#simon riley fluff

[miiroki]

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 ┅ 𝖲𝗂𝗆𝗈𝗇 ‘𝖦𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍’ 𝖱𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗒 & 𝖯𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗇𝖺𝗇𝗍! 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝘉𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳.

﹙𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹚

More pregnant! Reader & Simon!!

The bedroom was quiet, save for the rhythmic, low drone of the fan overhead and the heavy shift of Simon’s weight beside you.

You groaned, a low and exhausted sound that caught in the back of your throat as you tried to find a comfortable position.

At nearly eight months pregnant, "comfortable" was a concept that felt so foreign. Your lower back ached with a dull, throbbing persistence, and the pressure in your pelvis made every slight movement feel like a monumental chore.

A massive, calloused hand settled against the bare skin of your hip, the heat of it immediately radiating through you. Simon pulled himself closer, his massive frame bracketing your body from behind like a solid wall of muscle. He didn't wear the mask in bed, leaving his rugged, scarred face bare against the crook of your neck. His breath was hot and even against your skin.

"Still aching love?" his baritone voice rumbled, vibrating right through your skin.

"Everything hurts, Simon," you sighed, leaning back into his chest, letting him take your weight. "My back, my hips... I feel like I'm bursting. I just want this part to be over."

Simon’s grip on your hip tightened slightly. He shifted, his thigh sliding between yours, parting them slightly. Even in his relaxed state, you could feel the hard, thick length of him pressing against the curve of your backside.

"I told you how to fix that," he murmured, his voice dropping into that rough, commanding register that always made your pulse skip. His lips brushed the sensitive skin just below your ear. "Doctor said it yourself, didn't they? Semen softens the cervix. Oxytocin causes contractions. You want this baby out of you, love? You need to let me work my magic."

You let out a breathless, half-hearted laugh, tilting your head back to look at him. "Simon, we did this earlier. And the yesterday. I think you're just using medical advice as an excuse to keep me pinned to the mattress."

"Am I?" A faint, dark smirk touched the corner of his lips, though his eyes remained focused, stilling as he looked down at your swollen belly. He brought his hand around to cup the heavy underside of it, his thumb tracing a slow circle. "Maybe. But it works, doesn’t it? Takes the edge off the ache. Relaxes you."

He wasn't entirely wrong. The endorphins usually did help, masking the physical toll of carrying his child, if only for a few hours.

But there was an underlying motive to Simon’s relentless attention over the last few weeks. And it went far beyond mere pain relief.

Simon had a hunger that hadn't been satisfied by putting a baby in you; if anything, seeing your body change, seeing his mark so visibly displayed on you, had only made it worse.

"You just want me empty so you can fill me up again hm?" you whispered, the truth slipping out in the quiet of the room.

Simon didn't deny it. His gaze snapped up to meet yours. The sheer intensity in his eyes made your stomach flutter. He leaned over you, his massive chest pressing gently against your back as he trapped you beneath him.

"Fuckin’ right I do," he growled softly, his voice thick and rough. "I love seeing you like this. Love knowing I did this to you. But the sooner this one’s out, the sooner I get to put another one inside you. I want you soft, vulnerable, and heavy with my kid again. Understand?"

A shiver raced down your spine. The shameless dominance of his words wasn't new, but hearing him say it so plainly, with your body already heavy with his first child, sent a wave of heat straight to your core. The dull ache in your pelvis shifted, replaced by a tight, throbbing ache of a completely different nature.

"Simon..." you breathed, your fingers clutching at his forearm.

"Good girl. Already nice and wet for me," he muttered, his hand sliding down from your belly, filtering through the soft hair between your thighs to find the wetness already gathering there. He slipped two thick fingers inside you, testing your readiness with a slow, deep stroke. You whimpered, arching your back into his hand as your aching muscles stretched and yielded.

"Look at you," Simon praised roughly, his breath hitching as he felt how tight and warm you were around him. "So ready for me. Let’s get this baby moving, yeah? Let me stretch you out."

He didn't make you move much; he knew you were sore. Instead, he kept you on your side, guiding your top leg up and over his hip to give himself full, unhindered access. He lined himself up against your entrance, the broad, blunt head of his length nudging against your soaking folds.

"Hold onto the headboard," he commanded softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before burying his face in your hair.

You gripped the wooden slats above you, your knuckles turning white just as Simon pushed forward.

