Simon Riley Headcanons - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

today's thots: shitty memes edition

STOP TORMENTING MY MAN YOU ASSHOLE

A GHOST'S TALE: "THE BETTER DEMONS OF OUR NATURE"

PART — 1, 2, 3, 4 .

Retired Simon vibes !!!!!!

The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare (2024) - Alan Ritchson as Anders Lassen

HOLY SHIT-- IM GOING FERAL!!! I just binged this entire thing and honestly all I'm thinking is I don't care how ugly this bastard is, I WANT HIM TO ABSOLUTELY DEMOLISH MY BACK, FUCK ME TILL I CANT WALK SIR.

PLEASE SIR

Sick <3

Zombie!Ghost x Survivor You ☢️🖤

Part 7: Ghost goes hunting. You both cross a line…oral M2F, he’s very dead, but so are you without him…

When you struggle downstairs, there’s a little bunch of wild flowers on the table. Blue and white, they looks so pretty, sat in a small vase.

“Oh you didn’t have to do that!”

You’re vaguely embarrassed about your clinginess. After all, Ghost has it worse. He’s dead and you’re still alive, what have you got to complain about realistically.

His white, clouded eyes alight on your smiling face, watching the happiness in your gaze as you take in his small gift. God it just makes him wild, how vividly perfect you are, all bright cheer and warm smiles.

Si’s voice coughs in his head, encouraging him to respond normally. Or as normally as possible.

So he grunts, spreading his long fingers over the table top, in what he hopes is a casual gesture.

You start to look through the cupboards. Most of it is out of date, but you manage to find a tin of beans hidden away in a dark corner.

Beans are not your favourite, but it is what it is.

Ghost watches you eating them out of the can with a spoon. You’ll need supplies, if you’re going to stay here. He huffs to get your attention, then stands up.

“Where are you going?” You ask him, through a mouth full of sickly tomato sauce.

Ghost tilts his head, like he wants to ask you to stop being so nosey, then trudges out at his odd rolling pace.

“When you get back you need a bath!” You shout at him, watching his departing shoulders roll with indignation.

After almost an entire day to yourself, you start to get restless. You feel slightly exposed without Ghost at your side, even though he doesn’t talk. You’ve been through so much together in the short time since you met.

When he finally rocks up, looking like a packhorse with various scrounged items of long life food and materials, you fight the urge to give him a hug.

There’s an odd moment between you, where you get halfway to flinging your arms around him and he awkwardly drifts closer. Then you pretend you were just going to help him with the goods.

Ghost presents you with a box of English teabags, like they’re a treasure, then settles down to look at an ancient map. It’s so old, the corners are yellow, he’s obviously stolen it from a picture frame somewhere.

Later, you wake to find the bed empty.

You’re dripping with slick, cunt aching. Since your nasty bite, it’s happened almost every night.

You’ve been having rabid dreams. Mainly centring around the man who’s now become central to your life. Even in your sleeping mind he’s cold, but it doesn’t scare you.

Quite the opposite.

Ghost sticks to you so closely most of the time, you might not get another chance in the near future.

Carefully, you move your shorts down and slip one hand under your panties. God it feels good, slow fingers massaging your swollen clit, cream leaking over your thighs.

You arch slightly off the bed, squirming under your own touch. Your knees drift apart, allowing more access, as you dip into your honeyed centre.

A tiny moan escapes your lips.

Ghost, in the woods behind the house, hears it.

Suddenly he’s out of control entirely, almost as badly as when he first turned. Every sinew is crying out, a clamouring chorus of want.

So much desire it’s painful, raking through his nearly empty veins and crippling any coherent thought.

Saliva starts to drop onto his tactical vest, fuelled by the smell of your dripping sex carried on the evening air.

Si’s voice is lost under the sound of your fingers touching that hot core. Without hesitation, his feet are carrying him back to the house, and there’s no way on earth he can stop them.

It’s carnal, his need to touch you, feel your wetness on his blue tinged fingers. His limp jaw lets groans and growls sputter freely from his throat.

He’s up the stairs and standing in your doorway in seconds. The heady smell of you is so potent, it feels like it’s scorching his icy skin.

