OKAY HEAR ME OUT! kissing simon before a mission and leaving lipstick stains on his mask. pulling him by his collar and peppering kisses all over even tho he kissed you good and hard before he put his mask on just moments ago. you decide not to tell him and he has no idea why his men are giggling like school girls at him. when he finally cracks, “what’s so bloody funny?” and soap tells him, he closes his eyes in irritation. but he’s not really annoyed. not truly. he loves knowing you purposely didn’t tell him that you left little kiss stains on his mask. loves that you can be a bit of a brat. loves that now, when he gets back, he gets to punish you <3
Plot; You staying at Ghosts place and see his uniform for the first time
Warnings; CNC, humiliation, Oral M Receiving
Word Count; 2,574
Dante Nyhpmir Master List
So much music you'd never heard of. It was odd dating someone of a completely different generation than you. Why he felt compelled to collect records in the first place was a little beyond you but it made him happy. He had showed you how to start the gramophone before, you'd do your best to remember after,
“Finally” you thought, recognizing an album you actually know. One that would fit the mood you're looking for. You don't grab the actual center, he showed you how to hold it to not damage the vinyl as you bend over. Making sure the needle made contact all while not realizing he had come back into the room. His eyes fixated on you while you put the other record back. Sitting on the floor.
A scream lets out of you when you turn around to see him. You can't help it. It catches you so off guard.
“Holy fuck” you let out as you catch your breath, “you weren't kidding about your uniform….”
It was daunting. Full tactical gear, all black, combat boots, gloves. Everything looked so heavy.
And the mask.
It highlighted his eyes. Eye contact felt more intense. More extreme. The same feeling you get when you know someone's watching you, the instinct to look back. The evolutionary impulse to find what's hunting you.
Were you being hunted?
He stayed there for a minute. No words.
You forgot how big he was. In those moments realizing how quiet he could be.
What the people who had the misfortune to run into him felt, the last thing they saw before they died.
His eyes.
Burning holes into yours.
You felt stuck in place until he finally took his first step.
Simon never ran during any scenes. He didn't move quickly until you were actually fucking. Every moment of build up was slow. Discerning.
Each step he took you felt in your gut as he got closer.
And closer.
You have to at least to try to meet him but as you get up he cuts you off
“Stay”
You sit back down, slowly.
There is no asking.
You recognize a command when you hear one. This is not Simon in front of you. This is not the man that picks you up and takes you for dinner. This is not who brings you flowers and asks you about your day. This is not the gentleman that holds your hand under tables and grabs your thigh in the car. This is not the man you catch staring at you like he's the luckiest person in the world to have you. It's not the man who listens intentionally and shows you how much he respects your opinion. This was not a man of egalitarianism.
Ghost was different.
“Good girl” he says as he takes a seat on the couch across from you. Staring at you.
“Wow” you let out “I didn't expect it to be so….”
He stares, not helping you find words
“Formidable” you finally finished.
“You asked what my uniform looks like”
“I did” you swallow
Beat.
“Do you–”
“Take it off,” he interrupts.
You hold onto your shirt, your eyes asking the question.
“All of it,” he answers.
Sitting up on your knees you remove your trousers, and gliding back down you pull the shirt over your head. His eyes never leave you. Trained on you.
As if they hadn't been undressing you all night.
With your shirt tossed aside your eyes meet but he's not satisfied.
“All.
Of.
It.”
He commands.
“I'll sit back down” You say as you stand up at a leisurely pace, bending over sliding your panties down your legs as they highlight every inch. Making eye contact with him again once they reach your ankles and tossing them aside with a flick of your foot. Without hurry, making your way back to the floor.
It was beautiful watching his chest lift under the tactical gear.
He leans forward, elbows over his knees holding his hands
“Come here”
Beat.
Your body forgets to work sometimes before it snaps back to what's happening. To just respond.
To just let go.
Taking your time to crawl over to him,
“Eyes up” he says with each step you take before you find yourself between his legs.
His hands hold your face. The tension in his fingers is palpable, you feel him holding himself back already. Managing to gently move hair out of the way of your face as his thumb runs itself over your cheek.
Why does this scare you?
Why does this feel like a threat?
Why are you so far gone by now?
Your hair needs to be out of the way for the collar he takes out of one of the many pockets.
“Sit down and straighten your back”
You listen, you're already locked in but the collar proves that point.
He's not the gentleman you know.
You're not the progressive feminist for a night. You're not the woman who fights back at the second site of disrespect. You're not the person who has to navigate each individual situation and how it will affect the outcome of your day to day. You don't have to think of anyone else.
