His eyes bore into the back of your skull as you have an innocent chat, at least you thought it was.
Little did you know that behind the mask, Simon was downright snarling. He was a military man, made of patience and stoicism. But this? This was worse than training. Seeing you, his dove, give the time of day, let alone speak to another man.
When you gave him five minutes of your attention, he went home and rubbed one off, thinking about your pretty face. And there was no way in hell he was gonna let any other man have the chance he had with you.
He glares from above your head. Years of seeing horrible horrors, the darkest the world has to offer, all unleashed on one man who just liked the band on your shirt. Simon doesn't truly fancy much music, but you can bet millions that he'll memorize every song before this time next week.
He's on his third whispered, "We should go, luv." On this conversation, his patience is gone. He grabs your arm, "Didn't come 'ere for you to flirt. Home. Now."
Next thing you know, you're dragged out of the coffee shop with no time to explain. By the time you get in the door, he's ripping your clothes off. "Yer my pretty thing. You talk to me, you excited? You rant ta me. Yer mine. My work o' art, aren't ya? I admire you. You get attention from me." He growls. He holds up your hand with the big ring. "My wife." He snarls.
He doesn't get to the bed. He bends you over the arm of the couch. Stretching you open with two thick fingers, the rough pad of his thumb pressing meanly into your clit. He leaves a bite on each soft ass cheek. It's purely a claim. He doesn't give you more of his mouth. He adds another finger. "Sing fer me, Dove."
After he's satisfied with how open you are and just before you cum, he pulls his fingers out. The thick tip of him rubbed up and down your slit before roughly plunging in. "This is my pretty li'le cunt. It opens up for me, only me. She knows it too, drools as soon as I look at 'er."
He wastes no time, pounding into you. He makes sure to hit every sensitive spot. He wants to hear you scream. He wants the neighbors to hear. He wants that man at the cafe to hear.
He makes sure you cum, too, though. Rubbing at your swollen clit but he doesn't stop. Not until you're stuffed full of his cum three times. Just enough to ensure his scent lingers for days.
After he relaxes and pulls out, he apologizes for being so mean to your pretty pussy. "Sorry, pretty Dove. Just makes me so mad. Yer mine." He apologizes with his tongue gently cleaning you up.
Little do you know, after you're asleep, he sneaks out of bed. And the week after, when you whine about your new friend being gone, he just pats your hip. "That's what I'm fer, luv."
(Sorry. This is so bad and crude, but I have had an insatiable craving for a jealous/possessive man. My boyfriend has been kind of uncaring to me, sadly. And that odd clash of emotions came out as a man caring tooooo much.)
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Simon 'Ghost' Riley is a simple, plain man. Meaning he hates spending money on himself unless it's absolutely necessary, this man has thousands in the bank because he just doesn't spend it.
That's why Simon loves high maintenance women, specifically you. He loves that you get your hair done every month, loves that you get your nails done, eyelashes, facials, pedicures. God he absolutely loves providing for his woman.
The only problem is that you're not used to spending other people's money. You work, and you work hard for your money.
"Bye Si. I'll see you later," you shouted as you put your shoes on, just about to head out the door.
"Where you going love?"
That made you stop and slowly turn to face Simon. "I've got my nail appointment today." You said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which it was. You had wrote it on the calendar.
"Hm and who's paying?"
"Um... Me?"
"Guess again," Simon was already in front of you, placing his bank card between your cleavage.
"Simon."
"Don't 'Simon' me," he mumbled as he kissed your forehead. "You know the rules. You look pretty and I pay for it." And you couldn't argue because Simon smacked your arse before pushing you out the door and locking it.
Oh, and don't bother trying to pay. Simon already took your credit card.
"Simon, do you think this dress makes me look... bigger?.." You ask softly, staring at the mirror. You were getting ready for dinner. You even convinced Simon into a stiff suit. But you were regretting all your plans after staring at the mirror too long.
Simon scoffed like you just said a bad joke at a pub. "I'm serious, Si!" You whined angrily. "Dove. Ye've got me dressed like a civie, and ya ask if you look 'bigger'? I look like a cheap club bouncer. You? You look like 'eaven draped in silk."
You pout, still staring at the mirror. "Si, you're big and muscular. All eyes are gonna be on you, and they're gonna think you're with a-" his sharp glare interrupts you. "With an angel? With the prettiest bird in the sky? I know they're gonna see me an' wish they were me. But tha's why 'm prepared to fight any man tha' looks at you."
He walks up behind you, calloused hands finding your hips like a compass. "Yer a silly, pretty Dove. But 's alright, 'm gonna fuck all the sense back into ya." His eyes stare at the mirror, looking at your body in the way-too-expensive dress with a hunger that transcends anything food can satisfy.
