shy morning kisses simon riley
you watched simon sleep soundly. he lips were parted just barely as he took shallow breaths. his face was relaxed, unlike the cold expression he normally wore. he looked peaceful and safe.
you couldn't help but lean in for a small peck on his lips. simon always got embarrassed when you'd press kisses on his lips. he was a shy boy on the inside.
as your lips met his, his eyes opened. you forgot he was still alert even if he was sleeping. he pulled away quickly, cheeks turning bright pink.
"y-you shouldn't do that!" he whined softly, looking anywhere but you.
"oh shush, nobody's here." you scooted closer to tease him. he pulled away and glared at you. you just laughed and pulled him closer.
simon was a big man who could easily overpower you but instead he turned to mush when he was with you. he let you pull him closer and give him a soft kiss.
its was a chaste kiss. just a simple morning kiss you gave him every morning, but to simon, it was like the air he needed to breathe. he wouldn't admit that to you but kisses like those meant more than anyone could imagine.
Suggestive :P , feminine!reader
The boys. Reallly like that lower part of your stomach that sticks out in bodycon dresses. Like. A lot.
You normally don’t wear them because you’ve been conditioned to believe only a certain body type can, but the boys have spent a long time helping you heal your perception of yourself, so you finally feel confident enough to try.
When you walk out in the skin tight dress, feeling pretty for once and they all groan loudly, covering their faces and turning away, you get nervous very quickly. Do…do they not like it?
You kind of curl into yourself, bringing your arms up to wrap around your stomach.
“You tryin’ to kill us or somethin’, hen?” Johnny speaks first, “cannae just do that to a man without warning, now me pants are uncomfortable…”
You’re still locked in your perception that they don’t like the dress, so you’re confused trying to figure out what he meant by that.
“Jesus, love, why the hell haven’t we seen this dress before? You been holdin’ out on us?” Kyle is bold enough to approach, gently taking your arms away from yourself to hold your hands and continue admiring your body.
Price drags his hand down his face, peeking through his fingers before groaning and turning away again, “sweetheart, I dunno if you can wear that.” Your heart sinks again before he continues, “I’m afraid it’ll be on the floor before we get to the restaurant.”
Simon comes from behind, wrapping his arms around your stomach and caressing it appreciatively. He leans down to whisper in your ear, letting you feel his warm breath on your neck, “‘s dangerous, pretty. Gonna make me do thing that aren’t appropriate for the public.”
Your face is hot. Oh…so they like the dress.
It was 11:47 PM. You were both in bed, getting ready to sleep. You faced the wall, giving Simon your back. He noticed it. He noticed how quiet you were, how you did not ask him for kisses like you did every night, how you didn’t nag him to spoon you until you both fell asleep.
The room was dim and painfully quiet this night. Simon was used to silence, but never when it came to you. After a moment, he finally spoke.
“Hey… is something wrong?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah…” you answered softly, your voice weak and sad.
Simon sighed. Minutes passed in silence before he slowly moved closer, his hand finding your waist, gently pulled you toward him.
“Talk to me, baby.” he said quietly, almost pleading.
“It’s just…” you sighed. “When you came back from work today, you saw me, but you did not kiss me. You did not even hug me like you usually do. You just said ‘I’m home’ and headed to the shower. It made me feel like… I wasn’t there.”
Simon replayed the day in his head and he realized how distant he must have seemed. He had been so lost in his own thoughts that he forgot the small things that meant everything to you.
“Oh baby… come here,” he whispered.
He pulled you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly, like he was trying to make up for every second he missed. His voice softened as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, murmuring apologies between gentle touches.
“I had a really long day, and I was exhausted. My mind was everywhere,” he admitted. “But I never meant to make you feel ignored. It will not happen again, I promise.”
A small smile tugged at your lips as you relaxed into his hold, accepting his apology as you cuddled closer. Simon held you tighter, relief and love filling his heart as the room finally felt.. warm again.
When John and his wife decided to get married, he didnt have the rank or the money that he had now. He was a private, making shit pay and she worked at a little book store raking in just enough to cover the bus fee it took her to get there.
