#simon ghost Riley Drabble

[dmitriene]

cw: breeding kink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

main masterlist. quidelines.

[beloveds-embrace]

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

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

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

Never too heavy for me, doll.

[heavenbarnes]

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

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

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

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

“sorry, love”

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

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

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

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

“in here, my love”

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

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

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

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

(and you are)

[laceyfaeryy]

MDNI 18+

“i have tattoos older than you swee’heart” simon riley x reader

mentions of: vaginal sex, age gap (legal)

simon’s arms were inked with tattoos, black intricate designs that have been there for years. though he didn’t expect to have a sweet thing like you approach him at the local dive bar. after all, he was hidden in the corner where you could barely see him in the shadows, with dark ink swirling around his arms and hidden under his tight shirt that was enough to scare anyone away. rough scars on his hands and arms, those on his chest concealed by the black shirt that hugged every edge of muscles. “cool tattoos,” you whispered lowly as you traced the ones on his arms, watching his muscles flex every so slightly.

he was never one to indulge in things, with strict self control from his training and military background. though he couldn’t help just indulging ever so slightly in you. but how could you blame him? he spent years in the military and now he had a sweet luvie like you all over him!

your chest was pressed up against the wall as you stumbled into his apartment, simon tugging your dress up, shoving it past your tits as he tugged your flimsy panties down. “wanna know one thing about my tattoos luvie?” his voice hoarse as he gently rubbed his fat cock along your cunt, watching it glisten with your arousal as it chubbed.

“they’re older than you swee’heart.”

though that clearly didn’t seem to bother you by the way your teeth sank into your bottom lip, a small moan leaving your mouth. “didn’t think you were into that,” a squelching sound filling the room as his tip entered your soppy hole, your walls immediately clenching around him as he slammed his pelvis.

“didn’t take yer to have a thing for older men,” he teased, his large tatted hand gripping your throat as he squeezed the sides. “turns yer on hm? having a man’s cock shoved into your tight lil cunt whilst having tattoos older than you.”

“gettin’ all dumbed out on my cock already?” his voice dripping with faux sincerity, mocking you as you cried.

it boosted his ego, seeing you a crying mess getting your brains fucked out. he still had it. the most action he got was from watching porn secretly, his cock only knowing the feeling of his rough palm as he fisted his cock with his balaclava stuffed in his mouth whilst in the military.

now once he felt how warm and snug your cunt was he was addicted, slamming his hips harshly as if he couldn’t stand a single second without being balls deep.

“come on luvie, speak,” he cooed gently tapping your cheek as you drooled, it dribbling down your chin as your eyes rolled back. “give the old man some respect hm?”

[itsoutrageouss]

more on the dynamic after Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley saw you cry for the first time…

Things were in fact different from now on. Not in an obvious way but you both noticed it. You had been embarrassed the next day, scared he saw you as weak for crying in his arms like that.

And now his eyes softened a little more every time he looked at you. He remembered how precious and frail you had felt in his hold. He longed for it in a way that made him practice his punching until late in the night, grunting and groaning as the dummy got the best of his strength. His knuckles were bruised, a manifestation of the foreign feelings he tried to let out in the only way he knew- violence.

You were up, snuggly sitting with a mug of tea when Simon comes in, doors swinging open. It was late. Late enough for the owls to hoot and the moon to be at its highest.

He was panting, sweat glistening on the strained muscles of his arms. He stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted you in the corner of the recreational area. You blinked at him, studying his demeanour with intrigue.

It made him shy. He got fucking shy from the way you stared so shamelessly and intensely. He hadn’t noticed it before. The way your eyes lingered on his arms. Maybe it was new thing, or maybe he hadn’t taken the time you really look before now.

“You’re up late.” You whispered, voice small in the silence. His chest heaved as he stretched his fingers, rolled his neck.

“So are you.” He countered. There was a question in both of your statements but none of you decided to answer. Maybe you were awake for the same reasons, he thought. The mere thought was enough for his legs to move towards you, the couch dipping and creaking as it took his weight. You lodt your balance where you sat with your knees tucked to your chest as the seat tilted under you, making you thud into his side, shoulder to shoulder. He snickered under his breath, grabbing you like you were a porcelain doll to help you sit upright. Your mouth dried.

“Do you think I’m weak?” You asked him then, the words bubbling your throat before you could stop them. They had simmered for a whole week now, just under your skin. He frowned, brows set deep on his face as he looked you over.

