Latest Posts by sunlightandprayers - Page 3
they need to invent somewhere where I belong
Simon Riley who needs a quickie when you bring him lunch while he's on base. CW : Housewife kink, bit of a breeding kink, dirty talk, hair pulling
You thought you'd do something nice for your boyfriend. Bring him a nice stroganoff.
You didn't think walking into Simon's office in a pretty little sundress and giving him a Tupperware of beef stroganoff would make him so utterly horny.
He couldn't help himself. What man could stand seeing his pretty bird acting like the cutest housewife for him and resist bending her over his desk to thank her?
"Can't look this good, baby" Simon growled. His hips snapping against yours with an audible slap. Over and over.
"I just-I thought it was nice!" you squeak over the sound of skin on skin.
"Oh it was, princess. It was so so nice of you. Being the perfect little housewife f'me"
"H-Housewife?!"
"Yeah, birdie. Gonna put a ring on your finger. Come home to you every night while you hold out a plate of hot food f'me"
You couldn't even think from how good Simon's cock was hammering against your gummy spot deep inside you. Small 'ah!'s coming from you with every thrust.
"You want that baby? Be my sweet wife?" Simon growled. a hand grabbing your scalp and pulling your head off the desk.
"Yes!' you beg, "yes yes, please Simon!" You practically wail.
"and then eventually, I'll fill you up nice and good with my kid. Get you all barefoot and pregnant f'me" Simon grinned wolfishly.
You felt the coil in your lower stomach tighten dangerously at that. The idea of being Simon's housewife, merely having to do the housework and get as many orgasms as you want.
It only took three swipes of Simon's thumb on your clit for you to tremble and cry out as you came.
"Tha's it. Good fucking girl, birdie" Simon groaned as you felt his hot ropes fill you. Patting your lower stomach with a rumbling chuckle
⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧
I wrote this while playing cookie run kingdom ngl to y'all.
i don’t think y’all understand how it wrecks my soul to think of simon riley waiting and waiting and waiting to get tapped out, knowing no one’s coming.
husband!simon riley follows you around like a lost dog 24/7.
whether it be in the comfort of your own home, or out in public, the man is basically your shadow. like a moth to a flame, he is the moth and you're his flame.
it doesn't matter where you saunter off to, chances are, he's stomping right after you. Around your house, he's following you to every room.
need the bathroom? keep the door open, he'll lean against it with his arms crossed over his chest, either watching you silently or tapping away on his phone.
cooking in the kitchen? he's hovering over your shoulder. you can't count the amount of times on one hand you bumped into his broad, brutish chest, stepped on his foot, or, definitely not on purpose, whacked his groin with a small pan. still, he never learns.
watching TV in the living room? you best bet he's going to sit his big ass right next to you. even if you're on the single person armchair, he'll squish you into the armrest if it meant being next to you.
showering? not without him because he'll join you, and find a way to release pent-up need at the same time, that is if you aren't already stressed that day, then he'll just wash your hair and run a relaxing bath for you to soak in peace afterwards.
In public, people give him weird side glances, numerous occasions where you've had concerned folks tap you on your shoulder and give a small point over your shoulder, to which you reply sweetly with the biggest smile on your face, "oh, that's just my husband!"
he keeps a thick finger hooked into the waistband of your pants, or shorts, or looped in one of your belt loops to keep you near him. since you're much smaller than him, it can be easy for you to get lost in big crowds, and this just assures simon that you're never out of reach.
it's a funny thing to watch for the guys to watch, observing their lieutenant follow you around aimlessly like a big puppy, eyes soft as he gazes down at you, sharpening when another person approaches or observing.
you think it comes from never being able to control his surroundings, his obsessive need to keep you safe, more so now that you have a wedding ring on your finger, forever tying you to him. not physically, but he wouldn't hesitate to if it meant keeping you safe.
gentle cleansers, green tea, at home workouts, fruit bowls, face masks, spf 50, pink nails, jewelry always, hair masks, body milks, late night runs, sparkly claw clips, hair massages, lip serums, balanced salads, night routine, vitamins and supplements, sunglasses sun hat combo, princess treatment, floral bouquets, vogue videos.
the only thing keeping me going at my extended family christmas party is reading tumblr and c.ai i can’t lie
torn between wanting to be a beam of light, wild soul, big heart, bright smile, powered by the sunshine, braided hair and quietly beautiful, soft smile, cunning mind, gentle heart with those who earn it, sleek style, clean soul, hair blown out, rich, takes no shit.
womp womp this feels silly. i had a bad day, SUE ME.
The first time Roommate!Simon Riley saw you cry he wanted to watch the world burn, and simultaneously wanted to be the one to set it alight.
Because to him, there should never be any reason why hot tears stream down your cheeks, why those eyes he loves so much look up at him with bloodshot rims and wet lashes. No, this was wrong.
“Sweet’art?” His voice was softer than normal, and it called out to the corners of your mind as a warm hand splayed across your lower back.
You were supposed to be cooking dinner, and you tried, but after a while the weight on your chest felt too dense to carry anymore. It began seeping out of your pores until the waterfall of emotions became impossible to stop. Now, you were crying over a stove, trying to contain the grief that tried to claw itself out of your chest.
Simon had never seen you like this before, it wasn’t something you wanted him to either, but, inevitably, here you were.
He stood there dumbfounded, his heart clenching tight at the sight of you standing beneath him, absolutely sobbing. He didn’t know what to do or say, just stood there like an idiot, frozen. He watched as you hung your head, hands moving to cover your face. Shaky fingers pressed into the skin of your eyes, willing it to just stop, but your body didn’t listen. It never did.
“I’m sorry.” Your voice was broken and laced with shame, and dammit if he didn’t want to roll over in defeat. Because your sweet soul should never feel so anguished.
The sound of your guilt woke something up in him, stirred a possessiveness and protective nature he wasn’t sure he had over anyone else. Before you could speak again, his strong arms pulled you into his bare chest, tucking your shaking form into his unwavering one. He remained sturdy, he remained Simon.
“Easy lovie,” His voice was a strong, deep rumble. A stark contrast to how utterly weak you felt. “I gotcha.” If the dam hadn’t been broken before, it sure as fuck was now.
