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i actually want to strangle lucy and stephen with my bare hands

You take out your little tin of Vaseline, taking a small amount on your finger and bringing it to your lips. You feel Simon Riley’s large presence walk up to you. He leans one hand against the wall. He’s standing so close you could almost see his pupils expand a little when you looked up into them.

Your heart racing, you hold his gaze and rub your finger over your lips. Dip into the tin, back onto your lips. You rub your lips together.

“Can I have some?” Ghost’s gruff voice rumbles from beneath his mask.

“You want lip balm?” You ask, somewhat incredulous. He didn’t seem like the type.

He merely nods, never talking his eyes off yours.

“Okay.” You say, the word sounding more like a question. He lifts his mask just above his mouth. You go to hand over the tin. His hand comes out but instead of taking the tin, they find your chin, gently gripping you and pulling you closer. His lips land on yours, firm but a lot gentler than you were expecting.

He pulls back, rubbing his lips together. You blush furiously.

“Thanks, love.” He mumbles, pulling his mask back down. He walks away then as if nothing just happened.

is there anything more boring than watching golf? like fuck.

this struck something in me

The room is dimly lit, as it always is when you have sex with Simon. Shadows dance along the walls as he drives into you with unrelenting precision. Your back arches off the bed, lips parting in whimpers as his thick, throbbing cock hits that devastating spot deep inside you over and over. His hands grip you firmly, grounding you as your vision blurs, your body trembling under the sheer intensity of him. The air between you is electric—raw and consuming.

But then, just as you’re both caught in the heat of it, his low, gravelly voice rumbles softly against your ear.

"Y’know," he mutters, deadpan, "if I keep fuckin' ya this good, reckon y'might end up snorin' as loud as y'did last night."

You freeze for half a second, your brain short-circuiting before a laugh bursts out of you, completely unbidden. You try to hold it in, but it’s no use—you’re shaking with laughter, gasping for breath as Simon's thrusts slow to halt, watching you with the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes.

You manage to choke out between giggles, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He doesn’t respond immediately, just tilts his head with a dry, unimpressed look, though the tiniest smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Just making conversation," he says plainly, as if he hasn’t just shattered the mood entirely.

"Still with me?" he asks, his deep voice a low rumble as his hand cradles your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. You manage a nod, your breath shaky, and a flicker of satisfaction crosses his face.

"Good," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over yours. "Now behave."

The words barely register before he thrusts into you again, slow and deliberate, pulling a gasp from your lips as your vision blurs, the intensity making your legs quiver.

mlist | @machveil thanks for the inspo

in an isolationship

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.

i don’t think y’all understand how it wrecks my soul to think of simon riley waiting and waiting and waiting to get tapped out, knowing no one’s coming.