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since this next chapter is taking me a disgustingly long amount of time (i am deeply sorry, i went and got myself covid and I've been WIPED) i thought i'd share a little snippet to tide yall over <3
enjoy!! we'll get back to regularly scheduled programming v soon
His knee bouncing, which you had initially passed off as some sort of ADHD manifestation, was beginning to intensify the closer the plane got to the runway. That, combined with his white knuckles wrapped around the armrest, and your expert detective skills, had led you to one single conclusion.
"Oh my god, are you scared?" You mutter, eyes widening in sheer wonder.
Simon gives you a look dirtier than your mother's when you told her you were joining the army. He straightens up as if to justify himself further.
"Take-off makes me nervous...s'that okay with you?" He hisses.
"Oh, don't get defensive with me, Mr. Trained Killer, I'm only asking." You retort, unable to help the smirk drifting to your cheeks. "Didn't think you were scared of anything."
The plane was beginning to rev up, flight attendants taking their seats. Simon pushes his head back against his headrest. "Ohh, god."
It was evil of you really, to be snickering at the sight of your Lieutenant in such distress, cruel. But it just felt so cathartic.
"Don't be such a baby." You mumble, glancing out the window.
"Did you know that the most dangerous part of a flight is the first three minutes after take off?" He sputters, hand grabbing yours.
"Okay, big guy." You grin, patting the back of his hand with your free one. Damn his grip sure was tight.
"It's true. Engine failure, happens all the time. We'd crash right back into the tarmac and we'd be ash."
The guy in the aisle seat gave Simon an even dirtier look than the one he'd given you moments ago. "Okay, Si, you're starting to scare the sane people." You remind him, his vivid description of imminent death not doing wonders for your peace either.
The plane began to move, barreling down the runway, the speed picking up. Simon squeezes his eyes shut, hand tightening around yours, practically dwarfing your calloused fingers.
"Ow! Simon!" You growl, pulling your hand away as the plane's wheels lift off the ground.
In a moment of what could only be called stupidity, Simon grabs your thigh in a panic, needing something, anything to hold onto.
I mean, there was a perfectly good armrest between the two of you, but sure, your thigh was totally not inappropriate.
He pulls his hand away as soon as he realises, which to you, seems way too long. He glances over at you, the aircraft flying higher into the clouds, the angle of ascension adding a certain ambiance to the look on his face, one that you would surely be adding to your long-term memory in order to revel in his panic later on.
"Nice armrest, huh?" You nod, face written in tight-lipped awareness of how awkward this was.
At least Simon's next three minutes were spent in horror over the fact that he'd just groped you, and not in counting the seconds until he felt safe on this flight.
not now kittenwhiskers daddy will discuss it later
SERIOUSLY THOUGH mad respect for those participating its soo much hard work that i’m just not prepared to do HOWEVER ill be posting a nice halloween themed fic at the end of the month <3
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Boyfriend!Simon attempting to pull you away from your laptop late at night
cw: fluff, fluff, oh and did I say fluff?
"Love, y'been typing away all night, give it a rest now, eh?" Simon grumbled, laid on his side next to you on the bed, just watching his smart girl hold up her nine to five. Or rather, what had recently become a seven to eleven due to the deadline on Friday. You and your coworkers had been scrambling around the office, grasping at every spare second to try and get this done. You just needed more time.
"Can't stop, just had my fifth coffee babe, m'on a roll." You muttered, eyes focused on the screen, manicured fingers working away. The words were flying out of you, you couldn't possibly give up now.
Simon sighed, unwilling to admit how desperate he was to just snuggle you. Was it so bad for a hardened war veteran to want a little something soft and plush to hold onto at night whilst he slept?
He had been watching you work your ass off all week, working at ungodly hours and waking up at the asscrack of dawn. It reminded him of his days in the 141, which pretty much solidified his opinion that office jobs should not be run like the SAS. You needed a fucking break.
He was pawing at your laptop like a cat now, closing the lid slowly on your fingers. "Nonono- wait!" You panicked, typing the last sentence out as fast as you could, kicking Simon in the shoulder to get him away. "Just one more minute, I swear-"
"Y'dont stop now, you never will, babe." He reminded you, tugging the device out of your hands. You despaired, like a mother stripped of her child, shoulders slumping, hands landing back in your lap.
Simon set the laptop aside before turning back to you, tugging you down the bed by your ankle. He crawled over you and placed a big wet kiss to your cheek, stubble grazing your skin.
"Get some rest. No use to that company if yer dead." He mumbled.
You rolled your eyes, hiding the small smile on your lips as you turned over onto your side, Simon's arm tugging you into his chest.
You loved this bloody guard dog.
