#ghost riley x reader

[kenmaspuddinghair]

Tattoo artist reader having a crush on simon

Simons only ever had one tattoo artist, every tattoo on his body was done by you. And Simon’s starting to think you have a crush on him. And he wouldn't be wrong. You've known Simon for years, seen more of him then anyone has, and every time he comes in he’s hotter than the last time. The tattoos you've given him are just so hot and then every time he comes in you get so close to him and those nice big muscles. Not only is he so hot, but he’s actually comfortable around you, talks to you, cracks jokes, even some small flirting. 

Simon decides to find out if you actually like him. He comes in like usual, asks you to tattoo something on his chest, he sees the way your face gets red but of course you agree. Simon keeps his mask off even though he doesn't need to, he keeps his eyes on you the whole time, and shamelessly flirts. Still nothing happens, you're definitely more shy and blushing the whole time but that's not enough for Simon. Simon always tips generously and in cash, this time when he handed you your tip he also gave you a paper that said ‘date, Saturday night?’ Simon watched you read it, your head snapped up as soon as you finished reading it, you looked so surprised before you started smiling and nodded. Yeah, Simon would never choose a different tattoo artist.

[katabby]

Fat Reader crying because theyre insecure about their weight, and when Simon, the man Reader's been pining on for months confesses to them, they think its a cheap joke, and degrade themselves, saying "You can't even pick me up!"

Simon somehow gets Reader's number (Reader did NOT give it) and sends a video of Simon hip thrusting double Reader's weight with sweet groans, the outline of his bulge straining, clearly imagining Reader was on top of him.

[superhoeva]

when he fucks you, simon's usually just a panter. some grunts might find a way to slip their way out of him but he's gotten adept in keeping quiet, focused on hearing you and your noises and how to make them that much louder–that is, until the first time he fucks you raw.

after that, he's crumbling. trapping you in between the mattress and his heavy-as-a-ton mass of a figure, giving you little to no time to breathe in between the deepest stroke he can manage.

your shoulder is a mess of his sweat and drool as ghost pounds himself into you, groaning and whimpering at how he can feel every single soaking twitch and warm hug of your walls. how you leak and cream out so much your arousal that it mixes with his and splatters between the two of your jerking bodies. his accent slurs into something unintelligible, sounding worse than drunk whenever he speaks, most of his words either thick swears or shaking croaks of your name.

he cries and clutches you and wails so loud that you can no longer hear the thump of the bed against the wall when simon comes, stuffing you with a gushing load he just uses as lube to keep his thrust. completely intoxicated by you, simon can't quit. you just feel too good and he's too wrecked to not indulge.

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[tojisteddy]

Ruthless

or: Country!Simon catches you attempting to tag his property, of course he has to teach you a lesson.

cw: 3.6k words, 18+ mdni, Country!Simon, alt universe, no use of y/n, some plot with smut, dub-con, spanking, breeding kink, p in v, creampie, age gap (Simon 29, reader 23), primal play & reencounter (if you tilt your head), pet names (little girl, city broad, lucky), fingering, lite pussy pronouns, degradation, lucky!reader

a/n: a scrapped Drabble turned into a full story cause I love plot

part 2!!! <3

You were running like your life depended on it.

It was dumb for you to even attempt to tag the Riley barn to begin with.

You knew that, your friends knew that, anyone in town would’ve warned you otherwise.

It all started with a little end of college fun, wreck havoc like the good ole days. Nothing out the ordinary. Something that supposed to be a silly little prank, saying goodbye to college and hello to adulthood by spray paint and a little egging.

Was it a little too much for your liking? Yes.

Just plain rude and disgusting because at the end of the day, what exactly did Ghost do to deserve any of this? But peer pressure is a nasty, annoying, bitch. Regardless of age.

The Riley Ranch had been rumored as evil and haunted, the only people who really interacted with the land being other farmers. Even when Simon Riley, the last standing of the family, came to church (on the rarest occasions), people kept their distance. Afraid his families “bad” energy would spread over to them.

They called him Ghost.

There was a fire at the families home, started by Ghosts father who was always in a rage. Your father made sure your family stayed clear of him when you visited, he wasn’t too kind to quote, ‘big headed, posey, no good, city slickers.’ No one thought his rage would grow so large into trying to kill his whole family.

No one one besides Ghost made it out that night, there was rumored to be a large burn mark on his back to prove it.

You’d gotten found too fucking quick, “What the hell do you think you’re doin?” His voice booming on the highway road.

Simon Riley was blessed to have ears like an owl. Heard the car pull up and stop on his property, the rumbling of the engine— a beat passes— the car doors slamming shut and the far off hushed giggles. Nothing new, people had passed his property to spook whoever the hell they were with. Try to show how “evil spirits” ran rampant on his land, even if they were, he hadn’t ask for them to be there. But they’d never stop. They’d do it before.

They’d do it again.

But he heard that can of spray paint shake and his boots hit the floor before he even realized it.

Not the brown farmhouse gate he’d spent so long sanding down as a child with the help of his grandfather. Not the white ranch fence he’d spend so long getting together as soon as the land was properly handed to him and in his name, that’d he hand painted himself and fixed up the grass so people knew better than to drop any litter there.

