a collection of love letters i’ll never send. fics, drabbles, headcanons—all soft, all sick, all mine. i update when the mood strikes. more fandoms, more boys, more chaos coming soon. thank you for reading ❦
august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good
the water is hot enough to sting, steam rolling off the tiles in thick waves, but none of it matters—not when simon crowds into the tiny shower stall behind you like he’s trying to fit a tank inside a broom closet.
his hands find your waist before the water even hits him, big and greedy, pulling you back into the heat of his body. you gasp when his chest presses against your spine—slick, burning, solid in a way that makes you feel small and helpless and wanted all at once.
the glass fogs instantly.
so does your brain.
“look at you,” he mutters against the back of your neck, his voice low enough that it vibrates through your entire body. “already trembling.”
you are. you can’t help it—not with the way his cock slides between your thighs from behind, heavy and wet, dragging through your slick under the spray of the water. your knees nearly buckle when his head brushes your clit on its way past.
he laughs—broken, breathless—like he wasn’t expecting you to react.
“sweetheart…” his mouth finds your shoulder, teeth grazing, voice all gravel and hunger. “i’ve barely fuckin’ touched you.”
he grabs your hips and bends you forward just enough that your palms slap the tile, water pounding down your back. your breath fogs the wall. the heat makes you dizzy.
then he’s guiding himself lower, the blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance in a way that knocks the air right out of your lungs.
no gentleness. no hesitation.
just pressure—deep, slow, overwhelming.
you choke on a gasp when he pushes into you, the stretch brutal and perfect, your body tightening around him instinctively. the water does nothing to hide the slick sound of him splitting you open.
his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
“fuck…” he mumbles, voice cracking into something ruined. “you feel that? feel how tight you’re clenching around me?”
you can’t answer—not when he drags out halfway and slams back in with a wet, echoing sound that ricochets off the tile. your hand slips off the wall but he catches your wrist before you can fall. pinning it above your head like holding you up is nothing for someone built like him.
his chest crushes against your back, his breath shaking against your ear.
“that’s my girl,” he growls, pounding into you harder, the water splashing between the two of you with every thrust. “take it—take all of it.”
your moans are drowned by the water, swallowed by the heat and the steam, but he hears then anyway—feels them, the way your body squeezes around him.
he fucks you deeper. harder.
the kind of rhythm you can’t brace against, the kind that forces broken little sounds out of your mouth every time he bottoms out.
the tile is cold beneath your cheek, his body scorching against your back and the water is just a blur around you as he groans into your skin.
“fuck baby…you’re gonna make me come so hard.”
his thrusts get sloppy, desperate, hips snapping forward like he can’t stop himself anymore.
your body tightens around him, heat building low and fast, and he feels it—of course he feels it—because he swears, loud and raw and slams you back onto his cock with a bruising grip.
“yeah—fuck—there she is,” he pants. “come for me. right now.”
your release hits so hard it knocks your breath out entirely—your body clenching around him, shaking under the water, your moans spilling into the steam.
he breaks right after you, burying himself deep with a guttural noise, his cock throbbing, grip locking your hips in place as he comes inside you, hot and heavy and overwhelming.
the water keeps running.
the tiles stay fogged.
but he doesn’t let go—just breathes against your shoulder like he’s trying to steady himself.
“jesus,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “look what you do to me.”
johnny was back early. two days early, a reckless, giddy buzz still in his veins from a mission that ended clean. he was home. he threw his duffel down in the hallway, already peeling his gloves off and grinning because he knew exactly what he was going to do. kiss you first, then shower, then fuck your brains out until you both forgot the last three weeks ever even happened.
he didn't hear anything at first. the house was quiet, too quiet. he walked past the bedroom door—your bedroom door—and stopped because the light from the hallway was just barely hitting the worn leather of a familiar vest tossed onto the floor. simon’s vest.
johnny didn't knock. he just shoved the door open, the sound of the frame hitting the wall like a gunshot.
and there you were. naked, on the crumpled sheets, mouth open on a silent gasp, eyes wide and utterly, beautifully lost. but that wasn't the part that cracked him.
