Rory

19 contains smut.

[rorydimes]

husband!simon riley x wife!prodigy!doctor!reader

contains smut; minors & ageless blogs dni pretty please.

as an advanced doctor, you’ve earned the handouts and rewards and benefits you receive. you work hard for your patients, you train and study your brain like no other, your nose carries a permanent smell of pages from glossy medical textbooks. so obviously when you were offered a three week internship training course across the globe in korea, aka the chance of a lifetime, you didn’t hesitate to except. luckily your husband of five years now, a lieutenant in the british air service, was fully supportive. how could he not be when he himself leaves you and your comfortable, domestic flat deep in england for months at a time? if anything he was glad you were going to be as busy as he was for a while. made him feel less bad when you walk in on him packing for deployment.

he was so proud of you he couldn’t just say the words. but trust, he absolutely shows how proud he is of his bird by pushing your thighs against your stomach, his heavy cock thrusting in and out of your puffy pussy, groaning about the cream he’s pulling from you. you’re completely out of it, all you can feel is him. not his hips pushing your body with every move, not even his hand when he leans forward to press a kiss to your sweaty forehead. only his cock- fucking destroying the “perfectly put together” doctor. if you thought his hands and dick were ruining you from your insides, the fucker likes to talk after learning how effective he was just by opening his mouth.

“tha’s it. y’such a good student, that right, love?”

“fuckin’ brilliant this pussy is. y’made for me. did you know that?”

“mm, seems like dr. riley knows exactly what her husband needs. sweet cunt cures damn near anything, swear it.”

all while he’s groaning and ranting in your ear, your eyes are rolling back. he’s everywhere; his voice, his mouth, his cock, his large hands he uses to kill. your hands, delicate and much smaller than his, with short french tips, used to save and heal people. simon sits up, his rapidly feral pace never stumbling. his eyes are closed and he’s breathing unsteadily but he forces himself to look down.

your expression is priceless. borderline pornographic.

your eyes were zoomed in on the way your bodies separated and reunited. the sticky string shaped mixture of simon’s pre-cum, your own juices, and the white bubbles spilling from your cunt and soaking simon’s full balls that slapped rhythmically on your puckered rim with how he’s got you spread.

moments like these are his favorite though. outside of your flat, you’re this highly intelligent, respected, and important individual who knew everything about anything medical or human body. you are a hero to some, an inspiration to most, and all of the above to simon. outside the bedroom, you did relax a little more. sporting your husband’s plain black t-shirt that engulfed you with your iconic house slippers instead of your classic scrubs and white coat with cloggers. you still remained organized, aware, and busy. simon genuinely can’t tell anyone the last time he’s seen you just sit and be a normal civilian for longer than an hour. and an hour is extremely lucky. that’s why, in the bedroom, he likes taking control. making the decisions. you run on his time here, your phone neglected on the kitchen counter so there is zero chance you’ll stop everything the moment the screen lights up.

in the bedroom, you aren’t focused, you aren’t mentally here, you aren’t a doctor when simon’s making your legs shake and thighs burn from his persistent pounding. he’s sure your brain is turned off and your mind is blank before he even considers either of your orgasms. his wife, a successful doctor, needs her husband to break her sometimes. you learned that from him, to let simon take your career out of your hands for a few hours and break your absurdly smart mind into little shattered pieces. he knows you know he’ll pick them up and put it together by your next shift. he calls it a “reset for the both of us,” which you had to wholeheartedly agree with.

your team knows your married. they’ve know you’ve got a supportive partner. they absolutely adore you and honestly care and see you as their own maternal figure. they also know you just got back from a huge trip across the world to further educate yourself. they should know you aren’t stupid either, as you’ve noticed more of your nurses approaching you with an request for overtime specifically wanting to work with other doctors on. your. shifts. at some point you called your team in, conducting an interrogation session.

“well, we figured you and your ‘usband would want to catch up, yknow?”