Been chained to my laptop with schoolwork recently - if only a big strong simon ghost riley was here to comfort me 😖
More Simon oneshots hereeeee thankyou for reading loves <3
synopsis: After an awkward dinner with your estranged brother, you can't help but feel blindsided by Simon and his complacency. The two of you end up in a screaming match, yet even when you’re angry, tears blinding your vision, frustrated with Simon beyond comprehension, there’s still something so irresistible about him that makes you want to ride him like a damn horse.
pairing: simon "ghost" riley x reader
cw: smut, porn w plot, suggestive content, slight touch of angst + argument, angry sex, riding, manhandling, reader putting Simon in his mf place, femdom/switch dynamics, FINGERS IN MOUTHS!!!, sprinkle of pathetic simon, toxic simon, how many horse references can i put in one fic challenge
a/n: Full disclosure I know nothing about riding horses, however I do know about riding assholes! enjoy ;]
wordcount: 2.7k
Inspired by 'Metallic Stallion' by MARINA
Two words you would use to describe Simon Riley: sturdy and spirited. It wasn't that you had meant to associate your husband with the same Friesians you'd ridden as a young girl, it was just that the similarities were so obvious to you.
Thick muscles like something carved out of stone, skin lathered in ink the same shade as your first stallion. Without even realising it, you'd surveyed Simon like you were at an auction when you'd first met, glancing him up and down. Okay, strong legs, wide hips, steady set in the shoulders...he'll do.
Why your equine childhood had shaped so much of your adult decisions, you had no idea, but you did know it had made for great judgement in the sexual partner category.
Simon's stamina was something close to that of a racehorse, after all, you had only agreed to marry him due to the fact that he was able to keep up with you and split you open on his cock well enough. That, coupled with the fact that you were probably the only woman alive willing to put up with his mud-treading boots and relentless hacking at the bathroom sink in the mornings. Still, the benefits of being with Simon were greater than the disadvantages, and logistically, the two of you made sense as a couple.
That was, when he wasn’t eliciting the maddening urge to rip out your entire head of hair.
"I mean- Is it too much to ask?" You yelled, throwing up your hands in the air, the crease between your brows beginning to ache. You and Simon had been arguing for ten minutes at this point.
"Answer me Si, is it too much too ask? For my boyfriend to stand up for me?" You scoffed. He beat you to it.
"For the love of god, cut the shit. I defend you all the time." He muttered, waving you off, rubbing a scarred hand over the back of his low-hanging head.
He was sat on the sofa, elbows to his knees, his skull balaclava thrown on the glass coffee table somewhere between the first 'What the fuck?' and the last tight-lipped smile. You had held up the happy couple act until your brother left, until the looming dread in your chest had subsided, and all that was left was pure white distaste for how your husband had acted tonight.
"Do you Si? Because he was right there-" You paused for fear of shouting any louder, taking a deep breath. "My brother was right- there, acting like I'm the scum of the earth, and you can't do anything but stare at your plate?" You frowned, pointing at the cluttered dining table where you had sat together with your brother earlier that night, swallowing down another uncomfortable meal with your sibling, trying to act as if you had anything other than a dysfunctional relationship with your family members.
You thought that tonight would be easy, that it would be a breeze with Simon by your side. And it usually was, if it wasn't for the stick up your brother's ass. But it wasn't his fault, you thought. Because your parents had done the damage, and the two of you were just left to navigate the long winding path of life under the weight of it all. But it also wasn't your fault that he was so destructive, running down that path like a dog taken off the leash. Truly a bull in a china shop.
"He's family, your family, I can't put myself in the middle of that, love. It's not my place." Simon defends, looking at you like this was unfair, like you'd put him in an uncomfortable position. It made your blood boil.
"When it comes to me, it's exactly your place, Si!" You yelled from the kitchen entryway, the image of your dope of a husband as a brick wall forming in your mind. Because that's exactly what it felt like you were talking to, unresponsive, and totally useless.
"What, you need me to fight your fuckin' battles for ya, babe? Want me to be your soldier? 'Cause I'll fight. Been fighting all my life." He glares up at you. "Thought I might actually get to come home for once and leave the warzone." He mumbled, jaw ticking as he sat there, a heap of trained muscle on a linen couch. "Turns out m'trading dirt for fuckin' dirt."
You couldn't believe he was playing that card. You stormed over, glaring at him. "Don't do that to me."
"What?"
"Make me feel like I'm ruining your time off!" You despaired, feeling hopeless, frustration bubbling under the surface. "I don't agree with the work you do, but that doesn't make me hate you Si, don't use that against me."
"Oh, and I s'pose I hate you for not stickin' up to your brother? Is that what's going on?" He looked you dead in the eye, leant back into the couch, beefy arms crossed over his chest, spreading his thighs in those black jeans.
Why the fuck does he look so good right now?
Messy blond army-cut hair, patterned skin pulled taught over layers of bone and brawn, his civilian clothing clearly a size too small from when he had been home last.
