sucking the life out of situationshiop!ghost's dick while asking him when he's taking you out on a date. he's a whiny mess when you tighten your grip at his base and suck hard on his tip, his own grip on the couch pillow turning his knuckles white.
"c'mon, riley, i asked you a question," you say with a smirk, after you release him with a pop.
your hand continues stroking him, fingers grazing his slit, and lips landing kisses on his inner thighs. his head is lolled to the side, eyes closed in painful pleasure — you've been here for a while, driving him to the edge and pulling off seconds before release.
you do want your question answered. late nights, showing up unannounced and fucking you raw until you see stars but never taking you out on a proper date has started to stir bad feelings inside you. holding you tightly to sleep and leaving abruptly when you ask him if he wants breakfast stings a bit more than you admit.
but you like the noises he makes. breathy moans, grunting with his teeth clenched and his fingers in your hair. so you decide to keep him there for some time. use your teeth a little, flick your tongue where you know he's sensitive. you know he likes it. maybe he'll answer your question this way.
your kisses lead to his leaking, red tip. "you figure it out yet?" you wait a second before wrapping your lips around his cock and taking him as deep as you can handle, making him choke a groan.
he cums shortly after, breathing heavy, cheeks red, and blond hair a mess.
"i'll pick you up friday at eight, yeah?" you smile triumphantly.
drabbles i found in my notes - instead of posting part two of the christmas thing i wrote 😖
simon riley x fem!reader
you're on the couch, mindlessly watching a tv show when the front door unlocks. simon walks in, and you barely lift your hand to greet him. he'd gone for a run almost an hour ago, claiming he didn't want to waste a perfectly cloudy afternoon. you opted to stay under your warm blanket.
you hear rustling as he shuts the front door, and that's what draws your attention. takeout is your first thought, but you would've smelt it, and you already have leftovers from lunch.
lifting your head curiously, you only see simon's broad back in the kitchen table. you can't figure out what he's doing, but you're too lazy to get up and find out, and so you stay planted on the couch, head turned in a weird angle to catch a glimpse.
when he finally turns to face you, your mouth opens, surprised eyebrows rise in curiosity. there's a batch of lilies on your kitchen table and another colourful bouquet of flowers in his hand.
"brought you flowers," is all he says when he approaches the couch, sitting by your feet.
he offers, and you grab them, bringing them to inhale. "why?"
he shrugs. "were pretty, and i thought of ya."
-
taking riley out for a walk is one of your favourite things, especially when it's just snowed. she loves running around the snow as much as you do. simon just likes tagging along because the park right next to your flat is empty and peaceful.
she's an obedient girl, listening to her dad and not tugging at her leash while you're walking. but as soon as you arrive at the snowy park and unclip her leash, she becomes the devil of tazmania.
you play tag with her, running around the trees, bushes, and the small playground. simon opts to stay seated on a bench hidden under some trees and watch you, occasionally snapping pictures of you — particularly when riley trampled you to the ground.
he's paying attention to his phone when an idea lights up your eyes. the snowball hits him square in the face and you cheer, not even trying to hide the fact that you're the perpetrator (not that there was anyone else in this park, moreso in his vicinity).
simon's beanie and mask are covered in snow, as are his eyelashes. his glare is non-threatening, yet intimidating as fuck. you smile innocently, but it falters when he stands up at once.
"yur gonna pay for tha', love."
fifteen minutes later, you're returning home, your jacket, gloves, and lower body are soaked. you sport red nose and cheeks and a prominent scowl, while simon looks smug under his mask. riley is just happy to be there.
"c'mon rudolph, i'll warm ya right up when we get 'ome."
-
playing monopoly with simon and his buddies is the worst thing in the world. torture, really. they all cheat! yes, even captain price, although he thinks he hides it well by putting on his thinking face.
kyle and johnny sit on the other side of your coffee table, price sits on the loveseat and simon next to you, peaning back against the couch. he has a huge arm over your shoulders, playing with the hem of your shirt every time you get upset with their shenanigans.
"come on, garrick! i'm not fucking stupid - you said a hundred and twenty the last time i came around. now you say it's a hundred and eighty, like i won't notice!"
"i'm not cheating! you're just hard if hearing!"
your eyes widen, mouth drops in shock.
"ha!" exclaims johnny with a laugh.
you point at him. "you should not even be in the game - you went bankrupt like three times!"