“yeah, doll, when is one of us gonna be able t’deliver y’baby?”

jesus fucking christ.

the thought became secondary as the pressure in your pelvis increased, a telltale sign from your overstimulated cunt is reaching her max. your eyes widened and watered, your teeth finally releasing their death grip on your bottom lip, mouth becoming ajar. simon hummed in satisfaction, “awe, need to cum, sweetie?”

with as far gone as you were mentally, it was useless to respond with words. you subconsciously settled with nodding your head, a high pitched, desperate “uh-huh,” causing simon to shutter. he brought one of your legs to wrap about his waist, his own thigh holding it up as he used the bed frame as leverage, right hand moving up your left thigh up to the crevice of your knee pushing up and back against your body. his left hand was fiercely abusing your clit, four thick fingers rubbing back and forth.

“come on, lovie. let go. let go n’ give it to y’simon. let ‘im take it all from ya.”

and with that, you snapped. stronger and longer than what your used to, tighter and louder than simon’s used to, and a clear liquid ejecting from you onto your spouse’s lower body and the bed. he must’ve started chasing his own soon after, his upper body returning on top of yours, his teeth nipping at your earlobe and jawline when he wasn’t growling the dirtiest things.

“fuuuck, gorgeous. m’gonna fill this pussy up full. y’so sweet. wanna suck on ‘er after.” his voice is gruff and deep. his head dips down to bite your shoulder, as you did his neck and fingers already earlier. “wanna see if my little doctor can keep all her husband’s treat inside of her while he laps on her cunt like an animal.”

you’ve already came, but you found yourself quickly approaching a second orgasm and squirt combination the more simon spoke to you. it only made him groan, his hips stuttering as he cock twitches and releases his sperm. this was personally your favorite part. getting to feel his cum shoot into you. made you warm inside, literally.

simon took about two minutes stuffed inside you to just return to you and catch his own breath. he wasn’t joking earlier, his cock might be slowly softening but his mind is still aroused and the idea of eating your sensitive, creamy pussy made him drool.

once he finally detached his chest from yours simon reached for your legs, gently pull your muscles back to their natural position. he kissed the top of each of your thighs, taking a moment to press his nose into your lower area with a huge inhale. “freak,” you thought. yet you flinched on instinct, your body still sensing simon’s brutally pleasurable touch. his large hands suddenly manhandle you into doggy position, forcing your arch.

“simon-“ you started but was interrupted by a sharp slap on your ass from behind.

“quiet. cleanliness is the golden rule in the hospital, yeah? you’re leaking everywhere, love. don’t look so professional now, d’ya?” he chuckles, focusing on the spreading of your cheeks, index finger threatening to push through your hole. “wonder what your colleagues would think about their best doctor getting dumbed down by a man with a dirty job.”

his mouth was on your clit not a second later. he worked on you like he was genuinely trying to eat you whole starting from your vagina, his teeth grazing and biting at your irritated bud before sucking while he was going to swallow it next. your hips forced back against his face when he really started to focus on sucking directly on you. you both couldn’t get a break around him with your jobs taking away time from each other- of course you fuck like rabbits.

“cum, simon, ‘m gonna-“ famous words before you actually sob, your hands palms down beside your head. you fell completely helpless against simon, your toes curling to a whiter shade. how the hell were you still going? in simon’s eyes, you weren’t. he figured he’s got about fifteen minutes before your body knocks itself out from the all oxytocin release and exhaustion. with that in mind, he uses his thumb to swipe any other messes from your leaky cunt and onto the much tighter, untouched hole. you naturally clenched and pushed allowing simon to shove his oral muscle inside- just a few centimeters, ending it off by giving you one last lap of his tongue from clit to rim.

he knows you’re physically sore and dehydrated, but he always starts with a reassuring sweet nothings.

“such a good, little thing f’me.”

“is my sweet girl all ruined nd sticky nd ready for bed? simon’s sorry, but he knows what his missus needs even when she doesn’t.”