He didn't rush. He sank into you with a slow, deliberate pressure, his massive size filling you completely, stretching your sensitive, pregnancy-gorged walls until you let out a fractured cry. The sheer fullness of him was overwhelming, relieving the deep, internal pressure of the pregnancy by replacing it with his own massive weight.

"Fuck, you're tight," Simon groaned, his entire body tensing as he buried himself to the hilt, his hips flushing hard against your bottom. He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, his hands gripping your waist so tightly his fingers left faint white marks on your skin. "You feel perfect. Holding my baby, taking all of me."

He began to move. So slowly, with a rocking friction that grounded his pelvis against yours. Every stroke was deep and heavy. You loved when he treated you like a vessel meant explicitly for him.

"Ah... Simon, wait, it's—it's too deep," you gasped, the sensation overwhelming your heightened senses.

"It's exactly where it needs to be," he rumbled against your neck, his teeth nipping at your shoulder blade, leaving stinging little marks. "Right against you. Can feel it softening it up for me already. Every time I hit it, just think about how close we are to getting this lad out. Think about how good it's going to feel when I get to start over. Months of fucking, putting as much of me in you as you can hold until you're nice and round again."

The vivid, dirty imagery had your head spinning. You cried out, your hips involuntarily twitching back against his rhythm, begging for more of the heavy, blunt friction. The dull aches in your lower back were entirely forgotten, drowned out by the absolute overload of pleasure.

He accelerated the pace slightly, his breaths turning into harsh, ragged grunts as the friction built. His hands moved to your belly, holding it, anchoring you to the bed as he drove into you from behind. The smacking sound of skin against skin, and your own moans filled the quiet bedroom, a dirty, rhythmically intoxicating noise.

"Simon—I'm close, I'm gonna—"

"Take it," he ordered, his voice commanding and completely devoid of room for argument. "Squeeze around me. Give me that contraction, sweetheart, c’mon."

With a final deep thrust that seemed to touch the absolute center of you, your body jolted. Your internal muscles clamped down hard, pulsing in a violent, rolling orgasm that had you sobbing into the pillow, your fingers locking onto the headboard.

Hearing your undone cries and feeling the intense, tight spasms of your climax was all the trigger Simon needed. He let out a low growl, his hips locking tight against yours as he buried himself as deeply as physically possible. He shuddered violently, his head snapping back as he pumped his release deep inside you, filling you with a heavy, thick warmth meant to kickstart the end of this journey—and eventually, begin the next.

He stayed inside you long after the waves settled, his heavy chest rising and falling against your back, his arms wrapped securely around your middle, holding his child and his woman close.

"There," Simon murmured after a long few minutes, his voice laced with a satisfied, sleepy smugness as he kissed your damp temple. "Aches gone?"

"Yeah," you breathed, completely exhausted but relaxed, the tension drained from your body.

"Good," he whispered, his large hand gently stroking your belly. "Get some sleep love. We'll do it again tomorrow."

[strawberrym00nx]

♡ 🩸۫ ׅ ⚰️ ⏾⋆.˚ his vampire girls. (SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x vampire!bunny!)

he's kissing her nose as she's showing him her new outfit - a red leather corset dress and chunky black open-toe heels. 'you look amazing, bunny,' he praises darkly.

he told her to take his card and have fun, and she really did have a great day shopping. she's pressing a kiss to his nose. 'thanks!'

she shows him tiny little bunny slippers she picked up for their baby and he nearly cries. 'those are adorable.' he goes to her room to pick her up even though she should be napping, and brings her out so bunny can put them on her.

baby kicks her feet as they gush over how cute they look, her cheek smooshed against his cozy chest. 'let's have another one,' he begs. 'please.'

[themedassistant]

Sick boy coming home

After being confined to a hospital room for days—largely because Price couldn't keep his lieutenant still—Simon was finally cleared for discharge. Though he complied with orders and kept his complaints to himself, it was clear he was desperate to leave. He remained stoic and composed, but his eagerness to escape that sterile environment was palpable. I would have happily brought him home myself, but naturally, Price and Gaz insisted on collecting their boy. I let them handle the pickup while I stayed behind to prepare the house for his return.

