𒂭 masterlist 𒂭 sit back, relax and enjoy 𒂭 xoxo, cinammon 𒂭

#extradirty
Cosmic Funnies

Janaina Medeiros
No title available
Stranger Things
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

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Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
One Nice Bug Per Day
Not today Justin
styofa doing anything

if i look back, i am lost
ojovivo
$LAYYYTER

izzy's playlists!
will byers stan first human second
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
NASA

roma★
No title available
seen from United States
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@cinnamonghostcrunch
𒂭 masterlist 𒂭 sit back, relax and enjoy 𒂭 xoxo, cinammon 𒂭
love when an experience redirects you back to your original plan but with a shift in perspective and an expansion in reach.
his favorite girl
6.5—tummy kisses
simon riley x reader
Morning light trickled in through the window, filling the room in a soft golden glow. Simon's hair positively glowed against the sun's rays, haloing his silhouette from where he sat on her bed. He was slouched in a comfortable position; his hands hung loosely in his lap, fidgeting with a loose string from his sweatpants while he watched her move about the room.
She glanced over at him and had to bite back a smile at the sight of his short, blond strands standing up at odd ends. It seemed more obvious as the light kissed their tips. Even his shirt seemed just a bit translucent, the loose, white material hanging over his frame, the same one he had slept in last night. The shirt must have been old, worn with age, with its collar stretched out from too many careless tugs. Pale collarbones greeted her from the opening, along with the smooth flesh where his neck and left shoulder met. He was usually the first out of bed, first dressed, but he exchanged that today for a slower morning as if dragging the quiet peace in the room as long as he could before entering the chaos beyond either of their bedroom doors.
Somehow, it had become habitual in the late hours of the night to seek each other's comfort just to sleep. Nothing more. Last night was his turn to knock at her door and for her to welcome him into her bed—warm, plush, and everything he could want when his own room felt suffocating.
He was mid-yawn, eyes shut, mouth wide, that she was able to catch the slight points of his canines. She took the opportunity to look away before he caught her staring.
"How'd you sleep?" His voice was gruffer in the morning, something she still had yet to get used to, even when this started those few weeks ago. The sound was silky as it wrapped around her.
"Good." She shrugged, padding over to her closet to sift through her clothes.
"Just good?" His tone was tentative, but his words fell out of his mouth as if he couldn't stop them.
"What do you want me to say, Lieutenant?" She raised a brow, glancing over her shoulder before grabbing a black tee off its hanger.
She never used his title pointedly, though it wasn't so much as a bite as a nip of curiosity at what he wanted from her. She used it more than his name because she didn't feel like she had the right to memorize the taste of the vowels in her mouth, nor had he ever asked her to (although he never said anything the rare times she had used it). Ghost was strictly on the field, where he became almost a completely different person; but Simon was the man before her, the man who had been sleeping with her every night, playing with her hair, and holding her close. Lieutenant was a reminder of what they were to each other. What they were supposed to be towards one other. It felt almost like an oxymoron to establish that boundary again, to keep pretending like whatever was going on between them was completely normal.
When the silence stretched longer than usual, her neck itched to turn and glance at him.
"Nothing, Sol." He sighed, the sound almost tired. She could reason it was because he had just woken up, but she knew better. They were both guilty of playing this game—the one where one gets close to admitting something or wanting the other to admit something, yet they both knew it would never come to pass, too afraid to face the truth that blatantly stared at them.
She didn't say anything in the silence that settled because she never pushed, and neither did he. Even still, all the questions that spun in her head threatened to spill from her lips.
She turned, stepping in his direction to lay down her clothes beside him, avoiding eye contact. She had never realized how small her bed truly was until seeing how much space he took up in it.
His eyes tracked her movements as she ambled about the room. She, too, was still in her nightclothes—a loose, cropped tee and a pair of sweats that probably belonged to an old lover. They were oversized, sitting low on her hips, the cut similar to his own, but he didn't mention it even if curiosity needled him to ask who they had belonged to.
