Jackin Off Nerdy!loser!college Partner Simon Riley

me waiting on yall to make these sinner fics 😭🧍🏾‍♀️

Gaz who frequents your flower shop

I think he’s a big believer in getting ephemeral gifts. Things that are so so good that have a short window of time to enjoy. Fresh fruit, freshly baked breads, flower bouquets.

So he’s at your place for almost every occasion. Promotions at work, birthdays, holidays— even if it’s just a single rose, fresh flowers always brighten things up, don’t they? He thinks it’s a tradition that needs to make more of a comeback.

Anyways, one Valentine’s Day, one of your busiest days (full of rush orders from rude people whose romantic relationships apparently hang in the balance, and probably for good reason), you see Kyle coming in around closing. For anyone else, you’d say you’re afraid you’re closing up for the day, but for him? You can stay open a little while longer and do a quick arrangement.

Only he’s already got flowers in his hands. Beautiful ones. You recognize the work and the signature filler— it’s from an extremely nice shop. Not a competitor— because it must be at least a 3 hour drive from yours.

The bouquet is dwarfing the little teddy bear that’s got its arms wrapped around it, backdropped by the satin ribbon on what looks like a beautiful chocolate assortment. You smile, a little puzzled.

“I’d ask for your order, but it looks like you’re already kitted out for the holiday, hm?”

He almost looks a little nervous.

“Well, I— these are for you, love. I figure you spend the whole year making romance come alive for everyone else, I wondered if someone thought to get you a little something…. Then again, maybe you have a boyfriend and I look like a right prick right now,” he says with a little smirk, realizing he kind of just assumed you’d like the gesture. “Or maybe you’re a bit tired of flowers, hm?”

You take them gratefully from his arms into yours, the sound of the cellophane and tissue gently crinkling. “I… I don’t remember the last time someone got me flowers.” You look closer at the arrangement. Smell them. Bleeding hearts— an appropriate choice, but not very popular in the arrangement world. “Would you… would you want to come back to mine? Help me pick a vase to put these in. In my line of work, you tend to accumulate them, and it becomes so hard to choose. I can make coffee,” you offer hopefully. He sighs in what can only be described as elation and relief.

“I was hoping you’d say something like that.”

best friend!simon ‘ghost’ riley x single mom!reader

NSFW 18+ MDNI

You knew Ghost would be upset with you once you returned home. Not just because you had tricked him into coming, but because you had tricked him forced him into babysitting. Your best friend that has always insisted he hates children, babysitting your 1 year old.

However, he decided and stay to help you out. After all, you were his best friend. He would do anything for you. Even if that meant spending time with the thing he hated the most.

Once you were home you quickly made your way to the nursery, expecting an angry grumpy ghost to deal with. Instead you were met with the big man sitting in your rocking chair, holding your little one in his strong arms.

You were shocked to say the least. Not just because of his usual dislike for children, but because you had never seen him so domestic. The look in his eyes was soft, just as his voice while he whispered to your child. “I’ve got ya, sweet thing”

For a moment you stood frozen in the doorway. Not necessarily out of shock, but taking in the moment. It looked and felt so right. It was unexplainable, but Simon Ghost looked like a natural.

Though the second he noticed you his demeanor shifted, back to his usual bluntness. He was quick to get up, gently putting your baby back down in their crib. “Y’re late. Don’t ya dare ask thi’ of me again. You said ya’d be home by midnight”

He would never admit what this awakened in him. Not even to himself. But he could never avoid where his thoughts wandered off to as he fisted his cock, wishing he could fill you up with his cum and get you pregnant again. He wouldn’t just pack up and leave, he’d be there for the entire ride. He wouldn’t mind seeing you sick and swollen (the latter might turn him on) with his child. The thought made him finish instantly, cum spurting all over his stomach and hand.

He might not hate children so much after all.

——————————————————————————

This is my first work so…don’t expect it to be good. English isn’t my first language so ignore any mistakes lolol.