“gonna force you on leave when i put my baby in you. not gonna take a step on my watch. takin’ our own personal holiday, yeah?”

simon knows how to handle his busy woman. like he said, he knows exactly what you need and sometimes he has to take it (you) in his own hands (and his cock). he loves you, and he’s already three steps ahead of your colleagues in terms of getting you round. next time they meet, he’ll tell them to mind their fuckin’ business and thank you for bothering his wife a little less.

[rorydimes]

simon riley x american!(hinted southern)reader headcanons/drabble/oneshot idek its long as hell i’m sorry :/

contains smut; minors & ageless blogs dni pretty please.

simon riley who is native to the working class of manchester (or “manchesta” if you’re simon, god you love that man.) and he no doubt has the accent to prove it. as an american, you grew up portraying a british person with ridiculous, stereotypical english dialect from time to time, but meeting the large lad and hearing the natural dip and draw roll off his tongue for the first time in person- you were down bad.

simon riley who doesn’t hate your voice. he loves you, so of course he loves what you sound like, particularly when you’re under him all sensitive and overwhelmed, sweaty and detached from bodily fluids, whining thoughtlessly “simon, fuck, please, simon!” but come on, he’s english. he grew up with teachers who playfully apologized the class if the instructor on the vhs tape was a yank. if he’s honest, the brute had lots going on in his life so he didn’t think much about america. until the attack in new york in ‘01, that is. that was his final push to officially join the military, after all. simon found himself more intrigued by you if anything.

simon riley who brought you to manchester after he visited your state about 10 months into the relationship. it was around christmas, and don’t forget, he celebrated christmas, and he figured it was no different overseas. he wasn’t completely wrong, he found the songs annoying just like he does most music, he did crack a smile watching your siblings, cousins, nieces, and nephews open gifts, he wasn’t expecting a truckload of presents from your family to him but it happened, and maybe it was just the philosophy of first impressions or actual southern hospitality but everyone was overly sweet and friendly (in his mind). he barely had to move a muscle- not because you plated his food and drinks- but because your aunts and grandparents were playing lunch rush but for him only.

simon riley who admittedly had a good time, playing beer pong with the men of your family (and l.j, your masculine lesbian cousin of the corral) next to the bonfire outside and getting to listen in on the family drama whenever he came to check on you with the rest of the women in the living room. his stomach was in his ass before he relaxed; until one kid had the nerve to approach him with an astounding question: “excuse me, why do you sound like that?”

thank god you were nearby to save him when it happened. you interjected by picking up your nephew with an awkward and exaggerated “o-kayyy.” simon watched you lick your pursed lips as your brain calculated your next words. “baby, simon is from a place far, far away from here. like- he had to get on an airplane to get to grandma’s house.” simon crossed his arms and shifted his stance; a motion he often did to hide positive emotions, especially when he’s wearing the balaclava. oh, you were good at this. half of him feels like an absolute bastard thinking about breeding you while you’re talking to a literal child at a family Christmas event but his stupid man brain rules his body even now.

simon riley who chokes down a deep chuckle as the younger boy pops up at the mention of an ‘airplane.’ you resettle the four year old on your hip and continued, “you know how ramual from school speaks spanish because he’s from mexico? it’s like that, simon is from england, so that’s why he speaks like he does.” you’re so kind and generous, calmly and appropriately educating a child on cultural diversity like you’ve been teaching kids for years. that’s when he made his decision: he’s flying you out to manchester, his hometown.

simon riley who adored your excitement when he sent you a screenshot of two booked tickets for a trip to europe. he didn’t even have to specify which part- you jumped on him as soon as he came back to your grandparents house from a day out with a few your family members, kissed him hard then leaned away just enough to speak against his lips: “i bet your home is beautiful.”

