#simon fluff

Simon had of course been awake as long as you had, never leaving your side for a single moment, but nearly half of his job entailed having to stay awake longer than most people did, so you didn’t blink twice at him holding the pen

Besides, you were a tad preoccupied holding the baby, it only made sense that Simon got to write down his firstborn son’s name on the birth certificate

You weren’t thinking about how blurry his eyes would’ve been with tears however, or how his own immense emotional rollercoaster would have been starting to letdown, not to mention how he could hardly take his eyes off the sight of the love of his life holding the brand new life the two of you had created, together

You definitely didn’t catch the odd look on the nurses face when she read over the paper, clarifying softly with Simon “H-his name is Riley, sir?” to which he’d proudly puffed his chest and confirmed that he was indeed a Riley, neither of you thinking much about the comment as you were so lost in the haze of soaking in your newborn

Needless to say, it’s a surprise to both you and Simon, when the birth certificate is mailed to you both a few weeks later, with the name “Riley Riley” clearly written in bold

“I- admit tha’ I didn’t read it over very well, but-”

“No, you named our child Riley Riley, Simon. You can explain to me how it happened after you go fix it.”

18+ only / all characters are 18+. corruption kink. tummy bulge. squirting. previous. | masterlist.

Simon Riley who says 'sorry' over and over while fucking innocent!reader, as though a crime were taking place as he hovers over your body.

It certainly feels like one: his big, bearish hands pinning your knees open while he carves inside of you with his mean, girthy dick, and a pair of adoring, wet eyes staring back at him making his chest pinch with guilt—and yet, makes his cockhead leak precum. This is an atrocity. Milky moonlit rays cloak the bedroom in a weak glow that don't quite reach his hulking, shadowy silhouette atop of you; a beast poised to strike. I'm sorry, he says at the ladylike bashfulness written across your face, at the panic that slowly but surely descends upon it when you realize that the danger your family tells you to steer clear of has already made its way to you, your breath growing short as you tussle with him shyly. Fruitlessly. You're powerless to stop him, and you think blissfully that that absolves you of responsibility for breaking your parents' rules.

'Sorry, sweetheart, I couldn't help myself,' he breathes out shakily, hardly able to look—at the naked expanse of your skin right beneath his fingertips, far too pristine for the likes of him. But he does look. He looks, morals be damned, with the hunger of a starved man. Nothing more, nothing less, because flowery words or elaborate metaphors aren't quite apt for a feeling so simple-minded and unembellished—so base as the appetite you stir within him.

He feels the bulge rise under his palm as he bottoms out, watches the outline of his dick through your soft belly in twisted fascination. It feels like going to the moon and staking a flag. It feels like he's taken estate over you, within you, squeezing his body into the tight space. Forcing it to fit. He wants to make a home right here, where his palm presses down upon, making your shaky thighs squeeze around him. Quivers going through your legs like a bowstring—the tension snapping in a messy release that sprays the sheets under your hips, trickling down your inner thighs. The embarrassment in your cherubic face does little to deter him, his palm steady in place as you feel his shaft sawing inside you, curved and thick. It feels like he's molding you to his cock; he feels like you're milking him.

Apologizing doesn't make him a better man by any means. It speaks less of a moral man than of a sick pervert who merely can't control himself. (A victim of his own desires, that’s all. There’s even a kind of indulgence in the effort—like a masturbatory pat on the back, that he tried and failed, sadly, to stay away from the pretty little thing—her, sweet and ruinous—)

He's sorry, he says, and the wrongness of it makes his dick even harder. If he had nothing to be sorry for, perhaps it wouldn't feel quite as transfixing.

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dominant!simon 'ghost' riley who grabs you and pulls you in tight behind cover when things go wrong, one arm locked around you, solid and immovable. which is often and he never fails every. single. time.

dominant!simon “ghost” riley who mutters against your ear, calm even then— “stay put. don’t make me come looking for you.”

dominant!simon 'ghost' riley who lingers for a second after the danger passes, like he’s checking you’re still there, still steady because he'd rather die then let you die because he was too lazy to double-check.

dominant!simon 'ghost' riley who does not like to be ignored, especially by you, and always makes sure to get your attention in whatever way possible if you don't give him it.

