The secondary designation of the members of the 141 is a well kept secret that only a very small number of people know. By the way the pack acts nobody would think them as anything other than alphas, the patches over their scent glands nothing unheard of for aggressive alphas in the military. They know how to take care of each other without outside help so maybe that's why your transfer to the task force comes as a threat. John tries to fight it until the last possible moment, but Laswell doesn't budge. She sees what they refuse to acknowledge, their heats are not properly handled (especially Ghost's) and sooner rather than later this will start to affect them on missions.
Laswell asks you to send ahead a box with scented items, mostly blankets and maybe a shirt or a hoodie, so the guys have some time to get familiar with your scent and maybe be a little less hostile when meeting face to face. The box sits untouched in the farthest corner of the barracks, the four omegas refusing to look at it, let alone touch it even if with every day that passes their curiosity grows. They want nothing to do with it, yet they can't bring themselves to throw it out, every time one of them enters the room, glancing to the corner a moment too long.
Surprisingly it's Ghost that breaks first. On one of his bad nights when the shadows on the walls start resembling faces and hands he thought he buried deep enough to never see them again, but still catch up with him, he's feeling desperate. While peeling open the tape on the box, Simon tells himself he just needs another blanket, the one in his room soaked up with sweat and balled up at the foot of the bed. He expects his stomach to drop and lips curl in displeasure when he gets the first whiffs of your scent, but nothing like that happens.
The first thing he thinks when inhaling is gentle, he espected smoke and gun powder, anger and violence from an alpha. This is how his father and all the other men that ever hurt him used to smell like so the difference shocks him. It's something woodsy like pine and a vague note of citrus. An unusual combination that his omega seems to not dislike it, his erratic breath slowing down as he breaths in the material again. The smell is fainter then it would have been a few days before and he finds himself dissapointed by that. Suddenly feeling vulnerable and worried that someone might catch him, he closes back the box and takes the blanket to his room.
If he would have been a bit more throughout and maybe if Kyle wouldn't have been secretely checking out the box every morning, perhaps the younger man wouldn't have noticed that the tape wasn't placed properly on the cardboard. Maybe someone else wouldn't see anything out of place, but Gaz knew better, it was his job to pay attention to things like that. If someone were to ask him what was going on through his head when he slipped his hand inside the box, balling the shirt in his hands and making a beeline to his room, his coffee forgotten in the kitchen, he wouldn't know how to answer. Hours later when he gets back from training, rummaging through clothes, his hand hovers for a moment over the same shirt before stuffing it further inside the closet. By morning it ends up stuffed inside his pillowcase.
Johnny tells himself that it's only because he's late on doing laundry again that he ends up taking the hoodie from the box. He's just borrowing it, any smell probably long gone he tells himself and yet when he puts it on before going to bed, tentatively breathing in at the collar, the faint scent still lingering there helps him fall asleep.
In the morning he's sprinting to the showers, afraid that traces of your scent might be lingering to him, feeling like a guilty child trying to cover up his mistake. He's surprised to see Ghost at a nearby shower, but doesn't have the chance to question it before the man is already out. His body stalling for a moment when passing him and Johnny holds his breath, afraid at being discovered and reprimanded, but his lieutenant doesn't do or say anything else before getting out.
Price thinks that his boys are not as slick as they think they are. Well, Simon was a little bit more careful, but Soap and Gaz have a specific look in their eyes when they know they did something they shouldn't, but don't regret it. That's how the now significantly lighter box ends up on his desk, the signs of it being repeatedly opened visible to the naked eye. He told himself he'll throw it out right after finishing his cigar, but despite the ashtray being half full, the box is still there.
He tries busying himself with paperwork he doesn't care about, eyes passing over rows of words without grasping any meaning from them. Finally feeling defeated after reading the same paragraph thrice, the captain opens the box and takes out the last item. Price is surprised to find a handkerchief, he didn't think anyone still carried those around. It's a plaid pattern with green and white, a pair of initials stitched in the right lower corner that he finds himself tracing with his finger.
When he puts it in his pocket John tells himself it's for practical reasons and yet when drops of sweat are gathering in the creases of his forehead or when his palms are dark with grime and gun powder, the thought of wiping them with the handkerchief doesn't sit right with him. When he finally has enough and decides to just use it as a rag to clean up some spilled coffee on his desk, his hand brings it to his nose instead. Under the smell of his cigars the faintest scent of something else can still be traced. He sits like that until someone knocks at the door and John has to compose himself. He keeps carrying around the piece of fabric long gone after it lost its scent, the shape of it in his pocket grounding him, even if he would never admit that out loud.
The day of your arrival is finally here and as you get out from the car, the four pairs of eyes watching your every move aren't hostile, they're not necessarily friendly either, but polite enough to hide their displeasure. As you're talking with Laswell, you don't notice the slight way they're angling their bodies towards you. Their handshakes lasting just a moment too long and the not so subtle way their expressions form into something resembling dissapointment when noticing the patches over your scent glands, but Laswell does and that further proves to her that she made the right choice.
Ghost desperately needs to fuck his client. (You) pt. 3
tags | plug! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader, smoking, weed, smut, bad description of bong usage, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, jealousy, not edited, my current brain worm
prev. part
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Simon thinks the worst part of you leaving his house is when he has to watch you bend over his bathroom sink and reapply your strawberry lip gloss.
For several reasons, of course. One of them being that he hates having to watch you leave like he wasn’t just inside you mere minutes ago. The other being that he hates the idea of other men staring at your lips the way he does, with a half chub cock in their jeans because they’re imagining them glistening around their tip instead.
The hardest though? The fact that he’s ready to fuck you again against his bathroom sink every time without fail.
You never seem to notice. You just turn around with a glimmering little smile on your glossed lips, pressing a kiss to his cheek that leaves an iridescent shape of your lips that he doesn’t wipe off or a lingering taste of strawberry on his lips that he tastes for hours.
It’s even worse because he doesn’t know the next time he’ll get a taste.
You send him a picture after a week without contact. A picture of you. The first you’ve sent. The rims of your eyes are red, blunt hanging loosely from your mouth, a lazy smile on your lips.
‘Rolled all by myself!! :)’
He saves it immediately.
‘Never gave you a blunt.’
‘Bought it to practice. Did I do good?’
Simon’s not sure why it matters when he always rolls for you anyway.
‘You bought from someone else?’
‘Not the point.’
‘It’s exactly the point.’
You don’t respond for a while and it makes his temples twitch.
‘Throw that shit away.’
‘HUH’
‘Probably tastes like shit anyway.’
He jerks himself off to the picture later that night.
You come over sometime that next week. You’ve got the skimpiest shirt on he’s ever seen in his life and it takes everything in him to keep his eyes on the bowl he was packing before you walked in.
“Hi, Si.” Si. He’s not sure when he became that.
“Hi, pretty.”
That brings a small smile to your lips.
“Will you teach me?” You ask, pointing to the bong on the table. “Never smoked from a bong before.”
He ushers you over with two fingers, patting the empty spot next to him on his couch. You plop down next to him, legs criss-crossed as you face his side.
“It’s easy enough,” He starts, “Just gotta light the bowl while inhaling, makes the water bubble until the pipe fills with smoke.”
He puts the bong to his lips, lighting the outer edges of the bowl while inhaling lightly before removing the bowl and breathing in sharply to swallow all the smoke. He turns to you when he’s done, blowing the smoke towards you. Your scrunched nose makes him chuckle.
“Then, just take out the bowl and breathe in all your smoke.”
You take it from him with a shrug, “Really? It always looked so much harder than that.”
He watches you start, a huff of a laugh escaping him when you struggle to flick the lighter that earns him a glare, but the caught lip in your teeth tells him everything he needs to know. You inhale for a much longer time than he did, and he watches you with raised brows before removing the bowl himself when your eyes widen. You slam your hand over the rim, puffs of smoke leaving your lungs so abrasively all you can do is cough, tears welling in your lashes.
“Jesus, bird. You’re not supposed to do that much.”
“You didn’t—“ Your sentence is broken up by coughs, “—didn’t tell me that!”
“Didn’t think I had to tell you not to take a giant bong rip!”
He hands you his water from the table.
“Shit fucking hurts.” You say in between gulps.
He laughs loudly that time, big hand coming out to rub your back.
“Wanna try again? I’ll tell you when to stop.”
You chew on your bottom lip, opening your mouth before closing it hesitantly.
“It’ll be smoother, I promise.”
You nod slowly after a few seconds.
“Slowly this time, yeah?” He murmurs, holding the glass to your lips.
You nod again, inhaling for just a few seconds before he removes the bowl. It’s a much smaller hit, but you still cough when you come up for air.
“I don’t think I like it.” You frown, handing it back to him.
He chuckles, “That’s okay, bird. We don’t have to do it again.”
You give him one of your shy smiles, the ones that make him want to dig his teeth into your neck.
He keeps his hands and mouth to himself.
You’re mad at him a few days later and he has no fucking idea why. All he knows is you’re glaring at him from across the room, arms crossed over your chest, and brows furrowed. He can’t help but think you’re cute, all brooding in the corner of the party you invited him to.
‘Come here.’
He watches you read the text, eyes rolling so dramatically it makes him snicker.
‘Why don’t you just keep hanging out with your little girlfriend over there?’
‘I don’t even know who you’re talking about, baby.’
You squint at the screen.
‘Don’t call me that.’
‘Pretty instead?’
He watches you fluster.
‘Shut up.’
‘You coming? Or do I need to handle it myself?’
‘Handle what?’
‘You.’
You avoid him the rest of the night. He takes you home anyway and you begrudgingly drag your feet across the sidewalk to his car, huffing under your breath how you had someone else to take you home.
You didn’t, never did.
The drive to your place is silent and there's this ugly knot forming in the middle of his chest that makes him dig his tongue to the inside of his cheek. You look at him in shock when he barges into your house after you tried to close the door on his face.
He’s too damn old for this.
His hand cups the back of your neck, tugging you towards him, so you stumble into him, forearms falling onto his chest. You peer up at him, wide-eyed, but you don’t say anything.
“You done?” He asks plainly.
You gulp, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Your eyes trail to the side, suddenly becoming interested in the color of your wall.
He drags you to your room then, and you follow along, like you hadn’t ignored him all night. He bends you over your bed slowly. He half expects you to kick out in refusal, but you let him, quietly falling and turning your cheek to peer at him over your shoulder.
One hand keeps you firm in place at the low of your spine, the other trails down the back of your legs, hooking a finger in the back of your heels, and tossing them to the side.
“Those were expensive.”
He flicks his eyes to yours, “Buy you a new pair.”
He bunches your dress to your hips, panties joining your shoes soon after that, and you open your mouth to protest despite the way you lifted your hips to help him.
“Didn’t agree to this.”
His fingers halt in their path. “You want me to stop?”
“That’s not what I said.” You mumble quietly, turning your head away from him.
He hums then, “That’s what I thought.”
He stamps a kiss to your shoulder, the bottom of your spine, right on the globe of your ass. His teeth dig into your cheek next because he simply can’t resist taking a bite and you giggle into the sheets.
The corners of his lips twitch because he knows you hadn’t intended to let that slip.
He cups your ass then, spreading you open so that he gets a pretty view of your pussy. His thumb drags from your entrance to your clit and you roll to your tippy toes in shock, fingers tightening in your flowery sheets.
He watches your pussy flutter around nothing when he rubs slow circles around your clit, watches you bury your face into your bed because you don’t want him to see the way your face scrunches up.
He keeps at it, thumb stroking your clit over and over again until it’s swollen, until there's an obscene amount of slick gushing from your pussy and down your clit, until he can see the way your shoulders tense to stifle the quiet noises you press into the blankets.
He slips two fingers in without warning and your head snaps back, a whine slipping past the tight confines of your lips. He finds the spot that makes your lashes flutter and your hips rock back far too quickly for your liking because he shouldn’t already know where it’s at when he’s only fucked you twice.
He strokes you with his thick fingers once, twice, before leaning over you, larger frame pinning you against the bed, and you squirm, whimpering because he’s so fucking heavy above you that it makes you a little lightheaded.
His lips press to your ear, “Been a real brat all night you know that?”
He thrusts his fingers with every word, pussy stretching with each stroke.
“Over somethin’ I can’t even control too.”
You lift your head to look at him and it’s the first time he’s seen you grit your teeth. You part your lips to argue, but he hooks his fingers just right and a strained noise leaves your throat.
“What’s that?” He smirks against your neck.
