Reading Glasses Simon.

Me after reading the most profane, toe curling, mind blowing smut known to man in the middle of class because I was bored

Roommate!Simon Riley who’s always got presents on hand for your birthday and holidays. he’s almost embarrassed about stockpiling gifts for you, all neatly tucked in the back of his closet… almost. that nagging embarrassment is quick to fade when your eyes light up, always excited that he bought you something and how, “Simon Riley, you didn’t have to get me anything!”

Roommate!Simon Riley that specifically likes buying you rings. nothing too fancy that would raise your suspicion, but always something shiny and pretty - something he wouldn’t dare tell you how much it cost. silver, gold, anything in between, if he thinks it’d look good on you he buys it. he likes seeing those bands decorate your fingers, reflecting in the light when you happily show them off to friends and family

Roommate!Simon Riley that gets one engraved - his initials delicately printed inside the band. he plays nonchalant, voice even when you notice, “Hm? Engraved is it? Didn’t know.”. you laugh it off, tell him ‘thank you’ before grabbing your phone. he loves when your friends ask you about the jewelry, how you always point to him as the one whose covered you in pretty metals and eye-catching accessories

Roommate!Simon Riley who has a matching ring, your initials engraved on it. snug on his ring finger when he’s at base - pretends it’s a wedding band, that his spouse is waiting for him at home. Simon doesn’t flaunt that ring at home though, not when he can have you tucked against his side. no, Simon doesn’t have that band on his ring finger, he slips it on with his dog tags. tucked under shirt, safe and sound on that silver chain as he holds you tightly

simon ghost riley can often be found resting upon your lap, rugged, scratchy with prickling, patchy stubble face nudges in the doughy surface of your supple thighs, open by some short sleeping shorts you wear around the house, or nothing at all, just a pair of panties that barely separate him from where he tries to burrow in, concealed only by the loose shirt that is draped over your body and crumples between your legs.

nuzzling in like a domesticated cat, focused on getting where he wants to go, brazen, demanding, calloused, short nailed fingers dig in and knead on the sensitive flesh of your thighs, leaving hollows and making you flinch, coating with goosebumps, making you clench your own fingers in the short hairs on the nape of his neck, previously tangled there to scratch at his scalp, now trying to tug him away, even though the displeased grumble coming through his chest, and the forceful grip he keeps on your legs.

simon just needs it, not to only lay with his head on your thighs and enjoy the caress of your fingers over his hair and face, nails raking down slow over the sensitive skin of his mug, the tissued feeling of scars and faded blemishes that were left by wearing a suffocating balaclava too often, but it's not enough, there's a gut wounding, aching need to be close to the most intimate part of your body, crawl in somewhere between your ribs, but the only thing he can do that is somewhat close, burrow his nose against your clothed cunt, jaw stretching to accommodate his wide opening mouth, just to inhale the telltale note of your building arousal, the musk of your sweet pussy.

and you can't say him no, not with how persistently his tongue lolls out to wet the slowly drenching fabric of your underwear, his crooked nose pressed just right against the twitchy, swelling nub of your pebbled clit, searing hot and seeming to twitch at the proximity, sending spasms down your bowing spine and flexing, curling toes, as your part your legs for him, feeling the heavy press of his brawny, full chest against your tensing thigh, as he hums lowly, before sucking on your mound through the fabric, burying down in earnest.

it's quite charming, how eager simon is to fuck his tongue in your mouth and swallow down mouthfull of your honey syrupy slick, dripping eagerly on his twisting, curling tongue and relaxed throat, letting him gulp down each drop, until he grows tired, perhaps drowsy, weighted by the exhausted weeks, contented to be squished down between your legs.

main masterlist. quidelines.

ai is making people way too comfortable with being incompetent stupid and useless… go learn some skills

simon riley is simon fucking riley.

why would he need a secretary?

it was price's idea to put up the "help wanted" sign, even though simon never agreed to it. he was completely capable of going through life "assistantless", he had made it this far, hadn't he?

but the way you greeted him, placed your manicured hand out for him to envelop it with his, was something he wasn't prepared for in the slightest. simon found himself whispering your name to himself as he walked to lunch, stapled papers, shaving his face.

you were a phenomenon to him, a spiritual experience that he just didn't recognize yet. and even though he was slowly coming around to this whole thing, the truth was, he'd always be a bitter man.

