Simon Ghost X Reader - Tumblr Posts - Page 5

OMG OMG OMG OMGOGGMGOGJGKJGKJFKJHGJDGJHFGJH YALL I DROOLED ALL OVER MY LAPTOP SCREEN. dies.

inspired by @slater-baby♥︎

best friend’s father!simon who tries so hard not to look at you like he wants to see you naked when you come hang out with his daughter. it’s hard when you’re wearing such tiny skirts and tight shirts, not even realizing he can see your pretty thong when you bend over.

best friend’s father!simon who knows your favorite foods and makes them every time you come over. loves the way you blush for him, stuttering like you’re too shy to talk to him when he serves it to you.

best friend’s father!simon who helps you with your math homework—college is hard, and he’s so smart. loves how he can slide his hand underneath the table to squeeze your knee, watching you turn cherry red and your eyes glaze over a little.

best friend’s father!simon who licks and nips at your pretty sensitive clit while his daughter is out running errands. it’s not his fault you got here early, and he can’t help but eat you out ravenously as you let out the prettiest little whines and whimpers, begging him to let you come all over his face.

best friend’s father!simon who covers your mouth while he fucks into you hard and fast, bent over the bathroom counter, fingers gripping your squishy hips. whispering such dirty praises into your ear as his cock kisses against your cervix and your cunt squirts all over him. moaning in your ear when he tells you how full he’s gonna fill you with his cum, fat cock throbbing as he empties his load into you, already planning the next time he’s gonna breed that pretty pussy of yours.

mdni!!!

....fanboying at it's finest.

vampire!simon who gets so hard feeding from you, licks your blood off your neck while he slips his fat cock inside your cunt and fucks you dumb. bites into your neck as he comes inside your cunt, filling you up so nice as your head spins :(

RAHHHHHHH TYSM I LOVE U I ATE THIS UP <3

May i request Soap and Reader dry humping eachother when LT ghost walks in??🥺🥺

[yes i saw the post and ITS A NEED, only if u wanna ofc <3]

Yes ofc! :))

I'll make an assumption and just continue from that thought :P umm i didn't want to give the reader a callsign im sorry if that makes this bad😭🙏

ghost didn't sleep well most nights. most nights were made of pacing around, or zoning out by the common room's television. and that was his plan that night as well.

he thought that it would be peaceful like any other night, and maybe even more so, if his two sergeants had got worn out from their ride.

but as he made his way down the hallway from his room, and got closer to the common room, strange noises hit his ear.

now, with hesitance, but also curiosity, ghost slowly walked to the end of the hallway.

and he certainly wasn't expecting the scene in the common room.

his two sergeants. his two soldiers, rutting against each other, on the common room's couch. the lieutenant had to hold back a chuckle at the sight, the pair were going at it like desperate animals.

unsurprisingly, soap was making noise like a whiny puppy. not like his pretty sergeant wasn't whimpering at the feeling as well. the dirty mutt soap, was ruining his pretty sergeant. making her pussy wet, without enough effort to make her cum.

ghost couldn't quite see, but he could bet there was soaking wet spots on their uniforms.

soap was moving carelessly, thinking with his cock, and only for his cock. his dog brain couldn't process what a pretty thing he was rutting against. what a pretty cunt, that deserved to have her fill as well.

the scotsman was only getting louder, and closer to his release. ghost felt his cock throb in his sweatpants. god, was he hard. but he couldn't just watch from the side, as his pretty soldier was getting neglected.

soap should be thankful. he should be on his knees, begging to get a taste of their pretty girls pussy.

but no. the mutt didn't have any manners. he needed to be put in his place.

neither of the dummies noticed when he walked closer, too distracted for their own good.

ghost's big, calloused hand quickly reached out, and grabbed onto the scotsman's sweaty mohawk, yanking his head up to look at him. soap immediately stilled, a confused and spooked.

"l-lt... hey..." soap nervously chuckled, still panting.

ghost glared down at soap, his cold eyes focused on his. ghost kept a tight grip on his hair, and looked down at his pretty sergeant, laying beneath soap. she looked just as frightened as soap, scared of being in trouble.

"selfish, ain't he?" it was more of a statement, than a question. soap pouted at his lieutenants words.

ghost smirked, as his pretty soldier shyly nodded her head. his free hand reached down, and brushed strands of her hair off her forehead.

ghost just looked down at her for a moment, before turning back to soap. he yanked on soap's hair again.

"get off of her, sergeant." ghost murmured deeply.

soap scrambled to back away from in between her legs. there was a obvious bulge on his cargo pants, with a wet spot forming on top.

ghost meanly chuckled at his submission. the lieutenant turned his head down again, looking down at his pretty sergeant. his hand traveled down, cupping her crotch. it was warm, a little moist too. most of it probably from soap.

his pretty soldier whimpered at the touch, shyly curling up.

"bet yer wearing something pretty underneath..." ghost murmured into her ear, his hot breath hitting her skin.

ghost turned to glare at soap. "and he didn't even think to take a look..." he continued.

soap was panting at the other end of the coach, his dick hard in his pants, as he tried not to touch himself. his lieutenant had caught them. he had caught his sergeants, rutting against each other like animals in heat.

and he didn't yell. he didnt file for transfers. he didn't punish them... well, this probably was soaps punishments, to watch from the side, while their lieutenant touched the precious girl's pussy.

ghost opened his pretty sergeant's pants, and pulled them down her thighs. underneath, she was wearing pretty, white panties. ghost chuckled at the sight. a wet patch on the panties, making them transparent, and revealing her sweet pussy. nice puffy lips, and a little bush above her hard nub.

ghost looked up at soap again. "take off 'er trousers, sergeant." he commanded him.

soap scrambled to pull down the other sergeants pants, as his commanding officer stared down at him. once her pants were thrown to the side, soap was face to face with her white panties. before he even knew it, ghost's hand had pushed his head down, his face down against her clothed pussy.

their pretty sergeant squealed at the sudden feeling of soap's nose pressing on her clit, with his hot breath hit her fluttering hole.

"lick it, mutt." ghost's commanded in his deep voice.

the scotsman's tongue immediately got to work, licking up and down the panty covered pussy, the wet patch only getting bigger with soap's saliva. he didn't care if he couldn't breathe properly, he'd gladly die just there.

ghost had to hold down their whimpering soldier, as she squirmed around. her chest moved with her heavy breathes, her legs twitching at the feeling of a hot tongue on her pussy.

"l-lieutenant..." she whimpered. ghost reached down and brushed her cheek with his thumb.

"good girl. ya wanna cum?" ghost asked, an amused smirk behind his mask. she nodded franticly and desperately, making ghost chuckle. soap must've been listening, his tongue moving faster on her. her pretty, white panties have long gone transparent from his dirty spit.

the lieutenants dark eyes averted for just a moment, only to see his sergeant humping the coach underneath him. what a dog.

both of them were near again. only this time, ghost was here. somebody to make sure, that both of them were taken care of. his own dick was hard as fuck too. he almost couldn't wait to go back to his room, and rub the hell out his cock.

but in this moment, he needed to only focus on them. they were too stupid for their own good. they were lucky it was him who caught them. this could've gone so much worse. they were lucky he was even letting them cum.

ghost snapped out of his thoughts, as his sergeants only got louder. they needed to be over with this quickly, it was only the matter of time, until somebody else walked into the common room.

ghost pushed soap's head down again, his big nose hitting her hard clit. that did it for her, making her cum. arching her back, whimpering, and shaking. soap wasn't far behind. his hips stilled, as he came in his pants. soap lifted his head, his face moist with the mix of her juices and his saliva. their pretty sergeant laid there, twitching and breathing heavily, almost limp.

soap sat up, the front of his cargos, soaked with his cum. ghost chuckled at the sight.