"uh, 'scuse me, bonnie, but as you can see i have money right here." he points on the spot in front of him. he has barely enough to last him a round.
"that's because price has been sneaking money to you. i'm not blind! simon, back me up!"
he takes a drag of his cigarette and shrugs, barely able to conceal a smile at your flushed cheeks. your jaw drops, again. that fucker is in on it.
"you dick! you're letting him rob the bank! you are the bank! ugh." your head falls on the table with a thud.
you hear price chuckle.
"you're all terrible," you mumble.
"you'll live," replies kyle.
you're stubborn enough to finish the game and be at least not the first person to lose. johnny ends up losing after you catch price red-handed giving him the money - you turned to sip on your drink for one second. simon is the next to go, but you end up losing to kyle. you shake hands, promising threatening to play again next time you visit his house.
simon gets hit by an umbrella like three times, sorry for not knowing proper british and scottish slang, i'm greek and trying my best 👍🏻 implied age gap (reader is in uni)
holidays in Edinburgh, part 1/?
the 141 is home for the holidays. home being all over the uk, with gaz and price spending their time somwhere in the country with their partners and simon accompanying johnny and his partner in Edinburgh. johnny insisted he come along, Edinburgh is full of bonnie birds, you never know, you might meet your match, lt.
you're miserable. spending yet another holiday in a foreign country, isolated in your flat with only your cat, warm tea, and a book to pass the time. you couldn't go back home due to finals starting soon, and your parents decided to spend Christmas in warm weather down under (Australia).
it's not half as bad, you try to convince yourself. your flat is quiet, as are the neighboring ones and the building in general. your bedroom window overlooks a busy street, and you envy those who flood them with shopping bags and smiles. you haven't made that many friends, and the ones you have are already visiting their hometowns. the upside is that you're in a warm, comfortable space while others are freezing their pinkies off.
even johnny is gone. the loud scot from next door, a guy you had disliked at first without having officially met him - thin walls was the only bad thing this building has, and you were forced to listen to him do everything, from weight lifting, to watching tv, to having sex - but when you bumped into each other your opinion changed drastically. a gentleman, funny and light-hearted. he hadn't taken to heart your complaints about the noise, only promising to take it down a notch.
without the muffled sounds of his tv to annoy you - his partner had apologised for the volume, saying he's partially deaf in one ear from having been too close to explosions way too many times - you were left reading your book in silence. maybe you'd go to the grocery store later, stock up so you won't need to leave your house - the weatherman said it's going to get colder, heavy snow expected.
johnny hands simon the keys to his flat. him and his bird are going to the supermarket, there's nothing in the fridge or the cupboards for the next few days. the scot told him to take a shower, relax and make himself at home until they come back, and he didn't have to be told twice with the biting cold making his nose stuffy.
johnny's building is freshly painted to look new on the outside but old on the inside. he's been here before, and he remembers mactavish struggling to open his front door sometimes, for the lock got stuck.
he tries to reenact the technique his best friend uses to get in, trying his hardest to open the door gently instead of pushing with his shoulder like he does back at his own flat. he turns the key one, two, three times and pulls forward softly, trying to turn the key for the fourth and final time.
fuck. you gotta be fucking joking.
"fuckin' hell."
he tries again. and again, this time throwing his bag on the floor. the door rattles as he uses a bit more force, frustration building steadily and quickly.
you press play on spotify, the familiar voices of joe and frank from the basement yard podcast filling your ears. your headphones are pushing the hair out of your face and also act as ear muffs. you check your coat pockets for your phone and keys, nodding to yourself before kissing your cat goodbye. you promise her treats from the grocery store.
at first, you don't notice the hunk of a man at the door next to yours. the podcast is on full volume and your securing your scarf around your shoulder. it's when you turn to shut your door that you freeze mid-step.
in front of you, with is back turned to you, there's a giant guy pressing all his weight to johnny's door. he's wearing all black, hood drawn up, which makes this situation much much scarier.
fuck fuck fuck fuck. what the fuck. he's tryinf to break in the flat. oh fuck fuck fuck, what do i do? has he noticed me? he hasn't turned around yet. what the fuck. shit fuck. FUCK. what the fuck?!
your body reacts a few seconds later. with wide eyes and pursed lips, you hold your breath, and take a step inside your home. half your body is outside, facing him incase he decides to turn around and your arm is blindly reaching for your big umbrella.
