#he doesnt call him lieutenant riley | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bi-writes · 4 months

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bestfriend!roommate!simon helps you get dressed for a night out because i love when men kneel

cw: nsfw content (18+), suggestive language and content, mature language and content, kisses through the mask, size kink, praise kink, a little oral (fem!receiving), a little suggestive touching (fem!receiving), simon likes thicc thighs, simon "my girl doesnt lift a finger because i worship her" riley

more bestfriend!roommate!simon

you haven't gone out in a long time. you were stuck working overnight shifts at the diner for extra money, busy every time you got a friendly text or a sweet call asking if you'd like to join your friends.

you hadn't told simon yet. you hadn't told him you were leaving tonight, but more worriedly, you hadn't told him you were struggling paying the bills. you scraped by the edges of your teeth last month to give him your half, and you remember looking at the cash in your wallet afterwards and wanting to vomit.

it was embarrassing. the landlord just kept urging you both for more, and while simon was always able to negotiate the raise every few months (one look at simon, and he always lowered his number), you were finding it difficult to keep up.

simon was successful. he was a decorated lieutenant, and he had many powerful friends. he never indulged in showing off his wealth; he wasn't raised with money, neither were you, and it was more than he knew what to do with. you remembered walking past him one night as he paid off a credit card on his laptop. you gagged when you saw the number in his account, the commas in the number.

why the fuck was in this piece of shit place with you when he could buy a house on a pebbled beach somewhere?

the dress was not cooperating. it had many straps that came in at the back, and they were twisted and crooked, looped around the corset back and making you a little frustrated. you sighed deeply before making your way across the hall, knocking gently on the bedroom across from you.

"simon?" there was no answer. "simon, i...could you help me for a second?"

the door opened a few moments later. a surgical mask was fit over his nose and mouth, a beanie over his head to cover the rest of him. you turned around in front of him, looking over your shoulder.

"i need help. it's all a mess, i can feel it."

his dark eyes flickered down to the back of your dress. the skin of your back was bare. you weren't wearing a bra underneath. you help up the front of the dress with both of your hands, cupping your breasts to keep it situated as simon finally reached over and began to unravel the laces of the corset.

"you goin' out?"

you nodded, rocking to the side a bit as he tugged the edges of the laces loose and began to tighten up the back of the corset. you held onto your stomach as the fabric of it began to shape the curve of your waist.

"yeah, just with some of the girls. they've been dying to go out, but i've just been working so much..."

"hmmm," he grunted in agreement. "'v hardly seen your face around here."

you sighed as he straightened out the straps, tying off the end of the corset with a tight bow at the bottom. you turned around to face him, and simon had to bite back the curse threatening to leave at the sight of you. the skin along your chest looked so soft, plump to the touch. he wanted to lean down and lick over the curve of your breasts right there, feel it bounce back with a hard kiss, watch your nipples harden if he blew on the sensitive contours of your neck.

"sorry...work has been...really busy."

"dunno 'bout that, luv. i know you're pickin' up shifts. i can hear you on the phone, asking to come in."

there was something more in that comment, something more he wanted to say lingering in the air. you frowned a little, meeting his eyes.

"im just trying to make extra money, simon, thats all."

he leaned in a little closer.

"if you need help--"

"no," you said immediately, shaking your head. "i know what you're going to say. i don't need your...i'm fine."

simon lowered his head slightly. for a moment, just one fleeting moment, you suddenly understand perhaps why men cowered on the battlefield. there was something dull and lifeless swirling there in his eyes. he was so much larger than you, big enough that he could probably wrap his whole hand around your neck and squeeze, and the life would leave you easy--and somehow you knew, those eyes wouldn't change, even knowing they would have taken the light from your own.

you knew, suddenly, that you were face to face with somebody else. a beast with a quiet name, a killer that rarely made a sound, the last whisper that one might ever hear.

you had angered simon, and his protector had come.

"you're lyin'."

"simon--"

"you're lyin' to me, sweetheart. where are your fuckin' manners?"

"i'm not one of your fucking soliders, simon. you can't give me orders," you snapped. you moved past him, hitting his shoulder with your own and going back into your room. you picked up your heels, taking a seat on your bed as you furiously slipped them on. your shadow followed, coming into your room and standing before you.

"how many times? how many times have i asked if everything is straight?"

you ignored him, continuing to slip your shoes on. of course, the ones you had picked out for tonight had straps that needed to be tied up your ankle.

