can't say you'd look at Eddie and think, Sir. Pretty boy extraordinaire with a rather inviting smile, absolutely. 

"I think so, sir," you say. 

Eddie laughs at you, pressing a hand behind your shoulders to move you along. His friend Gareth waves from a booth tucked in a corner under a white sconce. Jamison sits to his left, and Margaret to his right. You feel a little skip in your pulse at the sight —they intimidate you, and you want desperately for them to like you, only you never know what to say. 

"Hey," Eddie says as you approach the booth. He pushes you gently to encourage you into the seat first. "How's it going? Did we order?" 

"We were waiting for you. They said we have to go up to the bar when we're ready."

"We're late, I get it. Where's Jeff?" 

"He went to the bathroom, like, ten minutes ago," Jamison says with a sigh, climbing to his feet. "I'll go see if he's alright." 

"He's fine. Maggie, are you coming to order?" Gareth says, getting up with him. 

"Yes, finally!" she says. 

The relative chaos of your arrival has you hesitating in your seat. Margaret left her purse and her jacket on the table, and Jamison his keys. 

"You okay to stay here while I order?" Eddie asks. 

You'd much prefer Eddie order for you, but you don't want to be sitting here by yourself if Jamison and Jeff come back before him. You won't know what to say. It won't be their fault. You'll make things awkward for everyone. 

You stand up again, shedding your jacket as you do. No one's gonna steal anyone's stuff, the bar is too close. "I'll come with you."

Eddie slots your fingers together easily, grinning, "Lucky me." 

His friends order first and return to the booth soon after. You and Eddie get cut by a cranky looking old lady but neither of you say anything, nowhere to be and no reason to mind. He tells you about the guitar he's been repairing at work and you listen adoringly, in love with the shape of his lips and how he says every word. He's a great storyteller. 

A new friend appears once you've ordered. 

"Hey, Eddie!" one of the waiters says, appearing from the kitchen with a tray of drinks and fries in hand. "Man, I've been trying to get a hold of you all week. The string on my daughter's guitar flew off, nearly blinded her in the process, would you be able to fix that for me? I'll pay you for your time." 

Eddie waves it off. "It'll only take five minutes, you can drop by whenever I'm home. Why do they keep splitting like that, is she messing with the pegs?" 

"She definitely is. Can I get your number? Macey washed my pants without emptying the pockets."

There's a mad scramble for a pen. You have one in your jacket because Eddie's always looking for one, but your jacket is back in the booth. You promise to make a hasty return and set off for it, glad to see Jeff's alright, standing at the table likely waiting for you and Eddie to get back rather than move your things. You like Jeff most out of everyone. With the whole group collected you know he won't drag you into conversation. 

"She's a bit… much," Gareth's saying.

"How can she be a bit much? She doesn't say a lot," Maggie says. 

You frown. You're the only other she. 

"Not like that, just– the touching and stuff. She's always grabbing onto him like a toddler. I don't think I could stand it." 

"You don't have to stand it," Jeff says. "She's Eddie's girl." 

"Clearly." 

"Gareth, when was the last time you got laid?" Maggie asks, flicking a hair tie at him, to his annoyance. "You're being bitter. They fucking love each other, man, it's nice." 

"It is a little tiny bit too much sometimes," Jamison says.

You wince. You know it's a matter of seconds before one of them turns to see you standing there. Is it worse to turn around or to approach? 

You walk up to the table just as Gareth says, "Yes! Thank you man, she's too–" 

He cuts off when he sees you with a cough.

"Who?" you ask, full well knowing it's you. Honestly, you're shy but you still get mad, you kind of want him to own up and say it while you're there, and at the same time you're hoping against hope they'll lie. 

Thankfully, they pretend it was about someone else. 

"Nobody," Maggie says. 

"Some girl at the library," Jamison says. 

You lean past Jeff with as sunny an apology as you can manage to grab the pen from your jacket. "Eddie," you say by way of explanation, holding the pen up with a shrug. 

You walk away quicker than you should. It's obvious you've overheard. There's a thump and a, "Nice fucking job, loser." 

Eddie's deep in conversation as you offer the pen. He takes it without stopping, but he makes sure he kisses your cheek. 

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom, okay?" you say. 

"I'll be right there, sweetheart." 

To get to the bathroom you have to walk past the booth again. With the hurt feeling pounding between your ears and what you suspect might be all eyes on you, you make for one of the two doors. The summer sun and the dry Hawkins heat hits you immediately, a second layering of smothering to wrap around the first. You walk around a rainbow chalk hopscotch and into the shade of the smoking shelter, hands at your collar, breathing hard. 

Don't cry, you think firmly. Don't cry. They'll know if you do and that's twice as embarrassing as walking out. Imagine how embarrassed Eddie will feel if you cause a scene.  

You sit on the little perch in the shelter and stare at the floor. There's nowhere to look that isn't stingingly bright, the sun in the white-blue sky glaring down on you and the sidewalk bleached a blinding ivory. You close your eyes against it. Your shoulders hunch in protectively. Your hands find their way to your face. 

Like a toddler, Gareth said. You press your fingertips into your eyes, fighting against the ache. Is that true? Are you childish in how much you rely on Eddie? You take his hand and his arm, you catch onto his clothes when you're worried, you step behind him when you're overwhelmed. 

"Shit," you whisper. 

The breeze washing over you does little to cool you down. You must sit there for a handful of minutes, worried and nauseous. 

"Hey," Eddie says gently. You flinch despite his best efforts not to startle you. 

He looks tall outlined by the sun. 

"You okay?" he asks. 

"I just wanted some fresh air," you say. 

He raises his brows slightly. "That why Gareth just apologised to me?" 

You wince as he sits down. All of you wants to sag into his side, but a small voice tells you not to. You stay ramrod straight, hands pressed flat and clammy to your knees. 

Eddie gives your elbow a rub. His thumb digs into soft skin and the harder suggestion of cartilage and bone before sliding up. He uses touch often to convey silent reassurement. This seems to say, I don't know what happened, but I'm here. 