So when it was time to get her a dress, they both knew that the bridal shops were not an option. But he still took her, watched her face with each one that she put on. Each one they couldn't afford. And then they got to a certain dress.
She stepped out and John's jaw dropped, she looked stunning. He watched her face split into a beautiful smile when she saw herself. Something that looked like the sun after a tornado, or the smoke clearing after a firefight. It made his stomach do something funny.
"This is made by a local designer." The sales lady says as she tugs at the silk and fixes the veil they've put on her head. "£1,200.00 is what we're asking. Which is really a steal for a piece like this." He watched her face fall and he knew he had to get the money.
"I'll get the dress." He promises her when they get back into the car. She looks over with a soft, almost broken look.
"No, it's okay." She insists with a smile, but it doesnt quite reach her eyes like when she had on the dress. "I can get one from the thrift." God, she was so sweet, too sweet sometimes for her own good.
John works his ass into the dirt, taking risky missions and working long hours. Most days he didnt even see her unless it was when he was crawling into bed and she's already asleep. Every long night, every bruise, scrape and scar put him closer to that fucking dress and that smile.
---
"Is is a puppy?" She asked when he handed her the flat white box.
"If it's been ran over."
"Fair point." She murmurs as she lifts the lid and stares at the dress neatly tucked away in it. He can see it, the shock, the almost guilt realizing why he's been away so much. Her throat bobs as tears swell in her lash line and he immediately wraps his arms around her smushing the dress between them.
"Why are you crying, lovie?" He murmurs into the crown of her hair as he rubs at her back feeling the shudders in her shoulders. It takes her a minute to answer.
"You took all those extra hours for me. Got shot at for me. I feel like I don't deserve it." She blubbers into his chest. He tuts softly against her hair.
"Getting shot at is my job." He whispers low and soft "And you have never looked more beautiful than you did in that dress, how could I not get it for you?
"But John-" She insists
"Don't but John me, I'd steal the fucking Mona Lisa if you asked me too." He chuckles softly "Now go try it on." He pushes her away gently with a swat at her ass.
big dick price 18+
authors note: jesus christ i have been thinking about this nonstop and y’know.
imagining price has a huge cock. we all know he’s packing something huge but oh my god he’s hung like a horse. it’s so big and it hurts — hurts everyone he’s been with before. sex for him has always been about pleasing the other person anyway, he can’t bear to hear his partners in pain. it’s such a big. cock. he’s content to just lap at his first wife’s pussy, and finger his second wife with his big thick fingers. but he’s been divorced twice, his first wife sick of how long he was deployed for and his second, sick of him apologising all the time.
now he’s with you, all pretty and breathless on the bed, hair splayed out, face red. he’s lapping at your pussy, murmuring sweet nothings and he makes you come so easily. you look at him all flushed under his beard and your hands move to his zipper, to the obvious bulge straining against his cargos. but he’s sort of just blushes and looks away — “nah love i can handle that myself.”
you frown, and then he sighs, unzipping his trousers and pulling down the waistband so that his cock springs up, tip angry, red and leaking as it slaps against his navel. it’s fucking huge.
“john price,” you swallow, “you were hiding that the entire time?”
he blushes, red, embarrassed, “i’m sorry, it’s — look i’ll just jerk off in the bathroom or something, sorry it’s too fucking big.”
“hey!” you bite your lip, “wh-when did i say that.” your next words are shaky, “c’mon, i’m sure it’ll fit, think i’m wet enough, but do you wanna check one more time.”
“Do not wear anything pretty,” Gaz insists.
“What? Why?” It’s not like you were planning on it. You have a pair of jeans wedged under your arm, and you’re currently searching through your shirts for something medium-cute.
Your boyfriend sighs on the other end of the line. “Wear a hoodie. Maybe one of mine, with the hood up.”
“What the fuck, Kyle? Are you embarrassed of me?”
“No, I… I just think it’s for the best.”
You frown, moving your phone closer to your ear so you can hear every change in his voice. “What are you afraid of?”
“Nothin. Just wear the hoodie. Please, sweetheart.”
Fine.