He had made you so angry tonight, and yet you'd never wanted to fuck him more in your entire marriage than that exact moment. You knew it was bad, to solve your relationship problems with intimacy, but was it so bad when you wanted it so desperately?
Simon seemed to soften, letting out a sigh, dragging a hand over his face. "Look-"
"Shut up."
He didn't even get a chance to talk before you were pressing a hand over his mouth, slowly shifting to straddle him on the sofa.
Simon's attempts to reason with you were muffled, his scarred lips dragging across the whirlpooled prints of your fingertips, hands coming up to your hips almost on instinct.
"Shhh-" You urged, staring him straight in the eye, pushing him back against the couch again. "Don't wanna talk right now." You murmured, knees shifting, boxing his thighs in on the soft plush of the sofa. "You're being an arse."
There was another muffle against your hand, his brows dragging together in futile defence. You just ignored him, free hand trying to unclasp his belt as best you could with five fingers.
"Always got something to fuckin' say, not when I need it though, huh?" You were mumbling now, infuriated, focused on getting your feelings out with his cock inside of you.
His hands slid up to your waist, mouth moving as he glanced down at your working hand. Oh.
Oh, you weren't playing around.
You had that rare look in your eye, the kind that made him want to bend you over and slide that ring onto your finger all over again. Simon hadn't seen you this mad since he forgot your anniversary two years ago, and god did he love you like this. There was just something about the way you took control- angrily, that made his cock stand to attention in his pants. Of course, Simon would never admit that, but he wasn't going to deny you of your way with him when the opportunity arose.
He felt your hips rolling down against his trousers before he could stop you. A groan rang out against your hand. You lifted your palm, only to press two fingers to his lips.
"Open." You demanded.
"What?"
"I said, fucking open your mouth."
Your heat came down once again, grinding against his bulge. Simon growled, squeezing the fabric of your skirt helplessly. You pushed your fingers into his mouth, telling him to suck whilst you worked on undoing his belt.
Unsure and looking to you for guidance, his tongue flattened against the pads of your fingers, eyes focused on yours. He was completely at your mercy in that moment, and it felt good. It felt great to shove him into a corner the same way he'd done to you moments before.
It was becoming increasingly obvious to you that you wouldn't be able to unclasp his belt with one hand. With a huff, you gave up, grinding against him a little faster in frustration. "Fuckin'...do it y'self.." You grumbled, thumb pressing into Simon's jaw, head thrown back as you focused on the friction of your wet panties against his jeans.
Simon smirked around your fingers, enjoying the slight slip in your facade. God, you were testing his patience.
Simon was a little over six foot, and well over two-hundred pounds of trained muscle. Could he have thrown you down against the sofa and taken control right then and there? Yes. Absolutely.
But he didn't, because he loved you. And he was letting you have this. And there was also the fact that you were giving him a raging hard-on.
You were awakening things inside of Simon that he didn't even know existed, the neurons in his brain firing at the sight of you in all your dominant glory. Was this what full frontal-lobe development felt like?
His hands came down between your bodies, quickly unfastening his belt, pulling his hands away before he could do anything else too rash. After all, you hadn't told him to do anything else, not yet. And he was focused on being good for you. He'd done enough poking the bear for one night, he thought.
His breath was heavy through his nostrils, you could feel his exhales against your fingers, eyes drifting down to where his shirt had ridden up, the light hairs on his abdomen guiding you down to where he'd left his belt undone around his hips.
Without a word of praise, you pulled your fingers out of his mouth, watching as his breath came heavy, restless hands drifting up to your hips, guiding your movements.
You undid the button of his jeans, scrambling and lifting your hips to pull them down his legs. Not his boxers though, no, that would be giving it to him too easy.
Simon let out a huff, hands drifting under your shirt, grabbing at your waist. "God- please, babe-"
Without the layer of denim, he felt harder under your thrusts, his clothed cock throbbing against the sopping wet patch on your underwear. He looked fucking pathetic.
If his teammates could see him now, you thought. They'd have a field day with this information. Their lieutenant likes being fucking topped.
For a man so hard, he sure liked it soft. You were never going to let him shake this one off. No, you were going to bring this up every chance you got after hearing him beg for you like that.
"Take it." You muttered, dragging your hips back and forth over his lap, clit aching from the friction.
He whined. Like, actually whined, head rolling against the back of the couch, fingers dug into your hips, mouth parted in soft pants.
You weren't used to being so..in command. If you weren't hellbent on making him suffer you'd have blushed.
Simon was growing impatient, in silent battle with the urge to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder. The sight of you ontop of him was driving him fucking crazy. You had no idea how much he loved you like this, knowing he'd pissed you off, knowing deep down that he didn't deserve you, and yet still being the only one to see you wrapped in pleasure? It was twisted, but he relished in that smug pride.