He allowed himself to feel what to do as you shattered completely in his arms, your limbs going lax as you clung to him like a needy child. He stopped thinking and contemplating options, instead, he just existed.
His chin fell on top of your head, hands squeezing your sides and caressing your warm skin. When you choked on a sob he was quick to shush you, letting his back fall against the counter so he had better leverage. He wanted you to melt into his touch, to let yourself feel. The pot of food was boiling over, steam beginning to waft up toward the ceiling, but he didn’t move. Dinner could wait, he’d starve if he had to, but you, no, he’d let the ground open up and swallow him whole before he ever let go.
He stood firm until your cries began dissipating into sniffles, and when you pulled back to look up at him he swore his entire world came crashing down.
Your hands were squeezing his biceps, the muscles tensing beneath your touch. He let a smile stretch across his lips, and, instinctively, the back of his fingers ran along your cheeks, removing any remnants of your tears.
He watched your eyes close, sniffles turning into deep breaths and heavy sighs. “‘m okay.”
He didn’t push, just kissed your forehead and let you walk away.
You finished dinner, but it was too quiet, and he knew that when you weren’t talking it meant something was still very wrong. Because the lovie he knew, took every waking moment as a chance to make his ears fall off.
He sat next to you while you ate, noticed the way you picked at your food before eventually just giving up on eating entirely.
You offered to do the dishes, and, once more, he let you, but only because he could see the second breakdown from a thousand miles away, and if scrubbing pasta off of plates would help then he’d let you do it.
But it didn’t help, if anything it made everything so much worse.
He came out of the shower to see you crying over the soapy sink, your hands emerged in the now cold water. There was no trepidation this time, he just looped his arms around you from behind, warm lips leaving light kisses to your neck. He let them rest softly against your shoulder, his temple flush against your jaw as he closed his eyes. A heavy sigh came from him too. It felt as though whatever weight rested so heavily on your shoulders had begun to slip onto his. For the first time, he felt his own heart being ripped open for someone else’s.
“I know baby, I do.” His words were a gentle whisper. One that beckoned you to give in.
He held you until you fell asleep that night, and you held him four days later.
He’d never let somebody see him like that, didn’t think you did either, and it laid on his mind, wrapping around his skull and engulfing him in emotions he hadn’t felt since he was a child.
It was one of the first moments he considered the fact that maybe Simon did feel something for you. Because he never wanted to see your eyes rain like that again, ever.
okay this is DUMB i know it but whatever. i must feed my lonely brain.
Please I’m literally at work and this thought would NOT go away
Roommate!Simon Riley who sits in the bathroom while you’re in the shower.
The first time it happened he’d been so lost in his head he hadn’t even noticed the water was running. It was after work, late at night. When he walked in and heard your shriek, he was quick to cover his eyes, despite the shower curtain, fumbling for the door while a constant stream of apologies fell from his lips.
“Simon! Is that you?” Your voice was shaky, and he realized, just by the simple sound of your tone, that you weren’t screaming because he’d walked in, you simply just hadn’t known he was home.
“Yeah love, ‘m sorry, I didn’t know you were in here.” His fingers nervously fiddled with the door handle, squeaking hinges reminding him to take his weight off of the old wood.
“No it’s okay, you just scared me is all.” You peeked your head out of the shower, dripping loose droplets of water all over the rug. “You can stay in here ya know. I wouldn’t mind the company.” Didn’t have to tell him twice. He was sat.
He listened to you ramble as he cleaned his bloody knuckles, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo with every breath. He found comfort in it, even found himself longing for the lingering smell of your hair when he was away. That’d never happened to him before, not since you came along.
He liked how the smells weren’t harsh, they were just you.
“Hey Riley! Hand me my towel please?” He turned his gaze from the crimson sink to face you, quirking a smile when he saw the way you clenched your eyes shut, soap suds dripping down your forehead. “Got soap in my eyes.”
An amused huff came from his nose. “I can tell.” Instead of handing it to you, he grabbed your jaw with one hand, bandaged fingers careful as they wiped from the corner of your eyes to the outer part and back again. It wasn’t necessary of course, but you didn’t need to get a perfectly clean towel soaking wet before you needed it. That would be silly.
“Thanks,” You couldn’t help how breathless you sounded, eyelashes fluttering open to see his stern ones focused on making sure the rest of your face was dry.
“Welcome,” It was gruff and short, but he meant it, truly.
After that, it didn’t necessarily become routine, but if you got home from work, and he was there, it was bound to happen. You just had so many things to tell him. Stories of rude coworkers- about how they tried to steal the cookies he’d bought you, but how you were determined to eat every single one of them.
He’d follow you around like a lost puppy, finding solace on the toilet seat when you finally managed to get your ass in the shower. He made fun of you once for how distracted you got, and after seeing the fake pout on your lips he couldn’t stop. Picking on you was his favorite past time after all.
He loves how you sing softly, and he queues away the songs your the loudest to in his head, storing them away to discreetly surprise you with later. The sound of your voice just soothes him, even if it’s not always on key.
Sometimes he’ll even tell you about his day too. It’s not often, but when it happens, you remind yourself to stay dead silent. He was like a baby deer, one wrong move and you’d lose him.
When he inevitably goes quiet mid conversation, you always urge him to continue. “C’mon Riley, I’m listenin’” He melts right then and there every time.
The towel is always in his hands once he hears the shower turn off, ready for you to grab whenever you’re ready. You always insist on doing the rest of your routine behind the safety of the curtain.
“I don’t mind leaving love,”
Another peek of your head and another puddle of water.“Simon Riley, finish telling me your story or I’ll murder you.” It was a pretty convincing argument. He’d obviously listen so he didn’t die. Not because the cute little angry crease between your brows drove him crazy or the way your eyes were stormy with determination made him feel a little horny.
It was always the small things with you.
“Alright you sassy lass, I’ll talk.” And so he’d finish his story, handing you whatever products you asked for every now and then before you reached your hand out for fresh clothes.
As he turned around to get them he’d hear a loud slam, the sound of bottles clattering and your quiet hiss making him alert. Before he could even say anything though, you’d counteract his concern.
