the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
sex isn't sexy unless it's a little bit gross. have you forgotten that you are a divine ape? plastic smooth skin, plucked hair, painted faces, scripted reactions, scrubbed til only the smell of perfumed soap remains, proportions that are conflictingly cookiecutter yet unattainable, none of this is even a little bit interesting.
you can laugh at napoleon's "home in three days, don't bathe" letter to his wife, but there's more sexuality in that one line then there is in the entirety of the hypersexualized but painfully unsexy internet.
After 35h of agonising I just wanna be done haha somehow the colours and Andy’s face were the biggest struggle??? Welp, at least it looks finished enough
Tfw your boss sits on your desk and looks pretty <3
Your husband, ghost, refuses to sleep in bed with you.
He tried to pretend, for the first few nights together, but you'd always wake up to his side cold and empty. Walking through the dark house wrapped in a blanket only to find ghost sleeping on the couch, or a few times the floor.
Its....it's embarrassing, really. What kind of spouse are you that your own husband can't stand sleeping next to you?
Ghost never talks about it, gets all quiet and huffy when you try to ask. The same exact way he does when he's trying to hold his tongue to avoid an argument. Leaves the room with the kind of silence that saws into your ribs.
"Are you having second thoughts, si?" You ask at the dinner table. The foods a bit burnt, left on burner too long in your mounting anxieties about this whole thing.
Ghost nearly chokes on his food, having to cough into his fist before he looks at you with near-panic "christ, love, what?"
"About us, our marriage." You explain, unable to stop once you've started. You try to temper the hurt in your voice by cutting a bit of carrot into pieces "you refuse to sleep in our bed. Is it....is it because of me?"
There goes being subtle.
Thankfully, ghost sits up ramrod straight as if shocked, voice taking that military-stern undertone he does sometimes. "No. Absolutely not, love. You are the only thing I want in life."
"....then why not sleep next to me?" You bite your lip, knowing ghost is being truthful but still so confused.
Now it's his turn to stare at the food. "It...it feels wrong. The matress." Ghost pauses to scrub an annoyed hand over his non-existent stubble "too damn soft. Reminds me of home."
Oh. Oh, christ. Of course ghost wouldn't be able to sleep like that, reminded of that place.
Now that you have an answer, you refuse to let it continue as a problem.
A bit of online shopping, and fighting with the too-narrow doorways of your house, you have a gift for simon when he's back from a few days on base. You stand proudly in front of what seems to be a normal bed, only to peel back the covers with a flourish.
"Ta-daa!! Your side and my side! I made sure to find the same mattresses used on base," you mentally note to thank kyle later for that. Ghost is dead silent as he takes in the bed, which is really two beds squished directed next to each other. "Do you like it?"
Ghost pulls you into a hug, but you can still tell he's crying by the shake of his chest.
That night, when you reach across the cavern for your simon, scared fingers are waiting to wrap around yours.
18+ MDNI! CW Smut ⚠️ Older, gross Johnny, boss's daughter, car sex, 141 office AU pt. 3
Part 1 (Simon x Reader beach fluff and miscommunication)
Part 2 (Price x bratty reader, situationship, smut)
Give a dog a bone.
Or: Johnny's older, a little gross, and has all the time in the world tonight to give you the affection you didn't know you craved.
Read me on AO3 🫦
"I don’t understand this party-girl-thing you’ve been doing lately in college but know that tonight is a serious event. I want you on your best behaviour,” your mother, Susannah, was saying as she triple-checked the schedule for the evening was on time—that was the worst part, that she wasn’t even looking at you—her hair getting set into place by pedantic fingers, the hairstylist looking like he’d rather not be in the room for the diluted scolding you were receiving. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes ma’am.” You had to refrain from reminding her that you’d attended this very same event almost every year alongside her.
Her brow twitched at the formality but, just as quickly, she let it go, “go, finish getting ready. I’ll see you down for pictures.”
You nodded and slipped back through the door that connected your rooms in the booked-out hotel.
The building had been buzzing all day with preparations for the benefit your mother’s company was hosting tonight. Nonstop there had been people knocking on her door all day long. She had ducked into your room just to eat her lunch in peace and utter silence before stepping back into the fray.
