I've been thinking about this for a while, but could you write a drabble or something about Simon's reaction to you trying to sleep on the couch after a fight?
Would he be mad and fight with you more or drag you to bed or silently let you sleep on the couch??
lmk Ă Ă
Itâs rare the two of you fight.
Argue? Sure.
Purposefully annoy each other? Definitely. Simon loves crawling under your skin just so he can watch you ride your frustrations out on his cock. He canât help it, youâre cute.
But fighting? Petty comments, growling harsh words at each other, suffocating tension, silent treatment, and stubborn avoidance? You and Simon donât do that.
Simon admits, heâs not exactly the easiest person to date, but youâre incredibly patient with him, even when heâs not communicating the way you need him to.
Heâs a work in progress.
So, when you walk out of the shower, tugging on one of his oversized shirts, he thinks youâll crawl into bed next to him like always. Instead, you grab your pillow, an extra blanket, and leave the room. Riley follows behind you, his own dog betraying him.
You have to be teasing, trying to teach him some lesson, remind him what it feels like to sleep in an empty bed if he doesnât straighten up. He should be the one out there, sleeping in the dog house.
He lets you lay out there for exactly 12 minutes.
When he scoops you up, you pretend youâre asleep. Even when he lays you down on your side of the bed and slides in, you keep up the act.
âOy,â He grumbles, pinching your cheek lightly, âI know youâre awake, dove.â
A breath of a smile twitches at the corners of your lips, but you turn your face into the pillow. No problem, he hoists you in his lap easy enough, pressed against the bed frame, and rests his hands on your spread thighs.
âWhy the bloody hell you sleepinâ out there?â
You scowl at him, âDonât wanna sleep with you.â
âNo?â He tilts his head, smoothing his palms under your, his, shirt, âWhy not, pretty girl?â
âMad at you.â
He huffs a laugh, âWearinâ my shirt, but donât wanâ sleep with me?â
You start to peel the shirt off begrudgingly, but he swats your hands away, holding you in place with his thumb on your chin.
â ânough of that. What kinda man dâya think I am? Letting my bird sleep on a bloody sofa.â He says, âSend me out there.â
âBut your feet hang off the edge.â You frown and it tightens his chest, even when youâre mad youâre thinking of his comfort.
Heâd wake up with a hunched back and cramped legs if it made you happy.
âExactly, âts why we both belong right here.â He pats the mattress, scooting back down the bed to lay down, holding you against his chest. He presses his lips against the crown of your head, âIâm sorry, sweetheart.â
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Thoughts on interrupted sex with Si? Like, in the middle of the hardest fuck of his life, and the bed just broke.
Si and us just straight up with this face: ( ăťĐ´ăť)
Or in the future, trying to finally travel to Pound Town and their kid just hits the door asking for a snack or to sleep with them.
Simon Riley fucks hard.
Itâs all he knows. He doesnât really have much of a choice when you arch into him like that, back off the bed, and hands fisting the sheets as you try to meet his thrusts eagerly. Heâs given his all, and still youâre begging for more, harder, faster, please Sim-
When the bed breaks his movements stop and you look up in shock, disbelief on both of your faces. And then the both of you are laughing, curling your bodies from how hard the two of you laugh.
âJesus, bird, canât go that hard.â
He finishes the job, of course. Itâs not the first or last time it happens.
He thinks a night like that was the reason you got pregnant in the first place. Not once, but twice.
Now, instead of broken bed frames, sex is interrupted by his baby girl, teddy bear in her arms, and tears in her lashes because she had a nightmare.
I NEED a part two to the bachelorette trip when reader gets home and he gets all sappy (and maybe cries) đđđ
original
When you come home, Simon wants to scoop you in his arms, push your bags to the side, and carry you to bed.
He doesnât.
Itâs just four bloody days. Heâs embarrassed how tight his chest feels and how badly he missed you.
And you look at him so sweetly, pushing to your tippy toes to loop your arms around his shoulders so his hands find your waist, and you kiss him. He wants to linger, keep you pressed to his chest far longer, but you pull away, raving about how much fun you had.