"how's the adrenaline rush now?"

idk i dont have the smut talent that these kind of writings need😭

o.m.g people... PEOPLE ISTGGGG KNSBJSDBJKSJKDSJKJJKBBSJ I ATE THIS UP

mdni!

professor!simon that teaches college criminal justice classes and he can’t help but feel his cock chub up when he sees you looking so pretty for him—little skirts, crop tops, thongs that don’t leave anything to the imagination.

professor!simon who is so impressed with your grades—you’re so smart and your intelligence turns him on. can’t help but praise you every time he hands you a paper or a test back, and it makes your cheeks blush and your cunt throb.

professor!simon who holds you back after class to ask if you’d be interested in becoming his teacher’s assistant because he’s so flooded with papers to grade, but really it’s just an excuse to get you alone with him.

professor!simon who touches you a little more inappropriately every day—squeezing your hip, patting your knee and sliding his hand to your inner thigh, hand sliding down your back until it rests on the curve of your ass. it leaves you soaked every time, and he knows it.

professor!simon who eats your pussy from the back while you’re helping him grade papers, punishing you every time you stop to close your eyes or whine. in the end, he has you shaking around his tongue, eyes glazed over and drool dripping onto his desk.

professor!simon who lets you ride his fat cock while he’s typing emails, the door to his office unlocked. “anyone could come in and see how much of a little whore you are,” he murmurs to you—but that makes your cunt clench and you bounce on him harder until you’re creaming around his cock and he’s shooting his thick load inside of you, promising you that he’s gonna breed you every day, just like this.

Crying prank on TF141 + Valeria & König <3

Setting up a camera behind a picture of SIMON before pretending to cry into the pillow, waiting for him to come out of his study room. Simon hearing the cries and dropping everything to bolt out of the study and pounces on you, pulling you onto his lap and rubbing your back. All he says is "Who did it. I'll kill them." before you burst out laughing into his chest making him sigh and realize youre pranking him. "Jeez luv, givin me a heart attack won't end well f'you." You looked at him confused before realizing he's not gonna give you mercy in bed later... oops... Pranking PRICE by crying in your office which is next to his makes him stand up and walk over to yours, practically kicking the door open and grabbing your shoulder, turning you around and hugging you before you try so hard not to laugh, Price is oblivious until he see's the camera and groans. "Are you serious lovie?, tryna prank me while m'workin'?" He delivers a harsh spank to your ass before going back to his office, leaving you needy and wanting more. SOAP hearing you cry in your room from the home gym made him drop the fucking bar on his chest for a second before putting it down and bolting to your room, jumping onto your bed and spooning you, kissing your head. "M'here bird, ws' wrong?" He looked over at you and saw the sly grin you tried to contain under your hands and laughed. "You're prankin' me aye?! Sneaky rat!" He was laughing until your burst out laughing too, hugging him as you both had a moment for laughing. Soap let out a content sigh before speaking again. "Y'do realize i dropped a weight on my chest out of shock yeah?" You looked up at him in shock before removing his shirt and kissing the forming bruises on his chest. Soap couldn't stop his cock chubbing up from the sight. GAZ who see's you put on make-up to make it look like you're crying but decides to play along, Listening to your fake cry before rushing over to you, acting caring before tickling you making you laugh loudly and plead for him to stop. "Think i didn't notice the camera, Huh?" You were shocked that he even knew but you couldn't stop laughing from the tickling until Gaz suddenly threw your legs over his shoulders and pressed a slow kiss to your clit, making your thighs tighten around his neck.

VALERIA who notices you crying from the other side of the room and picks you up, putting her on your lap and her face in your neck, kissing your collarbone. "What's wrong Mi Amor? Why are you crying?" You shivered from the kiss and Valeria felt your small grin into her neck and figure it out quickly. "Just wanted my attention huh? Impressive.." Her hands gripped your hips, nipping at your neck and collarbone just to get you worked up. KÖNIG who jumps out of his bed, stumbling a bi and groggy from sleep hearing you cry in the kitchen made him run so fast he fell down the stairs which immediately made you run to the stairs and see him laying there half asleep, bleary eyed and slowly getting up. You helped him up and when you saw the black eye he got from falling you felt guilty. "Maus, warum... Why are you crying?" When you told him you were pranking him he realized and giggled a bit, patting you on the head. At night you felt so guilty that you ended up giving him toe curling head.

Degration Kink with Simon Riley [Kinktober Day 11]

Headcanons where Simon degrades you and he's mean about it TW: Humping, Degration, Gags, Spanking, Non-binary reader, mean Ghost.

Firstly he'd tie you up and gag you knowing that the only thing you could do is take it. "Shut up, don’t wanna hear that pathetic voice." Spanking you over his knee until your whimpering into the gag. "Fucking pathetic slut." Biting and sucking on your nipples until you squirm. "drooling from the mouth?, look at ya, So fucking dumb for me." When you try to squirm away he grabs you by the neck and spits on your face. "Baby, your going cross eyed. Oops." When you started to let out jumbled noises he mocked you. "Look at ya 'mmmhh hngggg' fuckin' pathetic. Can't fuckin' talk anymore?" And of course you’d be pathetic, he’d degrade you and fuck you until you're dumbed down. You’re so dumbed down and desperate for his cock he absolutely fucking loved it. He’d take his phone out and order you around. "Tongue out, slut." *click click click* the camera shutters and he grins. But he wasn't done or satisfied. "Spread your legs, now." then he’d finally touch you, put you on his thigh, your legs on each side of his thigh just perfect.. you’d ride his thigh, and he’d degrade you for it. "Stupid slut, can't even hump my thigh properly without drooling or making a mess out of your cunt." Then suddenly he’d push up his thigh right into you making you shake and whine loudly. "So desperate for my attention, you whore.."

[Credits to Royadni for this slutty picture <3] *Sneaks in a p!link*

Hate Sex with Simon "Ghost" Riley! [Kinktober Day 12] TW: Gagging, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, mlm.

Simon isn’t a man for rough sex, isn’t one to use all of his strength on you- not if he can help it. Your so damn cute mewling and whining when his cock hits too deep inside you. Until one day, after a particularly rough mission, Simon’s self control literally left his body, his pretty little Wife/Husband waiting at the door for him to come home, clad in your small shorts and revealing tank. The sight of your tiny frame alone had Simon’s brain turning to pudding, and his cock chubbing hard as a rock in his pants. Simon Riley would become a different man. He threw you over his shoulder and practically sprinted to the bedroom, not even taking his clothes off before tying your hands to the headboard and starting to kiss your chest and neck. His nails would claw at your skin, ranging in shapes and sizes. Oh and he'd tease you so fucking much, getting you to the point of orgasm, only to pull his cock, his tongue or fingers away at the last possible second. It drove you insane. He’d forcibly stuff his thick red cock into you for hours, your loud cries of pleasure and pain only fueling his urge to ruin you, his cock not going soft until his fourth orgasm that night. "Do you think you can be quiet? Last time you couldn’t." Simon moaned, hoping the neighbors won't hear. Your breath caught in you throat. "What are you gonna do, gag me?" "That was the plan, yeah." Ghost had taken his mask and twisted it into a bundle. "No time to do it proper, though." Before stuffing it into your mouth. You tried to twist your head away from the mask as Ghost pressed the mask into your mouth, but you quickly parted your teeth and sank them into the material. Ghost's grumbling reached your ear each time he had to cover your mouth, everytime you moaned too loud. After awhile you spit the gag out. "Simon, please…" "You want to cum?" "Uh huh!" You moaned as Ghost rolled his hips again, a little faster this time, the head of his cock pushing deep inside of you, "ah-, me, then you… I cum, then you, inside me, ple-please." Ghost grinned. "You should explain everything with a cock in your ass. Sound so cockdumb, mewling like this. Did your brain become mush? awh~ how cute."

