Subtle Things Simon ‘ghost’ Riley Does For You

To me, Simon has the dumbest hair 90% of the time because he just buzzes it himself (I cannot believe that man pays money to one, do something he could theoretically do himself, and two, spend time with a stranger). The other 10% it's good -- when he first cuts it, an eighth of an inch of pale fuzz left behind, and when it just starts growing out, that's fine. But a lot of the time, especially when he's at home, he just lets it go.

And you, his next door neighbor, will never not give him shit about it.

"You look so goofy," you tell him when you see him in the hallway, one arm holding your groceries and the other fiddling with your keys. "Just cut it, Jesus Christ."

He rolls his eyes or tells you to fuck off, because you've known each other long enough for that kind of thing. He's lived in the building for years, never having seen a reason to leave, and you've been there for a few yourself. You're friends in the way that you may not call or text or schedule time to hang out, but you can scarcely think of anyone you see more often.

"Seriously," you go on, unlocking your door and speaking louder so he can hear you when you go inside. "It's just like two inches sticking straight off your head, why are you walking around like that?"

"Doesn't bother me," Simon answers, moving to lean against your doorframe and watch you as you put up your things. "Seems to bother you an awful lot though."

Your back is to him while you move around your kitchen, but you can tell he's smirking, and you scoff.

"Yeah, it bothers me. You get a face like that and you go and screw it up with the dumbest excuse for a haircut I've ever seen."

It's not the first time you've flirted with him, or even the most direct time, but it still gives him pause. He doesn't wear his mask when he's not working, most of the time anyway, because he thinks it draws too much attention and he'd prefer to just slip into the shadows wherever he goes. But you seeing him, and you letting him know that you like what you see, it does something to him, every time.

"You cut it then," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're the one so torn up about it, you fix it."

You snort, finally turning back to him, saying, "I'm not a barber, stupid."

"No, you sure seem like a coward though."

A few minutes later, you're both in Simon's bathroom. He's got his shirt off, straddling the toilet so you can reach his head, and you're behind him with clippers in your hand, looking down at him. You've never seen this much of him, never even seen the place where his tattoos stop on his arm, and it's a lot to take in.

You want to take your time, commit every scar, every freckle to memory, but he turns his head, smirking again.

"Told you you were a coward."

Without a word, you turn on the clippers and get to work.

It's not hard, it's just a buzzcut. The hard part is in touching his ears, gently pushing the lobes down to trim around them. It's in sneaking glances over his shoulder to watch his chest as it rises and falls while you work. In trying not to notice the tiniest little hitch in his breath when you lean in closer and rest your hand on his back while you get the hairs on the back of his neck.

The worst part though, is the beauty mark that sits perfectly in the place where his neck meets his shoulder. Specifically, the worst part is the strong, almost uncontrollable urge to bite it.

When you're done, you turn off the clippers and set them on his bathroom counter, then dust off his shoulders for him. Just before he stands, you can't deny yourself any longer -- you won't be able to reach it when he's not sitting so perfectly like this -- and give a quick, soft kiss to the mark.

During all the time you've known Simon, he's barely responded to your flirting. To you, he doesn't seem interested, and to him, you don't seem serious. But a kiss, faint as it may have been, is different, and before you can register it, he's on his feet, turned and standing over you.

"Hair looks better," you say softly.

He grunts in response, and before you know it, his mouth is covering yours, hot and insistent. It's a heady feeling, having him so close, and before you can get used to it, his hands are on you, first on your waist, then on your hips, then on the backs of your thighs as he lifts you up and holds you against him.

He maneuvers you both out of the bathroom and towards his bedroom, where he unceremoniously tosses you on his bed. You look up at him, letting your eyes trail freely over his body now, going down when you see him place his hands on his belt.