Hello meine Friend. I am anonymously asking you about my husband Phillip Graves and if you have anything you'd be open write about this terrorist? ☺️

Also we have similar biographies about ovulating and it always catches me off guard when I go onto your profile and see the text there, also that's why I questioned anonymously ✌️

I'd totally write for him! I'll see what I can juice up, since you've left it rather open ended right now. (edit after finishing: uhm. this got away from me. the juice most certainly came loose)

So, feel free to fight me on this. But I can so easily see Graves as the kind of guy who's proud to be dating a stripper. Like, he met you on some stupid macho victory outing with the shadows. A private reservation of your club, lot of fuck around money getting tossed around.

And yes. He is, in fact, the idiot that falls for a stripper while she's doing her job. But the key thing about Graves is that while he may be a predator, he's not a dog. He knows quite well how to keep it in his pants. You were used to guys trying to go out with you outside of the club on the basis that they'd be able to get the milk without buying the cow.

You'd admit the southern charm helped. The hairline scar on the cheek. You met him for your first date, bright and early, in a public place. Coffee. What's casual for most is meaningful to you: time spent together in daylight, before you go about errands and business. No intention to steal away, drink, and fuck.

The first three months were just coffee. Maybe lunch, if he caught a long break on a day that worked for you. Nothing at night. Never went to each other's place. The one thing was that while he had little choice but to let you pay for your own coffee and pastries, he'd never let you cover lunch. Call him old fashioned-- but he's got relatives that'd be turning in their graves if he let you tank the cost of a nice date.

It's month four when you let him take you out for dinner. It's a few weeks later that you let him come inside when he takes you home. It's month five when he sleeps over in your bed.

It's month six when you have sex for the first time. Completely your initiation, and he gave plenty of outs. He needed you to be ready for it-- cause he couldn't promise he'd be able to stay gentlemanly once he got a taste.

He picks you up from work these days. And he likes to go in and get you, despite how your boss isn't a fan of it-- makes you seem a little too unattainable. Phillip grins when guys call after him. You know your girl gave me a lapdance a few minutes ago, right? Yeah, genius, he knows.

"Thanks for that, pal. If it weren't for guys like you, I might not get a penthouse view when I fuck her. Cheers for the rent money, partner." They don't need to know that you actually live in a pretty sensible apartment, and you'll be moving to the house his folks left him after the wedding. You're ready to meet him then, in your comfy clothes and fur coat, ring glittering with more than a couple stones. You stick yourself to his side like you're a couple of nesting turtledoves in winter. And he always opens the car door for you.

"Customers give you a hard time while you were waiting for me?"

"Y'know I love it when they do, sweetheart."

tw: self-shipping; male masturbation

I'm terrible at edging when it comes to my own self, but I'd relish in making Johnny lose his composure, his mind, his own damn soul.

He's a very sexual individual. Always ready to go with little to no effort. I have to give him a look and his cock is chuffing in his pants.

The poor lad is just sitting on the couch, minding his business and watching a rugby match when I approach him, just staring and admiring until he quirks an eyebrow.

"Take a picture, lass. It lasts longer."

He's getting hard in his sweatpants. I can see his cock give a curious twitch and I feel my own pussy buzz with excitement as if the two are calling out to each other.

"Are you mad that your team is losing?" I tease, slowly approaching the couch while he squirms already, like a dog waiting for pets.

"No," he huffs, gripping the remote control tighter as he glances at me out of the corner of his eyes, "What's yer mission 'ere? Ye wee minx."

I kiss my teeth, crossing my arms as I watch his cock get harder; his neck flushes and it creeps up his stubbly cheek. Damn horny brat.

"You should pull your dick out," I make a gesture at his crotch and make a jerking motion with my hand, "Play with it a little for me."

His eyes light up, his chest heaves as he inhales sharply, and his Adam's apple bops when he swallows hard.