You’re spread out so pretty, glistening as your hands work furiously.

Ghost’s shadow falls over the bed, utterly transfixed by the sight of you pleasuring yourself.

“Get out!” You shout at him, closing your legs and wriggling backwards. Your cheeks are glowing with embarrassment, as you chuck pillows at his frozen form.

But Ghost lets out a snarl unlike anything you’ve ever heard before, wrenching your knees apart and inhaling, like he’s taking his first breath after almost drowning.

His empty lungs expand with the scent of you. You try and kick him in the face, but he’s way too quick. Dragging your struggling form close to him.

“Stop it!” You whine, as the friction of the sheets beneath you rubs against your leaking pussy.

Eyes glassy, he holds you tight, jaw moving violently.

“Please!” The word is half formed, dry and hard forced out of his drooling mouth, not helped by his fractured face.

It’s frighteningly coherent though, a plea. His body is pulsing with electricity and you can feel it zapping against your skin. Something, very deep inside you, calls out to him on an unfamiliar level.

You stop struggling. Each of you just staring at the other.

“Please.” He begs again. “Please!”

He looks feral, more inhuman than ever, snow coloured eyes wild. But you don’t care. Your brain right now only wants one thing.

Him.

Heart pounding violently, you spread your legs.

Ghost, Si and the virus, all force him onto his knees in front of you, hands pressed into the mattress as his tongue darts out.

He starts to lap at you, drinking your nectar with savage energy. You squirm and writhe, as his chilled breath sends you hurtling towards an orgasm.

A cool drink on a hot day, his mouth calms the raging ache you’ve been dealing with for days.

Simon can’t remember the last time he ate pussy, but there’s no way on earth it was like this. It satisfies him, in a way that nothing else can or ever will. Even the tang of blood loses its lustre in comparison to your sweet surrender.

You’re panting, hands moving to his head to touch some part of him and ground yourself. Messily he circles your bud, flicking and kissing it until you can barely see straight.

As your fingertips caress his scalp, Ghost moans throatily, like he’s never felt anything like it. So you do it again, until the vibration of his voice snaps the tight coil building in your stomach.

When you cry out under his broken mouth, you gush. It’s like the most potent drug. Ghosts fingers drag through your folds, making you gasp with the chilling sensation of his pulseless digits.

“Please.” He slurs over and over again between your legs, revelling in the fact he can say a word. His broad tongue moves inside you, a stream of spit and your first release making the bed covers damp.

Ghosts hands press your own around his face, willing you to keep touching him. So soft and gentle, you feel the harsh line of what must have once been a strong jaw.

Feet resting on his back, he pulls more orgasms from your trembling body, inhaling them and savouring every whimper leaving your mouth.

He only stops eating you out, when you start to sob in earnest. So overstimulated it’s painful. The sound of your weeping, is like a brisk slap in the face.

Gradually Si’s voice starts battling through the lustful roar of the virus.

Shit.

You’ve both crossed a line, that can never be stepped back from.

Tags: @ashy-kit @cutiecusp @deadmarygolds @redbleedingrose @dustycrusty09 @darkangel4121 @smexysarah @cmbghost @silly-norman @sigrid666 @pxssygxblin @spicyspicyliving @itsyaboinoah-blog @misshugs @murder-hobo @sobbingnshtting

Not to force my music down your throats but this song is in my top ten forever

I have never been more tuned on and in love with a fic than I am right now. This is not fair. I deserve someone like this 😭😭😭😭😭 no I need someone like this. Anyone have any recommendations where to find a man like this

MY BODY AND MY BLOOD

or, there's only one bed. mdni.

Winter came early, earlier than it should have, before the heat could kick in throughout the middle of nowhere base somewhere in Russia. The day of travel weighed heavily on your shoulders, exhaustion seeking into your bones. You wanted nothing more than a shower and to fall into bed and sleep for the next week.

The universe, unfortunately, had other plans.

"Right," Price sighed, "barracks are full, we've got to share." His eyebrows furrowed as groans arose from Soap and Gaz, "can it, lads. You two are together, get used to it." Soap rolled his eyes dramatically, yelping as Gaz elbowed him in the side.