[UGHHHH throwing my ass in a circle for this man.]

Brat Taming with Simon "Ghost" Riley [Kinktober Day 13]

TW: Edging, Brat Taming, Mean Ghost, GN [Gender Neutral] Reader.

You went to help Ghost with the paperwork piling up on his desk, put to the task as the newest member of the team. To everyone else he had picked you because you were the newbie, the grunt. The inexperienced. Just because he wanted to see how good you are with your hands. he had given you that look through his balaclava, staring at you, his gaze at your tense form, dark and stone cold. The following week you hid his radio that one evening, had found the best hiding spot for it in the broken wall above the locker. It had taken Ghost forever to find it, cursing and storming through the barracks. Soap had laughed at him for it, and Price had yelled at him for hours about losing valuable equipment. You admitted to hiding it, trying not to laugh at his unamused expression. He’d wordlessly pushed a tower of files at you. You should have known better. He waited until it was 1am to walk back into his office, seeing you work on the papers. Marking and correcting them. Then... He snapped. "Up." He commanded. You'd nervously and Slowly gotten up. He circled the desk and pinned you to it. He shucked you of your boots, your gear, had tossed your tac vest off in a dusty corner and dragged your pants down your legs until you were bare from the waist down. You froze but you let him.. Why? you were mildly attracted to him duhhh. You felt your breath hitch as you watched him undo his belt, fish his cock from his boxers and slap it against your knee. "Such a brat aren't you." you suddenly pinned him onto the desk and straddled his thighs with his dick bumping against your stomach. "Hmmm... What're you doin' Private?, Think ya' in control?" Your eyes wandered down to the sight of his cock, thick, red, hard in his gloved fist as he pressed a thumb to the bulbous, leaking head. You tried to sink down onto his cock only for a single, heavy, black-gloved hand to settle on your thigh.

"Don’t. You. Dare. Move"  You tried to protest, tried to plead with him but Ghost simply ignored you, his eyes roaming over the intel reports that weren’t even fucking relevant to your mission. You tried to sink down onto him again only to smack your ass. "I said don't move, Brat." He finally let you sink down after awhile and FUCK. He was so big inside you, the thick vein running along his shaft molding into your velvety walls. Filling every inch you had to give and even then there was still more of him. It felt like he was making space for himself inside you, stretching and making your thighs ache with pleasure and pain. When you had lifted your hips just enough to relieve at least some pressure Ghost had wordlessly forced you back down, And kept you there, shaking and drooling in pleasure mixed with pain. with a singular thrust of his hips, as devastating as his aim- fast, precise, brutal. He lodged himself deep inside you, making you accidentally let out a moan so loud even Ghost himself jumped.

It’s too much.

You can’t stand it, the stretch of him, the sheer size of him made you ache for more. You grinded down on his pubic bone, trying to get some friction but all he did was grab your hip and stop you. "Uh Uh."

with his hard cock buried deep inside your wet heat but refusing to move, simply content for your heat to keep him warm for what feels like hours. Never once softening, never once going limp inside you. Then you couldnt stay quiet anymore, it was so much but so little at the same time, you needed more but at the same time you didn't want more. "Ghost." You hiccupped, casting your eyes over your shoulder to look up at him pleadingly. "Si-Simon." Ghost just hums, grabbing another report and reading it, keeping his arm around your waist securely and tightly so you wouldn't be able to move or squirm.

You sob.

Ghost finally seems to notice you then, his hand patting your thigh as he keeps you there, and all at once he’s regarding you with the same intensity as the report he has in his opposite hand. "Simon, please." You try again, words babbling now that you have his attention. "P-please, need you to move, it’s so much. You’re so big, c-can feel you in my fucking throat, Simon, please-"

"Bloody keen on talkin’ now, aren’t you." He grumbles at you in that rough, British accent of his, and you're breath hitches at that, entire form rigid like a stick at his words. "Where was that this mornin’, mm?" He FINALLY puts the report down, his arms shifting across your lap as he adjusts you, seated on him. His eyes are watching you from behind the mask, intent and piercing. "Go on then, ask nicely. Then maybe i'll let you cum." He growled, looking down at you. "Please." You try to speak, trying your best to keep your voice steady despite your urge to squirm against him and just take what you want. "Make me cum, Ghost. Please." He groaned as you spoke then finally nodded, letting your hips go. A sudden surge of excitement filled you as you started to ride him, drooling as he hit that sweet spot inside you. "Fucking filthy, annoying, pretty brat." He moaned, bucking his hips up into you making you squeal. "You’re lucky I put up with half the shit you do. Drive me fuckin insane with this tight little hole of yours." All you could do is whine and take the thrusts he gave you, his cock didn't soften for HOURS. after his 6th orgasm [and you're 10th] he finally pulled out, his cock softening. Days later you can see the other soldiers blushing when they look at you and Ghost... they definitely heard you guys... oops.

Simon Ghost Riley x Female Civilian Reader

The feeling of falling in love.

He sees hundreds of people throughout his Military career. Murders, drug addicts, sex workers, terrorists, children, women, men, monsters, angels, and the spiral of personality types in the streets of foreign countries. Maybe the job would be more desirable with the perks of traveling the world if it was less dangerous.

So why of all places did he have to fall for someone? Your face in the crowd of many watching the sky light up with colorful firey explosions raining through the stars.

He catches a glimpse of your delicate smile, or maybe not so delicate at the time as you marvel at humanity’s show.

He stares.. longingly, drowning out the noise of cheers and screams. You glance at him too. At least that’s what he wished happened until time began to speed up to reality.

“Simon!”

Price grips his shoulder, breaking him out of his day dreams.

“The object is in AO, stay alert”

“Understood” Simon nodded, trying to focus up.

But how? He looks back, but you were gone.

Deep inside he hoped you stayed gone, but he couldn’t help but look for your face again. Unfortunately and fortunately you disappeared, becoming a ghost in the crowd he'd wish to forget

So why in all places were you here? In his arms?

As he franticly ran through the battlefield, your limp body was tight against his straining chest. Simon was never a man to rely on any higher being, but for the first time in what seemed like decades, he begged.. no prayed for you. A random stranger he merely glimpsed at, a woman with no name or title to him, capturing more than a poor man's heart.

And so the tale as old as time went, a man stricken with Cupid's arrow unable to let go of a woman who lived another side of life. His world is so far from the pleasant life you lived. You cherished your experiences, the people, and the memories as he cherished you.

You slowly healed from the wounds afflicted, your home destroyed and your memory scattered. With nowhere to go, Simon offered you a place, a home closer to his reach.

Small graces and brisk touches filled his head, he was smitten with love, confused, and awkwardly frustrated due to his inability to confront you. And you? Well, you weren't stupid but you were oblivious. The man sheltering you, doting on you, was quite the catch, you couldn't help but feel the same way. But there was no way you'd know the ironic truth.

"I got it Luv"

"Oh no! Its okay I-"

"Hands off, don't be stuffy"

"Nu uh!"

He grabs your hands in his, swallowing your whole mitts in his.

"Dove"

He whispers in your ear, his hard muscles leaning against the small of your back. Your face burns with a red tint, gosh he was so close, you could feel his sigh. You comply and slowly release your grip on the bags, letting him carry all of them in a single hand.

He hums, using his free hand to cup yours, holding it up to his lips before gently kissing the soft skin.

"Thank you. Angel."

He walks to the kitchen, leaving you utterly in shambles wondering if he was flirting or he was being a gentleman as he is a very respectful British.

While Simon had his heart racing hoping maybe that was a step in the right direction, or many steps in the right direction.