He tucks his pain somewhere else for the time being, listens to you talk while he sits on the bed and watches you unpack.
Itâs not until late into the night with you curled into his side do you say something.
âWhatâs wrong?â Youâre half asleep.
He stares at the ceiling. âJusâ missed you.â
He feels you smile against the skin on his chest. âI missed you too, baby.â
Baby. He used to hate that word. Itâs grown on him now, only when it comes from your pretty lips.
âIt always like that?â His absenceâ is it always that painful?
You pause, wide awake now.
âYeah.â Itâs a whisper, just barely feels the breath on his skin.
His fingers tighten around your arm, blinking back the tears in his lashes.
omg roommate simon riley who finds your laptop to do something because his is broken (idk maybe to search up something) and in the search history thereâs âreal couple sexâ or âhandholding p0rnâ đŤand he remembers youâre a virgin or something, inexperienced, idk, leave it if you donât like it, love u đŤ
smut, fingering, vaginal sex, fem!reader
Itâs not the fact that thereâs porn in your search history that surprises Simon. You donât have a boyfriend, never one for one-night stands, and a girl's gotta get off. What surprises him is the contentâ âhandholding porn,â âreal couple sex,â âintimate sex.â
He canât even hold his snort, he chuckles at the bright screen. That piques your interest from the other side of the room, tilting your head at him as your brows furrow.
âWhat?â
âThink ye forgot to clear yer search history.â
âHhm?â You approach him, oblivious to the tab heâs currently staring at. âWhat is it?â
Your face drops when he turns the laptop around with a shit-eating smirk. You slam the laptop shut with a shriek of embarrassment, heat rising up the back of your neck to your ears.
âHand holding?â Simon mocks, voice taking a teasing tone.
âShut up!â you yell, scrambling for your laptop and hugging it to your chest like it might protect the content inside.
You stumble backwards to your room, tripping over the shoes he left in the hallway to slam your door.
âOi, I still need to use it.â
You shout from behind your door, âWell ask someone else!â
The two of you donât bring it up again, for a few days at least. When heâs lying across the room from you, Simon thinks about it, wondering if youâve worked up the courage to open the laptop yet. If youâve watched the same videos since, fingers in your panties, biting your lip so he doesnât hear your breathy moans.
Youâre rather inexperienced, he knows that much, not from word of mouth, of course. He sees it in the way you fidget anxiously when you go to the pub with him, ducking away from any of the sexual remarks Johnny throws your way.
Heâs surprised you accepted his application as a roommate when heâs got several inches on you, scars carved into his skin like badges, and a permanent scowl. Though he supposes being gone for months at a time sweetens the deal, even if he returns with new wounds you eye wearily.
Heâs sure no boyfriend of yours would approve of him as a roommate. When heâs got no regard for other men when it comes to a pretty bird.
Maybe the months away are when you bring home one-night stands. He doubts it; he always returns unexpectedly, finds you with hairy legs, pimple patches, and oversized pajama tops. Like heâs the only one who ever sees those parts of you.
And you greet him with a big smile, like youâve been waiting for him.
Maybe secretly he doesnât like the image of someone else pleasing you that way and thatâs why it doesnât leave his thoughts. Simon isnât a man most people wait for and maybe the way you tell him you missed him deserves more than just a grunt.
It rings in his mind while the two of you are drinking in the kitchen, your back facing him as you pour yourself a new drink. Maybe itâs the alcohol in his veins or the image of the tab in the back of his mind, but he crowds you against the counter, broad frame boxing you against the porcelain.
You gasp. âSimon?â
Heâs not one for this, quite the antithesis of anything soft and tender. But he sure knows how to make a woman feel good, and the least he could do for his sweet, touch-starved roommate who whispers she missed him is make her cum.
âThaâ all you want?â His voice is low.
âWhat?â Your voice shakes, seeps with anxiety.
