Chapter Text
Simon wonders, when he's too exhausted to breathe and drifting off to sleep, what you're doing at home. In his flat. In his bed. He doesn't get a phone, not on missions, because of the risk. His phone can be traced back to him, to his face, to you . He'll never take the risk of putting you in danger.
Never.
But he's a fucking softie for you, and so he wonders. Are you sleeping? Are you up watching telly? Are you laying in bed, minutes before you'll fall asleep, thinking the same thing he's thinking?
And God , he'll come home and sleep for three days straight, tired and worn down, and you sleep right there with him. You take the week off work every single time he comes home just to spend time with him. You rub that bruise-balm on the bruises he has from fighting and then you press up on your fucking tip-toes to kiss him.
"God, you are perfect," he purrs, hands on your back, holding you against him. You'll giggle, try to escape his arms, and it'll end with you pressed up against the wall, losing your 'fight' and kissing him.
You put your hands on his cheeks, you let him lift you to hold you against the wall, and you whimper when his hands squeeze your waist. Perfect. Woman.
You go out with him, you drag him around to little markets and cafes. You hold his hand, overjoyed he's home alive, and London seems to decide the rain is over when you're out. The tiny spots of sun light up your face and if Simon could bribe the sun to stay out and the clouds to fuck off he would.
"Simon," there's a hand on his shoulder as he zones out into a market table of jewelry while you look at them, "didn't know you were in London."
It's John at his side, the captain, and you light up when you see him.
"John!" You haven't seen him since the wedding and so you jump at the chance to pull him into a hug. John gives you a friendly pat on the back, chuckling.
"Nice to see you, love." John says as you pull away.
"You too! Oh, I haven't seen you since the wedding!" You can't keep the smile off your face. The last time you were all together was Johnny's wedding and god was that a night…
He remembers the drunk sex you had in the back of his car, the way you babbled about needing to be the next girl to get married, that you wanted to be his wife…
"How've you been?" John's voice pulls him back from his memory.
"Great! Happy to be out." You reply. "The weather's finally nice."
"It is." John looks across the street, "couple of the boys and me are getting lunch across the street, wanna stop in?"
You look up at Simon, asking him if it's okay with your eyes.
"Sure." Simon replies. You smile up at him and reach over to take his hand.
Gaz, Johnny, Johnny's girl, and Konig are across at the restaurant. They pull in chairs for you and Simon and you sit.
"Konig," you smile at him, sitting next to him with Simon on the other side, "surprised to see you! Why're you in London?"
"Uhm," he's unsure of himself unless he's got a gun in his hand, has been since Simon met him, "just visiting, I haven't been to London since I was little."
"How do you like it?" Then begins the small talk. You tell everyone about your new job, about the puppy you want, and you laugh as they all gang up on him for not getting it for you.
"She's gotta be lonely while you're off on missions," John jokes.
"Bad boyfriend behavior Simon," Gaz says.
You bite your lips to keep yourself from laughing too hard and Simon jokes that they're all his squad mates and that they'll be watching their own backs next time.
You don't get home until nearly half-past seven, you eat pizza on the couch and watch telly until you're going off to be with him behind you.
It's supposed to be a goodnight kiss. You're in your little satin tank top and shorts set, hands on his chest, pressing against him. Simon can't help himself. He can't help the way his lips trail to your neck, the way his teeth tease at your skin, and he definitely loses all control when he hears you gasp his name.
Fuck it all to hell.
He leaves your neck blooming with black and blue, he squeezes your hips and dips his finger into your shorts to grope your ass. You whimper for him, you thread your fingers in his short hair and you tug it, and when your knees go weak you just get on them.
Simon groans when you look up at him, your hands on his pajama bottoms, lips already slightly parted. Can I? Simon wonders why you ask. He nods, his fingers in your hair. His pajamas hit the floor and you take him in your hand, eyes drifting closed when you wrap your mouth around him.
"Fuck, love, the shit you do to me…" He groans. This is what he tries to imagine when he takes himself into his hand in the rare alone moments on missions. He tries to imagine the way your mouth feels around him.