“Quite the opposite” came his gruff reply like it was obvious. It took him a second to realise what you were referring to. Seeing you cry had made him think so much more of you than before. He saw the insecurity flash in your eyes before you looked away and he tucked a finger under your chin, slowly pulling your gaze back to his.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about it, in fact” he said, confessed it like secret into the night. He tried to keep his voice steady. At least steadier than his heart. Was he sick? Was it weird for him to be so obsessed with that one moment of you… crying?

You exhaled sharply, like his words had squeezed your lungs. Gaze narrowed, head tilted, you tried to figure him out. There was nothing but honesty and a little wariness in his eyes. Had he said too much?

“Me neither.” You replied slowly. It was enough. Enough to know. A cold blow of relief washed over him, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He only now realised he still had a finger under your chin, thumb stroking along your jaw absentmindedly. He withdrew his hand, regretfully.

If he was sick, then so were you.

“You’re hurt” you whispered, staring down at his knuckles. They were bleeding. Your eyes snapped to his, slightly wider than before as his jaw ticked, gaze otherwise unreadable. Was it because of you? The thought made your stomach twist in.. several ways.

“It’s fine.” He insisted, brushing it off and hiding his hands in his pockets. But you were already up, disappearing somewhere. He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch and closing his eyes. This wasn’t calming down his breathing one bit.

Warm fingers gently pulled on his wrist, and you felt how heavy his hand was as you pulled it into you lap, sitting cross legged next to him. He had to focus hard to remain indifferent when his hand rested high on you’re plush thigh. His fingers flexed slightly around it, gripping it with a bit more purpose than necessary. It made you struggle to open the sanitising wipes.

He hissed as you cleaned the wounds, but the care you put into it had his heart stuttering. You looked down at his knuckles, immersed in being meticulous as you wiped the valleys of his knuckles clean. He wasn’t looking down, though. He was looking at you.

“Take this as a thank you” you said just to break the silence before you slowly lifted one hand, almost like you were holding. Fuck it made it easy for him to imagine that you actually were.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’d do it again.” I want to do it again, he should’ve said. He wanted to hold you, and be the one you curled into when you needed it. Needed him.

Carefully you wrapped his knuckles. Your hand lingered around his afterwards. It looked like you were considering something. Slowly you led his hand higher until you lowered your chin and left a barely there kiss on the white bandage. He swore he died. Such a simple gesture and he felt like a madman.

You wrapped the other one. Did the same. He felt paralysed. It seemed you had understood him quite well.

“You can.” You said then, after placing both his hands down onto his own lap, now bandaged and cleaned.

“Can what?” He asked, voice hoarse and weaker than he would’ve liked as he curled his fingers. He swore it was tingling where your lips had touched.

“Hold me. Skin to skin contact can be calming. Mutually beneficial…” you said to try and reason the action, which there was no point in because the minute you had started your sentence he had wrapped his arm around you and tucked you closely into his side, using his other hand to swing your legs over his lap. Your mumbling became nothing as you nuzzled into him. He was scorching hot and you nuzzled into it, shivering.

He had never felt this good in his life. You seemed to fit perfectly into his side, your legs anchoring him down and your head resting over his rapidly beating heart- which was vulnerable as hell to him. But he allowed it when he heard you hum in satisfaction and saw your lashes flutter, eyes closing.

Just mutually beneficial cuddling, right?

series masterlist

[dixonsgirl93]

You take out your little tin of Vaseline, taking a small amount on your finger and bringing it to your lips. You feel Simon Riley’s large presence walk up to you. He leans one hand against the wall. He’s standing so close you could almost see his pupils expand a little when you looked up into them.

Your heart racing, you hold his gaze and rub your finger over your lips. Dip into the tin, back onto your lips. You rub your lips together.

“Can I have some?” Ghost’s gruff voice rumbles from beneath his mask.

“You want lip balm?” You ask, somewhat incredulous. He didn’t seem like the type.

He merely nods, never talking his eyes off yours.

“Okay.” You say, the word sounding more like a question. He lifts his mask just above his mouth. You go to hand over the tin. His hand comes out but instead of taking the tin, they find your chin, gently gripping you and pulling you closer. His lips land on yours, firm but a lot gentler than you were expecting.

He pulls back, rubbing his lips together. You blush furiously.

“Thanks, love.” He mumbles, pulling his mask back down. He walks away then as if nothing just happened.