"I'm fine. We can go back inside," you say, attempting to fool him. 

"There's no rush." His voice tips to a low, rough register. He's keyed in to your upset, no doubt about it. "It's a nice day, babe." 

He gives you a minute. The small feathering of clouds skirts one edge of the horizon to the other, the shadow of the diner stretching tall as the sun lazes down. You push the worst of your feelings from your mind. It's easy to do with such an unshakeable support at your side, his fingers curling down to your forearm, vying for a hand to hold. 

"I heard your friends talking about me. It wasn't all nice," you confess. 

"Assholes." 

You glance at his face. He has a crease between his brows. 

"Well, mostly Gareth. He said that I… act like a kid. A toddler, that I'm too much, at least for him to stand. And don't get me wrong, Eds, I'm not thrilled that they were talking about me, but I guess I…" You take a short breath and look away from him. "I hate that it's true." 

"You can be mad when people talk shit. I'm mad," he says. "He said you're like a toddler?" He shuffles closer to you on the bench. "Babe, it's not true, okay? You're not too much. Fuck, we're here to hang out and they can't wait ten minutes to run their mouths–" 

"It wasn't like that, it was just Gareth." Gareth's always been the selfish friend. 

"He doesn't get a pass for saying something shitty 'cos he's always shitty. I brought you here," —you peek at him, recognising upset in his tone even when it's the barest inkling— "knowing you didn't really want to come because you get so nervous," —he sounds pained for you— "I fucking told him to leave you alone. I said we wouldn't come around if he didn't stop being a mood killer." 

You worry at your bottom lip. "Maybe that's kind of his point, Eds. You have to look out for me. You had to ask someone to be nice to me 'cos I can't handle it–" 

"You don't have to handle it. The people around you should be nice to you. This isn't high school, you don't have to put up with it, and I told him that." Eddie grabs your arm with the hand that isn't tangled in yours and turns you to face him. "I'm sorry," he says, almost a murmur, "I didn't invite you today to have you humiliated." 

You're feeling a little mortified by the passion of his feelings. He's mad at the wrong person, isn't he? "Why are you sorry? I'm the one who clings to you." 

"I want you to." Eddie holds your eyes, brown and big and imploring you to listen, the starts of his brows sewing together. "I'm sorry because it's not fair. And because Gareth was a dick to you. And for getting mad." He smiles at you ruefully. "I'm being a dick, too." 

"In what world?" 

Eddie leans in slowly, giving you enough time to close your eyes as his nose bumps into yours, encouraging your head up to allow for a kiss. He kisses twice, a third time, pulling away to rub your bottom lip. 

"Are you really upset?" he asks softly. 

You know whatever answer you give him is one he's okay with. 

"I feel so embarrassed," you say. "They knew that I overheard them. Now I feel like I'll be constantly worried about how much I'm touching you." 

"Well, that's their problem. That doesn't say shit about you," Eddie says, wrinkling his nose. 

"I'm really not too much?" you ask. He can likely hear how desperate you are for a kind answer, your throat burning with the effort it takes to stave off tears. 

"You've never been too much. I'm the too-much one. You wouldn't even hold my hand when we first started dating, you remember that? We'd go to the movies and you'd get so flustered when I bought your ticket." Eddie's arms wrap around your waist, the breeze ruffling his sweet curls and sending gusts of his smell your way. You're a goner, dropping your face into his shoulder. "Do you remember that?" he asks again, his face slipping down to yours as he hugs you close. "The first time we went to the Hawk together, I went first, and I don't know why you thought you'd have to buy your own ticket but you got all quiet when I got yours, too. I loved that. You know what I loved even more than that?" 

You smile, knowing he's going to say something lovely. "What?" you ask. 

"I loved how proud you were to sit down with me. You wouldn't hold my hand but you'd put your cheek on my shoulder just like this." 

Eddie rubs the tip of his nose against your temple. "I love how much you want to be near me," he says. "It's not childish, is it? If being closer to me makes you feel better, there's nothing wrong with that. Gareth's just jealous 'cos he isn't getting laid." 

"That's what Maggie said." You laugh. 

"Maggie's a good one. She makes Gareth bearable, kind of." 

You feel the stretch of his back under your hands. Your head is pounding from the sudden rush of big emotions, your tongue dry and throat aching, but you don't have a lick of urgency to get up and go back in. 

"He's such a dick," you whisper. 

Eddie laughs, patting your back. "Such a fucking dick." 

"I can't help being a loser and wanting to hug you so much," you say. You're joking now, but it's true all the same. 

"I tempt the untemptable," he says agreeably.

You laugh and lift up a bit to hug him harder, your face pressing into his neck. 

"You're not a loser," he says more seriously. "You know that, right? What Gareth said, it's not okay, but there's no accounting for idiocy." Eddie sits back on the bench, taking your forearms into his hands for some more soft massaging. "He can think whatever he likes, I'm not the government, but he was wrong, and also it's rude and, again, super shitty of him to do that here. So with your blessing I'm gonna punch him in the face." 

"Nooooo," you murmur. 

"Very soft no. Taking it for a yes."

"Eddie, you can't hit Gareth."

"He should watch his mouth, then." 

You reach up for a second hug. You love that he prioritised how you felt, as well as how eager he is to stick up for you —how mad he is on your behalf. 

"He's trying to take this away from me," Eddie says, leaning back under your weight, arms crossing behind your spine. He looks up at you like you've stolen his breath, lips parted and teeth peeking out with his smile. 

"Do you really want to punch him?" you ask. You sound very fond.

"I hate that he made you feel bad about yourself. And he irritates me." 

"But…" 

Eddie hums like he's thinking for a moment. "No, I definitely still want to hit him." 

You tuck a curl away from his cheek tenderly. "Thanks for wanting to defend my honour, Eds," you say.

"I'm on your side through everything." He looks ridiculously pretty saying such a ridiculously lovely thing. "That's how we work, right? You're on my side too?" 

Your face flushes with heat. "Of course I am, baby." 