"If you were any smaller, I wouldn't be able to find ye under the covers in the mornin. I'd 'ave lost ye in my shirts.. yer just enough to hold onto.."
And before you know it, you're late to dinner. But you don't have half the brain to care. Not when he's this deep inside you and staring at you like that. His eyes haven't left your body since that dress hit the floor. He paid for it. He knows it costs more than your average rug. But it was nothing compared to how much you're worth.
"How can ye look at this, and hate it, hm?" He grumbles. The gentle hand on your stomach contrasts deliciously with the rough pounding he's giving you. "Y'know, yer a fine bird. Every time ya stare at yerself like tha', you pluck another feather..." He complains.
"You don't get it, Si!" You whined, struggling to stay focused. But every bratty retort gets you a deeper thrust and a swat on your butt. "I don't need ta get it, ye need to get outta it." He growls, pressing down on your lower stomach just enough to build pressure.
"You gonna still talk crap bout yer belly when my babe is in it?"
You can always reschedule dinner.
(IM STRUGGLING WITH THE SPEECH RN. But hopefully, this is good enough? Breeding kink is still strong!! I started posting again after reading comments and reposts, i love hearing you guys like my stuff♡)
Simon Riley who doesn't get mad if you're not feeling great, you started your period and he's well aware that it makes you grumpy because you're in a lot of pain with cramps and the chronic back pain. He just wants you to feel better.
He doesn't even react when mess of the sticky redness appears between in the middle of the night, getting onto the bedsheets, staining them. He knows you're absolutely mortified, he just carries you to the bathroom and begins to fix it for you, he puts a wash load on, not caring that its the middle of the night, he hands you a fresh shirt of his, and a different set of your pants, helping you change into them, reassuring you that it's ok, kissing your temple and forehead gently.
"it's alright baby.. I see blood all the time at work, doesn't bother me.." You still can't get over the fact that it appeared early so it was out of nowhere and has ruined the sheets. He senses this, "Not ruined sweet'art, it'll come out." He keeps consoling you, pulls you into his lap. You let him hold you as the feelings of shame die down.
"Si.. what time is it?" You ask him with a yawn. The shock wearing off and allowing your tiredness to creep back in.
"Think it's about five. Wan' go back to bed luv?" He asks, he think he knows you want to go to bed but not to sleep, just to cuddle for a bit. "Let me get those new sheets on for you." He gently puts you on the floor, kisses your cheek and then starts making the bed. You stand up to help but he gives you a stern look and you stay put. Once the new and fresh sheets are on you're lifted up and plopped down. He turns the tv on and hands you the remote, letting you pick whatever you want.
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five times Neighbor!Simon helped without you asking + the one time you came to him for help
content(s): afab reader, creepy behavior (not from Simon or Reader)
word count: 2.9k+
MDNI! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked!
Neighbor!Simon, who helps you without being asked. You've always been pretty independent, but the big guy can't help himself when it comes to you, his stubborn neighbor.
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A snowstorm hit overnight and Simon was up early as usual, not by choice but rather out of habit. The sun was barely up and the snow had stopped, but there was a blanket over the neighborhood now. It almost seemed to glow a pale shade of blue from what little light there was outside. The path to his door was covered, so was his car... And looking over to the left, he could see the same was the case for you.
Knowing that you wouldn't be up for some time, Simon decided to help you out. He bundled up in a thick parka, a snow balaclava, and a pair of his best gloves. Once his boots were on, he headed outside and got right to work, starting with the path to your door.
About an hour later, your car was dug out from the snow and he just finished with his own side of the semi-detached house. He paused for a moment to catch his breath, looking skyward as a few flakes started to fall again... That's when he heard a familiar voice.
"Oi, Simon!" It was you, clad in your thick winter pajamas and a pair of fluffy slippers, waving at him. "You didn't have to...!"
"I wanted to," he called back as he leaned the snow shovel against the house. "I could come over and shovel it all back into place if it's that much of an issue, though."
You snorted softly and shook your head, and Simon didn't miss the smile that you tried to repress.
"Well, thank you, Si... Come here, I'll start us a pot of coffee," you offered, opening your door wider. "Hurry, I don't want a draft to come in."
Simon, knowing there was no point in saying no, made his way around the hedge that divided your doors and headed into your place.
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"Fuck me...!" Your muffled voice caught Simon's attention. He was just walking back from a trip to the store when he noticed you sitting in your car.
The problem became evident when he saw you try to start it... Only for it to not start after it sputtered pathetically a few times. He already knew your car had some issues, and he also knew that you kept putting off bringing it to the shop. After putting his shopping bags inside, he came back out with a jump starter and went to your car.
You were still out there, trying (and failing) to start the car. Your head rested against the steering wheel in defeat, and you didn't even notice Simon pulling his car around.
"Hey neighbor," Simon said when you seemed to have given up. "Need a jump?"