"so i'm going to ask you again, luv, and you're gonna answer me well. do you need my bloody help?"

you let go of the ribbons of your shoes, letting them fall. you put your hands into your lap, your eyes on your crudely painted nails and skin of your knees and the way the shadow at your front began to come closer.

you swallowed hard when he knelt down at your feet. you watched with soft eyes as he picked up your foot gently by the ankle, resting it on his thigh. his gloved hands picked up the silk ribbons, beginning to cross them over your ankle. he straightened out the creases and made sure not to tie them twisted, being careful to make the ribbons look presentable.

when he finished tying the bow on one foot, he brought your ankle up, pressing the mouth of his mask to the silk of it and letting it fall. he picked up your other foot just as tenderly and with the precision of a sniper, he tied your ribbons and pressed a kiss to the silk.

with both your feet on the ground, and simon on his knees seemingly not going anywhere, you reached forward and slipped a hand under the hood, caressing one side of his face.

your palm was warm, fitting into the curve of his cheek. the fabric of his mask was soft as always, black cotton that shielded his pretty face from your eyes always. you never cared to look under it, never felt the need to make him take it off. even now, with his face in your hands, you felt no urge to see what was underneath. as far as you were concerned, the mask was his face--even if you had once seen that face and how stupidly handsome he was.

simon was an enigma. he had a poker face that many envied; the mask hid so much of his emotions, so much of what he might feel, and often he was even able to control the scrunch of his brows or the twitch of his eyes so you could read nothing. but he needed his eyes; he needed them to see, to engage, and if he could cover them, he would, but he needed them, so they were dark and wide, the one piece of him that he allowed.

so you tilted his head back with your hand on his face, letting the soft light of the room break him his hiding place. he wasn't wearing any eye-black today, and you smoothed a thumb just under his eye, watching his lashes flutter for a second. fuck, he was so pretty.

"you worry too much, simon," you whispered. "i'm fine. i promise."

you leaned forward, sighing deeply.

"i promise, simon," you said under your breath. "if something was wrong, i would tell you."

you tried looking into his eyes to convince him, but you knew as soon as you did, that you crucified the lie. something was wrong. you were scraping along, getting dragged by life, but you had learned a long time ago how to bury things into a box and swallow it all down.

you knew, also, that he didn't believe you. simon was too intelligent a man to think you were being honest there, but he didn't say anything. he just followed the warmth of your hand, and if he was a cat, he'd be purring.

you moved to stand, but simon reached for you, his gloved hands on your knees as he held you there. you opened your mouth to speak, but then he leaned forward, his head against your chest as he held you close. it forced your knees to spread to make room for him, and you sucked in a breath as both of his palms slipped up your thighs and caressed the soft skin there.

"simon--"

"don't want to bloody talk--"

"but--simon--"

it happened fast. one moment, you were sitting upright, cradling his head to your chest and feeling his hands along thighs, and the next, you were on your back, splayed across your bed, your dress riding up your hips and the stilettos of your heels digging into the meat of simon's back.

simon was not all muscle; sometimes, when he relaxed, you could feel the softness of him under your palm, a warmth that was solid, like a bear--something protective and built to last, like the foundations of a good home. and then sometimes he was like this--tense all over, muscles constricted, abdomen as taut as a rock, arms bulging as they worked and lifted and manhandled you like the lieutenant he was.

his head was buried between your thighs. you panted, breath heavy as you felt his heavy breath suddenly, his mask pushed up just enough so that he could lick a warm stripe up the inside of your thigh.

"you won't talk," simon murmured against the skin there. he wrapped his arms around your thighs, yanking you forward until he could kiss where your pelvis met your thigh. you shuddered at the feeling of his lips grazing the lace of your panties. "you won't fuckin' talk, but you will sing for me, luv."

"simon, i need to go..."

your voice was protesting, but your hands found the back of his head, smoothing over the locks of his hair. you whimpered when you felt the wetness of his tongue along the fabric of your panties. his entire mouth enveloped your mound, jaw hinging wide as he tasted you through the lace. you bucked up into his mouth, your hips chasing the wet feeling. he growled out angrily, keeping your hips pinned down as he sucked messily, his teeth nipping at the delicate lingerie.

you sucked in a shaky breath as he used a gloved finger to push it to the side, your cunt on display. he cursed when he spread your folds, watching the drip of you as it drenched your panties more, your sweet hole puckering around nothing.

"fuckin' hell--" he sucked on his teeth. "you're fuckin' drippin', luv."