You don’t even try to say anything after, fucking your hips back onto his fingers until there's a trail of your arousal dripping down his knuckles, and your teeth caught in your sheets as you finish.
Your head falls back against the mattress, legs wobbly under you as he slips his fingers from your cunt. You don’t even have time to mourn the feeling, not when Simon’s cock takes their place so quickly. He doesn’t even have to wait for you to accustom yourself to the shape of him when he sinks to the hilt in one go.
You cry out, rolling to your tippy toes again, thighs already shaking against his hips. His hand wraps around your throat, the other around your hips and arches your back so your head rests against his shoulder and your feet dangle above his.
He fucks into you swiftly, your ass making a loud noise each time his hips meet the fat. Your hands scramble to the one around your hips in a panic because the position has the curve of his cock slamming brutally against your cervix, and all you can to do is clamber for any control.
“For no fucking reason too.” He grunts it against your temple.
“Simon, I— wait, please.”
You find yourself on your back in an instant, your head next to the plushies you have on your bed. Simon’s already between your parted thighs, cock sliding in so easily you have to squeeze your eyes tight.
He turns soft so quickly it practically gives you whiplash, one arm resting beside your head, his lips hovering above your cheek.
“Don’t gotta act like tha’.” He whispers it so softly you feel it in your chest. “You all I want, baby.”
His thrusts become sweet, pressing real deep with each draw of his hips, and your toes curl by his thighs.
“Okay?”
When you don’t respond, his thumb finds your cheek, tapping lightly because he wants to hear.
“Okay?”
You blink at him a little deliriously, “Yeah, okay.”
you pop your head into the lounge with a lopsided grin, gesturing toward the brand-new full-length mirror that had been delivered that morning.
he glances up from where he’s sprawled on the sofa, one eyebrow raised. “liftin’ heavy things is what i’m for, innit, love?” he says dryly, rolling his shoulders as he stands. with zero effort, he lifts the mirror. “where d’you want it, bird?”
“bedroom, please, babe.” you grin back, practically skipping after him down the corridor like an excited puppy, pointing at the wall directly opposite the foot of the bed. “right there.”
he sets the mirror down and frowns, eyebrows knitting together. “‘ow the fuck are you gonna use it with the bed in the way?”
you just smile sweetly and shrug, “don’t worry si. s’perfect placement.”
that evening, he finds out exactly how perfect.
you’re riding him reverse cowgirl, his back against the headboard, thick thighs spread wide beneath you. your back pressed to his chest, his large hands gripping your waist, guiding every slow, deliberate roll of your hips.
both of you are staring at the mirror.
you can see everything—his thick cock stretching your pussy open with every downward stroke, the shine of your slick coating him as you sink down and lift back up. you watch him disappear inside you, watch the way your walls cling to him when you clench. his chin rests on your shoulder, breath hot and ragged against your ear.
his eyes flick between your cunt swallowing him and the way your tits bounce with each movement.
“fuckin’ ‘ell bird.” he groans, voice wrecked.
he cums faster than usual, a hiss of air forced out of his nose as he empties himself inside your tight cunt.
when you eventually lift off him you both watch in the mirror as his cum slowly drips from your used pussy—thick, pearly white streaks spilling from your fluttering hole.
his cock twitches against his stomach, already half-hard again in seconds.
“jesus christ,” he mutters, “perfect fuckin’ placement after all.”
Ghost desperately needs to fuck his client. (You) pt. 2
tags | plug! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader, smoking, weed, shotgunning, smut, oral sex, vaginal sex, creampie, jealousy, not edited, my current brain worm
prev. part
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You text Simon a week later.
‘You got anything? Had a long day.’
‘Made some pre-rolls just for you, bird.’
‘Yay!!! Coming!!’
You give him a tight smile when you sit on his couch. It’s not like you. He doesn’t say anything until you take a few puffs and your tense shoulders start to sag.
“What happened?”
“Boss was just being a dick all day.” You turn to give a real smile, eyes crinkling, “Good thing my drug dealers got a soft spot for me though, huh?”
“Who told you that?” He smirks.
Your mouth drops in surprise, smacking his shoulder playfully.
“That’s mean.”
“You’re my favorite client, you know that.”
That makes you smile, head rolling onto the back of the couch and he decides he likes making you do that. He goes to get you water, and when he comes back your eyes are closed.
He lets you sleep.
The next time he sees you, you’re leaving the club, and when you recognize his car you jog over with an excited smile on your lips. You’ve got this little black dress on that makes it awfully hard to focus on anything else besides the curve of your hips.
“Simon! What are you doing here?”
“Bird? The hell you doing out here?”
“I went out with my friend.” You point to a man standing close by.
His jaw tenses, “Get in.”
“Huh?”
“Get in the car, bird. I’m not arguing.” He’s already climbing out of the driver's seat to open the passenger door for you.
“I’m not gonna leave him, Simon!” You say, but you let him guide you into the car anyway.
“He’s a big boy. He’ll survive.”
When he gets to your house you turn to him with a mischievous smile, “Were you jealous?”
“Of who?”
“Don’t play dumb!”
“Just making sure you’re safe s’all.” He shrugs casually.
You lean across the center console, “It’s okay. I’m not interested in him.”
“Good.”
That makes you smile bigger, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt, “You gonna come in and smoke with me?”
“Course I am.”
You drag him inside giggling, stumbling a little over your high heels. You waste no time changing, pulling the dress over your head as you walk down the hallway, giving him a glimpse of your lacy covered ass before you disappear into your room.
You come back out in an oversized shirt and shorts. “Proper smoking fit now.”
“Could’ve stayed in the dress for me.”
You frown, “Was getting uncomfy.”
“Like you like this more anyways.”
That makes you smile shyly, sitting next to him on your couch. He’s already lit a joint, it’s pink, and the sight of his big hands around it makes you giggle.
“Couldn’t even wait for me to start?”
“C’mere.” He grunts, pulling you on to his lap.
It’s the first time you’ve been there since you begged to ride him. The memory makes him chub in his jeans.
He takes a big inhale before gripping your chin, dragging you to his mouth, and exhales the smoke into your mouth. You writhe in his lap in surprise, fingers fisting his shirt, but you inhale as much as you can.
“Let me try.” You murmur.
He places the joint in your lips. You inhale deeply before leaning forward and blowing the smoke into his mouth.
The two of you take turns shotgunning the smoke into each other’s mouth. The pause between each inhale gets longer and longer, the both of you keeping your lips close, not kissing, just there. Breaths fanning over each other’s faces, your body becoming heavier and heavier on his thighs.
You smell like tequila, and there’s a part of him who knows he shouldn’t be doing this when you’re drunk, but you’re so fucking pretty in his lap, eyes lidded and edges stained red, lips parted to take shaky breaths.
“‘s all gone.” He says, holding the tip.
“Yeah.” You whisper, but your eyes stay focused on his lips.
The corner of his mouth twitches, “That’s not a good idea. You’re drunk.”
“But you’re high now too, aren’t you? Evens it out.”
He chuckles, “I need more than just one j to be high, pretty.”
You frown.
“You were on a date anyway. Don’t think you want this.”
Your frown deepens, “Wasn’t a date. He’s just a friend.”
He hums, ignoring the irritation pulsing at his temples, fingers smoothing along your hips.
“Just a kiss?” You murmur, “Hold me over til I’m sober.”
He tuts his tongue, but he pulls you down anyway because he’s a man after all, he can only resist so much. You smile against his lips, eyes fluttering shut and tugging him closer to you.
It’s slow, the both of your lips are a little numb from smoking, and the taste of the strawberry paper he buys for you has left a fruity taste in your mouths. His fingers tingle where they’re at your hips and there’s a pressure in his head from smoking.
He can’t stop himself from deepening the kiss when you taste like that and sound so sweet against him. You let him lick into your mouth, and your hips start to grind along his hardened length in his jeans.
You gasp against his lips every so often, filling your lungs with air before diving back in. He’s strong, god he’s strong because he manages to pull away, your lips stained a darker color, and you blink at him sadly when he stops your hips. All he can think about is how wet you probably are, just ruining your lacy panties, but he slides you off him anyway.
“Should drink some water, and go to bed.” He says.
Your brows crease, pout on your lips, but you nod anyway.
You text him in the middle of the night two weeks later.
‘You up?’
‘For you.’
‘I think I’m greening out andd I’m rlly scared can you pls come pick me up?’
‘Where are you?’
‘I don’t knowww.’
‘Send me your location.’
You’re at some random party, and you give him a wobbly smile when you see him. That same friend at your side.
“Hi.”
“Hi, bird. Let’s go.”
You nod, your hands shaking when you lace your fingers with his and he drags you through the crowd. He takes you to his, helps you change into some of his clothes, and presses a glass of water to your lips. You chug it like you’re parched, barely saving any room to breathe.
“You’re gonna stress me out.”
You laugh quietly, “Sorry.”
“Gotta be careful smoking too much when you’re not somewhere you’re familiar with.” He sits you down on his bed.
“I know. It just kinda happened.”
“How you feeling?”
“Better with you.”
That makes his teeth show.
“You want me to put music on?”
You shake your head, “Just want to lay with you.”
He invites you over for a smoke session a few days later. You roll the joint between your thumbs nervously.
“If you don’t wanna smoke we don’t have to. Just thought since it’s kinda our thing now.”
You smile big, “Our thing?”
“Mmhh.” He hums with a nod.
“That’s not what I was thinking about.” You murmur quietly.
“What’s it then?”
“You sleep with a lot of your clients?”
He chokes on the smoke he’s inhaled, coughing so much that tears well in his eyes.
“What?”
“Um, well. Have you fucked any of your other clients?” You bite at your bottom lip.
“Jesus, bird. No.” He coughs.
“Are you lying?” You squint.
“Never lie to you.”
“Okay.”
You smoke in silence after that. Your feet rest on his lap the entire time as you lean against the armrest. He runs his fingers along your ankles and up your calves. It’s innocent at first, but then you nudge your toes on the bulge in his sweats and he raises his brows at you.
You shrug, a devilish smirk on your lips.
“Accident.”
But then your legs fall open a little, your pretty thighs parting slightly for him. It’s an invitation, an awfully tempting one. It all happens so fast, he almost doesn’t even realize he’s nosing along the wet patch of your underwear and placing your legs on his shoulders until you squeak in surprise.
Your panties come off easy and he beelines straight to the source. He kisses along your thighs, your breath getting faster with each approaching kiss. His thumb finds your clit first, just soft strokes while his breath fans over your vagina.
He licks one flat swipe along your clit and your back arches. He dips lower and fucking groans into your pussy when he gets a real taste, eyes closed like he’s got sugar melting between his teeth and not you filling his senses.
When he returns to your clit, your toes curl against his back, and your head falls back. You’ve got one hand stifling your moans and he’d make you take it off and sing for him, but he’s more concerned with laving at your swollen clit than anything else.
You cry out when he takes the bead between his lips and sucks softly. Your mouth forms an o and the look you give him is so cute that he smiles into your pussy. Furrowed brows and big beady eyes, lashes wet at the edges like the stimulation was becoming too much.
You don’t try to pull away though, instead, you arch deeper into him, hand curling around the back of his head and pushing him closer to your clit. His big hands find your hips when you start to grind on his face messily, and it takes everything in him not to buck his own into his couch because he’s sure you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever fucked.
His nose bumps along your clit with each thrust, and his face is drenched in juices down to his chin. He hopes the smell fucking sticks, hopes he can taste you on his tongue later tonight when you’re not there.
You finish with his name on your lips and your thighs squeezing around his head tight. He licks it all up, lapping eagerly at your walls while your legs slowly relax, falling open onto his shoulders, and twitching with each lick.
When he comes up, your chest is heaving, like you were the one down there suffocated by your thighs and pussy. There’s this dopey smile on your lips and he can’t help but smile back, leaning down to kiss you with your arousal all over his face.
You don’t even scrunch your nose, you lick right into his mouth hungrily.
“You’re fucking perfect.” He grunts between sloppy kisses, hands fumbling with his sweats.
He feels you smile, “You’re the one who just ate me out.”
You make a surprised noise when his head slips into your entrance, hands clambering to your shoulders. He slides right in, your pussy nice and lax from your orgasm. He rests his forehead against yours when he bottoms out. Your nails dig into his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut, and mouth popped open in pleasure.
“Fuckkk,” He drawls, “She feels so good.”
You whine, nodding against his forehead.
He starts with shallow thrusts, fucking into you just deep enough for you to get used to the stretch. When you start to impatiently arch into him for more, he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and leans forward.