once you have a stready hold on it, you don't hesitate to take two big steps forward and hurl it on the intruder's neck. your headphones for on your shoulders, and you hit him again, and this time he physically recoils.
you hit him another time, not quite as hard, and flinch at the sound the plastic makes against his jacket but you're gaining confidence as he grunts in pain. you shout something at him, something about this being karma for trying to break into somebody else's house, and he yelps something in response, but the blood rushing in your ears is louder than your voices.
you swing the umbrella back to hit him again, gathering all the courage you can muster for a final blow. you take a millisecond more to do so and he has time to move before it can connect with his back. unfortunately for the guy, the umbrella hits the side of his face.
he yelps and you drop it with a gasp, hands covering your mouth in shock.
his face is still hidden under his hood, but his ungloved fingers reach for his cheek, where the tip of the umbrella connected.
there's a moment of silence. your eyes are wider than before, as wide as saucers, and you're breathing heavily like him. you're scared beyond your mind, the fear having paralysed you once again. you stand there watching him rub his face witha grunt.
"you fuckin' crazy or wha', lady?!" he finally speaks with gritted teeth. his accent is hot. "'m not a fucking intruder."
oh shit.
"...you're not?"
"no, the fuck 'm not," he says calmly, and your heart rate picks up. "would an intruder have keys to the bloody flat?" he shows you the keys and you gasp softly, recognising johnny's scottish flag keychain.
"i'm—oh," your hands reach out as you try to approach him. "i'm so terribly sorry, i just—mactavish isn't home and you're huge and you were throwing yourself at the door and you have your hood up and you're so. fucking. big, i thought you were trying to rob the place—" you take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts - you just beat a guy with an umbrella for no fucking reason!!!!!! ‐ "here, let me help you." you signal for him to enter your flat.
simon watches you for a moment. flushed cheeks, eyes glassy and overflowing emotions, hands waving frantically as you open your own door wider for him to walk in.
he should refuse. flat out say no. you just attacked him with an umbrella for fucks sake. it's still in your trembling hands. he should refuse. but you said mactavish. you know johnny. and he knows himself. he must've looked terrifying to you, back hunched over the lock, shoulder pushing on the old wooden door.
you look genuinely sorry and worried, very willing to let him into your home, even though he hasn't given you any information about himself. for all you know, he could've stolen the keys from johnny or his bird, he could be a proper burglar.
he should shake his head and turn your back on you. it doesn't even hurt. he's had worse. he thinks his cheekbone might have a scratch, but he's fine. ghost has been through torture before - your hits are nothing compared to that.
but you're pretty. extremely so.
so, he nods slowly, removing his hand from his cheek and grabbing his duffel bag from the ground. you wait by the door, watching his every move as he walks in.
you point to your kitchen chair, he sits - he's so imposing, your kitchen seems smaller with him in it - and you immediately rush for a pack of beans from the freezer and a towel.
"put this on your cherk," you instruct and disappear somwhere further inside the flat. he watches you.
when you come back you have rubbing alcohol, cotton pads and a packet of band-aids. simon begins to stand.
"'s not necessary. 's barely a scratch, ma'am."
you don't even look at him as you set the stuff down. he stares at you. "no, no, i feel terrible - the least i can do is fix your face."
"you sayin' my mug is ugly?"
you pause, head snapping to the side to meet the stranger's eyes. you frown, another apology ready to escape your lips.
he's smirking. right corner of his lips tilted up. he's joking. your shoulders sag and you exhale with a smile.
"no, your face is quite nice, stranger."
it is. strong features, long nose - looks to have been broken a hundred times - some scars here and there, long eyelashes and pretty brown eyes.
"simon. simon riley."
simon. nice name - suits him. friend of johnny's, you remember. probably military, judging by the width of his back. and the unintenional scrutinising and intimidating gaze.
you introduce yourself, breath hitching when he repeats your first name slowly.
"pretty name." you shrug, grabbing a wet cotton pad and slowly moving it towards him. he doesn't pull away, and you press it against the small scratch on his cheek as he speaks. "suppose a pretty girl deserves a pretty name."
you chuckle, heat rising up your neck and spreading to your cheeks as you move on to the pack of band-aids.
"so, you know johnny?" you ask.
"saved his ugly mug a coupl'a times. we're spending christmas here."
your smile falters as you stick the small band-aid on his cheek (only now realising it has anakin skywalker printed on it). you're once again reminded of how lonely you'll be during christmas. simon notices it, but hesitates asking if you're okay.