[secretlovezz]

Casual intimacy with Simon "Ghost" Riley.

He loves to shower with you.

Hopping into a steamy shower together and washing each other's skin clean after you both get home from a tiring day at work. The feeling of you scrubbing shampoo through his freshly cut hair fingers softly grasping at the strands even after he tells you it's not necessary. Sometimes, he'll wrap his arms around your waist and squeeze as you wash your face. He'll kiss gently at your skin as droplets of water drip from your body to his lips and let his nose dig into the crook of your shoulder to inhale your clean scent.

He loves grocery shopping with you.

Getting to keep his large palm against the small of your back rubbing up and down every once in a while to show that he's with you. He likes to listen to your voice as you read down the list of things the two of you need and the way you point your finger and bossily tell him to fetch a certain item. He pushes the cart for you when it starts getting heavy with items even after you complain and tell him "You could do it yourself." He enjoys being strong for you, finds pride in being able to carry and hold all of the bags when the two of you get home from the shops.

Simon Riley really loves these seemingly little moments of intimacy with you.

[bunny-jpeg]

simon riley knew the years were catching up to him. he could feel the dull throb in his knee. his back started to hurt when he sat in the wrong position for too long. he even would a grey hair the other day. he honestly wondered if his boys were still working, or were the years of drinking, smoking and combat the thing that killed them all. he wanted to put that to the test. and you were his little test subject. it was hard for you to deny your commander, especially when he shoved you into the cramped areas that only became more cramped with his large body in them, and his cock drilled into your poor achy cunt. he'd often comment about how your sweet cunt drooled for him, coated his cock in slickness and practically begged to be filled, to be bred.

he'd often shove his fingers into your mouth as he fucked you from behind. his gruff voice in your ears, telling you to shut up mixed with promises of a stuffed cunt. up against shelves, over desks, in the back of military vehicles. on your knees, on your back. anyway he could have you, he was going to take the chance. if you have one more period, he's going to tie you down the bed and use you until that poor pussy of yours is drowned in his cum. you don't get it, you're too young and stupid to be worried about your biological clock. you think your breeding days are forever, but simon's wants to make sure every second counts as he has you bent in half with a milky ring around the base of his cock.

that soft little stomach of yours is gonna get nice and filled with his brats. little rileys running around, their grabby hands all over mama. you'd be off base and some place where the little ones can run around. and while they're down for their nap, simon's gonna make sure his woman gets some loving. as he spit in your mouth before he bruised your hips as he had you shoved over the edge of his bed. his hand in your hair as he made you whimper. maybe he was a sick man, but he had to make sure you got pregnant before he threw out his hip or knee. he could twist you into positions that allowed him to be more comfortable, you were young and flexible. you could handle being almost upside down while simon lapped at your cum soaked pussy, pulling a fifth orgasm out of you that night alone. his cum thoroughly stained your bed sheets and the lips of your pussy. your hole tender and coated in the creamy film of simon's cum. a promise of things to come.

it only took less than a year before you were feeling the aches of pregnancy replace the aches of sex. now he kept a broad hand over your swollen middle. you were gonna be a mama soon. and simon had the privilege of being the father. even with you on your back and your ankles over his shoulders, his cock drilling into you, you looked more beautiful than ever. a good woman always looked better on her back.

a/n: "what's a bunny's favourite music genre? hip-hop!"

[simonrileysfavteacup]

Tommy.

He came out looking exactly like his father. He acted exactly like him. He didn’t sleep, he had nightmares too often, he loved watching telly, he wouldn’t sleep without you near him, and so much more. 

While you make lunch, Simon sits on the couch with Tommy, watching a football game. The little boy was in his own jersey, babbling everytime his father yelled at the tv. The sight was adorable to anyone who had eyes. He copies his father, bottle in hand, drinking every time his daddy takes a sip of his rootbeer. Tommy’s eyes light up as his daddy turns to him. “Team sucks, don’t they, bubby?”

Tommy didn’t understand, obviously, but he babbles away anyways, like a fan meeting their favourite celeb. Simon was tommy’s favourite person. You always said that they were twins. Tommy always wanted to do everything his daddy was doing. 

“Should we just eat on the couch?” You ask, carrying two plates in hand. Simon nods, patting the spot next to Tommy. You hand Simon his sandwich before turning to Tommy and sitting next to him. You pull the bowl of soft rice off your plate, feeding Tommy little bites off the plastic spoon, He continues watching the game with his dad, chewing with his little gums. 