You were split. One part of you love-love-loved the glitz and glam at no personal expense to yourself, but the rest of you was balanced on the knifes edge of your mother’s patience. Always had been since you started expressing your own opinions.
The two of you shared a tense relationship, to say the least. Not always was it so bad, just…more often than not.
But it was only the two of you tonight with your father called in to perform an emergency surgery, so you nodded and smiled and rolled over.
Like now, the both of you had an arm behind each other’s backs, smiling and leaning your heads towards one another. The picture of the perfect mother-daughter-duo. She’d post it to whatever social media she kept; you’d receive a printed copy to put in a frame forgotten on the windowsill of your breakfast nook of the apartment you didn’t pay for.
Then after the mini-red carpet, you were roped into introductions.
It was like this every year; photos, introductions, speeches, mingling, mingling, mingling, home. It was rare you found someone you genuinely wanted to share your company with. The people closest in age were employees and they only wanted to kiss your feet at the chance of a promotion.
So, you usually made good friends with a wandering waiter and ogled the bachelors from afar through a prosecco-laced haze.
“Price, so glad you could make it tonight, the two of you look wonderful,” Susannah was saying, offering the man and his partner a polite hug each.
Always a hug for the CEOs.
His partner grinned, lifting a hand which twinkled brightly, “I’ll take any chance to show it off.”
“Oh, congratulations!” your mother cheered, as you gave Mr. Price a polite handshake and smile. He was always nice to you. “Looks like I need to add a toast to my speech, hm?”
Then came Mr. Riley and the woman you could’ve sworn was his secretary just the year before, also with a gently glittering finger, completely wrapped around his arm. The pair couldn’t hide their affection for one another if they tried, it was almost stifling. Your mother shook their hands, her greetings only a little less familiar on account of the man being generally averted to physical touch.
And then the loudest of the CEOs came in grinning from ear to ear as he pulled your mother in for a tight hug, “Susannah! The place looks amazing,” Mr. Garrick cheered, kissing her cheek, the man following him offering a similar compliment before moving to greet you.
“Don’t think we’ve met before,” he said, taking up your hand, “I’m John MacTavish, ye are…?”
“Oh of course, you must’ve missed each other last year,” your mother said, “Johnny, this is my daughter.”
He turned that grin back on you as you gave him your name, eyes quickly skimming the length of you, “lovely to meet ye, hen.” And he kissed your knuckles.
Your lips parted in breathless surprise, eyebrows raising just a hair, “y-you too.”
Taking in your waning composure, he flashed you a wink, eyes dropping back down to the dip of your neckline, before following Mr. Garrick in pursuit of their table. Swallowing, you dared a glance back at your mother, but she was none-the-wiser, busy greeting more people.
Twenty minutes into the speeches and you could still feel your knuckles burning where you’d been kissed. You ran a thumb over them beneath the table as you started to feel a creeping sensation burning the back of your neck. Turning slowly to figure out what was nagging at you—only to lock eyes with Johnny, sat at the table diagonally behind you.
He cocked his head, brow raised. You felt your face warm and turned away again, flagging down a waiter to bring another flute of champagne.
There was something about him, MacTavish, that sent your pulse skittering. Something leather-smooth about him, the dangerous gleam in his grin, how he always found your eyeline—the way he looked at you? It was undeniable. He’d been checking you out all night. You weren’t blind though you were wondering how no one else managed to see it. It felt so blatant,
so openly lustful.
Whenever you found your gaze drifting, caught at your mother’s side in dull conversation, he was there, across the room, swirling the liquor in his glass. Just watching you. His steady fixation.
You couldn’t take it— “I’m going to get some air,” you muttered to no one in particular, edging out of the conversation and ducking into the hallway just outside the hosting space.
Perfect, there was no one there, you could exhale—
“Are ye runnin’ away from me?”
You gasped, spinning around to find Johnny right behind you, “what?”
He took a step forward, you took one back, “are ye runnin’ away from me, hen?”
You shook your head. There was no one around, no one to catch you—to stop you… “No.”
His bottom lip jutted out a little as he dipped his head toward you, pouting, “so why haven’t ye come over to say hi?”
