#simon ghost fluff

Simon had learned over the years to keep his voice down during sex—finding it embarrassing that a hulking man like him would whine like a bitch during sex.

Foolishly, he didn't change his habit when he got with you. Believing the quiet grunts he would allow to be enough for you. Like the other women he'd been with.

God, it was pissing you off.

He didn't account for the fact you'd lost most of your hearing. You never wore your hearing aids during sex because the itch of them wouldn't allow you to concentrate.

Simon was a fantastic lover—gave you exactly what you needed, had you coming until you couldn't fucking think anymore. But he just wouldn't make any sound. You know you should've been used to guys not making sounds by now at your big grown age, though you got your hopes up with Simon.

Simon was holding back his moans as he fucked into your perfect pussy, thrusting at that perfect angle that made you keen—Only allowing quiet masculine sounds to rumble from his chest.

But you finally had enough of seeing his mouth part, while being unable to hear anything.

"Simon," you pant, grabbing his jaw roughly "fucking moan, goddammit. I can't fucking hear you."

Simon stilled, looking down at you with flushed cheeks. "Y'sure? Didn't think women liked I' when a man makes noise."

"Need to hear you." you whispered, grinding your hips upwards impatiently.

Simon finally broke down that wall in his mind, leaning down to your good ear and letting out a loud groan, thrusting frantically. His big meaty paws clawing at you.

"Fuck!" Simon babbled "Feels so good, so tight. So so so tight."

You gasp at how loud he was being—getting what you always wanted from a lover.

"y'don't get it. Wanna be inside you all the time. Just wanna fill you over and over and over." He groaned, his hips becoming erratic and needy as he brings a hand to your clit—desperate to get you off before he came himself.

Your nails clawed down his muscular back, leaving red streaks in their wake. But the unrestrained whimper Simon let out in response?

You were coming with a squeal, locking your legs around his hips as he fucked his come inside you.

"Don't" you pant "You ever hold those sounds back again."

Simon huffed, wrapping his arms around you. "'s embarrassing, love."

"I just came harder than I ever have in my life, you can handle some embarrassment."

You stash the fact Simons softening cock twitched inside you at the thought of being embarrassed for later. Fucking pathetic thing, your boyfriend.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

when you first moved in, you were wary of the big, brute of a man that lived next door. you'd seen him, for the first time, taking his trash to the end of his driveway for the garbage truck to pick up while movers lugged boxes and furniture inside your house. he spared a single glance, offering a nod at your small wave before retreating into his house.

you thought that was that.

for weeks, you lived without any interaction. settling into your new home, coming back and forth between the hardware store and your house for new projects. taking out your trash before you go to work. you'd seen him take out his own trash once, but you watched from your window, so he never noticed.

you felt weird doing it. watching the thick muscles of his biceps flex against his filled out sleeve, dusting his veiny hands on his jeans before adjusting his balaclava. you wondered why he wore it, but you moved on. you'd likely never interact.

until a couple weeks later, you had arrived home with new groceries. a lot of them. it would take multiple trips that would make your arms ache.

you barely opened your trunk when a dark mass appaeared at your side. you gasp in surprise, head craning. damn, he was taller than you thought.

without a word, he reached in and grabbed at least ten grocery bags with ease. it didn't even seen to bother him as he carried it into your garage and to the door. he didn't struggle to open the door, inviting himself in and leaving you dumbfounded.

what the hell?

the next time his weird behavior manifested was when you were at work. you got a notification from your doorbell camera about some movement, expecting a salesperson or jehovah's witness. instead it was your neighbor—the one who's name you still don't have.

he carried a tackle box, and you were about to speak to ask what he was doing when something compelled you to just watch. he seemed to take apart something on your porch, taking and replacing a piece of the light before screwing it back. he left without a word.

when you got home, your porch lights shined brighter than before—they were dim and on the verge of burning out. why would he do that?

you wanted to confront him, but you appreciated these small things. he still appeared out of thing air to take your groceries in, leaving before you could thank him.

