wet eyes, aching body, cum leaking down trembling legs. whimpering, "i can't take anymore," and "no more, please, no more." a soft, devilish chuckle, fingers drag through the mess between soft thighs and a murmur, "you can handle one more."
satoru is obsessed with the idea and making you do things you wouldn’t do.
he likes the fact that you’re sweet and quiet and only save your giggles for him, but he also likes when you’re gagging on his dick with tears filled to the brim dripping out of your eyes with your hand in between your thighs.
his eyes glued to yours with mischief, his stomach swirling with butterflies because of how easy it is to get you to do things with him and him alone.
you and satoru are one and the same, both perverted freaks; the only difference is that you never explored it.
way too sweet and fragile before, not even realizing when satoru asked you to come study at his place it meant him being balls deep inside of your mouth giving you instructions.
you didn't even touch yourself alone; that’s when satoru knew he had a gem, his own personal doll to corrupt and bark orders to, knowing you would do them.
the first thing he did was have you sit in his lap while he showed you porn of women that looked exactly like you, talking you through the video while his hand slowly slid in between your thighs, rubbing you through the thin fabric you had on for panties.
“already that wet just from videos? "fuck, you’re cute.”
this was his own wet dream come to life, having you unexperienced, wet, and horny in his lap waiting for what came next.
the first thing he ever made you do was try to touch yourself while he watched, knowing you had no prior knowledge on how to do it, his eyes glued to your hand and how it trembled while your index and middle fingers made contact with your slick that coated your slit.
“there you go, you’re a pro already.”
a sly smirk on his face while he watched, saliva coating in his mouth and his palms getting sweaty watching.
as much as he wanted to swoop in and put his hand over yours guiding, watching felt better, naughtier, like a guilty pleasure. he wanted to see you ache and get frustrated with yourself because you couldn’t properly get yourself off.
the more this went on, the more stuff he started bringing to you.
“it’ll feel good, i promise. if it doesn't, you can slap me.”
before sliding in between your thighs and licking down your slit, gathering all your sweetness that coated his tongue and fingers that slipped into you.
gasping as time went on, his tongue flicking repeatedly on your clit and his fingers curved inside.
every time he put his hands on you, a wave of shame hit you, but still, you stayed, doing every naughty thing he wanted.
✮ stepdaddy!toji can't get enough of you. cw: stepcest
stepdaddy!toji didn't plan on getting married at all. he had zero desire to deal with responsibility and all that bullshit, but he figured his kid needed a mother figure. so he met a woman who worked in some boring office, no spark or passion happened, and he didn't even expect it. he just wanted to make sure his boy didn't grow up lonely.
stepdaddy!toji who didn't even blink when she said she had a daughter but would do whatever it took to make sure you wouldn't cause a problem, 'cause apparently you were a total brat who rebelled against her on purpose and all that shit. he just grunted and nodded, thinking you were the same age as his son.
stepdaddy!toji didn't even set eyes on you until he and your mom got hitched, 'cause you kept running away from home and this time your mom just kicked you out. when you guys first met, you were wearing these crazy short lounge shorts with your hair all messy. well, you were way older than his son. you licked your ice cream and looked at him with those doe eyes. "so, you're my new daddy now?" he checked you out from head to toe, letting his gaze linger on those hips. "guess so. and did you have a lot of new ones?" "enough to know you won't last long here." well, that did something to his cock.
stepdaddy!toji saw with his own eyes that you weren't some bratty, hopeless kid like your mom described. you just didn't agree with her and tried to prove her wrong, and she got pissed every single time, telling you she wasted her youth on you. he just cut the argument short, stroking your hair and telling your mom to stop being such a bitch.
stepdaddy!toji couldn't tear his eyes away when you walked around the house in just panties and a sheer white top after another fight just to spite your mom, with your nipples peeking through. you never gave any blunt hints, but the way you stared at his biceps every time he reached for the salt on the table, or at his huge cock when he wore gray sweatpants, spoke for itself.
stepdaddy!toji walked into your room one day while you were out to swipe your panties and sniff 'em while he jerked off, but he found something way more interesting. your laptop stayed open with a chat with your friend on the screen. he was just about to blow it off when he saw his name.
→ idk girl, it sounds gross but if you saw him you'd wanna fuck him too
i mean, you got a shitty mom who's been terrorizing you since you were a kid, he didn't raise you, he didn't change your diapers, so why the hell not? if the dick's worth it lol ←
→ it's huge, i'm sure he'd just rip me apart. i have to imagine him instead of my dildo, though he's definitely like three times bigger
stepdaddy!toji decides to shower with you the next morning, making you let out a scream. "what are you doing in here?" and you try to cover yourself up, but he just laughs. "giving you exactly what you want." he starts stripping and you stare at his massive biceps, his rock-solid chest and abs, then your eyes trail down and see the happy trail leading to a huge, hang-hard cock that was already standing tall. your mouth hung open while he sat down on the edge. "get over here, baby." one second you stopped hiding yourself, and the next you were bouncing on his cock, and he was deep inside you, ripping you apart.
his hands are glued to your ass, guiding your rhythm, squeezing and spreading you open on his cock. every time you slide down, you feel him hit that spot deep inside. "nngh! yes! yes! so good—" he leans forward and captures your nipple between his lips, suckling hard, his tongue flicking across the sensitive peak. "you were made to take my cock." you gasp when he bites down gently, then soothes the ache with his tongue. "mmnn— my little girl’s got the sweetest tits, huh? gonna suck 'em dry." your hips start to slow — you're exhausted, your muscles screaming — but he won't let you stop. his hands grip your waist and start bouncing you on his cock, fucking up into you with brutal precision. your head falls back, mouth open, letting out a long, guttural moan. "you like that, baby? you like your daddy using you like this?" "yes! yes— please nngh! don't stop—" "that's it, baby. cum for daddy. cum all over my cock."
stepdaddy!toji gets addicted to you right away. he turns fucking you every morning into a tradition. he's already hard when he pushes your door open, already stroking himself through his boxers by the time he's kneeling on the mattress, dragging the sheets off your sleeping body. "mornin', little girl." you stir, blinking up at him. his cock is already out, thick and heavy, the head brushing against your thigh. "...it's so early..." "shhh." he pulls your panties down your legs. "daddy needs his breakfast." he rolls you onto your stomach first, because he likes watching the way your back arches when he pushes inside from behind. his chest presses against your spine, his mouth at your ear. "been dreamin' about this pussy all night, baby. you know that? can't sleep proper without knowin' i'm gonna be inside you the second i wake up." "nngh! daddy—! so good..."
stepdaddy!toji uses your tits like a pacifier. it started as something innocent — him suckling gently while you watched tv — but now it's a full-blown ritual. his hands find your shirt, push it up. your bra follows. he groans the second your nipples are bare, leaning down to take one into his mouth. "toji—" "shhh." he sucks hard, tongue circling the sensitive peak. "just let daddy have this."
his eyes are half-closed. he is latched on, suckling slow and steady. his hand cups your other breast, thumb stroking over the nipple. "one day," he murmurs against your skin, "gonna put a baby in you. gonna fill you up so good. and then these tits..." he takes the nipple between his teeth, tugs gently. "gonna be full of milk for me. gonna drink it straight from the source, baby." you whimper, and he suckles harder, his hand sliding down between your legs. "and you'll let me, won't you? let daddy drink it whenever he wants. let me fall asleep right here, with your nipple in my mouth and my cum drippin' out of your tight little pussy." he does fall asleep like that, sometimes. your nipple still between his lips, your hand stroking his hair. and when he wakes up in the middle of the night, hard and aching, he slides inside you without a word, still half-asleep, still sucking your breast.