"Good. Unrelated to our previous conversation, how much money do you have, roughly? In case I need financial aid in the coming days." He drops his voice to a whisper, "How much even is bail lately?" 

You cup his cheek. "We can't afford it," you whisper back. 

"Typical." 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!♡

[i-live-in-spite]

HOME EARLY

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

18+ MDNI.

Simon is overwhelmed by the urge to breed his wife.

.･:★ Umm ovulation hit, and it’s clearly apparent here. Good luck and happy reading.

Part II

You think it’s your imagination when you hear the front door creek open. It’s almost four am, and the wind is making every wall in the house shake so you dismiss it and try to go back to sleep.

But then there’s a thud from the living room. You shoot up in bed and rush to flick the lamp on, listening out for any other sounds. Cautiously you reach for the metal baseball bat beside your bed and slowly step down the hallway into the living room where you heard the noises. When you get closer, there’s a weird shuffling of clothes rubbing together, with the bat now high in your hands you peek around the corner and see hulking figure by the doorway. It doesn’t seem to move, busy looking down at something in their hands before placing it on the entry way table.

Their calm and careful movements make you sigh a breath of relief. You flick on the floor lamp around the corner, alerting your husband into looking your way as you lower the baseball bat.

“Jesus Simon, you scared me,” you mutter, propping the bat up against the wall.

Simon drops his keys down alongside his phone, “Sorry darlin’ didn’t mean to wake you,”

You eyes widen when you catch full sight of his face, there’s blood crusted all down the side that seems to connect from his cheek to his split lip. You rush over to take a closer look, “What happened?”

He moves out of your worrying grasp by tilting his head away and grabbing your outstretched hands, “Nothin’” he mutters, “Perp’ got scrappy with a knife, had to disarm him. Looks worse than it is,”

You frown trying to look closely at the wound in the dim lighting, “Let me clean it,” Simon is already shaking his head not wanting to make a big deal of it but you won’t let him brush you off, “Let me clean it, Simon. It won’t take long, who knows what was on that knife, could get infected.”

Simon looks down at your determined gaze and sighs, already defeated. Your stubbornness matched his easily on a good day, not that anyone ever believed little Simon’s wife could be capable of that. He’s learnt to just give in when it came to you wanting to take care of him.

“Whatever you want love,” he says softly, letting go of your hands.

“Wait for me in the bathroom.” you reply, stepping out of his way.

Simon does as he’s asked and walks across the lounge room, he’s just about to round the corner when he sees the bar leaning against the wall. All he can do is smirk at the sight of it before disappearing into the bedroom. He’d got you that bat out of protection, and at first you had laughed when he tried to teach you how to use it, calling him paranoid because of his work. All he knows is now he would never want to be on the answering end of one of your swings.

He flicks the switch on to your ensuite bathroom, allowing the warm light fill the small space. Your home was on the smaller side of cozy, being this close to the city meant you couldn’t afford to have a bigger space, but each day Simon was working towards saving up for a bigger place in the suburbs. A place big enough to have little ones running around, the idea is what got him up everyday for work.

He flips the lid of the toilet down and sits on it waiting for you to walk in. He looks down at his hands to see dried dirt and blood under his nails, as well as his wedding ring which glints softly under the lighting. He should have showered at work but it was just one of those nights where he couldn’t wait to get back to you. He was having a lot more of those nights lately, the thrill of chasing criminals just wasn’t his biggest priority anymore.

When you walk in you see Simon hunched over the toilet waiting for you, he watches as you turn the bathroom tap on to wash your hands, “Should take your uniform off.” you suggest.

He hums and begins to unbutton it without question, by the time you fish out the first aid kit from under the bathroom sink he’s already hung it over the shower door leaving him in his white undershirt.

You nod your head in the direction of his top, “Lose the top too,”

He raises an eyebrow at your little smirk but assents, “Yes ma’am.”

You let out a small appreciative hum as he slips it off, carelessly letting it hang from the bathroom counter. With an antiseptic wipe in hand, you step in between his outstretched legs and reach for his chin. Simon tilts his head pliantly in your hold and lets you gently wipe away the crusted blood on his cheek and jaw. Absentmindedly he rests his hands on your bare thighs and feels up and down.

“You’re home early,” you comment, focusing as you get closer to the open cut on his cheek.

Simon grunts when the antiseptic touches the open site, “Yeah, slow night,”

You raise an eyebrow, “That’s the third slow night this week, scarin’ all the criminals off or something?”

He wishes, it would be his biggest dream to rid of all the scum in this city if it meant you could walk freely without any danger.

When he doesn’t reply you frown and tilt his chin up with your pointer finger until he meets your gaze, “Seriously, what’s up with you Simon? You’ve been off all week,”

His arms circle your thighs protectively and pull you closer, “Can’t a man just miss his wife?”

You smile sweetly and thread your fingers through his hair to sweep it off his forehead, “That’s it? Nothing else is going on?”

He shakes his head, “You’re the only thing on my mind, love.”

You roll your eyes at his sappy comment and lean over to reach for another antiseptic wipe. Due to limited mobility with Simon’s arms wrapped around your legs you have to grip one of his shoulders and stretch your arm to grab it. You tear the corner open with your teeth and drop the package into the small waste bin before wrapping the wipe around your finger. The cut on his lip doesn’t look as bad, and it’s already starting to scab. So you carefully dab around the edges with the upmost concentration, when you get too close to the open wound Simon hisses and pulls back.

You mumble a small apology but grab ahold of his chin to keep him still, “Almost done, stop moving,”

“Fuckin’ hurts,” he mutters.

You look at him incredulously, but it quickly melts away when you see the small smirk on his face, “You’re such a baby,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss the side of his mouth, “Thought policemen were meant to be tougher than this,”

He tightens his arms around your thighs and squeezes hard in a flex of his strength. You grip his shoulders as you begin to lose balance but he doesn’t seem to care as he rests his chin on your stomach to look up at you, “Can be tough if that’s what you want,”

You pat his shoulder, “Alright sweetheart, no need to prove yourself,”

“Not enjoying the lip you’re givin’ me, love,” he retorts.