"Not so mouthy now, are you?"

simon didn't want to go out often, but when he did he was the most possessive simon you've ever seen. never ever for a second left his hands off your body, always there, always touching somewhere.

he loved those little dresses you chose, they drove him crazy and you knew that. but he hated the attention that came along with them. from the eyes of other men. his jaw always tight, his eyes torn between your body and the gazes from other men. but your body always ended getting most of it, of course.

when you finally chose a place to eat, because he was always a gentleman and let you choose, he would always pull your hips and make you sit on his thighs. his hands never leaving your legs, or your waist, or up and down your arm.

you always blushed, very aware of the looks of people surrounding you shoot at you both. simon didn't give a flying fuck, though, you knew that. he always buried his face on your neck, inhaling your scent while you squirm, trying to choose something from the menu. accidentally grinding on his hardening cock, trying to put a little distance since you understood he'd never let you take another chair for yourself.

simon would grip your waist and legs harder, hissing under his breath at the graze of your barely covered ass on his crotch.

"bahave, lov', or i may take you 'ight here on this table", simon would whisper against your neck, soft biting your skin in a warning.

your cheeks would turn red, but that wouldn't mean you'd stop.

simon reciting his vows between your thighs. i had to write this, i'm not sorry guys. i mentioned it briefly here. enjoy! MDNI, SMUT

simon kneels between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips possessively. his eyes glimmer with mischief as he leans in, teasingly brushing his lips against your skin, igniting a fire within you.

“I kneel before you not just as your husband by arrangement, but as a man who can’t help but be mesmerized by everything you are,” he begins, his voice barely a whisper. his warm breath sends shivers racing along your body, heightening your desire as he places soft kisses along your inner thighs.

“I vow to cherish every moment we share, to honor the bond we’ve created, even if it started as part of a mission,” he continues, tracing his tongue over your skin, the sensation making your breath hitch in your throat. he glances up at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“I promise to be your shield, love, to guard you against any harm that might come your way, even if that means stepping into the line of fire—figuratively and literally,” he says, interrupting his speech with a teasing lick, his mouth just barely grazing your most sensitive spots.

“and I vow to always listen to your needs,” he adds, his tone playful. “even when you insist you want to sleep in separate rooms.” simon smirks, his lips brushing against your thighs as he leans in closer, teasing you with tantalizing kisses that leave you gasping for more.

“I’ll support your dreams, no matter how wild they may seem,” he murmurs, trailing soft kisses up your inner thigh. “whether it’s cooking that meal you love or taking on the world together, I’ll be right by your side.” his breath is hot against your skin, each word wrapped in a promise.

“and I vow to always make you laugh, to chase away your worries, and to be the man who brings a smile to your face at the end of every day,” he vows, his mouth moving closer, teasing you with his warmth as he licks a slow stripe down your thigh, drawing a soft gasp from your lips.

“and when the night falls, I’ll remind you that you’re not alone,” he whispers, his tongue flicking against your most sensitive spot, the sensation sending shockwaves through you. “I’ll hold you close because that’s where you belong—right here with me.”

his gaze locks onto yours, determination shining through. “you’re not just my wife by necessity; you’re my partner in every sense of the word. I may not have chosen this path willingly at first, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything now.”

with that, he leans in, his mouth capturing your most intimate parts, devouring you completely, his tongue working expertly to drive you wild with pleasure. every lick and kiss sends you spiraling deeper into ecstasy.

you lose yourself in the sensations, every teasing kiss and hungry lick pulling you closer to the edge, and as he continues to worship you, the world around you fades away. all that matters is simon, his devotion to you, and the bliss he brings.

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

s(creaming)

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving

also! trying to change who you are in the pursuit of romantic love will never work long term because you cannot deny your own existence forever.

it’s late when he gets in, the flat dimly lit, the smell of something warm still lingering in the air. ghost kicks off his boots, rolling his shoulders, aching from the weight of the day. but when he sees you waiting for him—curled up in one of his jumpers, blinking at him all soft and sleepy from the couch—his chest does that thing again, that tight little squeeze that reminds him he’s home.