"You two," Price sighs, pointing at you and Ghost, "you'll be together. Rooms 142 and 143, don't care who gets who. Just show up tomorrow." You could feel Ghost behind you, hovering like some gargantuan bat. Oh god. You were going to have to share a room with him.

You're both quiet as the team heads down the hallway, Gaz and Soap's banter loud enough for the both of you. Price dismisses you with a gruff goodnight, all too eager to lock himself in his room.

"This is us." Ghost's timbre catches you off guard, and you start, head whipping over your shoulder. The lines around his eyes crinkle, or at least, you think they do, behind the mask and the paint.

"Sorry," he mutters, bowing his head, "didn't mean to scare ya, love."

Love. The nickname, however insignificant, paints your face with a flush. You try to hide it by pushing the door to your shared room open.

It's tiny, with a cramped bathroom attached by the foot of the bed. The only bed. Shit.

You laugh, a hollow, humorless laugh, the culmination of exhaustion and frustration and longing. Ghost groans, burying his head in his hands.

"I'll take the floor," he sighs, but you cut him off immediately.

"No, I'll take the floor. Where would you even fit on the floor? There's not enough floor to fit you," you snap back. Ghost glowers at you through his mask.

"You'll catch your death on the floor," he fires at you, crossing his arms over his chest. A draft blows through the room, as if to echo his point.

"At least I'll fit on the floor," you counter, mimicking his crossed arms. He stares you down, biting his lip as you stare him down right back.

"Fine," he says shortly, "we'll share. Pillow wall work for you?" You nod, moving to arrange the pillows down the bed, trying to quell the excitement brewing in your stomach. You are colleges. This is strictly professional.

You can't help but let your eyes catch on him as he strips his vest and gear, until he's left in thermal underclothes and his balaclava, fingers hesitating at the hem.

"I won't look. If you want to take it off," you offer. He snorts, toying with the fabric.

"Wouldn't work. Besides, you've seen me before. After the grenade," he reminds you, wincing as he pulls his mask off.

He's just as beautiful as you remembered, all soft hazel eyes and sharp, angular cheekbones. His buzzcut has grown out since the last time you saw him, just on the verge of being unkempt. You're staring, and he knows you're staring, but he lets you, throwing his head back with a groan. His neck arches beautifully, and you want to cover it with marks.

You're quick to shed your own gear, trying to look anywhere but his face, but you feel his eyes linger on the arc of your shoulders, the hollow of your neck, the curve of your hips. You climb under the thin blankets, curling as far away from Ghost's side as he turns the lights out.

The bed squeaks as he lays down, adjusting the pillows. He's so big he takes up all of his side and almost part of yours. He moves his legs and they brush against your knee.

"Sorry," he mutters, pulling his calf away like it had been burned. Sparks tingle up your legs.

"'S fine, Ghost," you murmur back. The bed squeaks again as he rolls over to face you, head on the pillow just inches from yours. You want to kiss him. He's so close.

"Do you remember what I told you? After the grenade?" he asks. You nod, but stay quiet as he sighs softly. His hand twitches, like he wanted to reach out for you but stopped himself.

"When it's like this," he breathes, his voice sweet, "when it's just you and me, it's Simon. Call me Simon." He's so soft, in a way you've never seen him before, and you nod, moving ever so close to him.

"Alright," you breathe, "goodnight, Simon."

"G'night, sweetheart."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

When you wake, it's freezing. Ghost- Simon- is snoring next to you, heat radiating off of him like a goddamn furnace. You curl your body into itself, but shivers rack your shoulders anyway. You groan in frustration, glaring up at the ceiling.

Simon stirs next to you, rolling over groggily. His arm brushes against yours, and he winces, thumb brushing over the skin.

"You're freezing," he whispers, cupping your hand in both of his. Your arc towards him, relishing in the warmth that emanated from him, and he smiles, soft and sweet.

"I'm fine," you mutter, "go back to sleep." You prop yourself up on one elbow, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"Don't be stupid," Simon breathes, "come here. I've got enough warmth for the both of us."

You shove the pillow wall aside so fast it makes Simon chuckle as pillows hit the floor. He wraps his arms around you, pressing your back to his chest, hitching a leg over your hip. He's so warm, heat surrounding you on every side as he tucks his head into the hollow of your shoulder.

