Simon Ghost Riley X Reader - Blog Posts

thinking about your older bf!simon that cannot cope with being far from you.

when you’re in the shower, he’s sat on the lid of the toilet on his phone (watching those rug cleaning videos) enjoying your faint singing under the stream of water, the smell of your body wash on the cloud of steam- ready to pass you a towel or get your back.

when you’re at your desk, working from home or studying, he’s just on the other side of it reading the paper with one outstretched leg tangled with both of yours. he’s dead quiet when you’re on a call, just happy to be around.

when you’re doing laundry, collecting the clothes in the hamper and crouching to stuff them into the washer- turning around and accidentally colliding with a thick wall of muscle.

“sorry, love”

he steps aside but you can hear his soft footfalls as he continues to follow you throughout your home.

when you’re both watching something on the couch, what starts as his pinky locked with yours turns into his arm around your waist. that turns into your head on his chest, which culminates with you falling asleep in his lap with his cheek on your head and soft snores emanating from his lips.

when you grocery shop, you push the trolley but his chest is to your back, arms either side of you and hands clasped over yours on the handle. you can thank his military training for his uncanny ability to tell exactly when you’ll stop walking.

when he wakes up in the middle of the night, on a rare occasion when you’ve managed to slip out of bed without him realising, he’s immediately in a panic calling your name.

“in here, my love”

as soon as his heart settles, he realises the bathroom light was probably a dead giveaway. you’re taking a wee, you’ll be back in a minute.

that doesn’t stop a sleepy simon from leaning in the doorframe, shielding his eyes from the big light as he waits for you to finish up.

even on the short walk back to bed, you can feel fingers twisted in the back of your shirt- almost like you’re leading the way.

minute you’re both on the mattress, you’re being wrapped up in his arms, slotting you perfectly into the curve of his front- almost like you’re made for him.

(and you are)

Great Work 👍🏽🫶🏽

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Autistic Reader headcanons.

A/N: I myself am not autistic but I do know a fair bit about it. So I figured I'd write headcanons before writing a fic just to dip my toes in and see if I can get it right.

I know that autism can present a bit differently for some things across different people. Please feel free to let me know if something in this list is not correct. ❤️

Ghost would be lying if he said he didn't give you extra special treatment apart from his other teammates. And it's well justified. Simon knows not to compare you to a child but he also knows that you need things the others don't.

Simon has picked up on subtle signs throughout the months working with you. How sometimes when things didn't go according to plan on base it would leave you more stressed out than it should have. Sometimes if your food wasn't what you had expected it to be, he'd notice how you'd react.

He eventually consulted your file before making any decisions. That's how he'd found out you are autistic.

Simon knew someone who was autistic, so he made sure to keep his eye close on you.

He noticed each little shift. How you would stim with your clothing or your hair, too embarrassed to carry a fidget toy around base. But that didn't matter to Simon. He made sure to take care of everything. He bought some fidget toys small enough to fit in his jacket and when in meetings or just sitting around, he'd pull a toy like magic from his pocket and hand it over.

You'd been incredibly grateful the first few times, and then it just became routine that Simon would carry around the toys for you and have one on hand whenever you needed.

He also noticed which ones you liked, and didn't like. Some you would hand back because they didn't feel right on your fingers. Others clicked and slid in a way you didn't quite like, and he kept a tab of that. He compared fidget toys you did like to similar ones and was very precise every time he got you a new one.

He made sure that in every environment he was nearby. How you'd react to the lights, different sounds. How you'd react when it got to loud and crowded or too quiet. What noises bugged you and what calmed you.

When on missions, Simon made sure to talk you through each step. He thought his voice would help you to face the unexpected. Telling you where to go and exactly what to do, ready to face any situation.

"Take a deep breath y/n, you're doing great. Two Shadows on your left, you can take them out from where you are without being spotted"

Your level of empathy and emotional awareness was also something he had to take into account. You could sensitive to anger. You could feel a great deal of empathy and almost take on the burden of It being your fault even if you had nothing to do with it. Because of this, Simon made sure that you were aware his anger was never on you.

"Simon? Did I do something wrong? You looked really upset when you looked at me earlier and I just thought that maybe-"

Simon places his hand on your shoulder. "No no, just had a rough morning. You did absolutely nothing wrong. Got it?"

Simon has also become much more aware of how he teases you. You were emotionally aware to the point that you very clearly understood Simon would joke about being hurt, or would make fun of you and it was all jokes. He understood that you understood how his emotions worked as well.

But there was the occasional time where Simon would pretend to be hurt by your words and you'd have genuine regret. It doesn't happen as often as he would have thought, but when it does, he's right there to reassure you he is completely fine.

Simon actually gets more upset than you do when people call you a child wrapped up in an adults body with a nice little bow on top. Of course you have your traits but Simon has seen your hobbies and interests. You're no super genius but you are more than a child. You just have a different trajectory point on life's train tracks. And Simon makes sure to remind anyone he doesn't think is being respectful of you as a person.

Nightmares can affect you more harshly because of your emotional investment with things and the people around you.

The first time Simon saw you become overstimulated he was a little scared he'll be honest. He panicked a little bit. But now he knows exactly what to do. At first he tried to comfort you, allowing you to be swallowed up in his embrace, he crushed you tightly in his arms and smoothed his hands over your muscles. It would sometimes take a while for you to come down from your high, but he was there for every moment.