The new angle makes you moan loudly, the pace Simon sets is more brutal.
“Been fucking stressing me out all month, you know that?” He grits his teeth.
You shake your head, but he wasn’t really looking for a response.
“Can’t just fucking stay home, can you? Always gotta get yourself into some trouble, don’t you?” His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh.
You whimper at his tone, “It’s not on purpose.”
“Asking if I sleep with other girls, like you aren’t smoking with other men.”
His hips slam into you hard at the end of his sentence, like he’s emphasizing his words.
“They fuck you like this? Huh?”
You shake your head again, “No! No, just you Simon.”
He’s not even sure where that came from when you guys have only fucked once, you’re not his, but you’re wrapped around him, pressing kisses against his neck because you think he’s mad and how can he not be jealous?
“You all mine?” He whispers, hips stuttering with his strength to not finish.
“Yes, yes, god, yes.”
You finish around him again, pussy just gushing, and compressing tight. He buries himself deep and joins you, pumping you full of the past month of blue balls you’ve given him.
tws: smut/18+ (mdni), penetrative sex, sex in childhood bedroom (with other ppl in the house), kyle looooves attention, oral sex (mentioned), ass play (mentioned), spit play (mentioned), cum play (mentioned)
reader bringing home boyfriend!kyle garrick to meet your family for the first time. the guy goes all out for a more than decent frist impression, complete sunshine and kind smiles. dressed in a soft-looking sweater (one you didn’t even know he had?), and carrying a bouquet of as a cherry on top.
your family, to no surprise, drinks up all of kyle’s charm and then some. they just melt at the sight of his pretty eyes, not to mention the way he can warm an entire room with a couple laughs.
he makes sure to remember everyone’s names. doesn’t touch his hands any lower than the small of your back. helps you, your mother, your sister, and your grandmother get settled in your seats with plates of food before even thinking of anything for himself.
by the end of the night, he’s the star. a few of your uncles and an entire crowd of cousins, who said goodbye over twenty minutes ago, are still busy cackling over inside jokes when your eyes start to droop. the pillow is calling your name as you attempt to drag kyle up the stairs and to your old bedroom so you can finally sleep.
kyle, however, possesses other ideas.
being liked has never been too much of a hassle for your boyfriend. his kindness never feels fake, and isn’t. he meant every bit of the respectable actions and shared humor with your family tonight. the time he had was a ball, and he can’t wait to do it again tomorrow…
…especially after tonight.
“fu–augh!”
kyle clamps a hand over your mouth, only able to muffle the tail of your whined curse. from behind, he’s rolling his hips and fucking you into the bed with absolute delight over the fact that the newly-crowed golden boy–the man of the hour–is doing things that would get him kicked out if the rest of the house were to ever know.
the both of you are buried under the blankets, making the dangerous assumption that the cover is enough to damped the wet sounds of kyle smacking his weight into yours. if anything, it’s making it worse with all the sweat and cream mixing together where the two of you join… kyle slicking his chest against your damp back the times he really wants you to feel him.
speaking of–
“feel that?” kyle breathes, flexing himself inside you after a particularly deep thrust. one that makes you forget your own name. "right there... feel it?"
“mmhm,” is all you can mewl, drooling a bit against his hand with thick breaths through your nose.
“mmhm,” kyle mocks, smirking around the him. his lips curl themselves with more confidence than usual, and that’s saying something. he just… he can’t help but feel all giddy over how much everyone liked him and the attention accompanied with such a feat, juxtaposed against how filthy the two of you can fuck.
to anyone else, the two of you are the perfect, sugary-sweet couple.
he kisses your cheek.
you hold his hand more often than not.
he calls you love.
your parents think him the utmost gentleman. and you’re their pride and joy.
but kyle, well, he knows the truth.
he sees it every day in the darkening of your stare when he spits in your mouth and tells you to swallow. when he wakes with his cock halfway down your throat and your thumb circling his clenching asshole. when he smears his load into your stomach so your skin shines just right in the nighttime air.
the both of you, freaks. completely in love. on your best behavior around family who have not one inkling of awareness of what’s going on in your childhood bedroom. and what's going to happen every night until the end of your visit.
inexperienced!simon accidentally edging himself by not touching himself in any way, shape, or form if you're not present. he'll hold out for days, letting his balls ache until he gets a chance to see and be with you properly. he ignores the pulses when you smooch him hello, while you tug him to your couch so you can catch up on things. leaking a wet patch in his sweats as the two of you chat away. nodding and humming at every one of your sentences until you finally notice his shaky thighs.
he has to look away from the pouty coo you send him after climbing across the couch and peeling the fabric back to finally let him breathe.
"aw, si," you furrow your brows, watching the way his cock bobs with a mind of its own whenever you grip the base. a low hiss sneaks out from between his teeth, just barely able to collect himself when you peck his jaw. the man fails to hide a shiver, feeling as if he's buzzing from head to toe at the soft of your lips on him. "why didn't you say anything?"
simon scratches an itch on his chest, involuntarily sinking into the cushions with a tight throat. tip accidentally dribbling out a few more strings of clear.
tags | plug! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader, smoking, weed, smut, vaginal fingering, riding, creampie, not edited, brain worm I had
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The first time you ever bought from Ghost you were wearing a skirt way too short to be socially acceptable, stumbling to his beat-up car with a drunk smile plastered on your face. He remembers it all a little too clearly, the way you leaned into the passenger window, smelling like tequila and the minty mouthwash you used to try and cover the smell up.
“Hi.” You giggled.
“Hi.” He responded, raising his eyebrow at you.
“Um, my friends over there,” You pointed to a group of girls across the street, “Dared me to come buy some off you.”
He stared at you without responding, and there was a long pause of silence before your smile dropped into something smaller.
“Wait? Do you not sell?” You covered your mouth, “Oh my gosh that’s so embarrassing, they told me they bought from you before!”
“Relax, bird. I do.”
“Oh! Great, that’s great. Um, how much for an eighth?”
“On the house.” He smirked, digging through the back of his car.
“What?”
“First time buyer, gotta guarantee you like it.”
You caught the bag he tossed you with a shy smile on your face, humming. “Okay, thank you!”
Ghost watched you jog to your friends after that, holding the bag out to them with a proud smirk.
The next time you bought from him, you were all by yourself, jean shorts showing off your pretty legs.
“Hi.”
He chuckled, “You’re back.”
You leaned into the window, low-cut shirt clinging to the swell of your breasts.
“I am.” You smiled, “How much for an eighth this time, for real?’
“Already have some pre-rolls, you can just have ‘em.”
“Huh? No, I didn’t pay you last time!”
“No one ever wants the pre-rolls anyway,” He shrugs, he lies. “They’re cherry flavored.”
That sparks your interest, “Really? I didn’t know they did that.”
You hand him your phone then, “Put your number in, yeah? So, I don’t have to hope to randomly run into you to buy more.”
When he hands the phone back you laugh after reading the contact name, “Ghost? That’s your drug dealer name? Really?”
“Do you want free weed or not?”
You laugh louder this time, “Yes! Yes! I was just teasing. Thank you!”
You text him two weeks later, a stupid meme at that with beady eyes, ‘more, please sir?’
He hates the way it makes the corners of his lips twitch.
He’s mobile that day, and you send him your address with one too many exclamation marks tagged on the end. You run out in leggings and slippers, a giddy smile on your lips.
“Hi.”
He laughs, “Hi, bird.”
“I liked the pre-rolls!” You say excitedly, leaning into the window, “Never had those before.”
“Yeah? What you need today?”
“You have any more?”
He frowns a little, “Get in with me, I’ll roll you some.”
You open his passenger side door too willingly, “Oh good. I don’t know how to roll,” You confess, “My friends usually do it for me.”
His mouth dips into a smirk, “Yeah? ‘Ts not that hard, watch.”
You lean closer, eyes wide like he’s actually teaching you valuable information and not how to roll a joint.
“Gotta make sure to take out all the seeds and stems before you grind it.” You watch him grind it enraptured. “Gotta roll up the tip first, then, wrap the paper tight.”
You nod eagerly.
“Fill it with your flower, roll it upwards with your thumb to make your shape. Then,” He licks across the paper, “Seal it with the glued edge, and twist the tip.”
He holds it out to you, “There you go.”
You take it between your fingers with a soft smile, “Thank you.”
You text him three days later, a picture of a lopsided joint that he definitely didn’t sell you.
‘How’d I do?’
‘Looks like shit.’
‘That’s mean :(‘
‘Come over, let me help.’
‘On my way!’
You show up an hour later, the crooked joint in your hands. You sit on his couch with a frown.
“You know, I didn’t think it came out that bad.”
“Give it here.” He laughs, “You packed it up wayyy too much. Got too much at the end here too, didn’t tap it out.”
Still, he lights it, holding it out for you to smoke. You take it between your fingers, inhaling a small amount before coughing slightly. He smirks at your watery eyes, taking the joint from you to smoke it.
“Sorry,” You say, “I got my lip gloss on it.”
He chuckles, the tip glistening with the gloss, placing it in the corner of his lips, “Doesn’t matter.”
It tastes like your lip gloss. Strawberries and weed.
You take turns smoking it. Simon watches you the whole time, with lidded eyes, focused on the way your pretty lips curl around the joint. The way your chest rises with each inhale, your eyes becoming heavier and heavier, a lazy smile smeared across your lips as you lean closer to him on his old couch.
All he can think about is those lips wrapped around his cock and not the tip of the joint. And he’s definitely rock hard in his sweats, but he doesn’t care if you notice, not when you keep giggling at every bad joke he cracks.
He jerks himself off when you leave, promising you’ll be safe and text him when you get home. He finishes when your message pops at the top of his screen ‘made it safe :)’
He invites you over himself a week later because he’s got random inventory, he ordered them himself, of strawberry wraps and he’s certain you’ll like them.
You do like them. You’re melted into his couch, blinking lazily at him.
“How come you never charge me?” It’s a whisper.
He looks at you, the room dizzy with smoke and your pretty gaze.
“Never make pretty girls pay.”
“Oh?” You sound disappointed, “So, you give it free to other girls?”
He shakes his head, “Just you.”
You squint, “Are you only giving me free weed so you can get a lay?”
He smirks, “Is it working?”
You scoff, smacking him in the shoulder, “Unbelievable.”
He catches your wrist.
“You giving it to my friends for free too?”
“Careful,” He smirks, “You’re starting to sound jealous.”
You roll your eyes, trying to pull away from him. He keeps you close, tugging you into his lap so fast you have no choice but to slip onto his thighs. You don’t look at him, eyes focused to the side.
“Just you.”
You peer down at him then, “Huh?”
His fingers find your cheek, still burning from the embers of the joint, “You’re the only one I don’t charge.”
“Yeah?” You whisper.
“C’mere already.” He murmurs, pulling you down to kiss him.
You make a noise of surprise, like you hadn’t expected your smoke sessions to lead to this, with his cock pressed between your thighs eagerly, grip on your chin and hip to keep you close to him.
You kiss him back earnestly, smaller hands finding his shoulders. He loves it, fuck he loves the way your hands shake against his skin, the vibrations that leave your chest and fill his. He’s been dreaming about this since the moment you walked over in your tiny skirt.
Your bottom lip pops away from his, glistening with his saliva and not the lip gloss you insist on wearing.
“Wanted you to do that for ages.”
He chuckles against your lips, “Yeah?”
Your hips grind against his then, “Only reason my friends made me go was because I wouldn’t shut up about how hot you were.”
He presses his teeth against your neck, fingers making quick work of your belt and pants. “Came over with your ass and tits out, been jerking off to the memory ever since.”
You inhale sharply, “Fuck.”
Your eyes flutter when his fingers find your cunt, squelching with the sound of your arousal. He dips one finger in, drawing a whimper from you, and god you’re so fucking warm. The weeds got you nice and lax, a small grin on your lips as he coaxes you with one thick finger and he's sure he's never wanted to fuck someone more.
Your grin turns into a broken cry when he adds another, lips quivering around the shape of his name. Ghost. Ghost?
His thumbs already on your lips, gaze strong on you, “Simon.”
You nod in quiet understanding, “Simon.”
There’s a sticky strip of arousal that clings to your panties when he slides them off your thighs and it takes everything in him not to bury his face below and smell.
You scramble to his sweats, tugging them down impatiently. He lifts his hips willingly, lets his strained cock smack against his abdomen angrily. You lick your lips when you see it, eyes wide at the sight.
He grips it by the base, thumb coming up to wipe at the precum spilling from the tip.