His hands rest on your stomach, thumb rubbing the exposed skin of your stomach where your shirt has slid up. You wrap your arms around his, holding them to your chest. He feels safe.

"Better?" Simon asks, pulling you closer to his chest. You nod, sleep already creeping over you as you feel him smile against your neck. His thumb rubs soothing patterns on your skin as you slowly drift to sleep.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

When you wake again, it's still dark. You're facing Simon, clinging to one of his arms with your head buried in his chest. He's rubbing your back, and as you look up at him, his eyes are open.

"What time is it?" you whisper, stretching slightly, wrapping your arms around his neck. He glances down at his watch, toying his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Five thirty-seven," he responds, tucking an unruly strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers, tracing your cheek and cupping it in his callused hand. Your eyes flick down to his lips and back again.

"Simon-"

"Can I kiss you?" His voice is ragged with desperation, pupils blown wide. With a soft gasp, you nod.

"Please."

He kisses you softly, tenderly. You pull him closer, hands interlocking at the back of his neck, one trailing down to his cheek. He pulls away, resting his forehead against yours as he catches his breath.

"Oh," he breathes, almost against your lips. He pushes himself up against the headboard, a spark growing in his eyes as he pulls you into his lap.

His second kiss is desperate, his teeth sinking into your lower lip, hands tangling in your hair. You arch in his grip as his hands drift to bracket your hips, your body flushing as he pulls you even closer. Your nails dig into his back and he moans against your lips, you crave the feeling of his bare skin against your fingers even though the cold prohibited it.

You gasp softly as Simon slides his thigh between your legs, cheeks flushed as he takes you in between kisses. His hands are greedy, one slipping dangerously low on your hips before slipping past the waistband of your thermal pants.

"Can I?" he asks quietly, looking up at you from where you're perched on his thigh. His pupils are completely blown, hair messy and cheeks flushed. He looks halfway to heaven and all he's done is kiss you.

"Oh, god, please-" you breathe, burying your head in his shoulder as his hands slides down, spreading you open as well as he could before his thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles against it. You cling to his shoulders, teeth biting down on his shoulder to stifle your moans. Simon gasps, hands moving your hips to help you grind against his thigh.

"There you go," he whispers, head thrown back as you rub against him, "there you go, lovie, that's it." You whine, rutting your hips harder at his praise. His free hand dips underneath your shirt, crawling up your ribs.

"Si- si, feels so good," you moan, biting on your lip to try to keep your moans down. Simon cups your breast tenderly, pushing your top up your chest.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous, angel," Simon swears. His lips trail down your neck, resting just above your nipple. His mouth rests open, tongue heavy on his lower teeth as the question forms on his lips.

"Sweetheart, can I-"

Three knocks echo on the door, and you jump, loosing your balance and almost colliding with the bedpost as you scramble to get off Simon's lap. Simon desperately adjusts his pants, trying to hide his raging hard on as Price swings the door open.

"Ghost, you're needed down in command," he orders, and Simon's head falls backwards imperceptibly as he pushes himself off the bed, pushing his feet into his boots. As he follows Price out the door, he makes eye contact with you, slipping his fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling back as he licks your slick off of them. He winks as he walks around the corner, mouthing

this isn't over.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

school is over and my requests deleted themselves somehow so if you've got ideas pls send them

Imagine a Dog!hybrid!reader with human 141, so shes like an anomaly in a mostly human world. She's a doberman hybrid, like ghost she always has a ski mask on. Her eyes are visible, no matter what your eye color is reader has piercing amber eyes, (because of her being a dog hybrid, the only doberman that can have blue eyes different than the range of browns is the albino and I don't support the breeding of that gene) I'm imagining that she was a lab experiment and was found as a kid, found by some higher up that can keep her secret classified. I like the idea of Laswell finding her and just deciding to adopt her. She learns her ticks and tricks easily enough. And reader doesnt really have any visible "dog" features other than her ears, tail, and teeth. Her claws grow a little faster and pointyier than regular humans nails. But like just imagine...