it was simon. simon, who was buried so deep inside your body he looked like he was trying to claw his way out, his mask pulled up just enough to expose his mouth and the frantic, shallow gulp of his breath. his eyes—usually cold, untouchable things—were rolled back with a ferocious, unhinged hunger. the kind of primal need johnny had never seen, never been allowed to see.
simon didn’t stop. he just stared right over your shoulder, straight into johnny’s soul, and kept the slow, deliberate, possessive rhythm of his thrusts, a quiet, brutal, silent declaration of war. the only sound was the wet, slapping sound of flesh and your choked sob that was instantly swallowed by the absolute fucking horror in the room.
johnny stood there, his hand still on the door, watching his wife being stolen, worshipped and claimed by the one man he trusted the most.
and all he could whisper was a single, raw, "simon."
it wasn't the mask that was the lie, it was the sound of your name on his lips. the casual way you said it, the honest to god ease of it. it made the darkness feel fragile, like cheap fucking glass ready to shatter in his gloved hand.
he hated how you bled through the signal, bypassing the fear, the anger, the armor he spent years building out of pure, lonely rage. you were a vulnerability, a weak spot in the defense that could get him killed. so naturally, he made you his.
and he wasn't gentle about it.
he never had the practice for gentle. he only had the practice for taking—taking orders, taking lives, taking the silence he craved.
but you were different. you took him back, piece by piece, until he was nothing but a mess of a man, stripped bare beneath the heavy black gear. he learned to hold his breath when you touched the scars on his face and body. the pale, ugly ones that were his own goddamn fault.
it’s his most private, pathetic desire, to be undone by the one person he was supposed to keep alive, to let the light you carried finally set him on fire. he'd burn the goddamn world down just to keep that look of desperate pleasure on your face.
he knows he's going to hurt you. he knows he's going to break you.
but the fucking truth is, he doesn't care. not if it means he gets to keep the broken pieces.
can you have simon riley training said other with a dagger or combat knife or like hand on hand combat :0/nf
have a awesome day i love your writing!!
the air in the training room is stale and thick with the smell of sweat and adrenaline. you can feel the heavy, coiled presence of simon right behind you, his breath a warm rush against the nape of your neck.
he has your wrist locked in his massive hand, guiding the knife. the pressure is immediate, demanding.
"you're still hesitating that slash, love," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrates through your spine. "you drop your elbow too soon. you don't fight like you mean it."
he steps in, so close his gear scrapes against your back. the movement is too intimate for training, a sudden, welcome intrusion. his other hand settles just above your hip, pushing you forward to correct your stance. it’s a possessive claim, not a lesson.
"now, look," he commands, pulling your hand back quickly and dangerously close to his own throat. "you're always ready to get cut. you need to treat this blade like it's the only thing keeping you alive. it's part of you."
he shifts, and his body presses into your back completely. you can feel the hard ridges of his gear, the heat radiating off him. his voice drops to a near whisper, right next to your ear.
"i want you to feel that edge. i want you to know exactly what it can do. put the fear into them, not yourself." he forces your chin to tilt down, making your eyes follow the imaginary blade. "you look at the threat, not at the knife."
he lets your grip loosen slightly, then slams your hand back into the hilt. "again. harder. show me you're not afraid to draw blood."
the feeling is overwhelming: the heat, the hard steel of the blade against his glove, the absolute knowledge that if he wanted to, he could snap your wrist without effort. he’s controlling the lesson, yes, but he’s also controlling your breath and your entire focus.
When she is in playful mode, she cups his face and just kisses his face. Lots of kisses. Kisses on cheek, eyelids, nose. Until they feel spoiled by her kisses.
simon “ghost” riley
the surprise is there, but it's mixed with a deep, private pleasure. he doesn't freeze because he's threatened, he freezes because your touch is like a sacred pause in his terrifying world. he'll let you kiss the edge of his mask and his eyes, a familiar, unspoken ritual. when you finish, he'll finally lift his hands to wrap his arms around your waist and simply hold you there, resting his masked head on your shoulder for a minute. it’s the relief of knowing he can lower his guard entirely with you, and trust you to do the same with him.