He got out of the car with the jump starter and finally got a good look at you. A cute blue dress that stopped just below the knee, black boots, and your hair and makeup were done up in a way he never saw before. You were wearing a gold chain with a small heart dangling from it, and his eyes lingered on it for a moment. You looked ready to go out and have fun, and yet you were stuck in your driveway. All dolled up with somewhere to go, but unable to actually go… It’s a tragedy of epic proportions.
"God, yes...Thank you." You sighed heavily and watched as Simon hooked your car up.
"You've gotta look into a jump starter," he said gruffly. "Better yet, actually make a bloody appointment for your car."
"Sorry, but with what money?" You asked half-jokingly. "You've seen the prices, what am I supposed to do if my car needs a little more than some light maintenance? Hell, even 'light maintenance' could get expensive..."
"I could pay." He suggested after your car finally started.
"Thank you... And no, Simon." You relaxed a bit and pulled out of your parking spot. "I couldn't ask you to do that."
"I'm offering, love." He said, and you could tell that he meant it. This man was more than ready to shell out whatever amount you needed, he had the paycheck to do it.
He muttered something about you being stubborn as you drove off.
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Seemingly out of the blue, the worst heatwave your area had seen in years hit. Simon couldn't handle the heat well, but when he saw how almost all of your flowers withered up as a result of the heat... Well, that just made the heatwave even more unbearable. Not only was it an eyesore to see in your shared backyard, but your reaction to the devastation was worse.
"I spent all spring planting these!" You had complained to him, gesturing to the wilted flora. "All spring, hours of planting… For nothing!"
The flowers certainly looked dead, but some research told Simon that they could probably be saved. After a trip to the nearest garden center, he took to the backyard and busied himself in fixing what the heat ruined.
You found him back there, kneeling in the dirt without a shirt on. His pale, scarred skin was starting to take on a pinkish hue in the brutal summer sun. Sweat beaded on his brow and clung to his short, pale blonde hair. And for a while, you just stood there on the back porch... Watching as Simon worked tirelessly in the garden. He set up something to shield the flowers from the sun, and now he was carefully watering the dry soil.
When Simon finished up, you came outside with a glass of lemonade for him, condensation already formed on the glass. Your eyes were on every part of him but his face, but he ignored it as he drank the contents glass in one go. To be fair, the short sundress that you were wearing was just as distracting and his eyes felt like wandering a bit.
"Thank you, Simon... Really, you–"
"I didn't 'ave to, I know," he said before you could finish. "I got bored, and I wanted to."
"Fine, okay... Now come inside, you're gonna burn up out here." You insisted, waving him inside. "I made too much lemonade, you could help me finish it."
You ended up adding some vodka to the remainder of the lemonade and had a drunken movie marathon with Simon, cackling and pointing out the terrible acting until the wee hours of the morning. You sent him off to his side of the house with a kiss on the cheek.
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After a particularly annoying deployment and a mission that had him screaming orders until his voice was gone, Simon came home to find you bringing some groceries inside... A lot of groceries. You must've gone out and done enough shopping for the next two weeks, your back seats were down and your car was filled from front to back with bags and boxes.
After he decided that his muscles could stand to lift a bit more, Simon lumbered over and started unloading while you were inside. When you came back out, you yelped in surprise before realizing who was taking your stuff out. The masked man was not a thief, just your hulking six-foot-whatever neighbor being helpful again.
"Oh goddammit, Riley! You scared the shit out of me!" You said, a laugh escaping you. "Jesus, that mask... Did you seriously drive home in it?" You rarely saw him in the skull mask, he only showed it to you after he mentioned it offhandedly during one of your movie nights.
"One of my mates drove me back," he explained, taking two armfuls of groceries. "But yeah... Wore this the whole drive."
"I don't think I'd be able to focus if my passenger looked like the grim reaper... But that's just me," you joked as you followed him inside with a few more bags. "And your voice sounds... Pony."
Simon gave you a withering side-eye, but he was absolutely grinning under the balaclava. "... Pony?"
"Mmhm... You know... A little hoarse...?" You grinned at your own stupid joke, gently bumping your hip against Simon's as you passed him. "Sorry, I spent too much time with the couple down the road... Goddamn dad jokes. Speaking of which, some shit went down between them and the new neighbors while you were gone."
"Oh? Fill me in," Simon muttered as he helped put some things away. “I gotta hear this shite.”
"I will... But only if you help me with this soup recipe I've been dying to try."
Well... Soup is good for a sore throat... How could Simon say no?
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Flu season was a bitch, but thankfully Simon's immune system is stronger than anything that could attack it. You, on the other hand... You were suffering. You were holed up on your side of the semi-detached house, not coming outside for anything or anyone.
Simon only found out after texting you one night, having not seen you for two whole days... And the intense coughing fits that he could hear through the wall weren't comforting him.
si: You alive over there?