Because in his mind he's an awkward flirt, while to everyone else (you especially). DAM BRO GOT U SWEATING *FANS SELF*

Thinking about college!Ghost who is in the same college as you. You guys live in the same dorm, same floor but different rooms. His door is about 10ft across from yours. Room 332. Sometimes as you put your robe on to shower, grabbing your caddy and slipping on your slippers—his door would open just a quiver. You’d wonder if he was inside.

Sometimes just barely you could make out his jacket hanging on the hooks against the wall. Army green and swishing slightly from the wind of the open window. His desk—with straps and belts left messily on it. A small canister for his pens and pencils—even having some inked pens. Does he draw? You wonder. You see a small lamp perched at the edge, simple and minimalistic.

As you walk to the bathroom, you can’t help but remember the moment you first saw him. Tall, brooding, wearing a balaclava mask. Book-bag slung onto his broad shoulder, heaving with his books and his laptop. Wired headphones sticking out from under the mask trailing to his phone in his pockets. Navy blue cargo pants squeezing his legs, pockets filled with something heavy. The thin bomber jacket you saw hanging was wrinkled around his arms, unzipped. His languid eyes scan the common room before exiting to the elevator, pushing the button, only to disappear inside. That was the only time you’d seen him.

Oh, forget about him, you thought to yourself. He’s probably busy anyway. You head into the shower, humming and getting ready for the day.

Ughh thinking about simon ghost riley in university and you see him drawing a few times one day on campus, sitting on the bench. He wore a black hoodie, hiding his form and hood pulled over his masked face. Lengthy tall fingers held charcoal, all smudged and dirty. He seems so focused you don’t say much, so you eye him & walk away, leaving it to him. But apart of you wonders what’s got him so wound up and focused on drawing. You never took him as the type to draw anyway.

And then next week you see him walking out the gym, balaclava mask pulled up to reveal pink chapped lips, busted from his the boxing class offered at University. He held his duffle bag over his shoulder, biceps flexing as long legs strode down the pathway—most likely to his dorm. The idea that he drew so meticulously and in the dead the night, so serene and wistful—

And then this. An absolute fighting machine, all biceps and a hunk of muscle. Not a single thought behind those eyes as he focused on darting out punches.

Both of it had you eager & melting to know more about this mysterious man.

college!ghost and you waking up at the same time. You have a class to get ready for at 9am, but in order to be ready you’d have to catch breakfast at 8am. Now it was 7:30. All you wanted to do was go back to sleep like the bedbug you were. Classes, you thought annoyed. You now brushed your teeth, messy hair down in waves and mussed up from sleeping. The fluorescent lights don’t help either. The bathroom was a public one, so anyone could’ve walked in at any moment.

And suddenly the door swung open. In there stands the man you’d been seeing around—blue and black plaid pajamas, a soft tee shirt and his balaclava mask off. His caddy hangs in his hand. You stare in shock—toothbrush in your mouth, hand not moving. Your messy sleep deprived eyes boring into his. First thing you notice: his mask was off. Scars roamed his face, tracing his features. He was gruff and blonde—you pegged him as a brunette. Guess I was wrong this time, you thought.

“Wot you starin’ at?” He’d gruffly say, voice thick from sleep. You looked away immediately, brushing your teeth faster as a distraction.

“Nothin.” You managed to say—although mumbling from the toothbrush in your mouth.

The brute of a man just stands next to you, not saying another word. The harsh curve of his nose shines in the light, bags under his eyes as he reaches for his toothbrush in irritation. He didn’t think anyone else would be up at this time, at the ass crack of dawn. He brushed his teeth, hazy eyes staring in the mirror. All he could see were you beside him: in his peripheral.

All clad in shorts and a tank top, strap falling to the side. Hair tousled as you brushed your teeth then washed your face. He had to ask himself: why did you need all those steps just to wash your face? Now he found himself staring curious, although shifting his gaze away so you wouldn’t catch him.

Just another gal, he thought. Maybe he recognized you from the room across—but then again it was the ass crack of dawn and his mind was a mess.

this is part 2 of my college!simon idea :) enjoy! feel free to like comment & reblog.

Simon mumbled and grunted. He was heaved over the barstool of the Bistro, finished a long day of studies and classwork. A.D, B.C, blueprints of Greek palaces and Knossos rebuilding—my ass. He thought in annoyance, brows slashes down in a glare, rough eyes peering out from his balaclava mask. A girl beside him eyed his mask to which he stared, biting into his sandwhich.

All around the Bistro had calmed down, a few people in and out. Simon always took the seat closest to the exit, it was better for an escape—and he maintained situational awareness. Not only that, but he liked when he sat alone. His brooding form took over at least two seats.

“Bloody hell…the man took chicken outta chicken…” Simon said, staring at his sandwich in disgust. His eyes had widened by a fraction. He chewed the last bite before setting the stale sandwich down, already pissed they messed up his order. He shook his head in annoyance and then managed to catch you.

His head paused in its moment and he drank you in, hair illuminated by the dangling overhead lights. The warm light made your hair softer than usual, and you wore a flowy skirt, some boots and a buckled bag hang off your shoulder. Along with a tank top you’d managed to find in your laundry that wasn’t dirty.

Wait a minute. He’d seen you before. This was the lass that lived across from him. In that tiny corner of a “room,” your “dungeon” as he called it. His eyes narrowed as he watched you order your usual. He had no idea what it was but he was tempted to find out.

Only so he could get rid of whatever the hell he’d been ordering lately. After you received your ticket, you made your way to the opposite seating area away from him, hair flowing and following your movements.

“I keep seein’ that lass…tis a sign or wot?” He’d mumble, more so to himself. The plastic cup nudges his lips before he drank the water, washing away whatever chicken—fake chicken had been left.

——

Sometime later at night, he’d been walking down the pathway to his dorm. His hands were stuffed casually in his pockets, the sound of music blasting through his wired headphones was the only thing he was focused on. His boots crunched over pebbles, the gravely path taking a turn up a slope. The moon hung high and heavy in the sky.

It was then he caught wind of some laughter pouring out like champagne. Smooth, easy, flowing. Kind of like—you. There you stood, standing ahead and walking, just having finished dinner and on your phone, smiling widely. Your head was tilted up at the moon in amazement, talking about how you’d seen more balls than you cared to admit—

To which he cocked a brow curiously and carried on walking, although slightly slower this time. God. Maybe it was from all the training that weighed him down. He knew it was an excuse to eavesdrop more but to be fair: you piqued his interest. Ever since he’d seen you in that bathroom, hair tousled and half asleep.

“My damn window won’t shut.” He heard you complain, sighing as your head tipped down, focusing on the rocky path. You adjusted your bag, hair flowing. Some laughter sounded over the phone and then said, “Just get that masked man to do it, the one you been telling me about.”

Masked man?

Oh.

Him.

Who else wore a looming skull mask in the dead of night? Him.

“No, absolutely not—I don’t even know him.” You said much quieter, eyes wide and lifting to peer around to see if anyone heard. It seemed like you didn’t know he was directly behind you, hanging a few feet back. He shuffled in his spot and for the first time in a while for the day, found his lip itching to grin. It was too easy. You seemed naive in the moment.

It also seemed apparent to him you’d been talking about him—to whoever friend it was over the phone. His finger tapped against his thigh, head cocking to the side curiously. Although he couldn’t blame you for doing so—lotta lassies fawned over him. He found himself disinterested though, unable to see himself in a relationship for the time being. Maybe it was the trauma, maybe it was the fact he preffered to be with his goldfish and venting to it, only to be returned with blobs of bubbles blowing out.

Just then, his boot crunched loudly on a twig and your head snapped around, hand clutching the phone. He stared, now pausing in his movements, as you were blocking his path. He watched as color drained from your face quite amusingly—and you fumbled to disconnect the phone call.