stepdaddy!toji loves making you squirt just to prove he is way better than guys your own age. he's on his knees between your legs, and he's been down there for god knows how long. your thighs are shaking, you're soaked, and he shows no signs of stopping. "i know you got it in you, baby." his fingers curl inside you, pressing against your front wall. "give it to daddy. give me that." "daddy, i can't—mnngh! i can't, it's too much—" "you can. you will." his mouth closes over your clit, sucks hard while his fingers pump faster. "c'mon, my baby. let go for me. let me see it." your body locks up. every muscle goes tight. and then it releases — a gush of fluid that soaks his hand, his chin, the towel he'd laid down beneath you. "there she is. there's my good fuckin' girl." he doesn't stop. he keeps fingering you through it, keeps sucking your clit until you're screaming, until you're pushing at his head because you can't take anymore. "one more, little girl. give me one more."
stepdaddy!toji who treats your pussy like a living thing. he talks to it, kisses it, worships it. he pushes your thighs up to your chest and groans at the sight of you. "mm, she's wet for me. of course she is. she knows who she belongs to." "look at my girl. missed me, didn't she?" he's talking to your pussy, and he means it. he leans in, presses his open mouth against your folds like a kiss. "fuck, i missed you too, pretty girl." he makes out with it. that's the only way to describe it — his tongue sliding between your lips, pressing inside, then pulling out to suck your clit into his mouth. "daddy's girl's got the sweetest fuckin' pussy in the world. you know that?" he presses his nose against your clit, inhales deep. "can't get enough." "ha— mmnh!!— daddy! i'm gonna—!" "come in my mouth, baby." you cum again from his tongue alone, and he moans through it, smiling against your pussy. when you try to pull away from the oversensitivity, he grabs your hips and yanks you back. "i'm not done. daddy's never done with this pretty pussy."
stepdaddy!toji doesn't give a fuck if someone can catch you guys, if he wanted to fuck you, nothing was gonna stop him. "someone will see—" "let 'em." he pulls you over the center console, guides you onto his lap. your back presses against his chest, the steering wheel digging into your knees. his cock slides into you from behind, and you choke on a moan. "shhh, baby. gotta be quiet." but he's already thrusting up into you, one hand on your hip, the other wrapped around your throat. "look how good you take my cock." a woman walks past with a shopping cart. you freeze, but he keeps moving, keeps fucking up into you slow and deep. "look at her. she got no idea you're gettin' stuffed full of my cock right now." "fuck— daddy! —nngh!" "that's it. let 'em hear. let 'em know who you belong to." sunlight floods the car, and anyone glancing over would see two silhouettes. he comes inside you with a grunt, holding your hips down, filling you up while a minivan parks three spaces away.
stepdaddy!toji who tells your mom he needs to spend more time with you to get to know his stepdaughter better, so he heads to the mall with you. he fucks you in the first dressing room he finds. you're on his lap, your back against his chest, the flimsy curtain doing nothing to muffle your sounds. his cock is buried deep, and he's holding you still while the saleslady asks through the curtain if everything fits okay. "just fine," he calls out, voice steady. his hips thrust up. "my girl's just trying things on." you bite your lip so hard you taste blood. his hand covers your mouth. "shhh, my baby. don't wanna get caught, do you?" but he's fucking up into you harder, faster. the cheap stool beneath you creaks. "nngh! mmn—!" "what was that?" he pulls his hand away. "you got something to say, little girl?" "daddy! — fuck... i'm gonna!—" "gonna come? right here? with your mama thinkin' we're just havin' a nice afternoon?" you nod frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "then do it, baby. come on daddy's cock. let 'em all hear who makes you feel this good." you come with a broken cry, and he follows right after.
stepdaddy!toji finally gets to fuck you everywhere after the divorce, without hiding or trying to muffle your sweet sounds. he bends you over the thick upholstered arm, your toes barely touching the floor, ass arched high. he pushes in slow, watching his cock disappear into your tight little pussy inch by inch. the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy fills the room. "you hear that, baby? listen to how wet you are for me. this pussy knows who it belongs to, doesn't it?" "y-yes, daddy! it's you— ah!— all yours!" or when he folds you in half, knees pressed against your shoulders, your ankles hooked over his biceps. he looms over you, watching his own cock slide in and out of your gaping hole. he fucks you deep and slow, grinding his pelvis against your clit with every thrust until you're a writhing mess beneath him. "look at you little girl, taking every inch. you love being stuffed full of this cock, don't you?" "yes! daddy— mmnh!— yes, i love it, i love it!"
stepdaddy!toji who loves it when you warm up his dick. he's sitting on the couch, watching tv, and you're in his lap, facing him, his cock buried deep inside your pussy. you're both fully dressed except for where your panties are pushed aside and his zipper is down. "just sit still, little girl. keep me warm." you try to stay quiet, but every small movement makes you clench around him, and you can feel him twitch inside you. your thighs are shaking, your pussy pulsing, and you're so wet you can feel yourself dripping down onto his lap. "please— i need you to move—" you can feel him twitch inside you, feel him get harder even though he's not moving. his thumb traces lazy circles on your hip. "one day," he murmurs, "gonna keep you on my cock all day long. gonna carry you around the house like this. make you breakfast with my dick still buried in you." you clench around him involuntarily, and he groans. "fuck, yeah. squeeze daddy just like that."
stepdaddy!toji who couldn't see you for a whole week because of all the divorce drama. and when you finally show up at his place, he doesn't even take your clothes off all the way. just pushes your skirt up, rips your panties aside, and sinks into you with a groan that sounds like relief. "fuck! fuck— i needed this. i needed you, baby." your back hits the wall, your legs wrap around his waist. he's holding you up, fucking you standing, your weight suspended on his cock. "never again. never gonna go a week without this pussy again. you hear me?" "yes— mmh! daddy— yes!" "now i can have you whenever i want. wherever i want." he carries you across the room, still inside you, fucks you against every surface he can reach. the counter. the couch. the floor. "gonna make up for lost time. gonna spend the whole weekend buried inside my little girl."
stepdada!kuna ? amazing art from @ dickerystuf on ig / x
toji came through the door, taking his gym shoes off immediately. you were on the couch, blanket pulled to your chin. as you heard his heavy footsteps, you looked over the arm of the couch, meeting his own dark, mischief filled eyes. “no.” you said, beginning to sit up. “no, toji. get back.” you smiled, putting a hand out to distance him. “you didn’t miss me?” he said, a sleazy smile on his face. he stalked closer to you, looking through his eyelashes at your form. “don’t run from it, baby. come feel on me.”
before you could protest, he braced both of his hands beside your head, and laid his body weight on you. you smiled, trying to push him away, but ultimately failing. “toji, you smell.” you said, pressing your hands against his chest. “oh, i missed you baby. mm.. couldn’t stop thinking of you.” he murmured against your neck. “i was doing hip thrusts today. i thrusted how much you weigh.” he said, rubbing himself against you, almost like a dog trying to put its scent on something. “that’s when i thought of you.”
you felt something poking your inner thigh, and you scoffed. “you’re nasty.” you said. “i want you.” he mumbled, sitting up between your thighs. he took your hand, and guided it to his heavy bulge. “i trained. just for you.” he said, his voice in a mockingly pleading tone. he moaned as your hand kneaded his bulge, and he looked down at it, watching as you did so. he looked back down at you, biting his lip. “aren’t you proud of me? trained hard as shit so you don’t have to do any work when we’re fucking.” he said, pushing his damp hair off of his forehead.
he grabbed your hips, pulling them closer, so your covered crotch was flush against his bulge. he gave one slow thrust, and smiled. “i know you feel that.” he said, looking down as he began to slowly grind against you. “you don’t have to do anything, yknow. i can do all the work. like i usually do.” he teased, putting wet kisses all over the side of your neck. he grabbed your waist, and effortlessly maneuvered you, so you were straddling him. “it’s okay, baby. you can act like you don’t want it, but i know you do.” he cooed, running his hand down your stomach. he smirked, biting his lip as he noticed you trying to be subtle, as you “adjusted” your position on him.