"...'scuse me? Ye ovulatin' or sumthin'?" He snorts a laugh, but his hands are already untying the laces on his sweatpants; one meaty reaching inside as the other rolls the grey fabric down below his balls. He rucks his white T-shirt up to expose his muscular, bulky torso, covered in coarse, dark hair.

"You're a good boy, right? So, do as I say, Johnny."

His brows furrow, his jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth, annoyed, but his cockhead is flushed an angry red and his shaft throbs with need.

"Gimme sumthin' ta work with, then." He clicks his tongue and nudges his chin at me as his fist moves, up and down, up and down, "Show me yer tits."

I tilt my head back as I laugh mockingly, and he curses me under his breath.

"Fuckin' tease," he grunts, "Always fuckin' teasin' yer poor man." He pumps his cock faster, the friction sounding painfully dry.

"Wait," I say, still snickering as I approach, nudging his legs apart with my foot before I kneel between his thick thighs. I grab his wrist, make him stop pumping his cock and hold it at the root instead before I lean over his tip to spit a generous glob of my saliva on his cock.

"There... much better."

He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, head tipping back against the couch with a groan. The thick tendons in his neck strain while I can watch his slit dribble with pearly precum that mixes with my spit.

"Now suck it f'me, aye?" He hisses, pupils blown as he peeks down at me. His thumb brushes along the curve of my cheek, trying to coax me closer.

I shake my head with a grin, sitting back on my haunches, "Nah, you go ahead and jerk it for me. You know I like watching."

"Bloody minx." Johnny huffs, but does starts pumping his fat cock for me anyway. I'm squirming, my panties getting damper by the second; pussy gushing with arousal as the wet sounds of his hand working his cock, his hitching breath and shameless moans, drown out any other noise... and thoughts in my head.

I feel like a kitten watching a pretty toy twitch and wiggle in front of me, stimulating my hunting instincts until I'm ready to pounce.

"And remember... don't cum until I allow it, Sergeant."

I enjoy hearing Johnny whimper. His deep, breathless voice makes my stomach flip and flutter, and my pussy throb in anticipation.. Sometimes it's enough to get me all hot and bothered for him.

Perhaps I'm just as bad as he is.

Price is literally so gross. silver fox seeking a pretty young thing after a divorce to the MAX. his ex wife comes over to drop off their son but you open the door instead, cotton-plated in one of his shirts and hair damp from your recent shower. Price takes over and you can hear his wife’s voice from the foyer—“how old is she? she barely looks an undergraduate, John” and he acts sheepish but Lord knows he doesn’t care. Ou.

POV: You're Bella and you sat next to Edward in biology class

Some biker Ghost for nat and pirate ghoap for Tree! Thanks so much 🏍️☠️

(+ period ghoap for me...)

part 2 to this... the mutual parasocial relationship thickens

It's been seven months since she's stopped holding his hand all the time and started walking four little steps ahead. Simon grapples with his daughter's newfound independence.

She is his measure of time.

Simon makes sure to count every inch his daughter grows. How much bigger and looser it feels every time she holds his hand while they walk down the block to see what the new weekly special is at the ice cream parlor. His little bug’s favorite flavor changes every time they go – it was Lemonberry Crunch last week, now it’s一

“A scoop of the… Maple… Buttercream Delight.” 

“Two.” she corrects him, tugging on his hand. Her eyes sparkle at him, and a soft quiver hits her lips. She got that look from you. Simon doesn’t approve of it, not at all. It weakens him and makes it harder to deny you both anything, but he pushes through today with a pat on her beanie-covered head. He’s been meaning to buy her a new one after she pulled the pom-pom off.

“No, sweetheart. Jus’ one, yeah? Two’ll make your tummy upset.”

The sulking, woeful look shrouds her face in an instant. It’s fatal. Her little hand drops from his jacket to her side, and he’d buy out all the tubs of ice cream for her if he could. 