When he becomes a bit better at knowing how to handle a situation when you get over stimulated the process is smoother. Simon will notice how you can completely shut down. Sometimes it's near a meltdown with tears flowing everywhere. And other times you just disconnect. You don't move, don't speak, completely distant. Simon approaches you gently and picks you up in his arms.

"This ok?" He whispers near your ear as to not startle you. You cling to him tightly, burying your head in his neck. "Alright, come on, you've had a long day."

He rubs your back and brings you to your room. If you're away from base he just finds a separate room that is quiet. Anywhere he can go to separate the noise and bustling energy from you. If you're in your room he'll lay you down and just get you to relax.

Tears flow down your cheeks, hands still clasping the material of Simon's hoodie. Simon gently rubs your collar and down over your shoulders. He presses on different parts of your arms until you relax. "Take a deep breath. Take a deep breath." Simon breathes in deeply, prompting you to mimick. He wipes the tears from your cheeks and fetches your heavier blanket from the end of the bed. "See? You're ok."

He grabs your fidget from your desk and place it in your hand, or sometimes he'll lean over you and allow you to play with his sweater.

He talks softly and calmly, he does know kinder and softer words of reassurance help.

Sometimes all you want to do is hug Simon under the warmth of your weighted blanket, his arms wrapped around you like mountains compressing you from all angles.

And sometimes Simon will shut the door, lay you on your back and lay the weighted blanket just above the bend in the bottom of your spine. If you want a fidget toy he'll get you one to distract your hands while he runs soothing motions along your muscles, feeling them relax and contract. He plays white Noise in the background for you, or he'll give you his phone so you can watch soap cutting videos or other visually satisfying things.

"How are you doing?" He whispers near your ear, thumbs rubbing over your stomach and up around your back to cup your shoulder blades. "Look at it." You flip the phone to show a satisfying paint video. "Oh, that's a cool one isn't it?" You nod and go back to watching it.

Wherever Simon got so good at doing massages, you would not change it for the world. You've expressed before how nice they feel and how they calm you down. And Simon continues to do them.

Simon always makes sure that when you're over stimulated you have something to do with your hands. Again, if you want to play with his hoodie he'll stay with you so you can. If you want to run your hands through his hair, he's become comfortable enough to allow it.

"What are you doing up there?" He asks with a smile. You hum, combing your fingers through the short hair of his nape and up into the longer locks. "Soft." You express the feeling over your fingertips. "Yeah? I did shower." "I like your hair."

The occasional times you go nonverbal and are unsure how to express your needs, Simon will pull out a few toys and just crawl up next to you. He holds out his hoodie strings and comb his fingers through your hair.

He lays next to you, holding up one of the fidget toys. You gently take it and allow your fingers to move over it. Simon stays, fingers moving to drift through your scalp. You abandon the toy quicker than he expected and reach for his hoodie. "Oh you want this?" He smiles and moves closer so you can play with the strings of his hoodie.

Simon knows that you are incredibly passionate about what makes you happy. He often bugs you that you never shut up, but he knows you love it. One time when you both couldn't sleep early on the morning, Simon made you both tea and sat silently while you went on for nearly four hours about the lore of your favorite game/movie/TV show. He'd add little key points and poke out certain details, which would lead you down a detailed side rant before coming back to wrap everything up. The conversations would ring you dry of information. Simon would be lying if he said he didn't like it when you info dumped on him.

It was one of your ways you expressed your love. Sharing these things that made you so incredibly happy and Simon wanted to be a part of that.

Simon is still learning, and honestly he's very happy to learn. Sometimes he gets things right and sometimes he doesn't. But he is always here to make sure you get the care and provision you need. Whether it's taking a step back or a step in.

childhoodbsf!simon who eventually turns into fwb!simon and inevitably breaks your heart.

warnings : angst(y), mentions of sex but not very detailed, written on iPhone and not proofread

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it happened so naturally.

ever since that blond-haired boy moved across the street from you, and helped you draw a princess maze with pink chalk on the asphalt of the quiet street.

ever since you’d giggled as he dragged you to the little forest at the back of your yard—offering you an entire-day adventure and granting him a respite from the smothering walls of his house.

ever since he’d decided to call you sunshine, because that’s simply what you were to him. his sacred light in the dark storm cloud of his childhood.

ever since then, simon riley had become your very best friend. platonic soulmates, you’d called it.

⸝⸝

it had stuck for a while.

until college and the military rolled around, and suddenly your eyes were yearning for him nearly as often as your fragile heart.

suddenly, it didn’t feel so platonic.

there was still this easiness, that was undeniable—you still trudged into the tattoo shop with him every other month or sometimes week, watching as the needle danced across his thick biceps the same way your fingers longed to.

you still let your head loll on simon’s lap as he forced yet another painfully boring movie on you.

he still pushed your thighs apart and muffled his face in your tummy when you rioted and a romcom ended up playing on his obnoxiously big flat screen.

the same boy from your childhood grunted if your fingers weren’t carding through his dirty-blond locks within the minute.

