simonrileyyyy

[simonrileyyyy]

simon didn't want to go out often, but when he did he was the most possessive simon you've ever seen. never ever for a second left his hands off your body, always there, always touching somewhere.

he loved those little dresses you chose, they drove him crazy and you knew that. but he hated the attention that came along with them. from the eyes of other men. his jaw always tight, his eyes torn between your body and the gazes from other men. but your body always ended getting most of it, of course.

when you finally chose a place to eat, because he was always a gentleman and let you choose, he would always pull your hips and make you sit on his thighs. his hands never leaving your legs, or your waist, or up and down your arm.

you always blushed, very aware of the looks of people surrounding you shoot at you both. simon didn't give a flying fuck, though, you knew that. he always buried his face on your neck, inhaling your scent while you squirm, trying to choose something from the menu. accidentally grinding on his hardening cock, trying to put a little distance since you understood he'd never let you take another chair for yourself.

simon would grip your waist and legs harder, hissing under his breath at the graze of your barely covered ass on his crotch.

"bahave, lov', or i may take you 'ight here on this table", simon would whisper against your neck, soft biting your skin in a warning.

your cheeks would turn red, but that wouldn't mean you'd stop.

[simonrileyyyy]

listening to simon riley talk for hours about his silly little interests

simon isn't really a talkative guy. he's tall and brooding, silent and observant, but once he's got a pretty little thing that'll let him talk for as long as he wants, it's like he never shuts up.

he'll sit next to you on the couch, creaking under his heavy weight as he settles his arm around the back of the couch. he pulls you closer, and you just know he's going to talk. you can tell.

simon is a hand talker. he uses his hands to express himself during his speech, whether it be a simple gesture, or a whole reenactment. his hand against your shoulder, arm wrapped around your back, will occasionally lift up with the movement of his fingers to accentuate his point.

and don't get me started when he talks about his interests. by his tone, you'd think you're holding a gun to his head, deep and gruff, the same monotonous way he speaks about everything.

but the more you ask questions, nodding your head along, he gets more animated, his voice chiming and eyes crinkling with every interested and genuine question from you.

it's hot, watching him talk about the things he likes in such a high manner. before you know it, he's buried knuckle deep in your cunt, thick fingers curling against your gummy walls.

his pace is slow, pumping his wrist in and out of your drooling cunt, feeling the coolness from your drenched panties that he pushed to the side.

he'll reward you with every question asked, speeding up the pace, digging his fingers deeply as your walls constrict around him, swallowing him in. if you remember a bit of information, he'll have your eyes rolling back and toes curling.

and he'll do this all without stuttering, continue rambling on as if he's not fingering your sweet pussy, making you feel good as you soak the cushions under you, nipples pebbled under his fingetips through your thin shirt.

simon riley remains unphased, pulling his fingers from between your legs, having to pry them apart as he watches the sticky release that coats his fingers string back to your slit. the only time this man shuts his mouth, is to taste your sweet cum on his fingers, smirking as he teases your clit with his other hand before snapping your panties back in place. where was he again?

[simonrileyyyy]

new vroom vroom

(im back)

[simonrileyyyy]

when you first start talking to simon riley, you want to check yourself into an insane asylum.

you like to think you’re cool, you’re chill, you’re nonchalant. but he takes eight hours to text back, sending you a “come over.” text at 7pm like he hadn’t just ignored you the whole day. you complain to your friends, of course, which is a terrible move when they tell you to drop him and if he wanted to, he would! and you think he does (want to), he’s just so insanely nonchalant about it. so the next time he comes over, chinese takeout in hand after not texting you back since 8am, you go a little crazy…

you open the door for him, stepping back awkwardly when he tried to peck your forehead. he practically shrugs it off, toeing off his boots before setting the food down on your table. “got tha’ dish ya like.” you nod, forgetting his back is to you. simon unpacks the boxes with precision from the bag, not stopping until it’s all laid out on the table. you’ve been quiet for a while, unusual since you’re the talker of the bunch, and that creeping feeling that’s been sliding up his skin finally sets its hooks in him. he turns around curiously, brows furrowing at the sight of you still standing by the door, biting your lip with a timid look and wet eyes. “love?”