simon riley who fucks you like he’s got something to prove the moment you get comfortable back into your own home, about two hours away from your previous location. classic southern roads. he’s biting at your neck while youre pressed between him and walls, using your hair as a handle to manhandle you around, not bothering to even remove any clothing- everything’s getting pushed up, down, or to the side. luckily your boyfriend groans a breathy explanation in the form of dirty talk; about how the next time your family group chat pings your phone and asks about “you and your soon-to-be husband,” he wants to gift your family a photo of ultrasound pictures with your wedding bands crossed aesthetically in the corner. your ultrasound pictures, y’know, pictures of his baby growing inside his mrs. riley?

simon riley who secretly starts planning and saving to move you to england. he starts by the trip to manchester, observing how well you’d adapt and your overall experience here. once he got confirmation you would be fine in england, he began his subtle comments and questionaries.

“thinkin’ bout maybe upgradin’ if i do happen to knock you up.”

“there’s some nice ‘homes downtown, think you’d like em.”

“england’s got some of the highest rates in education, yknow. raise our lad to be smart like his daddy.”

you raised an eyebrow at the last statement, shaking your head. “si, i would love to move here with you with or without the baby,” you bit your lip, setting down the paper evidence simon provided you to sway your decision. slowly, you crawled towards him while keeping eye contact. you sat on your heels at his feet, your gaze slutty and glossy. “i took a test. i’m not pregnant. yet.”

simon brought his hand up to slide his palm over his face. he’s almost damn near forty, how does he feel like his jeans tighten this quickly? he groans as you reach for his belt.

“lieutenant riley?” your chirp. he notes the octave change in your tone.

“yes, lovie?” he breathes, already worn and desperate. he regrets telling you his rank. you only ever call him this to get him going.

“do i have your authorization,” you unbuckle his belt and jeans, blinking up at him. “to milk your cock,” you free his stiffened cock from his boxers. “and use it to breed my pussy?”

damn. if he was any more or less aroused, he’d cum all over your gorgeous face. he need to be inside you. quickly. you were testing him and he’s already had to keep his hands to himself to respect your family. if it’s a breeding his missus wants, it’s a breeding his missus fucking deserves.

simon riley who cheerfully turns down the repetition of christmas carols on his truck’s radio as he pulls into your grandparents driveway the next year, right hand on your left hand, fingers playing with your wedding ring (i hc he knows how to drive in america), his pretty brown eyes gazing at the car seat behind him where his one year old son sleeps peacefully. while simon looks forward to your family’s christmas tradition, he’s really looking forward to the after party, where he gets to indulge in his own personal christmas tradition- cumming buckets into his creaming wife’s perfect cunt until absurd hours in the morning roll around. gotta bring the fam a present for next year, right?

authors note: you lot are so sweet, thank you much for the support. xoxo

[rorydimes]

simon x famous!reader

contains smut; minors and ageless blogs dni pretty please.

when simon first met you in that dimly lit bar, the one with the flickering “open late” sign on the front and smells of unsanitary bathrooms and mold, you told him you owned your own business.

in your mind, technically, that wasn’t a lie. but it wasn’t entirely true, either.

you’ve been a known online figure for a while now, since fifteen years old. you started out just like everyone else- with a crappy iphone 6 in your childhood bedroom with the obnoxious hue of your favorite color on your cluttered walls in the background. it started out with makeup, low maintenance hair tutorials, and comedy skits you later cringed at in a future video. like every teenager on youtube, you had full confidence you’d make it big. and you did. now you wake up with stacked packages at your door- all from multiple brand deals and gifts from fans and other influencers. you own two phones, one for business and the other for yourself. you have a team of people who guide, control, and protect your online presence. you’re literally living the american dream.

so why the hell would you lie to simon about your occupation? the answer is actually simple.