He’s halfway done the rice before Manchester scores. 

Simon stands up, cheering as loudly as he can. Tommy tries to copy him, knocking over the bowl of rice.

Luckily, it doesn’t spill too much. 

A few grains land on your lap. Simon chuckles, sitting back down. 

Bastard finds this funny.

You throw a spoonful of rice onto him. Tommy laughs, reaching his hand into the bowl and picking up a handful of rice. He shoves his whole fist into his mouth, giggling. 

Simon gasps. “What did ya throw that at me fo’?” 

“It’s funny,” you giggle. 

Simon pulls Tommy’s fist out of his mouth. “Bubby, say ‘bad mommy’.”

“Hey!” You pout. Tommy giggles.

Simon leans over his son, kissing you softly, Tommy’s fist hitting at his chin. He kisses the baby boy’s cheek, smiling. “Love you too, bubby. And you, lovie.”

“I know.”

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

Simon Riley x Reader

Title: One or two?

Synopsis: Simon wants to know how many kids you want.

Warnings: yes... This is pregnancy themed. Again. I love pregnancy fics.

AN: I think... I think I have baby fever. Also happy 1000 notes!!! :) <3333

Maybe it's how soft and supple your skin is, maybe it's that smooth voice you mumble to him at night, or maybe it's how you wear nice fabrics, the kind that brush against his skin and he can feel his muscles relax--but Simon is hooked on you.

It all started when you saw him at a coffee shop and his jaw practically dropped at how soft you seemed. You were so polite, spoke so quiet to the barista, that he had to make sure he got your number!

So when Simon saw a man that clearly didn't deserve you hitting on you after you politely declined him, of course he came up, hot black coffee in hand, and asked if there was a problem.

And when you first fell asleep beside him? He laid his head on your chest like a small child and just closed his eyes and he felt so... Held in that moment, even though your arms weren't around him that the next day when he drove you back to your place he stopped by the jeweller and got you a perfect ring.

Now you're on the couch, feet propped up, pretty little rock on your finger and he's laying on your lap, head beside your tummy, kneading at your thigh when he finally speaks.

"'Ow many kids?" Simon asks in his gruff voice, "One or two?"

You pause, looking down with a cocked eyebrow. Your hand reaches to start running through Simon's hair and he groans, relaxing entirely, "What do you mean, Si?" You ask in the soft voice that makes his knees buckle.

Simon picks his head up to look at you, "One or two kids?" He repeats, "'Ow many do ya want? 'Onestly, if it's more than two, we'll need a bigger 'ome."

Your eyes widen and your cheeks flush, and it makes Simon grin that devilish grin. He kisses your stomach, then your thighs. You let out that cute little giggle, your thighs squishing together because it tickles.

"C'mon, dovie. Ya gonna be my missus. Ya gotta know how many kids ya want," Simon says, rubbing up and down your thigh. He starts to get up, pulling you close, curled up beside him.

You breathe out a giggle, nestling up to Simon's side, "'M not sure.. maybe two?" You offer up, before Simon throws you down onto the couch playfully and gets on top of you.

He starts to plant kisses all up your stomach, then skipping your chest to kiss up your collarbone and shoulders. He kisses up your neck to your jaw, and you're giggling the entire time, squirming.

Then, he props himself up overtop of you to look into your eyes, "One or two?" He asks again, and all you do is giggle.

[the-raindeer-king]

"I want to go home."

Your boyfriend sighs in response, not bothering to hide his annoyance. You can't blame him. You were the one who wanted to go to the flea market. He had wanted to stay at home, to sleep in on his rare day off.

"It hasn't even been an hour, love," he replies, his eyes roaming over the throwing knives at the stall you're standing in front of.

When you don't respond, Simon finally turns his attention onto you. He sees the frown tugging at your lips, the anxious expression in your eyes. You'd been so excited to come here, so why are you frowning now?

He takes you hand, leading you through the stalls and the crowd, trying to find somewhere a little less crowded. Thankfully, there's some picnic tables that you can sit down at, shaded and void of people.

"What happened?"

You stare down at your shoes, quiet for a moment. Then you explain, voice soft and anxious, "I saw some girls looking at me, and when I looked over at them, they started laughing."

Simon grits his teeth, staring at you. He knows about your struggle with your self confidence, and he hates that you don't see yourself the way he sees you. Simon thinks you're absolutely gorgeous, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Far more gentle than you'd expect from someone like Simon, he takes ahold of your face in his hands. His words are a little less gentle.