⸝⸝

and then one day, somehow, after yet another failed date—because all those boys were lacking something, some spark—you found yourself at his flat.

he’d opened the door, clad in just boxers and the gray, army-issued t-shirt with his last name plastered on the back. it made that familiar sizzle run up the length of your spine before tingling at the back of your skull like a firework.

he’d hugged you like he’d done a million times before.

had stroked the length of your hair, the way you liked.

had talked to you softly, the way you needed.

had kissed your temple, the way you craved.

it had happened naturally then too. the push up to your tiptoes and the search of your doe eyes with his whiskey ones. your own were pleading, that much you knew. his thumb had grazed your cheekbone tenderly, prompting a chain reaction that inevitably ended in a tangle of limbs and messy navy sheets.

after that initial detonation, it had happened again and again and again—though it was all as friends. a good arrangement really, if one wasn’t in love with the man who fucked them on the regular.

which you were currently admitting to yourself, while simon—your simon—was buried deep inside you. deeper than anyone else ever had or ever could. deeper than just physical.

“si- look at me.”

it was a futile ask. you knew it all too well. those whiskey eyes never met yours when he was taking you.

“hm. can’t pretty girl. y’feel too fuckin’ good, sunshine,” he grunted.

it was half a lie. because while you did feel like heaven clutching him, that wasn’t fully why he could never meet your glazed doe eyes.

the truth was lodged somewhere deep between his ribs, in that sensitive spot where he kept very few things—like his mom, his baby brother, and you.

and if he met your eyes when he was deep inside your velvet heat, not only would he finish too early, but he’d want to keep you forever. which is something he refused to do.

even if it broke his heart when—after you’d both reached your peaks in a slow, deep, long orgasm—your nimble fingers curled around his dog tags. so goddamn reverent, that touch of yours. it undid him.

your manicured thumb brushed the indentation of his name in the metal plate, and those three little words slipped out of you like you’d always said them with this much meaning. they’d grown too heavy, too real for your body to be able to hold them back anymore. it was the softest, most honest i love you you’d ever said.

simon had frozen, spine rigid even if he’d known—he’d known it was coming.

so when he’d bent down, gently sliding out of you as he pressed his shaking lips to your forehead, tears fell quietly from the corners of your eyes. the same ones he’d lifted so often before, whether it be with a stupid joke or a smug smirk.

you knew too, right then, that he wouldn’t say it back.

that this was the last time. that this was the most you’d get from him.

a single hiccup wracked your throat, which simon eased the only way he knew how—with a familiar, smoothing hand over your hair. he rolled off his bed shortly after, his rippling back to you as he walked into his en suite bathroom.

when he came back out, minutes or hours later he wasn’t sure, with his bare feet dragging across the cold tiles, you were gone.

prompted by sheer agony, simon had almost laughed.

because even if you’d left, you were still everywhere.

his pillows smelled of those expensive shampoo and conditioner you loved, the ones that made your hair all soft and silky. his sheets smelled of vanilla and coconut, same as his cotton t-shirts, which you’d been borrowing since your teenage years.

hell, even his ribs throbbed. right where the fine-line sunshine was inked permanently.

the worst is that he was okay with it. the ache. the pain. it was familiar. bitterly comfortable.

a part of him had always known—even when he’d picked up that pink chalk more than a decade ago—that the sweet girl across the street would haunt him forever.

but he’d suffer your absence a thousand lifetimes over, as long as it meant the ghosts of his own demons could never reach you. could never snuff out that golden light he’d fallen irrevocably in love with.

because that instinct—to protect his sunny girl no matter the cost—had always happened so naturally.

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ᝰ.ᐟ author’s note

hii! okay so this is my first simon riley drabble (and my first ever published piece really lol), so if it sucks please bear with me :*)

idk if this is anything—but i had a 3 hour road trip, 5 hours of sleep, and this wouldn’t leave my head so here it is!

Constellations of Love

Simon riley x reader | fluff |  Warnings: none  I was listening to “your universe” by Rico Blanco and i can’t help but to think about Ghost :( 

In the shadowed side of dangerous missions, Simon "Ghost" Riley was a beacon of enigma. With a reputation that whispered of mysterious and skillful, he moved through the shadows with a grace that seemed unchallenging. But beneath the tactical facade, even a soldier like Ghost yearned for love that transcended the havoc.

Among the chaos of a world teetering on the edge, You his darling who stood as a brilliant support and light that Ghost found himself uncontrollably  drawn to. The danger was always present, but so was the undeniable connection of shared laughter, quiet conversations, and stolen moments of vulnerability. It was a fragile balance, a dance between a fierce commitment to duty and the yearning for something more.

 Ghost found himself seated beside you, your forms illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. The crackle of the campfire serenaded your words, as you spoke of dreams that would exist if you weren’t in the military.

“I'll ask the stars above, 'How did I win your love?”

The words were a reflection of Simon’s own thoughts, a feeling he had never dared to voice. His eyes met yours, and in that instant, the veil of invincibility that he often wore shattered, revealing the man who longed for love as deeply as anyone else no matter how he rejected affection.

You two shared a comfortable silence, you never answered his question because you know that deep down he knows the answer. the crackling fire seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the symphony of emotions that lingered between the two of you. Ghost's gloved hand found yours, fingers intertwining as if in silent agreement that the world could wait, just for a moment.