johnny “soap” mactavish
the playful dodging is a game, one he starts because he knows the reward is that full, committed kiss. he catches your wrist not to stop you, but to stabilize himself, laughing as your kisses land on his nose and neck. the long kiss he gives you afterward isn't a demand, it's a comfortable exchange of energy he relies on. he'll pull you in for a hip-check and rub his stubble against your cheek as he mutters, "got me all wound up now, smartass."
captain john price
he lets the important call he's on wait, bringing up a finger to silently mute person on the other end while you cover his face in kisses. the moment is a silent pact that your presence overrides all other missions. he gives you that one committed kiss, then pulls you into his side and keeps his arm tight around your shoulder for the next half hour, drawing comfort and confidence from your proximity while he finishes business.
kyle “gaz” garrick
he’s the one who subtly invites it. if he’s stressed, he’ll lean his head back against the sofa cushions and look at you with soft, tired eyes until you get the hint. his surrender to the kiss attack is total and deliberate because he knows it's the fastest way to feel grounded. he closes his eyes and lets you spoil him, and when you pull away, he’ll grab your hand and pull it to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently.
heya! uh person who requested that burnmark soldier x simon!! i was wondering if ya could right some like uhh- soap x simon? its my fav ship see and i just kinda want like- idk-
soap was forced into a like dress by some recruits and maybe simon sees?
im sorry if this message is botherin ya i just really love your writing :'3
the cheap, velvet fabric of the dress was already making soap itch. he was pacing the trailer, boots loud against the thin floor, hands shoved into the pockets of the stupid, flared skirt. he hated this. hated the way the bodice showed too much shoulder, hated the way it made him feel completely exposed and ridiculous. it wasn't fear, just white-hot, furious annoyance at whoever thought this was a good idea.
"i'm taking this shite off," he growled, reaching for the back zipper, the metal cold against his skin.
the sound of the door opening made him freeze. a tall, massive shadow filled the doorway. simon. his mask was down, his silhouette all angles and gear, and he stopped dead, his body language a question mark wrapped in a threat.
soap felt his face heat up, a combination of embarrassment and rage. "don't say a fuckin' word, riley."
simon didn't say a word. he just closed the door behind him with a quiet click, the sound utterly deafening. his head tilted, his dark eyes—visible even through the skull balaclava—didn't leave soap's body. they traveled the length of the dress: the soft, exposed collarbone, the way the fabric clung to his ass when he stood still, the unsettling vulnerability of his thick, tattooed wrists emerging from the cheap cuffs.
the silence stretched until soap thought he might scream.
then simon moved. slow, deliberate, like a predator stalking prey that had no chance of escape. he stopped right in front of soap, his presence suffocating. he lifted a single, huge hand and let his rough knuckles graze the exposed skin of soap's shoulder.
"no," simon breathed, his voice a low, gravelly rasp, almost a plea. "you're not. you're keeping it on."
he lowered his voice further, the words a possessive snarl meant for soap's ears alone. "you look like a fuckin' gift, johnny. and that dress? it just reminds me of how much i want to tear every goddamn thing off you and make sure everyone knows you're mine."
simon's hand dropped from the shoulder to the thin, pathetic fabric covering soap's chest, bunching it in his fist and yanking him forward until their chests were touching. "you're not ridiculous, soap. you're fucking perfect. and you're mine. and i'm going to fuck you right here. in this goddamn dress."
Johnny(soap) toying with you by not moving in your cunt because you won't call him daddy in your sweet whining voice.. let me rewind it happened because she decided to flirt with some weirdo on the base and johnny got a little jealous.. so now he won't let you go to you call him daddy PLUS say you belong to him, not only that but he's gently grabbing your chin to tilt your head up and look at your watery eyes when you don't immediately catch on...
the cheap drywall behind you is rough against your ass, a reminder that this is all your fault. you had fucked up by flashing a smile at some grunt on base, and now johnny is making you pay for it. every single muscle in his body is screaming for movement, you can feel the thick, straining length of him just sitting inside your wet cunt. but he’s a statue. completely, agonizingly still.
he has you pinned against the wall, your legs hooked around his waist, the pressure of him a cruel, perfect weight.
you let out a whimper, a tiny, frustrated sound that’s immediately swallowed by the humid air. it’s that sweet, whining sound he loves, the sound that usually breaks him, but tonight, it only makes him harder, colder.