With the sounds of Bring Me the Horizon and Ice Nine Kills blasting, I deep-cleaned the kitchen and bathroom, made the bed to military standards, and prepared enough food to feed a whole battalion. The island counter was soon covered with steaks, chicken, pastas, vegetables, and gentle, hospital-safe soups. Looking at the spread, you would have thought I was welcoming him home from a grueling mission, not just a few days of a severe infection that had nearly cost him his life.

Once the chores were finished, I tackled the small mountain of dishes. Just as I finished and the final song faded out, the front door opened. Gaz stepped aside as Price guided a stumbling Simon inside. With Simon’s arm draped heavily across his shoulders, Price worked to keep him upright. Though he was technically out of the danger zone, it was clear that Simon was still deep in the throes of recovery.

I met them at the threshold, my arms instinctively wrapping around his waist—just firmly enough for Price to release his hold, though he hovered nearby, ready to catch him should he stumble. Gaz stood vigilant, eyes scanning the room, prepared to move at a second's notice. Simon’s arms wound around me like a coil, pulling me flush against his frame. "Welcome home, baby," I whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest. He buried his face in my hair, his voice rough and low. "If I get sick again, either you take care of me here, or you shoot me." When I looked up, his eyes were dark and glassy, swimming with a vulnerability he usually kept locked away. I let out a soft sigh, aching for the solitude he’d been forced to endure in that sterile hospital room, left alone with nothing but his own heavy thoughts.

"Come on," I said, transitioning my hand from his back to his fingers to lead him toward the kitchen. "Let's get some food into you boys."

Gaz, true to his appetite, made a beeline for the spread, piling a small mountain of food onto his plate. Price followed, his fatherly instincts on full display as he carefully monitored Simon’s trembling legs. We settled at the table, the atmosphere easing into a rhythm of casual conversation—my work, the new recruits' progress, and the mundane chatter of daily life. Simon remained his usual stoic self, eating quietly, though he kept my leg hooked over his own, tracing aimless, grounding patterns against my calf while he polished off nearly every bite on his plate.

As the three of them finished eating, I packed up the leftovers and split them between Price and Gaz. Once Simon headed off to the bathroom to shower, I walked the other two to the door. "Just a call away if you need anything," Price said, kissing the top of my head before stepping out, while Gaz offered a playful mock salute as he followed behind.

As I walked toward our bedroom, a loud crash erupted from the bathroom. I burst through the door, my heart hammering, but I exhaled in relief when I saw Simon wasn't on the floor. However, the shower shelves had been ripped down, leaving toiletries scattered across the tub and tiles. Simon stood there in his underwear, panting, his expression primal and haunted. I held my hands up, palms open, signaling I wasn't a threat.

"Si?"

His gaze was locked onto the mess, his focus completely absent. He didn't seem to register my presence at all. "Simon, can you hear me?" When he didn't respond, I dropped to my knees, trying to enter his line of sight. "Simon?" I inched closer, my movements slow and deliberate, holding my hands steady in front of him. "Are you with me, Simon?"

Suddenly, he flinched, jumping back as if stung, and pressed his back hard against the wall. His breathing grew ragged. "I'm not weak," he rasped, his voice thin and broken.

"I know that," I replied gently, keeping my tone steady. "I never said you were."

"I was taking care of Mum and Tommy for years."

The realization hit me—this was a flashback. "I know you did," I said softly, backing away to give him more room. "You carried so much weight at such a young age." It shattered my heart to watch him curl in on himself, sliding down the wall until he was huddled in a ball. Keeping my movements fluid and non-threatening, I reached for my phone and dialed Price, whispering a desperate plea for him to return because I couldn't reach Simon on my own.

I’m not sure how much time passed, but the next thing I knew, Price was gently ushering me out of the bathroom, closing the door behind us so he could tend to his soldier. Left in the hallway with my own mounting anxiety, I decided to focus on something tangible. I moved to the kitchen and put the kettle on. While the water slowly came to a boil, I kept my hands busy by tidying the kitchen, then began preparing comfortable spaces for Simon to rest. I retrieved a weighted blanket from the closet to build a makeshift nest on the couch and swapped the linens on our bed for the softest duvet we owned. By the time the kettle finally started to sing, I had a few mugs of tea ready, hoping the warmth might offer some small measure of comfort once he was ready.

"Phoenix…" I hurried over to them. Simon was leaning heavily into John, his eyes glazed and unfocused. "Your bird is here, son," John murmured into his ear. "Shall we go lie down?" Simon didn’t seem fully coherent, but he nodded, his head still resting against John’s shoulder.