“I don't think that you even realize the joy you make me feel when I'm inside your universe” you gripped into his hand as if he’ll let go. 

Ghost had always thought that he will never find someone, but you had proven otherwise. In the heart of uncertainty, you had become the steadfast star in his sky.

In a world where danger was everywhere and tomorrow was never guaranteed, you and Simon found a connection that defied the odds. Through whispered conversations and fleeting touches, they formed a bond that transcended the chaos of reality.

Ghost leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a promise that needed no words. In the constellations of the night sky, amidst the commotion  of the world, love had found its place—a universe between the two of you.

"𝐓𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮"

Simon Riley x Reader |Fluff|

The sun has finally started to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow all over Manchester as you stood in your balcony. The gentle breezed ruffled your hair while taking a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of your surroundings. This was your only way of relief, your escape from the chaos of your own life.

You knew you weren't alone on that balcony as you heard familiar footsteps approaching. It was Simon. He stood beside you, his silhouette sharply delineated against the colorful sky. His blue eyes gazed into the distance, and you could sense the weight of his thoughts. Simon was man of a few words, though his actions spoke louder.

"You come here often?" he finally spoke, breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you.

You shrugged, a small smile painted on you lips. "Whenever the world becomes too much."

He nodded in response, his gaze never leaving the view. "I get that."

Once again the two of you stood there for a while, sharing the comfortable silence that you two cherish the most. You and Simon went through so much together, seen the darkest sides of the world, faced so many ups and downs and grew stronger each time. There was this bond between the two of you, unspoken and unbreakable.

As the last traces of daylight fade, you turn to face Simon, eyes meeting each others, and for a moment, you felt like you two were the only people in the world. You reached your hand out to gently hold on to his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

"Hey" you said softly, "you know you can always talk t'me right?"

Simon's jaw tensed slightly, you can see the hurt in his eyes. Simon was a pro at hiding his emotions, but you had learned to read subtle cues that betrayed his own feelings.

"i know" he responded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Its just hard finding the right words."

You softly squeezed his arm "you dont have to find the perfect words. Just tell me and i'll listen."

He hesitated for a moment before letting out a sigh and he finally opened up to you.

Your heart ached for him, for the burdens he carried. You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a gentle hug. He returned the embrace, his grip firm and comforting.

"Simon, your not defined by your past." you whispered your soft reassurance against his ear. "You've saved countless lives, including mine. Your a hero. My hero."

He pulled away slightly, his eyes searching yours. "And what about you? you faced danger as much as i have."

You smiled, brushing a strand of his hair out of his eyes. "im just a regular person trying to make a difference, but having you by my side makes everything less scary."

Simon's lips curved into a smile, as he reached up to cup your cheeks, thumb brushing against your skin. "You have a way of making even the darkest moments seem brighter."

The atmosphere between the two of you was charged with unspoken words, emotion swirling in the space between your bodies.

When you finally pulled away from the embrace Simon's eye held a mixture of suprise and something else—a vulnerability that he rarely showed. You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for the man who had become your anchor in your world full of chaos.

"sometimes," you murmured, "all it takes is one person to remind you that your not alone."

Simon nodded, his hands still resting against your cheeks. "And your the right person for me."

You leaned to his touch, savoring the warmth that he provided with his hands. You two didn't need grand gestures to elaborate confessions; this moment, this connection said it all.

Both of you knew theres still more challenges to come ahead, but as long as you've got each other, there was nothing that could break the two of you.

And at that fleeting moment, as you stood side by side, the weight of the world seems a little lighter. There was a void you didn't know needed filling. And now that you found each other, that void is filled.

Simon who had to ask Captain Price and Johnny for advice on how is he gonna get things together.

Simon who stared at you contact for 5 minutes straight before hitting send button on his message.

Simon who made sure to look neat as possible. Styling his hair, brushing his teeth and picking out an outfit that looks good.

Simon who can't decide which boquet of flowers to buy.

Simon who couldn't help but blush and smile to see you in your beautiful outfit.

Simon who made sure he acted like a gentleman by opening his car door for you, making you walk in the restaurant first (his mother taught him the "ladies first" rule way back when he was a kid)

Simon who insist on paying for all the food you ate

Simon who tried to act calm when he fell on one knee and took out a small dark blue box from his pocket, revealing a beautiful ring.

You who couldn't believe everything thats happening, stuck in cloud nine.

You who immediately said yes giving the warmest embrace ever

And Simon, who felt like hes the most luckiest man on earth to have you in his dark and gloomy life.

"𝙄 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚"

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader |Angst?| Warning: Mentions of death ( this isn't proofread and this is so poorly written)

The battlefield was chaotic with all of the gunfire and explosions. Ghost moved swiftly as he tried clear out every area that can be a possible enemy hideout. You and him were both determined to find victory in this mission. Though, in the back of Ghost's mind, he couldn't shake the bad feeling of you getting hurt.

As Ghost fought through the hostile forces, something rang in his earpiece. It was your voice, weak and strained. "Lt.... i need help.."

Fear gripped Ghost's heart. The last time he felt this feeling was when he was a little boy, hiding from the wrath of his father.