No fucking way.

Your friends were already in the mustang you’d arrived in, those bastards, revving the engine and zooming off. You dropped the can, more spray getting on the grass fuck, fuck, fuck— your brown eyes slowly looked up, meeting a more than livid pair blue eyes.

You wanted to squeak out, ‘im sorry’ but where would there be room for that? Not in between the ranch fence that already had a squiggly line and crooked smiley face with black spray paint on it created by yours truly. There would absolutely be no room for an apology when his face was already screwed up, jaw clenching from underneath the bandana that hid his face, eyes narrowing into slits.

Well duh, babe. Move those feet!

And you did, turning at a 90 degree angle and sprinting like it was the end of the world. Ghost mumbled a ‘god damn it’, and ran right after you, his boot quickly meeting a carton of unopened eggs.

Oh you were definitely in for it now.

You ran through the Egyptian wheat, tall as the eye can see, green leaves scratching your arms and legs. You prayed to God there wasn’t any crazy animals hiding in there. You were panting, taking a quick glance behind you and you could only hear rustling of the large plants that surrounded you, feet hitting the floor.

Then you heard a distant yell in the field, “[+], you get back here!”

Well it wasn’t exactly the hardest to spot you out, you looked like your mother— who looked like her mother. You came from a family known for actually being good people, never hesitating to help or providing when need be. You’d met Mr. Riley a couple times in your 23 years of life. Quick instances that you vaguely remember. But you knew his face, and he knew yours.

Your mom had been one of the few good people making sure he was well taken care of when he was younger, she couldn’t raise him like she had wanted to with having to travel back and forth from the city for work as a children’s author. But she’d made sure he was taken care of in whatever home he was placed in, encouraged him to join the Boys and Girls club, something to ground him.

“Just needs someone to look after ‘em is all,” she’d ensisted while braiding your hair one night before heading to meet him at his group home, fingers weaving through your curls with purpose, you were around eight. “Some kids need a lil extra love, show ‘em someone’s there for ‘em. Simon’s one of those kids, so is your older brother, even though he’s a pain in my side at times. They’re all good in their core— their heart. It’s important to have someone nurture it. Gods called me to do that.”

Though, the relationship strained when the foster system let him go. “He’s just having boy troubles. Boys go through those weird hormones when they hit a certain age. Wants to prove ‘imself as a man. They get real hard headed [+]. He’ll get over it ‘nd pull through. He always does,” she’d say. So certain. Undoubting. Like a sixth sense.

And Simon did manage well enough, clearly, for him to have a proper farm for himself, one that was properly taken care of and thriving. You’d visited with your mom two years back. It was so clear to you now. Your mother practically smothering him in a hug when she got close enough. Simon was awkward at first, but accepted it. His eyes and whole body softing by her touch. She’d been family when no one else would be.

He looked towards you, you met a gorgeous shade of blue, long blonde lashes to match his short blonde hair, face with a few noticeable scars and half his face hidden under a black bandana. You were standing a ways off so you couldn’t hear what he or your mother was saying, but you saw him nod toward you. Your mother saying something and him nodding in response. She waved you over,

“[+] you know Simon— I mean, Mr. Riley since you’re a grown man now, ain’t that right.” She laughed.

“Whatever you want ma’am.” He looks down at you and extends his hand. You take it, butterflies fluttering in your stomach, and give it a firm shake.

“Good seein you.” It wasn’t just words, he was sincere, caring. Like seeing an old friend.

You nodded, “ ‘S good seeing you too.”

He showed you the farm after that in his truck. The big house that was farther toward the woods, properly fixed after the fire a decade ago, the Egyptian wheat field, the horses and chickens and the new blue barn he was building to accommodate them, the horse training area used to break in horses no one else would. It was a lot of land, a lot of work, but you could tell by the sound of his husk voice, he was proud of himself and the work he’d been able to accomplish. Even more happy when your mom praised him.

It finally clicked: that barn— and right on time, you’d caught sight of it. Not the one Mr. Riley had been fixing when you visited, the old one. Large and in charge that had old wood, and was definitely falling apart. But you made a bee line for it anyway.

What other option did you have?

Your heart was practically beating out of your chest, nerves on a high because you didn’t even notice how close Ghost was to you before you ducked so he couldn’t grab you. Kicking his shin and dashing towards the barn that was bones.

“You damn brat! fuck me!” He cursed, hopping to ease the new pain on his leg before running right after you.

You undid the large wooden latch, sliding the doors open and immediately trying to slide them close. But his hand shot through the opening, a shiver runs down your spin.

Up the steps you went, the only place you could go, and Ghost was right on your heels, quick, almost silent— didn’t call him Ghost for no reason. You tripped and fell on a pile of hay and wild chickens went fluttering and clucking down to the barn floor, clouding your vision. Next thing you knew, Ghost finally caught you. His hands grabbed hold of both of your arms as you rolled around and thrashed underneath him.