"sorry for the uh, band-aid. uh, i don't have any normal ones." he brushes it off with a shake of his head. "you're good to go, now. i'm sure you have things to do."
simon silently gets up and grabs his things, all while watching you put your coat and scarf back on. whatever light you had on your face moments before is gone, and he's trying to figure out what he said wrong to cause this.
he follows you out of the flat, mind forming different ways to ask if something's wrong. he can't help but ask when he hears you sigh heavily, almost defeated.
"you okay, love?"
"huh—what?" you look at him once and then continue locking your door.
"you alright? did i say something that upset you?"
your smile returns with his words, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes.
"no, i'm all good, don't worry. just don't want to go for groceries in the freezing cold, ya know?" he nods, jiggling johnny's keys in his hands. "anyway, it was nice meeting you, simon. and i'm really sorry for thinking you're an intruder and hitting you with my umbrella and whatnot. i hope to see you around - have fun!"
and before he can ask where you're spending your christmas, or why you're going to the supermarket instead of packing to go back to wherever your home is - your accent clearly indicates you're not from edinburgh, as if the books, pens, and scattered notebooks at your home were not enough - you're walking down the stairs and dissappear from his eyesight.
simon stands for a moment before turning to the door again. you're interesting, to say the least, and you said his face was...nice - he doesn't get that often. and you have band-aids with Star Wars characters, and you laughed at his joke. and you were brave enough to attack him when you thought he was a burglar.
haven't been active here, so i apologise. but the weather's getting cold, and i just can't stop imagining simon riley using the cold to pull you closer. especially in the mornings.
he starts innocently enough, pulling the covers over you when he sees you've pushed them away and wrapping his beefy arms around you to pull you flush to his body, hand sneaking under your shirt like he usually does.
but it's not that cold yet, and you start to sweat and squirm away from him ten minutes later. in your sleepy state, you don't realise you're grinding up on him until he groans in your ear to slow down, love.
nexr thing you know, he's groping your chest, pinching your nipples and you whimper, rubbing your ass harder on his half-hard dick in retaliation.
your senses are overwhelmed, and you whine needily for simon to do something. he mumbles something about you being such a needy girl but it enters from one ear leaves from the other, as his huge palm cups your pussy above your pj shorts to feel how wet you are.
"all this f'me?"
his knee replaces it soon after and you hump against it like a feral animal. his hand guides your hips, urging you to go faster.
you come with a high-pitched moan, eyes fluttering close from exhaustion.
"did that feel good, love?" you nod, humming.
you're about to succumb to sleep when simon pulls your shorts and panties to the side, entering you with one swift motion. your eyes widen, a loud moan escaping this time due to the stretch.
i was bored in class and desperately wanted to nap. so, this happened. just huge man sleeping anywhere and anytime.
simon riley loves napping. the when and where doesn't matter. if there's a chance to sleep (and he feels safe to do so), he takes it.
the most common times are after a meal, while reading a book (he will literally put it down and just casually nap for an hour), or watching a documentary with you.
the best time to nap is on a sunday morning. you drag him out of bed early, convincing him to tidy up the apartment with you. but when you give him the cleaning duties of the living room (while you're two rooms away, cleaning the bathroom or something), you best believe you'll find him dosed off, with the (thing that cleans dust) forgotten on the coffee table.
his favourite places are on your side of the bed (because it smells like you, and your pillow is fluffier, apparently), even better when you're laying on it. the couch is also a good spot, for your cat always ends up on top of him, all purring and happy (simon will never admit it, but he likes it when joe - the cat - chooses him to nap on).
but, his all-time favourite place has got to be your lower half. he starts by laying his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat while you twirl and tug on his blond strands. as the night progresses, he goes lower and lower until you feel the weight of his head on your stomach. his breathing matches yours, and you hear him occasionally hum if you tug on his hair a bit hard.
you find his habit of falling asleep so easily cute, but his napping hours weird.
you could both be watching a show, you talking his ear off about it, when you suddenly hear a snore as loud as a tractor. you can't help but lift your head from his chest with a look of bewilderment. how the fuck can he be asleep? he was talking with you two minutes ago.
or when you return home, heart in your mouth, because he wasn't answering your calls and you thought something had happened, but nooooo, simon's just snoring on the couch with a blanket draped over him and joe on top of him.
simon riley can never resist a nap.