you hadn’t asked, but you assumed the masked man in front of you was at least in his late 30s, early 40s. his balaclava only allowed his eyes to be seen but just from the wrinkles, the permanent eye bags, and the genuine look of exhaustion told you he had a job that kept him busy- at least too busy for today’s social media. you liked simon, but you were logical. you’re flirting with a man at a bar who’s at least ten years older than you- there was no way in hell he’s looking for anything more than a quick fuck. either way, you figured you could minimize your embarrassment if he did know you and protect your image in case the man feels for a crumb of your fame by not mentioning anything.

imagine your surprise when three years later, youre spending your mornings sharing a tea and toast with the same bulky man from the bar. obviously by this point simon is well in the know about your job. your real job, that is. it was actually quite funny the way he found out. yes, found out. after a few months with you, simon has incorporated television more into his life and has particularly enjoyed youtube. everything was on youtube. from his favorite tunes to quick clips of the most random stuff he needed to learn, safe to say simon riley was quite fond of the platform. so imagine his surprise when he wakes up in his empty flat at 1:28 am to his pretty gf on the screen, doing her makeup and talking about useless information somebody had to care about.

he texted you immediately. just two words that carried two thousand tons of weight.

‘ Call me. ‘

you knew what he was about to confront you with. you don’t know how he figured it out, but it’s hard to stay in the shadows when you’re the trending topic at the moment. so, naturally, you called him.

“hey, is…everything okay?” you started, voice already trembling. “listen, if this is ab-“

“i think you know exactly what this is about, love,” simon interjected. “-but i think i deserve an explanation at least.”

you couldn’t tell if the man was confused, exasperated, hurt, or complementing a breakup. you found the words to explain yourself, how you thought you were doing the right thing, how you felt about dating as a public figure, the deep rooted embarrassment you felt at the time, everything and all at once. simon had to cut you off once again.

“love. take a breath f’me. ‘m not mad with you, jus’ wished you felt comfortable enough to be honest with me.” he calmly stated, the slightest grin as he scrolled through your page. in a way, he felt…proud. proud of his girl, proud he won the heart of someone who probably has plenty of creeps jerkin’ with tissues while they watch her simply live her life.

you were taken aback. he wasn’t upset that you lied and hid from him for months? he must’ve sensed your disbelief because he cleared his throat before speaking again into the phone.

“my girl’s a fuckin’ star, tha’s all,” he chuckled, dark and possessive. “s ironic, your job means puttin’ y’face all over the internet. couldn’t do tha’ with my job.”

you couldn’t help but giggle at that. it was true, all the pictures of you on the internet were either you looking your best or screenshots of your snap stories, the one platform you feel completely yourself on. whilst all the pictures you’ve seen of simon was a ripped and crumbled photograph from his childhood and the other creased due to folding, a picture of him and his team, eyes blurred out from editors censorship or the natural angle of the camera. simon of course, only identifiable from his signature skull balaclava and sunglasses.

needless to say after that phone call, your relationship with simon changed dramatically. you were completely open and honest about everything, the sponsorship trips that were originally spontaneous “girl days”, the grueling process of editing videos just to your liking, the random edits of yourself popping up occasionally. this change also transferred into the bedroom, with simon often gripping your ass from behind, two of his large, thick fingers punishing your poor cunt as he talked you through orgasm after orgasm. he’d never admit it out loud, but his favorite thing to do is rile himself up by reading the filthy things people say to you publicly online, and then taking it out on you as if you control all 1.1M of your followers. on the more emotional days, simon even pulls out his phone to read the comments out loud to you.

“jake underscore sixty nine says your tits sit so perfectly in your lil shirt you’ve got on ‘ere.” he groans, flipping around the phone to show you. sick bastard chuckles and shakes his head. you swear you saw his thumb tap to fucking like the comment. all questions flew right out of your mind once simon tossed his phone and focused on fucking you properly, making extra sure that your pussy, his pussy, belonged to him no matter how many fucking fans you’ve got. all 1.1 million of them could stand outside your shared bedroom window just for a glimpse of you, and boy oh boy, would simon give em what they want and more…