He sprinted towards the source of the signal. Each step felt like an eternity, his mind and his heart was racing. He couldn't help but think about the countless missions you both had to go through. He was always there for you, always ready to catch you when you fall. But this time it's different.

Finally, he reached a dimly lit alley where he found your almost lifeless form, struggling to stay conscious. Your blood pooling into the ground with a faint smile on your lips as your eyes met his.

"My Simon" you called out his name, barely above a whisper.

Ghost hurriedly rushed to your side, dropping his knees. He scanned your injuries while trying to comprehend everything that's happening. "Hang on love, I'll get you outta here." his voice cracked.

"Simon, It's too late for me. You have to go" you weakly held Simon's hand.

"No, [Name] i wont leave you here." Ghost spoke out, his voice trembling with emotion. He couldn't afford to lose you. You were the most important thing that came in to his life, You were the only one he had left; the only one who saw him as Simon.

With every ounce of strength he had to muster, Ghost carried you to safety, trying to shield you from any possible threats along the way, while he contacted the rest of the 141.

As both of you reach the extraction point, you smiled at Ghost "Your always the stubborn one" your voice barely audible. "Take good care of yourself yeah?"

"Don't talk like that." Simon pleaded, his heart breaking at the sight of you. "Your going to make it. You have to."

You reached up gently touched his cheek "Remember the promises we made? that... no one was going to be left behind"

Your words struck into Ghost's heart. He couldn't save you this time.

"Promise me Simon. Promise me that you'll be takin' care of yourself, even if im gone." you spoke out. Ghost didnt say a word but he simply took off his blacalava and rested his forehead with yours.

"I love you, Si"

"I love you too."

----- ✧⁠*° -----

Days, months and even years have passed, Simon still feels the weight and grief of your loss. He tried to keep the promise of taking care of himself but, he just can't. Without you he's nothing.

He would visit your grave daily, talking about everything. The little things he saw that reminded him of you, the way he kept all your belongings in his place. The pain of losing you never subsided but he knew he had to keep going, he had to live for you.

"I promise, [name]. I'll never forget you. I promise that i'll keep you in my heart forever."

Simon. Ghost. Riley.

Simon and Johnny <3

Ghost Lets You Help (18+)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content Warnings: Oral (m-receiving), nutting onto partner’s body, she/her Reader, Reader’s hair is long enough to be gripped in someone’s hand Word Count: 3.4k

Service Dog Johnny Part 17 (full part list here)

“How often do you jerk off?”

Your boyfriend’s fingers halt their up and down movement across your lower back, and you quickly tack on, “You don’t have to answer that, I’m just nosy, and I like you a lot.”

Simon huffs in amusement. “At home, or when I’m working?”

“At home, I guess.”

“Ehh… Just about every day.”

Your mouth pops open in surprise, because you don’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that. He’s with you nearly every minute when you’re both home, and he’s certainly never given any indication of needing to sneak off to take care of something. 

But really, is it that surprising? You know first hand that he’s quite functional.

“Hmm,” you reply finally. “You’re a really interesting person.”

“It’s not that interesting.”

“Mmm… disagree. I have way more questions now.”

He turns his head to get a look at you, resting in bed with your cheek smushed into the crook of his shoulder. “Like what?”

“Like… have you jerked off today?”

“No.” His hand begins to move again, steadily smoothing against the worn fabric of your sleep shirt. 

“Would you ever want… help?” You ask casually, smiling at him. “Just like, for fun. Like a quick, wham bam… here’s my hand.”

You expect him to laugh at your little joke, but instead Simon makes that grumble in his throat that means he’s uncomfortable, and stares up at the shadowy ceiling. “It’s… ahh. It’s not easy… well, it’s a problem, having things done, sort of, to me.”

“Gotcha, okay.” Your reassurance is automatic, but you still lay there against his side for a minute with your heart clenching, wishing the worst things the world has to offer on whoever caused this. 

You know you should probably end the conversation there and not push him, but you can’t help asking, “What about if you were controlling it? No pressure of course, I’m just troubleshooting. Do you think it would be easier if you were the one just like… fucking my mouth?”

 He takes a deep breath and slides his free hand down his face, like he’s really considering it. “Maybe.”

You contain your smile to a mere tenth of what it wants to be, and add, “Well, if you ever feel like experimenting, I would really, really like to do that. And you know we could stop whenever you need.”

“You’d want to do that?” He finally glances at you, frowning slightly like he thinks you’re lying. 

“Yes! Oh my god.” You sit up in your excitement, beaming down at him. “That would be so fun.”

He assesses you like this is all new information to him. Like he never even imagined that you’d be practically creaming yourself at the chance to get him in your mouth, no matter how it happens. You’d absolutely give him that control, you’d let him fuck your face for as long as he wants if it means you get a taste of his pleasure.

“You’d like that,” he muses finally. 

Please, please, god, PLEASE.  

“Mhmm,” you reply with a heavy dose of faux nonchalance, so he’ll feel like he’s allowed to say no. 

His eyes flick to the clock on the nightstand. There’s still some time left before you usually go to bed. 

“Would you do it with the lights off?”

“Of course,” you beam. “I’m up for anything.”

“All the lights,” he reinforces sternly, as if that could possibly matter.