“Oh my god.” You groan, “Let me ride you, please.”
He slides lower on the couch, tapping your hips casually in agreement like he hadn’t been picturing you on top of him for weeks, “Go on.”
You rise to your knees above him, shaking hand grabbing his cock so lightly it makes his eyes flutter. You glide his tip along your seams until it snags at your entrance, and you make a soft noise when he pops through. You slide down eagerly as much as he holds your hips and grits through his teeth to take it slow.
Your head falls to his shoulder when you sink to the base, his head rolling to the back of the couch because you’re so fucking warm and tight, and the weed definitely isn’t helping because he’s feeling everything ten times worse.
And when you lift your hips, he swears he sees heaven between your thighs when you drop back down and your pussy makes an obscene squelch.
You bury your face in his neck, arms around his shoulders and just fucking go at it. Ass slamming against his so fast the room echoes with each slap. You whine high-pitched with each thrust like you aren’t the one setting the pace, like you aren’t the fucking yourself raw around his cock.
“Jesus, bird, slow down.” He grunts, fingers dimpling your skin.
He says it because your legs are shaking and there’s sweat beading on your chest, whimpers falling from your lips endlessly, but more so because he doesn’t want it to end this soon. When he hasn’t even laid you back properly to fuck you the way he had hoped.
You don’t listen well.
You just keep sloppily fucking yourself onto his cock because you’ve found the sweet spot, the one that has you on the brink of an orgasm.
His lips on your neck do it for you, your toes curling into his shitty ass couch when you break. You soak his balls then, pussy clenching so tight around him he has to bite down on his cheek so he doesn’t bust.
He’s already moving you to your back, finding a home between your thighs when you come back down. You don’t even argue, like the perfect thing you are, folding your own legs to his shoulders, and arching into the couch.
He slides in slow, and your pussy spreads for him so prettily.
“Fuck,” he drawls, “Listen to her, just fuckin dying for me to fuck her.”
You whine loud at that, hips bucking to get him to move. He doesn’t wait a second longer, thrusts so hard into you, you feel it in your toes and your legs straighten out in shock.
He fucks you slow and hard, pace languid from the weed pulsing in his veins. You like it, at least he thinks you do from the way you keep writhing under him, the beginning syllables of his name broken on your lips between every thrust.
When he leans forward, pressing your knees to your shoulders, you gasp in shock from the stretch, but then his tip snags against that spot in your cunt that melts your brain into mush, and your eyes just roll into the back of your head.
He smirks proudly, bullying his length against that spot until you’re pushing at hips, murmuring something along the lines that it’s too much.
He doesn’t stop.
You pulse around him when you cum a second time, sweet voice ripped from your throat, and turned into blinded pleasure when he stamps his thumb against your swollen clit. Your feet tense at his shoulders, fingers tight against the cushions.
He finishes inside of you then, head falling to your shoulder with a deep groan, hips fucking into you with each pump.
Summary: Simon overhears you say his dick is small.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Consensual freeuse. Traffic light safe word system. Your boyfriend fucks you rough (but lovingly) while you’re on the phone.
Word count: 3.1k
You were being a good friend.
It really was as simple as that—a woman you’d known for over a decade now was going through the worst breakup of her life, and she needed your support. You’d offered that support without hesitation, thinking nothing of the fact that you were in the healthiest of relationships yourself. You sure as hell never would’ve imagined a conversation like that could lead to this.
“His dick was huge, too,” your friend groaned across the line. You heard a shuffling of pillows and a soft thump, and you pictured her punting one off the bed.
You were lying on your stomach in your own bed several hundred miles away, holding your phone to your ear and trying to bite back a slow-growing grin.
“Couldn’t have been that big,” you hummed.
Again, your best friend groaned as if she were in pain.
“No, I’m telling you, the guy was fucking massive, hon. Just hung like a…a goddamn horse. I’m gonna be sick.”
“You can find another monster cock someday.”
“I don’t want to, though! It was so good.”
“You know, a big dick isn’t everything.”
Now you were trailing a finger over the embroidered edge of a pillowcase, trying your hardest not to think of the man who’d just slipped out of your sheets thirty minutes prior. Right before your friend had called with her devastating news, before you had been obliged to join the I-Hate-All-Men tirade of the century, you’d been getting put through the mattress by your boyfriend—a man who didn’t lie, or cheat on you, or steal, or shatter your heart into a million pieces.
A man whose dick was considerably bigger than most.
Simon was probably already three beers deep with his buddies at the pub down the road, the same lopsided, happy-go-lucky smile on his face he always wore when you and him had just had a quickie before he left home
Suddenly, the tail-end of a sentence snapped you out of your reverie, your friend’s tone loud and a little shrill:
“—easy for you to say!”
You blinked. “Easy f—wait, what?”
“Simon Riley. Love of your life.” You could imagine the woman snapping fingers in front of your face if she had been with you then, as if to say, Ring a bell? “Don’t even try to act like he isn’t a crazy good lay. And huge.”
Your cheeks heated at the accusation. Hell, you’d probably mentioned to friends in passing that your boyfriend was an altogether generous lover, a caring man in every respect, along with a couple other vague intimations about his prowess that would leave a whole lot more to the imagination than not, but this? You hadn’t even touched on anything about his size.
Normally, you wouldn’t engage in that kind of talk—at least not to that level of detail, revealing intimate facts.
But your best friend was hurting, and it seemed like she needed something to feel better in the moment.
So, shortly, it slipped out before you could think better:
“Simon’s not even big.”
Your mouth clamped shut as soon as you said it.
Liar, every fiber of your being hissed at once.
(Shut the fuck up, I’m helping a friend out)
“No way. You’re full of shit,” she giggled.
(Well, yes)
“Nope.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
You swallowed hard. Already hating yourself as the silence across the line stretched on and you knew your friend expected you to elaborate, and then you did.
“Honestly, it’s pretty, um…small. And—And that’s OK! Like, nobody’s perfect. The sex with him is still so great, and if anything, it’s nice not having such a big dick to worry about, y’know? So don’t feel like dating a smaller guy is so bad. You can still have amazing sex.”
You tried to end it on a positive note—the message you meant to get across, which was that the girl could be happy with a guy of any size and she didn’t need to stay hung up on her stupid ex—but it fell flat, even to your own ears. Clearly, you’d dropped a bombshell.
“But he is just…such a big dude. You’d think—”
“No, I know, Simon’s tall,” you interrupted hastily. Wincing. “But like I was saying, you can still do a lot with an average-sized dick. Or—Or even a tiny one.”
“It’s tiny?!”
Fucking shit.
“No, no, no, not tiny! I mean, not that…tiny. He’s fine.”
Your pulse was pounding so loud in your ears you could hardly hear yourself think. Or breathe. Or lie. Or try to piece together the most incoherent string of words that came out a little something like, ‘Seriously, uh…Simon’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever dated, and um…dick size doesn’t even really matter. The big ones hurt. I mean, the guy’s not huge, but not tiny, and—’
“Well shit, lovie, how fuckin’ little are we talkin’ here?”
At the rumble of a voice by your other, phone-free ear, you nearly jumped and catapulted your device across the room. You would’ve yelped, too, had it not been for a big, broad palm clamping over your mouth. As a familiar weight and breadth and scent settled over your being—a body coming to lay on top of you from behind—your friend continued to chatter on the line, clueless.
“OK, OK, I get it. Love a guy of any size. And Simon’s not perfect—even though that fucker’s about as delectable as you can get in every other way…”
While the woman’s voice faded off into a far-distant hum rattling off Simon’s best qualities and lamenting the odds she’d ever find a man quite so wonderful, you were confronted with several of these same features at once: his wide, muscular chest blanketing the back of you entirely; his stubble tickling the cusp of your cheek as he leaned in close; his strength pinning you to the bed and only loosening the grip around your mouth a little; and of course, there was that voice again, lower—
“Too bad about my microdick, huh?” Simon chuckled.
“—and I bet he knows how to use it!” your friend went on, not hearing a word of what was going on with you.
“Hey, uh—hey, I’ve gotta go. I think I—” you started.
As soon as you did, though, you felt the pressure on your spine soar to new heights. You let out a low whine.
Simon was crushing you now.
Your friend cut in, “Yeah? You OK?”
Before you could attempt a reply, the hand that had once been covering your lips lowered to just underneath your chin; Simon squeezed your throat.
Playfully, he made clear by nipping at your earlobe.
“No need to stop on my account,” he murmured.
So, rushed and more than a little flustered now, you made up some excuse on the phone about mistakenly hearing the doorbell, and you let your friend forge on. You dropped the phone onto the bed by your pillow.
Then you turned your head, the rest of your body immobilized by the heft of your boyfriend’s weight on your back, and you finally, finally got to meet his gaze.
Behind you, Simon was smirking.
His whole demeanor betrayed amusement.
It wasn’t every day the man got to hear his dick was the size of something much smaller than it actually was, you reckoned. Still, he deserved an explanation.
“S-Si…” You tried to grit out a whisper, deflated by his weight and forced to hide your words from your friend.
Never mind the fact that your boyfriend looked, smelled, and felt just as irresistible as he had when he left home less than an hour ago. A simple, all-black ensemble fit him like a second skin and accentuated every mouthwatering ridge of his body, most visible to you in the glimpse of his bicep you caught under your chin. He was warm. Solid. Drenched in that dizzyingly potent sandalwood aftershave that you liked so much.
You’d never tapped the ‘mute’ on your phone so fast.
“Shit, Si, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean— I only said it— she’s going through a breakup right now, and I just t—”
Simon hit ‘unmute,’ followed by ‘speakerphone.’
He leaned back.
“…but what reeeally fucked me up was how he acted after. Like, couldn’t even look me in the eye, the dick…”
Your friend prattled on—back to sinking neck-deep in a story of how shitty the dating scene was and how she should’ve given up ages ago—while you flitted your gaze to your phone. You stared in awe, wondering why the fuck Simon had decided to tap those buttons in a moment like this, and questions started to bubble up.
At the same time, you heard the clink of a belt buckle.
Simon knelt behind you. He straddled your ass, and when you tried to sit up, he pressed a palm to the center of your back. He moved about it all swiftly.
Finally, the quietest, quickest hiss, ‘Si, what the fu—’
“Spit.”
That part, he said too loud. But the man didn’t seem to care much at all as he reached with his other hand and stuck his upturned palm under your face, waiting for it.
“What did you say?” your friend cut in presently.
Your face stung with embarrassment—at just the prospect of being found out by someone who had no concept of what was going on—that you forced it out:
“N-Nothing. Keep going.”
You spit in Simon’s hand like he’d told you.
Your phone couldn’t have been resting more than two or three inches from your face on the bed, and the space in general was small. There wasn’t a lot to be done by way of masking your activity, other than to simply hang up the fucking phone, but it didn’t sound like discretion and decorum and being considerate were at the top of Simon’s list of priorities right now.
Still, you felt a press of his lips against the back of your neck before he mumbled, “Remember our safewords?”
You did.
‘Yellow’ to slow down, ‘red’ to stop.
It wasn’t often you had to use the words with Simon, but from time to time, in particularly heated and impassioned moments, you appreciated the safety net.
And freeuse was something relatively new to you both—just accepting him in and letting him have his way with you at random points during your day, casually.
It didn’t make it any less tricky, or jarring, when the man next pushed inside you, bottoming out in one go.
Your sleep shorts tugged to the side, lying facedown underneath this massive, hulking man, you had only to grit your teeth and feel yourself stretched to full capacity with the shove of Simon’s bare cock in you.
“Oh, fuck,” you let out, hoarse.
“No, right? It was so gross, honestly.”
Amidst the airing of your friend’s mile-long list of grievances against her ex, your boyfriend settled his full, thick, demonstrably larger than average dick in your body until it felt like he was scraping your lungs.
You clawed the sheets and squirmed under him.
“That feel tiny to you, sweetheart?” Simon’s mouth was right next to your ear now, whispering filth while your walls stretched and squeezed to accommodate him. Warmth leaked out from where you connected.
You shook your head weakly, barely able to breathe.
It somehow made it even wilder and more maddening to have your senses deprived—Simon behind you, restricting your movements, with you obliged not to make a sound at the pleasure he was inflicting on you.
Your hips pinned to those pretty, floral-patterned sheets and your pussy made to gape in a perfectly wide ‘o’ around Simon’s whole cock, you felt helpless.
Stretched.
Protected, still.