“see? that’s my girl, always wanting this dick. it’s okay, baby. you don’t have to hide it.”
you never planned on becoming a late-night gym rat. it just …happened. like most things in your life, it started with good intentions and spiraled into something you weren’t entirely in control of.
you’d made a new year’s resolution to get in shape— because health, discipline, all that crap— and, in a moment of overzealous optimism, you splurged on a gym membership. a pricey one, to add. the kind that made your bank account cry, which meant quitting wasn’t an option.
there was only one problem. you were busy. between classes, assignments, and the absolute joke that was your sleep schedule, the only time you could consistently work out was well past normal human hours.
at first, the idea of hitting the gym at midnight felt… weird. like stepping into a parallel universe where only insomniacs and questionable life choices existed. but then you considered the alternative— going during peak hours and getting judged for your piss-poor form, or worse, waiting in line for machines behind a dude who was live-streaming his workout.
midnight schedule it was.
it grew on you eventually. the routine became second nature. drag yourself in after class, half-asleep, toss your bag into a locker, and start on the treadmill to wake yourself up. a slow warm-up, music blasting through your headphones, then a mostly half-hearted attempt at strength training.
the people who showed up at this hour were predictable. a few other students— dead-eyed, running on caffeine fumes. a handful of older folks, the dedicated ones who treated the gym like a sacred temple.
and then there was him.
tall. broad. built like something out of a military recruitment ad.
the first time you noticed him, you’d nearly tripped on the treadmill. one second, you were zoning out, staring at the clock, and the next— there he was. buzz cut barely visible beneath the hood of his sweatshirt, arms thick with muscle, veins running down his forearms in stark lines. tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, black ink tracing the ridges of his skin.
(the combat boots were what threw you off. who the hell wore combat boots to the gym?)
he moved through his workout with terrifying
efficiency. no wasted movements, no unnecessary pauses. heavyweights. circuits. the kind of training that looked more like preparation for war than casual fitness. he never looked winded either. no gasping for breath, no pausing to rest, just relentless, controlled effort.
you developed a— not a crush— an appreciation for him. admiration. respect. that was it. not the way his hoodie stretched across his shoulders when he adjusted his grip on the barbell. not the way his jaw clenched in concentration. not the way his fingers wrapped around the weights with an ease that made you feel woefully inadequate.
“it’s a crush,” your friend announced one evening, stabbing a straw into his juice box.
you scoffed, flipping through your notes. “it’s not.”
“it is. i’m fit too, but i don’t see you staring at me like you wanna lick salt off my abs.”
you made a disgusted noise. “jesus, shut up.”
he grinned, tipping his juice box back dramatically. “i’m just saying. the fact that you haven’t even talked to him and yet know his entire workout routine is very-"
“i do not know his entire workout routine.”
your friend raised a brow.
you sighed. “…he does back and legs on tuesdays.”
his brow lifted higher.
“…and arms on thursdays.”
silence.
“right.”
“shut up.”
you’d considered talking to him. maybe asking for tips or making some awkward joke about his frankly ridiculous choice of gym footwear. but he didn’t exactly radiate approachable.
the man looked like he’d rather be waterboarded than engage in small talk.
and you? you weren’t some plucky rom-com protagonist who could charm the brooding loner into friendship with a dazzling smile and sheer force of personality. so, you kept your distance. which was fine. totally fine.
What the hell would you even say? “hey, nice pecs, can I bury my face between them?” he’d call the police on you.
so, you stayed quiet..
until the night you made the monumentally stupid decision to start lifting weights.
in your defense, it wasn’t entirely your idea. you were perfectly content with your usual treadmill-and-machines routine. but then your friend had to go and mock you.
“you’re paying for a full gym membership,” he said, flicking a fry at your forehead, “and you’re not even using the weight room?”
“i use it,” you protested.
“you walk through it.”
okay, fine. he had a point. which was how you ended up here, standing in front of a barbell, mentally preparing yourself to lift it like you were about to perform brain surgery.
you’d done your research— watched some youtube tutorials, read some articles. you knew the basics. foot placement. core engagement. not arching your back like a possessed demon.
you took a deep breath, squared your stance, wrapped your hands around the bar, and— nothing.
the bar didn’t budge.
you frowned, adjusted your grip. another deep breath. still nothing.
okay. you could do this. just, more force. maybe a little momentum. you planted your feet, sucked in a breath, and heaved—
"y’need a spotter?"
you startle so hard you nearly fall backward, breath catching as you whip around. close— he’s close, and jesus, he’s even bigger up close. broad shoulders, thick arms crossed over his chest, pale eyes flicking between you and the barbell like he’s already making peace with witnessing an injury. his hoodie is pulled up like always, shadows cutting sharp over the edges of his jaw, but there’s something vaguely unimpressed about his expression. braced for disaster.
you swallow. "uh."
his brow lifts, expectant, as if this is some kind of trick question. "that a yes or a no?"
"i-" your brain short-circuits. every ounce of confidence you had a second ago shrivels up and dies. "i totally got this."
he exhales sharply, something between a scoff and a sigh. he shifts his weight, one foot bracing slightly forward. "sure you do.
your face heats. you turn back to the barbell, fingers tightening around the metal, and pull. it lifts— barely. your arms burn, hands already sweating, but you’re stubborn. you have it. almost.
"you’re about to smash your fucking face in," he mutters.
you falter— just for a second— but that’s all it takes. your grip slips, the weight tilting. shit, shit, shit!
he moves fast. faster than you expect. before you can even panic properly, his hands brace yours, steadying the bar with zero effort. he’s strong, fingers wrapping over yours for a brief moment before smoothly guiding the weight back onto the rack like it weighs nothing. you stumble back, arms trembling from the strain, but he doesn’t step away yet, just watches you catch your breath.
"right," he says after a beat, stepping back. "now that you’ve definitely got it, mind if i give you some actual pointers?"
you blink up at him, still processing the fact that you almost died, and this guy just saved your life like it was nothing. "you train people?"
"no. just rather not watch someone crush their skull in." which is… fair, you suppose.
you wipe your sweaty palms on your leggings, trying not to look as embarrassed as you feel. "okay. please. teach me."
you and simon— you learn his name by the third day!— slowly fall into a routine, much to his chagrin. he hadn’t expected offering to help you not splatter brain matter across the gym floor would lead to... this. a persistent presence. a shadow in his periphery.
he doesn’t know how it happened, how you managed to wedge yourself into the one place he thought was untouchable, but somehow, you did. and now, you’re there. always. not in an overbearing way. you don’t talk his ear off or force yourself on him. if anything, you’re surprisingly easy to be around. and worse— comfortable. which is fucking dangerous.
a routine starts forming. he hadn’t expected that offering to help you not crush your own skull under a barbell would lead to… this. hadn’t expected that you’d still be here, three days later, four, a week, waving at him when he walks in, bright-eyed and warm despite the ungodly hour. he tries to keep you at arm’s length, really, he does.
but you’re not loud. you don’t force yourself on him. you don’t pry or try to push past his walls— you just exist, alongside him, like it’s a natural thing in the world. you ask him questions, ease him into conversations so seamlessly that sometimes he doesn’t even notice he’s talking until he’s already halfway into answering.