“I’m fine. Just slipped on my fucking conditioner.” And oh if he didn’t belly laugh.
Now, sometimes, you’d follow him to the bathroom, and he’d let you. Those these were the moments where he wouldn’t get a second to speak. Because you’d talk, and talk, and talk some more, and he’d eat it all up like it was his last meal.
He’d go to bed thinking about the sound of your voice, bottle it up and take it with him when he had to be away for to long. Because a minute without the sweet sound of your presence was a minute to damn long.
i asked someone to do this for me once and they looked at me like i was crazy and said no :( (is this only cute in my head???????)
Did somebody ask for more??? Too bad cause you’re getting it.
Roommate!Simon Riley who loves to find you sprawled out on the couch like an octopus when he gets home from work. You’re always laid out in some odd way, a way that certainly cannot be comfortable. The blanket you’d been snuggled up with was now tangled haphazardly around your legs, and your arms were dangling off the side, head dangerously close to tipping off with them.
He likes to think you were waiting on him. That it’s the reason why you left the warm lamp on by your head, why there’s a familiar movie playing in the background. Your dinner is untouched on the end table beside you, his is neatly placed on the kitchen counter. His favorite drink is left unopened, a cup of melted ice right next to it, your bottle is nothing but a few drops of water.
Gently setting down his things, he pads as quietly as he can to where you’re laying. The tips of his fingers ghost along your spine before he gives your back a gentle squeeze, moving to the kitchen to grab his plate of food. He puts your food in a plastic container as he waits on supper to warm up, making sure to trade out your empty bottle of water for a fresh one. You’d wake up thirsty, you always did.
The microwave beeps a fraction too loudly once it’s finished. and he finds himself cursing at it, wincing when it squeaks as he opens the door. You twitch in response, adjusting your head just to squish flushed cheeks even further into the cushion.
When he comes back to the couch, he’s careful moving your feet, placing them one by one onto his thighs. He’ll give ‘em a quick little rub, patting the sides of your toes before scarfing down his dinner. He leaves the movie playing while he eats, just because he didn’t wanna wake you up, not because he likes it. Because he doesn’t.
Subconsciously, he finds his fingers tucking the blanket back around your body, and instead of tugging them away, he rests his hand on one of your calves, setting his empty plate on the coffee table.
With one hand on your leg, and the other wrapped around his stomach, he scoots down, letting his head rest on the back of the couch. He’d close his eyes. Just for a minute.
A minute turned into the end credits blasting through the TV speakers, jerking the both of you awake. He notices the way your eyelashes flutter, sleep leaving you dazed and confused. You don’t question him being there, instead just reach for his hand, fingers tangling around his thumb.
“‘m thirsty.”
Of course you were. He shakes his finger, jostling you to open your eyes again. “On the table.”
There, waiting for you, was a fresh bottle of water. You don’t question that either. “thanks,” He just grunts in response, settling back down beside you.
You keep your grip tight on his hand, flicking off the lamp after chugging your drink. He turns on another movie, for you, of course. Definitely not for him.
As sleep tugs him under once more, his side droops down toward your body until he’s resting an arm against your back, and his head against his arm. Large legs stretch out as far as they’ll go, his other hand moving to lay over your feet.
Now you’re tangled together. Two octopuses sprawled out on a small piece of furniture.
And what’s that they say about octopuses? They’ve got three hearts?
Well he was sure that was him right now. Three hearts all beating solely for you. They always would.
Guys, this is the end of my drafts. WHAT DO I DO?? Is this stupid? Too silly? Was it only cute and domestic in my own brain??
somebody needs to stop me
Roommate!Simon Riley who crawls into your bed late at night when he gets home from deployment.
The apartment is dark, nothing but the hood light on the microwave dimly illuminating the kitchen. He can hear the theme song of your show playing from the hallway. It was something you’d seen a thousand times before, and he knew you’d watch a million times after that. One of his favorite sounds on Earth was hearing the echo of your sweet laughter that came with it. It was the only thing that kept him sane while he was away, knowing he was coming home to you.
He drops his duffle, trudging, begrudgingly, to his room to change and clean up. Oh how’d he’d love to just go right to your arms, but he was disgusting, and he didn’t want to get his sweet’art coated in blood and dirt.
He’d move quickly, barely taking the time to wash his body before he was out and in his boxers.
Immediately, he was standing at your cracked door, eyes flickering to your sleeping frame as the TV light glared harshly around the room.
You were covered in a cocoon of blankets, stuffed animals scattered across the mattress. He loved how everything that surrounded you screamed life. Down to the colors of your pajamas and the books on your nightstand. It was such a drast contrast to what he’d spent the last month being suffocated in. It was his home.
He’d creep in slowly, trying to keep his footsteps quiet as he made the way to your bed. There were clothes on the floor, and he found himself tripping over a few pairs of shoes. A smile crept its way onto his stern features. This was what he’d been waiting for. He’d crawl to your body, pushing past mounds of covers to lay down beside you with a grunt. He’d delicately wrap his arms around your waist, squeezing your skin every so often to remind himself that this was real, that you were here.
You’d stir, hand flying out to push away whatever had grabbed you, but he was quick to ease the anxiety, planting a kiss to the back of your head. “easy now love, it’s just me.”
You’d immediately still at the sound of his voice, relaxing into the warmth of his body. “missed you.” The words are slurred, but they’re there nonetheless. Groggy and hoarse, but yours.
He’d sigh, nuzzling his nose into your hair. The sweet smell of your shampoo makes him breathe a little easier. “missed you too.”
He’d fall asleep like that, passed out against your back. No covers on his body, no clothes. Just you, your show, and the peace finally coming back to him at the feeling of your chest rising and falling.
You were alive. You were here.
That’s all that ever mattered.
can you tell I have an unhealthy obsession with this trope??
once again, i don’t know what the fuck this is. it got away from me.
Roommate!Simon Riley who just knows when you’re on your period. Not because you tell him, but because he’s learned to pick up on the little things.
You were never vocal about your cycle, it was something you told him you’d never grown up learning to be comfortable with, he respected that, but really all he wanted to do was take care of you.