"Who fuckin' cares what some noisy birds think? You look beautiful, love. You are beautiful."

It's easier to hear than to believe. But this is Simon, and he may be a lot of things but he's not a liar. So you let his words warm you from the inside out, and when you smile at him, he smiles in return.

"I love you," you whisper, and he grins, pulling you to your feet.

"Love you too, doll. Now, come on. I wasn't done with those knives."

[dmitriene]

simon riley is the man that rarely wears any shirts when he's at home, and you match him well, trotting around with no pants, wearing exactly one of his pajama, loose button up blouses, fabric long enough to stream down and sway at your supple thighs, a one of the most tantalizing sights, for sure, while he's left wearing the matching pants, hanging low on his wide hips.

you get to gape at the pretty body of his for days on end, at the way his scarred, tissued skin pulls taut over the rippling, sinewy muscles of his stretched out shoulders and ample chest, defined pectorals less soft than his stomach are, padded with a squishy looking, healthy layer of fat that hides the couple sculpted cubs of his abdominal muscles, underbelly sticking right atop the treasure tail of his happy hairs, turning more brunette where they run beneath the waistband.

the sharp, cut standing line that separates simon's waist from his hips makes you stare like a woman starved, roving all over everything you can set your enraptured gaze at, and it's a hard work to hold the simmering heat from flooding your face wholly, as if you didn't saw him like that before, and more than that, completely naked as well, but he's always an eye candy, messy all over from his tousled hair to naked feet, pale morning sun playing along to glow up his features.

you're not the only one to look, though, the unwavering, molten gaze of his amber eyes watching you from every corner of the house, hungry, attentively, tracing the swell of your ass that is clad in nothing more than a skimpy pair of panties he get's to see when you bend over, or stretch up with your hands, making this blouse on you ride up, bunching into uneven folds, revealing glimpses of skin, round thighs and plump asscheeks, that he strives to squeeze and feel over his own.

there's pure greed when you paw at each other, not a single routine duty in the house passes without you and simon making out with each other, his roughened hands cupping over your curves and full parts he can fondle, your nails raking up from his waist and to his chest, crossing over line of spine and digging there, whispering with heat and desperation mingled when your mouthes meet, clattering teeth's and tongues fighting.

an obsession with each other, nothing less, and it's the best relationship in the world, where you can present yourself with need and want, body bracing over and down every surface imaginable, and he's already there, your sweet, gorgeous simon, with his cock standing ready and proud, slit beady with dripping precum, just as wet as your pussy, gushing and twitching in excitement, inviting him closer, in, until you both sate that chaotic need.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[ervotica]

// simon riley x reader, stalking, forced entry, possible series

There’s a man in your flat.

A one night stand from a few months back, the type of man you should’ve never entertained in the first place.

The type of man that oozes obsession, that keeps you tucked obediently under his arm like a good pet from the minute you meet – sitting between his legs on a barstool, seeping his warmth into your back, taking lazy sips of his pint over your shoulder.

When Simon Riley wants something, he gets it.

Even if it means memorising your route home and cutting himself a key for your front door, mysteriously walking in one day like he’s always been there, traipsing mud through your hallway with his combat boots and eating all the crisps out of your cupboard.

He’s asleep on your sofa when you push through the front door, snoring like a chainsaw, still clad in that heavy military uniform.

You sway from side to side on the balls of your feet, lip worried between your front teeth as the man stirs and cants his body towards you. Damn military hearing, you don't even have time to run the way you came in.

He opens his arms and beckons you closer. You shuffle over to the settee, unimpressed, and squeal when he tugs you down and into his arms.

“Alright, love?” he rumbles. “You’re late home from work.”

You cock a brow. How does he know that?

He tucks a hand between your legs and uses the flat of his palm to hike you further up his body. You brace yourself against his chest before he’s tutting, peeling your arms off of him and nuzzling his face against yours, the scratchy fabric of the mask wetting your lips when he slips his tongue out to taste you, a hand at the scruff of your neck.

You suppose you’d better get used to this. He doesn’t seem to want to go anywhere.

[heavenbarnes]

there was something to be said about the fact older bf!simon made such a good house husband.

“i forgot my lunch :( ”

“forgot to make it or bring it?”

“both?”