You smile condescendingly, “Gonna do something about it?”

Without warning Simon stands from his seat, lifting you up with him. You laugh and grab his shoulders for support before wrapping your legs around his waist. He takes a step before turning to face the bathroom mirror and drops you on the counter, his hands rest either side of your thighs as he leans close into your space.

Even covered in cuts and bruises you can help but admire how handsome he is. You lean back against the bathroom mirror and run your hands from his shoulders down to his chest, the healthy fat that covers his muscles makes a certain part of your brain purr.

Simon notices immediately and drags you closer until your hips are pressed against his, “Somethin’ you like?”

You look up at him lazily, hands still caressing his chest, “Just admiring the view.”

With his hands still gripping your thighs he leans down to kiss you against the mirror. When his lips meet yours you try to be gentle as to not disturb the cut, but he dismisses all your worries of hurting him when he leans in harder. You can only gasp against his lips when his hand reaches under your shirt—his really—and slip beneath your panties.

“Simon—” you start, pulling away to rest against the mirror when his finger teases at your folds.

He shushes you and presses his lips against yours again leaving you no choice but to let him do as he pleases. It’s a gentle tease at first, he’s more occupied with the way his tongue finds yours than the lazy caress of his finger against your clit. You grab his shoulders for anchorage before dragging your fingers up into his hair at the nape of his neck. His finger is joint by another, both pressed together as rub circles around your clit more earnestly.

You can’t help the way you involuntarily bite down on his lip at the sudden burst of pleasure that spikes up your spine. Simon hisses and pulls away, when you realise what you’ve done you immediately start apologises, “Sorry,” you gasp, holding the sides of his face, “Sorry Simon, are you okay?”

Simon zeros in on the way his blood dots your bottom lip, turning it a rosy red. It’s barely anything but it’s enough to make his cock twitch, “You’re killing me, sweetheart,”

You huff, swiping your thumb under the fresh blood that has beaded on his lip unbeknownst to the thoughts that are running through his head, “I didn’t bite that hard,”

You place your hands on his shoulders before he can kiss you again, “We should clean tha—”

“No,” he couldn’t think of anything worse than separating from you right now.

You look at him questionably, “Just so it can heal properly Si—”

“No,” he says more authoritatively, rubbing your clit with renewed vigour just to convince you.

Your head thunks back against the mirror as you let out a moan. You sink your nails into his shoulders and clench your eyes closed as you focus on the pleasure slowly building within your core. When he leans in this time you let him, instead of a kiss like you were expecting, you feel Simon’s tongue swipe across your bottom lip. With a hooded gaze you look at him suspiciously, only to see his pupils have dilated and his breathing has turned more ragged. Rather than commenting on it you tug him closer and kiss him messily, uncaring of the way his bloodied lip tastes.

It elicits a groan out of him and a reward for you as his middle finger slips further down and curls up inside. You gasp, opening panting against Simon’s mouth as he makes quick work of fingering you just the way you like without all the teasing.

“Fuck, Simon—” you moan, clawing your nails down his biceps, “More, please, more,”

Simon grunts, gripping your thigh with his free hand while the other complies with your demands and sinks another finger in. Having you blissed out against the bathroom, with just his fingers alone strokes the egotistical part of his mind— he was responsible for bringing you pleasure, for making you happy. He was such a good husband, and he would be an even better father. A vision of you with your belly swollen and your tits heavy against his palm sent such violent pleasure down his spine that he almost came in his pants at the thought. He has to grip his cock, hard, until it’s stifled to a weak twitch so he can collect his thoughts.

You’re still blissfully unaware, rolling your hips against his fingers until your clit bumps against his palm, completely taking control over your own pleasure. Simon only watches as you bring yourself to the edge, jaw slightly slack as you move with unrestrained inhibition.

“I want a baby,” he announces.

Your eyes fly open, moment completely shattered as your orgasm recedes. You drop your full weight against the counter, hands propping you up by your sides, “What?”

Simon licks his lips, slowly withdrawing his fingers from your cunt, “I want a baby,” he says more clearly.

You pant softly, trying to catch your breath, “Where is this coming from?”

His hands come forward to hike your shirt up, slowly caressing your hips, “Can’t stop thinking about it,” he says cautiously, scanning your eyes for any sense of worry, “I want to take care of you—”

“You do take care of me—”

“And our baby,” he finishes.

At your pause he continues, “Do you not want this?”

You frown, licking your lips in thought, “I do,” you respond tentatively, “I just didn’t think you were ready, I know your job means a lot to you,”

He shakes his head, “Not anymore,”

You sit up properly and carefully cup the side of his face, “Is this why you’ve been coming home early?”

He turns instantly to kiss the palm of your hand, his wordless response says it all. You can’t help but huff and smile at the display, of course there was a reason. There’s always a reason behind Simon’s actions.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You whisper.

He looks at you from the corner of his eye before leading a trail of kisses down you wrist, “Didn’t know how to tell you,”

You laugh, “Well you had no problem telling me now, what changed?”

One of his hands reaches down to rub at your stomach, “I was imagining it,”

You bite your lip and try to laugh it off, but his movements send a shiver down your spine, “Imagining what?”

Simon looks at you more earnestly now as he rubs all around your stomach and hips with his massive hands, “How beautiful you’d look with a swollen belly, carrying our child,” he looks down at you as his hands slide under your shirt to cup your breasts, “How nicely these will fill out towards the end of it,”

You gasp at the rough squeeze of his hands, it makes you throb and circle your legs around his waist. At your response, he grabs your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, you wrap your arms around his neck for balance and stare into his eyes. His gaze is steady, and unflinching, there was no room for doubt.

“You really want this?” You ask.

“Yes,”

You smile and cradle the side of his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone, “Okay,”

“Okay,” He nods. “Now?”

You balk at his eagerness “Now? I’m on the pill, Simon, it won’t work now,”

Your reluctance doesn’t deter him as he leads a trail of kisses down your neck, “Not even if I fill you up?”