You don't have to think at all.
You're just a body.
His body to play with.
A pet.
It feels so good tightly wrapped around your neck. Both hands holding onto your face as he kisses you, there's a way he kisses you that always takes over. Like his whole body does it, the hold you feel when his lips finally let go but linger next to yours as you hear his breath.
Hearing him breathe always helped you let go. You're just bodies. Exploring each other, matching his breath before his hands tighten up and toss it aside.
He sits back.
“Show me how you play with it”
His arms spread across the couch as you sit between his legs, directly looking at him. Remembering eye contact until your instructions are presented.
“Sir?”
“Show. Me. How you play with it” he adjusts before you clue in. Seeing the bulge you think could rip through his fatigues.
Your lips press against themselves, excited to play with him.
To please him as your hands undo his belt, zipper and adjust to finally let his cock breathe.
Before you drown it in the back of your throat.
Your hand pulls down your face as you lick your palm before your tongue pulls itself up over his cock. No friction to be had as your mouth moves up and down. Feeling him get harder and harder with every slow thrust of your lips and grip of your palm. It was the best feeling, his body couldn't lie, how happy you'd make him with each twist of your hand finding rhythm as your head would escape to the tip. Your tongue wrapping around and centering that sensitive head. Even making your lips wet and kissing it softly before plunging back down.
Your favourite challenge.
To take all of him.
“Eyes up” he says again
Your lids flick up, doe eyes matching his cold ones. You can't smile but your eyes can as your melancholic energy breathes new life into him. Tightening your grip and then releasing, your hand working in unison with your mouth and tongue. Each one taking care of him from the base to the very top.
His body didn't lie, you didn't know how to explain it but you knew exactly what his body needed. So in tune with how to please him, harder and harder, until
“Do better”
You halt mid lick, looking up at him confused before finishing the lap.
Your eyes don't smile. Just concern.
Maybe you forgot to make eye contact. You would get lost in pleasing him at times. That's probably what he meant.
Fixing your mistake as you look up at him, tip of your tongue caressing around the bottom of the head and kissing before going back down with your mouth and hand. This time, eyes locked on.
But his head never falls back, pupils never roll into his skull. Just looking at you.
How can someone look at another in a condescending way? How do his eyes say that?
His hand finds a way around the back of your head and lifts it up off his cock before you once again hear.
“Do. Better”
As he lowers you back down by your hair, eyes trained on him.
You know he's excited. You feel it in your hands. You know how to play with him. You know how to please him.
He's playing with you.
Give him more.
Your body lights up, there's a difference between autopilotting a part of your body and giving over your body. You hold your weight, as you take him with your entirety. All of your energy in your body is being thrown together.
He would kiss you with his whole body.
You would do the same.
But still, if not worse this time,
“I told you to do better”
His boot finds a way to your shoulder, your scared eyes lock into those cold ones before he kicks you back onto the floor. Off your balance.
It takes you a minute to compose yourself before he calls you back over. His boot extended and his condescending lean on his knees again.
“Lick it”
His eyes point to you, his boot and then back to you.
Beat.
“Sir?”
“You can follow instructions, can't you?”
You nodd.
It's hard to get words out.
Find your knees, find your ground.
Even you leaning over isn't good enough as he interrupts
“Slower”
Before your mouth is inches away
“Eyes up”
Your eyes meet his as your tongue falls out of your mouth and head tilts, dragging your tongue behind on the foot of his boot.
Back and forth.
Over and over again.
His eyes smile.
“Good girl”
Your tongue makes its way around your mouth, almost reminding itself what it feels like. The texture isn't normal to you before hearing
“Did I say you could stop?”
You continue.
Back and forth.
Over and over.
Your head drags your tongue, looking at him. Relishing it.
“Ass up”
You do what you're told. You're well trained.
Mindless.
“So you can follow instructions”
As he pulls away. Your head falls forward as if he pulled out a chair from underneath you before his hand reaches down.
His finger finds the piece of the collar to pull you back up, tightly. Holding you in place as he moved the mask up to expose his lips.
“Open your mouth”
God he had a beautiful jawline.
His other hand gives your face a light slap.
“Just when you were doing so well.”
God it felt good.
“Let's try this again. Open. Your. Mouth”
Your eyes meet his as your chin falls.
“Let's see your tongue.”
Gravity pulls the tongue out of your mouth without hesitation.
“Good girl” he says as he spits directly in your mouth, his index finger under your chin to close it.
“What do you say?”