You show up on base later in a stupid hoodie with the stupid hood up, bringing Kyle his stupid passkey that he stupidly forgot to grab this morning. He’s waiting for you at the front desk, so you don’t even have to check in.
You get a quick kiss and a fervent, “Thanks, really,” from your boyfriend, and then just as you’re opening your mouth to demand an explanation—
“AHH! Ahh! I fookin knew it!”
Some asshole with a mohawk is suddenly striding up to you, arms outstretched and beaming as if it’s Christmas morning.
“Christ, Soap,” Kyle groans, putting himself slightly between you and the oncoming threat, “will you just—“
“Ghost!” the man calls over his shoulder, undeterred. “Get your arse over here, Gaz finally brought that ‘friend’ to meet us!”
Kyle pulls you into his side, whispering, “I am so sorry.”
“The one from the photo?” rumbles a new voice. “Ahh, yeah, it is.”
Turns out he’s been hiding your existence from his coworkers all this time, but that didn’t stop them from glimpsing his phone background one day when he wasn’t paying attention. They’d been hounding him ever since.
retired!price + pregnant f!reader.
retired price, his pension steady, his beard a little grayer and shoulders still thick enough to throw a shadow over you. the years didn’t soften him much, they just settled into him and made him heavier in the best way, the kind of weight you lean on. the kind of weight that pins you to a mattress when he wants you quiet.
and you?
barefoot because he hates hearing your steps on the hardwood. he always says you should take it slow, to watch your balance.
jobless because he insisted, grumbling about “the strain” and “the stress” until you gave in.
pregnant because he couldn’t keep his hands off you once he finally got his damn cabin in the woods.
he builds the nursery by hand. no store-bought crib, no mass-produced nonsense. he sands every panel, and measures every rail twice.
“kid’s not even here and i’m already losing sleep,” he grumbles, but when he sees you in the doorway, one hand resting on your belly, he softens in that price way, barely noticeable unless you know him like you do.
“c'mere, love.” always that low voice. always with the same quiet urgency. he pulls you against him, big rough palm sliding over your bump, thumb stroking slow circles like he’s grounding himself.
you feel him breathe you in. you feel him relax. you feel him claim.
and when he takes you out to the porch at sunset, settling his hand over your belly again, thumb brushing lazily, as he murmurs into your hair, “never thought i’d have this. never thought i’d want it so damn bad.”
simon riley never cums easily.
he doesn't. he swears.
but fuck, when you are looking at him from the top as you ride him after three rounds?
"mngh..." just a little needy noise as he grabs your hips and make you move back and forth, hissing with his eyes fluttering shut to make you impossible closer. "need ya'— luv, just— oh, yes, yes, yes—!"
he can't help it. the shock in his spine as he arched his back like he was electrified in the bed, cumming deep inside you because you never like when he wears a condom and practically pumping you full.
as he pants and drive his fingers to find your clit, he knows he has to be on top again or he's gonna overstimulate before round five.
141 had claimed Simon’s living room ever since he bought the place.
It started innocently enough, with a “quick drink after training,” as Price said, which, of course, turned into pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table, half a case of beer gone, Gaz talking too loud, Soap laughing too hard, and you curled up in the corner of Simon’s couch with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.
It wasn’t even that late, but the exhaustion from the week was settling into your bones.
It was a good night, but as the minutes passed, you started noticing this slow chill setting into your bones. Your fingers were getting colder, your toes were basically numb, and you had to tuck your hands inside the sleeves of your shirt just to feel like you could function.
You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself, but it was practically useless, more aesthetic than practical, and definitely something Simon had bought thinking, yeah, that looks fine, without once considering whether it could actually warm a person. The man was immune to the concept of “cold,” so of course he thought it was enough.
He noticed before you could pretend hard enough that everything was fine.
Of course he did. Simon had this almost irritatingly perceptive thing going for him, where he’d pick up on the way your shoulders twitched or how you curled your fingers or the fact that you were hugging yourself a little bit too tightly.
He didn’t comment as he quietly stood up and walked down the hall, and when he came back, he had a hoodie in his hand.
One of his hoodies.