It never compares.
You've got a horrible gag reflex when you're tense, and you're always tense. Simon hears you gag and a shiver runs up his spine. He knows it’s painful, and that you hate it, but it’s all in your head that you’re going to gag. He’s gotta get you out of your head.
"Take it slow," he grumbles, "not going anywhere."
You pull your mouth off of him and lick your lips as you stare up at him.
"Will you fuck my throat?" You ask it like he'll say no, like 'no' is an option. Simon wouldn't be a man if he said no to that.
He imagines the headspace it put you in too and god he's fucked.
"'Course I will, sweetheart," he replies and you smile up at him before your mouth is hanging open again. Devastating .
Simon eases himself in, he reminds you to breathe through your nose, then he takes your hair in his hand… makes a ponytail in his fucking fist… and starts to fuck your throat. He sees your eyes roll back at one point and he wonders if you're enjoying this more than he is. He hears you whimper, feels your fingertips and your nails dig into his thighs and god he just wants to make you take it because he knows how much you love it when does.
You go fucking crazy for him to take your control out of your hands, for him to make you his . He has to pull your mouth off of him so that he doesn't cum down your throat. He has to fuck you, he hasn't fucked you in so long.
"S-Simon-" your voice is almost a whine, almost asking him why he stopped. He chuckles.
"Gotta fuck you," Simon replies, just as breathless as you are, "Gotta fuck you, okay?"
“P-” you stutter, let him pull you to your feet, “-Please.”
Your legs shake as he pulls your tank top over your head. You never wear a bra to bed, an added bonus to every night he gets to sleep next to you, and Simon wants to fall to his knees and mark your chest up like it’s his only job. Your knees have to be killing you though, and so he gets you out of your shorts and onto the bed on your back.
“Simon…” his hands trail down your thighs, they knead your skin. Your soft, soft fucking skin. He’s gotta get his mouth between your thighs. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down. He’d fuck you in a second but he’s gotta draw it out.
He wants to give you a night you brag about to your girlfriends tomorrow. He loves hearing the way you brag about his skills.
Simon sinks to his knees at the edge of the bed and he takes your thighs in each hand to pull you closer. Your legs dangle over his shoulders, you’re watching him without breathing. His hands press your hips to the bed when they wiggle, he tries to give you his most dangerous eyes.
“Stay still,” he says, “or else.”
“Or else?” you tease, not too far gone to give him shit and Simon commits himself to remedying it. “What would you do to me? Oh, please don’t punish me Ghost , I promise I’ll be a good girl.”
You’re giggling, you have the audacity to giggle while he’s between your legs but what has Simon freezing isn’t your giggles, it’s the way you called him Ghost . You know his code name, of course you do, but you’ve never used it. Never. Simon get’s impossibly harder at the fantasy that pops into his head.
Bending you over a table, handcuffing you, pushing you close to the edge again and again with all of his gear on, pressing you for information you won’t give… promising to make you cum if you just give me the intel, sweetheart . He’s gotta tell you about it later. You’d be down for it, his little freak.
Simon rolls his eyes at your giggling and presses your thighs open to get his fucking mouth on you. You gasp, one of your hands is in your hair, the other one is thrown over your face, hiding behind it. Simon presses his arm over your lower belly to pin you down and presses two fingertips to your hole. You spread your legs wider, you cry out his name, and Simon sinks two of his fingers into you. God , the way you clench around them makes his head spin.
“I-I’m-” it’s so early, so fast, that it throws you off guard. You try to close your legs around his head, stop him from going further, but he elbows them open and keeps his fingers moving.
“My poor girl,” Simon whispers against the skin of your thighs, “always so neglected when I’m off on a mission, aren’t you?”
“A-Am. I am.” your hips twitch, you squirm on his fingers, and Simon groans at the way your back arches.
“Let me make it up to you, love.” he replies, voice low and dark. Simon is intent on getting you to cum atleast once more before he turning you over and fucking you just the way you like.
“Simon!” you squeal, legs twitching to close. You work hard to keep them open, just the way you know he likes, shaking like a damn leaf .