“on my way”

because the next thing was your coworkers slowly raising their heads to the sound outside your office, a throaty rumbling of an engine right outside the doors.

not a car, motorcycle maybe? question affirmed when it revved twice.

they shot you confused looks when the sound made your ears prick up, a sweet smile on your face as you trotted out the front of the building.

behemoth of a man sat astride a motorcycle. his leathers added bulk but there was something about him that said he was big enough without them.

he watched you walk over as he raised the visor on his helmet, the black one with a ghostly image of a skull painted across it.

your coworkers pressed to the windows, trying their best to hide behind the curtains and potted plants but failing all the same.

the man pointed to his face as you got on tip toes to press a kiss to his nose through the balaclava he had under the helmet.

“don’t make it a late one, alright?”

“yessir”

as you gave him a haphazard salute, he reached behind to give you a pat on the backside before he stood to retrieve the brown paper bag he’d been carrying.

lunch in hand, you lean in to press a kiss to the visor he’d just lowered- right on top of the lipstick print that sat in the corner of it.

the print that looked a lot like your lips.

the helmet never leaves the back of you as you walk towards the office, your coworkers scrambling to not get caught staring.

you didn’t mind, just smiled as you reached into your lunch bag and retrieved a sandwich. the one that was cut perfectly into the shape of a heart.

[laceyfaeryy]

Simon comes home from a mission after being gone for a few months and crawls in bed with the reader. When he wraps his arm around her waist he feels a baby bump and just freezes 🤭🤭 girl please I need this

simon riley finding out you are pregnant after his months long mission

mentions: fluff, soft simon riley, kinda short drabble

simon’s muscles ached after his long mission, letting out a low groan as he settled down onto the mattress, it dipping slightly due to his weight. he didn’t even bother to eat dinner, all he wanted to do was to cuddle up with you. “missed you luvie,” he whispered lowly, his voice deep and gruff as he wrapped his strong tatted arms around you, before feeling the slight bump on your stomach. his hand froze, with his mind going blank. “are you?” simon couldn’t even finish the sentence, his brain still processing the idea of you carrying his child, something the two of you made.

“how long?” he whispered, his voice barely audible as his hand hovered over the bump, refusing to believe it. “found out after you left for your mission, figured its best to tell you in person.”

simon’s mind raced, the idea of you waking up pregnant and alone for the past few months made him sick, knowing that he should’ve been there for you, making you breakfast in bed, holding your hair when you had morning sickness. “fuck luvie, ‘m so sorry,” his voice soft and filled with regret, his calloused hands gently caressing the bump on your stomach.

the thought that you had a baby growing in your stomach felt unreal, his sweet baby in your stomach. “i promise i’ll be there for you yeah? talk to my captain and see what i can do.” his other hand gently caressing your side, before planting a small soft kiss on the back of your head.

though he didn’t care what his captain would say, he would stay home and look after the baby regardless.

[itsoutrageouss]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley being ready to go on his knees for his favorite nurse… but he has no idea how to show it.

Then he sees you at the pub.

It settled inside of him as a feeling of uselessness because he’s so used to knowing what to do. He takes action. He fixes things. And now he gets all flustered when you tend to his wounds, absentmindedly stroking his thigh and talking to him so so sweetly. Calling him a good boy when you finish the stitches, biting your lip as you focused on making them as neat as you could for him. He would stare at you the whole time, his cheeks heating because no one ever showed him this much care and you didn’t even seem to struggle with it- it was all natural.

You had labelled him ‘favorite patient’ in your phone but he didn’t know that. He figured you behaved like that with all the soldiers who came in- the reason you were such a good nurse.

After a well succeeded mission, the task force and the bases Staff all crowd down to the nearest pub. It was an excuse for you to finally be out of your work attire, adorning a black lacy top that made you feel sexy along with your glossy lips. He was already there, leaned back in a booth with Soap and Price as you walk in, looking around nervously.

He has to grit his teeth as he sees you. Fuck fuck fuck. This was gonna be a long night. He fisted his hands beneath the table.

This feeling of hopelessness, of not knowing what to do was so foreign that it bubbled into anger. Price frowned, noticing the rigid way his Lieutenant suddenly sat. Soap was too busy telling some story to notice anything, slamming down a hand, the beers rattling. Your colleagues crowded you into a booth that so conveniently faced him.

Why did he look at you like that? He was positively fuming, glowering, brows lowered and face set. You cowered under his gaze, eyes flickering away nervously.

His lips parted in soft surprise. Why did you look so nervous? Had he done something?