"you ever listen to anything in those headphones?"
he glances at you, then down at his battered over-ear set, blinking like he’d forgotten they were even on. "sometimes."
you hum, stepping up to adjust your weights. "what kinda music?
he hesitates. "depends."
"on?"
"the day."
you narrow your eyes. "that’s not an answer."
"sure it is."
you mutter something under your breath about how “everyone in this gym is allergic to giving a straight answer,” but drop it— he notices that about you. you ask, but you never push. never press. you’re content with whatever he gives, and somehow that makes him want to give you more.
it’s little things at first. small details. he learns that you hate most protein juices but drink it anyway, that you run cold so you always wear a hoodie even when you’re sweating through it, that you hate country music and give him a long, horrified look when you learn that he doesn’t. ("not all of it," he defends, rolling his eyes. "some of it’s alright." you just shake your head at him like he’s beyond saving.)
you learn things too. that his tattoos are actually a full sleeve ("when’d you get these?" "over time." "wow, thanks, that clears so much up."), that he has an endless supply of grey hoodies and sweatpants that he refuses to explain.
"you ever heard of color?" you ask, plucking at his sleeve, and he swats your hand away. "practical," he grunts. "s’not a fuckin’ fashion show."
and then— of course— you fixate on the boots. the combat boots. “okay, but why?” you prod, nudging the toe of his boot with yours. “you know you can wear actual gym shoes, right?”
he gives you a flat look, expression unreadable under the shadow of his hood. “they’re my only pair.”
you freeze. your face twists, and there’s this flicker of genuine horror in your eyes that throws him completely off guard. “simon... are you... homeless?” your voice drops to a whisper, hesitant, like you’re afraid to even ask. his brain short-circuits. he smacks you lightly over the head, more shocked than anything.
"what the fuck- no, i'm not homeless, jesus."
you rub the spot with a pout, still eyeing him like you're not completely convinced. “well, i don’t know,” you mumble.
“you wear the same thing every day, never see you with a bag or a wallet or-”
“drop it.”
“-you don’t even buy pre-workout, simon, who does that-”
“drop it.”
some days, he comes into the gym in a mood. the kind where his head is full of static, his skin prickling with the restless need to exhaust himself into oblivion. those are the days he doesn’t want to talk. doesn’t want to be seen. and you— you notice. you don’t come up to him, don’t pester him or try to joke around like normal. instead, you just stand off to the side, watching him with this soft, wide-eyed expression like some kind of kicked puppy.
it’s unbearable.
like an itch under his skin that won’t go away. it eats at him, gnaws at the edges of his concentration, and before he can help it, he’s groaning and gesturing you over with a sharp flick of his fingers. “for fuck’s sake, just get over here already.”
you grin like you’ve won something, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you jog over, and he regrets it immediately.
you bring him coffee sometimes. at first, he doesn’t know how to react. he just stares at it when you shove the cup into his hands, blinking down at the little scribbled name on the side like it’s some kind of foreign object. he doesn’t even like sugary coffee, but he drinks it anyway.
the next day, guilt eats at him, so he shoves a protein shake into your hands, unwilling to meet your eyes. "s’only fair."
you squint at it, shake the bottle, listening to the liquid inside slosh around. “what’s in it?”
he scoffs. "fuckin’ cyanide."
you take an exaggerated sniff before grinning. “smells like peanut butter.”
his eye twitches. “just drink it.”
and then, somehow, that becomes a thing, too. a habit. every other day, one of you brings the other something— coffee, protein shakes, the occasional energy drink when you can tell he’s running on fumes.
one night, the gym is nearly empty. just the hum of air conditioning, the occasional clink of metal, the low buzz of some forgotten playlist over the speakers. the late hour has driven most people out, leaving only you and simon.
you’re exhausted, arms shaking, muscles burning with that deep, satisfying ache, but you’re pushing for one more rep. just one.
simon stands behind you, watching through the mirror. arms crossed, weight shifted slightly forward. tracking every movement, every shift in your stance, the way your hands tighten around the bar.
"you're on fumes," he mutters, but steps closer anyway, close enough that the heat of him presses against your back.
you roll your shoulders, shake out your wrists. “i got it.”
he exhales sharp through his nose, scoff and sigh rolled into one, but he doesn’t argue. just moves in, bracketing your sides, his presence steadying.
"alright," he murmurs, watching as you adjust your grip.
you brace yourself, pull, and the weight barely moves. your arms burn immediately, tendons screaming under the strain. your grip shifts, fingers trembling, slipping—
his hands are there. firm and certain, sliding just beneath yours, adjusting your hold without taking over. his chest nearly against your back, his breath warm against the top of your head.
"fix that grip, sweetheart."
you do, fingers locking down harder, shoulders bracing. he doesn’t let go, not fully, his palms ghosting over your forearms, steadying you just enough.
"lock it out," he says, quiet but insistent. his hands shift, one flattening against your stomach, the other hovering at your ribs, like he can feel where the tension is pulling wrong, where you need to engage. "push through. i’ve got you."
your breath stutters, something curling low in your stomach, and you force everything into that last pull, dragging the bar up, arms shaking, until you finally lock it out.
his fingers press in, just briefly, a quick squeeze at your ribs. "good."
you hold it for a second before guiding the weight back down, slow and controlled. the second it racks, your body gives, arms dead, shoulders screaming.
you stumble, just a little, and his hands are already there, catching at your waist. warm. solid. fingers pressing in just enough to steady you. they linger, just a second too long.
and then— "good girl."
barely above a murmur, just breath and heat against your skin, but it slams through you all the same.
your stomach tightens. your pulse jumps. you freeze.
you turn, still breathless, muscles trembling from exertion.
and he’s right there. solid. massive. crowding you. broad chest rising and falling, sweat clinging to the fabric stretched over muscle. too close, heat rolling off him, sinking into your skin, and making your stomach twist. up close, he’s all sharp lines and thick muscle, biceps flexing slightly as he rolls his shoulders back, tilting his head down to look at you.
"don’t-" your voice breaks. you swallow hard. "don’t do that."
simon’s brow lifts, lazy. "don’t do what, sweetheart?"
your fingers twitch at your sides. you gesture vaguely, heat curling up your spine. "that. the- the praise."
his mouth quirks, amusement flickering at the edges. "what, telling you you’re doing good?"
"yes."
he makes a sound low in his throat. "why? thought you liked it."
you try to start a defense, but he steps closer, and fuck, there’s nowhere to go.
"you did so good," he murmurs. his hand lifts, brushing over the curve of your waist. "pushed yourself real hard. took every single rep like a good girl."
your breath catches and oh, does he catch on to that.
"you like hearing that, don’t you?" his fingers curl, pressing into your hip. "knowing i’m right there, watching you, making sure you finish strong."
low, warm, approving—
"bet that’s why you pushed so hard," he continues, like he’s musing to himself. "just to hear me say it. just to make me proud."
simon’s eyes flicker to the vein in your neck. his other hand lifts, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, slow, almost tender.
"say it, sweetheart," he murmurs. "let me take care of you.”