He’d notice the difference in your demeanor first, your sweet, gentle personality fraying slightly at the edges. Things that didn’t frustrate you so badly before now made you slam your hand on the table, hands flying up to run through your hair.
“you alright, lovie?” you’d sigh, rubbing at your eyes. “yeah yeah, just-just frustrated that’s all.” he’d notice your tight-lipped smile and stick it in his pocket.
Next, it was your appetite. He’d make you an entire feast and after about five minutes you’d set your phone down, trudging over to the kitchen. He could hear the cabinets rustling, a quiet curse coming from your lips.
“everything okay?”
“yeah! but, what happened to all the chocolate. or the chips. or those cake things we bought?” He couldn’t stop the laugh from bubbling in his chest along with a concerned crease between his brows.
“i think you ate them all!”
“aw man,” you’d come around the corner, pouting. “i’m starving.” he’d drive to the store for you, claiming he was hungry too. He wasn’t, but he’d never admit it to you.
As if those two signs weren’t enough, he’d find you curled up after he got home from work, your body in a ball on the couch. He typically knew before he even saw you, especially with your arm wrapped around your stomach and tears dripping from those pretty eyes. He’d sigh, feeling his stomach clench at the thought of you hurting.
“what’s the matter baby?” he’d squat down beside you, hand reaching out to rub your back. You were facing away from him, trying to hide your sniffles.
“nothing, my belly jus’ hurts.”
“aw i’m sorry love. lemme get you some medicine, yeah?”
you’d writhe in discomfort, shaking your head as more tears fell down. “already had some.”
“okay then, let’s try something else.” he’d lean your upper body up, laying it back down on top of his thick thighs after he sat down. he’d then slip a warm hand underneath your his hoodie.
If the simple feeling of his body heat wasn’t enough, then he’d massage your lower belly softly, waiting until he saw your eyes close before he could even breathe.
Eventually, over time, you’d grow more comfortable with him. He’d start making runs for you, grabbing whatever it was you needed and always a little extra.
He memorized your favorite snacks, candies, drinks, and he’d come back with bags full of whatever you wanted.
What really sealed the deal was the time you’d gone out to drinks together. You two had actually been enjoying yourselves for once, no commitments, no work waiting for you the next day, just pure, unadulterated fun. After a few shots, you excused yourself, making a quick trip to the restroom.
He noticed, after the bartender had brought him his second beer, that you’d been gone for quite a while. Nerves overtook his body and he checked his phone, seeing a few texts from you.
i have something really embarrassing to ask
but can you please ask the girl upfront if she has like a pad or a tampon or like anything
You didn’t elaborate, didn’t need too. He immediately threw down some cash and went to find the woman you were talking about. She handed him a few choices and he mumbled a quick ‘thank you’ before racing back to the restroom.
He knocked once, twice. “just me lovie.” Your weak voice beckoned him inside and he slipped through a small crack in the door, locking it behind him. There were several stalls, each one seemingly smaller than the last. “which one?”
Your sniffles were loud, and he could practically feel the embarrassment steaming off of your body. “the big one.”
His heavy footsteps echoed as he made his way to the larger stall on the end. He didn’t knock or ask to come in, just squatted his big frame down, holding everything she’d given him beneath the stall. “got it?”
“no,” the word was wrapped around tears. “can’t reach.”
“unlock her then yeah?” when he heard your deep sigh he forced a joke past his worry. “I won’t look if that’s what your worried about. i may be a ladies man, but I’m no perv sweet’art.” that forced a laugh from your chest and you stretched as far as you could reach with your foot, slipping the lock open.
He pushed the stall in and forced his large frame inside. Your cheeks were flushing a deep shade of red until you noticed large fingers covering his eyes. Another laugh pooled in your gut. “thanks Si.”
That was the first time you’d used that nickname. It made his heart swell. “don’t mention it.”
He closed the stall behind him, holding it shut so you didn’t have to worry about latching it again.
It took you a few minutes and some curses before he heard your footsteps on the floor. He opened the stall for you, not missing the streaks of tears down your cheeks as you walked to the sink.
He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there was anything he could say. He wouldn’t pretend to know your frustrations, shame, or any other feeling gripping at your heart, but he could try to make them go away. To make you feel less angry.
He was holding paper towels out before you were even finished washing your hands, not missing the whispered ‘thanks’ which he just grunted to.
“hey,” he grabbed your wrist before you could walk off, letting his thumb combat the rough grip. “you’re good lovie,” He hoped you could see the smile he was quirking beneath his balaclava or the softness in his eyes begging you to let it roll off your back.
You smiled back, pulling him with you as you unlocked the door. “‘m sorry I ruined your night.”
“nah babe, party’s just gettin started.” he let the hand on your wrist fall to your hip, continuing the soothing circles with his fingertips. “now let’s get you another drink, shall we?”
You never hesitated to talk to him after that, he was someone you could rely on, he proved that much. And for the first time, you felt soemthing stirring under the surface for him. something other than platonic, something different, something fierce. soemthing that looked a little like love.
what the fuck is this guys? once again i’m doing something random and possibly stupid but whatevs!!!!!!
Roommate!Simon Riley who is literally your personal weather man.
Like, why need the app when you have him to do it all for you??
“Simon!!”
It’s usually in the mornings, when he’s busy packing your lunch for work. “Yeah, love!” He awaits your response, a little smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he hears something clatter, quickly followed by a loud curse.
“What-ow-what’s the temperature today?!” Another clatter, another curse, and he’s sticking your sandwhich in a plastic bag, placing it intricately inside your lunchbox. He does this every morning that he’s able. There’s a very specific way he goes about putting it all in there, and a very specific snack for each meal category. Some might call him a chump, but he calls it being a good friend. Cause he’s NOT your boyfriend
“Warm and sunny sweet’art! But bring a jacket, yea?!”
“Okay!” The next slam is loud, and if it wasn’t for your typical clumsiness, he’d have assumed you’d died just a little bit.
His large shoulders shake with a rumble of laughter as he zips your lunchbox, now moving to fill up your water bottle. “Alright in there?!”
“Yeah! Just-ow-can’t get my shoe on!”