Because of course he was no clue how damn intimidating his so called love stare stare is. He follows you as you walk to the bar, leaning over, your skirt riding up. He has to blink up at the ceiling because it felt simultaneously like a gift from above, being allowed to see you like this, and like a curse from hell.

“Oh he’s down bad for her ain’t he, that fucker?” Soap exclaims, finally catching on as he lets out a hearty laugh. Simon glares.

“I think LT needs another pint” Price muses. Soap, ever the sergent he is, groans and gets up, patting Simon heavily on the shoulder before walking up to the bar next to you.

“You got him weak in the knees, Bunny” Soap grins casually, ordering the pints. It takes you a few seconds to comprehend before you lean backwards slightly, catching Simon’s gaze. This time he averts his eyes immediately. He was fucking fuming inside, not knowing how to get these feelings to go away. The only solutions he could think of were violence or sex. And violence he’s had enough of- and he’s sure the training dummies had too. Every damn night these past days he’s been punching his knuckles bloody, hoping it would satiate his restlessness. It didn’t.

And as for sex… he didn’t- well he didn’t not want that but that’s not where he wanted to start. He always threw himself into hookups or fiery flings that burned out too quickly, leaving embers he didn’t care for. He didn’t want that with you. He wanted to be genuine, slow, proper. And he had no idea how. He didn’t like not being good at things.

Your eyes stay on him, forcing his head to turn back to you. Your expression is unreadable, his fingers curling beneath the table before he rapidly stands up. You almost jolt at the action, the floor creaking from his weight as he stalks over to you and Soap, grumbling something.

Soap leaves, Simon trying to casually lean his elbows on the bar. “Just gonna wait for the pints” he tells you, then his jaw ticks because why did he say that? You probably don’t give a fuck what he’s doing there.

You smile softly, intrigued. “How’s your shoulder?”

It startled him, his head whipping to yours like you said something totally out of sorts. His shoulder? Right— It takes him way too long to answer.

“Fine. You did a good job. As always,” he said gruffly, looking down at the chipped wood of the bar, drumming his fingers impatiently.

“You look good.” The words slip past his lips, eyes quickly giving you a once over.

“I know.” He looks at you, sees a small glint in your eyes and the smile you smother. He wants to groan out loud at the sight.

A dry, almost laugh escapes him, shaking his head softly. “F’course you do.”

There’s a long, awkward silence where you both look anywhere but at each other, spines straightening, then slumping, then you both look at the bartender to keep busy.

He places your drink in front of you, three pints clattering in front of Simon. Neither of you move to take them.

“So I’m gonna go” Simon rumbles and turns, the pints clutched in his hands. He was overheating, fumbling in ever possible way he could and he couldn’t take it. You opened your mouth but he was already halfway across the room.

The pints rattle as he sits down. “So?” Soap asks as he leans forward. Simon grumbled that this isn fucking high school. But it’s not Soap he’s mad at. It’s himself. He had you right there.

You can’t focus the rest of the evening, laughing hollowly and sipping your drink with disinterest. Did he not find you interesting? It was so hard to read him that you started to doubt if he was playing with you. Maybe this was just the way he… was.

You hadn’t noticed everyone going out for a smoke. You hadn’t noticed the way he looked at you through the window like some kind of fucking stalker, only the glow from his cigarette giving colour to his shadow.

You down the rest of your drink, pulling your coat around you. The night is crispy, air poking your cheeks like needles.

“Are you ever going to ask me out? Because if not then I’d like to know- I don’t really know if you don’t like me or if I scare you or if there’s something entirely different at play but you cannot just stare at me and expe-“ a cold, chapped pair of lips silence you. They’re gone as quickly as they came you Simon’s eyes are wide, dropping his cigarette to the ground.

“I’m sorry- do you wanna- can I ask you out? I didn’t mean to do that but you talk a lot” he said bluntly, stuttering his way through his own mortifying actions.

He kissed you. To shut up your mindless yapping he… you shake your head in disbelief.

“You are unbelievable” you say, but there’s absolutely no malice in your tone- only wonder.

“Is that a yes?” He asks, his throat feeling tight.

“Yes. It’s a good technique you have there- do you do that on everyone? Kiss them when they talk too much? I can just imagine how Soap would rea-“

He did it again, eyes closing and inhaling sharply as he covered your cold cheeks with his hands. Christ you were a talker but he didn’t mind so much, if he was allowed to quiet you like this from now on.