“please.”
the rest of the gym is a blur. you don’t even register leaving, don’t remember how you end up outside, only that simon’s hand is wrapped tight around your wrist, dragging you through the parking lot with a single-minded purpose. the concrete expanse is empty except for simon’s truck parked just underneath a street lamp.
simon hauls you into the backseat, the door slamming shut behind him. the truck rocks with the force of it, windows already fogging, the stale scent of leather and the last remnants of his cologne in the air. the streetlights outside cast a dim glow that cuts through the darkness in thin streaks, glinting off the sweat at his temples.
his hands are on you before you can think. rough, impatient. he grabs your hips, yanks you into his lap, drags you down until you crash against him. the heat of him burns through every layer between you.
his hips roll up.
you jolt, hands flying to his shoulders, gripping tight as the thick shape of him grinds against your clit. even through the fabric, you feel everything— the ridges, the weight, the solid pressure slotting perfectly against you.
he does it again.
your breath catches, legs tensing where they straddle his thighs. you try to move, to adjust, but his hands flex, fingers digging in, keeping you pinned where he wants you.
"shh," simon hushes, arm against your skin, grip tightening as he forces you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you. "let me feel you."
his hips drag against you and you react before your brain can catch up, instinct driving you forward, grinding down, chasing the pressure.
his breath stutters, shoulders tensing as he watches you move. the friction grows slicker, hotter, the damp fabric sticking between you.
you glance down— and then you see it. his sweats, darkened, soaked where you grind against him, your arousal leaking through, making a mess of him.
"fuck-"
he exhales sharply, hands shifting, one palm smoothing down your thigh before gripping, pulling you into him.
"that’s it." he’s almost slurring his words now, his hips rolling up to meet yours. "so fuckin’ wet..."
your nails bite into his arms, your body working without thought, hips rolling, pressing down harder. the truck shifts with every movement, the worn leather seat creaking beneath you.
"fuck, baby." his lips brush your jaw. "so messy. feel that?"
you nod frantically and his cock jumps at your eagerness.
his patience snaps.
one moment you’re grinding down against him, chasing the delicious friction, and the next you're scrambling for purchase as he lifts you.
simon shoves his sweats down, and his cock springs free, slapping up against his stomach. it's thick. throbbing. the flushed tip leaking pre, smearing along the ridges of his abs, catching in the dim of the streetlights.
he’s big. not just in length— though fuck, he’s long enough to make your stomach clench— but thick, too. veins run along the shaft, disappearing beneath the flushed, ruddy skin. the head is a deep, aching red, fat and swollen, leaking so much it dribbles down, streaking along his cock, mixing with the slick mess you’ve already made on him.
the weight of him makes his cock hang low even as it twitches, pulsing with the rush of blood. it looks almost angry, the veins along the base throbbing, his whole cock flexing with each slow pump of his fist as he strokes himself, spreading the mess of precum along his length.
simon watches your expression shift, pleased. "knew you’d like that.”
he's teasing but you barely hear it. your eyes stay locked on him, pulse hammering as you take in the sheer size, the stretch you’re about to take—
he shifts his grip, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other around his cock. your hips twitch, instinct making you reach for him, trying to press forward, but he holds you back, squeezes to get your attention.
"look at that..” simon presses the head of his cock against your stomach, dragging it up, smearing wet along your skin. "gonna take all this, yeah? let me stretch that little cunt open?"
"yes- yes, please-"
"fuck." his breath shudders, his hold on you tightening. "greedy thing."
he yanks you forward, spreads your legs wider, fits himself between your thighs, grinds his cock through your slit.
the first press makes you jolt, your whole body twitching, a choked sound slipping from your throat. he groans, gripping your waist, shoving you down, rubbing your swollen clit against the head, dragging himself through your slick over and over again.
"desperate," he muses, almost cruel. "thought you could take me just like that?"
you try to answer, try to say something, but your brain doesn't work, body too busy chasing relief, hips jerking, cunt aching, a mess of whimpers spilling from your lips.
his cock is heavy against your stomach, his tip leaving a damp streak along your skin as he drags it upward. the grip he has on your waist is firm, fingers pressing deep into your flesh, keeping you still, making sure you see exactly how much of him is about to disappear inside you.
“look at that,” he murmurs, lilted by something dark and pleased. “gonna fit all this inside, yeah? stretch that little cunt open real nice for me?”
your breath shudders in your throat. the weight of him, the sheer size, sends a pulse of heat through you, thighs trembling where he holds them apart. he presses his cock higher, smearing himself over your navel, dragging slow just to watch the way your stomach flexes beneath him.
simon's fingers tighten at your hips, anchoring you in place. his eyes flick up, locking onto yours. “still want it?”
you can’t nod fast enough, hands fisting in the hard muscle of his shoulders, your pulse drumming against your ribs. “yes-”
he huffs a quiet laugh before shaking his head. then he moves, his hands shifting to your waistband. simon doesn’t take his time, doesn’t tease— just yanks your shorts down in one rough motion, shoving them past your thighs, tossing them aside like they’re nothing.
your panties are soaked through, the thin fabric clinging to your skin, darker where arousal has seeped into it. his gaze drops, and he groans, fingers flexing against your thighs.
his eyes practically shine as he reaches down, hooking two fingers into the waistband, pulling the fabric to the side instead of taking it off completely. “how long have you been sittin’ here all wet for me, huh?”
then, without warning, he lifts his cock and slaps it against your cunt. the obscene sound echoes between you.
you jolt, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. the weight of him presses down, drags over your swollen folds, smearing your slick along the length of him, leaving him just as messy as you.
simon's breath hitches, jaw going tight for a moment before he grins. “feel that?” he rocks his hips, slow and deliberate, the ridge of his head catching against your clit with every motion. “soaked for me. filthy girl.”
he keeps at it, rutting through your folds, dragging his cock against you in long, teasing glides. every lazy roll of his hips spreads more wetness between you, slick growing messier, needier, your arousal coating every inch of him.
his voice drops lower, almost awed. “you always this wet?”
you shake your head. you're not even sure why you're this wet. it’s obscene, every slow slide of him making a sticky, wet sound, the kind that makes your face burn with embarrassment.
his grip on your thighs tightens. he presses against you harder, lets his cock drag through the mess, smearing it everywhere, making it worse.
“just for me then?” he asks, watching the way his cock glistens, slick with everything you’ve given him. “i kind of like that.”
he lines himself up, pressing the thick, leaking tip against your aching entrance. he lets it catch there for a second, teasing, before dragging it up one last time, rubbing against your clit, watching you twitch beneath him.
then he settles back down, pressing again, the heavy weight of him poised to sink inside.
his eyes flick back to yours. “gonna let me in now, yeah?”
the first push is a mistake. he realizes it the second you tense up, sucking in a sharp breath, thighs trembling where they’re spread over his lap. his cock barely breaches you— just the tip, barely an inch— and your body locks up, refusing to take more.
simon grits his teeth, hands firm on your waist, trying to ease you down, but you’re too tight, squeezing around him like you’re trying to push him out. the head of his cock throbs where it’s barely inside you, thick and unyielding, stretching you too much, too fast.
he exhales through his nose, slow and measured, and tries again. rocks his hips, nudging deeper, letting you feel the weight of him pressing in. but you whimper, body trembling, nails biting into his skin. your walls clench down hard, resisting, and—
he stops. groans, and drops his head back against the seat.