“Thank you” you manage to get out
“Thank you, what?”
“Thank you Sir”
His hand slides to grab your face, pressing your cheeks together before letting go
“Are you ready to try again?”
You nod as your body floats back to him. You dive into him. Both hands holding on and twisting with each thrust of your mouth. Your tongue does not leave any spot untouched. The delicate head being caressed and kissed before plunging back down. Feeling him hit the back of your throat and keeping him there. Your eyes don't leave him. Back and forth repeating, hitting a bit harder each time. The gagging muffles of your whines sounded so sweet to him. Reveling in watching your eyes water and drag the liner down your face. Weak enough to have his eyes roll in the back of his head. Finally hearing him moan at the new pace.
God you lived to make him moan. To watch him breathe.
To use your body.
His hands grabbed onto your cheeks.
To fuck your face.
“Fuck” he whined gripping on tighter and tighter, moving his hips back and forth to hit that back wall of your throat.
“You're such a fun little toy”
Faster and faster,
Over and over again.
You were not in control anymore. You never really were. Your tongue couldn't keep up with this pace now. The only thing it could do was hang out of your mouth and guide his cock as it dove deep in your mouth.
“You have such a pretty little fucking mouth”
His hands tighten in your hair, your eyes watering. Almost crossed in a daze as your eyelids fall half asleep.
Taking him.
“Its so fun shutting you up”
Over.
And.
Over.
Faster.
And.
Faster.
“Eyes up”
You don't hear.
His hands tighten in your hair
“Eyes….”
Your lids open, pupils match with his.
Your cum drunk eyes matching his rage filled ones.
“....Up”
He says before you feel him cum. Before you hold all of it.
His grunt when he cums is one of your favourite sounds in the world.
He needs a moment to catch his breath before he takes his hands and guides your head off his cock.
“Hold” he says in an exhaustive breath.
Your lips glide off his cock and close. His hands holding your face, eyes locked together. Breathing in unison before he gives you your next command.
“Open”
Your jaw falls, your tongue hangs as he watches himself drip out of your mouth. Falling on your naked body.
A smile creeps across his face before he pulls the mask down back over his jawline. His hands holding your face delicately again, his thumb makes its way to sit on your tongue and whip some of it out then moving to your chin to do the same favor. Pressing harder.
“Aren't you a sight”
You nod. All words left your body so long ago. You can't muster them anymore.
He kisses you, with his entire body.
“You're so beautiful”
His hands pull the back of your head into him. Still tight.
He's being loving but the coarseness isn't through.
Merely a break.
He gives you a moment before pulling you.
“Knees” he says “on your knees”
It's hard to hold your body up, he feels like he's doing it while he braces your neck with one hand as the other trails down your body. Over your breasts that his cum has dripped over, past your midriff and just along where your thighs meet your pelvis and finally over your lips, finally between them, finally buried inside you.
“Jesus Christ”
He would drown in you. First in your mouth and eventually your cunt.
It was a long night ahead.
“What a damp little slit.”
His hand tightened around your neck as the other explored your walls, soaked.
“I'm not done playing with you” he threatened
“Still so much of my toy to play with” as his fingers hooked inside you
His hand lessened around your neck as you caught your breath, awake again.
“What do you say with all that air I gave you?”
“Thank you” you muster out, looking at him with the stains rolled over your cheeks
Plot; You want to make it clear to everyone who owns you
Warnings; Branding, CNC ish
Word Count; 1642
Dante Nyhpmir Master list
You could not take your eyes off the stove. No matter what he seemed to do to you, your eyes were locked onto the iron. Watching it heat up. It felt odd being tied to a chair in the kitchen at first but Simon always had a way of taking you other places. He was the only man who ever seemed to be able to actually have you let go. You swear you could feel it alter your brain chemistry. Like your body just craved him now, it practically belonged to him. He'd say as much and you never got tired of hearing it.
His.
Only his.
Something about belonging to a man felt so good, as much as you'd hate to say it out loud. He would make you feel safe and cared for while also being able to fuck like he hated you. Anything he did had you soaked really, it was so new to have someone have such an affect on your body. To take it from you.
Or to show it off.
Marks did something to you.
Emotionally.
The odd remarks about the bruises on your knees. You'd chalk it up to rock climbing or some other sport you didn't do if people ask but you'd know. All the bruises from taking him. From his fingertips digging into your thighs or the shower floor. Knowing the hand print would still be there when you sat down, not going to the beach for the next few days while it took its sweet time leaving. The bite marks were your favourite. If you knew, you knew.