“Come here.” His voice broke the silence that had settled between the two. His words were spoken in a soft command that had her turning to face him to find his brows slightly pinched as if something bothered him.
Curious, her feet moved before her, bare toes stepping onto the plush rug by the foot of the bed as she stopped in front of him. His gaze was on her middle, and she had to consciously stop herself from glancing down to see what had caught his attention. He raised a hand tentatively, giving her enough time to pull away. When she didn't move or flinch away, he traced a finger over the scar on her stomach.
Her muscles flexed at the touch, surprised, but not unwanted. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she, a quiet acknowledgment of their shared past.
Large hands clamped gently onto her waist, eating the distance between her ribs and hips. Her breath was surprisingly even against his touch; even so, her heart raced just a little faster. His thumbs brushed against her ribs over her shirt while he studied the scar that ran across her abdomen.
She didn't expect his head to dip nor for his lips to press against her skin. His mouth was warm against her flesh, causing a pleasant chill over her body at the contrast. She didn't know how to react when his lips traced just between her navel and floating rib, where the long-since healed scar marred her skin. It wasn't as if she could move either; his grip was firm, keeping her in place, yet she found herself not wanting to pull away.
He seemed to use his lips as if that were the only way to communicate. It was a reminder that she was alive. A time capsule where she sat slumped, bleeding in some tucked-away corner, surrounded by crumbling walls, holding the knife that was buried in her gut by the prick that had caught her off guard. He lay bleeding too, the final bit from his still heart.
Then there was Simon, like a reaping angel hunting for her. The same Simon, her lieutenant, who sat on the edge of her bed, hands on her waist, lips on her body.
“Never again.” Her murmured against her skin, lips tracing the line of her scar, causing her heart to ache at the action.
She was tempted to run her fingers through his hair in response, in silent gratitude for always being there, but she refrained, afraid that would be too much for their already blurry lines.
It didn't seem to affect him, though, as he kept going, carried away by the taste of her flesh. He kissed her navel, then just below it, too, letting his eyes close against that soft place where her womb sat, that no matter how hard she worked out, it was never as defined as her upper abdomen, even in this rigorous place. The soft, gentle slope that met her mons beneath her cotton sweatpants.
His lips were reverent against her skin. Each kiss sent a warmth pooling low in her center. She was afraid to speak, to say anything, because she didn’t want him to stop, and that thought alone made her heart drop into her stomach.
Are we going to pretend this is normal?
Was she going to pretend like she didn’t want him to help her out of her clothes and bury his head between her legs to see how far those lips were willing to go? Was she disillusioned in thinking he didn't want the same?
“Simon?” Simon, because this was no longer her lieutenant.
“Hm,” That hum vibrated against her skin, warmth spreading from her belly, toes curling into the material of the rug.
He didn’t stop. Instead, his hands trailed along her ribs, pushing her shirt up with the movement. Pale flesh against warm, tan skin; his thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts, causing her breath to hitch. He smiled traitorously against her skin as he did it again, a small swipe of his thumb, just to see if she would do it once more.
He stole a glance, finding her looking all sweet-faced and like a doe in headlights. He didn’t want to overwhelm her, so he pulled away. His hands fell back to her bare waist, giving her a small squeeze before letting them drop back into his lap.
“Sorry, darlin'.” He smiled softly, though mischief lingered in his gaze. "I must've been dreamin'."
He leaned back against one of his palms as he looked at her, his features stoic once again. "You hungry?"
She could only blink, hoping her cheeks weren't too red.
"Starving." She managed to breathe out, although she knew she wasn't hungry for food.
She grabbed her clothes and headed towards the bathroom to change. And, of course, they acted like nothing had happened for the rest of the day.
.
.
.
masterlist
Simon had a civilian wife—and worse, a petty one.
And he? He was pathetic.
There was the silent treatment.
The cold shoulder every time he stepped into the house. And the worst of all punishments: sleeping on the couch. That goddamn couch, stiff and distant, miles away from your warmth.
He didn’t complain. Not when his back screamed in the morning, not when his neck cracked with every shift. Nothing.