he even started pulling out your bin for you, sitting it at the end of the driveway and dragging it back to the garage when the truck came by.

it perplexed you. why was he doing this for you? did he do it for his other neighbors? he had to, you couldn't be that special.

so you continued living life, welcoming the small actions as they made everything easier. besides, you enjoyed the company, even if he never said a word to you or looked in your direction.

the first time you approached him was on the drive home when a light appeared on your car's dashboard. you had no clue what it meant, though you probably should've. when you arrived home, you debated taking it straight to the autoshop, but instead you tried your luck with your neighbor. he likes to help, so you're guessing he wouldn't mind.

with a soft knock to his front door, you stood waiting patiently, and wait you did. a few minutes later, you contemplated turning back because he wasn't answering the door despite being home (his car was in the driveway).

just as you turned, the front door creaked open, revealing your neighbor clad in nothing but a white towel around his waist, balaclava shoved on haphazardly. his chest glistened with water as it glifed down his skin. oh fuck.

you could barely keep your eyes off his toned chest, abs flexing under your gaze before they snapped back to meet his dark ones. he lifted his brow in question.

"uh, hi." you said awkwardly, rocking on your feet. you hadn't even properly introduced yourself to the man, mostly because he disappeared so quick that you didn't have the chance. "a light came on in my car, and I was wondering—"

the door shut mid-sentence. it left you dumbfounded, mouth hanging open in shock as you stare at the door like it may open again. maybe his generous actions ended at bringing the groceries in. maybe he didn't want to get dirty after just showering. you couldn't expect the man to be ready to help any time you needed it.

after a minute of contemplation, you turned to walk back down the path. you'd have to get it to the mechanics and figured out how much it'd cost you.

when you reached the last step, the door opened again. still shirtless but now looping a belt around his jeans, he walked out, bare feet padding on the concrete. he nodded to your house, signaling you to lead.

you lead him back, hand him your keys and let him do his thing because now you get a free show. his muscles flex as he works under the hood, dirtying himself in a way that's sinful. after a while working in the hot sun, you go inside and bring back a drink, which he gratefully accepts—still without saying anything.

he's a bit weird, refusing to talk to you, but he's fixing your car so you can't complain.

"is this your official uniform to fix all your single neighbor's cars?" the words slip out before you can stop them. mortification warms your face, but it forces a deep chuckle from your neighbor, whose eyes crinkle under his mask.

he glances up at you, dirt smearing his skin. "only the pret'y ones."

your heart flutters. his voice was deep, gruff, like he smoked cigarettes, but it was satisfying to hear.

"so you do talk." you tease whilst biting back a smile. you'd finally gotten words out of him. a small victory. "what's your name?"

"simon."

"really? you look like a greg."

he shakes his head with a smile and continues working, leaving the two of you in silence. what you don't know is that simon's heart is nearly pounding out of his chest. it's beating so hard, he's worried he'll break a rib.

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

Simon Riley was a terrifying man to most people.

Six foot somethin’, broad as a doorframe, tattooed arms, permanent frown carved into his face like stone. The kind of man who could walk into a room and make conversations die mid-sentence.

Which was exactly why the bright pink lunchbox sitting on the briefing table looked so absurd.

Soap stared at it.

Then at Simon.

Then back at the lunchbox covered in tiny white hearts.

“…That yours, LT?”

Simon didn’t even glance up from cleaning his sidearm. “Obviously.”

Gaz coughed into his fist to hide a laugh. Price suddenly found the paperwork in his hands very interesting. Soap, unfortunately, feared nothing.

“Christ alive.” he muttered, lifting the lunchbox by two fingers. “It’s got a bow on it.”

Simon’s eyes lifted slowly.

Dangerously.

Soap set it back down immediately. The room went quiet for all of three seconds before Gaz spotted the sticky note attached to the handle.

Pink ink. Curly handwriting.