Simon hadn’t even withdrawn to get a full stroke in, and he was already caressing your cheek with the backs of his knuckles, giving you more time to adjust to him. His tip kissed your cervix, and a heat sank in.
“Sweet dove’s still sore from earlier, yeah?” he murmured. “Didn’t think I gave her that much…”
But he did, of course.
“—couldn’t even make me cum—” your friend went on
Simon always gave you enough.
Just as your walls preemptively clenched around that slick, hard length and the man started to stir, rolling his hips against your ass in the shallowest of movements, your lips parted on a half-moan. Your chest constricted
“—it must be so much better with Simon, isn’t it?”
Suddenly, your boyfriend took a fistful of your hair.
In a murmur again, close to your ear:
“Go on, then. Don’t be impolite.”
“S-So, so good,” you rushed out. Those thrusts finally picked up, and Simon fucked you quietly into the bed. You sucked in another strangled breath, and trying your hardest not to moan, “He’s fucking…incredible.”
“I bet,” your friend laughed.
More shit-talking of men ensued.
Simon returned to his original, dominant position blanketing your body completely with his own, forearms planted on either side of your head on the bed and your phone resting inches away from you both. His cock pounded a furious pace inside you, precum and spit and your shared fluids easing the repeated slide. You gripped the sheets tighter, and Simon did the same with his ironclad hold in your hair.
Then his cock slid in higher, a little to the left, and the tip of him hit that special, tender, mind-numbing spot.
You felt the grin against the side of your face before you heard him chuckle, quiet as anything but elated.
Simon was the only guy who’d hit your G-spot before.
He hit it again. And again. And again, shaking the whole bed frame with the force of his thrusts. He kissed your neck and let your head loll back on him. While your friend chattered on, he did what he did best
“That’s a good girl,” he praised. “Gonna come f’me?”
You nodded, head bobbing against his softly.
If there were any moment for retribution, now would be it. If Simon were even the slightest bit the spiteful, insecure type, he probably would’ve taken the opportunity to make you beg for him—tell him how huge his cock was and how lucky you were to get it; how terrible it was to lie about a thing like size. It was.
But Simon didn’t, opting instead to give you pleasure. And he got plenty from you, too, you could tell by the breaths that were growing more and more ragged against your neck and the frantic stutter of his hips.
He was so big it was as if you could feel him in your throat. With every thrust that pushed you closer and closer to the edge, and with every twitch of every inch stuffed inside you, you feared you might not be able to conceal the sounds from your friend for much longer.
Your jaw unhinged on another wide-open, noiseless moan that probably made it look like you were in pain, and at the same time, your friend carried on over the phone, laughing about this loser’s goofy fucking face.
“Yellow?” Simon panted into your ear.
In other words, did you want him to slow down?
You shook your head no. Let him pelt your insides with the force of those hard, merciless thrusts and carve a path clean through your body in a way that only he ever could. He molded you to him perfectly. Tenderly.
Crescents digging into your scalp from how tightly he held you to him, you felt Simon twitch and keep beating your G-spot while you writhed under him, “You wanted a big dick, yeah? Don’t run from it now.”
It was in those words—paired with the obvious stretch and the depths your boyfriend was able to reach with his cock, how lovingly he fucked you while controlling your pleasure—that you broke. You couldn’t hold it in.
At the last possible second, Simon offered you his free hand to cover your mouth, knowing how loud you were liable to get, and you let out a muffled shriek into his palm. You grit your teeth and whimpered and kind of despised how high-pitched and needy you sounded, but you knew Simon loved it, almost as much as he adored the slippery wet noises your body and his made when he was emptying the contents of his balls into your cunt and fucking you senseless through all of it.
You finished as close as you were when you’d started, Simon’s chest glued onto your back. You both were breathing heavily, senses reeling from your highs. Simon’s cum stayed plugged in you with his thick cock holding it there, and the heat burrowed to your core.
You blinked, and you smiled contentedly at the warmth
Simon planted kisses wherever he could find bare skin for them to go, along your jaw and on your cheek and over your ear, like he always did after you two had sex.
“Wasn’t too far, was it?” he whispered. “Know I’m—”
“—big,” you giggled, barely louder than a breath after his hand had slid from your lips and cupped your face.
Then you went on, as the haze in your mind was starting to clear the slightest bit, and you remembered why you were here in the first place, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything about your size, Si. I’m—”
“—going to bed!” your friend announced suddenly.
Your attention and Simon’s snapped back to the phone
With all that had been going on over the last couple minutes, you’d almost forgotten the woman was still on the line at all. She’d been talking before that, right?
“I— OK. Yeah, no, that’s fine,” you said, stupidly. Then, regaining a bit more of your composure, “I’m so sorry about everything that’s been going on with…him. You deserve so much better, and you will find better, OK?”
That sounded coherent enough.
You would call again tomorrow. Really listen and be there to offer more helpful advice than you’d done tonight—this was more about letting her vent, anyway.
So, reaching for the phone and expecting to hear your best friend chirp a quick, simple good-bye at any second, you lifted your hips back against Simon. You angled his still-hard dick inside you and pushed him deeper through the sticky warm mess he’d just coated your walls with, and you bit back a smile when he grunted. You met his eyes over your shoulder, and you felt his grip on your chin flex. His gaze sharpened.
But, before he could smirk and murmur in your ear something like, ‘Round three can be arranged if you really want it,’ your friend cut in again over the line.
Her voice rang louder, and a little lighter, too, this time.
“Goooooodniiiiiiiiiight, hon, I love you so, so much!”
“I love you, too. Night!” you answered reflexively.
Then, your friend added, as swift as anything:
“And goodnight to you, too, Simon! Glad to hear that microdick’s being put to good use, happy for you two!”
Before you could say a word, she laughed and hung up.
Your favorite part of Simon is the tattoos on his arm. They're just as rugged as he is, scuffed in places and smeared in others. You think it's because he did them himself but you've never asked. You like to imagine a young Simon, probably in the military, hovering over his arm with a stick and poke gun.
You've never been this close with tattoos before, so the fact that he's covered in them does things to your head. It makes you want to trace them every chance you get, feel the way the ink rises from his skin and creates something worth staring at.
Your lips like to follow the path of your fingers.
Simon likes to watch you. He thinks you're like a kitten, rubbing your face on his arm in affection. It makes him feel warm, a foreign feeling to a man like him. You're his good girl, always so sweet to him. How can he deny you anything when you look at him with those doe eyes?
He watches you now, eyes lidded and a smile on his face, as you lick the rose that starts at his elbow. You like the taste of him, even if it's a little salty. You'd lick every inch of him if you could, but Simon is a busy man. You take what you can get.
His other hand comes to card through your hair, pushing it out of your face so he can see you better. "Like that, do you?"
You nod, not wanting to pull away from his arm. You're too focused on the way the ink tastes on your tongue, the way it feels against your lips. You move lower, to the words etched into his skin.
Simon's chuckle is low, the sound vibrating through his chest. "You're a curious little thing, aren't you?"
You hum in response, too lost in the feeling of his skin under your mouth to form a coherent sentence. You're at his wrist now, your lips brushing against the pulse point. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, and it makes your own race in response.
Simon watches as you take his fingers into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the ink on his skin. He can feel your saliva coating his fingers, the warmth of your mouth making his cock twitch in his pants. You look up at him through your lashes, your eyes wide and innocent, but the way you're sucking on his fingers is anything but.
"Christ, bird. You're gonna make me cum in my pants if you keep that up."
You pull away with a pop, a grin on your face. "That's the idea, Si."
He shakes his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "You're a little minx, you know that?"
You just shrug, going back to his arm, your lips trailing down to his shoulder. You can feel the muscles there, the way they shift under his skin as he moves. You want to bite him, to mark him in the same way he's marked you, but you hold back. You don't want to hurt him, not like that.
Simon seems to sense your thoughts, his hand tilting your chin up so you're looking at him. "It's okay, love. You can bite me if you want."
You hesitate for a second, but then you're sinking your teeth into his shoulder, your mouth closing around the muscle there. You suck hard, wanting to leave a mark, wanting everyone to know that he's yours.
Simon groans, his hand fisting in your hair. "Fuck, that's it. Mark me up, bird. Let everyone know who I belong to."
You pull away, admiring the red mark you've left on his skin. It's not a tattoo, but it's a start. You lean in again, this time pressing a soft kiss to the mark. Simon's hand relaxes in your hair, his thumb stroking your cheek.
"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "My good girl."
You preen under his praise, your chest swelling with pride. You may not have tattoos like him, but you've left your mark on him in your own way. And as he pulls you in for a kiss, his mouth claiming yours, you know that you'll always be his, just as he's always been yours.
Oh to get high off omega Gaz’s pheromones.. ohhhhh my pretty man,,, oooooohhhhh
sooooooooo cute you’re just sitting there drooling, body limp from his scent. Your eyes can’t focus anymore, beta instincts fully taken over as your body demands you give in to whatever the pretty omega grinding his sloppy hole against your thigh wants.
Gaz is barely functioning himself, heat stricken and so needy as his moans tumble from full lips. His naked body is covered in sweat, a slick sheen over his dark skin that makes him look like a goddamn angel in the low lighting. He’s perfect- the perfect omega, arching his back in a perfect presentation. His one flaw seems to be that he won’t let anyone else near him during heat except for you, snuggling against your body and whining sweetly for you to knot him with your strap.
Of course you do, your body moves before you can even consider anything else. Finally pulling him off your thigh, letting him sink onto your cock slowly- the knot popping in with a shiver. You rock your hips best you can, letting Kyle’s scruff rub against your scent glands, coating you with more of his addictive and controlling scent.
“My beta, my handsome beta- you love me, right? Say you love me, please,” the sergeant whines, squeezing your cheeks between his large fingers as you blink up at him. You start to nod, then remember he probably wants a verbal answer when tears start dripping down his poor pretty cheeks.
“I love you, Kyle,” you say softly- twitching when a spurt of cum from his thick dick hits your chest. His body trembles, heavy breaths escaping his lungs like your words physically hit him.
“Again? Please?” He looks desperate, hips starting to ride you again despite his poor throbbing member still leaking a load.
“I love you, Kyle- love you, love you- love my sweet omega,” you answer, and it felt so right- as natural as breathing, to say it. Of course you loved Kyle, even without his pheromones making your body limp and pliant. You love your sweet boy, your sergeant.
(nsfw)......Being roommates with Clark and Lois, not thinking much of being roomies with a couple — that is, until they both start fucking you behind each other's backs.
You never thought much of crashing in the spare room of Clark and Lois’s apartment. They were the perfect couple—him with his shy smile and glasses perpetually askew, her with that razor-sharp wit. Just cheap rent in Metropolis, and you figured the walls were thick enough. Until they weren’t.
It started with Clark. One night, the power went out during a storm. Lois was chasing a lead downtown. You found him in the kitchen, shirt unbuttoned, muscles shifting under moonlight. “Can’t sleep?” he murmured, voice low. Next thing you knew, he had you bent over the counter, hands pinning your wrists, dick stretching you open in deep, relentless strokes while he whispered apologies that sounded more like prayers. “Just needed you… fuck, you feel so good.” You came so hard you saw stars.
Three nights later, Lois cornered you in the laundry room. She tasted like coffee and sin, fingers sliding under your waistband while she smirked against your mouth. “Clark’s an idiot if he thinks I don’t notice how you walk after he’s had you.” Then she dropped to her knees, tongue working you until your legs shook, two fingers curling just right while she looked up with those knowing eyes.
Now it’s a delicious, filthy secret. Clark fucks you slow and devastating in the mornings when Lois is in the shower, hand over your mouth so you don’t moan his name too loud. Lois fucks you on the couch some afternoons, nails raking down your chest, whispering how much tighter you get when you’re trying not to get caught.
They still kiss each other goodnight like nothing’s changed. But every shared glance across the dinner table now holds heat—two predators circling the same prey, unaware they’re both already feasting. And you? You’re just trying not to smile too wide when they ask how your day was.
it's been a minute since I've done a purely smutty one shot sorta thing and I got a request a few weeks ago to do size queen!Y/N trying to take all of him in her throat and other requests to do more current/pop star H SOOOO... I figured this would be fun. Let me know what you guys think <3
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WC- 3.3k
warnings- big D Harry, soft Dom!Harry, size queen!Y/N, attempt at deep throat, exhibitionism kinda, kinda sloppy too, choking, bratty Y/N, fun stuff
The room was quiet save for the wet, rhythmic- and frankly, filthy- sounds that filled the space between them. Harry sat back leisurely, his fingers raking through Y/N's hair as she worked her mouth around him, slowly letting her take in more. He couldn't help the raspy groan that escaped his lips, his stomach twitching in time with the motions of her head as it bobbed in his lap.
