based on that one thing you reposted: Simon Riley manhandling reader all over the place. Picking them up, throwing them over his shoulder, moving them slightly; just picking them up and replacing them where it’s convenient for him all the while not thinking about it until they’re fucking and he’s doing the same thing. (Sorry if this prompt sucks I don’t normally do this sort of thing 😭)
I need you to know how feral this made me. Please never leave
warnings: can be read as plus-size/curvy reader but not explicitly stated. Simon’s a bit of a perv but in a sweet romantic way. p in v, oral (f!recieving), free use themes if you squint
Simon Riley doesn’t have much exposure to soft things.
His uniform is scratchy, his fatigues aren’t much better. The cotton of his mask is rough against his face, worn and pillied from years of wear. The sheets on base barely have a thread count and the pillows could handle some fresh stuffing.
He’s adapted to it, forgotten what moisturized hands and fabric softener washed clothes feel like.
Then he meets you and suddenly his world has a warm vignette.
You soften his life with delicate touches. He gains a heating pad for his shoulders, conditioner for his brittle hair, and a duvet too fluffy to store.
Then there’s you. You with gentle curves, uncalloused hands, plush thighs and a little extra in all the right places. You’re the softest thing he’s ever touched.
It makes him hard as a fucking rock.
He always wants his hands on you, a reminder of the sweet side of his life. A palm curved over your ribs is grounding. Four fingers in your back pocket keeps him sane. A hand resting over your stomach drives him crazy.
You, always willing, always warm and soft and keening into his touch, it’s your fault he gets so greedy.
It becomes more than just touches.
Out to drinks and you sit down next to him? No.
He’s lifting you over onto his lap, why should he have to settle for a hand on your thigh when he can wrap his arms around your waist? Why should any other man think he can sit down next to you, this sends a clear message. Taken.
Cooking in the kitchen, hips swaying to whatever musics playing in your head? No.
You find the cold counter beneath your thighs, moved so fast you still feel the heat of the stove on your chest. All so he can take your place stirring whatever’s in the pot. Muttering something under his breath about the flame being too high.
Standing in front of the sink while you do your makeup in the morning? No.
Simon still needs to brush his teeth, and why should he bother with saying ‘excuse me’ if he can just pick you up under your arm pits and move you to the side. Much more effective.
He’s always preferred a hands on approach. At least that’s what he tells you.
The truth? Knowing he can touch you, move you, manhandle you so easily has him chubbing up in his pants. The fact that you just let him? Flashing a sweet smile after as if you’re thanking him for it? It’s enough for him to start leaking.
It becomes second nature.
Simon picking you up in a bridal carry on the way home the pub, wordlessly scooping you up whenever he’s decided you’re done walking in those heels.
Simon appearing behind you whenever you’re struggling to reach something, grabbing you by the hips and lifting you to it rather than getting it himself.
Simon taking you by the ankle and pulling you to the edge of the bed, all the down until you ass threatens to fall off. Positioning you perfectly for him to kneel on the floor and throw a leg over each shoulder.
Simon rolling you onto your side early in the morning, pulling you back to his chest and then lifting your leg over his hip. Only to rest inside you, throbbing, hard and half asleep as he locks you in place with an arm over your waist.
Simon holding you against him when he rolls onto his back. Your legs tangled with his as he lifts your hips and rolls them back down over his length. Treating you like a glorified toy, setting the pace and not even having to fuck up into you.
Simon grabbing your cheeks in his hand and smushing them together until your lips pucker. He turns your head until he can kiss them, sloppily biting at them while keeping his grip iron clad.
Simon moving his hand over your throat, applying just enough pressure to tell you that you’re not moving unless he wants you too.
also in the camp of trigun fics i cannot stop thinking about: mashed potatoes by @bluewonderer
all of it, obvsly, but i was so struck by the softness of
Vash lifts a knee in a silent plea that Wolfwood is helpless against. He carries Vash out of the bathroom with still-damp legs wrapped heavily around his hips. Vash has to duck to avoid cracking his skull on the door frame, curling over and around Wolfwood’s face until he can’t hardly see where he’s walking.
obsessed with so many choices made in this fic! the descriptions of the serum, the biblically accurate banter™️ between them, intersex character, cataloguing of small and large hurts. truly it has it all:,> i only got two hours of sleep before work for the second night in a row because i read it once and then was like,,, well again as a little treat obvsly,,,
I'm sure someone has mentioned them already, but here are some lyrics I haven't been listening on repeat and thinking about Lance and Arthur:
Choose your last words, this is the last time
'Cause you and I, we were born to die
I am suing you and using the money to pay for therapy :))
The evil it spread like a fever ahead
It was night when you died, my firefly
What could I have said to raise you from the dead?
///
Did you get enough love, my little dove
Why do you cry?
And I'm sorry I left, but it was for the best
Though it never felt right
///
Shall we look at the moon, my little loon
Why do you cry?
Make the most of your life, while it is rife
While it is light
SICK AND TWISTED OF YOU!!!
The boy might be back but feelings are still dead 😔
What does Knuckles loves the most of Shadow? (Both looks and personality) and what does he hates the most? And same questions for Shadow.
(ughhhhhh computer crashed whilst writing this out the first time)
Knuckles thinks Shadow looks incredibly cool all the time and his eyes remind him of fire and passion. But nothing is more beautiful than the gold of Super Shadow. And even though Shadow is as cool on the inside as he is outside, Knuckles loves the mysterious and gentle side of the hedgehog. Shadow doesn’t open up too often but when he does, Knux is absorbed. And even though if you look at Shadow the wrong way, he’d straight up murder you, he’d do it while avoiding stepping on harmless flowers that happen upon his war path. He brings this same gentleness to Knux that neither have experienced a whole lot of in their lives.
Shadow has a major thing for Knux’ locks, he’s found out over time. There’s a cultural power and elegance to them he loves and will always experience a new form of death any time Knuckles decides to throw a flower or 10 to his dreads. He also gives special attention to those large fists by kissing them gently and enjoying the look of embarrassment on his boyfriend’s face. He admires Knux’ undying loyalty to his thankless duty as well as his playful personality. Shadow tries to introduce new and fun things to Knuckles every day so he can act his age more often.
