ririn after dark

“Are you ugly?”

just a lil sketch of a sleepy guy :3 i feel im always drawn to the sleepy ideas, am i that tired all the time? yes, yes i am. Whos to blame for that? me, only me.

They’re his favorite shorts.

Cotton. Gray. Plain.

Hug your ass perfectly.

Fabric resting just right above the curve of your cheeks, reveals just a little of the mouth-watering skin he wants to sink his teeth into.

He thinks he might’ve been able to control himself, climb into bed next to you, and pull you in his arms instead of defiling you. Sleep the urge away and take you in the morning when you’re proper awake. That would be the right thing to do, let his sweet girl get the rest you deserve.

It’s not his fault, really, not when you’re also wearing his shirt, makes something possessive curl in his chest at the ‘RILEY’ printed in bold on your back.

You’re too tempting for your own good; how is he supposed to let you sleep when you’ve gone and done such a thing?

He runs a calloused hand up your calf, spreading your pretty legs just a smidge more so he can crawl his way between them. The jostling doesn’t wake you, never does, but when his fingers brush against the backs of your thighs, spreading his touch wide over your skin you make a sleepy noise, not quite awake yet.

When his hands find claim to your ass, kneading the supple flesh, he has to physically stifle a groan as he watches the fat give away under his touch. Another noise comes from above him, his greedy hands pulling you closer and closer to clouded consciousness.

You feel it, he’s sure, a slight tickling on the backs of your thighs that doesn’t quite make sense yet, not when you’re still in the tight confines of sleep’s grasps, wound in a thick fog. Must be even more confusing when his thumb dips lower, smears against your cloth covered cunt.

That makes another noise slip past your lips, a little more coherent this time, leisured strokes waking you enough that you shift slightly, fingers tightening in the sheets under you.

“Simon?”

He doesn’t say anything, just presses his thumb a little firmer against your cunt. You buck into the touch, a small patch of the gray fabric staining darker, your arousal seeping through the shorts even through your sleep-fuddled mind. You rustle your cheek against your pillow, blinking bleary-eyed down at him, lids still heavy, drowsy and dazed.

You’re so docile, sleep still weighing your limbs down, that you let him slip your shorts and underwear down your legs without a fight. Your pretty cunt bare to him, drenched and clenching around nothing as he returns home between your thighs again. Eager to be stuffed even when sleep borders your irises.

When his fingers nudge along your wet folds, the noise you make is so pretty, that it makes his cock throb painfully in his boxers.

He finds his fingers in your half asleep cunt more times than not when he comes home late. He can’t help himself, not when you’re so pliant and soft, handing your obedience over to him, and letting him bend you as he pleases. Let him take his time without complaint, work you nice and stretched while you just lay there and take it. Lazily rutting your hips in the sheets, too tired to do anything, but enjoy the stretch.

“Simon?” You whimper again.

“Yeah, baby,” He finally hums, “Jus’ relax f’me, yeah? Jus’ wanna play with her for a bit.”

She talks to him in private and they have a wonderful connection. However, when they’re around anyone else she’s just shy.

Drinks with team? She’s wallowing into Simon’s side with blushed cheeks avoiding soaps million questions.

At the restaurant and they got her order wrong? Don’t worry, Simon’s got this.

Need to make a phone call? Just write it down love, he’s got it.

But in bed? “Let me hear you love” “what was that? You want me to stop?” And that is the last thing you want. “Come on lovie; can’t hear you”“Tell me what you want”

It's so accidentally when you saw his face bare, and he expected some laugh, or nagging, or even a sneer. But you didn't give any off handed remark or say anything, you just left wordlessly — and it's even worse because Simon thought that you thought he's ugly.

Just next day Simon happened to find a box with homemade face mask which smelled heavily of cinnamon and honey, and a small tube with many iupac names all at once.

