#simon imagine

older!simon who absolutely adores how much smaller petite!reader is than him. well, typically everyone is smaller than you when you're six-foot-three and counting. doorframes are smaller, airplane seats, ceilings—you get the gist. simon is used to maneuvering the world with his eye-level far above crowds since he was in middle-school by now, but it's with you that he suddenly doesn't know what to do with himself. feels like his huge, lumbering hands are too big for your body, like he'll snap your limbs in half when he takes both of your wrists in just one of his own and pins them above your head. it's like handling fine china, two meaty fingers awkwardly pinching the entire handle of a too-tiny teacup. simon isn't particularly good with metaphors, but i digress.

he always swears he can't fit inside you, but well, you do fit like a gem in the backseat of his car and the opportunity is too good to pass up. it almost feels cruel, you're so small and he's too big, but how could he not? fold you up nice and easy under him, et voila. you're so brave for him, and it just takes a bit of pushing past the initial resistance to bury his oversized cock inside you. you're tight as a fist around the head of his cock, just at first.

you're easy to manhandle, a real-life ball-jointed doll that even a brute like simon can bend to his whim, or bounce up-and-down on his cock. fun-sized, he'd call it, you're made for the fun stuff. it's a little reductive, maybe, but you inevitably bat your lashes and reply that you were made just for him. he can do whatever wants with you.

(from your fellow 5ft tall writer)

— a/n: based on a conversation i had minutes ago, except i immediately started thinking of ghost bc simon riley is better than any real life man. <3

can't stop thinking about faking an orgasm with simon for shits and giggles and ending up getting ya shit rocked for hours because you were being a brat

simon’s got you pinned beneath him, his thick cock stretching you open so good, each thrust punching a whine from your lips. his grip on your hips is bruising, fingers digging in as he fucks you relentless, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room.

“that’s it, take it,” he growls, voice rough. “fuckin’ perfect around me, ain’t ya?”

you’re close—so fucking close—but you’re feeling bratty tonight. so when the coil in your belly tightens, you force a high-pitched moan, arching your back and clenching around him like you’re coming. “oh—oh, simon, i’m—!”

he stills instantly, eyes dark as they rake over your face. and then he smirks. “liar.”

before you can protest, his hand slides between your legs, calloused fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles. you gasp, hips jerking—fuck, it’s too much, you’re oversensitive already—but he doesn’t stop.

“thought you could fool me, princess?” he murmurs, leaning down to nip at your ear. “gonna make you come for real. as many times as it takes ‘til you forget how to fake it.”

his thrusts start again, harder now, his fingers relentless on your clit. you’re sobbing within minutes, nails scraping down his back as the pleasure crests, sharp and overwhelming. “s-simon, please—!”

“there it is,” he groans, feeling you flutter around him. “that’s my girl. now—” he flips you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up. “—let’s see how many more i can get outta you.”

you’re gonna regret being such a brat. but fuck, it’s so worth it.

Dad!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Mom!Reader

TW: poorly written smut, humping??

a/n: I saw a woman on tiktok post a video of her on one of those workout balls that are super huge and bouncy. She was recording and her husband was watching her, he said “Is that thing recording?” when she said yes, he replied “oh sorry im just staring at your ass”. And i immediately thoughts of simon.

It’s been 10 minutes of you bouncing on that ball, in Simon’s office. You were officially 27 weeks pregnant, stage 4. You were in your prime, clear skin and beautiful hair.

TRAINING WHEELS.

fully undressed, no training wheels left for you / i'll pull them off for you.*

(reupload from lackadaisies, this is my fic! i'm not a thief!)

Embarrassment takes root somewhere deep in your belly at the proposition, a low-grade tingle spreading up your neck and your ears. A nervous laugh—that sound Simon loves so much, though he'd never say out loud—slips past your Berrylicious ChapStick lips. You can scarcely meet his gaze, the silver of his watch glinting out of the corner of your downturned eyes in the gauzy light. Simon, on the other hand, has never had any problem laying out his needs for you in that unhurried, plain-spoken way of his, like he's been deciding on this longer than you know.

The room is spartan, tucked corners and pine furniture. All business—save for your bra hanging off the bedpost, a pack of gum spilling onto his nightstand, your little sandals kicked off by the door. Heat shimmers off the gravel lot out front, the silhouette of his truck baking in the sun visible through the half-drawn blinds. You can hear the sound of the cicadas starting up over the distant drone of a lawnmower and the neighbors dogs.

“Let's get these off, then.” Simon gestures for you to lift your hips, his hands already finding the lace trim of your panties before bundling it down, down. Your denim cut-offs had been the first to go, and now even the loss of that thin, barely-there barrier of cotton makes all the difference.

“I'm not so sure 'bout this...” Your hands instinctively fly to his broad shoulders for support, your balance teetering on the mattress as the panties bunch around one knee. His grip on your hips tightens ever so slightly, tongue probing the inside of his cheek as he tries to ignore the stirring in his groin with your heat hovering right over him. You can see the vein in his forearm, the set of his jaw.