“You fuckin asshole! Let me go!” You grunted, trying to kick your legs where the sun didn’t shine but completely missing when the older man closed your legs, gripping them together under your knees in his hands. He had you like a pig about to be roasted.

“You ruin my property but I’m the asshole?” The fucking audacity of you. “Gonna teach you a fuckin lesson cause clearly they don’t teach you city folk manners.”

With ease, Ghost sat himself down on one of the old hay bails, bringing you over his lap. He grunts, keeping you as still as you can, and then like thunder— his large calloused hand comes down to your plump ass, echoing in the empty barn.

“Mr. Riley!” You gasp, your head shoots up, eyes widening— there’s no way- was he giving you a spanking? The next one yanks you out of your thoughts, brutal, harsh, that makes you scream his name again, “Mr. Riley, that’s enough!” But he’s completely ignoring you.

“Spray painting my fences,” SMACK!

“Tryin to egg my house,” SMACK!

“‘Nd Ruinin my fuckin crops?!” SMACK!

“You’ve lost,” SMACK! “you’re damn,” SMACK! “mind! little girl!” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK!

You’re crying and whimpering, as his hand continues forming ripples in your ass. You’d gotten one singular whopping your whole life, from your grandma for breaking her good vase when she told you no ball throwing in the house. Life altering from one incident that made you into the goodest girl there ever was.

And then there’s this predicament, one that ripped your soul in two. One half fueled with hatred for doing something so crude— so audacious. And then the other that’s struggling to keep itself contained. one more hit that meets your tender bottom, one that hits you in a place you didn’t realize was boiling over— a smack to the ass that forces an egregious moan out of your trembling plump lips.

Simon stills, his eyes flicking over the state of you. You’re shaking, head down and legs finally not kicking. But he sees the way you try to hide yourself further into his lap, because you and he both know you just moaned because of a little whooping.

Oh— you're crazy.

You’d unknowingly created a fire and Simon would add lighter fluid to it.

He lifts the bottom of your short flower patterned dress, just to peak, you jump but still, your heart pounding even louder than it had before. And it’s a sight for the man to behold— your underwear soaked like the damn ocean. You squeeze your thighs together, trying to bring the hands down to hide the slick that was ever growing.

“D-don’t look.” You sniffle. Too damn cute.

But there’s a snicker, something that makes you look back at him and his eyes are shining with mischief, “My god, you’re a filthy lil thang, aren’t’chu?” It’s almost rhetorical, he’s not asking you, he’s asking your cunt. “Didn’t know you city broads were like that, learn somethin new every day, don’t you?”

You yelp when he yanks your underwear down to your knees, thrashing around once again, but Simon keeps you still. Your pretty pussys glistening as bright as sun on water, slick all over your fat second pair of lips. He brushes his fingers against them, sending shivers up your spine, you cant help but arch further into his touch.

You whine, “Mr. Riley-“

“—Shhhhh, gotta hear her,” he murmured, slowly slipping a finger in your drenched hole. Your pussys practically sputtering out with every thrust of his finger, slipping another one and coating it perfectly. He takes them out, sucking up the juices on his tongue that you’ve left on them, spitting down on your hole before stuffing his fingers back into you. He hums in satisfaction as you lose your mind, “such a fuckin slut, you just get this wet for anyone, don’t you?”

Your eyes reach the back of your head, breath hitching, “Nooo, I don’t- I wouldn’t!— ooh- agh- Mr. Riley!” your interrupting yourself with your own moans. Whatever anger you had before, folding into nothing.

He finally let’s go of your hands and you grip on to his leg, nails clawing at his jean cover thighs. Your stomach tightens running away as your orgasm builds but Simon follows, thrusting his fingers into your gummy walls even more, curving them to find your sweet spot with determination.

“Eaaasy now, don’t want to hurt you. Be good ‘nd cum. Know you want to, make a mess all over me darlin’.”

And that’s all it takes, with a twitch and a squeal, your cumming all over his hand. Simon thrusts his fingers a couple times, watching the wave of euphoria wash over you before sucking one of fingers clean, then bringing the other to your mouth.

“Come on, don’t be fuckin uppity, taste it lil girl” he tsked, you take the middle finger in your mouth, tasting your own arousol, swirling your tongue around it. Slowly pulling your head back with a ‘pop.’ It all goes straight to the blondes aching dick.

You hear it, the unbuckling of his belt, your stomach touching the tint that had built because of you. your mind finally snaps out of the trance he’s got you in. You barley manage to get out of his lap, scrambling through the hay, tripping over your underwear, on your as knees. Giving Simon the perfect view of your tender ass and the slick that’s dripping down to your thigh before you turn when you meet a wall. Pushing yourself into it.

“We- shit- someone- someone’ll come!” You ramble out, panting, still feeling the after effects of your orgasm. Your eyes avert to anything in this barn besides the man infront of you. But he made his way over to you, slow, stalking. And once he’s on his knees and hovering above you, he springs his cock from from his boxers. The blonde is hung, large and girthy, his tip strawberry red and leaking pre cum.

He bends down, sliding his fat cock between your wet folds, and then smacking his tip on your clit creating a plap, plap, plap. You can’t help but whimper at the sensation.