Work was a blur. His focus, shot. Every time his phone buzzed, he snatched it up like it might be you.
It never was.
Nope.
Fucking Soap.
> “MY wife lets me sleep in bed with her. :]”
Asshole.
┈┈ masked mystery ✮⋆˙
Pairing — Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader
Summary — Moving into a new apartment should have been simple… But when a mysterious neighbour keeps showing up at just the right moments, things get a little more complicated.
Warnings — Fluff, SFW, slow-burn
Author’s Note: Yay! More Simon writings. Honestly, I didn't even know who to write for, so I put all the names on a wheel, and Simon won, so here is your dinner. I hope you guys still enjoy it. Love ya’ll lots. 𓏲 ࣪˖♡𓂃
Gentle violence
Simon wasn’t a violent man. Sure, he did violent things for work, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed them
He’d stayed up more nights than he or anyone else could count, head in his trembling scarred hands, wishing it would stop, the memories, the guilt he carried, the lump in his throat that still hurt even after he tried to swallow it.
Everyone he couldn’t save, the people he didn’t know and the people he did, the ones whose footsteps he recognized.
He wasn’t a violent person. Never wanted to be.
That’s why it hurt when that’s what people expected from him. when they saw his outside, his scarred and intimidating form, and just assumed the inside was the same. When partners wanted him to be rough and dominant in bed.
He tried, but couldn’t. The slaps they requested always landing too light, the hair pulling always hesitant, his grip loosening before it could ever sting.
He just wanted to be gentle with someone. Wanted someone to be gentle with him.
Someone he could kiss softly, cupping their jaw while they loosely ran their fingers through his hair.
Someone who’d trace his scars as they lay bare beside him, asking where each one was from, kissing away the pain and bad memories as he told them.
Then he met you.
“I… I’m just not, I like it gentle” you murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him, the moonlight casting a faint glow through the room.
He smiled faintly.
“Yeah… I can do that”
I have too many different versions of Simon I’ve written for holy shit
Simon’s favorite place to kiss you is the corner of your eye.
He never says it, nor does he point it out, but you know it’s true. You know it from the way he does it so naturally, as if it’s the only thing he wants to do when he’s close enough to reach you.
When you’re telling him a story, talking a little too fast because you’re excited about whatever it is you’re sharing, Simon just sits there. He watches you with that look, the one that makes you nervous if you think about it too much, because there’s too much love in it, too much softness for a man like him, and then, without saying anything, he leans in and kisses the corner of your eye, right there, like it’s the only thing he can do to keep himself from spilling every word he doesn’t know how to say.
And it’s not just once in a while. It’s every morning when he wakes up. You don’t even get a proper “morning” out of him before you feel him pull you closer and kiss you there, the corner of your eye, like a promise that he’s still here, that you’re still his.
Even when he’s tired, he always leans down and presses his lips there. Sometimes, at night, when you’re almost asleep, you’ll feel the bed dip as he rolls closer to you, and before you can even say anything, there it is... a soft kiss at the corner of your eye.
You think it’ll be like this forever.
Emily Dickinson, from a letter to Dr. and Mrs. J.G. Holland written c. November 1858
bowl of rice time and thinking about Simon being a bath guy right? But there's no like tubs on base bc duh
Anyway he meets you and you have a bath at ur place and after a couple of nights with him over he's eyeing the tub like a sad dog so you're like ? 🧐 Do you?? Want a bath, Si ???
And he's a little bashful but also "if it's no trouble... Don't have 'em on base..."
So you make him go undress while you draw the water, just hot enough. You add your bubble bath soap to it bc of course.
And you grab the candles from the kitchen. Set them out on safe surfaces around the bathroom.
And then you turn on rain sounds on your speaker.
Simon comes back by the time you flick the overhead lights off, staring at it all in utter disbelief.
And the sigh that escapes him when he sinks into the hot water is nothing short of pure contentment.
His legs bend, knees up out of the water, so that he sinks in until his shoulders are under. He blinks up at you, slow, like a satisfied cat.