He took another step forward and your back met the wall. Throwing caution to the wind, a little smile trembled over your lips in the face of his scattered grey hairs and tanned, faint crows-feet, “hi.”
One more step and you were completely surrounded, one heavy palm came up to cradle the side of your face, thumb rubbing over your cheek, and he lowered his head to murmur right into your ear, “d’ye want to see my limo, sweetheart?”
Nerves had since taken hold of you during the short walk outside, now inside the back of his limo and already on your knees, you were scrambling for an excuse, “Johnny, I should—I should get back inside. My mother—”
“Is tryin’ to seal a deal with another company. Ye could be in the Artic an’ she won’t realise til tomorrow,” he grunted, his hand tugging on your hair, forcing you to look up at him, “c’mon, ye were doin’ so good.”
“You’re ruining my hair,” you whined, reaching up to pull his hand away, he only tightened his grip and you winced, “Johnny—”
He shifted in his seat, his ruddy, drooling cock glaring at you from between his legs, “ye can go back if yer cunt’s dry…is it?” A mortified whimper escaped you, because you knew without even having to rub your thighs together, that your body had betrayed you. He grinned, “ach, just out of luck t’night, aren’t ye, bonnie?” He ran his tongue over his teeth, eyes dark as he looked down at you, “say ‘ah’.”
Unsticking your tongue from the roof of your mouth, you let it roll out, tasting that salty spill blooming from his tip. With his hand twisted in your hair, you couldn’t move back to make any further pleas, just bracing a hand on his knee as he sank deep into your mouth, tears brimming quickly in your eyes as he hit the back of your throat. God, he was big—thick in a way you hadn’t experienced—your jaw ached, lipstick smudged around the base of him, nose pressed into his trimmed dark hair.
Your nails bit into his thigh, eyes squeezing as you repressed a gag and he groaned, head tipping back, “christ, ye’re well practiced huh? No wonder yer eyes kept wanderin’ all night long. Just—fuck—just beggin’ for it.”
“Mmph—” you spluttered, voice useless with your mouth stuffed full of him. You squeezed his thigh, needing to pull up for air, but he kept you in place, rolling his hips up and practically grinding into the back of your throat. With the edges of your vision turning to static, you swung your fist down on his thigh, finally getting him to pull you up for air, “fuck you—” you gasped out.
“What’s the matter? Bit off more’n ye could chew?” He laughed, dragging a thumb through the spit dribbled down your chin, “gorgeous wee thing. C’mon, get up here,” and he patted his thigh.
And God help you, you leaned into that little glimpse of softness he showed. Clambering into his lap, still teary eyed, thong covered pussy hovering over his wet cock.
Then he pulled you down for a kiss and you were done-for.
He’s all tongue, messy and demanding, twisting inside your mouth and you mewled, feeling like your body’s been set alight. Reeling. You let your weight down onto him and felt him between your legs, hot, twitching against your heat like it knew how close he was. He bit your lower lip, hands gripping your hips and making you grind on his cock, pulling back just enough to say, “take off yer panties, go’an sit on my cock.”
“D’you have a condom?” You asked, panting to catch your breath as you reached down between your bodies, sliding your panties to the side, lips grazing the light stubble on his neck.
“More likely you’ll have a bug than me,” he grunted, brows furrowing over those icy eyes of his.
You scoffed, pulling away from him, “I don’t sleep around like that.”
He raised a brow, voice low as he studied your face, “but ye do sleep around.”
“I’m not a whore,” you insisted, moving to get off his lap but he tightened his grip on your hips, “I’m going back inside, Johnny—”
“Ach, I was just teasin’ lass, c’mon, don’t be like tha’,” he cooed, thumb rubbing a circle on your hip, “what’s it ye want? Need a little stretchin’ first? Scared I’ll hurt yer wee cunt?” You wanted to retort, to continue to pull away, but there was a jolt in your stomach that said he wasn’t entirely wrong—you felt rushed. Slowly, not meeting his eye, you nodded. He tutted, “just say tha’ next time if it’ll save me yer fuckin’ complainin’.” He delivered a swift smack to the side of your ass, “take off your dress and shoes, princess, ye don’t want me to mess ‘em up, do ye?”