He’d do the same thing tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and when he was deployed, he’d wake up every morning to a message- drum roll please -asking about the weather. When he couldn’t get to you in time, he’d always come back to find about a thousand texts from you.
okay since you’re not answering me i’m gonna go with sunny
no rainy
wait, it looks shiny outside, sunny
the next message would be a picture of you standing on the sidewalk in the rain, a thin pair of shoes on and no jacket.
nevermind, it was rainy
and cold
and wet
He’d laugh so loud the whole crew would think he’d gone mad.
told you to bring a jacket, love
Bubbles would pop up and then disappear, up and then disappear. Instead of the sassy attitude he expected in return, he found you simply just needing him.
when are you coming home :(
i need my weather man back
He could just tell you to download the app, but there was something about you wanting him to tell you that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He’s whipped.
more on this dynamic after Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley saw you cry for the first time…
Things were in fact different from now on. Not in an obvious way but you both noticed it. You had been embarrassed the next day, scared he saw you as weak for crying in his arms like that.
And now his eyes softened a little more every time he looked at you. He remembered how precious and frail you had felt in his hold. He longed for it in a way that made him practice his punching until late in the night, grunting and groaning as the dummy got the best of his strength. His knuckles were bruised, a manifestation of the foreign feelings he tried to let out in the only way he knew- violence.
You were up, snuggly sitting with a mug of tea when Simon comes in, doors swinging open. It was late. Late enough for the owls to hoot and the moon to be at its highest.
He was panting, sweat glistening on the strained muscles of his arms. He stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted you in the corner of the recreational area. You blinked at him, studying his demeanour with intrigue.
It made him shy. He got fucking shy from the way you stared so shamelessly and intensely. He hadn’t noticed it before. The way your eyes lingered on his arms. Maybe it was new thing, or maybe he hadn’t taken the time you really look before now.
“You’re up late.” You whispered, voice small in the silence. His chest heaved as he stretched his fingers, rolled his neck.
“So are you.” He countered. There was a question in both of your statements but none of you decided to answer. Maybe you were awake for the same reasons, he thought. The mere thought was enough for his legs to move towards you, the couch dipping and creaking as it took his weight. You lodt your balance where you sat with your knees tucked to your chest as the seat tilted under you, making you thud into his side, shoulder to shoulder. He snickered under his breath, grabbing you like you were a porcelain doll to help you sit upright. Your mouth dried.
“Do you think I’m weak?” You asked him then, the words bubbling your throat before you could stop them. They had simmered for a whole week now, just under your skin. He frowned, brows set deep on his face as he looked you over.
“Quite the opposite” came his gruff reply like it was obvious. It took him a second to realise what you were referring to. Seeing you cry had made him think so much more of you than before. He saw the insecurity flash in your eyes before you looked away and he tucked a finger under your chin, slowly pulling your gaze back to his.
“Haven’t stopped thinking about it, in fact” he said, confessed it like secret into the night. He tried to keep his voice steady. At least steadier than his heart. Was he sick? Was it weird for him to be so obsessed with that one moment of you… crying?
You exhaled sharply, like his words had squeezed your lungs. Gaze narrowed, head tilted, you tried to figure him out. There was nothing but honesty and a little wariness in his eyes. Had he said too much?
“Me neither.” You replied slowly. It was enough. Enough to know. A cold blow of relief washed over him, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He only now realised he still had a finger under your chin, thumb stroking along your jaw absentmindedly. He withdrew his hand, regretfully.
If he was sick, then so were you.
“You’re hurt” you whispered, staring down at his knuckles. They were bleeding. Your eyes snapped to his, slightly wider than before as his jaw ticked, gaze otherwise unreadable. Was it because of you? The thought made your stomach twist in.. several ways.
“It’s fine.” He insisted, brushing it off and hiding his hands in his pockets. But you were already up, disappearing somewhere. He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch and closing his eyes. This wasn’t calming down his breathing one bit.
Warm fingers gently pulled on his wrist, and you felt how heavy his hand was as you pulled it into you lap, sitting cross legged next to him. He had to focus hard to remain indifferent when his hand rested high on you’re plush thigh. His fingers flexed slightly around it, gripping it with a bit more purpose than necessary. It made you struggle to open the sanitising wipes.
He hissed as you cleaned the wounds, but the care you put into it had his heart stuttering. You looked down at his knuckles, immersed in being meticulous as you wiped the valleys of his knuckles clean. He wasn’t looking down, though. He was looking at you.
“Take this as a thank you” you said just to break the silence before you slowly lifted one hand, almost like you were holding. Fuck it made it easy for him to imagine that you actually were.
“You don’t need to thank me. I’d do it again.” I want to do it again, he should’ve said. He wanted to hold you, and be the one you curled into when you needed it. Needed him.
Carefully you wrapped his knuckles. Your hand lingered around his afterwards. It looked like you were considering something. Slowly you led his hand higher until you lowered your chin and left a barely there kiss on the white bandage. He swore he died. Such a simple gesture and he felt like a madman.
You wrapped the other one. Did the same. He felt paralysed. It seemed you had understood him quite well.
“You can.” You said then, after placing both his hands down onto his own lap, now bandaged and cleaned.
“Can what?” He asked, voice hoarse and weaker than he would’ve liked as he curled his fingers. He swore it was tingling where your lips had touched.
“Hold me. Skin to skin contact can be calming. Mutually beneficial…” you said to try and reason the action, which there was no point in because the minute you had started your sentence he had wrapped his arm around you and tucked you closely into his side, using his other hand to swing your legs over his lap. Your mumbling became nothing as you nuzzled into him. He was scorching hot and you nuzzled into it, shivering.
He had never felt this good in his life. You seemed to fit perfectly into his side, your legs anchoring him down and your head resting over his rapidly beating heart- which was vulnerable as hell to him. But he allowed it when he heard you hum in satisfaction and saw your lashes flutter, eyes closing.