“One more, sweetheart, gimme one fucking more.” Simon growls before he’s putting his mouth back on you and sucking your clit into his mouth.
You sob, your legs close around his head and he thinks try to push me away, try it love because he knows you like it when he pushes you, he knows how you like it when he takes control of your body. You can’t stop the incoherent rambles of his name and please and stop that tumble from your lips. You try to lift your hips off the bed but he shoves them down. You try to back yourself up to get away from him but he keeps you pinned with an arm across your stomach. You slap your hands over your mouth to keep yourself from screaming and Simon reacts, lifting his arm off your stomach to pin them down with your hips by the wrists.
You cum screaming his name, trying to break his neck with your fucking thighs and spasming around his fingers. He’s never seen you cum that hard and now he’s hooked.
“Why did you-” you pant, struggling with your words, “the-the neighbors Simon…”
“Don’t fucking care,” he grumbles, he kisses your quaking thighs, “pieces of shite anyways.”
“Simon…” you’re trying to sound scold-y, like you’re angry with him, but when he crawls up your body and kisses you, you stop complaining. He’s gotta give you time to recover after something like that, and so he just holds you for a little while, kissing you and running his hands calmly over your back.
You start kissing him again after a while, tongue tangled with his, breath heavy, eyes lidded. He can feel your skin grow hotter, clammier, and you throw your leg over his hip to get him on his back.
“Goddamnit…” he groans when you sit up, hands splayed across his chest, back arched to grind against him. He puts a hand under his head, the other reaching down to grab your hip and guide you.
You lift your hips, reach down beneath you and line him up. God , you sink yourself down on him and you just can’t keep yourself from grinding on him. Simon watches you lift your hips, hears the way you moan and watches you throw your head back with it. He fills you up nicely, has had you crying your compliments more than once, and you like to savor it when you’re on top. You grind your hips, you drag them up and down his cock slowly, and within ten minutes Simon’s a goddamn mess for you. He thrusts his hips upwards, he uses his hands on your hips to control the drag of your hips, and you fall apart on top of him.
“Ch-Change me,” you whimper, losing speed and stamina, “O-On my- want you from behind-”
You don’t need to tell him twice.
Simon gets you to your chest, knees spread, back arched, hands gripping the sheets above your head. Simon is a gentleman, or at least he can be, and so he moves your hair out of your face and gathers it into a ponytail in his fist to pull it. You gasp, hips squirming to grind against him. Simon holds your hips still with one hand.
“You’re gonna take it like my good little slut, aren’t you?” you nod, whimpering, clenching down around nothing.
“I’m yours- your good little slut,” you whisper against the sheets, eyes shut and rolled back. Simon sinks in, so fucking slow, and sob with it. You’ve told him before this angle is different, deeper, more sensitive. You can’t stop the way your hips twitch and grind against, it’s impossible with how desperate you’ve become.
Simon’s hips snap forward and you cry out his name as he starts to fuck you. You’re both so sensitive, so desperate from him being away, that it's not gonna be long before he’s pulling out to cum on your thighs. He groans at the image his memory brings up for him of your thighs all covered with him. He releases your hair to sit up, hands on your ass and hips, groping a cheek before he pulls his hand back to spank you. You sob, hand reaching back to push at his naval.
“Don’t fucking think so,” he growls, pinning your wrists in one of his hands and fucking you harder for it, “fucking take it ,”
Your hips still, back arched as far down as it’ll go, legs spread wider as you pulse around him through your third orgasm of the night. You moan, the bed bumps against the wall, and Simon’s grip on your wrists and hip tightens.
“Where, love?” he grits out.
“Inside,” you cry, “please, inside,”
Who the fuck is he to argue? He goes still, buried inside of you, and has the best orgasm of his fucking life. You take it like the perfect girl you are, whimpering when he pulls out. He grabs a towel, puts it under your hips but he’s depraved, a sick fucking man, because he kneels behind you and watches it drip out of you for a second before he wipes you down with a towel and turns you over.
Fucked out, googly eyed, you pull him down for Simon’s guiltest of guilty pleasures: naked, after-sex cuddles.