Then he grabs your hand. Gives it a tug that makes you giggle.
You insist there's no room for you both.
But his insistence is greater than yours
bc before you know it your clothes are gone and your back is pressed against his chest with his thighs bracketing yours.
And when you ask if this is... nice, you get no reply.
So you turn your head enough to find the 6 foot whatever, hulking blue eyed blonde, who had railed you three ways to Sunday not a week ago...
dozing...
his head tilted just so. Breath slow and steady. Arms loose around your waist. Candle light catching warm and golden on his scars and features. Eyes closed softly.
And you can't find it in you to wake him.
i miss my ex bestfriend & everyone else that i have ever loved but don't want any of them back either
what the fuck man
september…….honey……..angel……….please be kind
pov: you’re scrolling trying to find a cute little fluffy fanfic to read but everything you get is smut
no smut hate, i just want to giggle :(
Creepy Landlord Simon "Ghost" Riley turning into Tender Landlord Simon
It had taken a while to come to terms with it, but you were lonely.
School and work took up your days, leaving you tired and achy at night, just wanting to curl up on the couch and watch one of your favourite shows with some snacks. You had some friends, but your apartment was empty, a suffocating silence around you. But there was your landlord, Simon, in the apartment below, he’d come see you if you asked nicely… right?
You barely got to explain your predicament before Simon hung up the phone and the heavy sounds of boots hitting the stairs grows closer until he’s outside your door, fumbling with his keys before pushing inside. His broad shoulders fill up the doorframe, staring at you curled up on the couch, and creepy landlord Simon turns into tender landlord Simon, ready to fulfill every need you have, just for his very lovely tenant <3
He shuts the door behind him and makes himself comfy on the couch beside you, his larger arms wrapping you up so you can snuggle into his warm chest and sit in his broad lap. He lets you rant about your day, occasionally humming and nodding along as you explain how someone complained and took their pizza back because apparently the bacon is raw, even though it comes precooked and then goes through a 450° oven, which he can’t help but snort in amusement at.
Tender landlord Simon who orders takeout for the two of you to munch on while watching a movie together, who likes to press his ugly, scarred mug into your neck and tells you how good you smell, his pretty girl smelling so divine his cock starts chubbing up beneath you. His greedy, heavy hands massaging your plush hips and thighs while he rocks up back on his aching cock, feeling the heat from your pussy on him.
Seeing that it’s getting late, he scoops you up into his arms and brings you to bed, tucking you in before he tugs off the extra layer of clothing. Poor Simon’s cock is just throbbin’, needing his somewhere tight and wet to sink into, but, ah… you’re already asleep, snoring away after a long, tiring day. Simon is a patient man though, a good landlord too, and climbs into bed with you, tucking you into his broad, hairy chest and placing a loving kiss on the top of your head, his large hands stroking over your back gently to soothe you when you squirm.
Tender landlord Simon who, when he wakes up in the morning, rain pounding down against the panes of your bedroom window, and overall gloomy day outside and meant for staying inside cozied up, rolls over on top of you, heavy body blanketing your own. His lips are warm when they press against the skin of your shoulder, his crooked nose nuzzling into your neck, slowly coaxing you awake. He’s got you pinned beneath him, legs tangled together so you can’t escape his loving caresses.
Simon takes it slow, rolling his strong hips against yours in a filthy grind, his morning wood rubbing up against your tummy, his forehead resting against your own, staring into your gorgeous, tired eyes. His calloused hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding the drooling tip through your slick folds before sinking himself inside, earning a soft sigh from you. His hips create a steady pace, rolling and pumping deep into you before your lips meet, slowly moving against each other and only making your desire to be closer that much stronger. Simon’s hands move towards the small of your back, pulling you as close as he can get.
Strings of your combined slick and Simon’s precum form between your connected bodies with every wet plap of his full balls against your sticky folds, a high pitched and breathy gasp leaving your lips when he nudges just right at that spongy spot deep inside. His face nuzzles into your shoulder, the skin flushed and covered in lovebites, while you roll your hips lazily against his own, accepting his swollen cock as it drags deliciously against your sensitive walls, in and out in deep, claiming thrusts.