With his thumb stroking her temple, his touch remained gentle despite the friction and heat between them. "Good girl..." He murmured, his voice strained but sweet as he tried to keep as quiet as he could.
He had to be, considering all the people milling about. Doing this backstage wasn’t the smartest idea, but he’d never claim to be a genius. The moment she had pawed at him through his gym shorts when he’d returned from his jog through the stadium, he’d been a goner.
Harry would have liked to say he behaved himself in his dressing rooms considering he knew it was definitely risky and 100% unprofessional, but having Y/N alongside him on a tour had turned him into a little bit of a whore.
Feeling her gag slightly as she took him deeper, his hips twitched involuntarily and moved up without his permission, making him curse under his breath. His digits tightened in her hair briefly before relaxing again, removing his grip to stroke the locks he’d pulled a little bit.
It hadn’t been on purpose, but her hot mouth felt so good that he hadn’t been able to help it.
"Shit-M’sorry, baby." He whispered, trying to soothe any discomfort she might feel from taking too much, too fast. She wasn’t going to complain, but he didn’t like it. His other hand reached down to cup her cheek tenderly, peering down at her with a strained smile. "Just breathe through your nose, yeah? Don’t force too much in. M’happy just like this."
Y/N didn’t protest, humming around him as he guided her head slowly up and down his length, being careful not to push too far, too fast. Knowing his girlfriend, she’d take it- she wanted to take it- but he didn’t want to hurt her. “I know y’want to take it all, but it’s a bit too much for you yet. You’ll get it eventually, but I… fuck, I don’t want you hurting yourself.”
Even if it did feel fucking incredible to have her throat contracting around his dick, he knew she was discouraged by how much she could take.
Personally, he loved any part of her mouth on him and he could cum just from her kissing on the tip, but she was determined.
The sound of her pulling back was obscene- wet, slick, and making his cock twitch with the damn sight of her. A thin string of saliva connected her swollen, puffy lips to his tip, glistening before finally breaking and falling onto his thigh before running her pursed mouth across the ruddy head of his prick. With her chin wet, her lips flushed and pouty, she looked thoroughly wrecked and so fucking gorgeous albeit seemingly frustratingly denied.
The pout? Fuck. That pout. So pretty with her swollen, wet lips and the softness he could still feel.
His hand moved from his side to brush away the stray saliva at the corner of her mouth, his thumb lingering on her lower lip.
"You good, baby?"
He was being a bit of a shit, really, because he knew what she wanted, but it wasn’t something he was giving her right now. In fact, it was probably one of the few things he denied her of. Pushing her down to take all of him was what she wanted, but he wasn’t going to do that when she wasn’t nearly close to that.
Especially backstage, where anyone could fucking hear.
She didn’t answer with words, just that familiar wounded, stubborn little glare that made his lips twitch up and his cock throb against her mouth. Y/N had no idea how much he loved it when she got like this, a little bratty and spoiled in a way he’d only enjoyed with her. Her eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, and looking so unfairly used even though she’d only gotten a half of him down.
Fuck, he was pathetic for her.
A slight huff pushed past her lips before she leaned forward again, but Harry’s hand returning to her hair stopped her with the lightest grip.
"None of that, now," he murmured, barely able to hold back the chuckle that wanted to escape. “Speak t’me.”
“I just want to take it all. It’s pissing me off.” She definitely meant it too, based on the way she was looking at him. “It’s okay if I choke a little.”
His eyes darkened at the grumbling, his hand tightening in her hair before he caught himself. "Baby... you know that's not what I want." He leaned forward, his voice low and gentle despite the light scolding in his tone. "I don't want you choking too much, I don't want you hurting yourself. Don’t want t’bruise your poor throat, especially not before a show. Slowly is better. Trust me, it feels fucking amazing just like this." His thumb brushed over her cheek, his other hand loosely carding through her hair.
He’d never thought he’d have someone pouting about wanting to deepthroat him, but it was a common occurrence now.
Y/N loved his cock. She’d about salivated over it the first time she’d felt him through his trousers and whenever she could get her hands, mouth, or cunt on it, she did. It had shocked him at first, experiencing just how much she truly enjoyed sex with him, but he’d become a bit spoiled now.
It was ironic, really. Harry had actually been a bit nervous about her seeing him at first considering the fact that the relationships he’d had in the past had reacted along the lines of nerves and being unsure if they wanted to take it, but she’d been eager to get her hands on it.
If you asked him, they were a perfect match.
“I know.” She whispered, leaning her cheek into his hand. “I just want to make you feel good.”
"You always make me feel good." He promised, his thumb stroking over the apple of her cheek. "You have no idea how good you make me feel, sweetheart. You could jus' kiss it and I’d be a goner." He wanted to kiss that pout right off her face, knowing she was genuinely frustrated but it boiled down to the fact she wanted to please him. He’d never even hinted at her trying to take it all, but it had become her goal.
The inability to take it all wasn't a lack of skill, it was genuinely biology- him being a bit too much for her mouth.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t let her try, eventually.
"But I love that you want to try. You take as much as you can without hurting, hm? Anything you give me will make me happy."
The shift was instant. The tiny smile on her face was sweet and determined, recognizing his permission to keep trying, and she very much did. Leaning back in, her pout wrapped back around the leaking tip of his cock, humming softly as she peered up at him with renewed vigor. Her tongue swirled messily over the slit, tasting the pre-cum with another soft hum of satisfaction, sucking wetly with little shame at the filthy noise it brought into the air.
It was arguably Harry’s favorite visual. One would think it would be the adoring crowd looking at him that he was going to face in a few hours, and that was one of them, but this image was above that. Her cheeks flushed, eyelashes fluttering, and swollen mouth wrapped around his cock, there was nothing prettier than watching her be so pleased with herself while pleasing him.
“Gentle this time, m’love. Slow. Take a little more.”
Her eyelashes fluttered at his low voice as he gave his instruction, her pupils blown and locked onto his. She took him a little deeper without rushing, her lips pursing as she tried to relax her throat the way he'd taught her. It was a lot for her and he knew that it upset her that she couldn’t take him all the way, but she had done far better than anyone else ever had. Working on it for months, he’d been training her for it to make her happy and feel accomplished… but he would never complain if she got to take it all, either. Even taking this much was incredible. Her mouth was fucking heaven wrapped around him.
Bobbing her head a little as she moved a little further down, a whine escaped around his cock that vibrated through his length.
"Shit, that’s a good girl." He praised, his hand sliding back to cradle the base of her skull, fingers spreading wide. Nails gently scratched over her scalp, soothing both her and himself to keep his hips from bucking up into the slick heat of her mouth. "That's perfect. Just like that. You can get messy with it, baby. Y’know how I like it."
She took him a fraction deeper, throat opening slightly around him, and he hissed through clenched teeth. The wet, sloppy sounds increased as she leaned into it more confidently, tongue working the underside of his shaft. Pre-cum leaked more freely, mixing with her saliva and dribbling down his length, dripping onto her chin and smearing onto his sack, but there was no attempts to keep it clean. She looked so fucking pretty like that - mouth full, eyes glassy, spit coating his cock.
"That's it... fuck, sweetheart." His hips barely moved, just a tiny twitch.
Her mouth was a mess and he fucking loved it.
The wet noises filled the room as she pulled back until only the tip was inside, sucking fully and hollowing out her cheeks. She released it with a wet plop, licking up some of the spit that had dribbled from her mouth and down the length of him before taking a shuddering breath and diving back down, taking him deeper than she had before.
“Oh, fuck.”
He felt her gag slightly, a cough vibrating around his length making him hiss as his stomach jumped from the way it had his dick pulsing, but he watched her. She wasn’t too far gone yet, wasn’t hurting herself, so he didn’t stop her. “Y’alright? I know it’s big, baby. So much for that little throat to take, you’ve got t’be careful.”
She paused, breathing through her nose before giving him a hum that sounded a lot like ‘mmm-hm’ before pushing herself a bit further. Her throat convulsed slightly around the head of his cock again, and he felt the back of her mouth open up to take a little more. It was a tight fit, and he could feel the pressure building in his balls as she slowly took more and more of him, and drooling over the rest of his cock as her mouth watered.
The sight of her struggling to fit him all in her mouth was both stupidly hot and troubling, making his heart rate pick up. He knew she was pushing herself to make him happy, and that alone was a huge turn-on, but he also knew his girl was very stubborn and she wanted to take it all more than anything. So fucking sweet, but so fucking stubborn.
It wasn’t going to happen today, though. It was too much too soon, and his balls felt so full that it was uncomfortable. They were wet with her spit, heavy with the need to empty into her perfect throat, and he couldn’t hold on much longer.
“That’s enough. D-Don’t take any more. Y’have to be quiet, m’love. Gonna make me fuckin’ cum.”
The noises she was making, choking a little and sputtering on him on her own volition would capture the attention of anyone who paid too much attention walking by and he knew that. “Where do y’want it, hm? Want it on your face? Down that throat? Show me where.”
Her eyes were swimming with unshed tears as she looked up at him, pupils blown, her cheeks flushed, and saliva dripping freely down her chin onto his thighs in a messy web of strings that had him taking a shaky breath himself. She looked completely wrecked and yet completely focused, determined to push further.
She made a sound - a frustrated whine against his cock - and shook her head. She wanted more.
"Greedy fuckin’ thing, you're already at your limit," he warned, his voice rough. “It’s too big for that throat yet. You’ll… You’ll get more next time, fuck.” He cursed, head falling back as she added her hand cupping his sac.
She was trying to get him to thrust up into her mouth, but he knew better than that.
Fingers tightening in her hair, he grit his teeth as he looked down at her with his jaw tight. “I said no. Don’t be a brat. You’be taken more than anyone else ever has. M’not letting you hurt yourself for this. You’re making progress.” He pulled her up and off of him, ignoring how his cock twitched it fell against his stomach. The devastated look on her face only made it worse.
Never had he had a person be so completely determined to take it all. He’d be lucky if they took half, and she’d beat them all. Her infatuation with his dick was to his benefit, but she had no patience.
“But H-“
“But nothing. Tell me where you want my cum so I can lick that cute little pussy up after. M’getting impatient. Know it’s dripping onto my rug right now. We’ll work on you taking more at home, but you’ve been edging me too long.” He caressed the back of her scalp, allowing her tongue to glide up the length of him despite her glaring at him.
“Want it in my mouth.”
“That’s my girl.” He praised, guiding the tip back into her mouth. The suction was back immediately, but he controlled how much she took- her free reign was done. “Such a sweet girl, just wants t’make me feel good. So determined and s-stubborn.” Tripping over words as he guided her mouth up and down a more manageable bit of him, he wrapped his other hand around the base and stroked in time with her mouth. “My poor baby’s a cockslut. Love it so much, but you need to be patient.”
Maybe it had been the edging from her insisting on taking more and making him hold off his orgasm, but seeing her heated eyes staring at him, feeling her drooling down his shaft and onto his fingers, the vibration of her whine did him in.
“Oh, there it is baby, take it. Take it, take it, don’t waste a drop.”
His hips barely moved but his cock jumped against her tongue, ropes of hot cum spilling right out onto it as the heat washed over him.
Y/N took it eagerly like she always did, her tongue working to catch every drop, her teary eyes looking up to his. The sounds were filthy, wet, sloppy, desperate, and he couldn’t get enough. So much so that he didn’t manage to bite back the deep, mangled groan he let out into the dressing room, head falling back as his balls emptied right onto her tongue.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck.” With his control back, he allowed himself to rock against her tongue, gently thrusting into her mouth as his thighs trembled and he watched her eyes water a little more as he went a little deeper than intended only to draw out pleased noise from her.
"Sorry, m’sweet girl. Got carried away. Just swallow it all for me, baby." His fingers held through her hair, gently holding her in place as the last spurts dribbled onto her tongue and she did as he asked, as his cock twitched inside her mouth.
"That's what I needed. Thank you. M’so lucky to have such a stubborn girl." He laughed breathlessly, voice wrecked and raspy as he stroked over her scalp, admiring the view in front of him. Y/N was the most beautiful thing in the world, but seeing her pleased with herself like this was one of his favorites. "Such a good girl for me. Took me so well."
She pulled off with a wet pop, lips swollen and shiny, cum leaking from the corner of her mouth that he quickly wiped away with his thumb, bringing it back to her tongue. “Clean it up, hm?”