His arms are on either side of the counter, âSome hand holding?â
âDonât even start.â Your fingers curl around the edge, knuckles tense.
His lips are pressed to your ear, deep timbre sending chills up your neck. âToo touch-deprived is thaâ it?â
âIâm not having this conversation.â You say it quietly, like the topic might disappear if you donât address it.
âCome on, bird.â His fingers trace from your shoulder down your arm. âNo oneâs ever touched you like they meant it?â
You donât say anything more, a muffled sound squeaking from your lips when he drags his nose along your jaw and down the curve of your neck.
âYou wanâ me to, bird?â The words are spoken against your throat, warm on your flesh.
âSimon, I donât know what youâre talking about.â You stammer through your words nervously.
He sighs, like heâs annoyed that youâre feigning innocence. âWanâ me tâfuck you like I mean it?â
He feels your gulp before he hears it, and still, you donât answer. Not even when he curls his hand under your shirt and holds your bare hip, fingers dipping into the seams of your shorts. He presses forward, until your hips knock into the countertops and his into your ass, falling flat on your palms in shock when you feel his bulge.
You donât pull away when his lips land on your neck. Theyâre teasing at first, soft stamps along your skin that bloom goosebumps. By the time thereâs tender marks decorating your neck and shoulders, you find enough confidence to grind back against his hips.
You donât even protest when he hoists your legs around his hips. Canât really protest when heâs plastered his lips on yours, kisses maybe a little too abrasive for the soft sex you had been seeking. You take it the best you can, lips trailing behind his, smaller fingers grasping his shirt.
Itâs a journey to your bedroom, both of you bouncing on the mattress. Heâs so big above you and between your thighs that the heavy stretch burns your muscles. Your fingers shake at his shoulders as he undresses you, hooking your panties over your ankles and to the floor.
Youâre not exactly sure how this will work, heâs not even inside you, and youâre already struggling to accommodate him between your thighs. You writhe under him, anxiety crawling up your spine, and wrapping around your throat.
âSimon, I donât do this.â It comes out as wheeze, struggling through your collapsing lungs.
Trust him, bird, he knows. And who better than him to take care of you?
âDonât need ya tâworry âbout that. Iâll take care of you.â
His fingers toy with your seams, a huff of a laugh on his lips at the obscene amount of slick heâs greeted with. It burns you alive, scalding heat from toe to fingertips, a meek sound filling the space between the two of you. And yet, it tugs at your core, coiled in a tight grip on you.
His kisses are soft, despite the way his lips are chapped, despite the scar that gives him a cleft lip, so you feel a little teeth. He presses one to the ridge of your jaw, the round of your shoulder, the jut of your collarbone, the divot between your breasts, right above your naval. Littering specks of tenderness all while he collects the slick gathering at your entrance.
He sucks the fat of your hip between his lips, licks at the flesh when his soaked digit pulls the hood of your clit back, swollen bead perked. You squirm, hand flying to cover your gaped mouth when he circles it, biting your palm to muffle the sounds when he dips just a little lower.
He lies on his stomach, hooking your knee over his shoulder, and sinks his index finger into the knuckle. It takes three, four, five pumps before he slides a second alongside the first. Heâs slow about it, isnât trying to do much, but stretch you out.
Your hand leaves your mouth the more he works you open, opting to fist the sheets below you. He smirks against the inside of your thigh when you do, pleased he doesnât have to tell you to let him hear your pretty voice. He doesnât even have to tell you to look at him, you lift your head on your own accord with a cute tinge to your brow.
âLike thaâ?â He holds your gaze while he asks. âThaâ what you like, baby?â
Your head bobs, digging your heel into his spine when he finds that spot, warm and gummy. A slow pace turned deliberate when your body responds like you do like it, knocking against the same spot that makes your walls clench helplessly around him.
Itâs not long before heâs replacing his fingers with the rounded bulb of his cock, gliding your slick on his fingers along his length. He plants his elbows on either side of your head when he slips forward just a smidge, cages you in so all you see is him, his scarred face, his crooked nose, his broad shoulders that block any view.