A tendril of anxiety curled around your gut, “but—”
“D’ye want to walk back to yer mam with yer cum stained on yer pretty dress?”
You took it off.
“Shoes too.”
Your nose wrinkled, “I thought you businessman types liked to fuck a woman in heels.”
He rolled his eyes, reaching to undo the clasp on your heels for you since you were clearly taking too long, “ye won’t want to be walkin’ in these when I’m done with ye. Gonna have a hard enough time as it is.”
“What’s that supposed to—oh my god, at least give me a warni—oh!” He wrenched your thighs open and had his head between them sooner than you could process, a wad of spit sliding keenly down the seam of your cunt, caught with the drag of his tongue before it could melt over your hole.
Sucking your clit just to see how you squirmed, he pulled away with a wicked grin, “taste bloody good,” before he licked deep into you, the wet muscle making your toes curl behind his back, a high-pitched moan squeezing out of you as your grip tightened on the leather of the seat.
He held you in place with his arms around your thighs, hauled up close against his mouth, nose nuzzling your mound. His tongue curled around your clit, petting over it, and you calf tensed, hand flying into his hair, breath hitching, “oh fuck—”
Never in your life had you come so quickly it surprised even you. Thighs squeezing either side of Johnny’s head as your hips bucked off the seat. When you let him up, his face was flushed and wet but he didn’t seem to care, sitting up and pulling you down with a hand on the back of your neck to steal your breath with a nasty kiss, sure to have removed half the makeup around your mouth and chin, mascara already smudged beneath your eyes.
Somewhere in the middle of it, he hooked a finger—then two—inside you, stroking over that spot that made you whimper into his mouth, nipples tight and sensitive where they brushed against his shirt and tie. “God,” your grip on his shoulders weakened as that already hot coil in the bottom of your stomach trembled. It was a good thing you were sitting—you couldn’t trust your knees not to turn to jelly. Then there was a new stretch that made you gasp, a third finger prodding around the tight seal of your cunt, “fuck—” you pulled away, your forehead dropping to the crook of his neck, “I can’t Johnny—s’too much.”
“Ye can an’ ye will,” he grumbled against your temple, hot breath ruffling your baby hairs, “not gonna leave ye half done, sweetheart.”
You couldn’t fathom how he was making your ruin sound like a favour. “Really Johnny—s’not gonna f-fit—”
But it did. He made it work with another glob of warm spit and an “ach—just need’a take a deep breath an—” you cried out into his shoulder, what little was left of your lipstick smearing on the rich black fabric. “See? Knew ye could do it. If ye cum one more time, I’ll give ye my cock, alright?” He murmured against your skin, kisses turning softer, messier—drunk.
Then he gave you a low, “good girl,” and something fizzled in the back of your mind, molten lava spreading through your chest.
…oh.
Your purse had a new weight to it with Johnny’s number in your phone, clutching to his arm as you waited for his driver to bring the limo around to the front entrance outside. The excuse made all too much sense to your mother, who was always partial to a glass (or three) of rosé after business was done on nights like these. “Gonna call her a cab,” Johnny had said, “see she gets home alright—aye, had too much t’drink.”
All she said was, “hm, thought I told them to limit hers,” before she returned to her conversation, waving the two of you off.
He was on you in a different way in the cab home, all soft, lingering kisses as you fought your exhaustion, eyelids fluttering back awake as you felt his cum seep out into the squish of your thighs, ass tender when you sat the wrong way, toes wet.
Imagine ghost getting shot in the knee during a mission, a career ending injury, right?
He also happens to take a crowbar to the head, and it'd only by you dragging him some two miles does he even survive. You feel horrible about it, ghost was assigned to work with you after all. You spend hours in his hospital bed, even in the medically induced coma he's in.
You know your lieutenant better that most people do, had he been anyone else you would've even called yourself his friend. You also know that the military is all he has, that his apartment is empty and the only time he gets a warm meal on leave is when you drag him to your own apartment.
The whole team is there when the doctors wake him up. For the longest moment, ghost says nothing. He just stares at his legs covered by the thin blanket, the raised portion where bandage is wrapped around.
"...I'm done for then, eh?" He finally asks, voice completely blank. You have no idea how he feels about it, but you nod and take his hand.