"that's not the right noise, darlin'," he mutters, his breath hot and uneven against your ear. his voice is a low, guttural rumble that doesn’t sound like your easy-going soap at all—it was pure, controlled aggression.
you try to shift, a desperate, futile grind of your hips against his, a silent plea for release.
he doesn’t budge.
then his hand moves. gently, almost with a tender reverence that feels completely wrong for this situation, he hooks his thumb under your chin and tilts your head back. he forces your gaze to meet his.
his eyes are dark, a frightening storm of possession and lust, and they’re locked onto your face as the tears of frustration well up, making your eyes watery and pleading.
"i saw your smile," he grunts, the words laced with a dangerous jealousy. "i saw you look at him. and you know you belong to me."
he gave a slow, deliberate inch of a press forward, the movement causing a sharp, exquisite spike of need run deep inside your body. he froze again, right on the edge.
"i need to hear it, sweetheart," he commands, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin beneath your jaw. "tell me who you belong to. and what you call me. use that sweet, little voice of yours. i'm not moving until you beg for your daddy.”
the silence is heavy and thick—the kind that makes the air feel solid.
he’s huge. fucking colossal. a wall of muscle and gear and bad intentions, and right now, all of that was focused on a single, impossible goal: you.
he’s propped over you, his bulky form casting a shadow, the fabric of his balaclava digging into your collarbone. you can see his eyes, that pale, almost unhealthy blue, intense and locked in on your face, and you can feel the heat coming off of him like a goddamn furnace.
he tries to slide in, slowly, carefully, every giant muscle in his body trembling with the effort of control, but the movement only resulted in a sharp, sickening sting that stole the breath right out of your lungs.
you let out a whimper, a tiny, pathetic sound that was completely swallowed by the sheer size of him, and he froze. the sound of his breathing, ragged and desperate, filled the space. he pulled back an inch, his face a mask of dark, furious frustration.
"nein," he breathes, the word a choked, guttural sound. it wasn't a question. it was the sound of a war machine malfunctioning. "i know, liebling. i know i'm too big. but you’re being so fucking perfect for me."
his hands, which could snap bone without effort, move with a sudden, agonizing tenderness, cupping your face, forcing your eyes back to his.
"you look at me," he commands, the austrian accent thick with need. "you look at me while i do this."
he pressed forward again, slow as can be, and this time, the pain was mixed with the overwhelming force of him, the absolute knowledge that this mountain of a man was fucking determined to own every inch of you. a tear slipped down your temple, and he caught it with his thumb, wiping it away before bringing his head back down, forehead resting against yours.
"don't cry," he rumbles, the sound vibrating through your bones. "i'll be gentle. i promise. but you are taking all of me, ja? every fucking inch."
you wake to kisses being pressed against your cheek, forehead, neck. you giggle into the sheets as simon’s mouth continues attacking your face. you shiver when his hand comes up to brush your bare hip, fingers tracing patterns into your skin.
“good morning,” you giggle, finally turning around to fully face him. the sun’s peeking through the window, shining against his blue eyes. he grins when he sees your full face, leaning in to kiss you.
his lips are soft against yours, his hands coming up to cup your face. he pulls back slightly, “did you forget?”
you furrow your brows, “about what?”
“happy halloween, love.”
“happy halloween, simon,” you repeat, voice still rough with sleep. you can’t help but smile at the childlike look in his eyes.
"think you owe me a treat, yeah?" you snort, opening your mouth to respond when your words are swallowed by his lips. his hands trace the curves of your body, igniting a trail of goosebumps on your skin.
simon's mouth leaves a wet, hot path down your neck, his teeth nipping gently at your collarbone. he pushes you back, his body a heavy, welcome weight on yours. your breath catches as his fingers dance over your skin, each touch a promise, a tease, a torment.