“Sorry, bug. Jus’ don’t want you gettin’ sick ‘cause o’ me anymore.” he apologizes, nodding and mouthing ‘one’ to the girl on the other side of the counter to confirm. She smiles and fills the stubby paper cup up with one scoop, and his daughter sighs and longingly looks up at it as they weigh it, tiny fingers twiddling at the edge of her puffer. 

“It’ll be three-oh-four, sir.”

He opens his wallet (the one his little girl made for him herself with zebra-print duct tape and neon-colored construction paper – incredible what kids can do) and pulls a tenner out. Before he can hand it to the young lady, his hand knocks on his thigh, smacking with urgency. 

“I wanna give it, Daddy!” she says, buoyant on the tips of her toes, hopping up and down.

“Y’do, do ya?” 

“Yes! Please!” She’s already being given the tenner, a wide smile on her face as she clumsily pushes the note into the woman’s hand. “Here y’go!”

He can’t help but chuckle a bit, thanking them before telling them to keep the change. Asks for a single pence back before they leave just because his little one’s been obsessed with collecting one from everywhere they go – she likes to tape them inside a notebook and label their source. Simon takes the ice cream and drops the coin into her waiting hands. She pockets it with a toothy grin, cheering and skipping over to their usual booth by the window.

It's been seven months since she's stopped holding his hand all the time and started walking four little steps ahead.

Simon grapples with his daughter's newfound independence.

It’s a funny thing to mull over in the middle of an ice cream shop, yet so easy to do when he watches her act so brazen with him, waving him over like he’s a servant who’s fallen behind. Not much of a difference anyway, is there?

They settle down in the chairs, and she digs into the creamy dessert. 

“Oh, this is excellent.” she sighs, nodding. He’s raised an ice cream critic. Terrible influence, he is. “Five hundred stars.”

A smile tugs on his lips again, and he folds a napkin to wipe off the ice cream she unintentionally smears on the corners of her lips, leaning over the table一

She stops him and grabs the napkin. Tiny hand with a determined grip. “I can do it, Daddy.”

The words dig at his heart. He almost frowns, but lets go of the napkin for her.

“Alright, bug.”

It gets harder every time, facing the inevitable interruption of a constant in his life. He loves to see it though. Loves to watch her grow into her own person. She picks out her own clothes一has been for a while now. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t dare to. He thinks the lion on her shirt pairs nicely with the blue camo pants anyway, topped off with the purple puffer she picked out last month, and yellow, squeaky rain boots. 

The rain is picking up, and he wonders if you’re still sleeping in. Should be, he hopes. You need the rest.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, love.” he hums.  

“Do you want some?” 

“No, sweetheart.” he chuckles. “M’alright, thank you.”

She eats until two more spoonfuls are left, not bothering to hide the unpleasant expression on her face from a full belly. Simon finishes it for her before they leave to walk it off, and again, she’s prancing ahead.

Her feet land her in every puddle she can find, her voice says a seraphic ‘hello’ to everything they pass (even the lonesome squirrel she spots at the park and the jogger with headphones in), and she’s dancing in the rain like a little drunken man with no worries or doubts in the world.

“C’mon, bug, up,” He lifts her up, sitting her on his forearm and pulling her hood over her head. “Gotta ge’ ‘ome before it starts stormin’.”

She lays her padded head on his shoulder, and he pats her back. She’s stopped gluing her hand to her father’s everyday, but she still burrows into his chest like a kitten. It’s the safest place she knows.

“Can we all huggle when we’re ‘ome, Daddy?” 

“Y’wan’ a huggle, love?”

“Yes, with Mum an’ Chunky. When it rains, it’s the… the best time for a huggle.” Chunky, her beloved toy gorilla. Simon recalls catching her bathing the poor thing in the soapy water-filled sink. It took him half a day to figure out how to properly dry the toy without permanently damaging his daughter’s cherished friend.

He presses a kiss on her dampened, plump cheek.

“‘Course, sweetheart. All four o’ us.”