There was a note as well in your handwriting sticked over the box lid, “20 minutes then tube, for good skin Mr. handsome Riley”

And that's how Simon was found looking for a ring next week.

it's quite simple.

simon comes home from a mission, he's restless, twitching, pacing, can't figure out what to do with his hands.

so what does he do? he knocks on your door, waiting anxiously until you open it and he's scooping you up, hauling you across the hall and into his basically empty apartment, and fucking you into the mattress for the night.

and you're just so good at taking it—whatever he gives you and whenever he gives it. you cry, whine, beg and plead for his cock in all the ways you know how—until you go blue in the face—and simon fucking revels in it. he's all harsh words and degrading names, calling you a filthy slut, his cocksleeve, a fucking cumdump—you name it, he's probably said it.

it's perfect, until it's not.

he's spent months fucking you stupid, night after night. he fucks you even when he's not restless. he fucks you when he's bored, when he's lonely. especially when he's lonely.

simon riley's a gridlocked man. hardly anything ever gets past him, but it didn't take many rendezvous between your thighs for him to forget that.

his mask would come fully off—not just above his lips—and you'd still kiss him breathless, still scream his name until your throat went hoarse. you weren't afraid of everything underneath. if anything, you liked it.

It's not like the both of you frequently exchanged actual conversations, but he could tell by the way you dripped and soaked his sheets even more than you ever had.

after that, he even began to gather enough courtesy to let you get some rest after he fucks you, letting you stay wrapped in his sheets for whatever sliver of the night was left.

you never pushed, and that's what he liked most about you. you always went by his terms because you never really cared as long as you got fucked six ways from sunday.

so, you always left when he woke without a problem. that was the arrangement and you were more than fine with getting a good fuck only a few steps away from your own home.

then even you began to notice the shift.

simon could never fuck you badly, per se. but he began to fuck you more softly. tenderly, as if he was suddenly aware that humans shouldn't be bent in half as long he's had you pinned underneath him in the past. he'll rock his hips into you with similar fervor, but he'd caress you, rather than grab at you. hold your forehead to his, rather than choke you with his thick hands.

then came the praise. god, it's like fucking a completely different man. from one week to the next, you're no longer a slut or a hole, you're pretty girl and angel. it makes your head spin. you try to pinpoint the change and why it happened, but you can't. somehow, you cum twice as hard now.

it all came to an ugly head when he spent the better part of 2 hours between your thighs, moaning and groaning as if you were doing him a service.

now, you weren't going to complain, but love just wasn't in the cards for you right now, and the looks simon was giving you from where he lapped at your cunt were filled with adoration, like he was waiting for you to tell him how good he was doing.

hell, you could see a phantom tail wagging each time his eyes met your own. and after a session that felt more like making love than an explosion of pure lust, you could feel his eyes lingering on you as you slipped your panties back on.

"what?" you hum, not wanting to face him in fear you'd see that godforsaken look in his eyes again.

and you were right, because he's staring at you like he's about to drop to one knee. "nothin'."

you toss your shirt back over your head and steel yourself as you turn to face him.

"simon," you start and he's already hanging on your words, "what's going on with you lately? i don't mean to sound rude but—"

this is it, he thinks. it has to be now, or nothing will change. he's not a religious man, but if he's ever prayed to god for anything, it's for this to become something real.

"'m in love with ya."

one blink, then two. two to three, three to four. you stare at him as you try to piece together what he's saying.

"simon, i don't think you understand—"

"—i do. i do understand and i want ya, bad. so bad, i can't even stop thinkin' bout ya, sweetheart. even when y'not 'ere im thinkin' about ya. everything about y'is perfect, and i don't think i can function without y'with me."

this is the most emotion you've ever seen out of simon and it rocks you to your core. if you didn't know better—and if the lighting wasn't so dim—you'd think he was tearing up.

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ who is it? simon "ghost" riley x you

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ what is it? enemies always fuck better, right? you hate him, or so you thought...

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ cws: unprotected p in v, angry simon turned soft, huge d!ck, knife play kinda? ass play, heavy make out. word count: 2.4k

<3

"what the fuck was that about?"

you stomped into an empty, abandoned conference room and stood at the end of a long table, with one masked man sitting at the other end. your arms crossed themselves across your chest, and you popped a hip out to the side as you waited for his answer.

simon motherfucking riley was your arch nemesis. someone you didn't trust, never agreed with, and certainly never wanted to work with. but the world isn't fair. it keeps spinning even when you despise someone, and captain price couldn't care less about your feelings towards simon when it came to the thousands of lives you were saving every mission.

usually, if you're in a group, you don't dare speak to simon this way. you only nod your head at his commands and walk away, hoping that he's receiving the millions of telepathic "fuck you's" you put out somewhere into the universe. but now, you're alone, and there is no better time than the present to tell your lieutenant off.