“Baby. You’re gonna get me excited.”

He throws his legs over the side of the bed and stays there for a minute stretching his neck out, while you remain where you are, vibrating with anticipation. Finally he sighs and glances over his shoulder at you. “Suppose you’re allowed to get excited.”

Just like that, it’s settled. 

Gleefully you spring into action to do the necessary bedtime things, scrubbing over your teeth and washing your face. When you meet him back in the bedroom, he’s for some reason staring down at a pillow that’s lying on the floor.

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

“Err… you’ll be on your knees, yeah? Would a pillow be wobbly, or?…”

This is really happening. 

“Carpet’s fine,” you assure him, scooping up the pillow and tossing it back on the bed. “It’s plenty soft, and also I don’t care.”

“Hmm.”

Ignoring you entirely, he starts stalking around the room, running his fingers over the locks on the windows and unplugging anything with a little glowing light. 

You do the only thing that’s really your job, and strip your clothes off, because surely he’ll want to look a little before the lights go out. And since he’s still meticulously getting the blackout curtains to stay as closed as they can go, you begin to plan the scene.

If he’s going to be the one fucking your mouth, if you aren’t allowed to move at all, you’re going to want something for support. The obvious thing is the bed, so you test it by getting to the floor and slipping your feet into the space under the bed frame. This could work. You have the soft edge of the mattress to lean your back against now, and it’ll be relatively comfy to give a blowjob like this. 

Your mind only focuses back to the present when Simon comes to a stop some paces away, tracing your body with his eyes. 

“Is this okay?” you ask. 

“Mhmm.” His hand comes to rest on the doorknob as his gaze floats up to your face. 

“You locked the front door, I saw.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t move though, and you can practically see him second guessing it through his unfocused expression. He won’t be able to relax unless he knows for sure.

“Go ahead and check,” you concede, “we have time.”

Instantly he’s out the door. You let your head fall back on the bed, smiling to yourself as you rest there for a moment. You stroke your hands down your stomach just to feel the softness of your own skin, and then squeeze your breasts. 

The last person who touched you was Johnny. He’s gone tonight, had to do a nighttime shooting qualification at work, so you won’t see him until hopefully tomorrow. 

What would he think, if he knew this was about to happen? Would he worry about Simon? Maybe feel like you’re pushing him too fast? It was just a couple of days ago that you were biting Johnny’s head off about feeling unwanted, and now you’re experimenting without him again. 

Your hands drop off your body as soon as the door opens. You blink up at your boyfriend who’s now towering over you, a completely different person than he was a few minutes ago.

He must have satisfied every bug in his brain, because the curtains are now the farthest thing from his mind. His eyes are liquid darkness, roving over your bare skin as he reaches behind his neck to strip his shirt over his head. He doesn’t even fold it, just wads it up and tosses it on the bed without a glance.

“You ready?” you ask innocently, shivering a little. 

“Yep.”

“Okay.” Your gaze wanders down to the situation in his pants, and you realize your mistake. “You’re more like, here, aren’t you?” You readjust, getting to your full height on your knees instead of sitting. 

“I think so.”

You put your elbows behind you to prop you up on the bed, and surreptitiously watch him cross the room to turn off the lamp

Click.

And then it’s real.

The first thing you notice is that he did an excellent job of killing every light. There’s fucking nothing, not even the clock display to orient you to your surroundings. Granted, your eyes haven’t adjusted yet, but it’s basically pitch black, which means he has a good chance of going through with this. 

Which means—

He’s quiet, as he usually is. It’s only his unavoidable weight, and the creak of old floorboards that allows you to sense that he’s come back to you. Your body awakens with the awareness of proximity, excitement and arousal, and for some reason a little bit of fear, which doesn’t seem to diminish the other two. 

Your name comes out of his chest, slow and deep, and right in front of you.

“Yeah, baby,” you whisper, feeling more vulnerable in the darkness, because you can’t anticipate the first place he’ll touch you. 

It’s your chin. His familiar hand finds your face, and then you’ve got a palm holding each of your cheeks. Thumbs you can’t see brush across your temples, careful fingers tuck your hair behind your ears. His hands are steady as they repeat the motion, stroking the edges of your face to pet your hair out of the way. Again. Again. Gentle fingers of a patient man. 

You keep your eyes lifted as if you can see him, relaxing your body and allowing him to tilt your head back a little. Your hair gets methodically gathered into one of his hands, and then held firmly like that, in a way that makes you anticipate your mouth getting soon filled. 

But he releases it, as if he was just testing the option. His hands slip back around to your face, cupping the underside of your jaw and curling around your nape. 

“You're safe,” he tells you, for some reason.

“I know.”

His methodical breathing is all you hear as his thumb sweeps the length of your cheekbone, slowly, like he’s touching something valuable. And his other thumb finds the seam of your lips, coaxing them open with a little pressure. 

You stay soft for him while he pushes that digit past your teeth, keeping your mouth relaxed as he lets it rest on your tongue. You wait like that, letting him feel how warm and pliant your mouth is, just breathing through your nose as he caresses your face in the darkness. What a good girl you are, his thumb seems to say, skimming the tips of your lashes when you blink. So well behaved for me.