Doberman hybrid!reader needing to have a job at all times, being a working dog she gets antsy and destructive if she's understimulated. Laswell figures that out very early on after a shirt gets chewed up and has to be thrown away.

Doberman hybrid! Reader having hand puzzles and fidget toys on hand at all times to keep her stimulated.

Doberman hybrid! Reader that does laps around base when she's not on a mission. Or she's carrying around extra weight while she does mundane things so she feels useful.

Doberman hybrid! Reader that always waits for instructions before doing anything

Doberman hybrid! Reader that wags the tiny stump of a tail, that hides in her pants, anytime she gets praised, her body immediately relaxes when laswell calls her, her good girl. This gets worse once she meets and starts going with the 141.

Doberman hybrid! Reader that calls laswell mom or mama when they are alone.

Doberman hybrid! Reader that loves head/chin scratches.

Doberman hybrid! reader that wears a ski mask and helmet at all times to hide her ears.

Doberman hybrid! reader that is called anubis around base, most don't even know why they just heard it one day and went with it

Doberman hybrid! reader that has canines that grew in when she was 10 ish, she was teething and had to have so many chew things to help

Doberman hybrid! reader who doesn't really have a heat or period, more like a mixture of the two, it's not as often as a period but not as long as a heat cycle. Reader nests during her cycle and is a little bit more horny than usual. She gets very clingy during this time as well.

When she meets the 141, I imagine it's because some dumbass higher up said that laswell and reader couldn't work together anymore because they are mom and daughter. Even though anyone that knows about r's condition knows the reason they work together is because of r's condition. Like any work dog she needs a knowledgeable handler. When they meet her, they're all intrigued. She's quiet and does everything laswell says without complaint. For this specific reader I think ghost and soap would take one look at her eyes and immediately stake a claim silently. Soap is a bit more vocal about it in subtle ways, ghost is just looming and quiet, but if you know him well enough, like the 141, you can see the possession flickering in his eyes. The only thing is reader wants nothing to do with any of them. When they go on their mission, reader is a little lost, she waits for orders like the good girl she is and price starts getting frustrated with this, he's used to his boys knowing exactly what needs to get done without asking even though for certain reasons he still voices his needs for missions. He tries to understand because she's new to the team but he can't seem to. Eventually he blows up at reader, she cowers and gets that guilty look in her eye even though she didn't do anything wrong per say. Ghost clenched his gun tightly not like the tone price was using, soap was a little less subtle with his anger, he glared a hole into prices head. Gaz tried to get the captain to back and eventually he did but the damage had been done. Soap tried to talk to reader but it wasn't much use. Once they got back to base, reader immediately goes to laswells office, wanting to be comforted by her person. Laswell was beyond pissed when she heard what happened and marched down to John's office to tell him right off. Angry mama bear mode activated. After a few more missions (over a few months), laswell tells the boys what reader is, like maybe they are on a mission and at their safe house. Reader is asleep in a hoodie and a mask. They don't believe her at first untill reader wakes up from a nightmare crying and freaks so she rips her mask off, ears pinned back. Laswell goes over and holds her telling her mama is here. When she falls back asleep, she sets her back down against her bed and gives her a spare t-shirt cause hybrid!reader has a sensitive nose and a comforting scent will help her. Ghost and soap test this later down the road while on mission, they grab an old t-shirt of theirs and give it to asleep reader. She cuddles it and eventually sticks it in her mouth unknowingly, she doesn't chew on it. Laswell taught her better than that, she just let's it sit in her teeth. Once johnny and Simon have her as their girlfriend she just stuffs whatever t-shirt they're wearing to bed, or maybe even fingers (as long as they are clean.)in her mouth when they settle in for the night. Eventually when she moves out of Laswells house and into the boy's she's now going to have to get used to not being the only dog in the house. Riley at first doesn't know how to react to this strange woman that smells of Dog in his home. Reader doesn't know how to act around a dog, the dogs at base usually didn't like her. But eventually they become best friends. She's able to understand what Riley needs most of the time and when they both get antsy they take runs together. Simon's a little mad that his dog stole his girl but he makes her feel better so he guesses its alright. Once they retire, reader doesn't get as antsy anymore mainly because she's stimulated, even if she's not working anymore. She still has her moments but with Simon, Johnny, and Riley all in her life she's got plenty of things to keep her occupied. Even more so if she has some smaller pups running around if you know what I mean... 😏