You were moaning, rolling yourself back and forth over the tent in his boxer-briefs, nails dug into his shoulder. You were just so mad. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being sheathed inside of you, but god, did you need it.
"Pull 'em down." You mumbled.
Simon pulled his head up, looking at you, wrecked and lost. "Eh?"
"Pull- nevermind." You exhaled in frustration, lifting yourself up and reaching down to free his cock, the pink mushroom tip already sobbing with precum from all that teasing you'd been doing. Atleast the knowledge of his patience brought you some satisfaction.
Simon bucked up into your hand, fist clenching against the couch. He groaned.
"Don't fucking come until I do." You spat, pulling your soaked panties to the side and lining his tip up with your entrance. His breath was coming quick and shallow now.
"Wouldn't- hah- dream of it, darlin'." Simon mumbled, arms laid out against the back of the couch now, forcefully restraining himself because he knew the feel of your body was enough to break him. He didn't trust himself not to take control.
The first few inches were tough, not just because of his sheer size but also because you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you melt on his cock.
Simon understood though, he could recognise that twitch in your eye anywhere. Of course he did, he knew you like the back of his hand. His girl.
"Awh, baby.." He taunted, hand reaching down to rub the slope of your hip. "Need a time out, hm?"
"Fuck you." You grunted, taking him whole. The moan fighting its way out died in the back of your throat.
Simon's head rolled back against the couch again, his lungs emptying at the feel of your warm, plush walls. "Fuuuck."
As if to further prove your point, you began to move, bouncing up and down on his cock like you'd been at it for hours. It felt like trying to be nonchalant after tripping over, your brows drawn together, cheeks flushed. Yeah, I've got this. Can't even feel it.
Simon let out a sound halfway between a whimper and a grunt, reaching forward to grab your hips as you started to move, pushing up the fabric of your skirt to watch the precum ring around his base with each thrust. His eyes were blown wide, almost amazed, like you were both teenagers again and this was your first time.
"Shit- tryna kill me, love?" He chuckled almost breathlessly, mind going blank as your pussy clenched around him.
"Maybe." You grumbled, staring at the wall above his head.
Simon leant back, hands on your hips, guiding your movements as you rode him. God, this took you back.
Mornings spent at the stables, shovelling shit and grooming the horses for a couple quid an hour. Hard saddles, like the one you were sat on now. Only this horse had a mouth, and bloody hell did he like to talk.
"Fuck- you still mad? Said I was sorry."
Galloping. Crisp November mornings and freezing fingertips.
"Did you? Sure didn't fuckin' hear it." You snapped, riding him faster, slamming your thighs down harder. His cock was reaching parts of you you didn't even know existed, but you'd be damned if you let him know how much he was ruining you right now.
Because you sure as shit knew he hadn't apologised for being such a vegetable at dinner.
"C'mon-" Simon mumbled through a moan, hissing the air back through his teeth. "Said it, sure I did."
You leant over him, palms flat against the wall behind his head, hips rolling in relentless figure-eights. He could hardly focus on anything right now, much less convincing you into second-guessing your memory.
Gaslighting little shit.
You could see the horizon ahead, sunrise stretched across a vast open landscape, getting closer through the clearing.
"Say it." You breathed, walls clamping down around him. "Say you're fucking sorry."
Simon grunted, squeezing your waist, rutting up into you messily, ruining your practiced metronome pace.
"Fuck-"
"Say it."
The wind in your hair, hooves hitting the frosted soil, the rhythmic clap clap clap of your ass coming down against his thighs.
"Okay, shit- M'sorry, fuck-"
Your orgasm rang through you in waves, jaw parting, your bounces becoming almost rushed, like you were running from something you didn't know how to forget.
Simon came, hot spurts of cum filling you and trickling down the sides of his shaft. Your hips stuttered, seeing the horizon fade in your mind. You fell against him, hands sliding down the wall, your chin tucking into his shoulder.
He huffed out a laugh against your hair, almost in awe of just how much you let him get away with. He smoothed a hand over your back, smirking.
"There'ya go, cowgirl.." Simon murmured, feeling your chest rise and fall against his.
You wondered if you'd ever be able to tame this one.
Thankyou for reading lovelies! This was a random blend of drafts I've had sitting around for a while and just thought I'd get it out while I work on other things - hope you enjoyed <3
For more Simon Riley drabbles take a cheeky gander here
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
synopsis: After an awkward dinner with your estranged brother, you can't help but feel blindsided by Simon and his complacency. The two of you end up in a screaming match, yet even when you’re angry, tears blinding your vision, frustrated with Simon beyond comprehension, there’s still something so irresistible about him that makes you want to ride him like a damn horse.
pairing: simon "ghost" riley x reader
cw: smut, porn w plot, suggestive content, slight touch of angst + argument, angry sex, riding, manhandling, reader putting Simon in his mf place, femdom/switch dynamics, FINGERS IN MOUTHS!!!, sprinkle of pathetic simon, toxic simon, how many horse references can i put in one fic challenge
a/n: Full disclosure I know nothing about riding horses, however I do know about riding assholes! enjoy ;]
wordcount: 2.7k
Inspired by 'Metallic Stallion' by MARINA
Two words you would use to describe Simon Riley: sturdy and spirited. It wasn't that you had meant to associate your husband with the same Friesians you'd ridden as a young girl, it was just that the similarities were so obvious to you.