“I'm no good,” you pout.

You swear Simon rolls his eyes, vaguely. Just enough for you to catch a flash of it beneath that heavy, half-lidded look he gets.

“All I'm hearin' are excuses, lazy girl.” He raps his fingers against your hips in an off handed rhythm, his weight shifting under you expectantly.

“It's not like that! I wanna make you feel good—real good. I just haven't done this before. I told you, Si.”

“Everyone’s gotta start somewhere. I’ll teach ya. Now go on, undo ’em.”

You know he's right, but you like your comfort zone—no chance of disappointment or embarrassing yourself. Your lips pinch together as you lower your gaze to the straining bulge in the front of his pants, the denim scratchy against your inner thighs. His silver belt buckle is worn at the edges, possibly almost as old as you.

Belt first, you hear his deep voice murmur and your fingers fumble at the clasp, your knuckles brushing against the warm flat of his stomach and flinching back like you've been burned. You can feel him watching you, patient, and it makes you clumsier. You hesitate at the button next, your breath shallow, aware of how still he's gone beneath your hands—how much restraint it's taking him to let you do this at your own pace, to not just take over and show you.

When you finally get his jeans undone, he lifts his hips just enough to shuck them down his thighs, and you try not to look at the thatch-colored hair trailing from his navel, the jut of his hipbone, the outline of him through his boxers. It's nothing you haven't seen before, but you've never had to take matters into your own hands up until now.

Simon's calloused palm is on the back of your hand, guiding it down the front of his boxers with a slow exhale, his muscles seeming to uncoil beneath you. Your painted fingernails stick out between his fingers like little jewels, your palm pressing flat against the cotton.

“Feel that?” His offhand grips the back of your hair, the prominent bridge of his nose bumping against yours before your lips touch, murmuring into your mouth. “That’s what you do to me. So go on, then—do summat about it.” He pulls his boxers down just enough, and you feel him spring free against your thigh, the sudden relief making him hiss.

You shift forward on your knees awkwardly, and he steadies you with a hand on your hip, warm and familiar. The position is strange—you hovering over him, his length pressed between your bellies, the head of his cock nudging against your softness. Your thighs tremble with the effort of holding yourself up, and you're distinctly aware that you're hardly as spry as you should be, while Simon has been the exact opposite in that department despite the years.

“Easy.” His hands settle under your ribs. “Go on. You heard me. Sit yourself down.”

His head tips back against the headboard, his voice unexpectedly hoarse as he notches himself at your entrance, and you gasp as the head of his oversized cock stretches you out.

“Now,” he says. “Nice and slow.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders. You sink down inch by inch, your breath coming in short, punched-out little gasps, and he doesn't intervene as you find your own pace. You feel the shape of him in your belly, and you're painfully aware of the way your body resists, then gives, the way his jaw tightens as you take him incrementally.

“Up—that’s it. Slow. Now, move your hips into it. No, don’t just bounce, sweetheart. You’re not a bloody jackrabbit. Roll ’em.” A small adjustment, thumbs pressing into your waist with pedagogical indifference to your whimpers as he impales you on his cock, maneuvering you along the slight curve of his cock. “Yeah. That’s it. Like that.”

Sparks shoot up the base of your spine as your clit grinds against him with each pass, palms braced against his stomach. You feel the sweaty muscle flex under your fingers in time with your hips, the wet squelch of each rise and fall making your cheeks burn, leaving a shining trail down his length before you sink back down with a gasp.

His voice remains low and even—the Lieutenant guiding instead of commanding for once. Praise is rare with Simon—only the occasional murmur of good—but the approval is there all the same.

You stop but once to huff and tell him your legs are tired, and while Simon does consider that perhaps he's spoilt you too much, you turn out to be a surprisingly quick study once you've had your fill of pouting. You're too accustomed to letting him take control, perhaps, to the point that you'll even be on top if that's what he wants.

Cop Simon who was hiding behind the bushes and saw you speeding down the road

Cop Simon who came out the bushes and turned on the sirens as he drove towards you 

Cop Simon who saw you pull over, and walked towards your window, and his heart skipped a beat, or it felt like it did

Cop Simon who asked you why you were speeding, and you explained that you were late for your friend`s birthday

Cop Simon who wasn’t even listening because he was distracted by your beauty

Cop Simon who didn’t even give you a ticket, but rather asked for your number

Cop Simon who wrote down your number and said, “see ya later, love.” he had already made up his mind; he was gonna make you his

Cop Simon who took you out on a date the next day and made sure that he impressed you heavily (he did)

Cop Simon who drove you home that evening and didn’t expect anything else when you suddenly invited him in

Cop Simon who took the hint and slowly made himself welcome in your home

Cop Simon who leaned in for a kiss after seeing your genuine interest in him, and things got heated real quick

Cop Simon who didn’t leave immediately in the morning after…let’s just say spent time inside you ;)

You were riding him, clenching your cunt around him, making the both of you see stars. Your face reflected pleasure and joy, which, combined with the sounds you were making, showed how much you were enjoying this.