Just mutually beneficial cuddling, right?
i. can’t. make. it. go. away. by. making. you. a. villain.
reader who is flexible / does yoga x simon who gets really flustered watching it? 👀
During those first few months of living together as flatmates, having gone from strangers who happened to have a friend in common to sharing a bedroom wall within 24 hours, you both learned a lot about each other
On your end, you learned that his presence in the flat was a rarity, gone for days if not weeks at a time before coming home. Even then, he usually was only back for short periods of time, most of it spent sleeping
You do discover that he’s an early riser however, much to your chagrin when the sound of his routine post workout shower wakes you up before the sun has ever risen
You learn that he’s a decent enough cook, but will always insist on helping in some way if he finds you in the kitchen working on something, no matter how simple or complicated the dish is
Over time you even find out how he prefers his tea in the morning and when you get the chance, try and surprise him with a warm drink waiting for him after his shower
When you know that he prefers to keep the flat a little cooler than you usually have it, you’ll turn the thermometer down a degree just before he comes home, just as he’s gotten into the habit of turning it back up for you on his way out, the gesture going unspoken between the two of you
Simon also learns a lot about you in the time since you’ve moved in
He learns all about your taste in music, a melody never not playing in the background of whichever room you’re occupying, often telling him the name of a song or artist you can tell he likes from the way his foot will tap or fingers will drum against his thigh
He discovers you’re a bit of a night owl, often hearing you in the kitchen baking some dessert or another at midnight, or talking on the phone with a friend. He never minds though. In one case he wakes up to sweet treats in the morning, and the other he gets to overhear your even sweeter voice chirping and giggling. And if one time a smile of his own graces his lips when he hears you telling your friend how you’re loving the new flat, and your flatmate “isn’t so bad on the eyes either”, then who’s complaining?
He finds out what your favourite take out food is, often surprising you with something on his return home, definitely not blushing under the mask if it earns him a hug or peck on the cheek as thanks
But one thing Simon learns about you early on, something that he thinks about not just at home but on base, in briefings, on missions, on helis and jets and trucks, is how part of your daily routine, is doing fucking yoga in the living room.
He’s been in countless situations most civilians could never even dream up, let alone withstand, and Simon under the mask that is Ghost always stays as cool and collected as any seasoned vet would
But seeing you in sweatpants, or leggings, or even worse when you’re wearing those shorts of yours, strolling into the living room with your yoga mat tucked under your arm, his pants instantly tighten every single time, knowing what’s to come (or rather who’s to c-)
Following along to your instructional video playing on the telly, paying him no mind as he sits in the adjoining kitchen as you bend into position after position, simply doing your nightly routine as you have for years now, unknowingly putting your flatmate through a torture he’s never endured before
Every time he’s lucky enough to witness you stretching your limbs, contorting your body into poses he couldn’t fathom doing himself, he finds his dreams that night filled with the very same images of you, though wearing far less clothing, and in his bed instead of a yoga mat, though he would take you anywhere let’s be honest
He always waits for you to finish your routine, be it a quick 15 minute stretch or a nearly hour long session, he remains and watches you until you leave, before he dares to stand with his arousal on full display through his pants, rushing to his room or bathroom to take care of business
He learns that he’s never felt more intense pleasure at his own hand than when he thinks of you, when he has has your face and body freshly imprinted on his mind as he finishes, imagining the heaven that it must be to have the real thing rather than his calloused fist
It’s interesting you see
You really like Simon, and you like when he’s home, like getting to know him and spend more time with him
And if you happen to learn that when you do your yoga routine out where he can see you, that he suddenly spends a lot more time in the flat than on base, coming home more and more often, no matter how short his stay is… well, who’s complaining?
simon’s first instinct was always to protect you—before himself, before anyone or anything else. whether in dangerous situations or small, everyday moments, his reflexes kicked in without hesitation. every action was a subtle yet undeniable promise: i’ll always keep you safe.
sidewalk rule? it was non-negotiable. he always made sure he was between you and the street, shielding you from traffic. if you drifted too close to the curb, his hand would find the small of your back, guiding you firmly to his side.
“stay here,” he would murmur, his tone gentle yet resolute, as if daring the world to try anything.
whenever the car came to a sudden halt, simon’s arm instinctively shot out in front of you, bracing against your chest. the seatbelt should’ve been enough, but he never trusted anything more than his own reflexes.
“you alright?” he’d ask, his hand lingering just a little longer, scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.
in a crowded space, simon always led the way, carving a path with his broad frame. his hand would stay on yours or at your back, making sure you stayed close. and on a full train, he caged you in without hesitation, using his size to shield you from the press of strangers. his arms rested casually against the poles, but his stance was clear—no one would get too close.
whether you were climbing into the car or walking through a door, simon’s hand would always reach out to guide your head, ensuring you didn’t bump it. in the kitchen, he’d gently tilt your head away from open cabinets, all without thinking. it was pure instinct—small actions that spoke louder than words.
one night at 3 a.m., a car backfired down the street, the sound tearing through the stillness. before you could even react, simon had you pinned beneath him, his body shielding yours entirely. his heart raced, convinced it was a bomb. even after realizing it wasn’t, he didn’t let go, whispering against your ear, “i’ve got you, lovie.”
you could wear whatever you wanted—simon never cared. he wasn’t possessive, but confident. no one would dare glance too long in your direction, not with him at your side. and if anyone was foolish enough to try, one sharp look from simon was enough to make them think twice.
with simon, protection wasn’t just instinct—it was devotion. in every gesture, every glance, every step, he ensured you knew: your safety will always come first. because to simon, loving you meant keeping you safe—always, no matter the cost.
free chicken.
pairing. simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader
the dim light of the briefing room flickered over the map spread across the table, casting long shadows. you stood close to simon, your shoulder brushing his as the team reviewed the details of the next objective. the tension in the room was lighter than usual.
soap was grinning, as always, but this time, it was contagious.
‘this one’s free chicken,’ soap said, tapping the map with the blunt end of his marker, a cocky glint in his eye. ‘no sweat. barely a challenge.’
you blinked, confused by the term, and turned to simon. ‘free chicken? what does that even mean?’
simon’s gaze didn’t leave the map, but the corner of his mouth twitched beneath the mask, a hint of amusement only you would catch. ‘it means easy. something we can take without a fight.’
you frowned, glancing back at the objective. ‘sounds too good to be true.’
he finally glanced your way, his eyes catching yours for a fleeting moment. ‘it usually is.’
something about his tone made your stomach flutter. like he was talking about more than the mission, his words carrying a weight you couldn’t ignore.