Not even a minute later, you texted back:
🖤: im fine, just running a fever... turns out that it wasn't allergies, just gotta wait it out and stay inside for a few days 💪
si: Did the doc give you a prescription?
🖤: yeah, but I don't think I need it, looked it up and it said I could probably heal naturally... tea with honey and lemon and some painkillers for the headaches are enough, i'll survive lol
si: Pick your prescription up.
You responded with some stupid gif that just said "nuh-uh" and Simon could hear you cackle through the wall... Which was followed by another coughing fit and a pathetic wheeze/whine.
She deserved that one, he thought as he put on his hoodie and gloves.
Simon didn't dignify you with another response. Instead, he drove to the pharmacy for your prescription and picked it up himself. Then, he stopped by your favorite deli to grab a quart of your favorite soup, some orange juice, and cough drops for your poor throat.
He banged on your door a couple of times when he got back and left the bags on the porch before going back over to his door. When you came out seconds later, a plush throw blanket draped around you like a cape, he waved his gloved fingers at you.
"Special delivery for a stubborn woman," he called over the hedge. "I don't know how you survived this long if this is how you handle being sick."
"Hey... I told you I have tea and painkillers," you protested, your voice raspier than usual. "But thanks, Si... Really, thank you."
"You can thank me by getting better soon... Got a deployment coming up, and we still have to finish watching that stupid baking show together."
"We could just watch it at the same time and stay on call–"
"No, it's not the same," Simon insisted impatiently before waving you off. "Now go on, get in there and get better. Take your fucking meds."
Miraculously, you did end up getting better a couple of days before he had to go. Together, you watched the last few episodes on his couch.
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Simon looked out for you however he could. At first, it was just because you were a woman living alone, or just the woman he shared a wall with. Maybe it's because he's a little old-fashioned, or maybe it's because he mentally swore to protect any woman after he couldn't protect his own mother.
But after a while, he genuinely did want to help you because it’s you. You’re funny, too stubborn for your own good, quick as a whip, independent as hell... He had to back off a few times when you were truly adamant on doing something on your own. You never asked him for help, even if you needed it, and he took any opportunity to help you when you'd allow it. Truthfully, you were the one person outside of his job that he grew attached to like this... And probably the only person he felt anything deeper for.
Simon went for daily runs when the weather allowed, and sometimes you'd go for a run a little later in the morning. You'd be waiting at the semi with something light for him to eat and a cup of coffee when he got back, and he did the same for you when you returned. Normally, he got back at 7:30 am or so. You would always come back closer to noon.
So when it was going on 2 pm and you still hadn't returned, Simon was getting antsy. He texted you, but realized you rarely looked at your phone when you were on a run. Tired of peeking out of the window every few minutes, he took to pacing to and from his front door like a caged lion. The only other time you were late was when your mom was in town and you warned Simon beforehand. Hell, if you stopped to see someone you would've shot him a text or called. This was abnormal.
Simon started to consider phoning Price or Gaz to see if either was in the area, give them a description of you so they could keep their eyes peeled. Hell, he’d find a way to get Johnny in on it if he wasn’t in fucking Scotland. But then, your voice rang out from down the sidewalk.
"Babe...! Hey, babe!" You yelled out to him, waving a hand. "I'm back!"
Babe...? You had a lot of nicknames for each other, but 'babe' wasn't one of them. Simon looked at you, and there was a look on your face that he never saw before... And he decided that he never wanted to see it again. It was distress, and the reason for that look could be seen just over your shoulder.
A man who Simon had never seen before was following you, and it looked like he was about to say something but stopped when he saw Simon. When you sped the rest of the way over to Simon, he held his arms out to catch you. His eyes never left the man, even as you clung to him... He could feel you shaking like a leaf, heard the fear in your voice as you whispered to him... And he fucking hated it. Hated that you felt unsafe, hated the man that made you feel this way.
I should tear this bastard a new fucking asshole… If looks could kill, the creep would be vaporized on the spot.
"Si... I've been trying to lose him this whole time... He won't stop," you whispered into his ear before pulling back to look at him. You didn't ask him, not outright, but your eyes begged for help.
Simon gave the man one last glower before he smiled and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Hey, love... I was wondering where you were," he said, loud enough that the creep could hear. "How was the run?"
Your tight smile relaxed a bit as you looked up at him, a shaky exhale leaving you. Instead of answering right away, you tilted your head up to peck Simon on the lips. The simple gesture made his heart leap in his chest and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment... It's not like he hadn't thought of it before, and he wished it was under better circumstances.
"It was fine, but I'm kinda tired now..." You glanced back and saw that the man decided to cross to the other sidewalk. Simon could feel your muscles relax as you turned back to kiss him again, whispering against his lips, "Fuck... Thank you, Si."