“You want it don’t you?” he whispers in your ear, taunting you, goosebumps wave over your skin. “Don’t want me all the way,” he traces over your belly, and then pokes right where your uterus is, “up here, hm?”

“Don’t want me to make you feel good pretty girl? Don’t wanna feel it once?”

Maybe it’s the adrenaline that’s pulsing through you, the way he’s looking down on you like you’re pathetic, dick crazed maniac. And maybe that’s exactly what you are, just once— you just want feel him stir your guts just. this. once.

“I do.”

And your soft voice is just enough for the brute to yank your legs open, Simon throwing your legs over his forearms and spreading your pretty hole open with just the tip. The man starts bullying himself inside the tightness of your pink walls.

He’s big. He’s too big. You hiccup, shoving at his shoulder while he’s splitting you in half, “Mr.Riley, ‘s so much! hicc- can’t. I can’t.”

He croons, slowly thrust more and more of his veiny length into you. “Come oooon city broad, thought you could take it? Don’t go runnin. Been runnin from me alllll this time little girl.”

“Bet you won’t do no shit like that again, ruining my damn property,” Simon hissed, smacking down your clit a few times. “Gonna fuck that nonsense outta that lil brain ‘f yours.”

“I won’t! I promise! Mmmph- I’ll be good! S-so good just for you. Always for you.” You mewled, one hands clawing at the wall behind you and other hand at his shoulder. He finally feels it, his cock reaching the very hilt of you, balls smacking your ass crack. The damn obscene sounds your syrupy pussy is making to keep him inside you, and his tip giving your cervix the messiest and he’s sure, the first kiss it’s ever received.

A baby.

You’d look so fucking sexy, being all plump with his fucking baby. He pushes your thighs back to you head further, jackhammering into your heat rough and mean.

“Five,” he mumbles, groping at one of your tits in his hand. Squeezing and kneading it like a vice.

“Wha-“

“You’ll give me five ‘f ‘em, won’t’cha? Make me a daddy.”

He’s talking nonsense, partially. Simon wasn’t dead set on five, he’d wanted a baseball team but he’d settle for whatever you wanted. One would do if it caused you too much strain. He’d take care of you and the baby, buy you whatever you asked for, have you sat on that back porch, in a rocking chair. Your hand on your full belly, watching him as he worked all lovingly.

Simon breath hitches, rolling his hips into yours with a grunt, fucking drunk at the thought of it. The thought of you, all while your pussy was squeezing on him like you were reading his fucking mind.

“C-christ almighty, I got lucky with you huh? A snug lil cunt like this deserves to be up filled up with my cum.”

You still couldn’t believe it, thee Simon Ghost Riley, was with you in this old barn fucking your brains out like you were fucking Eve in that damn garden, on top of a pile of hay. Both of you letting out moans and groans like animals that you’re sure anyone who stepped foot on property would be able to hear. It’s hot, and sweat is forming on both of your foreheads, your skin is sticky. Simon’s big balls hitting your ass every punch of his tip into you G Spot. both of your eyes hazy, stupid off the other getting off.

“Feel so gooood M-Mr. Riley! So much!” You keen, reach for the bandana hiding his face. He always pushes your hand away but then he remembers what you’re about to be— his lover, his wife— the mother of hic children.

“Mamma’s gotta know the face of ‘er children’s daddy right? pull it off.” And you do, tugging it. And god, maybe this whole ordeal got you lucky.

So damn pretty. A scar on his nose, another one at the end of his pink lips, blonde strands swaying everytime he ruts into you, “Mr. Riley’s sooo pretty,” you slur, talking to him like it’s some secret. You’re lucid in his cock, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure while you stomach coils up.

“Uh-uh, eyes on me city broad, look at me!” He squeezes your cheeks together, planting a fat kiss on your smooshed lips. He snaps his hips forward, and your head would’ve hit the wall from how good you feel. But Simons still got your pretty face in his hands.

“Gonna have ya allll bare foot ‘nd pregnant, waddlin yer cute ass ‘round here with a ring on that finger.” He’s telling you, as if this is already happened and he’s seein it with his own eyes. All you can do is moan at his words. You can’t even form a sentence at this point. Just nodding your ditzy little head while he gives you his dick.

“Gonna be a pretty fuckin mamma too, fu- shit baby, your pretty tits all full with milk for our kin— damn, you love the sound ‘f that dontcha? You can deny it all ya wont, but she’s achin for it.”

God, you are. She is too. You didn’t even know how greedy your pussy was being as he pistoned in and out of you, “Gonna— gonna cum, fuck I’m gonna-“

“-Yeah, thaaat’s it lucky, come all over your husbands cock.”

All you can utter is a ‘s-shit’ when your orgasm smacks you, your toes curling in your converses, thighs shaking in Simons hold.

The blonde gets you in a headlock, smooshing you down into the floor further, brushing your curls with hay out of your gorgeous face. rutting into you as your walls clamp onto him, begging for his all milk he’s able to give you.