Simon was obviously enjoying it too. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at you, admiring your features changing with pleasure and staring at the way your body moved when you were in control.

Sex with him was amazing; I know he probably doesn’t look like it, but he always checks on you and makes sure you’re comfortable with what’s happening.

“God, baby… keep moving like that.” “S-Simon… it feels so good.”

You kept moving on top of him and moaning like you were the only people left in the world, until your expression changed. Your face started showing something else that wasn’t quite pleasure anymore… it was pain.

“S-Simon… n-no…” But you kept moving because you didn’t want to ruin this for him, not when you knew he was about to cum. But at the same time, it felt wrong not to communicate to him what was going on.

Simon noticed. Noticed your expression and the change in your pace. He knew something was wrong right away; he didn’t even need to hear your whine.

“Hey, hey… what’s wrong?” He placed his hands more firmly on your hips to keep you in place and stop you from moving. He didn’t care if he was about to cum; he would never keep going knowing that you were hurting.

“I don’t know… it started hurting.” At this point, your face was showing pain and discomfort, with the faint trace of a tear in your eye.

“Just stop moving, baby… it’s alright.” He signaled for you to stop and separate from him. When you did, you immediately moved your hand to where the pain was coming from to try and find what was wrong. He stopped you, thinking it might be an infection and fearing you’d make it worse by touching it.

“It’s okay… just lie down for me. Will you let me see what’s wrong?” He always treated you like a princess, even in situations like this where you would think he might be rough with you.

You lay down on your back. He sat on the bed in front of you and gently spread your legs apart for him to see, instantly moving his eyes to the area.

“Okay… it does look a bit swollen, doll.” He placed his hands around your red and inflamed pussy, not really touching the area but spreading the lips apart.

“I’m gonna touch you here, and you’ll tell me if it hurts, okay?” You just nodded. You trusted him with your own life, so you obviously didn’t mind him seeing you in such a vulnerable state.

He pressed his palm against your cunt. He wasn’t trying to penetrate you again; he just needed confirmation as to where it was hurting the most. He immediately looked at your face afterward.

“That doesn’t hurt; I think it’s inside where the problem is.” He nodded, agreeing with you, you knew your body better than anyone, after all. He gently inserted one finger inside you, but not too deep, just at the surface.

“Does that hurt?” His expression looked so determined; he wasn’t even thinking of this as a sexual interaction. He genuinely wanted to help you and wasn’t thinking of it as sex, nor was he trying to penetrate you again. If you told him it hurt, he would stop the session for good, at least for that day.

You shook your head. “No… go deeper.” You weren’t seeing this as something sexual either, nor were you trying to make him finger you.

He went deeper with his fingers, and that’s when you let out a little whine of displeasure. He instantly knew and took his fingers out.

“Okay… looks like you were moving too fast, baby. Let’s try to do it more gently next time, okay?”

You nodded your head. You were feeling a little embarrassed by this, but he wasn’t trying to make you feel that way.

“It’s alright. This can happen; it’s not your fault.” “But I wanna keep going.”

He smiled at this; he loved how much you desired him. It made him feel appreciated and loved, and he desired you just as much.

“I know, love, but it’s better if we stop for today, okay? I don’t wanna hurt you.”

He saw the disappointment on your face and decided he couldn’t let you down like this. So he thought he could do something else… something that didn’t require penetration to make you feel good and make you come.

You; *wearing noise cancelling headphones* I’m deaf

Actor: *muffled noise behind a gag*

Simon: and I’m still wielded shut inside this shitty submarine.

Let me explain

Scarred, big, burley military vet Simon who has experienced and seen things that the average person can only imagine. Simon who reeks intimidation, smoke and rationality. Simon who lived only to get by. That Simon tried to change the moment he moved in with his fiancee.

Now we have Simon's fiancée. A delicate, eerily quiet woman. A spiritually sensitive woman. Someone who can feel the energy of the room, someone who believes in omens, someone who spirit's like to play with, someone who's head would get lost in the clouds if Simon wasn't there are anchor them. Simon's fiancée who dances between veils of the living and of the spirit's.

For the most part Simon loves being her anchor, to hold her when the whispers get too loud. He loves how gentle she is and how she takes care of him. But still, it's undeniable how the six foot something, city bloke can still be creeped out by his own fiancee. A military man trying to understand that his fiancee "feels things other can't". He is still wrapping his head around it. Simon can't help but have his hair on the back of his neck stand up when hears her quiet footsteps among the house, when she grows goosebumps on a random tuesday morning, when she whispers to the wind and how when she looks at him, it's as if she sees his skeleton rather than his skin.

And her touch, oh how it is drug inducing to Simon. How it's heavy, warm and intense. As if when touching he feels everything she feels. So when they lay tangled together with her mindless tracing patterns on his chest, Simon knows he would fight any spirit with his bare hands to keep her on his side of the veil.

AN: Let me know if this is something you want to read more of! I've been thinking about this idea for a while, thank you the conjuring for giving me motivation.