"jesus christ." his palm drags over his face. "knew you were tight, but- fuck. you’re not gonna take me like this."
your face burns. your throat aches. frustration coils hot in your chest. "i’m sorry-"
"oh, sweetheart." simon's hands slide up your back, rough palms smoothing over your skin before he leans back, head tilting, eyes flicking over you. half amused, half exasperated. "you apologizing for having a cunt this tight?"
you sniffle, shifting in his lap, arousal sticky between your thighs. "but i wanted to-"
"you will." his voice is steady, calm, but his grip on your hips tightens. "just gotta take my time, yeah? don’t want you cryin’ when i finally get this cock in you."
you sniff again, blinking up at him, vision blurred, lips parted. "too late."
he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "fuckin’ hell."
then his hands are moving again, trailing lower, fingers slipping between your slick folds, pressing in slow.
you jolt at the touch, a sharp, wrecked little sound catching in your throat. simon groans, watching the way you twitch in his lap.
"fuck, baby. so sensitive. all worked up and nowhere to put it, huh?"
you nod, heat crawling up your neck, hips jerking as he rubs slow, lazy circles over your clit. his fingers are thick, rough, dragging through the mess between your thighs, teasing, pressing just enough to make your breath stutter.
"s’not fair," you mumble.
"life’s not fair, sweetheart." his fingers press in again, pushing deeper. one first, stretching you open, curling inside. then another. then a third. his other hand stays on your thigh, keeping you spread, holding you open so he can watch the way you take him.
"gotta get you nice and open." his voice low and warm. "don’t want you breakin’ on me just yet."
you whimper, rocking into his hand, clenching down around his fingers. your clit throbs under his thumb, swollen and aching, every slow grind of his palm sending another shudder through you.
"shh. just let me do this for you, yeah?"
you do. trembling, gasping, grinding down, taking everything he gives until you’re loose, slick, ready.
when he pulls his fingers out, you whine, walls fluttering around nothing.
then his cock is back, pressing against your entrance, thick and hot, teasing for only a moment before he pushes in—
you take him.
the stretch is unbearable. every inch forces you open, slow and deliberate, the thick drag of him pressing deeper than anything ever has. your breath stutters, body shaking, thighs trembling where they rest over his.
"fuck, sweetheart," he groans, voice tight, hands gripping your hips, keeping you still, keeping you from pulling away. "you feel that? squeezing me so fuckin’ tight."
you do. every ridge, every vein, the slow, impossible push of him splitting you open, inch by inch, pressing deep— then he stops.
breath stuttering, you blink at him, dazed, confused, still so empty. "w-why-"
"baby," his voice is almost pained. "m’pressing right up against your cervix. can’t go any deeper."
but it’s not enough. you whimper, hips twitching, shifting to take more, to sink lower. "but i still feel empty, si.."
his jaw clenches, fingers digging into your thighs, trying to keep you still, stopping you from punching a fucking hole through your guts. "jesus, sweetheart. you don’t know what you’re askin."
"please," you breathe, eyes glassy, desperate. "si, please, want all of you-"
he groans, head dropping back against the seat, restraint hanging by a thread. "fuck."
then his grip tightens, and before you can say another word, he forces you down the rest of the way.
"oh-oh my god-" your whole body shakes, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as the thick head of his cock breaches your cervix, slipping into your womb, stuffing you full.
simon grunts, the squeeze of you making his vision blur for a second. "jesus fuckin’ christ."
the moment he bottoms out, your walls clamp down, fluttering, pulsing around him— the pleasure snaps without warning, white-hot, rolling through you all at once.
"fuck- fuck, baby." he curses, the squeeze of your cunt almost painful. his half-lidded eyes are trained on where the two of you connect, the way you gush around him, soaking his cock. "just from takin’ me all the way? filthy fuckin’ thing-"
he huffs a rough laugh, fingers flexing against your hips, appreciating the extra slick easing the way. "makes it easier, at least," he mutters, then starts to move.
it’s slow at first— just enough to let you feel it, to make you ache through the thick drag of him pulling back, just enough to let you whimper at the sheer pressure of his cock pressing against every swollen, overstimulated inch of your cunt.
but you’re already gone.
your lashes flutter, your lips part around soft, wrecked little sounds, your hips twitching even though he’s holding you down, even though you’re already stuffed so fucking full.
"look at you," he murmurs, dragging a palm up your belly, pressing down right where he’s so deep, groaning when he feels the outline of himself inside you. "fuckin’ cock-drunk already, sweetheart?"
you sob, thighs squeezing around his waist, hands grasping at him, trying to find something to hold onto as your hips jerk, rolling forward mindlessly, instinct driving you to take more, take everything.
he groans, gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so he can see all of it.
"can’t even talk, can you? too fuckin’ dumb to think straight."
"s-simon-"
"what, love? too far gone already?"
his smirk is wicked, his grip tight as he presses his hips up, spearing you open all over again.
you scream, body jerking, back arching, thighs trembling around him. "ohh- oh fuck-"
"there we go." his voice is full of praise, full of something dark and indulgent. "there’s my good girl."
he sets a slow rhythm, dragging his cock out until only the thick head is inside you before slamming all the way back in, spearing you open, making sure you feel it, making sure you take every inch.
"bloody hell," he mutterd, feeling the way your walls squeeze him, the way you shudder, the way you drip around him, slick gushing, soaking his cock, ruining his seats.
"listen to that, sweetheart," he groans, shifting his grip, spreading his knees just a little wider to pin you in place. "fuckin’ mess you’re makin."
he glances down, eyes nearly rolling at the sight— your cunt stretched wide around him, slick dripping down to his balls, pooling beneath you.
"christ, love." he has to gasp for breath. "fuckin’ leaking all over me- ruinin’ my fuckin’ truck-"
"s-simon-" you lose your train of thought, babbling incomprehensible strings of words.
"can't think?" simon's grin sharpens. "good. don’t need you thinkin."
That's how people would describe your relationship with Simon, even your friends gave you a confused, almost unsettling look when you first introduced him to them.
But you couldn't care less. Despite the constant disapproval looks of your parents—especially your father—you still kept on seeing Simon. That's why both of you are on your second year together.
Inside your relationship, both of you managed to stay . . . holy? Or maybe only you. Simon is definitely just holding back, he's aware you want to wait until marriage, and being the best boyfriend he is, he's willing to wait.
Though of course, you still have needs. And despite not wanting to acknowledge it, Simon insists it's okay if you do.
Kisses here and there begin to happen, even though it started as quick pecks on the lips, it slowly turned into a full-blown make out sessions. You pray after—you always do—telling God to forgive you for doing such things and having sinful thoughts.
But soon after, it isn't just kisses. Simon would occasionally pull you into his lap when things get heated, his rough and heavy hands guiding your hips to grind down on his erection, fully controlling your movements.
"'S alright, luvie," he whispers in your ear when he notices your eyebrows furrow slightly, caressing your hips, "It's not in, right?"
And how can you resist your boyfriend when it also feels good for you? So you let it happen, you close your eyes and let yourself feel pleasure, feel him.
Which is why you end up laid down on the couch, skirt lifted up just enough for Simon to see all of you, panties pulled to the side as the angry tip of his cock nudges your soaked entrance.
"Jus' the tip, angel," he coax, leaning down to press a kiss on your cheek, an attempt to calm you down.
"Si . ." you whine at him, fat tears already threatening to spill down your cheeks any moment now, "I don't think I can—"
"Ya can," he answers, almost too fast, "Yer a good girl."
He places a hand on your cheek, caressing softly as his tip slide out of you, then in again, making you breathe in sharply. He makes sure to help you relax again, whispering lowly in your ear as he continues to slip his tip in and out.
He does that for a while, groaning lowly everytime he feels your pussy clench tightly around his languid thrusts—but then he lets an inch of his cock slip inside.
"Simon!" you gasp, mouth agape, your fingernails now digging further into his skin, leaving marks on his bicep. A stray tear runs down your cheek as you close your eyes.