GAH! Oml I need him carnally... I def wouldn't be trusting them either after being handcuffed for awhile. One thing though is their dynamic is making me think of that one audio where it's like a dog snarling and the guy goes 'get your fucking dog bitch.' And the owner goes 'it don't bite.' And then the other guy goes 'yes it do!' Like reader is the dog and Simon is the owner and Johnny is the other guy. It also makes me think of Simon being this big giant cuddly bear that legit embodies the saying don't poke the bear because he's so sweet unless you provoke him. And then reader is one of those chihuahuas that fucking yap and bite any time you go near them or their stuff. Especially their favorite toy (which would be Si in this case).

I hope that made sense 😭😭😭

Sick <3

Zombie!Ghost x Survivor You ☢️🖤

Part 16: Shameless smut because they needed a hot reunion! Smidge of zombie!Simon being adorable. MDNI ta. He’s very dead, but so are you without him.

It feels like the longest day, night blending into early dawn outside the windows of your little room. Both Price and Laswell had wanted to hear your story, with you acting as translator when Simon couldn’t get coherent words out. They had watched your silent communication of blinks and nods with keen interest, quizzing you about when he started to speak, how you both came to know each other on a level beyond the understanding of most people. So you told them almost everything.

Actually you conveniently left out the part where Simon’s first statement was formed so he could beg to eat your dripping pussy, how he’s been inside you deeper than anyone else ever has. The way you crave that stretch between your thighs like oxygen. Rationally you’re sure they don’t want to hear about that, but something in Laswell’s eyes made you wonder if she guessed it without needing you to spell everything out.

Johnny had sat morosely in a corner, listening to every word. You’d refused to hear any of his apologies, practically spat venom at him whenever he tried to get closer. Resigned, he’d moved to the furthest chair possible, eyes creased as he watched you both. Only when your eyes were drooping with tiredness, had Simon signalled that he wanted to take you to bed.

“Fine.” Acknowledged Price with a clap of his weathered palms. “You know you’re both welcome here. We’ll continue this tomorrow Simon.”

You’d rolled your eyes at that, while Price opened the door, Laswell coolly observing you both exiting hand in hand. Her orbs seemed to linger on your threaded fingers, but perhaps you were just overthinking things.

“Stop arguing with me, I’m cleaning it whether you like it or not.”

Simon grunts, a tiny sliver of drool trailing along his gaping mouth, transparent and shining in the low light. Sat on the small bed in the room you were formerly held captive in, you insisted he take off his shirt and show you his injury. Softly you swab the open wound on his arm with an antibacterial pad, despite the fact he’s already dead and a lingering infection would be the least of his concerns. As you run a finger over the edge of the puncture in his ice cold skin, he twitches, the muscle flinching as he looks at you reproachfully through his hazy eyes.

“Does that hurt? I’m sorry.” You murmur, retracting your touch and gazing at him. “Is anywhere else sore?”

Simon shakes his head, the spit on his lips falling towards his chin, then tugs you into his lap resolutely. Cool palms close tightly on your wrists, arranging you chest to chest. Swirls of dark mix with the light in his stare, warmest amber peeking through the film of the viruses lenses like a scotch rolling inside a frosted decanter.

“Let me stitch it up? You’re a right mess aren’t you!”

Your hands wrap around his neck, scratching at the blonde hairs at the nape until he’s almost purring.

“Later.” He replies slowly, studying you closely, clumsy fingers rubbing along your heated skin, tracing each exposed area from your cheek down to your collarbone. The sense of peace he feels at you being returned to him is unparalleled, order restored to his universe, the infection inside him finally quiet in it’s entirety. It’s almost pure Simon with you now, not the same man that used to prowl the corridors of this base alive, but one forever altered by more than his death. Previously this level of dependence on another would have unnerved him. But now Simon sees with blinding clarity just how sweet life is when you have another to share it with.