Y/N didn’t miss a beat, doing what he said and licked the pad of his finger up before resting her face on his thigh with the pout returning. “I could have taken more.”
"Could’ve, shouldn't." He corrected, his now wet thumb brushing her cheek as he regarded her with amusement. "You were gagging pretty hard on it, sweetheart. Not gonna let you hurt yourself. Especially when you have to talk to people comin’ to the show tonight. As much as I love that rasp it gives you, I don’t want you too sore and having to push through it." He knew she'd just try again next time, harder, deeper, determined to beat her previous record like it was some personal challenge.
And he was definitely going to have to deal with that later. Alone, without potential ears hearing her gag on it and him growl the way he wanted to when he felt her choke.
"You did good though." He conceded, tilting her chin up to look at him. “So proud of you, even if you were a bit of a brat. I definitely wasn’t as quiet as I should’ve been, and that’s all your fault.”
Reaching for the box of tissues on the side table, he pulled one out and gently dabbed at her chin, wiping away the saliva and cum that had dribbled down. His touch was as tender as it was thorough, wiping beneath her jaw, around her swollen lips and down to her chin, smoothing away the mess with an almost clinical care.
"There we go. Pretties girl in the world." He murmured with a smile as she turned her face to kiss his thigh. “Sweet, too. I meant it when I said no one’s ever been so good to me. I love how eager you are, but I’m satisfied with what we do now. I know you can take it all, but remember how it took a few tries for you to take it all in that cute little pussy?”
It had taken a few weeks to get to that point. Even now, it wasn’t every time that he got all the way in and despite her being a self described ‘size queen’, he refused to let her do too much.
“Yeah, but that was easier.” Climbing up in his lap, she settled herself in it and stroked his chin, admiring the stubble there. “I can’t help that I love it so much. You’re my dream man. Even without the singing and dancing, which I love, you’re just perfect and I want to give you as much as you give me.” Her lips pursed as she kissed the tip of his nose before laying her weight on top of him, which he took to easily.
“You give me literally everything I’ve ever wanted. As soon as I can catch my breath m’going to bury my face between your thighs, but I need a cuddle first. Aftercare, yeah?”
simon ‘ghost’ riley x female reader, 18+, smut, morning sex
Before the rest of the world wakes up, you find yourself tangled in black linen with your soft, possessive Simon Riley by your side. Some mornings, breakfast in bed is the only acceptable option.
You wake to the scent of coffee and the weight of an arm draped across your waist. The light filtering through the blinds is soft, grey; the predawn stillness of a London morning. The bed is a cocoon of black linen and warm skin, the city outside a distant hum. You lie perfectly still, letting the pieces of last night slot into place.
Simon's room. His bed. His arm.
You shift, and the hard length of his cock presses against your hip. He is still asleep, his breathing a deep, rhythmic rumble in his chest. You feel the slow, steady thump of his heart against your shoulder blades. Just a peaceful moment in a violent world.
You turn to face him. The sharp, angular planes of his face are softened in sleep, his lips slightly parted.
His mask is discarded on the floor, leaving his scarred skin exposed.
Sheets pool low around his hips, revealing the intricate tapestry of ink across his arm and chest — his personal canvas of memory and pain.
Your gaze drifts lower, to where the linen tents. A slow, molten heat unfurls in your gut.
You edge closer, and his arm tightens around you by instinct. You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart, then another to his collarbone. He stirs with a low grunt, his eyes fluttering open — dark, hazy with sleep, then focusing entirely on you. A lazy smile curves his lips.
"Mornin', my love" he rasps, his voice thick and rough.
"Morning," you whisper, hand tracing a line on his arm. "Sleep well?"
"Better now." His hand slides to the small of your back, pulling you against him.
"Johnny's making coffee," you whisper against his skin, fingers trailing down his navel and slipping under the sheet. "But I'd rather have breakfast in bed."
His grip tightens. "Is that so?" His voice is a low, gravelly vibration against your chest. "What did you have in mind, sweetheart?"
You don't answer with words. You reach under the sheet, fingers wrapping around the heavy heat of him. He hisses a sharp breath through his teeth, hips jerking into your touch. You stroke him slowly, feeling him thicken in your palm.
"I want to ride you," you whisper, leaning in close. "Slow and quiet."
"Slow?" He nips at your lip, his hand cupping your hip, fingers digging in possessively. "Can't promise quiet, love. Not when you feel like this."
He rolls you over with fluid strength. You straddle his hips, knees sinking into the mattress. The sheet falls away, leaving you bare to the cool morning light. His body sprawls beneath you, powerful and ready.
You rise up and guide him to your entrance. Hot, blunt heat against slick skin draws a sharp moan from you both. You sink down, taking him inch by excruciating inch until you sit flush against his lap.
Simon groans, hands gripping your waist like a lifeline. His head falls back, jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck standing out in sharp relief.
You begin to move; a slow, sinuous roll of your hips. Hands braced on his chest, you feel the firm muscle and the soft, solid power of him beneath your palms. Your hair falls forward, shutting out the world. You lean down, taking his mouth in a deep, languid kiss. A share of breath and taste.
The pace gathers heat. The bed creaks softly, a steady cadence beneath the sound of your mingled breathing.
"You're so beautiful, Si," you whisper against his lips.
He opens his eyes, raw and hungry. "Look who's talking," he growls, one hand moving up to cradle your face, thumb stroking your cheek. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Riding me like this... Christ."
A whimper escapes you as the pleasure coils tight. You sit tall, changing the angle, and he hits deep enough to make sparks dance behind your eyes.
“Ohhh fuck, Si…”
"Shhh," he hushes, his grip on your hips guiding you, setting a pace that makes you see stars. "Gotta be quiet, doll. Johnny's right outside."
The threat of being heard sharpens every sensation. You bite your lip to muffle the moans tearing at your throat. Simon’s hand rests at your neck—a grounding, possessive weight. His hips drive upward to meet every downstroke, each movement devastatingly precise.
"I love you," you whisper.
His response is a choked groan. He pulls you tight against his chest, crushing you to him. "I love you," he breathes, his voice breaking. "My girl. My whole world."
The orgasm hits like a rolling wave, crashing over you from the inside out. You clamp down around him, a silent scream locked in your throat as shockwaves ripple through your body. He holds you through the tremor, whispering low praises until the shaking stops.
Before you can cool, he rolls you over, pinning you beneath him without ever slipping out. He braces himself on his forearms, caging you in, his iron composure completely shattered.
"Where...?" he pants against your skin.
"Inside," you whisper, fingers laced in his hair. "Always inside."
With a few hard, erratic thrusts, he follows you over the edge. The thick pulse of him fills you, a primal groan muffled against your shoulder. His body shudders against yours, then settles, heavy and warm.
You lie together as your heartbeats slow to a shared measure. Outside, the soft sounds of the kitchen continue, distant and irrelevant.
You kiss his temple. You feel his lips curve against your skin.
"I think I smell coffee," you murmur.
"Let it get cold," he rumbles, locking his arms around you. "I'm not done with you."
papochka!nik who likes to watch you swim send tweet
series masterlist
18+ (smut)
cw & tags: afab fem!reader, fauxcest, daddy kink, dom/sub dynamics, abrupt ending, i think that's it ?, word count: 774
The second you saw the backyard, Nikolai could tell this was where you would spend most of the summer– not that he blames you. The in-ground pool is massive, complete with a privacy fence.
He’s been picturing it every time he looks out at the patio: you padding around in the cool water, a tiny bikini barely covering your body– if he lets you wear one. He decides he likes that thought better. Your naked body dripping with water, begging him to join you.
It’s finally becoming a reality now that the summer heat has hit full blast, the air outside sweltering.
You prance out into the backyard, smiling brightly at him, your cutest swimsuit on with a fluffy towel in your hand. “Are you gonna swim too, Papa?”
“No, I will sit and watch you,” he chuckles as you furrow your eyebrows, glancing down at the swim trunks he chose to wear. “Come here.”
You’re standing in front of him as soon as your brain registers the direction, shivering when his hands roam up and down your warm skin. “Papochka–”
His fingers pull at the straps tied around your neck and back, pushing your hands away when you go to cover yourself.
“We have a fence for a reason, sweet girl. You do not need a swimsuit– it did not cover much anyway,” he says.
He squeezes your ass before tugging down your bottoms as if to prove his point, unable to hide the smirk on his face when your thighs twitch underneath his palms.
All it takes is that brief moment of the sun against your naked body to make you ready to jump into the cool water.
His fingers wrap around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Sunscreen first, malsyhka.”
To his credit, it starts innocently as he spreads the lotion across your face and upper body.
His hands reach your chest, the cold lotion and feeling of him massaging your breasts causing your nipples to perk up. It’s a brief motion, but you can tell by the look in his eyes he’s just getting started.
“Don’t tease, Papa,” you whine, gently pulling at the gold chain hanging around his neck.
Rough skin glides down your stomach, squeezing your hips before he kneels into the grass. “Apologies, sweet girl, but safety first.”
His touch is harrowing as he glides the sunscreen down your bare legs, his face level with your mound. He looks up at you, smiling before placing a soft kiss on your inner thigh.
You can’t hide the slick that spills from you as his palms lotion the outside of your pussy, even if you tried, he’d know– he always does.
“Turn,” he says, pouring more sunscreen into his palms. He starts with your legs this time, working his way up towards your backside.
“Papa!” you squeak. The sharp sting of his hand hitting your ass is quickly replaced with the soothing cold lotion.
He chuckles, standing up as he rubs circles onto your back. “Could not help myself.” It’s not an apology, but you forgive him anyway.
He spins you around, mouth crashing into yours as his hands slide down to your waist.
It’s not the physical sensation of kissing Nikolai that sends heat pooling straight to your stomach– though the way his tongue slips past your lips does feel hypnotic– it’s the wave of emotions that come along with it.
Every time lips move against yours, it feels like something beyond ownership– it’s letting go, trusting him completely.
You whimper as he pulls away, lips turned downwards into a frown. “Papochka, need you…”
All your pouting is for naught. He crosses his arms and shakes his head at you. “Malyshka, you said you want to swim– so go play.”
The second the timer he sets goes off, you jump out of the water, naked body dripping as you rush towards him.
You don't even bother to pull his swim trunks down all the way before you place yourself in his lap. His hands grip your hips, bouncing you on his cock. “My sweet girl, always so ready for me.”
You can’t even bring yourself to feel ashamed or embarrassed anymore, not when it– he– feels this right.
His thumb traces soft circles onto your puffy clit, and he lazily thrusts up into you. “Harder, please, Papa!” you cry out.
Your words make him twitch inside you, a low groan leaving his mouth. “Needy girl,” he teases you with a low grin– but his pace fastens anyway.
“Yeah, but I’m your needy girl, Papa,” you mumble, fingers in his hair as you pull him into a kiss.
cw: afab+f! reader, reader has small boobs and is self conscious about it (a/n: all boobs are good boobs. but i have small boobs. so i'm writing about them) and simon wants you to love your boobs as much as he does. readers appearance otherwise is not described. 1k words.
simon riley hates the way you talk about yourself.
sometimes. only sometimes. most of the time you're teasing him and telling him his punching well above his weight - you're joking, but he happens to actually agree.
but at a certain point in the month, every month, you stand naked in front of the full length mirror in your shared bedroom with tears in your eyes and prod and poke and pick.
this month though? you're focussing on one, very specific, area.
"si, do you think i should get a boob job?" you sniffle, glancing over your shoulder to look at him where he's lounging in his sweatpants on your bed.
he flinches. actually flinches. eyes going wide with confusion.
"love, why th' fuck would you say that?"
you gesture at your chest, "because... look! there's barely anything there!"
he moves before you can blink - one of his hands lands on your hip, the other reaching around you to grip your jaw from behind.
"fuckin' stop it." it comes out harsher than he intends - but you can see from the way his eyes are burning as they meet your reflection that his temper is simmering beneath the surface. not really at you - but he won't let anyone talk about his missus like that, not even her. "nothin' there? fuck off. okay, yer not gonna be on page three any time soon but you don't need a fuckin' boob job. yer perfect as is. fuckin' sexy. beautiful."
your lower lip wobbles. "you have to say that. you love me."
simon's grip tightens - not enough to hurt, but enough to ground you. he turns you around slowly, forcing you to face him instead of the mirror. those dark brown eyes - the ones that have seen every kind of horror imaginable - soften in the way they only ever do for you.