"Hi, baby," I whispered, reaching out for him.

His head turned toward my voice, though his eyes didn't quite focus on my face. Relying on muscle memory rather than conscious thought, he reached out and took my hands as he stood up.

"Let's go to bed, yeah?"

He gave a quiet, singular nod. He let me guide him into the bedroom, allowing John to gently maneuver him onto the mattress. "Atta boy, let us do the work. We’ve got you." Watching them move together felt like observing a practiced, gentle routine—like a puppeteer guiding his movements with absolute care.

Once he was settled, he was out. As if someone just cut the power, his whole body went slack and sunk into the mattress and pillow. "Sick and not being able to control a situation, not a good combination for a solider like him." I felt John's hand on my shoulder as we walked out to let Simon rest.

I offer the captain a still hot mug, which he accepted with a nod. We sat in a familiar silence, letting each other to process what had just happened. The human mind is such a complex entity. It was a mystery how something could be so fragile, yet so cruel—suppressing memories for years only to bring them crashing back with such relentless force.

"I should head out," John said, setting his mug in the sink. He pressed a kiss to my forehead and added, "You know how to reach me. I won't be far." I nodded and walked him to the door. "Thanks, John." He gave a final nod before heading back toward the barracks.

When I returned to the kitchen, I left the remaining mugs in the sink, deciding that could be tomorrow's problem. I retreated to the bedroom, where Simon’s soft snores and occasional mumbled words filled the room. With the air conditioning running, the space was borderline cold, but the chill was a welcome relief against the furnace-like heat radiating from Simon’s body. I slipped out of my clothes, left just my underwear on, and crawled into the empty space on the bed beside him.

Despite his heavy sleep, as if he felt me near, he turned over to wrap his arms around me and rest his head on my chest, burying his whole body under the duvet. "oh, hello solider." I giggle as he tried to get himself impossibly closer to mine. It felt like he was trying to burry himself in my skin. I, gently, scratched from his head to back. "I love you Simon."

[loviejohnnydovie]

swim shorts - simon riley x gn!reader

bodily neutral, also no mention of skin color or hair. reader is described as wearing swimwear, so that is whatever that term means for you!

simon and you are good friends, and he has a giant crush :)

thinking about discussing tan lines, inseam lengths, and sunscreen with tf141, and simon is listening.

of course johnny is shameless and rocks a speedo. kyle has several 5 inch inseam swimming trunks (god bless) that sit just right. but simon. oh poor simon. he hasn't been to a beach on purpose in a long time. maybe he went with alejandro and rudy once while he was in mexico, but even then he wore something borrowed, or maybe even just didn't get in the water. so now that he has you, and he is working his 50 step plan of getting you to go on 1 (one) date with him, so he has learned when he needs to listen.

you, johnny, and kyle are discussing beach plans while simon tries to look very busy nearby. price has fucked off and decided to just spend the time off with his wife. But everyone's discharges/time off lined up just so that they could take their new friend (you) out of town and to the seaside.

the dreaded conversation comes up about what you are going to wear. simon's face turns red at the sight of you in long sleeves and pants, he can't imagine what a swimsuit would do to him.

johnny, the bugger, has to open his damn mouth and ask what type of swimwear you think looks best on a potential partner. johnny claims his prosthetic leg has better mobility if he wears a speedo (he would wear one regardless), and kyle claims his own shorts cannot be any shorter or else the whole beach will get a show.

"i think all options are fine, any and all thighs are good thighs." you say.

johnny argues, "aye, but my option has more thigh. it has all of the thigh lass."

"maybe too much thigh, mate. i'm not here to see that much bulge." kyle throws in.

as they argue, something dawns on simon. he has packed for the wrong occasion. folded in (thrown into) his duffle bag are a pair of gym shorts that go all the way to the knee that he hasn't worn in years, and a tank top that he wears to the gym. he is fucked. somewhere along the 50 step plan, he wants to appeal to you physically. finding someone attractive definitely adds to you wanting to date them, right? simon has to do something.

he claims he needs to head out for a pack of cigs and doesn't give anyone time to say they will join him. on the drive in, he saw several stores touting discount swimwear. they will have to do. he goes into the first one he sees, and christ he needs a cigarette.

cut forward to an hour and a half later. kyle, johnny, and you are all setting up down by the beach, text messages have been sent to simon to let him know where you all are.

kyle and johnny go for a swim, but you take your time applying sunscreen and waiting on simon. soon comes a mass of pale skin covered in tattoos and clad in a pair of short (and borderline circulation cutting) dark blue swim trunks covered in hot pink palm trees. he waited amongst the sand dunes for the guys to go in the water, at the very least to avoid their teasing. his face is bright red by the time he reaches you, but you are all smiles.