“Missed this.” He rasps, throat wheezing slightly where he’s becoming re-accustomed to using his voice for speech again. “Love you, know that?”

“I know that.” You reply quietly. “Love you too. Please don’t ever try and leave me behind again.”

Simon nods, seeing the pain in your face and feeling hurt himself by that.

“M’sorry. Keep you safe.”

“I hate it here. These people don’t deserve you.”

Simon frowns, you watch the creases forming around his eyes. You don’t understand, how can you? This was his home before your heart was, these people his family when he didn’t realise you and he would make a new one. He trusts them beyond measure, even if you don’t yet.

Silently you ask if you can remove his mask, spattered with gore as it is. He gives you his ascent with a lopsided smile. The broken jawline looks more upsetting hanging limp without the covering, it throws off his face and strikes sadness into your heart.

“We should fix this.” You eye the tattered lower half of his visage, while you stroke his crooked nose.

“Ask Johnny tomorrow.”

“Don’t ask him anything!” You snarl, all essence of romance vanishing as you rear back in disgust. “I don’t trust him anywhere near you!”

Simon holds you firmly while you squirm away, anguished and furious with him.

“Don’t blame him. Good man I promise. Forgive him.”

“I will not!” Your voice snaps fiercely, while you struggle to maintain your composure. “He tried to murder you!”

“Forgive him. For me?” Simon’s big palm cups your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Please.”

He knows you can’t resist pleading, so you shoot him a mutinous look under your lashes. Simon huffs, refusing to release you.

“Please?” He groans out again, pinching your cheeks a little harder.

“I’ll try, but I’m not promising anything.”

That will have to be good enough for now he supposes. Simon stands up without any obvious effort, adjusting so that your legs wrap around his waist as he holds you off the ground. You’d forgotten how terrifyingly strong he is, the ice hardened muscles now built with a supernaturally enhanced capacity. But everything else about him feels so familiar, normal even. Koala cub style you hang onto his broad shoulders as he trudges towards the door, using the cuff of your sleeve to mop up some of the spit leaking down over his neck.

“Gross.” You say into his ear, and Simon chuckles in response, snatching a towel from a bundle deposited by Laswell earlier in the day.

It’s beginning to occur to you that Simon knows his way around a base. Without needing direction he locates the showers, a cold room with several grimy looking cubicles. Still, when you turn the water on, it’s hot. It’s the first warm wash you’ve had in months, probably longer. Plunging yourself into freezing baths aside, you get so excited you actually squeak, while Simon starts fumbling at your clothes, demonstrating extremely clearly that he’s greedy, wanting for you without needing to verbalise it.

The water feels so good, the pressure beating down against your body as the steam rises, creating tiny clouds that hover then dissipate as quickly as they come. Si slips in behind you, a dichotomy of heated, glancing droplets on his ice cold skin pressing close. Already the water seems to be soaking away the trauma of the last few days, you watch it almost melting off you both.

Simon rubs his nose along the line of your shoulder, curving his bull-like chest to mould perfectly around your spine. You jump slightly when his cooler fingers trace their way down the flesh of your sides, squeezing and rubbing every inch he can reach. The temperature difference is enticing, goosebumps threatening to erupt on your arms while a warmth sparks and flows where the shower rains on you. Simon’s eyelashes tickle against your neck, his broken face buried in the crook he’s found there, a niche reserved for him and only him.

Your body begins to sing, craving his presence on a level deeper than physicality. Slowly those tender digits work over your belly, dipping down toward your cunt. His stiff cock juts firmly against your back, insistent and rousing a fierce, overwhelming longing for him. He’s too tall to easily take you like this, but you buck anyway, letting his prick slide over your sodden skin. Simon answers with a deep, guttural sound dragged from a place beyond love. It streams palpably through a desperate craving for you, an inability to be whole without your hand in his and an acceptance of that fact.

Turning to face him, you gaze at the beads of wetness clinging to the surface of his upper lip, take in the tigerish brown shining behind his filmy orbs. Two big paws hook around your arms, tugging you flush to him, while instinctively your legs link over his own. There’s an urgency building, rugged and depraved, just like the first time you fucked. But he’s trying his hardest to be gentle, you can tell, actions strained while he shakes with the effort of bottling up the virus for you.