Don’t forget to actually eat today. I mean it!— ♡

There was even a lipstick kiss pressed onto the corner. Soap made a strangled noise. “SHE LEFT YE A WEE KISS MARK.”

Simon took the note off carefully before Soap could touch it with his grubby hands. He folded it once and tucked it into the pocket of his vest with complete seriousness, like it was something precious.

Because it was.

“You keep those?” Gaz asked before he could stop himself. Simon gave him a look that practically said watch your mouth.

“Aye.”

The boys exchanged glances.

Not because Simon had a partner. They all knew that. And not because Simon was soft with you. They knew that too. It was the fact he never acted embarrassed about it.

Ever.

Didn’t hide the matching pink phone charger you bought him because he “always stole yours anyway.” Didn’t complain when you painted tiny strawberries on his phone case. Didn’t care that his keys now had fluffy pink pompoms hanging off them because you’d smiled so proudly while showing him. The man simply accepted every little piece of you with both hands.

Like loving you loudly was the easiest thing in the world.

Later that afternoon, Simon finally opened the lunchbox during break. Inside was organized chaos. Pink Tupperware containers stacked perfectly. Heart-shaped strawberries. A sandwich cut neatly in half. Little notes tucked everywhere.

One on the drink—

Hydrate or I’ll become evil.

One on the fruit—

You’re handsome. That’s unrelated, I just thought you should know.

And one folded beneath the sandwich.

Simon opened it quietly.

Miss you already. Come home safe so I can kiss you properly instead of leaving lipstick on paper.

His eyes softened instantly.

Not dramatic.

Not obvious.

Just enough that Price noticed from across the room and looked away to give the man some privacy. Soap, however, leaned over his shoulder with zero survival instinct.

“Awwww—”

Simon shoved him back without heat.

“Piss off.”

But there was no bite to it.

Soap grinned. “Ye love that shite.”

Simon took another bite of his sandwich.

“Aye.” he answered simply.

No hesitation.

No shame.

Just certainty.

Because you loved pink things. Cute things. Soft things.

And Simon loved you.

Which meant he loved those things too.

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

You did your best to fill it.

Books, music, little cleaning spurts that turned into reorganizing entire shelves, and, most often lately, cooking. Cooking helped. It gave your hands something to do and your mind something to focus on. It was soothing, for the most part, until you made something you knew Simon would have loved, and there was no one there to tease, taste, or steal the first bite.

Still, tonight’s recipe had gone well. The kitchen smelled warm and rich, all garlic and herbs and something sweet lingering underneath. You stood there with a plate in one hand, ready to finally serve, when you heard it.

A shuffle. Then a low groan from the front door.

Your whole body went rigid.

Simon was not supposed to be back for another week. You were alone. No guests, no deliveries, no reason for anyone to be at the door at all.

Someone was breaking in. Shit.

You went cold all at once, every lecture Simon had ever given you on self defense flashing through your mind, but panic left no room for careful thinking. You grabbed the plate tighter, your knuckles whitening around it, and moved before your brain could catch up.

The lock rattled, the door bursting open and you swung.

The plate shattered spectacularly against the head of the very tall intruder.

For one breathtaking second, you stood frozen, half expecting a stranger, a threat, anything else.

Instead, a familiar grumble filled the doorway, "Fucking hell."

part one. part two.

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

repost from my old deleted account tobeholyistobeempty - tispy simon riley x drunk reader. simon is a man of morals, even when you make it very very hard for him to exercise them. 18+. lots of detailed dirty talk.

————-

it’s honestly not even your fault.

you’ll blame it all on soap, if anyone asks - he’s the one who had a tab open, a devil on his shoulder, and kept pouring shots as if they were free. now you’re blackout-adjacent, stumbling through the hallway with simon’s arm wrapped around your waist in some makeshift tourniquet while everything spins like a goddamn carousel.

simon always gets stuck on clean-up crew. mostly because he’s the only one who can handle their fuckin liquor.

needless to say, he’s used to this by now. used to the way you’ve been rambling on about nothing for the better part of five minutes - doesn’t say much when you stop and get distracted by something stupid for the billionth time. doesn’t complain when you grab his arm and lean a little too hard into his side, as if he’s a lifeline in the sea that is the floor beneath your feet.

he’s tipsy, sure, but somehow still annoyingly steady. classic simon.