"Cap has already handled it, sir. We got you a decent house and a monthly paycheck." A fact you had to fight like hell for, but it worked out nonetheless.
Ghost nods, looks at price "I'm not a lieutenant now? Officially done?"
At prices nod, you brace for some sort of anger or despair. An apology is already on the tip of your tongue when ghost looks back to you. His hand grips onto your bicep.
And proceeds to pull you in for a kiss.
You startle for only a second, mind stuttering over the reality of your lieutenant kissing you. Your hands burn where you touch his skin, melting into the kiss that really could be better. His lips are dry and the angle is awkward, but you'll be thinking of this moment for years later.
A cough from across the room.
Oh shit, your teams still here. You pull away, face blazing in embarrassment. Ghost looks nothing but please, with a smug look on his face as he lies back in the bed with content. At gazs pointed look and soaps gaping mouth, he says "wot? Ahm' not a lieutenant anymore. Can't get me on fraternization now, can you?"
You should probably stop to think about what just happened, but you've been fantasizing about your lieutenant kissing you since you met him.
So you ignore the sigh price lets out when you dive back in for another kiss. Ghost hums into your mouth, taking his time with this one and letting his hand rest on your waist. It's hot, heavy, and everything you've wanted.
The room quickly empties when you swing your leg up onto the bed and over his waist.
coworker!simon riley who barely speaks to anyone but always seems to notice you. he leaves a black coffee on your desk every morning with no note, no eye contact, just a low grunt when you thank him. everyone thinks he’s cold. you’re starting to think he’s watching you more than he should.
coworker!simon riley who fixes your computer when it crashes during a deadline, sleeves rolled up, veins in his forearms flexing while he types. he’s so close you can smell his cologne mixed with gun oil. when you try to make small talk he just mutters “you’re not as useless as the rest of them.”
fwb!simon riley who corners you in the supply closet the second the floor clears for lunch. he yanks your skirt up, drops to his knees and eats you out like he’s starving — thick fingers curling deep while his tongue works your clit until your legs shake. then he spins you around, pulls his mask down just enough and fucks you hard against the shelves, one hand over your mouth so no one hears you moan.
coworker!simon riley who glares at the flirty account manager when he lingers too long at your desk. says nothing, but his jaw ticks under the mask. later that same day he texts you one word: “office?” and you already know what’s coming.
fwb!simon riley who fucks you bent over your own desk after everyone’s gone home. papers scattered everywhere, your computer still on, his thick cock stretching you open while he growls low in your ear, “been thinking about this tight cunt all fucking day, sweetheart.” he keeps one gloved hand over your mouth the whole time so the security cameras don’t catch your sounds.
coworker!simon riley who walks you to your car in the parking garage every night “because it’s on his way.” his hand brushes the small of your back when no one’s looking. you both pretend it means nothing.
fwb!simon riley who has you riding him in the driver’s seat of his truck in the underground garage, windows completely fogged up. he grips your hips hard enough to bruise, guiding you up and down his cock while whispering filthy praise in that rough manchester accent, “that’s it… bounce on it just like that, filthy girl. take every inch.”
coworker!simon riley who still acts completely normal around the rest of the team — silent, brooding, professional. but the second the last person leaves, his eyes go dark and he’s already looking for the nearest locked door.
fwb!simon riley who fucks you slow and deep on the break room couch at 2am during a storm. emergency lights only. he’s got your legs over his shoulders, mask pulled down so you can see the scars and stubble while he stares straight into your eyes the entire time. he doesn’t pull out when he finishes — just stays buried inside you, breathing heavy against your neck like he never wants to leave.
coworker!simon riley who leaves hickeys on your inner thighs that you have to hide under your work pants the next morning. he catches you adjusting your clothes and the corner of his mouth twitches under the mask like he knows exactly what he did.
fwb!simon riley who sends you a text at 11pm during another overtime shift: “elevator. now.” when the doors close he’s on you instantly — pinning you against the wall, fingers inside you before you can even speak, growling “can’t fucking wait anymore.”
Summary: You started working on base a good while ago, doing paperwork. You and Simon made eyes at eachother a lot, getting to know one another through your friends (your friends told you things about him, his friends told him things about you, that type of thing). One night at the regular bar, you finally got to talking, and you were both done for...