dominant!simon 'ghost' riley who notices when you’re nervous, when your pulse picks up, when your breath catches and adjusts accordingly, either easing off or leaning in depending on exactly what he wants.

dominant!simon 'ghost' riley who always checks you after—subtle, quiet, a hand lingering a second longer, eyes scanning your face to make sure you’re okay—even if he never says it out loud.

dominant!simon 'ghost' riley who pulls you back with a hand around your wrist when you drift too far, grip firm but measured, thumb pressing just enough to remind you where your place is — here. by my side.

dominant!simon 'ghost' riley who positions himself between you and other people without even realising he’s doing it, body blocking, presence heavy, like no one gets too close unless he allows it.

cockwarming with owner!simon and kitten hybrid!reader

the apartment was silent except for the movie playing in the background. you were curled up in simon’s lap on the sofa.

“that’s it, sweet girl,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble you felt deep in your chest. “just relax for me.”

you nuzzled your face into the column of his throat as a soft purr erupted in your chest. his other hand stroked from the base of one of your ears all the way down to the tip, making you shiver. you felt yourself nearly dose off from how relaxed your body had become under his gentle touch.

you felt him shift beneath you, a subtle movement. then, there was a new pressure of his cock at your entrance. you stilled, your purring stuttering to a halt. your head tilted, eyes wide and questioning as you looked up at him.

“shhh, kitten,” he soothed, his thumb stroking your cheek. “just makin’ you feel good.”

he pushed in until he was fully seated inside you. you let out a tiny, breathy sound, your body stretching to accommodate his girth. but he didn't move, his hips remained entirely still.

you wiggled your hips, trying to entice him to move. you heard him groan behind you as his hands flew to your hips forcing you still.

“no,” he grunted, the word harsh but his touch firm. “no, sweetheart. don’t move.”

you whimpered, frustrated. you needed to move. you needed to feel him.

“i know,” he breathed, his forehead dropping to yours. his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide from lust. “i know you want to, you perfect little thing. but we were gonna stay just like this. i want to feel this sweet cunt just… holdin’ me. savorin’ you.”

at first, it was just the feeling of being impossibly full. but then, the heat began to build. a warmth that started deep in your core and began to spread. your cunt fluttered around him and you made another soft sound, this one needier.

“there it is,” he praised, his voice thick. “there is that pretty cunt wakin’ up for me. fuck, kitten, you feel that? you are gettin’ all hot and soft for me, aren’t you?”

you could only nod, your breath coming in little pants now. every clench of your walls was amplified. you could feel the veins of his cock pulsing against your walls.

“gonna make a mess, aren’t you?” he rasped, his breath tickling your ears. “gonna soak my cock just from sittin’ on it? you desperate little thing. your cunt is twitchin’ like a heartbeat. fuckin’ adorable.”

his dirty talk shouldn’t have made you clench harder, but it did. a fresh wave of slickness coated him.

he shifted his hands, gripping your thighs. “let’s see you, baby. let me see what you are doin’ to me.”

he spread your legs wider, opening you up. the cool air hit your wet, swollen cunt and you jolted. he looked down to where his cock met your now drooling cunt.

“fuck. look at that. your pretty little cunt is poutin’ for me, all pink and soaked, stretched tight around my cock. it is the most adorable fucking thing i’d ever seen. made just for me, isn’t it?”

you were trembling now, your cunt a twitching and dripping mess around his pulsing cock. you felt tears pricking the corner of your eyes as he gave you a shallow, experimental thrust.

“that’s it, kitten,” he growled, thrusting up into your needy cunt. “now you are ready for me.”

find more of this adorable duo here!

you’re twisting and turning in bed while simon patiently waits for you to find a resting position. by the end of it, you end up laying across him with your head resting on his thigh, arms wrapping around the thick muscle.

“settled?” he’ll ask, eyes half-lidded as he fights sleep long enough for you to answer. you hum, nuzzling your face against his outer thigh and squeezing tighter.

maybe his hand is planted firmly on your own thigh that is currently sprawled across his waist, rubbing soothing circles into your flesh.

the next morning, he wakes to you laying on your back with an arm and a leg hanging overboard. through bleary eyes, he’ll pull you back and trap you against his chest for a few hours since he didn’t get to last night.

Afternoon naps — Sleepy! Reader x Simon

Just thinking about how Simon was never the type of person who could take random naps through the day— until you.