“jesussi—you’re big.” it’s slurred and breathless, broken by your own laughter as your head drops lazily onto his shoulder. “like, industrial grade. military-issued big.”

the corner of his mouth tilts. if you were sober you’d see the smirk he’s biting back.

“tha right?”

“mmm. like a fuckin tank,” you hum, fingers kneading the muscle under your palm. it’s involuntary - just like it’s involuntary when he twitches. “or an armoured vehicle. y’should come with airbags.”

simon bites his cheek. the devil in you is dancing in the waves of tension rolling off him.

maybe he’s not as used to this as he thought - because this isn’t just drunk-banter. this is you, murmuring compliments with all that heat behind them. personal. stupidly involuntarily honest.

hes not used to compliments. not ones that sound like that.

“you’re drunk,” he breathes.

you grin. “so’re you.”

“not even half as much as you.”

It's not that he thinks it's stupid for a grown man like him to ask for something so...childish like cuddles and kisses. What is he? A five year old? He rarely got hugs and kisses from his own mum, he doesn't need it.

It's not like he'll die without it. He'll just wait for you to initiate, like you always do.

Except you're way too busy right now, too caught up in whatever you're doing to even notice he's been standing there and staring at you for the past five minutes.

He's been debating the whole time if he should just ask you for a kiss, but his feet and mouth refused to cooperate with him, leaving him hanging there to stare at you.

"Hm? Did you need anything?" You ask, finally noticing him as you wonder how long he's been there. Must've been a while.

He shook his head instinctively, but his lips formed a thin line and his face held a displeased look. It looked like his words were trapped in his throat.

Luckily for him, you could read him like a book now. It wasn't easy since it didn't come with some sort of manual or tutorial, but it was definitely worth it since you knew that this meant he wanted a kiss from you.

"Do you want a kiss?" You ask again, looking up at him expectantly.

God, you don't think you've seen anyone nod that fast.

Simon hovers above you, his soft eyes burning against your skin, scanning your face to watch for signs of discomfort as his fingers work your pussy. You moan softly when his digits curl inside you, hitting a spot you didn’t even know was there, his thumb circling your clit at the same pace his thick fingers slide in and out of you.

You cover your mouth, embarrassed by the fact that he can feel how wet you are for him despite how inexperienced you are, but he quickly pulls against your wrist, softly placing your hand on his chest instead. Your fingers curl against his skin, nails digging in ever so slightly, all while your body reacts by lifting your hips, squirming around underneath him, begging him for something you’ve never even had.

“Don’t hide from me lovie,” he whispers, voice low and rough around the edges, desire evident regardless of how slow he has to be with you.

You nod, gazing up at him, allowing yourself to feel the way he pleasures you. His calloused fingers slide through your walls, rubbing you inside and outside with his thumb on your sensitive bundle of nerves. All of it is new to you, every single last feeling he is pulling out of you is something you have never experienced.

When he pulls his fingers out, you whimper from the loss of friction, but he quickly takes your mind off of that by sliding his cock through your folds. His head leaks precum against your pussy, and he smears it against your clit before slapping it against you gently. Your body jerks from the feeling, a whine ripping from your throat from the harsh contact somewhere so sensitive, but you wish he will do it again.

Simons only ever had one tattoo artist, every tattoo on his body was done by you. And Simon’s starting to think you have a crush on him. And he wouldn't be wrong. You've known Simon for years, seen more of him then anyone has, and every time he comes in he’s hotter than the last time. The tattoos you've given him are just so hot and then every time he comes in you get so close to him and those nice big muscles. Not only is he so hot, but he’s actually comfortable around you, talks to you, cracks jokes, even some small flirting.