Simon growls, and the strings of cum fill your womb. Your clammy bodies are still stuck together as he rocks the last bit of cum into. Mumbling while kissing your neck, “take it lucky it’s all yours. Gotta keep you nice ‘nd full if you’re gonna get pregnant.”

It’s quiet finally. The barn itself is old and creaks but you can hear the chickens right down the steps clucking, the cicadas chirping, the breeze passing through the trees. The only think you hear are his and your pants,

Simon scoops you up in his arms, adjusting your dress to cover the mess he’s created thats dripping down on that barn floor with every steps he takes.

“Mr. Riley, where are we- where are we going?” You hiccup, gripping onto his shirt. All you can look at is him, a little in shock, a little blissed out. The only thing your able to focus on is the handsome man holding you against his chest. The way his heart pounds louder as he looks down at you.

“To the house. It just won’t take after one go.”

a/n: a draft that’s sitting since last month. Luv you bubs. Can’t wait to write more country!simon

most recent masterlist

[punkkture]

{ mdni } wc: { 238 }

on the way back from an undercover mission where you and simon had to play lovers as a married couple, attending a gala to get intel on enemy buyers.

you honestly don’t know how you ended up like this. maybe it was the far too many drinks you had and the simple way the glittering dress bunched up around your waist.

simon’s feet firmly planted on the backseat floor of the car while his hips were harshly thrusting up into your dripping little pussy. your drunk whines and moans fed his every movement.

“ah- ah- s-simon!” your voice would squeal out every time the fatty tip of his cock would graze past your sensitive spongy spot and right into your cervix.

your back moving against his chest, his breath being felt against your neck.

“baby you’re so tight . . i would’ve fucked you sooner if i knew your little pussy was this pretty,” he groaned.

he was so big. oh god you were just creaming around his thickness. every thrust making little drips of your slick flow down his shaft and leak into his suit pants.

the very best part was how price didn’t even mind. he didn’t bother to ask any questions when simon and you nearly stumbled into the backseat of the car making out.

it was only a matter of time before he pulled over to join in. . .

[sc3ptre]

Flood warning week

Pairing: Simon Riley x fem!reader

⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-1110

Summary: Seven days of Simon Riley ruining your ability to walk straight and your underwear drawer in the sweetest way possible.

Classification and content warnings: Smut +18 | explicit sexual content, basically PWP, established relationship, soft-dom!Simon Riley, daily sex (Monday through Sunday), fingering, oral (f receiving), clothed sex, dry humping, thigh riding, cockwarming, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie, masturbation via video, use of sex toys, size, praise and mild possession kink, panties used as cock ring, cum play, extreme fluff between the filth, no condoms used.

Word count: 3,6k

Divider by me ;)

Simon could look as tough as he wished at work but when he was with you, he was the softest soul there ever was…except for that not-so-soft dick of his. Your sexual life with Simon never really got interrupted, it didn’t matter where you were. If you needed him, he wouldn’t deny you. 

This is what a full week of orgasms looked like.

On Monday, you were getting ready for work while Simon was just coming home from his shift at the base. He found you in the bathroom, bathrobe loosely tied around your body as you prepped your skin with lotions and serums, products Simon didn’t see the need for but automatically bought whenever he noticed you were running low.

“Morning, Lieutenant,” you smiled as he dragged his feet inside, exhaustion etched into his broad frame. Instead of giving you a quick debrief on what had happened during his shift to get you up to speed, he let his chin fall to your shoulder, his large hand parting the robe to caress your bare skin. 

He liked to start the week right and that usually included thorough morning sex, something he would’ve been thrilled to dive into if he hadn’t been called in the night before. His fingers immediately sought out your clit, circling it slowly as he asked in murmurs how you slept and apologized for ruining the morning plans. The gentle pressure built a slick heat between your thighs, your arousal coating his fingertips as they delved deeper, seeking your entrance. He curled them inside you, stroking that sensitive spot with expert precision while lifting his eyes to meet yours in the mirror, slowly blinking as pleasure began warming your body from the core outward.

Your bathrobe slipped from your shoulder, exposing a pebbled nipple that he rolled between his thumb and forefinger, pinching just enough to send sparks racing down your spine. He finally decided to bring you up to speed on his shift, his voice low and gravelly, knowing full well not much would stick in your mind amid the rising tension. The air grew thick with your shared breaths, your pussy clenching around his invading fingers as slick seeped down your inner thighs, making everything slippery and urgent. The coil in your belly tightened unbearably, every curl of his digits pushing you closer to the edge until your body sagged against his, waves of orgasm crashing through you. Your walls pulsed greedily around him, gushing slick that dripped onto his hand and the bathroom floor in messy rivulets, your cries muffled as ecstasy left you trembling and spent.

He followed it with a soft kiss on your cheek before retreating to the mattress for a deep, much-needed sleep as if it had been him who just came undone at 4 a.m.

Tuesday’s orgasms were more of a ‘before lunch’ affair. You usually had those very important meetings with the ‘suits,’ as he called them and to his delight, this week you’d chosen a pencil skirt that hugged your curves perfectly, meaning his actual lunch was dessert and you were his main course. He pulled you into his office with a firm grip on your wrist, all but lifting you onto his desk, shoving aside papers in his haste. Removing his mask with a swift tug, he bunched up your skirt around your hips, hooked his fingers into your panties and yanked them down, stuffing the damp fabric into his pocket like a trophy before draping your legs over his broad shoulders.