he’d have you pressed against the window first, nipples hardening underneath the chill of the glass. gotta give em a preview before the main event. he’d make sure they saw how his huge hands engulfed your figure, how his mouth works on your neck to make dark purple bruises that’ll decorate your skin for weeks. he’d then turn you around to kiss you while simultaneously bending you forward, both hands on your asscheeks spreading you nice and wide to show off your delicate holes. he’d probably pop in a finger or two, silently bragging about how good their favorite little influencer takes him. he’d stretch your legs apart, forming a position where your fans could watch him devour your cunt with his mouth. he’d occasionally shift lower and back, just clear indication his tongue was currently buried far in your asshole. he’d fuck you in positions he’d never thought of or executed with you before. the man would get creative- from having you folded like a lawn chair, hands pressed against the glass as he demolishes your hole from behind to fucking you full nelson while standing, wide open for the whole world to see you bounce on his cock like plastic so willingly.

maybe he’d even open the window to let your juices squirt and drip on your audience below, but simon riley is a gatekeeper when it comes to his very well known influencer gf. ah, if only your pr team wasn’t so strict, he could convince you to do porn- with him as your top and only collaborator.

[rorydimes]

contains smut, minors & ageless blogs dni pretty please.

john price would have an independent gf, miss “it’s already been handled, actually” with a genuine smile, someone educated, calm, cool, and collected much like john is himself. she probably grew up pressured by her parents and peers to do better; and to be better. and or; she learned at a young age that if she wanted something done, she’d have to do it herself.

she doesn’t fight, argue, yell, pout, or bitch. she simply acts then explains her actions with a level voice. john learned very quickly that trying to dominate and boss her around first hand was not the right move. she didn’t make him earn her respect per se, but her submission. her willingness. her complete and undivided attention. she’s a very busy woman, so spending hours spread eagle for the older man much less even agreeing to spend a night with him makes him feel honored.

they work so well together however because john is a provider. this man is in charge of three grown men in life threatening situations- on top of knowing their personal backgrounds and today struggles. he’s a natural leader and giver. so when miss “i can do it myself” meets mister “i’m aware, but let me do it for you,” john naturally takes control in this regard too. and he loves it. cherishes it. hell, he praises the idea with the way he slurps and sucks on her needy pussy every night. he knows his focused, driven, confident young missus even needs her fix. even on the nights where she gently pecks his cheek with a small, “not tonight, baby. ‘v gotta long day t’morrow,” she somehow ends up knees to chest with john’s hands harshly gripping the back of her calves as his teeth graze her swollen clit when his tongue prods deep inside her hole.

john price loves a strong, independent woman. better yet- breaking said strong, independent women.

kyle “gaz” garrick would probably have a similar type but more in a punk, “fuck this country and fuck you” way. oh, poor girl hated kyle’s guts when they first met. his cocky, charmingly boyish grin with his perfect shiny white teeth, smooth movements in his body, and his stupidly pretty, harmonious face. and don’t even get her started on how much she hated his voice. that fucking voice of his- high enough to crack jokes and pull smiles from people but deep enough to make anyone stand at full attention, undergarments slightly damp from his authority. so, yeah, it was fuck kyle garrick until he managed to somehow get his bratty girl whiny and snotty sitting on a bathroom counter in some sketchy club after weeks of non stop teasing, testing, and genuinely bratting the hell out with him.

luckily for the both of them, kyle has a lot of patience. especially with pretty girls that obviously are only so angry because they’re so pent up. probably years of celibacy, rejecting partners due to insecurity, lack of trust, toxic feminism- whatever it was, kyle was determined to figure it out and set her straight. she too made her soldier work for her will but only because she was horrified and caught off guard by his interest in her. boys have spent the majority of her life avoiding her, and after maybe experiencing her own heartbreak or watching someone else’s, she genuinely quizzed kyle’s intentions.