He rests his forehead on yours, breathes intermingling as you stare up at him, irises dilated with desire. Apprehension settled somewhere deep because youâre not sure how youâre going to take all of him when you already feel so full.
He sees it, shushes the feeling away, âJusâ a little stretch.â
You garble over your breath, wrapping around his shoulders when he guides himself deeper, head curling into his throat.
He presses his lips to your temples, âFeel sâgood, you know thaâ? Fuckinâ drenched, easy fit.â
He bottoms out with a groan deep from his gut, feels you clench your teeth against his neck. His arm snakes around your back, cradles you close to his chest. Bare skin to bare skin before rocking his hips.
The rhythm is slow, calculated, and doesnât build his pace until your seams finally split in two for him. Thatâs when he pulls back further with each thrust, grinding back in to the hilt. You shake in his grasp, panting into his skin as you dig your nails into his shoulders.
Every stroke is languid, no rush, just a slow, delicious ache, crawling up the mountain to reach your peak. Itâs tender, the way he keeps you tucked close, lips always brushing your skin, whispering words softer than anything heâs said before. It pets at your core, close tighter and tighter around you as you wrap your legs around his hips.
And thatâs when his palm presses against yours, interlocking your fingers so tightly his knuckles turn white. You have to flutter your eyes at the sight, choking on something painful.
âSweets, look at me.â
You find his eyes.
âWanted tâtake care of you.â He tightens his hand. âI mean it-this.â
That sends you over the edge, clamping your thighs as you roll your head backwards. The coil around your core snaps, releasing the tension that had been slowly building. You croak his name, walls gushing around him, smearing the tufts of hair at the base of his cock sticky.
Still, he doesnât stop, hand pushing your knee back for a deeper angle. One that drives his hips deeper, fully seated inside your walls again, and again, and again, until he canât pull back much further because he starts to feel it in his balls. He fills you in one hard thrust, hands still tangled, collapsing into your chest.
hii cherri,,, imagine bimbo!reader being a medic on base n simon who exaggerates his pain & gets hurt intentionally,,,,, just to go see reader over and over again. n bimbo reader just accidentally(or maybe not) brushing up him every single time and he always ends up leaving with a boner,,, teehee. would love your insert on this. no pressure !!
He was there a week before with shoulder painâ âSoap, the bloody bastard, tackled me during sparring. No respect for his lieutenant.â
The week before that with hamstring tightnessâ âdidnât stretch well ânough before runninâ, love.â
Three days before that with a sore ankleâ âlanded wrong jumpinâ out the heli, wouldâya believe that, bird?â
You see him most weeks than not, injuries you take seriously because heâs an important asset to the team, canât have your lieutenant fucking up a mission because he tore a muscle.
You think itâs normal that the first place he stops after a mission is your office, youâre a nurse for crying out loud, heâs supposed to be cleared of injury. That is, until Soap is sat in your office one day, a routine check-up.
âDo not know how ye do it, bonnie. Price used tae drag LT âere. Refused tae see any nurse before ya.â
Your brows form a knot, lips dropping in confusion. Youâve never had to wrangle him into your office, in fact itâs the complete opposite, you canât get him to leave half the time.
You take it up with the other nurses. Surely Soapâs just teasing you, but they giggle when you ask. Tell you that youâre too innocent and clueless, donât know how you havenât caught on that he refuses to see any other nurse but you.
Maybe you were willfully ignorant, thought that what he did was normal. Sure he was a little handsy, even more so when he returned from an extended mission. Nudged his thigh right against your stomach, slotted his shoulder into your breasts, brushed his fingers along the seams of your pants, held your hip whenever you leaned over himâ âjust helpinâ âs all, love.â
Simon would be apologetic, but itâs not his fault that youâre the only pretty sight on base. He canât help himself when youâre such a sweet thing, so gentle with him when you dig your fingers into his âsoreâ muscles.