you shake your head with a watery smile. “can we talk?” simon follows you as you walk to your couch, feeling like he’s been dropped into an op with no details. he doesn’t know what’s wrong, just that you’re hurting and he seems to be the cause of it. “i just…don’t get it. how you’re acting so normal.” you’re twisting your hands together. “somethin’ happen, love? got me confused.” you give him that small, weak smile again and it’s like you’ve stabbed him in the heart. “you- you barely talk to me all day and then you just come over here like it’s nothing. it’s just so hot and cold and i’m wrecking myself over it when it’s so clear you don’t care. i’m just so confused, si.”

simon runs through his memories. he texted you good morning, you texted it back, then he went about his duties for the day until he was finally free to ask about dinner. hadn’t even picked up his phone in the meantime, security risks or just plain busyness being the cause. “‘ve been busy, sweetheart. ‘s why i asked t’ come over when i was done.” you shake your head, biting your lip. “it’s the modern day, simon. everyone’s on their phones. i don’t think you’re as into this as me, and that’s fine, but i just want to know!”

now simon’s the one shaking his head, pulling out his phone. he might not be tech savvy but he does know this move from johnny, the fucker constantly complaining about his screen time. he pulls up the screen time tracker and turns it to you. “not everyone.” you’re a bit shocked to be honest. his screen time is ten minutes for the entire day. a few in the morning when he texted you and nothing until nighttime, when he texted you again. you’ve never seen anything like it.

“‘m not a big texter an’ we don’t use personal phones for work, so it’s jus’ a brick i leave at home or lug around. ‘s nothin’ on you. been thinkin’ about you all day, to be honest.” your mouth is open, honestly. any other man would have never shown you their minute-by-minute screen time, would have begged off the “busy” excuse while having been on social media for four hours. simon, by all standards, is genuinely different.

“so, you do like me?” he nodded stiffly, gloved hands reaching for you. you slid into his lap easily, tucking your face into his neck to hide your heated cheeks. you’d even shed a few tears over this, how embarrassing. “‘course i like you, sweetheart. an’ im sorry if it didn’t feel like it. let’s have it out, yeah?” you nod into his skin and he takes a deep breath, pulling you closer to his heart.

from that day on, you compromise with phone calls. when he’s got a few minutes and you’ve hit a lull at work, he’ll call you. it’s better than any text in the world - hearing his gruff voice asking questions about your messy coworkers or dinner plans. not so nonchalant as you thought.

-

i wish this was from personal experience but unfortunately for me, it’s closer to the men not responding for days but having a screen time of six hours.

[simonrileyyyy]

when you first start talking to simon riley, you want to check yourself into an insane asylum.

you like to think you’re cool, you’re chill, you’re nonchalant. but he takes eight hours to text back, sending you a “come over.” text at 7pm like he hadn’t just ignored you the whole day. you complain to your friends, of course, which is a terrible move when they tell you to drop him and if he wanted to, he would! and you think he does (want to), he’s just so insanely nonchalant about it. so the next time he comes over, chinese takeout in hand after not texting you back since 8am, you go a little crazy…

you open the door for him, stepping back awkwardly when he tried to peck your forehead. he practically shrugs it off, toeing off his boots before setting the food down on your table. “got tha’ dish ya like.” you nod, forgetting his back is to you. simon unpacks the boxes with precision from the bag, not stopping until it’s all laid out on the table. you’ve been quiet for a while, unusual since you’re the talker of the bunch, and that creeping feeling that’s been sliding up his skin finally sets its hooks in him. he turns around curiously, brows furrowing at the sight of you still standing by the door, biting your lip with a timid look and wet eyes. “love?”

you shake your head with a watery smile. “can we talk?” simon follows you as you walk to your couch, feeling like he’s been dropped into an op with no details. he doesn’t know what’s wrong, just that you’re hurting and he seems to be the cause of it. “i just…don’t get it. how you’re acting so normal.” you’re twisting your hands together. “somethin’ happen, love? got me confused.” you give him that small, weak smile again and it’s like you’ve stabbed him in the heart. “you- you barely talk to me all day and then you just come over here like it’s nothing. it’s just so hot and cold and i’m wrecking myself over it when it’s so clear you don’t care. i’m just so confused, si.”