"D'you need me to follow him? Report him? Did he–" His words were disrupted yet another kiss, and he almost kissed back but held off, convinced it was just because you thought the guy was still there. "Hey, he's gone..." Simon's face felt like it was on fire... A man like him, reduced to blushing like a schoolboy.
"S-shit, sorry... Uh, we could file a report, sure," you murmured as you leaned back a bit. "And sorry about... That..."
"It's alright. I didn't mind," he reassured you as he gently guided you to his door. "Hell, I think you should've gone harder with the kiss... Really sell it to that fucking weirdo."
A surprised chuckle bubbled out of you and Simon felt a stab of pride to be the one to comfort you. He felt pretty proud of you too, because even though you didn't ask for help verbally... You, the self-reliant woman that you were, still came to him for help.
"You think so?" You asked once you were both inside. "That might be the last I see of that guy, but just in case I have to deal with another... I don’t know, it’s been a while since I really kissed someone, so maybe you could help me…" You trailed off, and Simon pulled you against him again as soon as the door closed.
"Help you...? What're you asking me, love?"
You answered him by pulling him back into a kiss... One that was less chaste than the previous ones, and he kissed back like his life depended on it.
I have a new draft that just has to sit until I get Ghost's speech patterns down again 💔
Also, it's been really hard for me to write silly, love-dovey fanfics bc when I wrote those, I was in love. He'd even wear masks for me. I lost my muse, y'all 😔😭 I stopped so abruptly bc everything fell apart at once. Forgive me for my absence, I hope I'll start to meet expectations again!!
Simon "Ghost" Riley × chubby reader (a hint of smut??)
His eyes widen and darken with love. Not the light, fluffy love. The love that consumes your being. Changes the way you act, the way you think, and the way you treat what's yours.
The dark love that holds possession, obsession, and greed.
"Fuck, luv, that looks like the one. That the one?" You can tell he's not trying to show his bias. But it leeks out in his tone and the way he looks over you like you're a walking sex goddess.
You smile, twirling around in the pretty black dress. "You like it? Do you think it's too much with the heels?"
"Bloody 'ell, I love it. I fuckin love it. It's not too much. Yer never too much. I love how it fits on ya, but I wish it was on the floor 'nd that I was takin off those lacy little panties with my teeth-"
"Simon!" You squeal, slapping at his arm, blushing.
"Wot? Yer mine, it's not like anyone thought we'd be doin anything else tonight."
(This is an unfinished draft I made after I wrote my most popular fic. I don't remember where it was going, but I believe you guys might like this!)
Spencer studies, learns, remembers, and applies that knowledge. It's how he made a living, how he satisfied his brain hunger, and how he handled the overwhelming possibilities of life. But he had no prior knowledge to describe the way you're looking at him.
Your eyes wide with guilt and a different type of saddness. There were arbitrary ways to explain, but it felt deeper. Maybe it was the moment. The shitty light in his apartment. The broken glass on the mirror.
He has told you a million times that he thinks you're beautiful. That every curve and dip felt like warmth welcoming him home. He knows that healing wounds like yours takes time. But it breaks his heart (hypothetically, of course) every time he hears you criticize your body. He wished you could love your body like he does... but oh well, he'll have to assure you again.
"It's actually very common that a skinny man ends up with a thicker woman. Although there's no scientific or studied correlation or reasoning. Actually- I feel like I'm in the position to weigh in. I am very attracted to your body, especially your- oh fuck." That was the first time he's fumbled in the last ten minutes.
He's been skillfully ravaging your insides, hitting every spot that he's learned you love while explaining how you're perfectly good enough scientifically, personally, and historically. After studying every inch of your body. Usually, he was a noisy mess during sex, but he did his best to find his composure in moments like this. You just needed to know how perfect your curves are.
"F-fuck. I love your thighs. The way your pants hug them.... the way they feel when you wrap them around me? It's something like pure bliss. I love your breasts.. the way they sit in the bras.. in the lingerie I buy you? It's almost too good not to take photos of. I like your butt. Really, I love it. The way it moves when you walk.. damn it.. And if I'm being honest, I hate the fact that other people get to look at you...."
He ran his hands down your curves, licking his lips. Sweat drips down his body from the amount of effort he's putting into your body right now. "You're a beautiful, beautiful woman. Scratch the statistics, screw the science. You're the most beautiful woman to me." He pants, "So, we should have beautiful babies, right?"
(I haven't written a fic in FOREVER. I had a soul-shattering breakup, a new mental condition, and a deep depression. I started watching criminal minds and struck inspiration. IM ONLY ON SEASON 3 NO SPOILERS!! And this is just the warm-up!! My breeding kink continues to seep out at the end...)
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You didn't mean to do it. You didn't mean to look for too long. But you're curious, and he's pretty.