Thick muscles like something carved out of stone, skin lathered in ink the same shade as your first stallion. Without even realising it, you'd surveyed Simon like you were at an auction when you'd first met, glancing him up and down. Okay, strong legs, wide hips, steady set in the shoulders...he'll do.
Why your equine childhood had shaped so much of your adult decisions, you had no idea, but you did know it had made for great judgement in the sexual partner category.
Simon's stamina was something close to that of a racehorse, after all, you had only agreed to marry him due to the fact that he was able to keep up with you and split you open on his cock well enough. That, coupled with the fact that you were probably the only woman alive willing to put up with his mud-treading boots and relentless hacking at the bathroom sink in the mornings. Still, the benefits of being with Simon were greater than the disadvantages, and logistically, the two of you made sense as a couple.
That was, when he wasn’t eliciting the maddening urge to rip out your entire head of hair.
"I mean- Is it too much to ask?" You yelled, throwing up your hands in the air, the crease between your brows beginning to ache. You and Simon had been arguing for ten minutes at this point.
"Answer me Si, is it too much too ask? For my boyfriend to stand up for me?" You scoffed. He beat you to it.
"For the love of god, cut the shit. I defend you all the time." He muttered, waving you off, rubbing a scarred hand over the back of his low-hanging head.
He was sat on the sofa, elbows to his knees, his skull balaclava thrown on the glass coffee table somewhere between the first 'What the fuck?' and the last tight-lipped smile. You had held up the happy couple act until your brother left, until the looming dread in your chest had subsided, and all that was left was pure white distaste for how your husband had acted tonight.
"Do you Si? Because he was right there-" You paused for fear of shouting any louder, taking a deep breath. "My brother was right- there, acting like I'm the scum of the earth, and you can't do anything but stare at your plate?" You frowned, pointing at the cluttered dining table where you had sat together with your brother earlier that night, swallowing down another uncomfortable meal with your sibling, trying to act as if you had anything other than a dysfunctional relationship with your family members.
You thought that tonight would be easy, that it would be a breeze with Simon by your side. And it usually was, if it wasn't for the stick up your brother's ass. But it wasn't his fault, you thought. Because your parents had done the damage, and the two of you were just left to navigate the long winding path of life under the weight of it all. But it also wasn't your fault that he was so destructive, running down that path like a dog taken off the leash. Truly a bull in a china shop.
"He's family, your family, I can't put myself in the middle of that, love. It's not my place." Simon defends, looking at you like this was unfair, like you'd put him in an uncomfortable position. It made your blood boil.
"When it comes to me, it's exactly your place, Si!" You yelled from the kitchen entryway, the image of your dope of a husband as a brick wall forming in your mind. Because that's exactly what it felt like you were talking to, unresponsive, and totally useless.
"What, you need me to fight your fuckin' battles for ya, babe? Want me to be your soldier? 'Cause I'll fight. Been fighting all my life." He glares up at you. "Thought I might actually get to come home for once and leave the warzone." He mumbled, jaw ticking as he sat there, a heap of trained muscle on a linen couch. "Turns out m'trading dirt for fuckin' dirt."
You couldn't believe he was playing that card. You stormed over, glaring at him. "Don't do that to me."
"What?"
"Make me feel like I'm ruining your time off!" You despaired, feeling hopeless, frustration bubbling under the surface. "I don't agree with the work you do, but that doesn't make me hate you Si, don't use that against me."
"Oh, and I s'pose I hate you for not stickin' up to your brother? Is that what's going on?" He looked you dead in the eye, leant back into the couch, beefy arms crossed over his chest, spreading his thighs in those black jeans.
Why the fuck does he look so good right now?
Messy blond army-cut hair, patterned skin pulled taught over layers of bone and brawn, his civilian clothing clearly a size too small from when he had been home last.
He had made you so angry tonight, and yet you'd never wanted to fuck him more in your entire marriage than that exact moment. You knew it was bad, to solve your relationship problems with intimacy, but was it so bad when you wanted it so desperately?
Simon seemed to soften, letting out a sigh, dragging a hand over his face. "Look-"
"Shut up."
He didn't even get a chance to talk before you were pressing a hand over his mouth, slowly shifting to straddle him on the sofa.