‘maybe this one really is easy,’ you suggested, trying to lighten the mood, though you didn’t quite believe it yourself.
simon’s eyes lingered on you, unreadable, before he murmured, ‘nothing worth keeping is ever easy, doll.’
your breath caught at the way his voice dipped low, soft in a way he never used with anyone else. your chest tightened, the words sinking in. before you could respond, soap cut in with his usual energy.
‘all right, enough flirting over there,’ he teased, jabbing his thumb toward the exit. ‘let’s grab this chicken before it flies the coop.’
you stepped back, cheeks warm, as simon shot soap a glare sharp enough to cut steel. but as you moved to gear up, you felt simon’s presence linger behind you, his voice low and meant just for you.
‘stay close,’ he said softly, his eyes locking with yours. ‘even if it’s free chicken.’
you nodded, the warmth of his words settling over you as you followed the others out. trap or not, you knew one thing for certain: you’d always stay close to him.
an. yes ik chickens don’t fly.
Exercise. Avoid drama, embarrassments & toxic people. Look amazing. Get smarter. Embrace peace. Eat clean. Make a ton of money. Level up your circle. Stay pure. Be untouchable. Talk less. Be magnetic & intuitive. Pray more. Think highly of yourself. Be the most precious creature on earth, protected by God.
Roommate!Simon Riley who’s always got presents on hand for your birthday and holidays. he’s almost embarrassed about stockpiling gifts for you, all neatly tucked in the back of his closet… almost. that nagging embarrassment is quick to fade when your eyes light up, always excited that he bought you something and how, “Simon Riley, you didn’t have to get me anything!”
Roommate!Simon Riley that specifically likes buying you rings. nothing too fancy that would raise your suspicion, but always something shiny and pretty - something he wouldn’t dare tell you how much it cost. silver, gold, anything in between, if he thinks it’d look good on you he buys it. he likes seeing those bands decorate your fingers, reflecting in the light when you happily show them off to friends and family
Roommate!Simon Riley that gets one engraved - his initials delicately printed inside the band. he plays nonchalant, voice even when you notice, “Hm? Engraved is it? Didn’t know.”. you laugh it off, tell him ‘thank you’ before grabbing your phone. he loves when your friends ask you about the jewelry, how you always point to him as the one whose covered you in pretty metals and eye-catching accessories
Roommate!Simon Riley who has a matching ring, your initials engraved on it. snug on his ring finger when he’s at base - pretends it’s a wedding band, that his spouse is waiting for him at home. Simon doesn’t flaunt that ring at home though, not when he can have you tucked against his side. no, Simon doesn’t have that band on his ring finger, he slips it on with his dog tags. tucked under shirt, safe and sound on that silver chain as he holds you tightly
I can't resist the siren call
Roommate!Simon Riley that low-key enjoys fucking with your friends Y/N
subtle foreshadowing… I suppose I can dip into my nsfw Roommate!Simon Riley thoughts
Roommate!Simon Riley who shares a laundry bin with you, it had been agreed a long time ago that just doing a big load would be easier. you takes turns, knowingly stealing each other’s clothes every couple days when the laundry is fresh out the machine. you know Simon took an oversized t-shirt you owned, but that’s okay, you took his favorite gym hoodie
Roommate!Simon Riley who doesn’t get embarrassed about his underwear being in the bin with yours, it’s all going in the machine anyways. that doesn’t stop him from raising an eyebrow though when his favorite boxers go missing. he was sure he put them in with the dirties, well, the cleans now. he figures the machine ate it, or maybe they’ll show up some day by chance - he shrugs it off and separates his clothes from yours, snagging one of your oversized sweaters to lounge in later
Roommate!Simon Riley who freezes when he sees you on the couch that night. eyes wide and jaw slack, he can’t bring himself to move. sat watching something on the tv - he can’t be bothered to acknowledge whats playing - he stares at you, wearing his boxers as shorts. “Hey, come watch this— I’ll catch you up since it just started. I’m not pausing it though so you better pay attention.”, your words are all in one ear and out the other. suddenly his legs are moving on their own, stopping in front of you. he doesn’t register what you’re saying, telling him to move because you can’t see the tv, but then he speaks
Roommate!Simon Riley whose voice is deliciously deep, a little raspy from how his throat suddenly feels dry, “S’that mine?”, he asks, eyeing his boxers. he’s never had such a hard time swallowing before, heartbeat erratic as you casually respond, “Huh— oh, yeah. They’re really comfy, the fabrics nice.”. fabrics nice, yeah, he knows. “You— ya know those are boxers, right love?”, he asks, hands twitchy as you reply, “Mhm, just borrowin’ them.”
CW: guilty wank, man is hopeless [kisses his cheek]
Roommate!Simon Riley who’s a mess after that interaction. you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at him, but he’s losing it on the inside. he’s seen you be audacious with stealing his clothes before, taking his loose-fit tank tops that left little to the imagination on you, stealing clothes you knew he favored and parading around in them, but his boxers? that had him stalking back to his room, quick to turn on his heel before you could see his pants tent
he’s sweating, closes the door to his room a little harder than he meant to. god, he wants to go back out there and see you again, get an eyeful of how comfortable you looked - wearing his boxers like they were yours. you wouldn’t know, and he can’t help but think about it, but you had stolen his favorite pair. they’re plain, a simple black pair, something he bought at the store because he needed new underwear. but when you wear them? they suddenly looked different, makes his heart hammer against his chest. it feels like he walked out into the living room and you wearing lingerie, not something he got for fifteen pounds
he feels a little guilty, shoving his jeans down his thighs as he sits down on his bed. you’re home, sat in the living room just down the hall, and here’s Simon fishing his leaky cock out of his underwear. he really shouldn’t, he should sneak into the bathroom for a cold shower, think about war and blood and bullets to get his boner down. but he isn’t, he’s spitting into his palm and groaning, bringing his free hand up to cover his mouth - he’s never been good about keeping quiet. it’s not his fault you were out there wearing his clothes, you were the one that decided to look so— so cozy and content in your makeshift shorts. domestic
when that word settles at the forefront of his brain Simon’s hips jerk, you looked domestic, wanting to watch some show with him. his leg jolts slightly, hand moving to shallowly pump his weeping head. maybe your friends are right, Simon does take care of you - could bend you over and make you sob his name - he’s basically your boyfriend, often mistaken for your husband. his thighs tense when he imagines a ring on your finger— no, his dog tags hanging from your neck— god, holding you at night as an actual couple—
he’s choking out a moan, muffled and hoarse, as he coats his hand. eyes fluttering shut and breathing heavily, all his thoughts fly out the window as his cum drips down his fingers - all his thoughts except for one. he’s going to have to go back out there later to eat dinner with you, and oh, fuck, he sucks in a deep breath as he chubs up again
Simon Riley, the stoic and imposing type of man to try and hold back his moans in the bedroom. He's usually quiet, save for a few groans as his orgasm crests, but when it comes to you? oh he's a moaning mess.