Simon was very much an eater and just like he liked a full plate, he dove in with unrelenting focus, his tongue lapping at your exposed pussy with broad, hungry strokes. The tension simmered from the moment his hot breath ghosted over your folds, your clit throbbing in anticipation as he spread you open with his fingers, exposing every inch to his merciless mouth. He sucked and flicked with precision, building the pressure until your hips bucked against his face, pushing his head deeper into your core. 

Slick arousal coated his chin and lips, the wet sounds of his feasting echoing in the confined space as your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on. The coil wound tighter, your body arching off the desk as the overwhelm hit until your orgasm ripped through you like a storm, pussy clenching and squirting a messy flood that soaked his tongue and dripped down his chin. He didn’t stop, slurping every drop with obscene noises over your muffled moans, drawing out the shudders until you were a boneless heap.

When he finally pulled back, lips glistening with your release, he captured your mouth in a deep kiss, letting you taste yourself on him. Then, casually, he opened his Tupperware and spooned food into his mouth like a Neanderthal, all while you lay there blinking up at him, thighs still quivering.

“Wot?” he’d ask, mouth full, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“My underwear,” you deadpanned, voice husky from the aftershocks.

He shrugged, spooning more of his lunch. “Skirt’s long enough…got things to do with it later.”

On Wednesday, you were sure Simon would storm into your office exactly at 4:56 p.m., frustrated after a training session with a military group. He absolutely hated it, they weren’t good enough or willing to go as hard as he wished, so instead of yelling at some poor 20-year-old, he hid in your office. You always let him sit on your chair, pulling you onto his lap, not his thigh or knees, but straight onto his hardening cock, the thick length pressing insistently against your clothed pussy through the layers of fabric.

During his time there, he wouldn’t say anything at first, just focusing on his breathing and the frustration boiling in his veins. His hand placed firm on your hip, eventually started to rock you slowly, back and forth over his bulge. The friction ignited a slow burn, your clit grinding against the rigid outline of his dick with each subtle shift, building a delicious tension that made your core ache with need. This was more of a couples’ affair, a stolen moment where you forgot your paperwork and Simon stopped counting how many pairs of underwear he’d ruined just like this. 

His cock was so big you could feel every inch of it straining beneath you, the heat seeping through as your arousal soaked into your panties, creating a slippery mess that eased the glide.

The rhythm quickened, breaths mingling in the dim space as the pressure mounted, your hips rolling in sync with his guidance. Wetness pooled between your legs eventually darkening the fabric and smearing against his pants, the shared friction pushing you both toward release like two frustrated teenagers dry-humping in secret. The tension peaked in a shared gasp, your orgasm hit first, pussy spasming wildly as you ground down hard, soaking your underwear with a gush of slick that seeped through to coat his cock. He followed seconds later, a low groan rumbling from his chest as his dick throbbed and pulsed, hot cum flooding his pants in thick spurts that mixed with your mess, leaving everything sticky and ruined between you.

On Thursday, Simon had been out of the country. It often happened, so you hadn’t been at all surprised. The house felt empty and silent in a way you should’ve been accustomed to by then but weren’t, the quiet amplifying the ache of his absence. Late that night, an email pinged from his personal account, the subject line simple: “Open at home.” Since you were already home, curled up in bed wrapped in one of his oversized shirts that still carried his faint scent, you opened it at full volume, the screen glowing in the dim room.

The video started with Simon sitting back in what looked like a sparse hotel room, his tactical pants shoved down just enough to free his thick cock. His large hand wrapped around the veined shaft, your Tuesday panties from the office still faintly stained with your arousal were twisted around the base like a makeshift cock ring. You couldn’t help but grin at the sight, heat flooding your core as his heavy breathing filled the silence, ragged and shameless. He stroked himself slowly at first, the camera angled to capture every inch of his length glistening with precum that beaded at the tip and smeared down with each pump.

Your pulse raced, thighs pressing together as slick gathered between them. You immediately reached for the drawer on his side of the bed, fingers trembling slightly as you rifled through the toys. A vibrator or the dildo replica of his cock? The decision came quick, you grabbed both, the thick silicone molded from him feeling almost like home in your grip. You stripped off your panties, the shirt riding up as you spread your legs, positioning the phone for a clear view of his fist flying faster now, grunts punctuating the wet schlick of skin on skin.

The tension built like a storm, your pussy throbbing with need as you teased your entrance with the dildo’s blunt head, coating it in your dripping arousal. You pushed it in deep, the stretch mimicking his girth, walls fluttering around the intrusion as you turned on the vibrator and pressed it to your swollen clit. Simon’s video looped on your screen…his cock swelling, veins bulging, the panties tightening as he edged himself. 