"Shhh, luvie," he coos in your ear, kising your tears away and massaging your hips, "Feels good, doesn't it?"
When you nod hesitantly, he presses deeper once again, working his thick cock inside you inch by inch. It's buried inside your sweet cunt until it bulges in your stomach, the outline of his cock visible.
"Look at tha'," he chuckles darkly, looking down at where your bodies are connected, "Fuckin' made f'me, ye are."
His thrusts becomes harsher soon after, holding you down when you weakly attempt to squirm away from him, or rather his pistoning cock abusing your virgin pussy.
"Atta girl," he rasps, opening your legs wider in order to see more of your glistening cunt swallowing every thick inch of him, "Yer made f'this, made to take my cock, yeah?"
The size of his cock alone is enough to overwhelm you—but the way he fucks you is a different story, he does it like there's no tomorrow, like he's trying to break the damn couch. And his cock reaches your sweet spot over and over again, making your body shudder with each thrust, eyes rolling back.
He's so filthy, filthier than you thought he is. His raspy voice, whispering things in your ear like;
"Look at yer lil' pussy, angel. She's already so eager for it."
"Don't cry, luvie. 'S not wrong, yer still a good girl. My good fuckin' girl."
If you thought him fucking you mercilessly was already too much, you definitely weren't prepared when he fills your cunt up with his seed, hilting himself as deep as he can.
just fyi, fanfic culture is dying because people from tik tok (and most likely people who shouldn’t be on tumblr reading smut anyway) leave hate comments, harrass the writers, people call anyone writing fanfic that’s slightly dark rape apologists and pedophiles, people that enjoy the fics don’t comment, there’s no actual engagement…why would anyone want to write anything?
people write fanfic because it’s fun and they want to share it. tumblr community used to be a place where people would come in your inbox and talk about fic, your favorite characters. now you publish something with rough sex and people start calling you the most horrific names in existence.
at the same time, there are parts of tumblr that are getting so dark it scares me to even be on this website.
i just wanna have a pink page and talk about calling my fave fictional men daddy 😭 i’m in my twenties. i have a busy busy life. this is supposed to be a fun escape. content for adults by adults featuring adults.
heyyy first request ever but I saw your boobieobsessed!simon fic and I was in absolute heaven. Anyways— what would he do if he ever heard the reader complaining about how heavy and sore they feel for absolutely no reason?
It happened when Simon has you resting on top his lap, legs straddling him, your cheek presssed lightly on his shoulder, comfortably resting your head there when you complain about your chest feeling sore and heavier than usual.
His attention is immediately on you, his hands that were rubbing your back are trailing soothingly up your sides, resting beneath your clothed breasts.
He gently cups the soft globes, lifting them up when you said they were feeling heavy. He started massaging them sensually slow, holding you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world. His thumb hovered on top of the peaks, not quite touching, just grazing.
You whine, pressing your face in the crook of his neck. It felt like heaven, like the weight you've been carrying has been lifted.
"Poor girl," he coos at you, looking down at your beautiful flushed face, cheeks painted with pink-ish tint, "Jus' relax f'me, luv."
His rough hands are felt feather-like soft now, afraid to cause further pain or discomfort to your body, but still wants to make you feel good and all better.
He keeps massaging your boobs, both his hands focused on your body, and he knows he should only be trying to make you feel relieved . . . but God help him, he can't help but feel his cock straining in his pants. He just can't resist you when your breasts feel as soft as ever, and especially now when you're making such cute whines.
He finds himself jerking his hips upwards, lightly thrusting and pressing his erection against your clothed cunt, seeking more fiction. And you moan, rolling your hips slowly to meet his thrust.
He groans, even such a simple contact between your bodies was already too much for him, one hand now subconsciously travelling down to grip your hips, as if to encourage you to do it again.
And when you do? He's a goner. Let's just say you ended up riding his cock few minutes after while his hands are still glued to your tender boobs.
biker!simon who saw you working in the convenience store near his go-to gasoline station, smiling and greeting prettily behind the counter, his eyes fixed on your plump lips that were quirked upwards, soft rosy cheeks, and your delicate hands working to scan his items.
biker!simon who instantly knew he has to have you the moment his eyes landed on your angel-like face, gaze burning right through you, as if it would be enough to mark you, leave his claim on you like some kind of animal.
biker!simon who added it into his daily routine to visit you in your store, buying more and more things so he'd have longer time to hear your sweet voice. he comes everyday without fail to the point you get used to it, soon enough you recognize him by the sound of his bike alone. that's exactly what he wants.
biker!simon who now offers you rides back home and says he can also drop you off work anytime, maybe even invite you to stroll around town during your day off. and when you do agree to it all, he can't get enough of how you look when you're on his bike.
biker!simon who makes it obvious that he wants you to be his and his alone. his gloved hand grazing your soft thigh when you're stuck in traffic, massaging it enough to draw a small, breathless noise out of your lips. he tightens his grip when the sound reaches his ear, a teasing chuckle escaping his lips.
biker!simon who just couldn't help it anymore. he parks in a dark alley and has you bent over his bike, holding on for dear life as your legs quiver, his sharp and punishing thrust abusing your swollen cunt. he's mesmerized at how stunning you look under him. he might take a pic or two. maybe even a video.
Simon Ghost Riley with a disgustingly age inappropriate relationship that’s more along the lines of him picking up a stray from a batch of new recruits and deciding they’re the one he’s gonna work out all his weird fucking gross thoughts/feelings on. I’m talking filth he’s only had on repeat in his head and maybe some choice content pulled from highly unethical and inhumane sources.
ಇ. pairings ; simon "ghost" riley x soaps sister!reader
ಇ. summary ; Your brother, who had just gotten off deployment, told you about a friend he has from work & said that he'll be bringing him over. You were totally cool about it—you just didn't expect him to be this hot.
ಇ. warnings ; unprotected p in v . hair pulling . dirty talk . rough sex . ( dunno how to tag this, just smut w a lil plot really )
ಇ. word count ; 1.4k
ಇ. a/n ; this ones pretty longer than what i usually write n i js hope u guys love it. ♡ enjoy reading ! ;p
When and where has your brother been hiding this mouthwatering man from you?
That's the first question that popped into your mind the very second you saw him, towering behind your brother, his eyes instantly locked on you. Your brother—Johnny—has told stories before that involved him, calls him Simon, said that he'd probably bring him home tonight. He just forgot to mention the part where Simon is a scrumptious man that made your mind short-circuit when your eyes landed on him.
And now, you don't even complain that your brother is bossing you around the house to fetch things for them, as long as it means you'd have the chance to get a look at Simon. And you may or may not have been sneaking sweet smiles at him the moment Johnny adverts his gaze.
But you never really thought that you'd actually make a move on Simon, he looked like the type of guy who'd just send you your way if you try anything. And you knew that your brother would be against it, not like that would prevent you from doing something when you get the chance though.
And get the chance you did.
It was starting to get late when you descended down the stairs to head to the kitchen, hair still messy from laying down for hours in an attempt to sleep, failing miserably and ending up with a growling stomach. A little snack wouldn't hurt, right?
So you rummaged through the cabinets, it sounded like a starving raccoon broke into your kitchen, messily picking and moving things around. You didn't really care that you were making a lot of noise, you knew that your brother was a heavy sleeper, especially after getting home from his job. But it turns out Johnny isn't the one you should be worried about.