He never loses contact, even when his hand retreats from your mouth. He keeps the back of your skull resting in the cradle of his wide palm while he gets himself ready. That soft rustle of fabric shoots a thrill down your spine, has you lifting your chin a little to straighten out your throat. 

Then something warm and a little sticky kisses up against your lips, and the man you love breathes a quiet, “Open.”

Against the blanket, your fingers curl in pleasure while he eases himself into your mouth. He presses just the tip in, and then pulls back out a little, repeating the motion. It’s like he’s sampling the way it feels sliding across your tongue, so you stick it out for him to play with, just past your lower lip. He feels you do that, you can tell by the appreciative breath he lets out. He likes it. He likes picturing you here, patiently waiting with your tongue out, letting him rub his leaking tip up and down it. 

It’s so good. Your eyes drift closed on their own, mentally slipping into the skin of someone who deserves this kind of attention. You take an ungodly amount of pleasure in being toyed with like this — the slow, systematic breaking down of your psyche until all you are is a craving. A bone deep, unending ripple of want that registers your mouth as the natural place for his cock. He gets to come home now, pushing inside you and finding relief in the same act that’s getting you slick between your legs. 

You’re not sure if he does it like this on purpose to get you worked up. You’re not sure that it matters. 

“Show me how deep I can go so it’s still comfortable.” His thumb presses down on your jaw, guiding you to open wider. “This is important to me.”

Oh. Okay. Obediently you reach out and find his thigh with your hand, relaxing your mouth as he begins to push himself inside it. A happy, breathy noise leaves you when you finally feel it the way you’re meant to, finally get your mouth full of that fundamental piece of him. 

He doesn’t pause, just carefully pushes inside until he reaches the line of your gag reflex, and you offer some resistance on his leg to let him know. 

“Fuck, alright. Yeah, alright.” His  breathing is ragged between words. “Christ, you sound so pretty.”

Yeah, you’re too aroused to really hold back at this point. As he begins to slowly thrust into your mouth, you thank him for it with soft, needy throat noises. He keeps one hand around your jaw and feeds you his cock to exactly where you showed him, and it feels divine. 

You're not sure if it’s intentional, but he never fully pulls out. He never gives you a chance to collect yourself or swallow, just keeps filling your mouth until you’re no longer anxious about it ending before you’re ready. You’re dazed and content, drooling around him and communicating exactly how much you’re enjoying yourself, through every soft moan and whimper. Your lips are wet from the mess of spit and precum gathering in your mouth, and you’re getting so turned on that you swear there’s a faint sensation of something dripping down the inner crease of your thigh. 

Maybe you like this a lot. Maybe you enjoy the way your jaw aches with how thick he is. Maybe you’re glad this is lasting a lot longer than the other time, because there’s nothing that compares to getting on your knees for someone who loves you the way he does.  

“Don’t want to— Can I cum on you?”

Like he’s just remembered that you can’t talk with your mouth full, Simon quickly pulls out and stays there, holding your face and catching his breath. 

“Yeah, of course,” you say after a quick swallow. “Maybe don’t get it in my hair if you can help it.”

“I won’t.” 

He gathers your hair again in his shaking hand, and this time he uses it to hold your head steady while he sinks himself all the way to your throat. 

It has you grabbing onto the blanket while you fight back the urge to gag. You just weren’t prepared for that, hadn’t given yourself time to relax into it after he was so insistent earlier about not going too deep. One more thrust and you can’t help the way your throat constricts, the wet sputter you do when you can’t quite accommodate him. 

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, nearly scraping himself on your front teeth in his haste to pull out. “M’sorry. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You lift your hand to his wrist, finding his fingers with yours and wrapping around them to make sure he doesn’t let go of your hair. “You’re alright.”

His voice still has a frantic edge. “Didn’t mean to. That wasn’t on purpose.”

“I know, baby,” you assure him, slow and calm. “Take a breath, we’re okay.”

You’re rewarded with a deep inhale and exhale from somewhere above you. Then a steady, “You’re alright?”

“Yep, I’m doing great.” You sink down the side of the bed, letting your ass rest on your feet, and draping your head back on the edge of the mattress. “And you know what?”

“What?” His fingers shift in your hair, but he doesn’t let go, so you stroke your fingers down to his wrist.

“My tits are really soft,” you tell him, letting your smile warm the words.

There’s only a beat of silence, and then a little amused huff for you. “Are they, now?”

“Mhmm. You can see for yourself, if you want.”

There’s barely a second of hesitation before you hear his knees pop, and then feel that familiar hand tracing down your collarbone to find your breast. “Mmm. You’re right.”

Your evil plan is working. “Check the other one too, just to be sure.”

Simon only stops long enough to do another deep breath, then wraps his hand around your other breast, squeezing it gently. “Yeah. Fuckin’ nice.”

Time to get him what he needs. 

“So I have these nice soft titties right here for you, right? I think you should cum on them.”

His next breath is choppy and delicious, as he runs his fingertips down the swell of your breast and fiddles with your nipple. 

“I think they would look extra pretty,” you purr at him, “with a little decoration.”

His hand leaves your skin then, and the air is so quiet that you can hear him stroking himself with your spit remaining on him. You sigh happily, letting him hold your head out of the way by your hair, so your face won’t get dirty in a minute when he cums. 