“you waited up,” he murmurs, voice lower now, rougher from exhaustion as he steps toward you.

you shrug, stretching a little, letting his jumper slide off your shoulder just enough to make his hands twitch. “had to make sure you ate.”

his gaze flickers to the coffee table where a plate sits, covered, waiting for him. he huffs, shaking his head, but there’s no real bite to it. “yer too good to me, love.”

“well you deserve it.”

that gets him. it always does. because deep down, there’s still a part of him that don’t quite believe that. but you do, and fuck, if he won’t let himself have that—have you.

you tug him down onto the couch, settling onto his lap with practiced ease, pressing the plate into his hands. “c’mon, si. eat please.”

he grumbles, halfhearted, but doesn’t argue. not when you’re so warm against him, not when your fingers brush over his jaw as you lift a bite to his lips. he pulls his mask up just enough, lets you feed him, eyes fluttering shut as he hums at the taste.

you watch him with that sweet little smile that turns him to mush.

“perfect,” he mutters, voice thick, arms tightening around you. “just like you.”

the match on telly plays in the background, but he doesn’t really watch it, too busy savoring the way you feel against him, the way you fuss over him, the way your free hand smooths over his chest absentmindedly.

and by the time he’s done, you’re barely keeping your eyes open, soft and warm against him. he shifts himself slightly, pressing his face into your neck, inhaling slow.

“y’fallin’ asleep on me, sweetheart?”

you hum softly in response, burrowing closer, and his lips twitch at the feeling.

“go on then,” he mutters, pulling the blanket over both of you. “i gotcha.”

and he does. he always does.

husband!simon riley follows you around like a lost dog 24/7.

whether it be in the comfort of your own home, or out in public, the man is basically your shadow. like a moth to a flame, he is the moth and you're his flame.

it doesn't matter where you saunter off to, chances are, he's stomping right after you. Around your house, he's following you to every room.

need the bathroom? keep the door open, he'll lean against it with his arms crossed over his chest, either watching you silently or tapping away on his phone.

cooking in the kitchen? he's hovering over your shoulder. you can't count the amount of times on one hand you bumped into his broad, brutish chest, stepped on his foot, or, definitely not on purpose, whacked his groin with a small pan. still, he never learns.

watching TV in the living room? you best bet he's going to sit his big ass right next to you. even if you're on the single person armchair, he'll squish you into the armrest if it meant being next to you.

showering? not without him because he'll join you, and find a way to release pent-up need at the same time, that is if you aren't already stressed that day, then he'll just wash your hair and run a relaxing bath for you to soak in peace afterwards.

In public, people give him weird side glances, numerous occasions where you've had concerned folks tap you on your shoulder and give a small point over your shoulder, to which you reply sweetly with the biggest smile on your face, "oh, that's just my husband!"

he keeps a thick finger hooked into the waistband of your pants, or shorts, or looped in one of your belt loops to keep you near him. since you're much smaller than him, it can be easy for you to get lost in big crowds, and this just assures simon that you're never out of reach.

it's a funny thing to watch for the guys to watch, observing their lieutenant follow you around aimlessly like a big puppy, eyes soft as he gazes down at you, sharpening when another person approaches or observing.

you think it comes from never being able to control his surroundings, his obsessive need to keep you safe, more so now that you have a wedding ring on your finger, forever tying you to him. not physically, but he wouldn't hesitate to if it meant keeping you safe.

okay so we all know that Simon acts all tough, but is secretly touch starved.

like think about it, the man has lived his life being shaped into a fighter, a man that kills with no hesitation. so he probably isn't used to being touched, at least romantically.

enter you, who holds his hand in public, squeezing softly when he starts to get paranoid. or cuddling into him on the couch when the two of you are watching a movie, wrapping your body around him to feel his warmth. holding his face in your hands late at night when he has too much on his mind to sleep, listening without judgement as he quietly whispers about the things he's done.

he might be cautious at first but the moment he realizes that you genuinely mean it and aren't going anywhere? expect him to be nuzzling into your neck at any time during the day.

they need to invent somewhere where I belong