“Yeah, yeah, make sure to tell him what a nice ass—“

The phone cut off. Now both of you stood staring at each other.

Part 3 of college au with simon riley x reader 🥺 living for this fic ugh.

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Part 2

“How much did you hear?” Your voice rang out, although not in a huddled whisper. You acknowledged he at least caught you, but it stung embarrassingly. You eyed him curiously, a whoops floating in your mind. Score one for me for being so clueless—

Before you could finish your thought, he responded and shifted, one shoulder shrugging slightly. His jacket wrinkled. He then walked forward, standing just enough to see your face more clearly. The curve of his nose was hidden from the mask, eyes shadowed by the lamppost. Beside them, large glass windows were revealing the inside of the gym.

“A filthy amount.” Then his smooth voice rang out, eyeing your expression. Goddamnit, what was up with this man? You felt scrutinized and open. Vulnerable under his gaze yet you refused to admit it just yet. Pride? Ego?

You clutched your bag closer, maybe an attempt to shield yourself from his gaze and then turned away, continuing your walk up the path. Even faster this time—an attempt to get away from the situation.

But his long legs caught up beside you, eyes not leaving you. A flash of amusement crossed them.

“I heard y’er window was givin’ a fuss.” He stated. Curses. You almost flinched at the mention of what he heard and cleared your throat. You glanced up to see both your dorm buildings in view, some decorative planters watered and waving with plants.

“And so you did?” You half joked, arms crossing across your chest and not looking at him. Apart of you wonder what exactly he thought of you now, and what he’d been able to figure out from the call. Or maybe it was better to not know.

He strode closer to talk, long legs catching up easily to which you bristled at. And the pathway was small—making his arm brush yours. The contact produced sparks across your body for a split second, then you squashed it given the situation. You were a damn mouse next to his form, and it didn’t help you faintly smelled his cologne— but musky scent mixed together.

“I can give ya’ a hand—those things get all jammed.”

His voice was warmer this time although he couldn’t help the grin itching at him. Trees blurred past them as you finally reached the door to your dorm. You scanned your ID in—and of course he followed.

Because he lived across from you, conveniently.

“Look—it’s fine. I’ll have my friend take a look at it.” You brushed off, walking away and down the stairs. You knew damn well your friend was a skinny lad baring no muscle. A basketball could slap him in the head and he’d fly into the wall like the mosquito he was.

He slowed his movements for a split second, eyes narrowing. Almost like he didn’t believe you—as red rimmed eyes tracked your racing form. “Just thought it’d be faster if I did it. You won’t be freezin’ tonight.”

He followed you, of course having nowhere else to turn. The stony grey building reflected little to no signs of life. White corridors then came into view. He couldn’t lie he found this amusing as hell, watching you race and dart about, all flustered and itching to get away from the fact of what he heard.

“I said—“

“I know what you said.” He cut you off, although his tone was warm. He held no malice, but he figured he liked this little game.

You spun around in irritation, eyes blazing and the corner of your eye twitching. He caught wiff of your perfume and he was momentarily stunned, but resumed his composure. He leaned his shoulder on the wall, hands in his pockets casually and gazed down at you. He was waiting for your response.

“Then if you heard you should probably leave.” You said, glancing at his door that was keyed and merely across from yours.

Simon liked this: a challenge.

He shifted so his shoulder moved off from the wall and he tipped a brow at you. His hand went to his bag strap, adjusting it before saying, “Tell y’er friend I said thank you.”

Oh god. Now you knew he’d never let you live this down.

Idk for this college fic I would imagine simon being 33 & going back to college after his warpath disaster life. Its live a 360 degree shift from everything he knew.

Fighting?

No, kids just walk with books and coffees and frolic around.

He thinks they’re naive. Too at ease and not watching their back.

But that’s just his trauma talkin, and years of experience.

And I would imagine you—27 years old, just staring your life over. Making the choice to go continue university after a few years of working. Time to get that degree.

As for you—you had your own share of trauma and fear of intimacy, but nothing close to what Simon had seen. Not that it was necessary to compare.

Both of you are starting over a softer life. Trying for yourself again.

Part 4 of the college au :) enjoy! Feel free to like comment & reblog

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Just great. His voice replayed over and over in your mind. Tell y’er friend I said thank you. How you wanted to bury yourself in a pile of blankets and not come out your room. But classes continued, your human needs existed and that meant coming out briefly.

You’d seen him a few times after that throughout the week, but never said anything. He would watch you, leaning against the wall by his door, long legs shifting. He’d lean his weight onto one leg, arms crossed. His boots were worn and distressed.

Apart of you felt bad for avoiding him but you couldn’t stop your face from turning red each time you remembered the moment. You sighed, opening your door with your keys, glancing at his behind you. His door was shut.

Thank god, didn’t need to see the brute.

You sigh softly and come in, immediately hit with a blast of cold air. Of course—you caught something briefly on the news channel that a cold front was coming in as late October approached. You shuddered, hugging your bare arms close to you. You then stared at the window, approaching your desk and setting your water bottle down.

“Damn thing…” You muttered under your breath. Once again you climbed up on the old school heater, it was off. It was boxed off by wood and had slits to release heat—so standing on it was fine. You grunted, hands desperately trying to push down on the steel.

Nothing. It creaked if anything.

You groaned in frustration, pensive for a moment. You’d know you’d have to get someone to fix this.

But not your mosquito of a friend.

And that’s how you know found yourself sulking like a puppy in front of Simons door. Well, now his name was Simon. You could see the little Ghost character with his name on the door, the RA probably made that for him. A grin itched at your lip—thinking he’d seen it and left it there.

But the sulking returned once you realized you had to ask for help, so you sighed and rolled your eyes. You raised your hand to knock, hearing nothing.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” You called out.

No response.

You bit at your lip, shifting awkwardly on your feet. Maybe he was avoiding you—or maybe he wasn’t there. You decided to wrap it up, arm moving back to your side.

“What’re ya doin’?” You hear a gruff voice from behind. Hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you spun around to see the tall Brit present, moving stealthily like a ghost. You hadn’t even heard his footsteps.

Your heart rate spiked. “I-I was—“ You stammered.

Simon dragged his eyes over your form slowly, taking you in. He then tipped hair head up slightly in a “aha,” manner. His large hands fumbled for his keys, hanging off a keychain that said “Team 141,” on it. You noticed it but didn’t ask.

“I had a feelin’ you’d come crawlin’ back. Aftah’ avoidin’ me for a week.” He said, snapping you out your observation.

You moved aside when he gestured with his key, to his door, brow raised.

Almost like: You’re blocking the way, lass.

You bit the inside of your cheek and moved, crossing your arms.

“I wasn’t avoiding you…okay maybe I was. Can you blame me?” You then caved in, raising a brow at him and shoving your back to the wall. You could hear the jam of the keys as he eased it into the lock, wrist turning to open it. He then cast a sideways glance at you before resting his bag on the table, shifting. He tore his jacket off, hanging it on the hook. Underneath we wore a black button up, and his usual cargo pants.

“I don’t blame ya fer’ talkin’ bout me.” He said, lip itching to grin sarcastically.

You rolled your eyes and he found himself gazing at you, as you leaned on his doorway, shoulder leaning on the frame. Your hair traveled down. Smooth skin peaked out from under the sweater you wore.

“Figured your like Uncle Sam. You never let anyone go a day without your teasing.” You scoffed lightly, although amusement striking your eyes as you stared at him. Something in his gaze pierced you and you found yourself shifting, moving off the frame to look at your open door. A cold chill blew.

“You know my window is a piece of shit.”

“And you want me to fix it, aye? Is that wot am’ hearin’?”