“I love your voice,” he whispers. “That little high note you do at the end of a breath, when you’re… like this.”

“Wet?” You playfully whisper back.

“Are you wet, darling?”

Your thighs seem to flex together on their own accord. “Uh huh.” 

The slick sounds pause for a beat, and then he says, “Can I feel?”

Oh, fuck. You’re definitely going to have to get your toy out after this. “Yeah, baby.”

He doesn’t let go of your hair, just reaches down with his free hand to find your thighs. You spread your knees apart on the carpet and marvel at the lack of hesitation, as he runs his fingertips up and down the outside of your pussy. 

“Jesus bloody fucking Christ.”

“I’m having a great time,” you laugh, keeping your hips as still as possible so he remains in control of the contact. 

“You are, aren’t you?” 

“Mmm, yeah.” His fingers are still stroking your soaked pussy, so you turn your head a little to kiss his wrist. “I like this, baby.”

He’s collecting your wetness, you finally realize. He gets his palm nice and slick with it, and then gets back to his feet, and starts jerking off with your arousal. 

You close your eyes and let yourself picture it, how he’s standing now with your knees between his legs. You do your best to push your tits out so they’ll get the bulk of the exterior decorating, and just relax there and let him hear your happy, horny breaths. 

His choked curse is the only warning you get before something warm and sticky hits your chest. You smile to yourself while he works himself through that orgasm, painting you with his pleasure because for some reason he’d rather do this than shoot it down your throat. 

You don’t mind, not really. You’re pretty sure it’s not a humiliation thing for him, and it’s easy enough to get cleaned up afterwards. Once his breathing has started to level out and his grip in your hair loosens, you reach up and swipe a little bit of cum off your breast. In the pitch black, he doesn’t see you suck it off your finger.

His recovery is much better this time. Maybe it’s the fact that you didn’t actually fuck, or maybe it’s because he’s processed the initial hurdle already, but he never goes nonverbal. He ends up wiping you down with his own shirt so the lights can stay off, and then he holds you in his arms while you make yourself cum with your vibrator. 

Simon reaches down to your wrist and encourages you to keep your toy on your clit while you whine and gasp through the overstimulation after your orgasm. He makes you promise not to stop before he releases your hand to play with your nipple. 

“Just a little longer,” he whispers, stroking his thumb over the sensitive point. “I know you can do it.”

He’s right. It only takes a few more minutes before you’re shaking, jerking the toy away and squeezing your thighs together through the rushing in your ears. 

You’re limp after that, merely a jellyfish washed up on the beach. Simon thinks it’s funny, keeps lifting your wrist in the air and then letting it flop to the mattress. He can’t even see it, but finds it entertaining all the same. 

“Simon?” You whisper after a few sleepy kisses.

“Hmm?”

“What do you think about clearing out the guest bedroom, and putting a bed in there for Johnny when he spends the night?”

Your boyfriend tugs affectionately at a lock of your hair. “I think that’s a bloody good idea.”

Next Part coming soon

Dividers by the-aesthetics-shop

kidnapper ghost who gets himself a spitfire of a girl, who immediately flinches and hisses when he strokes his fingers over her round hip and tells her that he likes how soft and pretty she is. he realizes very quickly that making her upset is his favorite thing in the world, that seeing her angry eyes well up with furious tears is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. all she wants is to fight, to make him like her less, to spite him, but she can’t. he immediately concludes that it’s his favorite thing in the world to fuck with her head, so no matter what she does, he tells her what a good girl she’s being for him.

when she somehow unties her restraints her praises her and calls her resourceful and clever, rewarding her with two fingers in her cunt. when she scratches and bites and bruises him, he chuckles and tells her he loves her spirit, that it turns him on to be marked as hers. if she spitefully goes limp and ragdolls while he fucks her, he coos about what a sweet, obedient girl he’s got and how jealous his mates will be when they hear about his pretty pillow princess. when she curses him out, tells him she hates him and wishes he was dead, he laughs and tells her that he loves a girl he can banter with, someone with a good sense of humor. there’s nothing she can do that he won’t praise wholeheartedly, and it eventually makes her break down sobbing from frustration. nothing she says or does seems to deter him from this obsessive, deranged brand of love that she is trying so hard to reject.

so when he kisses her softly after round who-even-knows-what-number of rough, animalistic fucking, and tells her in a soft voice that he loves her, that he’ll always love her, no matter what, it’s nothing short of a delight to him to watch her fall apart, sobbing and clutching at her hair, grieving the loss of freedom that she knows she’ll never ever get back. he can see in her eyes that she believes him, and that it makes her despair.

and god if that doesn’t get him the hardest he’s ever been in his life, despite already going multiple rounds that day

porn link

this is truly how i imagine simon to fuck you. a heavy hand smothering your moans; his hips punching his cock in, measured strokes hitting deep; dragging his hands along your body, feeling it underneath his touch; before tugging you closer to him, positioning you in the easiest way for him to fuck into. but, most of all, the silence from his end—a hunter. an apex predator.

your whole body shakes, pain and pleasure still mixing because it is all so overwhelming. so daunting. simon fucks you like a man starved; like your body is nothing but for him to use.