simon runs through his memories. he texted you good morning, you texted it back, then he went about his duties for the day until he was finally free to ask about dinner. hadn’t even picked up his phone in the meantime, security risks or just plain busyness being the cause. “‘ve been busy, sweetheart. ‘s why i asked t’ come over when i was done.” you shake your head, biting your lip. “it’s the modern day, simon. everyone’s on their phones. i don’t think you’re as into this as me, and that’s fine, but i just want to know!”

now simon’s the one shaking his head, pulling out his phone. he might not be tech savvy but he does know this move from johnny, the fucker constantly complaining about his screen time. he pulls up the screen time tracker and turns it to you. “not everyone.” you’re a bit shocked to be honest. his screen time is ten minutes for the entire day. a few in the morning when he texted you and nothing until nighttime, when he texted you again. you’ve never seen anything like it.

“‘m not a big texter an’ we don’t use personal phones for work, so it’s jus’ a brick i leave at home or lug around. ‘s nothin’ on you. been thinkin’ about you all day, to be honest.” your mouth is open, honestly. any other man would have never shown you their minute-by-minute screen time, would have begged off the “busy” excuse while having been on social media for four hours. simon, by all standards, is genuinely different.

“so, you do like me?” he nodded stiffly, gloved hands reaching for you. you slid into his lap easily, tucking your face into his neck to hide your heated cheeks. you’d even shed a few tears over this, how embarrassing. “‘course i like you, sweetheart. an’ im sorry if it didn’t feel like it. let’s have it out, yeah?” you nod into his skin and he takes a deep breath, pulling you closer to his heart.

from that day on, you compromise with phone calls. when he’s got a few minutes and you’ve hit a lull at work, he’ll call you. it’s better than any text in the world - hearing his gruff voice asking questions about your messy coworkers or dinner plans. not so nonchalant as you thought.

-

i wish this was from personal experience but unfortunately for me, it’s closer to the men not responding for days but having a screen time of six hours.

[simonrileyyyy]

post halloween antics with ghost

[simonrileyyyy]

Simon Riley is the type to fall asleep just about anywhere.

Sure, in the field he’s all professionalism. His teammates perceive him as more machine than man, the way he never flags, never seems to need as much sleep as anyone else.

But when he’s home? When he can finally relax? That man is out constantly.

Watching a movie. Reading a book. Sitting on the back patio. Hell, you caught him passed out on the couch one day, two minutes after he sat down to order takeaway.

It’s so bad right after deployments that you decide to amuse yourself with his unconscious body.

Nothing malicious, of course. It starts with you seeing if you can pick his pockets without him waking up.

(You can)

And the next time, you check if you can apply your favorite flavor of lip balm to his lips, and if he’ll notice when he wakes up.

(You can) (He does)

It must just be that his body knows he’s safe here. That’s the only explanation that makes sense for how you get away with more and more outrageous stunts with your living weapon. He doesn’t even seem that shocked any more to wake up to your grin two inches away from his face, weaseled up under his shirt and sharing the head hole.

[simonrileyyyy]

Something about Simon coming home. Pounding on the door like a madman before he just kicks it down like it was a day job. Bloodied hands greet your eyes first before he does. Still catching his breath as his eyes reach you, shaky and dilated.

You couldn't even recognize him before he catches you into a kiss. The clang of metal catching your attention as he drops a knife in his distress. Hands covering up your eyes and face when he sucks in your bottom lip, tongue invading to greet you. Mouthing an I miss you down your throat even when your lungs burn and your eyes sting.

You're not one to push away a kiss from him but he's downright terrifying like this. It takes him a bit to separate and his eyes are quick to notice when tears slip down your eyes. Hands turn from tight to gentle nearly immediately. Moving from your hand to loosely hanging around your hips as both of you catch your breaths.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, I'm sorry, sorry-", the moment he catches your eyes. Terrified of himself and what he's done- no- what he looks like-

"I'll clean up before I come home next time yeah? Just needed to make sure you were safe. You're safe right?", right?

In a killer's arms you already knew what he does for work, covered in another man's blood he did it to protect you right? Right? Yeah you're safe enough.