"i think you might need some of this," you say holding up the sunscreen bottle, "do you want to get each other's backs?"

simon thinks he's in heaven. he saw you eyeing him, and his thighs thank you very much, and now you're going to touch him. an angel in a swimsuit is worried about the state of his skin, and you are going to touch all over his back. scars be damned, he's been wishing for this for months. and the best part is, he is going to touch you too. in the least creepy way possible, he cannot wait. simon bends down to grab the bottle from you, when from the water comes a wolf whistle.

"now that's how you wear a pair of trunks! stay just like that! give us a show, aye?"

that bugger.

-------------------------------

hi!! i tried to keep this as gender and body neutral as possible! i know that the beach can be an obstacle for many reasons, so i wanted to write something light hearted and nonspecific. let me know if there is anything i can change! i love soft simon and his soft thighs! also, the beaches i am used to are very duney, so i apologize to the rocky beach folks.

[hatsue-exe]

·༻❀༺· floral love: I ·༻❀༺·

simon "ghost" riley x reader

warnings: fem!reader, she/her reader, reader always likes flowers in this series.

Simon Riley wasn’t a romantic by any means.

He was a sharp, stoic man who lived a very minimalist lifestyle, and romantic gestures usually brushed him off as consumerism and unnecessary junk. Why would he buy his partner a heart pillow with “I love you” written on it? What use did that have? Why would he fill the bed with plastic petals for them to have sex on? Or with real petals that would end up in places they surely weren’t supposed to? Why would he get her a bunch of pink, Valentine’s Day-themed stuff if she already had all she needed? 

Plus, he was extremely private, to the point of a slight paranoia sometimes. He’d never expose himself with public declarations of love, nor spend a shit ton of money on a triangular-shaped cabin AirB&B in the woods, when they could just go camping for real and not risk being recorded by hidden cameras. 

There was absolutely nothing in modern romance that seemed appealing to him…

Except for flowers.

He knew that you stopped to take pictures of flowers when the two of you were walking, and that you had pressed flowers between your books and dried flowers in small glass jars as decoration.

Now, obviously, he’d never get you a bouquet of a hundred red roses that would last 10 days tops and give you the work of changing the water every day and cutting a fucking hundred stems every two days. But he tried to do it meaningfully, because he knew it was something important to you.

What shocked him, though, was how easily it came to him after a while.

The first bouquet had been a disaster — or so he thought. Simon had been deployed for three weeks, and your relationship was new enough that the time apart made him worry for the stability of it. Having already noticed your fondness for flowers by then, he decided to pick something up on the way back from base: a simple bouquet at the window of a small shop, already wrapped in brown paper. It had a few red and white roses, which were about the only flowers he could recognise, some greenery, and baby’s breath, which he had seen dried around your small apartment. He picked it up, took it home, and felt somewhat content with himself.

When he got to your apartment some time later, you had kissed him, thanked him, and unwrapped the bouquet to put it in a vase. Simon frowned. The roses still had their thorns, the greenery had leaves all the way down to where they were wrapped, and the stems looked straight up dirty. From the top, it was a beautiful bouquet, but on a vase that would surely look awful.

“I didn’t know they looked like that”, he grumbled.

You looked at him, lifting an eyebrow in confusion. “Like what?”

Simon gestured to the flowers. “Messy. Though they cleaned them to make the bouquets”.

“Oh, some places do”, you said, turning around and bending to grab something from a lower drawer in the small kitchen. “But it’s usually much more expensive. Plus, it’s not as fun”.

“...fun?” Simon’s frown deepened as he watched you retrieve what looked like tiny serving tongs — which he later learned were thorn strippers — and pruning shears. You smiled, looking a bit like a mad scientist, grabbing each stem and carefully starting to clean them.