Now you could hear the grin in his voice. He was practically purring like a cat at your demise. You tap your finger in irritation against your arm and released a sigh through your nose, looking at him.

“Yes. There. You heard it right. Congrats for passing your hearing test.”

Finally, after a hidden grin, he came out the room after resting his balaclava mask on the desk. He revealed his rugged fired face, eye bags under and red. Purplish even. As you gazed at him when he walked by into your room—you couldn’t help but wonder if the man slept. He looked dead. His hair was a rugged mess, as he had a low taper fade. He ought to cut it again—it was growing long, he could sense your gaze on it.

He then pushed your door open, head almost brushing the top of the door frame. Broad back tilting to sliver in. Fuck. He was tall—you thought, following after him. You barely even reached halfway at the door. Even had to tiptoe to look out the peephole.

“Ah. There she is.” He said at the window, although his eyes said otherwise. As you were behind him he took sight of your room. It was simple, some blankets piles on your bed unfolded, pillows pink. String lights hung from the ceiling, pipe to pipe. Some bobo thin scarves were used to create a little hanging nest, where your plushies rested.

“What a dungeon ya got.” He commented shamelessly, the brute man not even needing to stand on the heater to raise his arms. Muscles flexed as he pressed his hands down on the steel, immediately bringing down the window. His pants tightened around his thighs, from leaning forward, leg bumping the edge of your desk.

A huge creak was heard.

“So you were lookin’ around?” You teased, smirking behind him. You couldn’t help but also take advantage of the view as well, whilst he did too.

And the view was looking mighty damn fine.

“It just happened to be there.” He muttered, then stepped back. He left a gap in the window for air circulation, your box fan spinning loudly. He sighed and wiped his dusty hands on his pants then turned around to look at you, the light exposure behind him. His hair glowed, face shadowed giving him a rougher look.

“I’ll be seeing ya then.” He would mutter, arm brushing yours when he walked past. Again, you felt the sparks and you straightened up, turning around to face him as his back tilted again to leave. His fingers brushed your door knob.

“Get some sleep, you look dead.”

You said, which earned you a smooth baritone chuckle. The door then shut softly.

Part 5 of college!simon x reader 👀 hope ya’ll enjoy feel free to like comment and reblog to help this blog grow. Your comments mean a lot to me!

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Ever since the window incident you hadn’t seen him around as much. Your classes got so busy. You got caught up in studies—Arabic class was kicking your ass. All these letters, different conjugations on writing it in its initial, middle and last form. It was swirling in your head. You were dazed, walking late in the night from the library, a hot cocoa in one hand. You were your fluffy ear muffs, a beanie, and fluffy gloves to stay warm.

November was rearing its head—it had gotten so much colder. Thank god your window got fixed. Not that you’d admit that to him though. As you walked, you caught a shadowed hunched figure on the bench, hidden from the lamp post. His head was down, and brows furrowed. He wore a fur lined afghan jacket, black and zipped. Hands—red and stiff from the cold worked deftly holding a pencil.

Simon?

You stood for a moment, seeing the sketchbook in his lap and before you knew it—your legs carried you over. You stepped over the pathway and onto the grass.

“What are ya drawing?” You ask, foggy air blowing out your mouth.

He’s stunned and lifts his head up, mask pulled up to reveal just his chapped and swollen lips. He didn’t expect to see you at this hour of the night—and judging by the weight of your buckle bag—you’d been studying.

“You draw—I-I just happened to see you and…” Damn it. You trailed off awkwardly, hands stuffed in your dingy zip up sweater, hair blowing slightly in the cold wind. Behind, the tall towering university library stood. Illuminated with passerby’s and chatter.

He then clears his throat, shifting.

“Yea, tattoos. Ain’t it elegant, rough and pretty.” His smooth baritone voice responded, eyes flickering to his sketchbook, then you. His eyes were rid rimmed and lids dropping. You found his natural features breathtaking. The corner of his lip tilted slightly, but then faded just as quick as it came. For a second, you thought you’d seen it and gazed at his face for a moment. The wrinkles under his eyes ceased.

“I like them. You should keep up with it.” You said, knee shifting slightly to lean your weight onto one leg. He was hunched over sitting on the bench, sketchbook in his lap. Evangelion tattoos cover the page and surprise flickers in your eyes. You’d seen his canister of pencils before but this was interesting.

“She sittin’ real pretty…gonna finish er’ and make a final sketch.” He said, eyeing his artwork. Just then, a sudden thought crossed his mind as his fingers worked deftly with the pencil.

Pretty like you.

He stiffened up, fingers clenching the pencil, eyes flashing to his sketch. He then looked up at you, head tilted slightly. You didn’t seem to pick up on his movement, just sipped your hot cocoa, muffed hands holding the cup. White gloves, he observed.

“How long have you been drawing?” You asked, curious. You tipped your head down to look at him, cheeks flushed and lips parted. You sniffled a bit as the cold was getting to you.

“Eh—a while now. Jus’ have all these ideas in my mind. Ya know.” He said, although eyes discreetly looking away as if holding something in. Memories of being late night at base crossed his mind—bedside lamp lit, sketchbook in his lap. Soft snores of Johnny sounded. Nothing but endless thoughts of rage and war on his mind, yet when he picked up the pencil, it settled. Like water lulling against the shoreline.

You picked up on his subtle movement—and gazed at him, rocking slightly on your heels.

“You don’t have to be ashamed of it.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what’s on your mind?” You asked, brows knitting together. You wiped your glove under your nose, sniffling, shifting in your spot.

“You should get inside, lass.” He said bluntly, not moving from his spot. He continued to draw and you chewed at your lip, seeing how cold his fingers were. Careless man, not wearing gloves. At least something to keep himself protected. You knew he dodged your question—and you wondered what he possible could be hiding.

“You’re going to get sick.” You said.

“And if I do let me be.” He responded, eyes still staring stubbornly in his sketchbook. Fingers moved softly, in long brush strokes.

You sighed and shifted in your spot and then decided to leave your hot cocoa beside him. Lipstick marks kissed the mouth, and his head jerked up, confused and slightly surprised. He watched you, icy eyes peering up. “What d’ya think y’er doin’?”

“Leaving that for you. Fine, if you don’t drink it. Im not nasty or whatever. But its hot enough to keep your fingers from falling off.” You scoffed, then shoved your hands into your pockets, seeing his brows slightly raise.

He seemed surprised and wordless for a moment—and that made you amused. Kindness seemed to stump him. Although you felt entertained at the scene unfolding, apart of you wondered why this was odd for him. Something so simple as sharing hot cocoa on a cold night.

Maybe he lacked this kindness.

Something warm radiated in your chest and for a brief moment the amusement faded away—something softer forming in your eyes. Simon cleared his throat and then looked back down at his artwork.

“Get goin’, yeah? And don’t get me sick.” He ordered, although voice sounding lighter. Of course he had his usual bite, but you could tell something has eased up.

“Why? Afraid of a lil’ runny nose, cap?” You joked, the corner of your lip tilting up. You bounced off, boots crunching on the reddened leaves.

Cap, he repeated in his mind. Why that nickname? Even more, why the hot cocoa?

He stared at your retreating form, confused and bewildered. His brows couldn’t stop that pinching it always did—and that slight crazed look in his eyes was quite entertaining.

“Bloody lass…leaving er’ drink. Wot she think? M’ gonna’ drink this?”

Then he muttered and hands clumsily held the cup. His hands were freezing. His fingers barely registered the warmth first—and he thought it was plain cold. But when he sipped—right over where your lipstick marks were, it was hot.

“Yea, right. Hot cocoa my ass—“

He grumbled, still clutching and holding it. He hoped to god lipstick did not smear on his lips.

Maybe the night just got sweeter.