Simon's attempts to reason with you were muffled, his scarred lips dragging across the whirlpooled prints of your fingertips, hands coming up to your hips almost on instinct.
"Shhh-" You urged, staring him straight in the eye, pushing him back against the couch again. "Don't wanna talk right now." You murmured, knees shifting, boxing his thighs in on the soft plush of the sofa. "You're being an arse."
There was another muffle against your hand, his brows dragging together in futile defence. You just ignored him, free hand trying to unclasp his belt as best you could with five fingers.
"Always got something to fuckin' say, not when I need it though, huh?" You were mumbling now, infuriated, focused on getting your feelings out with his cock inside of you.
His hands slid up to your waist, mouth moving as he glanced down at your working hand. Oh.
Oh, you weren't playing around.
You had that rare look in your eye, the kind that made him want to bend you over and slide that ring onto your finger all over again. Simon hadn't seen you this mad since he forgot your anniversary two years ago, and god did he love you like this. There was just something about the way you took control- angrily, that made his cock stand to attention in his pants. Of course, Simon would never admit that, but he wasn't going to deny you of your way with him when the opportunity arose.
He felt your hips rolling down against his trousers before he could stop you. A groan rang out against your hand. You lifted your palm, only to press two fingers to his lips.
"Open." You demanded.
"What?"
"I said, fucking open your mouth."
Your heat came down once again, grinding against his bulge. Simon growled, squeezing the fabric of your skirt helplessly. You pushed your fingers into his mouth, telling him to suck whilst you worked on undoing his belt.
Unsure and looking to you for guidance, his tongue flattened against the pads of your fingers, eyes focused on yours. He was completely at your mercy in that moment, and it felt good. It felt great to shove him into a corner the same way he'd done to you moments before.
It was becoming increasingly obvious to you that you wouldn't be able to unclasp his belt with one hand. With a huff, you gave up, grinding against him a little faster in frustration. "Fuckin'...do it y'self.." You grumbled, thumb pressing into Simon's jaw, head thrown back as you focused on the friction of your wet panties against his jeans.
Simon smirked around your fingers, enjoying the slight slip in your facade. God, you were testing his patience.
Simon was a little over six foot, and well over two-hundred pounds of trained muscle. Could he have thrown you down against the sofa and taken control right then and there? Yes. Absolutely.
But he didn't, because he loved you. And he was letting you have this. And there was also the fact that you were giving him a raging hard-on.
You were awakening things inside of Simon that he didn't even know existed, the neurons in his brain firing at the sight of you in all your dominant glory. Was this what full frontal-lobe development felt like?
His hands came down between your bodies, quickly unfastening his belt, pulling his hands away before he could do anything else too rash. After all, you hadn't told him to do anything else, not yet. And he was focused on being good for you. He'd done enough poking the bear for one night, he thought.
His breath was heavy through his nostrils, you could feel his exhales against your fingers, eyes drifting down to where his shirt had ridden up, the light hairs on his abdomen guiding you down to where he'd left his belt undone around his hips.
Without a word of praise, you pulled your fingers out of his mouth, watching as his breath came heavy, restless hands drifting up to your hips, guiding your movements.
You undid the button of his jeans, scrambling and lifting your hips to pull them down his legs. Not his boxers though, no, that would be giving it to him too easy.
Simon let out a huff, hands drifting under your shirt, grabbing at your waist. "God- please, babe-"
Without the layer of denim, he felt harder under your thrusts, his clothed cock throbbing against the sopping wet patch on your underwear. He looked fucking pathetic.
If his teammates could see him now, you thought. They'd have a field day with this information. Their lieutenant likes being fucking topped.
For a man so hard, he sure liked it soft. You were never going to let him shake this one off. No, you were going to bring this up every chance you got after hearing him beg for you like that.
"Take it." You muttered, dragging your hips back and forth over his lap, clit aching from the friction.
He whined. Like, actually whined, head rolling against the back of the couch, fingers dug into your hips, mouth parted in soft pants.
You weren't used to being so..in command. If you weren't hellbent on making him suffer you'd have blushed.
Simon was growing impatient, in silent battle with the urge to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder. The sight of you ontop of him was driving him fucking crazy. You had no idea how much he loved you like this, knowing he'd pissed you off, knowing deep down that he didn't deserve you, and yet still being the only one to see you wrapped in pleasure? It was twisted, but he relished in that smug pride.
You were moaning, rolling yourself back and forth over the tent in his boxer-briefs, nails dug into his shoulder. You were just so mad. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being sheathed inside of you, but god, did you need it.
"Pull 'em down." You mumbled.
Simon pulled his head up, looking at you, wrecked and lost. "Eh?"
"Pull- nevermind." You exhaled in frustration, lifting yourself up and reaching down to free his cock, the pink mushroom tip already sobbing with precum from all that teasing you'd been doing. Atleast the knowledge of his patience brought you some satisfaction.