And if you knew, you wouldn't say anything.
It was like wearing the collar in public to some degree. Once the collar was on you were his to use, to play with as he saw fit but that wasn't enough. The hand marks weren't enough, or the bruises or the bites. There had to be more.
A tattoo of his name felt cheap. Not really indicative of your dynamic anyway. A branding though….
With a quick turn of the wrist he lifted up the iron. Leaning on the counter as if this was nothing. He looked so good in all black. Always all black.
You'd have to be naked.
Always.
Well, unless you count the cute rope harness keeping you firmly attached to the chair, an outfit.
“Not yet,” his eyes trained on it before fixating on you “let's let it get a little hotter”
You don't know how he does it, how his eye contact always feels like a threat. His eyes burned into your skull hotter than any iron.
It had been a long night of play. Basically putting you into a sweat as he'd pace around you, move your hair out of the way and bite into your neck. Twisting and groping everything, slowly. Firmly. You, making a mess all over the chair, any embarrassment would've left early in the night. You were gone. And you had a front row seat.
Your eyes never left that iron.
He noticed. He knew every sign in your body. It wasn't very hard to read your excitement. It looked just like terror.
You needed a closer look at it, by now a white hot glow.
“That's looking better” he says, pointing it at you. Still far enough away, for now.
You're too excited and can't help but squirm. Can't help but give him the usual attitude either.
“How do you even find an iron with a skull on it?” You tease
“Would you prefer my initials?” He says as he turns it, observing it
“Not sure which looks more embarrassing”
His eyes change as the iron finds it way closer to your neck. Slowly.
Creeping in.
Your back goes up, you can't move away from it as much as you're trying. He leans down to match your level, a kindness he doesn't often give.
Soon to be taken away.
“You're not in much of a position to mock”
He holds the moment. You don't have anything to say, what could you say? Your eyes say everything
You're stunned.
A coy smile creeps across his face, you can hear him exhale before he stands up. Everytime you hear him breathe it sends chills down your spine. Even if it's not on your neck, it's always a buffer. The sign before things escalate.
It's so satisfying when he stands over you, but daunting. You don't think your chin has ever been higher, the few hairs on it feel a singe. He hasn't touched you with it yet but it's close enough. Just a warning.
Usually he'd grab onto you as tightly as possible when it gets to this part of any scene. Of any escalation but the branding iron is doing all the work, he doesn't need too. It's the opposite really as his fingers brush your hair out of your face. Incredibly gentle as his thumb runs up and down on your cheek. So light, one side of your face being met with such kindness and the other side of your neck feeling like the sun could swallow it.
“Look at me”
You're not in a position to not listen
To not follow instructions
“Are you gonna keep squirming?”
You wanna shake your head no, you're in such a daze it feels impossible to speak but even slightly turning your head feels like a gamble. Your doe eyes widen staring up at him as you swallow your own fear that's caught in your throat
“Use your words”
“No”
“No, what?”
“No Sir”
“What are you going to stop doing?”
“Squirming”
“Good girl”
His thumb isn't so gentle anymore as it finds its way under your chin and holds your face in place, tightly as the iron bar gets closer. You didn't think it could get any closer without touching you.
“That wasn't so hard was it?”
Your eyes dart back and forth between the tool and his eyes. His dead sinister eyes. The eyes that call you out on every snippy remark you've ever made. The eyes that get you on your knees with a single side glance.
“No Sir” you gulp down as he almost tosses your head aside while stepping back with the iron.
Everything is hot, every single thing. The air is strangling you just as much as the rope. How did they seem to get tighter, how can you feel every rib rub against the knots as your chest lifts with every breath. Every breath that falls out of your mouth that you try and pick up again.
He takes some hot water he left in the kettle from over 20 minutes ago. Hot but not enough to burn him, and wipes it over the inside of your thigh.
Where anyone who comes near would see.
His mask.
His property.
“Not having you get any infections” he says, wiping down the area.
It's real.
It's happening.
“Simon”
You can't help shaking again
“I told you to quick squirming”
You try to stop, it feels impossible.
“I don't think you can handle this after all” he condescends with a tilt of his head and daggers in his eyes
“No I can, I can” you stammer
“You're sure about that?” He says with one finger moving up, farther and farther. Feeling how excited you are, feeling how scared you are.
“Jesus Christ” he says, soaking his fingers before looking back at you.
You blubbering mess.
“I can, I can, I can, I promise. Sir, please. I can handle it.” Over and over again.
His disposition is so still, not stopping you from going on and on. Every step is calm, walking to the counter to grab the blindfold. Setting down the iron on the stove only to put the sleepmask over your face.