He calms down when you nod. Bending down to grab the broken door and forcing it back in its frame, kicking it back when it doesn't work yet he tries to be more civilized when he sees you shake.

He just wants to try to make it up to you :(

[simonrileyyyy]

old drawings of ghost

[simonrileyyyy]

Girl Dad!Simon who had to get his newborn baby girl taken away from him because he was practically drowning them in his tears. (He denies that it ever happened now)

Girl Dad!Simon who went dead asleep after the delivery, it was unintentional of course, he wanted to help you as much as he could but his body just dropped on it's own. The worst part was is that he basically missed all of the baby's 'firsts' although he managed to wake up just in time for the first nappy change.

Girl Dad!Simon who spends a little bit too much of his free time staring at his daughter. It only worsened when you guys finally got dismissed from the hospital, you tend to find Simon crouching by the crib and watching the baby's every move pretty often. It's like bird watching, he says when you ask him.

Girl Dad!Simon who sobbed more than his daughter during her first day of school, was going to say the most melancholic goodbye but she just excitedly runs off to school and leaves her dad hanging.

Girl Dad!Simon who refuses to miss any important event in her life, no matter how small it is. Will literally call during a mission so he could see his daughter's piano recital.

"Simon? Why do I hear gunshots??"

"Don't mind 'em luv."

"How do you even have your phone right now??"

"Sneaked it."

[simonrileyyyy]

Ghost introducing himself to a heavily tattooed reader by just sitting down next to them and saying, ‘I’m Simon. I like your tattoos.’

He gives absolutely zero further interaction, just staring at the reader’s ink until they start explains what each one means, pointing out the little details for him to admire.

Ghost who panics when the reader asks if he has any tats of his own, worried that you’ll think his stuff is dumb, cliche military shit. With enough bugging, he’ll push his sleeves up and let the reader gush over him too, his brain freezing again when they poke his chest and ask to see the rest, too.

[simonrileyyyy]

snowy ghost eh

[simonrileyyyy]

hi im newbie

[simonrileyyyy]

cold evening

[simonrileyyyy]

[simonrileyyyy]

Ghost doesn't cutesy talk cats, he talks to them like other adult men and it's hilarious.

They're at a safehouse, and Ghost is listening to the radio, Price hears him talking to someone, and he's confused because both of his sergeants are conked out asleep.

So, he walks around the corner and finds Ghost sitting on a step with the radio playing and a stray kitten biting his laces while he talks to her. "I don't believe shoelaces constitute part of a balanced diet."

John just sits down on the step next to him and ignores how his knees click. "What's her name?"

"She's yet to disclose name or rank, but given that she's clearly smarter than those two through there, I'd say she's a lieutenant." He responds so dryly that John can't help but snort.

"Ah, I see. Making her way through the ranks at her young age, impressive." He leans forward to pet the kitten, flattening down the tuft of fur sticking up on her head.

"She's a hard worker, look at those paws. Grubby, she's been busy."

The kitten offers them a mewl in response, and he nods accordingly.

"She's stern, reminds me of Laswell."

That makes Ghost laugh.

[simonrileyyyy]

GHOST uses to workout quite frequently, because of his job in military. He never admits it loud, but he likes to be in good shape. He likes the glances that you’re sending him when he’s taking off his shirt on purpose to present you his muscular back, covered in black ink tattoos.

There’s only one thing that he hates during his daily routine — push ups. He doesn’t know why he dislikes to do that workout, it’s just happen. He prefers other exercises, but while he’s at home, without the gym equipment, it’s just what’s left for him to stretch those arms muscles more.

But fortunately, recently you’ve got an idea of how to make this workout more pleasant for him. You find yourself on the floor, underneath Ghost while he’s grunting and sweating. It’s not what you think it is, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t making you feel in a certain way.

You like the view from down there. He’s shirtless and the only piece of clothing that he wears are the grey sweatpants. The way he’s looking and sounding makes you want to wrap your legs around his waist and just keep him down.

“Don’t try to give up, because you’ll squish me.” You giggle once Ghost makes another push up, giving you a quick kiss in meantime.

“Not gonna, doll.” He says back in breathy tone, pushing himself back up. He grunts again and lower himself down, giving you another kiss.

You make this exercise quite enjoyable for him.