Hii, I love the foxy series, can we have more bonding moments between Simon and foxy?
i've had so many asks for foxy and simon so i'm lumping a lot of them together
simon wasn't exactly clingy. attached after the incident in the stream, but not clingy.
like, you wriggled out of his arms in the middle of the night just to go to the loo. you didn't expect for him to hold you so tight, not when you were the one clinging onto him like a joey.
you disappeared down the hall, into the little bathroom john had installed under the stairs when he first moved into the property. you were a few minutes at most, washed your hands and headed back to a sleeping simon.
except, he wasn't sleeping. he was wide awake, staring at you as you walked back into the room. "you okay?" he asked, reaching for you when you stepped closer.
his touch was grounding, comforting. you didn't mean for your grin to be so sly, but you were a fox, after all. he squeezed your hips in his massive hands and pulled you close.
"just needed a piss," you mumbled and climbed into his lap.
there was something different to early morning simon. something softer before the sun rose. he didn't flinch away when your traced your fingers over his scars, didn't growl as he nipped at your fingers.
soft. sweet. a side of him that you knew would disappear in the morning light.
his hand slipped around your back. just to hold you there, his fingers brushing over the base of your tail. that had you flinching slightly, a quiet hiss leaving your lips.
on his own lips was a smile. small and gentle. not that of the farm dog that chased of wolves to protect the flock of sheep. this was just a man. a man with different biology, that wanted to love you.
simon didn't stop you when you kissed him. you held his cheeks, put your lips on his. his blonde ears were on a swivel, the only part of him not concentrated on you when you kissed him. listening out for any sounds, anything that could shatter this moment and bring you back to before.
but nothing interrupted you as you pulled away from him and rested your forehead against his own. "you haven't growled at me," you whispered, pushing your hands through his hair.
"do you want me to, foxy?"
foxy. the nickname sent a shiver down your spine. conjured up images of his hand on your back, tugging on your tail as he pounded into you. delicious images you wanted to hold onto before they floated away.
you let your head fall onto his shoulder, tracing over the scar on his lip. "maybe i like it when you growl at me."
he curled his lip up and growled. a low growl, something any other hybrid would have taken was warning. but you? you were a little bit wild, touching his pointed teeth when they were exposed. he nipped at your fingers again. you giggled as you pulled away.
"come back to sleep," simon mumbled, laying down with you still on top of him. it was a delicious image, you sat over his hips as he laid flat, like you were about to rock and gyrate your hips, about to hear every delicious moan he tried to hold back.
but you laid beside him, settled back down like you had done before you got up for the loo. he was asleep before you were, his grip protective and tight. you could get used to this.
okay but imagine foxy cuddling with one of the boys, all nice and warm. But the scandal the chosen one has to go to the bathroom. Maybe Foxy demand they bring her to someone else or try and get them to get them to stay.
18+, smut
kyle was your favourite to cuddle with. because he really did cuddle. he didn't rut against your hip, desperate to sink his cock until you unless you wanted it, too.
arms pulling you close, big warm hands spanning across your back. he didn't care about the blanket covering himself, as long as you were warm and content.
with kyle, his lips peppering kisses across your face as the fire crackled behind you, you were.
but he was still a working dog hybrid, still had a job to do. no matter how tight you hold him, he left when john called. not exactly leaving you cold, but you still whined like a pathetic pup.
"aye, hen," johnny mumbled as he approached you, sitting by the fire.
you rolled away from him with a pathetic whine. "no, johnny," you mumbled, pulling the blanket up over your face. "i don't wanna cuddle you."
he pulled the blanket down to see your face. "dinnae need t' be like tha'," he replied, scratching the base of your ear. "i'll keep y company until gaz gets back."
you searched his face carefully before lifting your blanket. like a dog with a bone, johnny dove in. he climbed beneath the blanket, pulled it over both of you, and pulled you close.
he pulled your ass against his crotch. surprise surprise. his fingers danced under your loose shirt, over your ribcage. "could do somethin' while we wait," he whispered.
you turned in his arms to face him. "you're a horny mutt," you said, matter of factly. johnny just looked at you with pride. you were right. he is a horny mutt. and he's proud of it.
you gripped his cock with his sweats. "surprised simon hasn't fucked it out of you yet," you mumbled, stroking him lazily. you kissed his jaw, immediately taking all of the power from him. who were you kidding, johnny gave it over willingly.