College!simon x reader masterlist 🤍

Thanks so much to everyone who read/is reading this! This was my first ever fic lol. Your feedback & comments mean a lot to me—as a writer 🥺✉️ it motivates me! Feel free to reblog & comment!

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Part 6 of college!simon x reader 🤍✉️ god the way he does anything and breathes—okay pls comment and reblog to share love 🥺

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He couldn’t sleep. The memories of your kind gesture played over and over in his mind. The way your scent lingered for just a second when you leaned in to put to next to his leg—and then how you walked off, earmuffs sitting snug.

What kinda’ sorcery was this?

Simon had to ask himself, brows furrowed. An arm was flexed, hand under his head, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling uselessly. His box fan spun loudly, sounding smooth in the dark of the night. When his eyes shifted from the ceiling, to his window, revealing the campus walkways, then his desk, there was your cup, lipstick marks slightly faded and empty.

He did drink it all.

Was it his fault the damned thing tasted so good? He didn’t even know those things tasted heavenly. Packed fulla’ sugar too. But it was fine. He trained hard and long—the sugar would be outta his system in less than a second.

When he checked his cracked phone, it was 3am. He had classes at 9am, and groaned softly. Blonde eyelashes brushed his cheek as he attempted to close his eyes, nestling in his bed. His hunky form had a hard time sleeping on it, the bed too small. Sometimes his leg would slip off in the night, or arm, hanging lazily. Blankets would fall to the floor and pillows.

Simon was a picky sleeper.

Back at base, Johnny always had been taking pictures of Simons sleeping form. He’d cackle in the morning as Simon arose, mask on, wearing all black for the briefing meeting. Making a pot of coffee—hearing Johnny’s bickering, along with Price.

“Lieutenant—this a nice sight fa’ sore eyes, aye?” Johnnys thick accent rung out like alarm bells behind Simon who remained flat faced. He sipped his black coffee.

“That one needs a swaddle—aye?”

“Shut it, not another word.” Simon said roughly at Price and Johnny who grinned silently.

Simon eventually fell asleep to the memory.

——

When he made his way out for class—somethin’ about enlightenment and Kant versus Hume—he saw your door. He shoved the key in his lock, hearing a click. His head was craned to yours—were you up?

His lip tilted in a grin for the morning as he remembered your gesture. He wasn’t sure what to make of you yet. Was he trying to make something of you? The thought shook him.

Was he attempting to get to know you?

Part of Simon wanted to reel and flee, at the idea. All he ever knew was base and team 141. It was his comfort zone. A tight knit ship at that. And you—you were like the moon beckoning the ship at night. Full of secrets.

“Huh. Best leave er’ be.” He’d mutter and walk off.

Later on, grabbing food at one of the many dining halls, Simon managed to find a seat upstairs. Not ideal, as it wasn’t close to the exit but instead by a window. He did sit angled to see the exit—as usual. He was going to lift his mask to eat the salad when a girl spoke up.

“Do you always leave that on? The mask?” When he looked up, he saw a short blondie. Cherub cheeks and big eyes.

Roughly, he set his fork down on the plate—CLANK—and sent a glare her way, muttering, “Wots’ it to ya?”

She scampered off, leaving Simon to stew for a second. Damn bloody hounds. It’s a damn mask, ensuring his privacy. What was so hard to respect about that?

And then he thought back to you. You hadn’t pressed on about the mask nor asked of his scars. It was as if you’d seen him as a person beyond it. He chewed at his salad with a glare of focus, turning his head out the window. He felt slightly guilty scaring off the poor lass, she seemed much younger than him after all.

Kids. He had to remind himself. He was much older and all age ranges existed. He forgot not everyone was a war criminal at the age of 33 and 50, scarred.

Not everyone was a war princess.

When he turned his head over, he saw a fluff of hair sticking out. Then ear muffs, trailing down to a red soft leather jacket. It was worn and faded, giving it that vintage look. There you were. Sitting back facing him, eating just a salad and off to the side—pasta.

He didn’t say anything, but just watched for a minute. He then turned back to his plate, finishing off the scraps as students poured in. As usual at this hour. His eyes shifted to glance particularly at a rugged boy, holding his backpack strap with a sleazy walk in your direction. His grip tightened on his fork.

He then heard a plate clank behind him, and a voice rang through the air, “You got that work done I asked for?”

When his eyes glanced to his rear flank, he saw the rugged boy leaned over the table, fingers splayed on the table over you.

You cut into your chicken, not sparring him a glance. “I said I’d have it done, didn’t I?”

Clearly the rugged puppet didn’t enjoy that response—because he leaned closer and his shaggy hair blew slightly, revealing narrowing eyes. You glared.

Simon knew something was wrong. He already sniffed the bullshit a mile away. He got up, smoothly, resting his fork and stood behind you, hand resting on the edge of your chair. He felt you stiffen up in confusion—turning to look at him. But he never removed his eyes from the skimpy lad.

“Simon—“ You said.

“You got a problem, boy?” Simons guarded voice rang out, and the students watched on. Some went quiet, and all he could head were subtle forks clanking—slurping. It was like tunnel vision—everyone focused on you.

The boy leaned up, swallowing and shaking. His eyes were narrowed and Simon didn’t like that one bit—so he leaned forward, hands bracing on the back of your chair, looming over you just to get a closer look to him. Almost like a silent threat.

The entire time your heart was pounding a million miles, face heating up. Attention was drawn to you and you didn’t want it. You had half a mind to run—but Simon held your chair there.

“She said she’ll ave’ the work done, yea? So off wit’ it.” Simon said, not leaving room for argument.

The boy ran off, not even bothering to pick up his plate which made Simon scoff. He then sat next to you, plate landing beside yours. He shoved away the boys plate, quite roughly at that—he wasn’t going to leave you to the wolves. Everyone went back to their food, muttering.

When you found your breath you spoke, “I had that handled, you know.”

“Did ya’?” Simon said gruffly, hunched and picking at his chicken to bite. He didn’t sound rude, just slightly amused and still ruffled from the situation.

Your brow cocked and you looked at him. You looked confused—not sure of what to think when it came to him, and his intentions.

“He looked like he was gonna bite ya.” Simon added, although he knew the boy was skin and bone. He just wanted you to understand. His head lifted to pierce his gaze into yours.

You caressed your fork for a moment, thumb stroking.

“I would’ve bit back. I got some spunk in me after all.” You scoffed and shook your head, although grinning slightly. You bit into your pasta, which was mediocre for university food.

“I’d like to see ya put em’ in its place.”

“It?”

“It. Not even a man, balls avent’ dropped yet. Damned dog just breathin’ down on women.” Simon muttered, cup raising to brush his lips.

You had to bite back a laugh at his roasts. He was right though. Damned boy clearly didn’t know his place. You ears warmed slightly under the muffs and you could’ve sworn it was from the muffs itself.

Simon finished his food and then looked at you, leaning back in his chair. Arms crossed round’ his broader chest, blue eyes not leaving you. He then remembered how the boy demanded for work to be done—not that he gave the boy his mind—“What kinda’ trouble found ya?”

“I—“ You began. You chewed before speaking., eyes shifting away, “I just get payed to do…people’s assignments.”

Simon tutted and shook his head slowly, then leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table to gaze closely at you. You could make out his pupil, blonde thick lashes curling out, the eye bags from under the mask—and wrinkles. “Out here doin’ gods work, aye?”

“Damn right. But if I’m caught that’ll end badly for me.” You scoffed, rubbing your wrist in a self soothing manner.

“You’re desperate aren’t ya?”

“I need the money—“

“Then come work with me.”

You froze. You jerked your head up at his smooth request, tongue poking at your cheek, pondering.

“Work…with you?” You then repeated.

“It ain’t a request—I’m telling ya.”