He covers his face back up, "One ugly mug, innit?" He says quietly, looking anywhere but you. His fists balled up.
You knew this took a lot from him. It's been a long time since anyone saw his face. It's scarred, covered in long gashes. But he's still pretty. His nose was a little crooked from being broken too many times, long scar cutting through his eyebrow, and burn marks creeping up his chin.
"No! Si, I'm sorry! You're just so.. cute. I think you're cute. I was in awe," You grab his wrists and pull his mask back up. Giving him a soft kiss.
"Don't gotta lie ta me, dove. 'm an ugly bastard. Don't know why a pretty bird like ye gives an ol' dog like me a bone." He tsks.
"I think you're pretty! My pretty boy," You leave soft kisses all over his face.
"Tha right? I've been through 'ell n back, don't think I came back pretty." He rolls his eyes, but he secretly enjoys the attention.
"Do you think I'm pretty? Even though I'm a little big?" You drawl, knowing exactly what you're doing.
"Of course I fuckin do. The prettiest bird in the damn sky. If anythin, yer just small enough not to slip between my fingers." He growls. He hates when you down talk yourself.
"Well, you're the cutest dog at the pound! My pretty boy." You kiss every scar.
A new type of admiration shines in his eyes. He finds a piece of heaven when you praise him and look at him like he hasn't killed more men than you've ever been alone with.
"Think 'm pretty, mm? Like my pretty face? Sit on it."
"Wait- what?"
"You 'eard me." A devilish smile sits on his face.
Next thing you know, you're sitting on his face while he eats you like a man starved. Murmuring praise into your pretty cunt.
Grumbles of "Too pretty fa me," "don't deserve you," "my good girl telling me I'm pretty." "Gorgeous dove," vibrate against your pussy.
He has a death grip on your thighs, keeping you pressed against his face till you be a good girl and cum in his mouth. Once he lifts you up, he licks his lips. "Taste as sweet as you act."
He's gentle as he pulls you onto his cock. Staring up at you hungrily as you take him whole. He pulls you up and down, letting you relax and sit there while he does the work. Though he'll look at you like you've hung the stars.
Well, at least he'll make you see some.
He starts to thrust up into you quickly. Wanting more, wishing he could get deeper. "You really think 'm pretty?" He whispers.
"Yes- oh, yes, Si! My pretty boy," You whine, struggling to think when he's pounding into you how he is.
This time, he fills you up with his cum. "Then we'll 'ave some pretty babes."
(smut drabble?? Ramble? Idk, it doesn't feel like a full fic. I'm literally feral, I've been a bit sick, so better, more poetic stuff when the horrible headaches clear ♡)
Simon didn't do aftersex talks. Hookups stayed that way—In mornings, he stayed silent as they slipped away, finding their things, letting out hushed breaths, exchanging awkward words, and finally the click of the door that announced leaving.
Or sometimes when he could no longer wait for them to leave. He asked rather bluntly if he could drop them home or get them breakfast on their way home.
So it was surprising when he found himself kissing you in the morning dawn, twisting against the sheets, legs all tangled.His mouth endlessly hungry to get as much taste of you—nibling, biting, smiling into the sleep soft skin. Pressing you underneath him as his hips rolled and he fucked you again, the again of many agains.
It's even more surprising when he listened like a scared deer, as you murmured this and that on the small couch snuggled with him. Empty coffee cups and crumb smeared plate on the table. Because he was afraid going out meant losing you—that if he breathed too hard, looked at the door too long, you might remember to leave him.
“So I got it,” you snorted, nose pressed against his naked bicep—“Just to wash my back. God I love burning my money sometimes.”
Simon played with your hair, all messed unlike last nights lustre. He loved this. He loved the sound of your laughter, “I can't reach my back, because...well because.”
You chuckled at him. Ofcourse. Big man.
“I can do it for you.” you said then, “You know what, let's take a bath, I feel like I stink.”
“Ya' smell sexy darling.” Simon said. He wondered if this is what it should be all about.
“Shut up, do you have those all in one like most men?”
—
It turned out Simon actually didn't do things like most men. Like he was honest.
“They were on sale,” he said, a bit nervous to sit naked in the tub. His knees shot up at awkward angles, looking awkward—too big—and he didn't know why he let you see all the pieces. Bedroom naked was different than this. He felt your hands gliding across his shoulders and it made his heart quicken.
What must you see?
Was he ugly? Was he disgusting?
In this bright yellow light you could see him all, his threads, the fading red slashes, some already silver.
You said nothing about it. Later.
“Good deal honey,” you touched the knot at the back of his neck, “And aloevera...smells nice too!”
“I know the place, would get it for you...if ye’ like it.”