"s-simon, i-i...i can explain, i..."

"don't have to explain anythin'."

you whined as he finally put his mouth on you. his tongue started low, teasing your cunt with a slow circle before curling, trying to flood his mouth with the taste of you. you tasted good, tasted familiar somehow, and his chest swelled at the thought that you were this wet because you were thinking about him.

he could listen to you for hours. the moans that passed through your glossy lips, the languid roll of your hips as you chased his tongue, the sweat that gathered at the base of your spine and along your forehead and the sound of his name sputtering in choked breaths out of your gorgeous mouth.

a vision. simon didnt believe paradise existed, but he believed there was something close to it. it used to be the side of a bullet hitting exactly where he aimed, the feel of foreign soil hitting his enemy's eyes before he took them down, getting his squad out of the gutter when they were pinned down on all sides. he was good at his job. he was good on the field, he was good with chaos, but this was new.

this feeling had always been somewhere under the surface whenever he was with you. he didn't recognize it at first because he had never felt anything quite like it. the feeling one gets when they get home after a long day. the light in someone's eyes when they see a face they recognize when they're in a place they don't belong. the light of a flame in room so dark, you can't see your hands held up in front of your face.

he wondered sometimes if he had ever felt this way with his family. if looking into his nephew's eyes, he had ever felt something like this--and he did, somewhat, but this was more. this wasn't the gentle nip of a soft animal, this kind of love had fangs, and it had sunk itself so deep into him, he knew it was latched onto him. sucking on his blood, draining the shit from his veins, and putting something else there, something addicting.

and he didn't care. he gripped your hips with his gloved hands, sucking on your clit and licking up the slick of you and trying so hard to please the woman that plagued every fucking thought in his head.

"simon--"

your voice was a sob, practically. whining his name, tears coming down your face as he ate you out furiously. he was gentle at first, and then he was nearly aggressive, slurping at your folds and fucking into your cunt and barely coming up for air. when he did come up, his tone was low and drunk-sounding, slurring out soft phrases of "like a fuckin' sweet" and "so fuckin' pretty."

your back arched off the bed. your makeup was ruined by now, surely. your corset askew, your stilettos digging dark holes into his back, your throat hoarse from the crying--simon had you like no one else. simon had you wrapped so tightly around his gloved finger, you might as well have been a brand there--an extension of that glove, one of the crude white bones painted along the back of his hand. he had carved a hole so deep inside of you, shaped perfectly to the beastly size of him; you would never be rid of him. your whole life after this, you just knew--nobody would ever eat your cunt the way lieutenant simon riley ate it, that was a fucking fact.

he moaned when you came. a deep, guttural moan that came from deep in his chest. his eyes rolled to the back of his head when you gushed right onto his tongue. he drank it like he was running desert dry, a kind of eagerness that was making your vision go a little fuzzy, sparkling dots hazing over you. your head was a mess of emotions, all clouded over by pleasure and your body limp in his arms. your body was jelly, so worn as if you had been fucked brainless, but, oh--simon hadn't even gotten that far with you, and his mouth had you spineless.

you sat up, hair tousled, legs shaking, breaths warm and heavy and easy. everything was easy with simon. living, breathing, loving, touching--everything was easy.

he stood up finally, rising from his knees and rolling out his shoulders, and even though you could see him subtly adjusting his pants, he didn't make a move on you. he didn't reach for you, didn't try and touch you again, didn't reach for the bow he had tied on your corset to try and undo it. no, simon had just given you a mind-numbing orgasm and if not for the strain on his zipper, you'd think he had just filed his fucking taxes.

"simon...s-simon--"

"have fun tonight," he murmured, brushing a stray hair out of your face. he tucked it behind your ear, the glove making you shiver. "you call me when y'ready to come home."

your lashes fluttered as you looked up at him, a soft smile on your face.

"m-maybe i dont...maybe i don't wanna go out, m-maybe i wanna stay here...with you...w-watch movies like we usually do."

he shook his head, his thumb swiping just under your chin.

"no. go have fun. i'll be waitin' here for you, luv."

his fingers traced along your neck, something in his eyes that said he wanted more. but a ghost doesn't beg, right?

but maybe simon does.

"okay. i'll call you."

"right then."

and when the click of your bedroom door shut, you looked down at your shoes, so prettily tied with a bow on the end. you reached down, gripping the end of the bow and pulling, watching the silk unravel and come undone.

and then he heard the call of his name again.

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