Simon bucked up into your hand, fist clenching against the couch. He groaned.
"Don't fucking come until I do." You spat, pulling your soaked panties to the side and lining his tip up with your entrance. His breath was coming quick and shallow now.
"Wouldn't- hah- dream of it, darlin'." Simon mumbled, arms laid out against the back of the couch now, forcefully restraining himself because he knew the feel of your body was enough to break him. He didn't trust himself not to take control.
The first few inches were tough, not just because of his sheer size but also because you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you melt on his cock.
Simon understood though, he could recognise that twitch in your eye anywhere. Of course he did, he knew you like the back of his hand. His girl.
"Awh, baby.." He taunted, hand reaching down to rub the slope of your hip. "Need a time out, hm?"
"Fuck you." You grunted, taking him whole. The moan fighting its way out died in the back of your throat.
Simon's head rolled back against the couch again, his lungs emptying at the feel of your warm, plush walls. "Fuuuck."
As if to further prove your point, you began to move, bouncing up and down on his cock like you'd been at it for hours. It felt like trying to be nonchalant after tripping over, your brows drawn together, cheeks flushed. Yeah, I've got this. Can't even feel it.
Simon let out a sound halfway between a whimper and a grunt, reaching forward to grab your hips as you started to move, pushing up the fabric of your skirt to watch the precum ring around his base with each thrust. His eyes were blown wide, almost amazed, like you were both teenagers again and this was your first time.
"Shit- tryna kill me, love?" He chuckled almost breathlessly, mind going blank as your pussy clenched around him.
"Maybe." You grumbled, staring at the wall above his head.
Simon leant back, hands on your hips, guiding your movements as you rode him. God, this took you back.
Mornings spent at the stables, shovelling shit and grooming the horses for a couple quid an hour. Hard saddles, like the one you were sat on now. Only this horse had a mouth, and bloody hell did he like to talk.
"Fuck- you still mad? Said I was sorry."
Galloping. Crisp November mornings and freezing fingertips.
"Did you? Sure didn't fuckin' hear it." You snapped, riding him faster, slamming your thighs down harder. His cock was reaching parts of you you didn't even know existed, but you'd be damned if you let him know how much he was ruining you right now.
Because you sure as shit knew he hadn't apologised for being such a vegetable at dinner.
"C'mon-" Simon mumbled through a moan, hissing the air back through his teeth. "Said it, sure I did."
You leant over him, palms flat against the wall behind his head, hips rolling in relentless figure-eights. He could hardly focus on anything right now, much less convincing you into second-guessing your memory.
Gaslighting little shit.
You could see the horizon ahead, sunrise stretched across a vast open landscape, getting closer through the clearing.
"Say it." You breathed, walls clamping down around him. "Say you're fucking sorry."
Simon grunted, squeezing your waist, rutting up into you messily, ruining your practiced metronome pace.
"Fuck-"
"Say it."
The wind in your hair, hooves hitting the frosted soil, the rhythmic clap clap clap of your ass coming down against his thighs.
"Okay, shit- M'sorry, fuck-"
Your orgasm rang through you in waves, jaw parting, your bounces becoming almost rushed, like you were running from something you didn't know how to forget.
Simon came, hot spurts of cum filling you and trickling down the sides of his shaft. Your hips stuttered, seeing the horizon fade in your mind. You fell against him, hands sliding down the wall, your chin tucking into his shoulder.
He huffed out a laugh against your hair, almost in awe of just how much you let him get away with. He smoothed a hand over your back, smirking.
"There'ya go, cowgirl.." Simon murmured, feeling your chest rise and fall against his.
You wondered if you'd ever be able to tame this one.
Thankyou for reading lovelies! This was a random blend of drafts I've had sitting around for a while and just thought I'd get it out while I work on other things - hope you enjoyed <3
For more Simon Riley drabbles take a cheeky gander here
Synopsis: You and the 141 decide to spend a night in Vegas to celebrate completing a mandatory training week in the heart of Nevada’s desert. It was simple in theory — a few drinks, see the city, browse the casino floors, and you’d be on a flight home the next day. But when you wake up in the morning with one more ring on your finger than memories to accompany your newfound marriage, things begin to spiral.
pairing: simon "ghost" riley x f!reader
warnings: alcohol misuse, mentions of smoking, mentions of sickness, violence, slow burn, fake-dating, eventual smut, suggestive content
Masterlist —
Chapter 1
You and the 141 decide to spend a night in Vegas to celebrate completing a mandatory training week in the heart of Nevada’s desert. It was simple in theory — a few drinks, see the city, browse the casino floors, and you’d be on a flight home the next day. But when you wake up in the morning with one more ring on your finger than memories to accompany your newfound marriage, things begin to spiral.