Part 7 college!simon x reader. Gahhh this is melting my stony black little heart 🥺 pls leave feedback! Always appreciated! And reblogs, likes are appreciated.

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“Work…with you?”

“It ain’t a request. I’m tellin’ ya.”

Was all that echoed in your mind as you sat in your bed. Between how he stepped in for you—defending you and now offering you a job—you were startled.

Why did he suddenly care so much?

What changed?

You wondered, eyes roaming around your room. You sipped your tea, trying to stay warm amidst the cold front outside. Simon.

He was a real piece of work.

You had to know more. You felt like there were questions you had about the job—and most importantly Simon. You got up, setting your tea aside on your desk. You threw over an oversized zip up, your hair messed up and left down. You shoved your feet in your slippers before making up way to his door—which was shut.

You knocked. You waited for a minute, then the sound of creaking, groaning, and heavy footsteps commenced. Your pulse quickened and you pinched gently at your arm to steady yourself.

Enough of that—

When Simon opened the door, his hair was a rugged mess, arm leaning up against the door frame, the other resting on the knob to hold it. His brow cocked in confusion—but then realization crossed when he saw you. “You ere’ bout the job?”

“That I am. You gonna make me stand or do I have to barge in?” You said, jokingly, although heart fluttering at the sight of him.

Simon scratched at his stubble before glancing behind him. Almost as if he were self conscious or guarding his room. Not that you were a threat, right?

As you looked at him, you had to admit this overgrown stubble look suited him. Even with the scars.

“A’right. The flat ain’t Devil Wears Prada, so don’ expect much.” Simon grumbled, although his face was flat. He moved aside, big frame against the wall as he watched you slither past. Your sweater brushed his chest and his breath caught momentarily.

He then shut the door, alone with you.

“Payback, you were once in my room.” You snickered, sensing how uncomfortable he felt with you in his personal space, standing in the middle. You tilted your head at the various records hung on his walls, posters that were falling down. Jackets hung neatly in his half open closet, shoes tucked inside. Although a pair of boots stood outside—most likely for convenience. His usual rugged distressed worker boots.

Simon felt odd watching you. It was like his heart had a mind of its own, speeding up when you tilted your head, and leaned to watch his objects. It had been a while since he had a lass up in his room. He shifted and then sat his form at the edge of his bed, torso angled to you. One leg folded inward. He then chose a topic, most likely trying to get under your skin for amusement.

“Fixin’ ya damn window. It was easy.”

“Oh. Right. Because you’re 7ft tall, and I’m 3ft tall.”

Your eyes caught onto his trash can. It was filled and you narrowed your eyes. Your cup was sitting at the edge, from the hot cocoa you’d given him.

You grinned, now you had something to wield and head butt him with.

“You still have that in your room? It’s been over a week.”

“Been busy.” His gruff tone sounded behind you. Simon was glad you weren’t looking, because now his ears and neck were flushed pink. He cursed himself inwardly.

As you roamed and checked out his desk, seeing the pens and pencils for drawing, it piqued your interest. Ink pens, charcoal, and an eraser. Little lamp to the side as you saw when you first met him. A leather jacket lay folded over the chair—“Lieutenant,” written all over. That caught your attention.

He noticed where your attention was, arms folded now, as his eyes tracked you like a hawk. The bed shifted and he tipped his head slightly.

“Easy there, wot, you tryna’ figure me out or somethin’?”

“You bothered?” You cracked a grin widely, and then perched yourself up on his desk, sitting at the edge. You crossed your arms, the light angling at shining over your form.

Simon oddly found himself itching. The more he stared at you the more it became pronounced. His fingers more-so. Itching to draw the way you sat—hair illuminated by the sun, and face partly shadowed. The curve of your lips highlighted.

He shook the feeling off and swallowed, adams apple bobbing.

“Listen, Johnny—my man owns this bar we work at. Mollys. I can talk to him and get ya assigned.”

You perked up, head downed previously to look at your lap in thought—now at him. “Do tell. I need the hours.”

“Campus jobs aren’t much, so. You’re better off here.” Simon shook his head and rubbed calloused fingers over his lids.

“Didn’t know you were a Lieutenant.” You spoke, voice calmer and hushed now. Simon raised his head up to glance at the jacket, then you. He shifted in his spot, then stood up. The bed bounced.

You watched as he approached his jacket and then grabbed at the thick material, hanging it up in the closet.

For a second your heart pounded—had you said something wrong? Your gaze faltered.

“I was. Till’ I joined ere’.” He then said, to which your nerves eased slightly.

You watched, lip catching between your teeth.

“Why the sudden change?”

“You’re askin’ a lotta questions, bonnie.” Simon said, unable to help the nickname now. You sat straighter and sensed his defensiveness, although it was not as sharp as it used to be.

Even the nickname had you gripped—surely something was changing.

“You don’t have to answer. But that would make you a stranger to me, still.” You said, slowly.

He shut his closet door and faced you, arms crossing. He tilted his head and glanced away in thought for a moment—then eyed you.

“Did you not want us to be strangers anymore?”

And all of a sudden the room felt hot. Intense. Your breath caught, throat squeezing slightly. His piercing gaze did nothing to calm you. You shifted on his desk and your thumb sought to soothe you—rubbing the inside of your pocket. You eyes found his—lips parting to speak.

“Just—friends…?” You awkwardly say. You glance at him and then around the room, needing anything to take the edge off.

“Just friends.” He repeated, as if testing the weight of the word on his tongue. He flexed his neck, before moving closer to you.

Your breath caught—and you froze. He sensed it, but didn’t say anything as both arms pinned you temporarily. Long fingers grabbed at a pen from behind you, and a notepad.

No way. He had to be doing this on purpose, you thought. Your eyes stared deeply into his, knees brushing his waist. Your heart was pounding.

“I need y’er number.” His voice was hushed, like a murmur.

“What for?”

“For Johnny. Don’t ya want the job?” He said it so casually.

You nearly facepalmed and Simon leaned away, waist at the desk, no longer caging you. You still shuddered from his proximity, and bit your lip. His body warmth originally extended to you—but with him gone, it was cold.

Like November.

As you told him your number, you slipped up halfway.

“Not 5–I mean 9.” Probably due to your nerves.

“Slippin’ up, aye?” He couldn’t help the small grin that pulled at his lips.

“Get on with it, otherwise I’ll find another job.” You half joked, half threatened. It was empty.

Simon lips curled up even more, revealing teeth. Wolfish. His eyes crinkled under as he gazed at you.

“Nah, you’ll be a’right at this one.”

He then took your number.

——

That night as Simon went to sleep, he couldn’t stop replaying your figure perched up on the desk, hair illuminated softly by oranges and yellows of the sun, the way your lipstick hugged your lips. The way your sweater fell—

Enough. Damn it, Lieutenant. He thought to himself. He needed to do something. Anything.

Once again, 3am. He got up, stiff muscles straining and he grunted. He padded to his desk, pulled out his sketchbook with a sigh and slapped it down. He turned on his lamp, sat down, and began sketching.

By the time he was done, his charcoal rendered a soft, messy elegant figure of yours. Despite that lip you gave sometimes. The most pronounced feature being your eyes: the one thing he found striking.

“Fuckin’ hell…now she’s hauntin’ my mind.” Simons gravelly voice said, as fingers pressed and dragged down his face wearily. He slumped back in his chair, long legs protruding.

And now, she’d be at his job too. He grunted softly, arm moving down to the armrest. Fingers tapped the side in thought, pensive.

“Campus jobs aren’t much, so. You’re better off here.” He remembered his own words.

“Didn’t want her workin’ a damn illegal side hustle…” Simon muttered to himself, getting up. He switched his lamp off, and found himself getting comfortable in bed.

At least, he tried to.