"sir, I was placed here for your benefit. trust me when I say, whatever you ask of me, I will do-"

"I don't need your fuckin' help, y'hear me?" simon would respond with a bite, even though his words only encouraged your crush more.

and his eyes spoke words his mouth couldn't. they casually wandered down the length of your body, and he took it upon himself to memorize the sight of you. sitting, standing, bending over.

how could he not? the way your plump ass sat in that stupidly tight skirt, how the buttons lining your polo were just seconds away from flying across the room with the help of your black push up bra, it was just too much for him.

every single morning, without fail, you waltzed right into his office. his space, unsolicited. carrying your unnecessarily large purse and an iced coffee, your soft voice rang and bounced off the four walls, "good morning, sir."

you might as well just bow down to him while your at it, with all that sweet talk you give to simon, all the shy little nods and waves you bid him throughout the day, and he ate it right up.

"I finished the spreadsheets you asked me to compartmentalize. will that be all for today?" you'd say, leaning over his mahogany desk as your cleavage spills out of your top. simon was about to lose his cool.

"that'll be all, luv." he cooly spoke over his computer, trying to regain his composure.

it wasn't until a few days later, when you were struggling to put a stack of files on the top shelf, that simon's self control went out the window. he watched as you stood on your tiptoes, losing balance trying to place the items. and he couldn't help but come up behind you, placing a large palm on the small of your back to steady you.

a small gasp came from your throat at the gesture, "easy, luv, just me." he whispered back.

simon was so close, close enough to the point where you could study his face, watching his eyes squint at the effortless reach it took for him to stack the files.

the eye contact alone led your mind astray, and as his hand drifted away from your back to the fat of your hip, your eyes fluttered down to his lips, then neck, then shoulders.

that was all it took. what started as a something simon hated became something he lived for. the hand around your hip pulled you closer to him as the other cradled your face.

"tell me to stop." he whispered, nose rubbing against your own, causing your eyes to flutter shut.

you smiled at the outrageous thought.

"never."

simon's lips crashed against yours in an instant, a clash of teeth and tongue, slow licks and harsh nips were quickly causing your legs to give out beneath you.

he picked you up instantly, "mm, I gotcha,"

that's how you found yourself laid all pretty on his desk, legs up on his shoulders. the slight curve of his dick and veins you could feel with every nerve in your body only created shudders.

"mmhmm, mm, y-you don't hate me?"

you said, interrupting the lewd sounds of him slamming into you, the squelch of the two of you joining made you tighten around him.

"fuck, no. no, don't hate you, lovey,"

and of course, simon being the pussydrunk that he is would casually slip this in,

"love you, fucking love you."

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idk if yall missed my headcanons but i got bored and figured out which dog breed the 141 would be + co authored by my dog neek friend

STOP CARING ABOUT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK OF YOU!!!!

NO ONE. and i mean *NOBODY* will EVER have a "right" or valid opinion of you! have they been through all the exact experiences and learnt the lessons you've been through? no!!

what they think and say about you IS NOT A REFLECTION OF YOU. everything they say about you is based on THEIR OWN past experiences and how they've been raised! its NOT PERSONAL. its NOT always about you.

for example: if someone wears a high crop top or a mini skirt/ shorts, some cultures might frown or be disgusted by that. but thats only because of the way they've been raised is to show no skin. its not about the person wearing the clothes.

so you need to get over yourself. go out into public wearing those clothes, be proud of yourself. you've been through so much and so have those other people. if they say something bad, don't take it personally. its about their life. not yours.

ITS NEVER PERSONAL.

so as long as it's not hurting anyone, go and live your fu<3ing life!