You fucked yourself harder, the dildo plunging in and out with obscene squelches, your other hand working the vibrator. The pressure coiled tighter, breaths coming in gasps that matched his on-screen moans. When he finally came, ropes of thick cum erupting over his knuckles and splattering the panties in messy white streaks, your own release shattered through you. Your pussy clamped down on the toy, gushing slick that soaked the sheets and your thighs in a hot, slippery flood, the vibrator buzzing relentlessly against your pulsing clit as waves of ecstasy left you arching and shuddering, breathless and drenched.

It was as delicious as he’d believed it would be, the afterglow leaving you sated but yearning for the real thing.

Luckily for you, he was back Friday night. The plan hadn’t been to do anything that day, he was bone-tired from the trip, muscles aching under his skin but as you sat on his thigh in the living room, his arm draped loosely around your waist while he told you about the non-confidential parts of his mission in that slow, deep voice of his. The thigh riding just…happened. The solid muscle of his leg flexed beneath you, denim rough against your shorts and you shifted experimentally, grinding down with a subtle roll of your hips. Slick heat bloomed instantly, soaking through the thin fabric as the friction ignited sparks along your clit.

As tired as he was, Simon encouraged it, his free hand sliding to your hip to guide your movements, eyes half-lidded and dark with quiet hunger. 

“That’s it, love,” he murmured, voice gravelly from disuse, watching intently as you moaned softly and threw your head back, the tension winding through your body like a live wire. Your shorts grew damper by the second, the wet patch spreading as you rocked faster, chasing the pressure building against his unyielding thigh. His muscle tensed under you, providing the perfect ridge to hump against, your arousal seeping through to leave a glossy trail on his jeans.

The room filled with the soft sounds of your labored breaths and the slick slide of fabric, his grip tightening as your pace grew frantic. The coil snapped suddenly, your orgasm ripping through you, pussy spasming wildly as you ground down hard. You cried out, body trembling against him, nails digging into his shoulders while aftershocks pulsed through your core, leaving you limp and panting in his lap.

Weekend sex was arguably the best thing ever for both of you. You just loved dearly the unhurried indulgence after a week of stolen moments.

On Saturday, as he sat manspreading on the couch with a cold beer in hand, eyes fixed on the game flickering across the TV, you couldn’t resist. His cock strained painfully hard against his sweats from watching you walk around, the outline thick and inviting and you slid down onto it with a shared sigh, impaling yourself fully as you settled back against his chest. The stretch burned deliciously, your pussy walls hugging every inch of his girth, already clenching in greedy anticipation. Most of the time, if not all, you both talked about literally anything else, as if you weren’t joined so intimately, his hips occasionally twitching up to nudge deeper.

His hand rested casually over your clit and where you were connected, fingers splayed to feel the slick heat of your union. You became wetter by the second, arousal dripping down his shaft to pool at the base and soak into the couch cushions beneath him. He brought the beer bottle to your lips for a cooling sip, the fizz contrasting the building fire in your veins, before taking one of his own, the casual domesticity heightening the erotic undercurrent.

Conversation flowed about the weather, his next shift or your week at work but your body betrayed the distraction, inner muscles fluttering around him as tension simmered low and insistent. Eventually, your pussy walls began clenching around his cock, trying to suck him in deeper, unabashedly milking him for every drop of cum he had. He lifted his hand from your clit, tapping it lightly in a random rhythm, firm presses that sent jolts through your oversensitive nerves, waiting between each for your body to react. It was really like Morse code, yet it wasn’t words he was transmitting but pure, teasing control, each tap building the pressure without mercy.

After what felt like an eternity of that torturous play, you didn’t need rubbing to provoke an orgasm, it crashed over you unprecedentedly, your pussy convulsing in rhythmic squeezes that gripped his cock like a vice, flooding him with a torrent of slick that overflowed and trickled down his balls in messy streams. The release left you breathless, a sharp cry escaping as ecstasy hollowed you out, body shuddering against his chest while he groaned low, his own hips bucking once to chase the sensation, cum starting to pulse hot and thick inside you, mixing with your wetness in a creamy, slippery flood that leaked out with every aftershock.

Sunday, oh Sunday. It was so restful and quiet, a pause in the rhythm of the week where the world outside faded into irrelevance. You avoided the TV’s blaring commentary, the radio’s chatter, the endless scroll of dossiers and your phone if you could help it, the silence wrapping around you both like a shared secret, amplifying every breath and subtle shift of skin against skin. 

This part could happen at any time of day but it always did, an unspoken ritual that anchored the weekend’s indulgence.

In a corner of your living room, tucked away from the windows where sunlight filtered softly through sheer curtains, sat that really comfortable armchair, plush and wide, its fabric worn from countless hours of lazy reading and now, intimate surrender. Simon would settle back into it first, his broad frame sinking into the cushions with a low sigh, legs spread slightly as he tugged you toward him. Sometimes you were both fully naked, clothes discarded in a haphazard trail from the bedroom, your bare skin flushed and warm against the cool air. Other times, it was just bottoms off, his sweats pooled at his ankles and your panties kicked aside, leaving shirts or nothing at all to brush teasingly during the heat.