“Yes, Si. I like arranging the vases myself. I appreciate that you got me flowers, of course, but I don’t just like getting them because they’re nice to look at. I like them because they’re fun to play around with. Deciding the length of the cut and the kind of arrangement I want to make. You know, depending on where you place the arrangement, it completely changes how you should make it. For example, if it’s against a wall…”

Simon remembered the forty-minute lesson that followed the occasion. Not in detail, but due to how passionate you were about it. So, he started doing more, even if it was small: he took pictures of flowers he saw when he was deployed (when he had his phone with him, which wasn’t often); he bought you the supermarket flowers every once in a while so you could play with them; he sharpened your pruning scissors regularly so you wouldn’t ever have to worry about it.

Eventually, your relationship evolved, and so did the flowers. You got married — not because Simon thought marriage as an institution was important, but because the military would only protect you in case something happened to him if you were his wife, — bought a house, and Simon began working on the garden with you: building raised beds, driving you four hours to the plant nursery with the best prices, training the dog not to destroy the delicate blooms, which actually turned your German Shepherd into the unofficial guard of the garden… meaning he barked at every bird who got too close to the flowers during blooming season.

It wasn’t a life he had imagined for himself, though, granted, he hadn’t imagined much.

But looking at you, cutting stems from the rose bushes and leaning down to smell the mock oranges you had planted on in abundance (“for the pollinators”, you had justified), and mumbling about needing to tie the honey suckle to the fence so it’d actually start climbing it, he knew this life was a good one, and he’d enjoy every next spring with you.

i love flowers and i love Simon and i think he deserves a quiet life with a doggo who will tilt its head to his bad jokes. tell me if there's any characters you guys would like to see in a fic with flowers. :D

[bundotcom]

[10.04] awkward!simonx secretary!reader

uhhh allusions to smoking and drinking, reader is very high functioning and has a med card as well as undescribed (just that you usually don't move too quickly) chronic pain, i love secretary!reader its my fav trope, also i did use that lola bunny tiktok audio don't hate me im chronically online

also purposefully uncapitalized and not proof read

if simon thought you were sweet before? now he thinks you're a wham bar personified. it was supposed to be a routine stop by, well- not routine, per say, more like professional. he'd been meant to drop off some paperwork for price, be in and out and at the pub in literally five seconds. but when he's waiting for you to answer the door and he hears what sounds like coughing and a thud, he gets the sinking feeling that he's gonna be here a bit longer(he's not exactly mad at that, let's be honest). 

it's a long twenty seconds later when you open the door, all smiles and clearly very happy to see him. "simon!" you squeal, smile so wide and eyes so sparkly he begins to wonder if he's actually there and awake. simon smiles awkwardly under his mask, forgetting for a second that you can't actually see him because of how well you can usually read him, and lifts up the over-stuffed manila folder. you, clearly not caring about the folder, invite him in. 

then the smell registers.

simon stands there for just a second as you buzz around him, throwing a hand knit blanket on him and offering him tea and brownies. he knew you were an adult, and that you consumed substances. hell, you'd been out drinking with him and the rest of the crew plenty of times and he'd even seen you bum a cig off of price, but he realizes that he never even imagined you as a smoker. not this kind, anyways. 

"so! to what do i owe the pleasure?" you say as you set a now steaming and full, clearly handmade, mug on a coaster in front of him. this is when he realizes that you've somehow moved him to sit on the couch next to you. "i, uh-" simon's been in your flat plenty of  times. plenty of short spurts, like what tonight was supposed to be, but he'd never really had the opportunity he has now to fully take in what it looks like. it's just what he'd expect you to live like, hand made garlands and trinkets strewn around. whimsical, is the word you'd been described as before, and he is really starting to see why that is. "price asked me to drop these off for him, something about it being classified." he's struggling with remembering his mission tonight, the strong smell of weed and cinnamon registering in his nose in a dizzying mix as he tries to stay focused. you nod enthusiastically and go to stand up, and your movements are considerably quicker than usual, which simon takes note of. 

as you flit around your flat, simon starts understanding the situation. he hadn't judged you before, but he has a proper understanding now. it's pain relief. he'd used it himself, the years of physical and mental trauma taking a toll on him and he'd been able to get his med card years ago, so this form of medicine was not unfamiliar to him. what is unfamiliar to him is this version of you, one that moves around so spritely and easily. he'd never seen you move so freely, and it all finally connects in his head.