"you're the sweetest fuckin' thing, y know that?" he whispers, his voice a low rumble against your ear, accent prominent and deep with tiredness. his hands find the hem of the t-shirt you borrowed from him, pulling it up slowly, inch by inch, revealing your skin to his hungry gaze.
his fingers graze your thighs, sending shivers up your spine as he pushes the fabric higher, higher, until it’s a crumpled mess around your chest. you lift your hips, helping him slide your panties off, baring yourself to him. his eyes, dark and intense, roam over your body, taking in every curve, every line.
simon trails kisses down your body, his hands following, exploring, worshipping. he takes his time, savoring every inch of your skin, his tongue leaving a wet, hot path in its wake.
his mouth reaches your navel, his tongue dipping in, making you squirm. you can feel his breath against your inner thighs, hot and heavy, promising a treat after all. you spread your legs wider, inviting him in.
simon looks up at you, his blue eyes dark with lust and love and you nod, giving him permission. he lowers his head, his tongue flicking out, tasting you. you watch as his mouth explores you, his tongue delving deep, his eyes never leaving yours. the intensity of his gaze, the hunger in his eyes, sends a fresh wave of desire through you.
“you taste so fucking good,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low growl. his fingers join his tongue, one, then two, sliding into you, filling you up. you cry out, your body clamping down on his fingers, your hips bucking against his hand.
simon senses your desperation, his tongue and fingers working faster, harder, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. you’re a mess of pleasure, of need, of want. you can feel it, the build up, the point of no return, body trembling with anticipation.
you watch as he feasts on you, his eyes locked on yours, his hunger for you written all over his face. it’s intoxicating, truly. the way he looks at you, the way he devours you, the way he makes you feel everything. you’re a goddess in his eyes, someone for him to worship.
simon increases his pace, his tongue working faster, fingers pumping harder. you’re a quivering mess beneath him, your body on the edge, ready to fall. he senses your need, like everything else about you, his tongue working magic, his fingers hitting that spot over and over again.
you cry out his name as you finish, your body convulsing with pleasure. simon continues to lick and suck, drawing out every last wave of your orgasm. you collapse back onto the bed, your body sated, mind blissfully empty.
simon crawls up your body, eyes filled with satisfaction and lust and something more, something deeper. he leans down to kiss you, his lips soft and gentle. you can taste yourself on him, and it sends a new wave of desire through you, a promise of more to come.
❦ thinking about simon’s reaction when you go all day without eating real food ❧
“’m pissed at you,” simon mutters, mostly to himself, flipping the steak on the grill with a little more force than necessary.
he’s still in his uniform pants and boots, that tight black undershirt stretched across his back and arms. he looks huge, all tense shoulders and quiet frustration, the kind that fills a room even when he’s not saying much.
you’re sitting behind him, watching the muscles in his arms move as he cooks. he’d come home early—totally unexpected—and you’d been so happy to see him that your brain barely worked. so when he asked what you’d eaten that day, you couldn’t come up with a convincing lie fast enough.
you quietly admitted, “a couple snacks,” and that was that. now he’s angrily cooking for you.
“i’m sorry!” you whine, padding over and wrapping your arms around his waist as best you can. you rest your cheek against his back, hoping it softens him.
it does. of course it does.
he exhales, shoulders dropping just a little, but his voice stays firm.
“you have to eat,” he says quietly. “i have to be able to trust you to take care of yourself when i’m gone. do you understand, love?”
he sets the tongs down, turning to face you. his hands find yours, guiding them up around his neck, while his own settle at your waist—warm, steady, grounding.
“you’re very important to me,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours. “please, baby. promise me?”
“i promise, simon.” you whisper, cheeks flushed.
he smiles in response, leaning in to peck your lips. once. twice. three times. “my good girl. now, go sit down and let me finish taking care of you.”
Glad your back in action and up and at it! Remember to drink, eat, and shower, put yourself first luvvy!!
Usually I'm the type of person to go in asks to ask things and request but I wanna show genuine care for the people I care and appreciate even if I'm as a anon rn bc I'm too shy to speak in person.. have a splendid day nonetheless and I love your writing especially the Simon riley ones.. hmo he's so fine heh
i could cry and kiss you rn <333 thank you sm beautiful, your words made my week. and you remember to do the same!! ily and thank you again im gonna cry