It surprises even him, when he pushes into you for the first time and lets out a breathy moan he didn't know capable of leaving his lungs. You're just that intoxicating, though, just that right level of dangerous to break down the walls of a man like him without putting him on the defence.
He learns to let it be. Rather than bite his tongue and hide his face in your neck, occupy his mouth with your skin between his teeth, he moans into your mouth instead. He lets you swallow the noises he makes, take them into your body just as you're taking him deeper than you had thought possible.
And it only gets worse the needier he is. If he's been gone a while and deprived of your touch, Simon will come home and whine as you run your nails across his scarred shoulders. Straddling him, putting him in the spotlight of pleasures as you sit on his cock and take him inch-by-inch until he's balls deep inside of you and already on the verge of spilling inside of you.
He's a mess of moans and rambling dirty talk that you can't make much sense of, not when his cock is so deep and so thick that you're actively fighting back tears at the sheer stretch of him. How overpowering he is, how his strong corded arms lift you up and drop you back down onto his cock. How with each thrust you swear he breaks deeper into you, and hes the one moaning like he's already overstimulated.
His sounds become your favourite thing when he finally cums, filling you with himself even further, and between the choked moans of his orgasm, he tells you that he fucking loves you.
husband material amirite
tap out.
simon doesn’t expect anyone to tap him out. a ritual where loved ones step forward to release a soldier from duty, creating a chance to reconnect.
based on this.
simon stands in formation, a soldier among countless others, each bound by discipline, each carrying their own story beneath a stoic exterior.
in the unyielding line, he’s silent, gaze fixed forward, while around him, families reunite: sons embraced by tearful mothers, women lifting their children into their arms, couples lost in long-awaited kisses. joy and relief fill the air, carried on quiet laughter and murmured words of love.
but simon is an orphan now.
there’s no one to step forward for him, no one to break his stance. he watches it all, standing alone, feeling like a stranger in this crowd of reunions, this world of connections he never belonged to.
over the years, the military has stripped him down, rebuilt him into something hardened and unbreakable. this new self is his armor, a wall between him and the life he left behind.
the tap-out tradition is a formality he’s only ever heard about, something he’s watched from a distance but never expected for himself.
he stands motionless as soldiers around him are tapped out by loved ones. he watches quietly, feeling a distant sense of satisfaction for them, grateful that they have that in their lives.
maybe soap would tap him out after he’d seen to his own family.
no matter how many times simon tried to keep him at arm’s length, he’d come to accept that soap wasn’t leaving him behind. coerced into the friendship or not, soap was a friend. until soap has been tapped out, there’s no one in simon’s life to come pick him out.
still, simon knew he was alone in ways he couldn’t change. or so he believes.
then he feels it—a subtle shift in the air, hesitant footsteps halting just in front of him, carrying a weight he doesn’t understand. his breath catches, but he doesn’t move. he’s trained to hold his position, but something in him almost falters as he senses a presence just inches away. slowly, he lets his gaze shift, barely, enough to catch a silhouette he thought he’d left behind a lifetime ago.
it’s you.
you. his childhood best friend. the love of his life.
you. the only person he thought of when he escaped his broken home. you. the guilt that wracked him when he ran, unable to say goodbye after the night he barely escaped after being beat nearly to death. you. the only reason he wanted to be alive, and the person he hadn’t been able to look back for.
—you. you. you.
and now here you are, standing before him, eyes wide with hope and uncertainty, tears gathering at the corners like unsaid words held back for too long.
he doesn’t understand, not fully. he thought he’d locked that door, left that part of him sealed away. and yet, here you are, holding everything he thought he’d left behind.
you hesitate, the weight of the years pressing down between you, unsure if you’re allowed to do this. if you can reach out to him after all this time, to be the one who taps him out.
he senses your uncertainty, feels it as if it’s his own, and in that moment, he lets a flicker of vulnerability break through—a slight furrow in his brow, a subtle nod. silent permission.
and you know, in that instant, it’s okay.
with a trembling hand, you reach forward, closing the distance. your hand hovers over his shoulder for a heartbeat, the air between you heavy with everything left unsaid.
then, gently, you tap him out. a simple touch, light and fleeting, yet it breaks something open in both of you.
in an instant, simon moves. his arms come around you, his grip unyielding as he pulls you close, lifting you off the ground. the soldier falls away, and he’s just simon again, holding you as if you’re the only real thing in a world that’s constantly shifting.
his head lowers, his face buried in your shoulder, and he breathes you in, lets the walls he’s held up for years fall away.
‘you’re here,’ he murmurs, voice rough, thick with emotion he can’t hide anymore.
his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, each touch soft, a silent promise. the weight of years and regret presses against him, but he holds you tighter, as if to make up for every moment he was gone.
you feel the warmth of his tears against your shoulder, silent and raw. he pulls you closer still, as if afraid to let go, his voice barely a whisper as he breathes, ‘i’m sorry, lovie. i’m so damn sorry. i’ll never leave you behind again. i promise.’
and in that moment, surrounded by echoes of lives left behind, he’s just simon again, the boy who belonged with you.
. ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ an. i know the tap-out tradition isn’t common in the uk and is usually done at the airforce but oh well. read part 2 here.
Not to offer advice nobody asked for but fixing ur sleep schedule is life changing