"if you need to blow some steam, i suggest going for a few boxing rounds w' soap. he's always looking for-" he paused whatever ministrations he was writing on a file and looked up at you slowly, "an easy opponent."

something about simon or price picking the sleazy, feral party girl as their future wifey. they want to tame you from jäger shots and late nights in sweaty clubs to formula and packing lunches

Silent, angry, impatient, nonchalant ?

That's not him. He'll never be that.

He's pulling out your chair, listening to you talk for hours, even the most mundane things which surpassed over his head.

He's taking yours and his plate, washing them because what ? It hardly ever takes a minute.

He sits next to you, watching the program you like so much. Football can come later, or never, what does it matter against the way you giggles and smack his thigh ?

He comes home with flowers, or ice cream tub, or whatever that you ask for, and don't even ask for. He knows.

He's a man of action, if the shelf is too small to cater all your books then the man would be sweating in the shed cutting wood planks and making you the most brilliant shelf, because he would rather die a million times then ever tell you something like, ‘read less, woman’

He meets your family, loves them in his own way, it's okay if he personally doesn't light up the room with his pun or taking cue, but the simple gesture of fixing your mother's old car, and oiling the hinges of door, wordlessly, is everything.

Ignoring children ? No. He picks up the crying child and coddles them so, while you are busy with your own work, or just napping. He shows them the plants and sky and moving clouds, tells them how you are so precious and beautiful and the best person in the whole world.

He's not his father, and seeing your eyes twinkling at him is an everyday reminder.

When Simon kissed you goodbye and watched you excitedly rush to your friend’s car, he already knew that at some point that evening, he’d get a call from a fairly drunk you. What he didn’t expect though, was for that call to come from inside the police station.

“Simon? Simon, can you hear-,” your drunken giggles interrupted you. “me?” Little did you know that when he heard the typical “This is a call from xy police station. Do you accept the call?”, he had already put on his shoes and collected his car keys, rushing out of the house and to his truck.

“I can hear you love.” Your still joyful demeanor reassured him, but he still worried. “Are you okay? What happened?” In the background, he could hear the voices of you girlfriends, who sounded just as smashed as you. Another one of your giggles sounded through the phone, as you lowered your voice, trying to whisper, but it was pretty obvious that you were still loud enough to be heard. “I think-,” this time it was a hiccup that interrupted you. “-I think I did something bad.” Usually, Simon’s mind would immediately go to worst-case scenario, but you still sounded happy, so he managed to stay calm. Instead of panicking, he started the car and put you on speaker, pulling out of the driveway to make his way to the police station.

“I’ll be there in five, pretty. Can you wait for me?” You sighed happily, and he could almost picture you leaning against the wall and twirling your hair. “Oh Si, I’d wait forever for you.” He chuckled, and signed off with a quick ‘I love you’, before hanging up. Three minutes later, he walked into the brightly lit building and up to the front desk, seeing a familiar cop. As soon as Matt saw Simon, he just chuckled.

“Assumed she was yours. Kept talking about her big, scary boyfriend.” Simon chuckled as he shook his mate's hand. “How bad is it?” Matt shrugged and grabbed some keys leading Simon to the cells. “Just some public disturbance.” Simon nodded. “Charges?” “Nah. Mainly picked them up to keep them from getting into real trouble.”

The moment you saw Simon walking toward you, you squealed and thrust your arms through the bars. “Siiiiiiimooooon!” The blonde could only roll his eyes with a smile as he watched you, impatiently waiting for Matt to open the door, before you rushed into your boyfriend’s arms. He pulled you in tightly, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. After a moment, you glanced up at him, a pout on your lips.

“What’s got you pouting, pretty?” You turned and glared at Matt. “He took my tequila.” Matt raised his hands with a grin, shrugging before waving you two to follow him. “Well, we got more tequila at home.” Again you squealed, overjoyed that your drunken evening wasn’t over just yet, but when Matt turned to look at Simon with a raised eyebrow, the blonde just mouthed back ‘water’. The cop nodded with a grin, handing you a form, which you quickly signed before he handed over your personal items and bid you a good night.