Lord help you, the idea is consuming him already. You look up at the ceiling as he pulls the neckline of your shift to continue his trial across your collarbone, “That would kinda defeat the purpose of birth control,”

He pauses, “But it’s not one hundred percent accurate,”

You sigh, “No, it’s not one hundred percent accurate,”

He smirks smugly, “Then I have a chance,”

“A slim chan—” you try to say before he cuts you off with a kiss. It’s urgent, and messy and excited. In his hurry to get the ball rolling he yanks at the old sleep shirt you wearing too hard causing a hole to tear through it.

“Simon!” You gasp, staring down at it, “This is my favourite top to sleep in,”

“Sorry darlin’,” it’s an empty apologise to get on your good side as he lifts the shirt off your head, “I’ll make it up to you,”

You huff as you let the shirt fall away to the bathroom floor, “How?” You challenge.

Simon licks his lips as he stares at your exposed chest, “By filling you up real nice,”

You refuse to acknowledge the way that sends a shiver down your spine, “That’s not really making up to me if it’s something you also want,”

Simon hums, you’re right. It’s completely selfish, he does want this— a lot. So much so, that he doesn’t even defend himself as he reaches for the waistband of your panties, “I’ll spoil you once you’re pregnant,” he promises, pulling your fabric down your legs until they’re all the way off.

He leans forward and latches on to one of your nipples, you gasp and squirm when his teeth tease around the sensitive edge of it until he pulls away, “No missus of mine will lift a finger when she’s carrying our child.”

You moan, arching your back off the mirror to avoid the cold glass pressing against you. Simon continues his path over to your other breast, taking your nipple into his mouth while his hand takes care of the other. You reach for the zipper of his pants, doing your best to remove them without getting distracted.

Simon gives you a hand by shoving his pants and underwear down in one go once you’ve managed to unbutton them. His cock is flushed and aching, it throbs once against his abdomen before you take it in your hand and give it a leisurely pump. He groans and thrusts his hips into your hand as you continue your pace. It’s not long before he lets out a warning grunt, twitching and leaking within your palm, making the slide nice and wet. His forehead rests against your shoulder completely taken over by the way your fingers circle around the sensitive head of his cock taking him closer to the edge. You can tell by his shallow breathing that he’s almost there, so you give him one last flick of your wrist before squeezing the base of his cock cutting off any impending orgasm. He grips your thighs, hard, and clenches his eyes closed at the pleasure coming to a painful halt.

“That’s fucking karma,” you whisper into his ear.

He groans and drops a kiss against your shoulder before straightening up, “No more fucking around.” he states, hooking your legs over his arms so he has a nice view of your dripping cunt.

With one of his hands he guides his cock forward, rubbing the head of it through your wet folds. You lean back with your hands propped against the counter as you watch. When the head of his cock catches, he slides all the way home, stretching you wide open. You hiss at the sting, even after all this time you’re still unused to the way he’s able to stretch you so far.

“S’fuckin’ tight,” he grunts, barely restraining himself from holding still. “How have I still not broken this cunt in?”

You clench your eyes closed waiting for the sting to pass, “Too big,”

He rubs his thumb soothingly up and down your inner thigh, “You can take it love.”

When the pain recedes you let out a deep exhale and rest against the bathroom mirror. Simon takes that has his sign to give a shallow thrust, slowly taking his time until you’re completely falling apart on his cock. Every punch forward sends a breath out of you forcing you to breathe in short pants. He grips your hips and pulls you forward on each thrust sending him as deep as he can in this position.

“Simon,” you moan. “M’close.”

He only grunts in acknowledgment at your warning. You can’t help but reach down with your fingers to circle your own clit, Simon is immediately drawn in watching the way you move against him to get yourself off. It’s not long until you’re clenching tight around him, dragging him down with you into your first orgasm. You rest against the mirror of the bathroom, taking heaving breaths as you try to collect yourself. Simon is still holding your hips with his cock inside you as he does the same.

“Gotta go again,” he mutters.

“Huh? What did you say?” You pant.

Weakly he thrusts forwards to test the waters, you cunt immediately spasms around him in overstimulation. “S’not enough love, I need to fill you,”

“Simon—” you huff as he straightens up, making his cock shift, “We can try again later,” you press your hand against his abdomen when he tries to thrust back in, “I don’t think I have another one in me,”

“Course you do,” he assures, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ears, “Just one more, and I’ll be satisfied. You can do that for me can’t you?”

You whine when he thrusts forward against your wishes. It aches, and you’re exhausted, but with each gentle thrust the twitching of your thighs slowly starts to fade. Simon hoists you up into his arms, walking you into the bedroom, all while still inside your cunt to ensure his seed doesn’t leak out— he’s got to get the most out of this after all.

Carefully he lays you down on the bed, its soft surface is incomparably better compared to the hard counter. You sigh in instant relief and shut your eyes, Simon won’t let you rest though. With one leg propped over his shoulder, holding you nice and open he grinds down into you. He barely even thrusts out as he focuses on driving as deep as he can into your cervix.

“Fuck!” You shout, holding your lower abdomen. You can feel every inch of him going impossibly deeper.

“I’m gonna make that belly swell,” he slurs, “You’ll have no choice but to have my child,”

“Simon—fuck—come on,” you whine, begging for him to finish inside you.

“Almost there doll,” he groans.

“Want your baby,” you moan, gripping onto one of his hips to pull him closer, “C’mon Simon, you’ll give it to me won’t you? Don’t back out on me now,”

It’s a ragged breath he breathes out in response to your comments, “Need you to take care of me— take care of us, you’re the only one who can do it,”

He clenches his eyes closed and slams into you one last time as he comes again. You’re starting to feel uncomfortably full with both his seed and cock still straining against your hole. You start to feel boneless as sleep washes over you, Simon will take care of everything as always so you feel no need to stay awake.

Until you feel your world tilt as you flip over. When you open your eyes you’re already on your stomach, knees sunk into the mattress with Simon lined up behind you.

“No,” you cry, angling your hips away, “Simon, no more baby, that’s enough,”

Simon is mesmerised by the way his come is starting to leak out of you. Before it can drip onto the sheets, he plugs it up crudely with his thumb, using his other free hand to hold your wriggling hips in place.