You were trying to reach a certain chip from the kitchen cabinet, already on your tiptoes and your arm stretching as far as it could. You grunt in annoyance, you turned around in defeat—then you saw Simon standing a few steps away from you. He looked like a big shadow. A gasp left your lips, almost jumping from your position. You looked like a deer caught in the headlights.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry,” You were quick to blurt out an apology, relaxing slightly but remained unmoving from your spot. Well, where else were you supposed to go?
“Thought you were a thief,” He replied, his gaze roaming your whole body, like he's examining you. You felt conscious, but there was this sudden heat rushing through your body.
“Thought you were asleep,” You countered playfully, your lips forming a small grin.
He steps closer to where you're standing, and you feel like you're about to completely forget how to breathe. This isn't the evening you were anticipating—okay, maybe deep down it is.
“I was,” He murmured, still eyeing you carefully, “Until I heard ya.”
You chuckled at that, trying to make the situation lighter for yourself because your heart was beating ten times faster, the nervousness reaching the chuckle that slipped out of your lips.
“Need help reachin’ sumthin?” He asked, his voice rough and thick with his accent, raising his eyebrows at you ever so slightly.
“Oh.. uh, yeah,” You turned your back on him, extending your arm to point at the chips placed inside the cabinet.
Before you could step aside so he could reach the food more easily, you felt an undeniably muscular body hit your back, his hand reaching on top of your head and grabbing the snack easily.
If that alone already made your heart beat ten times faster, imagine how you almost instantly lost your mind when he placed his large hand on your hips, bringing the chips down in front of you.
The way you reacted to his touch didn't go unnoticed by him, his actions becoming bolder as you feel his rough palm start to subtly rub circles on your hip, causing you to shudder a little. And his lips quirk up in a smirk, looking down at you with amusement.
“So responsive already, eh?” He tilts his head at you in an almost mocking way—then he pulls you by your hips, your back hits his chest with a small gasp. And God, you could feel his erection poking you from behind, he has no shame about it too.
“Bet if I reach my hand down yer shorts you'd be soakin’.” He rasps in your ear, tone mockingly sweet.
You wanted to say no, even though it's true. But then—
“Right, sweet girl?” He adds, his head ducking to place a hot and wet kiss behind your ear.
And that was enough to make your knees buckle, almost enough that you'd drop to your knees if he wasn't holding you.
“Please,” You manage to say, your voice soft and breathy as you look up at him with those sweet pleading eyes. Who's Simon to deny that?
In an instant, he's turning you around to face him, lips connecting with yours before you could even catch your breath. He kisses you like a man starving, pouring his hunger as he deepened the kiss, tongue trying to slip inside your warm mouth. And when you allow it, he acts like he's trying to taste every inch of your mouth.
When you both pulled back, panting and chest heaving as you tried to catch your breaths, his mouth started to attack your neck next, open-mouthed kisses trailing down to your collarbone, and down to your chest.
You let out a soft moan, tilting your neck to the side to give him more access to your creamy skin. You feel his hands roam under your shirt, strategically unclasping your bra so he could palm your breast, massaging and squeezing the globes.
“More, Simon..” You breathlessly whine, head thrown back already at how good his hands and mouth felt against your skin, like he was made to make you feel good, made to utterly please you.
That's all he needs. Clothes are thrown everywhere in the kitchen, some on the floor, some barely hanging somewhere in the counters. Both of you couldn't care less when your minds are clouded with pure, unadulterated lust.
That's how you ended up bent over the counter, one rough and calloused hand tangled in your hair while the other held your hip, pinning you down as Simon snapped his hips against your ass, his thick cock buried inside you.
“Atta girl,” He praises, thrusting deep in your tight cunt, letting his cock nestle there while he leaves kisses—maybe marks too—on the side of your neck. “Grippin’ my cock so fuckin’ tight.”
The whines and moans that are slipping out of your pink lips are becoming louder, in contrast with the way his hips snap against you are becoming harsher, more erratic, like they'd leave a vivid bruise on you the morning after. His tight grip on your hips are now guiding you to meet his thrusts from behind, earning a loud groan when you actually start to press your ass back on him.
“C’mon, baby, give it t'me,” He urges, rasping in your ear as his cock hits that spot inside you, your eyes rolling back in pure ecstasy and pleasure, already seeing stars. And he feels it, he sees the tell-tales of your actions; the way you're squeezing him tighter, your legs bucking, whimpering and crying out his name. “Thaaa's it, luv. Gonna cum f'me? Show me how much ya luv bein’ stuffed full?”
And you do exactly as he says. He feels your pussy clam down on him, legs shaking uncontrollably as your orgasm wash through you like a tidal wave, reciting his name like a prayer as you do.
But he wasn't done. He was also chasing his own orgasm, taking longer to finish than you. He makes you take it, makes you take his harsher and harder thrusts, pounding inside your sore cunt like there's no tomorrow, like he's claiming you.
The moment he feels himself getting close, he starts to double his efforts—then he hilts himself deeper inside your well-abused pussy, painting your insides white while groaning in your ear;
His thrusts become slower before coming to an end, and he peppers your neck with kisses again, murmuring soft praises in them as you both try to catch your breaths, his hands now massaging your sides gently, as if trying to soothe you.
You're convinced you just had the hottest sex anyone has ever had.
And let's just ignore how Johnny asked you why you're walking funny the morning after.
Smth smth Simon being obsessed with your tits. He's like downright insane about it, he practically drools when he gets a look at your boobs.
And he has no shame about it. He gropes and squeezes your breast anytime he gets the chance, licking his lips as he feels your soft skin under your tight shirt against his palm, continuing to massage them.
"Look at these lovelies," He rasps, eyes fixated on the way your tits moves against his rough hands, his cock already stirring in his pants, "All f'me, yeah luv?"
It doesn't take long for him to be tugging your shirt up, unclasping your bra clumsily and absolutely devouring your tits, sucking your nipples and kissing the areas around it while his hand massages the other one.
"Mhmm.. tastes so goddamn good," he murmurs between kisses, tasting you like you're the most exquisite food there is, he just can't get enough. "Fuckin' irresistible."
And you know he's not gonna stop. Not by a long shot.
Simon Riley getting off on fucking you infront of the mirror. 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
Don't get him wrong, the sight of you alone writhing and mewling under him is absolutely heavenly, sure, but making you watch yourself is a complete game changer.
It's completely accidental how he discovered this: you've recently bought a full-sized mirror for your shared bedroom, temporarily placing it at the foot of your bed and claiming you'll re-arrange it later. But oh, how goddamn glad he is that you didn't.
Because later that day, you end up on Simon's lap, his muscular chest pressed up against your back as he guides your hips to come down harder on his cock. His heated gaze is focused solely on you in the mirror, trailing kisses near your ear as he whispers:
"Y'see how yer takin' my cock so good?" One of his hands trailing down to your stomach, grazing the bulge of his thick cock there, "Look at ya, luv. So fuckin' full, ain't ya?"
He's absolutely mesmerized by how gorgeous you look right now; your hair's a mess, sweat rolling down your sexy body, mouth agape with how good he's filling you up. He just had to make you see that too.
And when you close your eyes even just a little bit? He won't allow it.
He'd stop his movements and hold you down to keep you from moving, making you open your eyes to check what's wrong—then he murmurs in your ear, "Nuh-uh, baby. Keep lookin' at yerself, see how fuckin' pretty you are when y're full o' me."
And he isn't gonna stop until you can see his cum dripping down your thighs, your belly swollen with his babies. ❤︎
⌗┆a/n ⋮ aaaa my other fics have been getting lots of löve from u guys, i js wanna say i'm so thankful ᵎᵎ mwah ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა
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