"if you can wait for kyle to get back, i'll give you a treat."
johnny nodded eagerly. he was still for you, resisting bucking his hips against your hand. it was hardwired into his brain like a dog, the promise of a treat making him behave. you wondered if simon was the same, or if he'd snap at you and walk off. you'd have to try it at some point.
johnny behaved himself. even when kyle came back, he was being good. you told him that, gave him all the praise he needed.
"he's been a good boy," you told kyle when he came back into the room. "deserves a treat."
that was how you ended up sitting on johnny's face. kyle had johnny's knees pushed to his chest as he pumped his cock into him. he grunted and reached for you, pulling you in for a kiss as you writhed on johnny's tongue.
if this was what happened when you let one of them stopped cuddling? you could get used to this.
He stood there in the mirror, pulling at his waistline. He'd look, then turn, silently staring at his stomach before turning again, trying to suck it in this time.
Simon had been worried something like this would happen.
"Si, where are you baby?" He heard his wife call, hearing her feet padding down the hallway.
He scrambled to pull his shirt back on over his head, wedging it on and around his shoulders, only able to get it halfway before Y/N pushed open the door to their bedroom.
"There you are." She hummed, walking over to him.
Thinking about ghost doing the running after you trend on tiktok. He doesn't understand the point, but he rarely needs logic when it comes to you; if you want it, you get it, whether it makes sense or not.
"This is stupid," he mutters as he warms up. You're watching him, smiling so wide it'll split your face in half. He could feel the excitement in the way you buzz around him, barely able to stand still.
"Warm up, luv, or I'm not doing it." That's his only condition.
You do a piss poor job at warming up, but he figures there's no need to be on your ass about it since you're not going to be running for long.
As per the rules of this trend, he gives you a ten seconds headstart, stretches it to fifteen, then twenty seconds because he adjusts his mask before taking off after you.
It doesn't take him long to catch up to you. And he'd hate to admit it, but this does something to him. Not the faux fear, not the chase. It's exactly that, he figures. The faux fear. Not real fear. Just pure excitement and joy on your face when you glance over your shoulder and see that he's hot on your tail, loud giggles spilling from your lips.
God, he's so in love with you, and you're so pretty, and so his. His heart clenches in his chest, the hint of a smile curving his lips.
When he catches you, he easily grips your waist and lifts you up in the air. You squeal, giggling the whole time. And Simon thinks he died a long time ago, because this is what being in heaven sounds and feels like.
The clip goes viral. He's a military man in a shirt that hugs his biceps to death, half of his face hidden behind a surgical mask, towering over you like a guard dog, glaring at the camera. Of course it goes viral.
✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ
a/n: a fun little idea I thought about and quickly wrote. turned sentimental near the end but that was out of my hands lol
SUPPORT THE AUTHOR? (If you can/want to)
You’re a chronic under-dresser. Maybe it’s pride or forgetfulness, but whenever the weather starts to turn, you kind of just…ignore it.
Which has put you in more than a few unideal situations. Like standing in a full blizzard in a shirt or being in negative temperatures with no gloves. So your team has started to accommodate for you in an effort to not lose you to frostbite.
So when you’re about to step out into a foot of snow with no coat, Kyle sounds the alarm.
“Wait!” He flails off the couch, grabbing a small bundle of fabric from the top of the coat rack and lunging for you, “We have a code blue!”
“Code blue? What the he—“
You’re cut off as Kyle smushes the fabric over your head. In his eagerness, he goes too far and it’s pulled over your eyes completely.
“Kyle!” You try to ignore the spice of his scent coming from what you now know to be his beanie.
“Help is on the wee, dear!” Before you can drag the beanie off of your eyes, Johnny is on you wrapping a scarf around your neck.
You jut your arm out in panic, being blind and all.
“Ah! Me eye!”
You cringe, “…sorry, Johnny.”