Content Warning: utterly self-indulgent, porn with plot, Simon learns how to "make love", emotion-heavy (is that a thing?), slow, smut, fluffy as fuck. petnames (luv, luvie, kid)
Word count: 1635
A/N: Okay SO, here's the deal: this started out as a seperate idea, and then I came up with another idea for a fic including Simon and the whole rough/gentle thing (ive been very into that recently lol) but ANYWAY, I tried combining the two stories but that didn't feel right, so I decided to just make it two seperate parts of their story.
Simon, the king of quick fucks, a "face down ass up - not knowing your name" type man. Now, suddenly finding himself entangled, consumed. This wasn't a quick fuck, this was lovemaking, passionate and deep...
The moment he had laid eyes on you, he knew this was going to be different. You piqued his interest in a way no one had done in a very long time.
That night he found himself...nervous? The way you smiled at him, blushed. He was almost scared to make the first move, but then you asked him, "Are you planning on kissing me any time soon, Simon?"
He was done for. How could he resist? You weren't smug about it either; he could tell you were nervous, too. And that somehow made him feel a little more at ease. He leaned in, a slot slower than he normally would.
The kiss was almost juvenile. Sweet, careful. And then your soft hands found the back of his neck, and you pressed yourself closer to his chest. Silently begging for more, giving him the permission he didn't know he was waiting for. His rough hands found your waist, they traveled down to your lower back, and stayed there. Respectfully. The kiss grew more passionate, and when both of you were out of breath, you pulled away slightly. Simon hadn't realized you had been on your tippy toes until now, when you found your footing again.
You flashed him a smile, a dazzling, sweet smile. Funnily enough, that made the schoolboy in Simon feel like a man again. He wasn't nervous anymore; in fact, he felt like a million bucks.
"Wanna get out of here, kid?"
That's all it took. Hands touching, feet stumbling, keys jangling, lips kissing...he pushed the door to his apartment closed, pressing you up against it as he went.
He was ready to devour you, ravish you, give you the fucking of a lifetime...jackets were dropped on the floor, shoes were kicked off you were all over each other, a heavy breathing, stumbling mess. And then you grabbed his face with both hands, pulling it up from where it was nestled in the crook of your neck.
"M-make love to me, Simon...please?"
Oh...
For a second, he couldn't hide the sheer confusion and slight panic in his eyes. Make love? Fucking, yeah sure, that he could do...but make love?
He looked at your sweet face. You knew his reputation, surely. Definitely, otherwise you wouldn't have asked. He had been quiet for a little too long, and you drew your conclusions.
Your hands started to retreat. You felt silly for thinking this would be any different for him than his usual conquests. Just as you started to squirm out of his arms, his big calloused hand found your cheek.
He ducked down and pressed a gentle, slightly unsure peck on your lips.
"You got it, luv'..."
There was just something about you...He was drawn to you in a way he couldn't explain. He wanted to cherish you, he wanted to try...something in him craved it too...
He pulled off your sweater and as he kissed you deeply, only when he pulled back did he see the gorgeous white lace covering your heaving breasts. It was sexy and innocent at the same time, his hands trailed up from your hips to your back, where he undid the garment and let it drop to the ground.
His eyes didn’t so much as flicker down, they stayed firmly on yours as his hands gently cupped your tits.
Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling and your head dropped back, pushing your chest further into the warmth of his rough hands.
His lips found your exposed neck, and he whispered how beautiful you were before pushing you down on the couch slowly...his large frame towering over you.
He pulled his hoodie up over his head. His shirt coming up a little with it, your hands flew to his stomach instinctively, wanting to touch every inch of skin he bared to you. His muscles flexed a bit under your fingers, and he hissed. "fuck, your hands are cold."
"Oh god, sorry!" You immediately pulled them back, your cheeks heating up. He chuckled. Silently, he picked your hands back up and guided them under his shirt. You felt his muscles tense a little again, but then he relaxed.