again either way, kyle makes sure there isn’t any question or confusion about his adoration for her. he takes very good care of her in all ways, listens to her, and plays into her bitchy behavior before always reminding her that this ‘little attitude’ is a ‘cute act’ but isn’t necessary when her man, her protector, her everything is right here. she definitely gets her pussy ate more than she deserves, but kyle knows to follow through by fucking his thick cock down her throat or dragging her cum-stained face up and down his shaft and heavy balls, sometimes simultaneously.

much like his boss, kyle enjoys ruining a pretty girl with a tough exterior. especially when they truly believe they run things. not with sergeant garrick, princess.

john “soap” mactavish is a proud pervert with a personal preference for innocent, naive women. the type to wear a body fit milkmaid dress, tits all out on display just begging for his mouth to suck them dry, on the first date and call it her “special occasion dress.” he gets a deep pounding in his throat when watching his little lass smile and wave at babies, his mind (and dick) desperately craving to make some of his own. he can’t help it, his pretty princess his just too sweet, too kind, and definitely too fucking cute for her own good. god only knows how many times the scot’s nearly killed a man with his bare hands because they were “eye’n ya up” or flat out flirting with her, and his poor, gentle, soft, sweetness is too shy to get stern with the brave fucker.

never in front of his girl, no, he wouldn’t dare corrupt her beautiful mind like that. it’s a dirty secret he keeps to himself- one that makes him smirk when his rough hands slide down her soft plump waist, humming in satisfaction while he toys with her pink lace. his bunny, his fairy, his literal princess. she’s his everything, and it makes his cock so impossibly hard watching her walk about unconcerned and so unaware of her surroundings- all because she knows her big, strong, man is looking out for her wellbeing.

with all this being said, john takes a lot of pride in this fact. with him, it’s his money she spends, his lap she sits on, his shoulder to cry into, his cock she slobbers and suckles on. he’s obsessed with the idea of impregnating her, stuffing her stupid with his hot seed, and being viciously protective and nurturing over her for the next nine months. it’s grossly animalistic how feral he is about it, and it’s even worse when she’s reaching up for him, begging for a kiss with a tiny, high pitched “please, johnny!” it makes him crack every. single. time.

john soap mactavish is a pervert especially for sweet girls who trust and look to him like he’s the fucking king of the world. oh, and he’d totally never forget about the milfs he’s slept with.

simon ghost riley secretly gets boners for crybabies. his gf full on sobs over drama films, stray animals, and anything inspirational or cute. to most people, she’s childish, needs to grow up, act her age, etc etc. to simon, she’s empathetic, emotional, in tune, sensitive, and most importantly kind. she’s his sweet little crybaby who tugs on his sleeve when words can’t seem to formulate, who sits at his heavy boots when he’s occupied because she knows “si’s busy, but never too busy for me,”, who goes to her man before absolutely anyone else for everything, who cries in his neck more times than not because the world is just too cruel and she can’t do anything to fix it.

she’s a pouter and has her bratty moments- sure, but that’s all quickly ended once simon gives her that one look, the one that groans “come ‘ere, lovie. come to y’man and let ‘im fix it. tell y’si what’s wrong so he can make it better.” and it works. she’s immediately on him in seconds, eyes flushing with emotion as she tells him everything- instead of bratting out and getting roughly pounded like kyle’s gf. if anything, simon has his doll on her back, her holes stuffed full of himself as he softly but fast when he fucks into her cunt. he isn’t much of a talker during sex, but that flips entirely when his babygirl has so much to say and it’s only coming out in tear form. suddenly he feels the need to tell her how beautiful and brave she is, how sweet and sensitive she is, how perfect and broken she looks under him, lips swollen from her own doing and out of breath from simon’s nonstop motions.

simon is a hard, cold man who grew up in a hard, cold environment. his soft little doll makes him quieter, more stable, more here. he’s been so focused on surviving himself, he feels extreme relief in servicing someone else in such an intimate, slow pace manner. she can truly relax and let go around him, and he can comfortably slip into the role of being human again.