It’s all for you, always has been. Everything he does, has done, was entirely designed to find a way to make you his. You want him to break you, crush you to fine powder, mix your essences into a cocktail of something feral and dark.

“Take me Si, don’t be soft about it either.”

He moans in earnest, it bounces off the tiled floor, reverberating around the empty room and echoing within the marrow of your bones. In response you drag his head to your own, fingers clawing at the pallid skin, scratching fiercely until he raises you entirely off the floor, arse held firmly in both hands. Without preamble, he’s working himself into you, the heat of your pussy engulfing him until he nearly loses his frayed mind at the feeling.

Your fluttering core welcomes Simon home with open arms, stretching with a sting to accommodate all of him as quickly as possible, an ungodly amount of lubrication leaking onto the hairs at his base. Si sinks punishingly up to his root, your cries and moans echoing ceaselessly within his sensitive eardrums like a beautiful mantra. Pulling out half way, he slams back inside, drawing out a searing punch of pleasure as he does so. Your little blunt teeth sink deep into the meat of his trap, urging him onwards, anything to stay crushed between the cubicle and his thick body. Grasping you, Simon rolls his hips, grinding your clit snuggly until your toes curl. Blinking vapour out of your eyes, you see his own lids heavily observing the way you take him, how your cunt begs for his cock to be seated within you, sucking him so tightly he can barely thrust.

Simon brings you to your first orgasm in what feels like years against that bathroom wall, spilling himself shortly afterwards, his seed still dripping from your clenching pussy even after a thorough scrub with a thin bar of soap.

Clean and warm, your fingers lace into the fresh sheets, head rolling back against soft pillows. It’s so divine, Simon lying nestled between your thighs while he laps around the swollen, sensitive parts of you with fervour, occasionally pumping his spend back inside, only partly on the viruses whim. When you eventually crash, exhaustion taking hold of your breath as you snore on his chest, he watches you dream, every wrong of being separated from your soul righted.

You don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but with Si at your side again, you’re sure everything will be alright.

One way or another.

Masterlist

Tags closed besties

@ashy-kit @cutiecusp @deadmarygolds @redbleedingrose @magicstrengthandcourage @darkangel4121 @cmbghost @silly-norman @sigrid666 @pxssygxblin @spicyspicyliving @itsyaboinoah @misshugs @blush-haze @kolpvii @sobbingnshtting @murder-hobo @nexthyperfix @chinaza444 @contractedcriteria @soapsmohawk-16 @coqwuette @juneonhoth @lanalafey

biker!simon headcanons!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

♡ your guys' dynamic is insanely different but you compliment each other so well! (i was thinkin batman 'nd hello kitty cause c'mon.. simon is not a spiderman guy)

♡ he is absolutely jacked. i mean jacked. which makes it harder for you to wrap your arms around him but he always has one hand reaching for you, and touching the back of your thigh so you almost always don't have to worry.

♡ he does those little helmet kisses whenever you guys are about to go on a ride or stop for gas.

♡ he's got his own little insta account (that you forced him to make) and posts videos and pics of mostly you and his bike. no profile picture, no bio, just posts.

♡ surprisingly he's got a good following, but he only follows you (ofc) and the 141.

♡ you both love late night rides, especially if the two of you had a long day and just need to cool off.

♡ your helmets are pretty plain. black, tinted. but when you started riding him with him more, he got them customised so you could have a pink fluffy one with those little ears and his had his classic skullface with your name engraved on it <3

♡ he always makes sure you're okay, looking back at you at red lights and talking to you, even if he knows you can't hear him sometimes.

♡ he lets you wear whatever you want like skirts and dresses, he's gonna pull it down anyway.

♡ he makes sure you both are always wearing some sort of gear, just in case.

♡ whenever you guys go on rides with the 141 or go to a bike meet, he makes sure you are with him every second, he can't have anything bad happen to you. he'd go ballistic if anything did

♡ he adores whenever you lay your head on him, its his favourite thing ever.

♡ drops you off everywhere, no matter how far and picks you up right on time. maybe he even stays and waits where you are, until you finish.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

part 2? maybe nsfw ;)