"I'll warm 'em up...", his voice was low, and his lips found yours again, suckling gently on the bottom one. Your hands explored his torso under his shirt, moving up to his chest and around to his back, before moving down again, tugging at the fabric until he finally got the message and pulled his lips away from yours. He raised up his arms, and you smiled, having to sit up all the way to be able to pull it up over him. It was a bit of a struggle, and you chuckled, which made him laugh too. And when the fabric finally fell to the ground, he dove back on top of you, drinking the sweet sounds you made straight from your lips.
Your nails slightly dug into his back, all the way from his shoulder down, he pushed his body firmly against yours and you had to wiggle your hands between your bodies to find his belt buckle, the sound ringing through the room.
You stare up at him as your fingers slid into his boxers.
"Still cold?" you breathe out, as your hand wraps itself around his cock, fingers cupping at his balls, feeling the velvety skin your fingertips.
He groaned, "Fuck...kid..." as your hand started moving. You loved feeling him crumble on top of you, this massive hunk of a man moaning your name.
Sadly it didn't last long, he tugged at your wrist, manouvering both of your hands around his neck. He told you to hold on, and before you could protest you were being hoisted in the air. Your ankles linked behind Ghost's back, his large hands held a firm grip on your ass. He walked the both of you to the bedroom with his pants hanging open, the sound of belt buckle made your panties wet for some reason.
He dropped you down on the mattress and kisses you again, guiding you back until your head hit the soft pillows that smelled like him. You sighed in pleasure and instant relaxation, he kissed your neck again. His kisses quickly trailed down to your breasts, sucking and nibbling on your nipples as he went, down your soft tummy, until finally he pressed a firm kiss to your pubic bone, not minding the bit of hair there.
"You're so damn sexy, luv'. Gonna keep real still fuh me yeah?"
You looked down to see Simon eyeing you like a pray. He was between your legs in full sniper pose, one leg drawn up, his hands grabbing onto your thighs, moving them up on his shoulders.
He licked up your slit, tongue sliding right through your folds before circling your clit.
"Oh god Si-..." You moaned, feeling him grip you harder
Your hands flew down to his hair, blissfully tugging at the messy blond strands.
He licked and sucked on your clit for a bit, until you were soaked enough to take his fingers. He watched your face carefully for any signs of discomfort as he slid his middle finger inside of you. Your brows furrowed and your mouth hung open.
"Such a good girl..." he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your clit as he pumped his finger in and out of your soaked pussy.
"Want another one?" he asked, watching you nod brainlessly.
He added a second finger, curling them both up perfectly against your sensitive spot.
"Oh my god, please...oh god, oh god..."
He chuckled appreciatively before going straight back to licking your pussy, never stopping the movements with his fingers.
"You taste so good pretty girl...doing so good for me"
Your moans got louder and he could tell you were close.
You couldn't have stopped your orgasm even if you wanted to, you bucked against Simon's face. You had never cum that hard with a partner, you'd be embarrassed if it didn't feel so damn good...
He helped you ride it out, not stopping until he picked up your signals of overstimulation, when he gently pulled out his fingers and kisses back up your body. He made a slight show of licking his fingers clean.
"Tastes devine.. wanna try?" he smirked, not giving you time to reply before pressing a wet kiss to your lips.
"Need you Si...please? Wanna feel you inside me..."
You tugged at his pants again.
"Okay Luv...alright..." he pressed a couple small kisses against your face before getting out of his pants.
Thick drops of precum soaked through his boxers as his cock sprang free. He settled down back on top of you, rubbed the tip up and down your pussy and finally, he entered you, gently. He slowly started moving inside you. Kissing against your neck. groaning into your ear.
It was everything you asked for. Slow. Gentle. Loving. But you found yourself wanting more...
And for once in his life, he wasn’t the one asking…“Harder…”
“Hmm?” He groaned up from your neck
“Can you…just a little harder…please?” You mumbled, hazed with pleasure. Simon grinned, almost chuckled
“Harder hm? I though you wanted it all soft and sweet?”
“I do! I do…I just…want more…just please a little more?”
He groaned, his grin melting from his face when your sweet, doe eyes looked up at him, begging and pleading for more. He drove into you harder. Not faster, harder.
This wasn't a quick, rough fuck, but this wasn’t boring vanilla sex either…this was love making, passionate and deep.