He thinks itâs quite cute when you try to lecture him with your hands on your hips and tell him he needs to be more careful because heâs your most injury prone patient. He nods along, just pretends heâll be more careful for your sake and you pretend you donât watch him walk on the ankle that was âsoreâ or that you donât notice the tent pitched in his trousers.
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hi!!! can i ask how simon would react to seeing your forgotten toy out on your bed/nightstand?? đâŁď¸
He didnât intend to find it, hadnât meant to snoop, but there it was out in the opening on your night stand:
A small pink dildo.
He stares at it for a few minutes. It canât be more than five inches, barely half the girth of his cock. Heâs not upset, the sight makes his lips twitch in an amused smirk. He gets it; heâs gone for weeks at a time, his pretty bird has to keep your ache at bay when heâs not there to help. Itâs funny, youâve never shown him it, never even mentioned it to him. His pretty bird acts quite innocent, coy and timid when he paws at your ass and chest, but the whole time youâve got this pink dildo tucked away in your drawers.
You walk through the bedroom door, unaware to the fact that heâs got your secret in the palm of his hand. âSi, the food just arrived.â
You pause when he turns around, eyes widening when you notice the silicone toy. You instantly wear embarrassment on your face; he can practically see the stinging flush rise to your ears as you realize youâve got caught.
âI- um,â You begin to stutter, rooted to the entryway of the room.
âThis your boyfriend when âm not âere?â He asks, rolling his tongue on his teeth to hide the wolfish grin heâs struggling to hide.
You squeak, jumping across the room to attempt and slap the toy out of his hands. You arenât successful, not when he holds the toy above his head.
âYou get off with this, huh? Barely half the size of mine, does it even make you feel good?â
You groan, clawing at his bicep, âSimon, shut up! Thatâs not fair! My fingers arenât enough when youâre away!â
He wraps his free arm around your waist, chuckling tauntingly when he leans down. âNot mad, sweetâart. Here I thought my bird was innocent.â
You frown, âI am, you made me like this.â
Soon after, heâs got you on your back, knees pressed to your ears as you cry out, pink silicone pressed to the hilt in your sopping cunt. Youâre whimpering, trying your best to thrash under his hold, but heâs too strong, just cooing at your attempts. He fucks you with it until youâre overstimulated and malleable, let him move you around as he pleases after orgasming so many times back to back before he slides home. The sensation makes you mewl, finally something warm and solid, thick and suffocating, the real fucking thing youâve been craving.
this is a weird ask, you can ignore this if you are uncomfortable of course, but could you write simon or really anyone from tf141 x a reader who doesnt have a stereotypical âpretty pussyâ or âpornstar pussyâ and is insecure about it?
hi! I donât think this is a weird question at all!! I think most people donât have a âporn starâ pussy, itâs quite literally their job to have a pretty pussy lmao! But I digress
Next (for Price, Johnny, & Gaz)
Simon would be the most understanding about an insecurity like this. Heâs covered in scars and burns, wears a balaclava, doesnât like pictures, hides most of himself behind clothing and being aloof. He might be a little self-conscious himself, probably doesnât think heâs all that conventionally handsome with all the cuts and gashes melded into his face, the leathery texture of his burn scars.
Maybe there was a time when he did think he was handsome, but that was when he was younger, before everything happened to him.
But now? He gets nervous taking his shirt off in intimate settings, keeps the balaclava on most of the time to keep himself covered, and you donât push him.
Instead, you try your best to make him understand that his worth is more than the blemishes and scars that adorn his bodyâ that he is more than his appearance.
Simon is a little shocked when he finds out the real reason you keep avoiding sex with him, especially since youâre so kind to him, treat him like he hung the moon and the stars despite how he looks. Quite surprised when it seems you do everything in your power to make him feel comfortable and confident.
Maybe you have a full bush that you canât keep tamed, hyperpigmentation around your thighs and vulva, or your labia minora hangs a little lower than your labia majora.
Why the fuck would he care about any of that?
He doesnât.