You’d dragged him with you to take your daily nap in your soft, cozy, comfortable, pink, nest look like bed, changing into your, it was his but you claimed it has yours now, oversized shirt and some comfy panties. He’d just take his shirt and socks off because he just knew he was going to get a little hot when you’d wrap him up in your cozy pink blankies.

At first, he would fight you a little, stubborn man and his own little way to make you know he really wanted it but wasn’t sure, to then give up and let you prepare him for the nap. He’d tell himself he just wanted to for you to take your nap in peace and then when you’d fall asleep he could just get up do his own thing.

Of course that was not the case.

He’d end up taking one of the best naps he have ever taken in his life, and your would just look at him with a soft smile knowing that he needed it just like you did

It became a thing of you two, a routine where you’d just give him a kiss and a little tug on his shirt and he knew it was time to take a nap of the day.

it’s close to one in the morning when the front door shuts.

you’re already in bed, lights off, curled on your side with the blanket pulled up to your shoulders. the house is quiet except for the low creak of floorboards under his weight—those slow, careful steps he only makes when he’s trying not to wake you.

he doesn’t turn on the light. you hear the muted clink of his watch landing on the nightstand, the low scrape of fabric as he pulls his shirt over his head. his breathing is even, but there’s something in it—a heaviness, like the day’s still clinging to his ribs.

the mattress dips when he sits down beside you. for a moment, you think he’s just going to leave it at that: a soft kiss to your temple, his fingertips brushing a stray piece of hair from your face.

but then he shifts. slides down slowly, easing himself flat on his stomach beside you until his face is level with your small bump.

his hand comes first—warm, steady—resting just above your navel. his thumb traces lazy, almost unconscious arcs against the thin cotton of your sleep shirt.

he breathes in. holds it.

“hey, little one,” he murmurs, voice low, almost shy. “it’s your dad.”

the words feel heavier than they should, like he’s not used to hearing himself say them.

“i don’t know if you can hear me yet. or if you’ll even care, later. but… i figure i should start somewhere.” his head tips forward slightly, forehead brushing your stomach. “i’m not good at this. talking. and i wasn’t supposed to be a dad. me and your mum… we didn’t think it was for us.”

his palm spreads wider, protective, almost possessive.

“then she told me about you, and—” he breaks off with a short exhale. “—and suddenly it’s all i can think about. you. her. what it’s gonna take to keep you both safe.”

his voice hardens for a moment, just enough to hear the soldier in him. “there’s a lot out there i don’t want anywhere near you. things i’ve done, things i’ve seen. they stay with me, but they won’t touch you. not while i’ve got breath in me.”

he pauses, long enough for the quiet to fill in.

“truth is, i’m scared.” the admission is almost a whisper. “scared i won’t be enough. scared i’ll go out there one day and… not come back.”

his breathing stutters—just slightly—and you feel the first warm drop of a tear sink through the fabric into your skin. then another.

“but i’ll try,” he says, voice breaking soft. “every time. i’ll come home. i’ll be here.”

he leans in, pressing his lips to the curve of your stomach. it’s not just a kiss—it lingers, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of it.

“love you,” he whispers. “both of you.”

when he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. he pushes himself up the bed again, curling in behind you, one arm sliding snugly around your waist. his hand comes to rest over your stomach, warm and grounding.

you keep your breathing even, eyes closed, letting him believe you’re still asleep.

and he's GONE.

but the thing is. he wouldn’t know what to do with it?? He's never felt this way.. never been in love .like he’d literally take a bullet for you without blinking but god forbid you ask him how he feels. this man would freeze like you short circuited something inside him.

he grew up with so much fear and violence and hurt that he's terrified of hurting you.he's terrified of doing something wrong and pushing u away. hes always soft and awkward when he's with you. As if he doesn't know how to actually act around you.

meanwhile you're just sitting there like "i brought you tea" and he’s ready to cry

he’d love every soft part of you without ever saying it. like you'd complain about your stomach or your thighs and he’d just get so quiet and then mutter "don't say that, ya look gorgeous" it's so soft you almost didn't hear it.

he wouldn’t be good at romance. but he'd remember your favorite snack. he’d let you sit on his lap even if he pretends not to care. he’d press his forehead against yours in the dark, no words, just breathing. hes always protective like that man ain't playing about you.