As soon as you left the building, you rushed out ahead, leading to Simon quickly catching up and wrapping an arm tightly around your waist. He stirred you to his truck and quickly buckled you in, before jumping in the driver’s seat and pulling away.

“So…what did you do?” He swatted at your hand as you tried to turn up the volume of the radio. You pouted again, before sitting up straight, raising your hand and grinning at him. “I plead the fifth!” Simon chuckled, glancing at you, before focusing back on the road. “You’re in Britain, love. There ain’t no fifth.” Immediately, you slouched back down, glaring at the road. “Well, that’s bullshit.”

Before you knew it, Simon pulled into the driveway and helped you out of the car before gently leading you inside. You immediately tried to rush to the alcohol cabinet, but before you could, Simon pushed you to the bedroom. “But my tequilaaaa.” He pushed you until you sat down on the bed. “You change into your pjs and I’ll get you some tequila, okay?” You grinned and nodded, and Simon left the room, quickly filling a glass with water. On his way back, he picked up a bucket and some pain meds, planning to leave them on your nightstand.

But when he entered the bedroom again, he found you, half changed, and asleep. Still smiling, he sighed before putting everything down on your side of the bed. As gently as he could, he quickly changed you and wiped off your makeup, making sure you were as comfortable as possible, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Sleep tight, love.”

john who plucks out the lonely girl in the corner of the pub, abandoned by all of her mates to get chatted up by the blokes inside. someone has to stay by the table and look after the coats and bags

and he could tell she was an insecure wreck just from looking at her, constantly fidgeting and pretending to busy yourself at the empty table. picking up your phone, scrolling for two seconds and then putting it back down. rinse, repeat, etc

but god, you were gonna be a challenge. good thing he’s always up for one. always happy to take in another lonely stray

she doesn’t make eye contact with him, ever. nor does she ever reach to touch him. in fact, she apologises whenever she accidentally brushes him. looks embarrassed every time she gives some lame response to his smooth line

and the second one of your friends comes back to the table, you move away. as if you’re some warm-up act before the main performance. and that just won’t do one bit

you watch him as he follows your friend to the bar, chatting to her before making his way back with two drinks but instead of cozying up to her the way you expect him to, he slides the drink in front of you and makes himself comfortable in the tight booth. leaving you trapped between his musky scent and peeling wallpaper decorating the wall,

“there y’go, pretty. carry on tellin’ me about yourself…”

and for once, you actually hold his gaze for a few seconds, stunned. before inevitably shrinking back into yourself, slowly reaching for the glass like he might be pulling some kind of joke on you

“Lass can’t forget you if she’s knocked up with your baby,” Soap had muttered with a lopsided grin, slurring just enough to make Simon dismiss it at first.

At first.

Simon knew you’d never forget him, no matter how long he was deployed. He trusted you, loved you in ways he couldn’t always put into words. But once the thought was planted, he couldn’t forget it. Maybe deep down it was the fear you’d leave or just the desire to know that you were fully his, round with his child, but whatever it was, when he got notified of an upcoming assignment, he knew he was gonna damn well try.

Which is how you ended up here now, pressed into the mattress beneath him, his broad chest blanketing your back as his lips dragged heatedly along your neck. He reaches around, pulling your body up enough for you to stabilise yourself as he roughly palms your breasts, tweaking your nipples between his fingers as he continues to rut against you.

He's been at it for hours, fucking you with a relentless intensity, determined to fill you with every drop of his cum before he leaves. You’ve lost count at this point, never knowing he could go for so many repeated rounds but you certainly know it now as you feel his cum run down your thighs, the squelching noise every time he fucks back into you, a combination of your arousal and how many loads he’s given you so far tonight.

"Fuuck-" he groans, his voice low and gravelly with desire. "Gonna knock you up so good. Gonna make sure you're round with my baby by the time I get back."

He pulls out, his cock sliding from your well-fucked hole 

He stares down at your pussy, mesmerised by the sight of it dripping with his cum. He leans down, his face mere inches from it as his heated breath ghosts your folds. He watches, transfixed, as another thick spurt of his previous load oozes out of you.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, his breath hot against your skin. "Look at that. Look at what you do to me."

He reaches out, his fingers gently parting your swollen lips to get a better look. He teases your entrance, circling it slowly before scooping up some of the cum that's leaking out and guiding it back in with his middle and ring finger.