Youâre beautiful to him in every aspect, graceful, ethereal; the most heavenly person heâs ever laid eyes on, and thereâs nothing you could possibly say or do to change that.
Anxiety stung your chest, digging indents into Simonâs shoulders to hide the fact that your fingers were trembling lightly, to ground yourself from the fact that his fingers were curled under your skirt. Pressed right up against the top of your leg, thumb snug on the inside of your thigh, within a breathes inch of your pussy.
You had clamped them shut as soon as he began to brush soft strokes against it; he thought you were just sensitive, but you were doing everything in your power to stop him dead in his tracks, keep his thumb as far from your pussy as possible. But he was stronger than you, and he slipped past your thigh muscle easily, found your pussy just as soon as it left.
It felt good, god, did it feel good, but your stomach swooped low, and not in the good way. Your hand instantly flew to his wrist, pushing him away as best you could, chest tightening at the sound he made, guilt burning your eyes.
âWhatâs wrong, love?â He asked against your lips, âYou push me away every time, you donât want this?â
You swallowed over the lump in your throat, diverting your eyes from his, âI donât exactly have a pretty pussy.â
He snorted a laugh, âAnd mine ainât exactly a Van Gogh either.â
You chuckled lightly, but you kept your eyes fixated up, too embarrassed to look at him, âJust donât make fun of it.â
âOy,â He murmured, fingers finding your chin, dipping your head to meet his gaze. You gulped at the reverence in his eyes, the tender look he wore, âWhy the hell would I ever make fun of you? None of that crap matters to me. Youâre beautiful to me no matter what.â
So, that night you let him in, and when he peeled you back layer by layer with the expert curl of his fingers and deliciously smooth tongue, you were almost too dazed, too fucked out to hear him murmuring itâs praises.
âNot a pretty pussy?â He rasped, hot air on your cunt as he huffed a laugh, âPrettiest cunt Iâve ever fuckinâ seen.â
Retired/dad bod!Si with a younger gf who's obsessed with his new tummy
He still exercises, just as he wakes in the early mornings, just as he cleans and polishes his knifes and guns routinely. Some things are just ingrained in his body after years in the military. Except, now he has more down time, more time to eat the baked treats and sweets his pretty bird feeds him.
The sweetest thing heâs ever met constantly feeding him spoonfuls of food you baked him with the prettiest smile on your face because you love to take care of him, feed him, and how is he supposed to deny you?
Always make sure he eats breakfast, send him away with lunch and more than enough leftovers for dinner. He loves it, every bit of it, but maybe he let it spiral for too long, didnât realize the impact it was having on his body until his jeans became too tight on his belly.
Itâs embarrassing the way his pants squeeze him now, the definitions in his abs no longer there. The strengths there, the muscle remains, but heâs got an extra layer of pudge over it now. Makes him feel like he doesnât deserve you.
Heâs not aware how much you like the weight. Doesnât realize how handsy youâve become, greedy hands pawing at his soft skin. Doesnât know that you like to watch him fuck you, hehe you two, because you love how the extra skin ripples and bends. Doesnât notice that you start to use him like your own personal pillow, plopping your head on his stomach and chest.
When he takes you jean shopping with him because he has no idea what heâs looking for, you realize the insecurity slowly festering in his chest. As soon as you get him home youâre pushing him onto his back on the bed, crawling over his confused frame.
âDonât be ashamed,â You say, pushing his shirt over his chest, âI like you. All of you.â
Your fingers trail along his stomach, sinking the tips into the soft flesh every so often. Tracing along where his v line used to be, replaced by fat.
âSoft and strong? Can throw me around and hold me down as you please, but youâre also nice and comfy to cuddle with? What else could I ask for?â
You kiss his insecurities away, fuck them out of him. The two of you donât bring it up again, but he pulls you in his lap after the fact, eats each bite you feed him with a tinge of a smile on his scarred face, kissing your pretty lips in between bites because he doesnât know how he got so lucky with his pretty bird.