“One more sweetheart,” he promises, “Just one more, and that’s it,”

Jesus what the fuck did you sign up for? He’s completely taken over by his own self image of you, pregnant and barefoot that he can’t even see how wrung out you are. You’re completely exhausted, sore, and full. But all he’s seeing is how much more you can take. With his thumb still plugging your hole, he leans over your back to whisper in your ear.

“You agreed with me earlier,” he states, “this is what we have to do, I need to fill you up with as much as I can,”

You pout slumping your shoulders against the mattress, “I’m sore, Simon, I can’t do it again,”

He lays gentle kisses against your shoulder, “You’re gonna look so beautiful with my child,” he repeats, “I’ll take care of everything, including these,” he reaches down to hold your tits in his hands, pinching both nipples with his thumb and forefinger, “When they get full. I’ll do it all for you,”

You moan weakly, jutting your hips back against his pelvis where his cock is already hard and waiting. Without waiting for a verbal response he lines himself up with your already soaked entrance, and slides back in. It’s easy now, you’ve moulded yourself against the shape of him after multiple rounds and the way his come drips out around the sides of his cock makes it a wet slide. All you can do is grip the sheets beneath you and cry every so often at a particularly harsh thrust that makes you even more sore. You must have your wires crossed because eventually the soreness builds into pleasure, and soon enough you’re meeting his thrusts halfway hoping your clit will smack against balls for some extra stimulation.

“That’s it,” he groans, gripping your ass tighter as he pulls you back against him, “Last one, darlin’ make sure you catch all of it,”

“Put it in me,” you slur, “All of it Simon.”

As if hearing your prayers Simon reaches down to rub your clit, immediately sending you over the edge one last time. Your thighs squeeze shut around his hand, and milk him of one last orgasm. You moan at the past pitiful ropes that fill you up, if you don’t get pregnant this time. You’re sure once you’re off the pill you’ll get pregnant next time.

Simon makes sure to push every drop in as deep as he can before finally pulling out. You moan in relief, slumping against the mattress entirely fucked out and at your limit. When he touches your thigh, you bat his hand away.

“Get the fuc’off me,” you mutter, “Fuckin’ manic,”

He chuckles and leans down to kiss your cheek, “I love you,”

You cringe as you feel his come start to leak out of you, “Love you too.”

[i-live-in-spite]

꣑୧ stretch marks ─ simon riley soft!simon

you were laying on the bed, scrolling through your phone. your shirt rode up your side as you shifted around to get comfortable again.

simon walked into the room and immediately his eyes landed on you. he couldn't help the small smile that appeared on his lips.

you hadn't noticed him yet, too engrossed in the video you were watching on your phone.

simon made his way to the bed and sat on the edge. his eyes unconsciously landed on your exposed skin. there was a thin mark right above your hip.

he leaned closer and realized exactly what it was: a stretch mark. his heart pounded softly.

it was silly, really. how a single stretch mark could make him love you even more.

he reached out, tracing his finger over the thin line on your skin. you shivered and finally looked away from your phone.

"what are you doing?" you said as you sit up. simon didn't say anything, only pushing you back down and lifting your shirt back up. this time he saw a few other stretch marks accompanying your hips and his smile grew.

you were so imperfectly perfect.

you quickly pulled your shirt back down. "s-stop." you said, feeling a bit insecure about the marks, but simon moved your hands away and lifted your shirt back up.

"beautiful." he whispered, his lips meeting the small marks on your skin. he smiled against each one before looking at you.

"now we match." he said before lifting his shirt up a bit so you could see a few scars on his hips.

you felt your heart flutter. he found your stretch marks beautiful. not even that, he thought you were matching now. you had never found him as endearing as you had now. you felt yourself falling more deeply in love with him.

you smiled and pulled him closer, pressing a soft kiss on his nose. "have i ever told you how much i love you?" you whispered against his lips.

simon let out a soft tender chuckle. his eyes held nothing but adoration for you.

"i love you just as much."

may this love find me

[i-live-in-spite]

I can’t wait to marry the love of my life, like that shit excites me.

[i-live-in-spite]

The best photo I took at Dashcon 2

[i-live-in-spite]

"No- no, Simon!" You whimper, squirming away from his hands, your own clawing at the floor.

"Cmon, you can take it." He grumbles, his voice low and command clear.

"Please- oh fuck. Simon, Simon, Simon." You recite like a prayer, squirming again as he adds pressure. You whimper and moan, fighting-- anything to get him to stop.

"Stop squirming, you need it. Take it." He commands roughly again, pinning you firmer into the wooden floorboards.

"Alright, what the fuck are you guys doing?" Soap and Gaz burst in through the door, looking down at the two of you.

There you are on your stomach, pinned under Simon, his hands on your back, his front against your butt. But... clothed.

"What type of freak shit are yall doing?" Gaz asks, watching you squirm under Simon again. He doesn't let you move, pressing down on your lower back once more, growling something quietly at you.

You cry out, whimpering again and clinging to nothing. "Simon, Simon please!" You whine again.

"Take it Doll. Take it." He says, rubbing that same spot.

You groan loudly, starting to fight him again.

"Alright dude, what the hell!" Soap questions, pushing Simon off of you.

You crawl away quickly, standing with a groan.

"What?" Simon grumbles out, pushing Soap back a bit, watching Kyle hug you tightly.

"You can't just pin down girls ya like and- and do whatever the hell that was!" Soap growls out.

Simon tilts his head, looking to you and back to Soap. "What the fuck are you on MacTavish?" Simon asks again, pushing past the sergeant to you.

"You- whatever you were doing to her." Soap continues, getting between you two again.

"Move." He says to his sergeant harshly, leaving no room for argument. But Soap doesn't, standing his ground and protecting you from his perverted lieutenant.

"I'm not gonna ask again." Simon says, glowering down at Soap. Kyle is behind both of them, you behind him as they stand bodyguard.

Finally free from Simon's hands, you quickly dart out of the door, hearing the growl of Simon behind you.