“Thanks.” you ran your fingertips there before the soap foamed loofah smeared white in bursting small bubbles. Back and forth as he talked, mostly replied, hesitant, rather fast. Then his shoulders relaxed and words eased into calm.
“L—” he started, “O—”
You grinned. Making V on his soaped back
“V...E.”
“What is it?” you asked, pouring water now and his skin glistened under it. Shoulder balls looking like rubbed orb.
“Love.” Simon said. Wasn't it?
Who would sit here in the water with him and wash his back and speak sweet nothings, if not love.
Cw: dirty talk. Condescending Simon. Soft dom Simon. Reader's a little subby in this. Bit of foreplay and fingering. P in V. Bit of breeding. No protection cus they're married in this.
Consensual because consent is hot.
The fight still clings to the air like smoke. The words you’d thrown at him echo back in your skull.
"Then leave."
"Let's just stop."
"Im tired of having this conversation."
Things you didn’t mean but couldn’t swallow at the time. And Simon, who usually swallows everything, who keeps his temper buried deep under layers of silence and patience, had gone quiet in a way that cut deeper than shouting ever could.
Hours later, that quiet still stretches between you. You’re curled on the bed, facing away, but you can feel him moving behind you, the weight of his stare on your back. Then the mattress dips, the heat of his body at your spine, and before you can think of pushing him off, his arms are around you, iron and tender all at once.
“You don’t get to do that to me,” he rasps into your hair, his breath warm, his chest heavy against your back. “You don’t get to shut me out, lovie. Not you.”
Your pulse stutters. You want to turn, to say you didn’t mean it, but his hands are already on your thighs, dragging them apart with deliberate patience. His knee slides between yours, his chest locking you against him. You end up sitting in his lap, back pressed to his solid chest, legs spread open and helpless.
“I'm not leaving,” he whispers, and the ache beneath his words slices through you. “We're not stopping. Ever.”
His hand skims down your stomach, and then his palm is cupping your cunt, hot and heavy. You shiver. He doesn’t stroke, not yet. Just holds you there, making you squirm in the circle of his arms.
“I'm yours,” he says softly, almost to himself. His fingers lift and land with a gentle slap against your pussy. You gasp, the sting biting into you before the warmth spreads. “..this is how I remind you.”
The sound is filthy, obscene in the quiet of the bedroom. You can already feel how wet you are against his fingers, slick smearing across your skin with every tap. Your breath hitches when he does it again, a little harder, his mouth brushing your ear.
“Count ‘em for me.”
Your voice is thin, trembling. “One.”
His lips press against your neck in reward. Another slap follows, the sting sharper this time.
“Two.”
“That’s it,” he murmurs, one big hand slipping under your shirt to cup your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it hardens. The sweet touch clashes with the rough one, dizzying you.
He keeps going, slow and steady, his cock stiffening against your ass with every whimper he pulls from you. Each slap makes you jolt, thighs twitching, but his legs keep you spread wide. His hand on your breast alternates between kneading and pinching, his mouth trailing kisses and bites down the side of your throat.
By the time you reach seven, your voice breaks on the count. You’re dripping down his hand, the wet sound of his fingers smacking your pussy growing louder.
“Can’t even keep track now, can you?” he hums, amused and cruel and tender all at once. “Then we’ll start over.”
“No...please,” you beg, squirming.
“Shhh,” he croons, kissing your cheek as his palm smacks down again. “You’ll take it. You’ll learn. You’ll be good for me.”
You’re shaking by the time he finally relents, fingers sliding through the mess he’s made of you. His touch turns softer, circling your clit, dipping into your folds, then pulling back to slap again just to make you gasp. He toys with you until you’re writhing in his lap, breasts swollen from his rough hands, neck covered in his marks.
“Look at you,” he growls, grinding his cock against you from behind. “Told me to get out, and now you’re dripping all over my fingers. Must not have meant it, hm?”
“Yes,” you whisper, shame and need tangling.
“Yes what?” His voice sharpens, his fingers pausing just shy of your clit.
“Didn't mean it,” you gasp.
His groan rumbles against your back. “That’s my good girl.”
Two fingers press inside you suddenly, filling you deep. Your cry breaks the air, your walls clenching hard around him. He curls them, finding that spot that makes your thighs twitch helplessly, his thumb rolling over your clit in ruthless circles.
“You’ll come like this first,” he mutters against your ear, his voice low and rough. “Stuffed full of my fingers, sittin’ on my lap, cryin’ for me. Then I’ll fuck you.”
Your hips buck, but he holds you down with one massive hand across your chest, pinning you to him. His other hand works mercilessly between your thighs until the coil snaps. You shatter, clamping around him, soaking his fingers, sobbing his name as he coaxes every drop out of you.
“Good girl,” he soothes, slowing his hand, kissing your temple as you tremble. “But we're not done.”