you, on the other hand, have just realized that your technically boss is seeing you high out of your mind. it hits you as you walk into your bedroom to put the files away and you see your bedazzled pen laying on your bed. fuck. you run back into the living room to find a maskless simon, a knowing smirk on his scarred face. "okay. okay. this is not what it looks like-" you're barely able to get it out before he's barking out an easy laugh, one you've not heard before but certain would like to again. "please, l.t.! please!" simon pretends he doesn't like hearing you beg and continues laughing as you approach him. "i can't go to jail, i'm too pretty! i won't last a day!" you're sitting next to him on the sofa now, your head on your hands as they rest on your knees and scrunch your hair in distress. simon, though thoroughly entertained, remains quiet and watches as you process (incorrectly) what is happening. your face lights up and you straighten. "i'll lift weights! i'll get really muscular!" he laughs once again, but you remain serious as your voice deepens and your expression hardens. "my voice will get really deep, i'll run the place." 

unable to watch this go on for much longer, simon puts a gentle hand on your back. "love, you're not going to jail." he's still chuckling as he says it, but has to stop himself from looking at you too much, something about maintaining professional boundaries or something. the way you look back at his is too much though, and he starts laughing once again. clearly the paranoia didn't do all that much to sober you up, though, because you end up laughing right along side him. 

[yousummonedme]

Imagine soft bf/husband Simon

(slight smut, mostly fluff. MDNI)

People wonder how someone like you— no offense— could stand someone like Simon. He’s too intimidating— too tall, too broody. He’s covered in scars, both from his dad and from his black ops. The man is built like a mountain, and towering over people in that skull mask of his doesn’t help his case. He’s a Ghost. No one knows who he is or anything about him. Those who get close enough usually wind up dead because lord knows the most socialization Ghost does at his job is killing some terrorist. Even his own teammates haven’t seen his face.

Little do they know Simon is a completely different person outside work. He never touches his mask unless you ask him to fuck you in it, so he’s free for you to caress and touch any time you damn please. His hair is fluffy! It’s so soft and fuzzy you could spend hours combing your fingers through it. Around you, his face is always covered in smiles; you also pepper it in kisses a dozen times a day.

He wear normal, civilian clothes: hoodies that you borrow because they smell like him, soft pjs that are so comfy to cuddle against, sweatpants that have you shamelessly ogling his bits, sometimes going shirtless in only a towel that leads you to pull it down and suck him off…

He’s got favorite hangouts, hobbies that he enjoys, friends he could spend hours with. He likes taking you on dates on his motorcycle. He loves the way the wind blows against him when he’s not stuffed in gear. He loves your arms wrapping around his waist and your head resting against his shoulder. Sometimes, he’ll take you on picnics so he can lay his head on your lap and gaze up at the clouds or skies. He likes when you spoon him and sing him to sleep.

Oh, and he’s a chatterbox. He could talk your ears off. All day, he yaps about anything and everything. Doesn’t matter so long as he has a thought about something and you’re around to hear it. You’re half tempted to bug the place because you could swear he talks to himself when you’re away.

He’s a golden retriever basically. He’s capable of being a normal person. All he wants to do is be happy. He’ll follow you around like a puppy, pawing at you for affection and trying to get as much of you as he can. With the height difference, it’s almost comical how he’ll almost double over to snuggle his head into the crook of your neck or beg for a kiss. It’s a wonder he doesn’t tire of you, but he never will. He likes this piece of heaven he’s found. There’s a ring on your finger to remind you of that.

for those of you who want something more gritty

To those who want more good husband/dad Simon

[strawberrym00nx]

birthday boy💘 (SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x you)

no one's ever celebrated his birthday, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't wish someone would spoil him. would he ever admit that? heck no!

but the really sweet thing is, well, you.

you asked him when his birthday was like immediately after you two met, loving to spoil those you love all the time, but especially on their birthdays. and you typed that into your calendar even though there's no way you would forget.

while he's at work, you sneak into his apartment and toss confetti all around. you put balloons in every corner. you put on a lana del rey vinyl because he loves her music just as much as you do. best, you're wearing his favorite color on you and styled your hair the way he likes it.

he thought the birthday text you sent at 12 AM was already the most meaningful thing, but he walks in to a homemade steak dinner and a big chocolate cake with strawberries and a bunch of candles in the center awaiting his wishes. your licorice voice singing him happy birthday, making him know that all those wishes he thought were wasted, were just taking a really long time to be prepared as they were being delivered in human form as you, the girl of his dreams.