Your nails dig into his scarred back, fingers pressing into the ridges and tensed muscles there that flex with every movement, cradling you close in his arms, his hands kneading your soft breasts like dough, hard calluses scraping over your sensitive nipples. Simon’s tip swells up, growing overly sensitive from your fluttering, squeezing cunt, making his thrusts grow sloppy and uncoordinated while he chokes out a loud groan and spills inside you. His hot cream comes out in thick spurts, letting you feel every throb of his cock, and every pump of the thick vein on the underside filling him with blood. He’s loud and unashamed, twitching and grinding against you, working himself through his orgasm until his breathing is ragged and he’s utterly spent, murmuring out soft praises to you.
Rough, chapped lips pepper kisses against your face, his warm breath and blond stubble tickling your skin, and the pads of his fingers find your pebbled clit, rubbing it in circles while Simon’s kisses get trailed lower and lower. Over your sternum and soft tummy before nudging your thighs apart and placing them over his shoulders, his honey brown eyes drifting up to meet yours as he presses one final kiss against your clit, before licking a broad stroke up your soaked slit.
As the rain pours down heavier and lightning flashes overhead, you're kept safe and warm in the arms of your landlord ♡
Simon didn't care about the fact that he shared a flat with someone. At all.
He was so non-disturbed about it in fact that he put no effort into acting even half-decent.
It wasn't rare to see Simon jerking off in his room with an open door, or watch the tv with his cock out, that a towel should be covering.
He just... didn't give a fuck.
It was annoying. Sure.
But you weren't gonna leave it that way. If he was gonna be an ass. You were gonna be an even bigger ass.
You made sure to put lipstick on every time you made yourself coffee, taking his mugs, pressing the stain in there real good and letting it marinate for a couple hours. Maybe even days.
Borrowed his towels, since you shared a bathroom, and made sure to use them for makeup removal.
When you put perfume on you also made sure to drown the room in it.
Everytime you were bringing out the trash, you took his boots, which made you waddle... but that's not important, what is important is that you made sure to get them dirty as fuck, mud, sand, rocks in them?
You did your very best to be the absolute ass you could be able to be.
Only for the whole thing to be answered with a dirty pair of your panties on your bed, with a heart on them, made of seemingly semen.
"Got you pretty good, huh?" A very proud voice said from your doorway.
That night you learnt that being an asshole was his way of flirting... and he thought you too... were flirting.
Which is also how you ended up bent over that very bed. Those same panties stuck in your mouth while he rearranged your insides and sucked on your neck like a vampire.
By the time he was done with you, you did feel like all the blood had been sucked out of you.
simon loves everything you do during sex. when you clench your cunt around his cock and make him see stars, the pretty noises you make as he stretches you open on two thick fingers, the way you taste when you gush all over his tongue- everything.
but his favourite thing? when you scratch down his back while he's pounding you into the mattress. the way you desperately claw at his shoulders as he shoves his cock deep inside you. he's reaching places you didn't know could be reached and you need to grab onto something- anything to cope with the overwhelming pleasure he's bringing you.
the first time you did it he was caught off guard, his hips stuttering in their rhythm as your nails raked along his back, leaving a streak of red irritated flesh in their wake. you noticed the way he hesitated, noticed the groan that left him, and the way he adjusted his pace of his hips against yours.
you force your hands off him, opting to tangle them into the sheets instead. simon scowled- actually looked visibly upset, and a moment later he was grabbing you by the wrist, placing your hand onto his back again. you were confused now- you thought he didn't like it.
you couldn't have been more wrong.
he leans down so his mouth is pressed right next to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "keep doin' that," he groans, tilting your hips so the tip of his cock grinds against the squishy spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head. "keep doin' it and don't you ever fuckin' stop- y'hear me? want you to mark me up, yeah? want everyone to know i fuck you so good you start clawin' at me."
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do job interviewers know we’re all going to die one day