"Fuck off Lt.!" You yell back, turning corners and jumping over furniture and people as Simon is stuck behind his two sergeants. You get as far away as you can.

--

"Back. away." You demand, ready to run again as Soap and Gaz corner you.

"Nah ah little lady." Gaz says, a lazy smile on his face.

--

"You guys fucking suck!" You yell, squirming in Soap's hold, Gaz walking behind him for backup in case you tried to run again.

They quickly deliver you back to your lieutenant, dropping you at his very feet.

"Don't run bunny, won't and never will end well for you." Simon says, kneeling next to you. "On your stomach." He growls.

You huff, turning over and glaring at the sergeants who brought you here. "Dead to me. All of you." You growl before it fades into a soft moan of pleasure and pain as Simon settles back onto your butt, rubbing from your lower back and up.

"There ya go." He croons, adding more pressure.

"When I--fuck, fuck."

"Right there?" He teases.

"No, fuck you. And when I get the chance, I'm gonna break every single one of your stupid little fing-- FUCK!" You grip nothing again, clawing for one of the sergeants-- something, anything.

"Soap. You had the most to say, hold her hand." Simon commands, rubbing circles now.

Soap is hesitant, and even more so at your sadistic smile as he slowly moves closer. You quickly latch onto him when he gets close enough, pulling him down with you.

Soap sits there with you, grunting in pain every time your nails dig into his pale skin.

Simon continues to massage you, hitting all the right parts that scream in agony under his hands. Your body begs for more, but your mouth knows better than to give Ghost a big head.

"Gonna kill you Simon." You say before he makes you whine and whimper as if it's some joke.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Nice-- ngh-- and slow." You relay.

"Like this?" He asks, a slow, long drag of his knuckles down your back.

You don't answer, can't, as you fall into a fit of more moans. You squeeze Soap, your salvation between the pain and pleasure.

"Jesus lass, keep gripping me like that, you're gonna leave a mark." Soap grumbles, hissing when you break skin. Again.

"Shut the fuck up!" You growl, whining again almost to the point of tears.

"Gonna do your shoulders after." Simon says as if it's a threat. And it is.

"Please no, please, Simon. Simon, Simon, please, hear me out."

"Mmm..." He mulls, looking down at your turned head. You, no longer holding onto Soap for dear life.

"Tomorow. Please, just do it tomorrow." You plead, eyes misty with unshed tears of pain-- pleasure?

"That's the thing Doll, I don't really feel like chasing tomorrow. I don't feel like chasing at all."

"I'll- I'll come to you. Please. Just tommorow."

"Why should I believe you when you just tried to run 40 minutes ago?"

"Cmon Lt., you know I'm not a liar."

"No, but you're a runner." He counters.

"F-fine. End of day. I'll come to you after dinner."

"I don't know if that works for me Doll."

"Please." You beg again.

--

"Dead to me. All of you." You say at dinner, glaring at Simon, Johnny, and Kyle.

"What is she talking about?" Price asks, slightly amused.

"She won't go to medical and I'm tired of hearing her complain about being sore." Ghost says nonchalantly.

"She doesn't like Lt's massages." Soap chimes in. "Got a couple of scars from 'er." He continues, showing Price his arm. The thin crescents now just a slight pink from where you dug your nails into him.

"Wouldn't have happened if you didn't force me to go to him." You snap back.

"Yeah, yeah."

"What's this about you not going to medical?" Of course that's the part he focuses on.

"Well, I--"

"It's handled Cap'n. Don't gotta worry about 'er." Ghost finally chimes in, staring directly at you.

You flick him your finger before going back to your food. You had to mentally prepare for his heavy, deft... strong... veiny hands to massage out the kinks in your shoulder.

Oh fuck.

--

"Sit." Simon says, pointing to his office chair.

"We can't do tomorrow?" You ask weakly, already moving to the chair.

"No. We're doing legs tomorrow."

"What--"

"Shh." He says, his heavy hands on your shoulders.

You sighed, moaning before he even got to rubbing.

"Eager?" He teases.

"N-- oh~" you moan, leaning back into his chair.

"There ya go. Relax." He encourages kindly, genuinely happy to help. He really was tired of you complaining about being sore and didn't need you stiff on a mission. He'd work through all your... kinks if it meant a better mission... and maybe listening to you moan his name, begging for a release he wouldn't give.

Maybe.

Bold of you to assume he does the small things out of the goodness of his heart without any benefit for himself.

Naive even.

------------

If you can't tell, I'm in pain. My left shoulder specifically

[i-live-in-spite]

my type is mysterious badass women and soft nerdy men. i yearn so hard

[i-live-in-spite]

Ur Johnnys bestie or whatever, and he shows you a photo of him and simon, right?

You can see how the man towers over johnny, its obvious even under the clothes that hes strong as hell and well fed. The guy is larger than life, really. But you take one look at him and coo dramatically, tossing soap a grin "Awe. I didn't know you had such cute subs on your team."

And thus, with that single sentence, you've started the sub ghost debate. Johnny has no idea what u see, according to him ghost is obviously a dom. You two argue back and forth, until eventually kyle gets involved and he *also* thinks ghost is a dom. But u know in ur heart of hearts when you see a sub, so u beg Johnny to set u up with him.

...it fucking works. After constant badgering from johnny convinces simon to give you a shot. And thats all you need. Its a bit awkward at first, but u learn ghost it just shy. Eventually you get him back to ur apartment, and there's no way this man could ever be a dom.

Hes whimpering when you shove him against the matress, looking up at u with big pleading eyes. Follows ur every command, even when u tell him not to move, riding him just to watch his abs clench to stop from bucking into u. By the end of the night hes a whimpering mess, teary eyed and panting like a dog. Best part is hes amazing for cuddles.

Anyways....you wake up the next morning with a maybe-boyfriend and 50 dollars richer when u text Johnny.