He pushes his fingers deeper, scissoring them to work his own cum back inside you. He wants to make sure every last drop takes.

"Gonna plug you up-" he growls, his voice rough with lust. "Keep you nice and full of me.”

He withdraws them, glistening with the thick, pearly fluid before bringing them up to your mouth, pressing his fingers against your lips.

"Go on-" he purrs as he slowly pushes his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck them clean. You can taste the saltiness of his cum mixed with the musky scent of your arousal. It's a heady combination that makes your head spin.

"Good girl," he praises, his voice rough with approval. "Such a good girl for me."

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, only to bring them back down to your pussy. He circles your clit with them, the slickness of his cum providing the perfect lubrication before he gestures for you to roll onto your back.

He straightens back up as he slides the head of his aching cock through your folds, nudging the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with shallow thrusts that do nothing to satisfy the ache inside you.

"Y’not going anywhere," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion. "Not after this- fuck -you’re not leaving me…You can’t–”

You could hear the subtle desperation in his words, a fear that you'd abandon him. He needed to know that you would be here, waiting for him, even when he was deployed.

He kisses desperately, trying to put every fiber of his being into this kiss, hoping to portray even a fraction of the strong love he felt for you. His hips start to move again, his cock sliding into you with a groan. He sets a slow, deep pace, each thrust deliberate and purposeful as he works himself in and out of you.

"Fuck, I love you," he grunts, the words torn from him. "Love you so fucking much…You're my everything, I swear I’ll never let you down-"

He wraps his arms around you, holding you as close as possible, fingers digging into your flesh as he impales you on his thick cock over and over again.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his forehead pressed against yours. "So fucking tight and wet for me. Always so ready for my cock, god you’re perfect-."

He adjusts his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts so that he's hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. Your back arches off the bed as your nails rake down his back and you moan wantonly.

"That's it, baby," he coaxes, his voice husky with desire. "Gonna' fill you up so good. Gotta make sure it takes before I leave-

His hips piston faster, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. He's getting close, you can tell by the way his muscles tense, the way his breath comes in short, sharp gasps.

"Gonna cum," he grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Shit- fuck-”

He buries himself to the hilt, incoherent mutterings rolling off his tongue as his cock pulses, filling you with another thick load. He bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans as you feel it, hot and heavy, painting your insides white. He collapses on top of you, all his weight heavy upon you, though you don't mind at all, arms wrapping tightly about him.

He stays buried inside of you, his now softening cock still buried deep within you. He rests his forehead against yours as his breath comes in short pants, trying to catch his breath.

"I meant what I said, you know…gonna' make you mine in every way possible," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he lifts some of his weight off of you. "Want you to have my baby- And when I come back, I'm gonna marry you because I’m completely yours and I want you to be fully mine, officially."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

reblogsノcomments are greatly appreciated <3

“Si…”

“Shh baby, trying to watch.”

It becomes too much and you remove his hands so you can watch the movie too. Until one of his hands finds it way under the waistband of your shorts. He’s just absentmindedly playing with your clit. Rubbing smooth circles…

You’re getting so horny. You just can’t take it and you snap.

“Stop! If you’re not going to do anything, just stop!”

His attention is now all on you with a shocked look on his face. He moves too quick for you to protest as one hand removes your shorts all together and then both hands rest on the inside of your thighs holding you wide open.

“Mmm. You can be frustrated. But is yelling how we communicate?”

You shake your head and yelp as a sharp smack lands right on your already soaked pussy.

“Is that how we communicate?”

“No…”

You voice comes out so weak compared to your previous outburst.

“I’m trying to watch a movie, lovie. So you’re going to sit here while I watch my movie. And anytime you disrupt me with a sound or squirming, you know what to expect.”

You simply nod and squeeze his arm tight with one hand. Eveything is going great… until one hand finds your tits and the other finds your clit. He’s just touching you so softly, giving you no pleasure. You let out a small frustrated sigh and are quickly met with another slap to your pussy.

“Shhh…”

It’s almost humiliating how casual this is for him while you’re absolutely soaked and frustrated beyond measure. How he can still be engrossed in the movie and you can focus on anything but his touch.

This continues for what feels like hours. His absentminded touch, your disgruntled displeasure, his harsh spank to your already swollen clit… the cycle repeats… the whole movie…