—
bonus. the one time simon dosed off when he wasn't on leave happened to be during a debrief in price's office.
he had his arms crossed over his chest, legs spread, and leaning back against the squeaky, uncomfortable chair. it was rare for ghost to be laid-back and relaxed, always on alert for danger even in his own base. but the preparations for this mission were kicking his ass, he missed you a lot, and being surrounded by familiar faces - his work family - relaxed his muscles and his brain a bit more than it should've.
gaz noticed first and nudged soap, who snorted. that caught price's attention, who lifted his eyes from the papers he had been reading to look where his insubordinate sergeants were looking. he couldn't help but shake his head and cough to cover up his chuckle.
soap snapped a quick picture (to send to you later) before gaz cleared his throat loudly, causing the lieutenant's eyes to open. it took him a second to get back to his senses, and when he did, his glare turned towards his two sergeants, who looked like they were trying to hold their laughs in.
just thinking about a lazy evening with simon in bed. you're doomscrolling on tiktok, and he's reading a book, with his reading glasses low on the bridge of his nose.
at first, he doesn't particularly pay attention to what you're watching. a few glances here and there when you snort or giggle. but then you get to that one girl who reacts to crazy consumerists. theeen his attention shifts.
you're scrolling though her videos, judging with her the people that need a stanley for their stanley and you dont even realise simon's also watching, head lowering as he's leaning against the heaboards and you're laying down so he can't see properly.
nose scrunched, eyes narrowed, he's shocked by peoples stupidity and need to buy so many makeup products.
at some point, you've fallen deep into this stanley cup rabbit hole, watching as a woman prepares the overpriced bottle to go on a walk. you quickly grow bored, though, deciding to skip it mid-way.
"oi, luvie, i was watchin' tha'!" he startles you as he's leaned closer to you, lips close to your ear, phone faling on your face from the scare.
"jesus, si, i didn't even hear you breathing."
"yeah, yeah, wha'eva', just put the video back on."
you smile, trying not to laugh at his intrigue. he's usually scolding you for watching tiktok videos, but look at him now.
you shuffle closer to him, and he finally closes the forgotten book on his lap, placing it on the nightstand before wrapping a beefy arm around the back of your neck. he's extremely warm, a contrast to your cold nose.
you stay cuddled for at least another hour, eventually switching video topics. simon plays with your hair, occasionally kising the top of your head.
witch hunter!price gets caught in one of your traps, slashes his thigh, and gets a few cuts and bruises on his arms and abdomen. you're not one to take pity on the ones who hunt you down for a price insultingly low, but his wide, unfocused eyes and the way he looks up to you when you find him on the forest floor a few days later make you huff and roll your eyes before you decide to make a healing potion for that nasty gash. he slurps it down, rough, dirty hands cupping your clearly smaller and softer hands in a gentle hold.
biker simon riley biker simon riley biker simon riley biker simon riley (tojisun's biker!simon has me in a chokehold)
saw this on my timeline, and it was inspired by THIS picture... and i just had a thought. idk.
biker!simon picking you up from work. he's sitting on his bike, helmet off, balaclava lifted just a tiny bit, so he can take drags from his cigarette. (a panty-dropping sight, imo) manspreading kinda. idk. i just have thoughts.
biker!simon, who consistently looks around to make sure his surroundings are safe for when you've closed up shop and are ready to come out. he's glancing at the door you're supposed to be coming off any minute now. he's impatient, he hasn't seen you all day and tbh, he hates your boss for making you close up so late at night.
biker!simon, who can't keep the smile off his face when you walk up to him and smash your lips on his with such force. he can tell you've had a tiring day by the way you cling to his shirt, and your body melts when his huge palm finds the small of your back.
"long day," he asks and hands you the spare helmet you've decorated and now call your own.
you just hum, licking your numb (from the force of the kiss) lips, pulling your helmet down and hopping in the back. biker!simon, who can't wait to get home and make out with you, because fucking hell, you look so good getting on the bike behind him, your soft hands find their place around his waist and grip his jacket, and they're so close his dick. hee has to stop and focus on driving.
—
bonus. biker!simon running his gloved hands up and down your thighs while waiting on the red lights, reminding you he's with you. you tighten your hands around him, silently telling him you're there too.
you bumping your helmet on the back of his when his huge hands travel further than they're supposed to (in front of other cars and pedestrians).