Chapter 2
The memories pour into you like the champagne from last night. There's a ring on your finger and Soap's calling you 'Mrs Riley' — where do you go from here? And how will Price react when he sees that his two best operatives had been out playing husband and wife all night?
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Prologue
All chapters available on AO3 @ kotterisanna - or click here
Synopsis: You and the 141 decide to spend a night in Vegas to celebrate completing a mandatory training week in the heart of Nevada’s desert. It was simple in theory — a few drinks, see the city, browse the casino floors, and you’d be on a flight home the next day. But when you wake up in the morning with one more ring on your finger than memories to accompany your newfound marriage, things begin to spiral.
pairing: simon "ghost" riley x f!reader
warnings: alcohol misuse, mentions of smoking, mentions of sickness, violence, slow burn, fake-dating, eventual smut, suggestive content
Series Masterlist —
Chapter 1
You and the 141 decide to spend a night in Vegas to celebrate completing a mandatory training week in the heart of Nevada’s desert. It was simple in theory — a few drinks, see the city, browse the casino floors, and you’d be on a flight home the next day. But when you wake up in the morning with one more ring on your finger than memories to accompany your newfound marriage, things begin to spiral.
Chapter 2
The memories pour into you like the champagne from last night. There's a ring on your finger and Soap's calling you 'Mrs Riley' — where do you go from here? And how will Price react when he sees that his two best operatives had been out playing husband and wife all night?
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
All chapters available on AO3 @ kotterisanna - or click here
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Reader getting a tattoo of Simon’s name. cw: fluff, suggestive content, Simon is down baaad
"Si?" You called out, having just come back from the tattoo parlour on the high-street.
It had been on your mind for a while, the prospect of getting your military husband's name tattooed across your hip, marking you as his. The idea lived inside your mind as exactly that for the longest time: just an idea. But with Simon finally home from another long mission, you wanted to surprise him, do something nice.
After finally deciding to just bite the bullet, you booked the appointment that morning, and told Simon you were leaving to grab something for dinner that night.
You weren't exactly lying— you knew that you would be dinner after he saw you like this; branded as Mrs Riley.
He was in the kitchen, browsing the contents of the fridge after you'd stocked it for his arrival. Why you'd left to go buy more food was beyond him— he was sure there was plenty. But you just had to make it perfect, his sweet little control freak.
"In here, babe." He grunted, leaning back to assess the beer situation. Simon had never been a big drinker, but then again, he was in the market for some relaxation. He'd just completed a long deployment, why not celebrate?
You appeared and he shut the fridge door, raising a brow at the lack of Tesco bags in your hands. You were smiling up at him like you were about to pull a rabbit out of a hat.
"You're scarin' me, sweetheart. What is it?" He asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
"Got you somethin'." You said.
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
"Alright. Go on then." Simon muttered, not entirely convinced that you weren't joking.
Unable to wipe the grin off your face, you reached down to hike your joggers down at the waist, letting them sit a little lower on your body to reveal the tattoo at your hip.
You turned to the side, glancing down at the ink before back up at Simon, smiling excitedly.
"Ta-daa..."
Simon's face dropped into something softer, something unguarded. Usually he was ready for every possibility, he was a trained soldier, prepared for whatever life threw at him, but you had truly left him defenceless for the umpteenth time in your relationship.
His arms slowly unravelled from his chest as he sank down onto his knees, hands coming up to your waist.
"Baby.."
There it was, carved into your skin, marked for life. 'Simon Riley' in cursive letters, covered in protective film the tattoo artist had placed over your skin to help the healing process.
"You like it?" You giggled, placing your hands on his shoulders.
He manhandled you gently, twisting you at the right angle so he could get a better view. Simon didn't think he'd ever been more in love, his cock half-hard in his boxers.
"I don't just like it, darlin', I love it." He murmured, one hand sliding down to your hip as he kissed the tattoo on your other, pressing his lips against the plastic film. He figured he'd get a better feel of you once you were healed. Just the sight of his name on you was enough for now.
"You get this done all for me? You know that's there forever, babe." He muttered, glancing up at you with that signature crooked smile.
You smiled down at him, hands gently massaging his shoulders. "I know." You said simply, as if he'd just asked you what you wanted for dinner.
"So are we, though." You murmured, pushing hair away from his forehead. "Forever."
The twinkle in Simon's gaze was something rare, something reserved just for your viewing. He couldn't take his eyes off you.
In that moment, you were his. And with this new tattoo, he would make sure you never forgot it.
He stood up, slinging you over his shoulder as you erupted into a fit of squeals.
"Now, that tattoo artist better not have had his hands all over you." Simon grumbled, walking you over to the bedroom.
This was going to be a long night.
Thankyou for reading!! For more Simon oneshots check here — hope you enjoyed <3
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