[i-live-in-spite]

old enough to remember when smut was called ‘lemons’ but young enough that i had absolutely no business knowing that smut was called ‘lemons’ at the time 

[i-live-in-spite]

Reblog to give prev the power to write their fanfiction

[i-live-in-spite]

jealous!lieutenant riley makes brain go brrr

warnings : explicit content, filthy mouthed simon & a molecule of praise

──────────୨ৎ───────────

jealous!lieutenant riley who nearly cracks a molar when laswell teams you and kyle up for an upcoming mission.

jealous!lieutenant riley whose fingers twitch towards his gun when she mentions you’ll have to act as a married couple.

jealous!lieutenant riley who, for the entire week leading up to the gala, barks at rookies nine hours a day and spends his evenings at the shooting range—allegedly imagining someone very real as the target.

jealous!lieutenant riley whose mouth goes bone dry when he sees you wrapped in an expensive floor-length chiffon dress that accentuates every gentle dip and feminine curve and—fuck but he’s half-hard already.

jealous!lieutenant riley whose eyes stay glued to you the entire evening, his thoughts straying much further than his simple assignment of guarding your six.

jealous!lieutenant riley who, the second the base’s gravel crunches under the slowing tires of the car, is wrapping a burly arm around the slope of your waist while actively glaring at the diamond on your finger.

jealous!lieutenant riley who backs you up against his quarters’ door, his amber eyes burning like molten lava as they rove the length of your legs in a slow trail upwards.

jealous!lieutenant riley who finally claims your mouth, glides his hot tongue against yours, nips your neck and kisses your shoulders—all while he slides the subtly glittering gown off, exposing more and more of your soft skin to his hungry gaze.

jealous!lieutenant riley who lays you out on his bed—your nimble hands fisting his sheets, your silky hair in a halo on his pillow, and your pretty legs hiked onto his shoulders as he lowers himself between the plush of your thighs.

jealous!lieutenant riley who only drifts back up once he’s had his fill, chin glistening from your slick and pupils almost swallowing all the bronze of his irises.

jealous!lieutenant riley who lines himself up with your puffy entrance, bracing his tattooed forearms on each side of your head as his fingers slip into your silky hair.

jealous!lieutenant riley who kisses your dampened forehead, before letting his stubbly cheek rasp against your blushing one, his hot breath bleeding into a drawl at your ear.

“'m goin’ to fuck that ring right off of you, dove. now spread y’legs and be a good girl f’me.”

[i-live-in-spite]

nsfw: simon x his pretty gf with an oral fixation. it started off innocent enough. at first he would slowly begin to notice the abundance of gum and sweets you went through. sweet tooth is all, he'd think, brushing it off. then came your habit of absentmindedly biting, sucking on and nibbling on your thumb; it was cute, how a small furrow formed between your brows as you did so. however, his confusion came when you switched to him. during movies, if his hand was anywhere near your face, halfway through he'd feel your mouth encasing his thumb, looking down to find you nothing but unfazed, eyes still glued to the television.

but what brought it to light was when, lord forbid, he let you get a taste of his cock. it was like a dog with a bone!

"bloody - shit - fuckin' hell, love, calm down-"" his grunts and words of pleasure would fall on death ears as you knelt in front of him within the comfort of his office, sealed away from any prying eyes as you shamelessly went down on him, sloppy and nasty with drool forming at the corners of your mouth.

you had originally been visiting for lunch, sweetly brining him a container of warm, homemade food to deal with the stress of rounding up recruits the whole morning. but it wasn't your fault he looked so good in uniform!

and you were getting off on it too, moaning around his thick, jaw-locking shaft as one of your hands rubbed desperately at your aching pussy, panties pushed aside as you zeroed in on your clit. you looked so fucking pretty to him, eyes wet and focused on his face as you pleasured both him and yourself simultaneously, one of his big hands digging into your luscious hair. and the sight of his cock disappearing in and out of your lips was enough to make a lesser man blow a load right there.

"you like this, don't ya? like how i fuckin' feed ya..." simon would groan, as drunk on bliss as you were as he began to meet you half way, forcing his cock even deeper into your awaiting throat. his head thrown back, balaclava pulled up to give him more breathing as you slurped around his cock, brain on autopilot as you chased his pleasure, craving the feeling of swallowing his cum.

and even when all was said and done, and you were both panting from the bliss the aftermath of your orgasms offered, simon knew just from staring into those hazy eyes of yours, that he would spend the rest of his life satisfying that pretty little, hungry mouth of yours.

cod masterlist.

[i-live-in-spite]

One of the funniest headcanons I have for Simon, is him being a father with kids who fundraise for school trips

Like they have to sell these chocolates/flowers/cookies for their school trips, and Simon promises them he’ll help. He takes the order forms to the base and shakes down everyone he can for orders

This big buff lieutenant with a terrifying alter ego shakes down Price, Soap & Gaz to order stuff from his kids so they can go on trips. No one is safe from Lieutenant Riley, and if they try saying no than Simon pulls out the big guns

He brings his kids to base and has them asking for donations while Simon’s standing behind his kids, expecting the suckers to cave to his kids—because they have their mama’s eyes, and no one can say no to Mr. & Mrs. Riley’s children

[i-live-in-spite]

I imagine Simon after a divorce because his first wife wasn't a fan of sex and was a corporate woman who didn't even spare to help him, so he divorces her for all the good reasons, mutual.

Then he finds a sweet bird at the bar, who's obviously so drunk she doesn't even realise she's hitting on him (she is doing that intentionally) and he's telling her off he's not into younger people, but you're so persistent, pushing yourself closer to him, your chest pressed against his tattooed arms, hands around his biceps.

Simon's not an idiot, he knows what you're doing. So he lets himself have the treat and makes you realise that it maybe was a bad idea.

And he fucks you in his truck, making you bounce on his thick girth as he holds your hips, urging you to do more but you're so obviously fucked out that you can barely make out anything around you.

That just few fucking rounds in there.

He takes you back home, fucks you good., a proper brat taming and rough play. God his arm wrapped around you neck as he fucks you so good, your pussy clenching around him.

That night Simon Riley had a good fuck for the first time in eight fucking years.

[i-live-in-spite]