You barely catch your breath before he shifts you forward, tugging his sweats down. His cock presses hot and heavy against your ass, smearing precum along your skin as he drags it up and down your slit.
“Feel that?” he growls, catching your jaw and turning your face to his. His mouth brushes yours, rough and tender. “That's all fuckin' yours. Gonna stretch you open and remind you who you belong with.”
The blunt head nudges at your entrance, and then he’s easing you down onto him, inch by inch. The stretch burns, makes your eyes flutter shut, but he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your temple, murmuring soft nothings even as he fills you to the hilt.
When he bottoms out, you’re shaking. He keeps you there, cock buried deep, hands on your breasts, squeezing, tugging at your nipples until you whimper.
“Fuck,” he groans, grinding once, making you cry out. “So tight, sweetheart. Gripping me like you’ll never let go.”
Then he moves. Slow thrusts at first, dragging out, pushing back in, every stroke deliberate. His cock splits you wide, the fullness overwhelming, his pace unhurried and merciless. You moan with every roll of his hips, your head falling back against his shoulder.
“That’s it,” he whispers, kissing your throat between words. “Take me deep. Take all of me.”
The sound of wet flesh fills the room, your pussy squelching around him, slick dripping onto his thighs. He presses a hand low on your belly, making you feel how deep he is, his cock hitting places that make your vision blur.
“You love this, don’t you?” His voice cracks as he thrusts harder, deeper. “Love when I ruin you slow.”
“Yes,” you choke out, hips trembling with the force of his thrusts.
“Yes what?” His teeth scrape your neck.
“Yes, I love when you ruin me.”
He groans raggedly, his pace quickening just enough to push you closer to the edge. His fingers circle your clit again, the pressure brutal in its precision. You’re a mess in his lap, moaning, begging, unable to do anything but take it.
“Come on then,” he pants against your ear. “Come on my cock, lovie. Show me you remember.”
The orgasm hits hard and fast, ripping through you like fire. You convulse, clamping down around him, soaking him, screaming his name. He fucks you through it, relentless, his groans breaking against your skin as your walls squeeze him tight.
“Fuck..” he growls, his rhythm faltering. “Gonna fill you up. Take it, sweetheart. Take every drop.”
With a final thrust, he buries himself deep, spilling inside you with a guttural moan. His arms crush you to his chest as he comes, his cock twitching in your still-spasming cunt, heat flooding you.
For a long moment, the room is nothing but ragged breaths and pounding hearts. Then his voice softens, raw and tender, his lips brushing your hairline.
“There’s my girl,” he murmurs.
He doesn’t let go, not right away. He keeps you in his lap, cock still buried inside, rocking you gently as if to soothe you from the storm he’s just dragged you through. His fingers stroke your hair, his mouth presses small, reverent kisses to your temple.
“You’re all I’ve got,” he admits quietly, vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache. “Don’t ever shut me out again. Can’t take it. Not from you.”
Your throat tightens. You twist just enough to kiss him, slow and deep, the kind that says more than any apology could. He kisses you back with everything he has, his hand cradling your face like you might vanish.
When he finally eases you down onto the sheets, covering your body with his, you know the punishment was never about cruelty. It was love, fierce and desperate. A reminder, carved into your body and soul, that you belong to him, and he to you.
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being the new, shy tech for the 141 introduced by laswell, and the boys are already trying to tease you. (18+)
you’re playing a game of truth or dare, taking shots and laughing and trying to relax even though the pub is so loud. it’s a saturday, there’s a footie game on, and you’re just trying to get to know them better.
well, johnny and gaz dare you to ask ghost out. the big brute that’s standing like an awkward statue ordering more drinks at the bar. and there you go, swaying on fawn legs, poking ghost gently in his meaty arm. the boys watch as ghost has to bend down to hear you over the noise, and you stand on your toes, putting your hands on his shoulder and murmuring in his ear.
you disappear with that big giant man’s arm around your waist, and when you come back to the table about twenty minutes later, you’re giggly and a little sweaty and stumbling just a little more. johnny leans over the table, confused.
“what happened? what did he say?”
“huh?” you raise a brow.
“what did he say? when ye asked him out?”
“oh…” you go warm all over, pressing the backs of your hands to your cheeks. “is that…is that what you meant? i couldn’t hear you!”
“what?”
the booth rattles when ghost sits his weight down right beside you, big fingers wrapping around the nape of your neck and curling you up so he can press his forehead to yours. the eye contact is intense, and you break out into another fit of giggles as you stare right back at him.
big, scary bear. adorable giant.
you turn back to johnny, shrugging your shoulders.
“i thought…i thought you said to ask him to eat me out.”
Thanks for all the love on my recent post, any comments, polite criticism, and reblogs are appreciated 🥹 I will write more now, and I am taking requests for TF 141 characters for writing practice! And I am willing to write plus size reader stuff as well.