“You're not gonna make me watch?”
“Don't want you to faint” he says as your eyes go dark.
Everything is so heightened. You swear you could feel every hair on your leg, every goose pump that runs through your body. His hand wraps back around your head, gentle. His thumb caressing your cheek.
“Who do you belong to?”
“You”
“Use your words”
“You, Si–”
But just as you say it you can feel his hand tighten around your throat to brace you for the white hot burn that engulfs your inner thigh. That feels like it's radiating heat you've never felt. The sting is almost agonizing and you can't help but cry out. To whine.
With each yelp getting tighter and you feel him press you into his chest and the pain subside from your thigh. The shock burned into you, taking so long to leave even if his force had.
His hands wipe away sweat before the blind fold. You swear his eyes have an evil smile when you see them again, knowing you're drenched in sweat, barely able to keep your eyelids over your eyes or your mouth from hanging open. So much breath to catch. So much fog to see through.
His kisses on your cheek bring you back to earth. Taking your time before you notice….
“Where?” You try to stumble out, wanting to remark on your trophy but,
“Where is—”
You look at him, leaning down over you. He holds a cube of ice in his fingers like a dice and sets it back on the area for a brief moment. You flinch.
“Its not–” you choke out, you can barely speak.
“No sweetheart” he says, again with condescension as he makes his way to the sink. The tap water hitting the iron, the sizzle of water to heat has you turn away. Your body rejecting the sound, a bigger wince.
Thinking of your skin.
He saunters back over, holds your face in both hands before kissing you.
wake up; reader getting fucked from below by neighbour!Simon who keeps your hands pinned behind your back while he bullies the thickness of his cock inside you, just a little too deep. All too happy to let you drool on his shoulder as he drives into you again and again, watching the reflection of your ass bouncing heavy and fast over his lap on the black screen of your television. Scarred and tattooed arms sinking into your sides, anchoring you to him, implacable, insatiable. He was only supposed to pick-up a package mistakenly delivered to your front door, too heavy for you to bring it over yourself. Only supposed to have 'a cuppa, if you have it, pet.' Only supposed to take a kiss, soft, fleeting. Only supposed to 'touch it, over yer clothes, promise.' Only supposed to rub against the outside, slotting his ruddy, leaking tip between the already soaked lips of your pussy. Only supposed to pull out, come against the curve of your ass.
But Ghost can be neighbourly, he can go above and beyond. If it's for you.
pervy neighbour! simon who'd refused to indulge in his attraction to you when you'd first met, telling himself you were too young and too innocent to engage with the likes of him.
pervy neighbour! simon who avoided being in your vacinity at all costs, simply to avoid the raging hard ons he'd get when he'd see you. he'd be scurrying away to his abode to nurse his angry cock, if he did stumble upon your form.
pervy neighbour! simon who knew you left your bedroom blinds open to rile him up, so he could see your naked form fully on show after a shower. he imagined your soft, supple skin under the hot palms of his hands.
pervy neighbour! simon who secretly took pictures of you from his window to wank off to ans showed them to his army buddies at the pub, having a whole new roll ready to flaunt each week.
pervy neighbour! simon who watched you get fucked by the guys from class and fucked his fist to the sight, swearing he could please you so much better.
pervy neighbour! simon who cums all over his thighs and carpet as he watches you hump your pillow, head thrown back in desperation.
pervy neighbour! simon who steals a pair of your panties when he catches you doing your laundry in the estate laundry room.
pervy neighbour! simon who sniffs and laps at the dried juices on the flimsy fabric, pupils blown out and mind buzzing with sheer euphoria.
pervy neighbour! simon who breaks into your flat while your at work one day and installs cameras, so now he can watch and hear you at all times.
Simon wasn't used to pet names. Would roll his eyes at ‘em. Sure, there was ‘Lt.’ and maybe ‘Ghost’ but outside his job, who the bloody hell would consider those pet names? It wasn’t until he met you that he experienced that saccharine twist in his stomach that came with every ‘darling’ or ‘handsome’ or ‘baby’ that fell from your lips and now he’s bloody crazy about them. While still rolling his eyes of course.
And then he realized that you just use pet names in general.
Fuck no, luv.
And just like that, he jealously guards those precious names like he guards the butterflies in his stomach whenever he’s with you. There can only be one Darling Handsome Baby in your life and that’s him. Simon. Fuckin’. Riley.
And to the last bloke who smiled when you thanked him and called him darling? Count your days, mate.