"i don't have to say shite." he mutters, "i say what i mean. always 'ave." his thumb swipes across your quivering lower lip, "you think i'd lie to you about this? about you?"
before you can answer he dips his head to press a slow, open mouthed kiss to the top of one small breast, then the other, the stubble he lets grow out between deployments scraping against your skin as he starts to speak against you.
"these?" another kiss, this one lingering, tongue flicking out to taste your skin. "these are mine. an' they're fuckin' stunnin'. don’t need more. don’t want more." he cups one gently, thumb brushing over your nipple until it pebbles under his touch. "look 'ow they fit in my 'and. 'ow sensitive you get when i do this…"
he dips his head even lower, sucking the peak of your nipple into his mouth - hard enough to drag a gasp from you - before immediately soothing it with his tongue. you feel a low groan vibrate through his chest as he switches to the other side; lavishing you with attention until your knees start to tremble.
"si-"
"nah." he says firmly. "don't interrupt. don't argue. just… don't love." there's a pause, a long one, and then his voice drops into something softer. "you know this is - an' don't kill me for sayin' it - yer hormones right love? you know - somewhere in yer brain - that yer fuckin' perfect."
your lower lip wobbles again - but for a completely different reason this time.
he continues, "you never wear a bra so they bounce a bit when you walk - an' it's all i can do not to spend the entire time starin' at 'em. they fit in my 'and like they're meant to be there. johnny saw that picture you sent me the other week of you in that stupid little bikini top an' 'e got a stiffy on the fuckin' transport plane."
your ears go hot.
he straightens suddenly, hands sliding down to grip the backs of your thighs and in one motion he lifts you, your bare back meeting the cool glass of the mirror as your legs wrap instinctively around his waist. his chest is burning hot as it presses against yours - solid muscle, scarred skin, the smattering of blonde hair that you can only see up close.
he frees himself with one hand, heavy and hard, and drags the head of his cock across your slit, coating himself in how wet you already are. then he pushes in - slow but determined - stretching you open until he’s buried inside you completely.
a broken moan escapes you, hands gripping his shoulder for purchase as simon drags his cock almost all the way out of you before slamming back in. the mirror behind you rattles with each harsh snap of his hips. his mouth drops back to your chest - sucking, licking, biting; worshipping the very thing you'd been tearing yourself down over.
one of his hands stays under your thighs, the other braces against the mirror beside your head as he fucks you harder. your fingernails bite into his skin and he groans; you clench down around him and he hisses. every thrust pushes you against the glass, every pull of his mouth on your nipples sending heat straight to your core.
"si - fuck - please -"
"go on then. fuckin' come then. with my cock in yer perfect cunt and my mouth on yer perfect tits that you think i don't love."
the heat in your belly peaks without warning; warmth flooding every cell in your body as you clamp down around him, moaning his name into his neck. simon groans again, pace turning erratic, chasing his own release now. he buries his face between your breasts as he comes; hips stuttering, filling you in hot pulses, your name a gasped cry against your sternum from his lips.
"no more talk about changin’ a single thing about you," he says quietly. "not because you think i want you any other way. 'cause i don't. never will."
you nod, breathless, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, letting yourself believe him.
no because pup actually being a lil feral with her humping problem so she keeps her lil saddle scott got her in her room.
nobodies seen her in a while, so the girls go looking and find her in her room, naked n grinding on her saddle, eyes in the back of her head, drooling all over her tits. they obviously think, yayy, and join in so bunny and bambi are playing with her tits, sucking on them and kitty’s holding pups little blue wand on her clit.
scott finds them and realises pups a lil overloaded, tears all down her face, hips moving like crazy, grinding herself raw, trembling. n he’s like, yeah that’s enough off you ago.
and pups just a complete wreck miles away n he’s bringing her down and gives her his cock to ground her.
like yes pls
he knows it’s happening before he enters the room ‘cos he can hear them. soft cooing, giggles and whines — a tell tale sign that the girls were getting up to no good. he walks in, dom-space already very much activated — shoulders squared, face calm and stoic. he stands with his feet planted at shoulder width, hands clasped behind his back.
he doesn’t have to say anything, the girls already get to explaining.
“daddy we found her like this, swear! she jus’ needed our help!” bun slurs. it’s clear from all the excitement she’d worked herself up too and he sighs almost sympathetically, the fact that she’d ignored her own needs to help her friend somewhat warming his cold heart. however, it was getting dangerously close to everyone getting a little out of hand.
“take a little break for me sweetheart.” he nods softly and quietly to her and she shudders with an understanding nod. she knows he’ll deal with her after. “turn that off.” he turns his attention to kitty and the wand.
“but she likeeees it!” kitty giggles, clearly enjoying the power trip she was getting from it — needing to be put in her place.
“are you challenging me?” scott almost looks like he wants to smirk at how bad of an idea that is, and kitty’s face drops a little, before tossing the vibrator to the side.
“you’re no fun.”
“cry about it.” he remarks, stepping forward to where bambi now sits at the edge of the bed perfectly still as pup hunched over behind her, hips still twitching against the pillow, lost little whines leaving her. scott briefly takes a gentle hold of bam’s jaw, forcing her to look up at him. “and you know better than this. don’t you?”
bambi, the sensitive soul — her eyes fill with tears and she nods, hands obediently in her lap. he lets go to look over all the girls. “what did i tell you girls about working eachother up like this?”
bunny, still not sensing anyone is in trouble bounces excitedly on her spot on the bed. “i’m sorry daddy! i forgot to tell you! we’re meant to tell you!” she forces an apologetic pout. in her defence, she hadn’t been in trouble regarding this sort of situation yet because she always asked. the other two however, were on their second strike.
scott nods at her, pursing his lips softly in understanding. “everyone go and wait in your rooms. alright? i will deal with each of you individually.”
the girls trail out, and scott is left perching on the bed, stroking pups back to get her attention. “oh my poor baby.” he hums, low in his throat, cock already shamefully swollen from the sight he’d walked in on. it was hard to enforce such strict rules when the girls just looked so delectable. “i think you need daddy’s help.”
pup nods, rubbing hard at her eyes with the heels of her hands and he settles on the bed beside her before unsheathing himself, pulling pup to guide her to sit on it. her legs shake, so he is careful to sit in a position where he knows he can help her movement. as she hovers over him, he spreads her folds with his fingers. “christ, you’re soaked. were the girls teasing you?”
“mhm.” she bats her lashes at him dejectedly and he tsks, soothing his hands over her skin to ground her.
“oh sweetheart. there you go, sit on it for daddy, that’s it.” he hisses as she all but slides down his cock, a guttural groan leaving her as her head falls weakly to her chest. “you hump on it however you like pup, you earned it honey.”
once pup is dealt with, now having her cool down time, wrapped up in a blanket with a big glass of water and her comfort show on TV, scott is preparing himself for the rest of the girls. he purposely didn’t let himself cum in pup, needing the stamina — plus, he wanted it to be all about her and she was already mega sensitive.
he sat bunny down on her bed and gave her a talking to. he was soft on her, he knows she doesn’t like being scolded, and plus it was her first offence so he couldn’t be that mad. he wasn’t evil, either — so made sure to finger a few orgasms out of her since she’d accidentally gotten way too worked up helping puppy. he even let her suck her juices off his fingers during their cool down, just the way she likes it.
kitty was next — only ‘cos he couldn’t hold it back much longer. he was grateful she liked it rough, the pent up man pounding her into the bed in doggy style while forcing her own wand to her clit.
“yeah, not nice is it? you feelin’ overstimulated kittycat? aw, that’s a real shame. you’re gonna have to just get over it baby.”
bam got a little punishment too, a few slaps and then some corner time after scott had a little rest. he always felt bad for whoever he left for last, not wanting them to feel neglected after a few incidents of upset. it was hard to punish bambi as it was, as there was never any push back. she even tried to hold back her tears when he came back into the room after her corner time was over to find her nursing her stinging cheek, lips pursed and trying her very hardest to keep her tears at bay.
he softens when he sees her, opening his arms. “hey. c’mere. it’s over sweet girl, and i never said you couldn’t cry.”
she rushes over to him timidly, burying herself in his chest so she couldn’t be seen sniffling.
“but i want to take accountability.” her voice wobbles, muffled into him.
“and you did. took that punishment like a pro. you’re my good girl, bam. you’re alright.”
Free Use!Clark who never says no to his girlfriend, no matter when or where she needs him. He’s always ready, always gentle, and always completely obsessed with how much she wants him.
Nympho!Reader who is utterly addicted to Clark Kent — his voice, his hands, his dick, the way he looks at her like she’s the only thing in the world. You can’t go more than a few hours without touching him, and he loves it.
700+ words of: (18+) ... free use kink, implied consent (cnc?), nympho reader, hcs, implied anal, cockwarming, face riding, exhibitionism, somnophilia, pwop, theyre freaky
ck x nympho!reader fic here
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Free Use!Clark who wakes up every morning to you already grinding on his thigh or sucking him under the sheets. He just groans softly, puts his hands on your hips, and lets you use his body however you need while he’s still half-asleep, voice raspy as he murmurs, “Good morning, sweetheart… take what you want.”
Nympho!Reader who gets wet the second Clark walks through the door after patrol. You’ll meet him in the hallway, drop to your knees, and pull his suit down just enough to get him in your mouth, moaning around him like you’ve been starving for hours.
Free Use!Clark who is more than happy to let you ride his face while he’s trying to read the newspaper. He’ll just set the paper aside, lie back on the couch, and hold your hips down so you can grind against his tongue until you’re shaking and soaking his chin.
Nympho!Reader who sends him filthy texts while he’s at work. Pictures of your fingers buried inside yourself with the caption “hurry home, I need you.” Clark has to excuse himself to the bathroom more than once because of how hard you make him.
Free Use!Clark who will fuck you bent over the kitchen counter while you’re trying to make dinner. You’ll be stirring sauce and suddenly his big hands are on your hips, sliding your panties to the side and pushing into you slow and deep while he kisses your neck and whispers, “Don’t stop cooking, baby. I’ve got you.”
Nympho!Reader who loves waking him up in the middle of the night by sinking down on his dick. Clark just moans sleepily, hands finding your waist as you ride him in the dark, his voice low and wrecked: “Couldn’t wait till morning, huh?”
Free Use!Clark who lets you crawl into his lap during movie night and cockwarm him the entire film. He’ll wrap his arms around you, chin on your shoulder, occasionally thrusting up when he knows you’re getting impatient, murmuring praise in your ear the whole time.
Nympho!Reader who gets off on the fact that Clark is Superman. You beg him to keep the cape on sometimes while he fucks you, clinging to the red fabric as he fucks you against the wall, super strength keeping you pinned exactly where he wants you.
Free Use!Clark who has bent you over his desk in the barn, in the back of his truck, in the shower, on the stairs, and once — very carefully — in the sky. He indulges every single craving you have without hesitation.
Nympho!Reader who gets dripping wet when Clark does mundane things — chopping wood shirtless, fixing the fence, wearing those gray sweatpants. You’ll walk up behind him, press yourself against his back, and beg him to take you right there in the yard.
Free Use!Clark who never makes you feel embarrassed for how much you need him. If you crawl into his lap during dinner and start grinding on him, he just pushes his plate aside, lifts you onto the table, and eats you out until you’re crying his name.
Nympho!Reader who loves being passed out from exhaustion only to wake up to Clark gently fucking you again because you whispered his name in your sleep and started rubbing against him.
Free Use!Clark who will pick you up, wrap your legs around his waist, and fuck you slow and deep while walking through the house like it’s nothing. He’ll carry you from the living room to the bedroom without ever pulling out, kissing you the whole way.
Nympho!Reader who keeps a butt plug in sometimes just so Clark can pull it out and replace it with his dick whenever he wants — though he usually ends up indulging you instead because you’re so desperate for him.
Free Use!Clark who finds you in the laundry room folding clothes and immediately bends you over the vibrating washing machine. He slides into you from behind while the spin cycle rattles hard against your chest, the intense shaking pressing right against your sensitive nipples as he fucks you deep and steady.
Nympho!Reader who can’t even pretend to focus on the laundry once Clark starts thrusting — moaning loudly as the machine’s vibrations buzz against your tits while his thick length stretches you open, coming harder because of the relentless shaking on your nipples.
Free Use!Clark who looks at his obsessed, insatiable girlfriend with nothing but pure love and lust in his eyes, because nothing makes him happier than knowing you need him this badly.
Nympho!Reader who is completely ruined for anyone else — and Clark wouldn’t have it any other way.