But hey, it’s honestly fitting you hit his eye. Good payback. And now you’re smelling the fresh citrusy scent of Johnny which is not helping.
You go to fix the beanie again, until a strong hand grabs your wrist to straighten your arm, “ah, ah, ah, not yet, sweetheart. Need a coat.” John’s sandalwood and smoke now.
“Is this all really necessary,” you come out a little muffled through the scarf.
“We like ye with all yer digits, birdie.”
You’ve given up on fixing the hat, so you just keep your arms extended, waiting for the last person you know is coming.
A light touch finds your hand, caressing up to your wrists before sliding on some gloves that are far too big for you.
“All done, love.”
You finally reach up to fix the beanie, bringing Simon’s warm amber to your nose. Finally you can see again, only to find you’re swamped in their winter clothes.
“I look like a marshmallow.” You say unamused, trying to ignore the fuzzy feeling being surrounded by their scents is making.
“A warm one.” They all smile back.
You roll your eyes like you hate it. But you don’t.
The following contains elements of icky! musk, monsterfucking (werewolf), asphyixation, dub con, and other sexual content.
Imagine boyfriend!werewolf Simon, who's obsessed with the smell of you. He'll come home just to find you and bury his nose into your hair. Or the occasion you join him for a run, the moment your home he's dragging you to the bedroom, laying on top of you and smothering himself in your scent.
Which gives him the bright idea that you also must also be obsessed with his scent. The idea came to him when he caught you sniffing at one of his shirts, as you were gathering laundry. Which only lead to Simon feeling selfish. He's been fulfilling his need to smell you, but been neglecting your need to smell him.
It never occurred to the wolf that you were just checking to see if the shirt was clean or not.
Leading to Simon to start making sure you get your fill of his scent. The first time, Simon practically tackled onto the bed before your face nose was pressed into the crevice of his inner thigh, his balls resting against your face. The inner crevice held the strongest scent gland, and Simon just knew he had been depriving you for so long that you need the bare contact.
He felt even worse when he heard the muffled dry heaving. Had he been depriving his mate so long you were getting overwhelmed by his scent? A scent that was three days no shower with sweating from training.
He keeps you there, until he felt your body relax under him. Which trigger his instincts to say that you were satisfied. As he got up, he watched you gasp for air from being suffocated by his thighs, not that Simon realized.
A few times you've been relaxing, you'd feel Simon start humping your thigh. At first you didn't pay much time, as Simon usually came to hump you when he got overwhelmed. It was a wolf instinct. It wasn't until it felt like someone spilled liquid.
Which made your eyes snap to the source to see Simon relieving himself on you, the warm yellow liquid soaking your leg through your pants. But you couldn't scold him when you saw that satisfied glint in his eyes. You didn’t question it, you learned to stop questioning his instincts.
Even more so, Simon has been jacking off a lot more recently, and seemingly always having an excuse when he comes to find you, before he cums on your face, your hand, your chest, even a few times he pushed your pants and underwear down to cum inside your underwear. Before he'd go about his day like it was normale.
The worst part was when he'd come back after training, soaked in sweat. He'd bend you whatever surface, and as he fucked into you, hed keep your face held in his armpit. Even with all the sweat. Sometimes he'd cover your mouth and face with his boxers or t shirt, until he'd see you're eyes fluttering and rolling back, but never long enough to have you pass out on him.
Pt. 1 | Pt. 2
simon walks in one day and hands you a packet of body markers without saying a word. he knows you know what they’re for, saw you watching a video on your phone of another girl colouring in her boyfriends tattoos, and thought it would be a nice surprise. he sinks down on the sofa beside you, pulls his arm out of his hoodie and rolls it into your lap. “‘av at it, luv.” he says. he doesn’t care about what colours you choose or if he appears ‘girly’, all he cares about is that his girl is having fun and seeing the way your eyes light up as you slowly begin to fill in his entirely black inked sleeve with an array of colour warms his heart. he wants to poke fun at the way your tongue sticks out a tiny bit as you concentrate but he doesn’t - he thinks it’s adorable. and once you’re done, it only calls for a shower, which he always brings you along with him.