You straddled him without a word, knees digging into the cushion on either side of his hips, your pussy hovering just above his thick cock, already hard and leaking precum that glistened along the veined length. His hands found your hips immediately, large palms spanning the curve of your ass, fingers digging in just enough to guide you down. The first slide was always electric, your slick folds parting around his blunt head, stretching wide as you sank onto him inch by inch, the burn of his girth filling you completely until your ass rested flush against his thighs.

A shared groan escaped, low and guttural, vibrating through your joined bodies as your inner walls clenched greedily around him, already coating his shaft in a fresh layer of arousal that dripped down to his balls.

The rhythm started slow, your hips rocking forward and back, grinding your clit against his pubic bone while he thrust up lazily to meet you. But it built fast, the intensity uncoiling like a spring, moans spilling from your lips unbidden, mingling with his ragged breaths as the sound of skin slapping skin filled the room. Wet, obscene smacks echoed with every bounce, your pussy slurping around his cock as you lifted and dropped, riding him with a fervor that left sweat beading on your skin. His grip tightened, thumbs pressing into the dimples above your ass, urging you deeper and harder while the chair creaked under the force of your movements.

You didn’t stop, not for a second, hands roaming everywhere, yours tangling in his short hair to pull him into a bruising kiss, tongues sliding messily as teeth nipped at lips. Even when the air grew thin, lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, you kept touching, hugging his shoulders close, bodies pressed so tight that every heartbeat thrummed between you. His mouth trailed to your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin while you hugged him fiercely, nails raking down his back in red trails that made him hiss and buck harder. The room spun with the haze of it, the quiet shattered only by your escalating cries and the slick glide of his cock pistoning in and out, arousal splashing with each plunge.

The first orgasm hit you like a wave crashing, your pussy spasming wildly around him, walls rippling in tight squeezes that milked his length. You shattered with a loud, keening wail, body convulsing as you ground down hard, clit grinding against him to prolong the ecstasy. Simon followed seconds later, his cock swelling impossibly thicker inside you before he erupted heavily, messily and loudly. Thick ropes of cum pumped deep into your core, hot and viscous, overflowing almost immediately to mix with your wetness and leak out in creamy rivulets that trailed down his balls and thighs. His groan rumbled against your collarbone, hips jerking erratically as he filled you to the brim, the excess squelching out with every residual twitch.

You collapsed against him then, boneless and spent, your face burying into the crook of his neck where his pulse hammered steadily. His scent, musk and clean sweat, enveloped you as you nuzzled closer, breaths syncing in the afterglow. Simon’s hands softened, no longer gripping but caressing, palms sliding up your back in slow, soothing strokes, fingers tracing the knobs of your spine before dipping to knead the muscles of your ass. He touched everywhere with reverence, one hand cupping your breast to thumb a hardened nipple gently, the other stroking your thigh, mapping the curves he knew by heart. Love poured through every motion, tender and unhurried, his lips pressing soft kisses to your temple as you melted into him, the world narrowing to this quiet intimacy.

After a few minutes, when your heart rate slowed and the tremors faded to lazy pulses, one of his hands snaked between the two of you, careful not to dislodge where you were still seated comfortably on his cock, half-hard and slick with your combined release, nestled deep inside your fluttering pussy. 

His fingers found your clit effortlessly, swollen and sensitive from the earlier frenzy and he began to circle it gently, the pad of his thumb applying just enough pressure to reignite the embers. No words passed, just a soft hum from his chest encouraging you to relax into the sensation as you shifted slightly, inner muscles clenching around him in response.

The build was slower this time, a simmering heat that spread through your limbs like warm honey. His circles were calculated, varying the pace with light flicks that made you whimper and firmer presses that had your hips twitching involuntarily. 

You stayed impaled on him fully, never lifting more than a subtle rock, his free arm banding around your waist to hold you steady. Your body began to shake, subtle at first, then building to full quivers as the pleasure coiled tighter, your front arching into his chest while your face stayed pressed to his neck, ragged breaths hot against his skin. 

The orgasm crested without warning, ripping through you in shuddering waves as your pussy clamped down on his cock in vise-like pulses, grinding down hard to chase every spark as another flood of slick gushed out, mixing with the cum still leaking from you in a slippery, creamy mess that coated his fingers and dripped onto the chair.

He didn’t stop there, drawing it out with gentle laps of his fingers until you sagged against him again, boneless and panting. 

Simon loved this part, he loved making you orgasm, watching the way your body surrendered to him, the trust palpable in every tremble. He’d repeat it intermittently throughout the afternoon, fingers returning to your clit whenever the aftershocks ebbed, always ensuring your body never lifted fully from his cock during this period of overwhelm. Each peak left you more wrecked, more connected, grinding on him in desperate circles he adored, your cries muffled against his shoulder as he coaxed release after release, his own arousal stirring back to life inside you with every clench. Now this didn’t happen every week, the depth of it reserved for when the quiet demanded more, but he found comfort in you knowing it could if you asked that of him.

a/n: if you liked this piece, reblogging it helps more than you know. Thank you for keeping my little stories alive out there. ♡

[ohbo-ohno]

just watched 'send help' with rachel mcadams (didn't like it) but it's lowkey sooo ghost x reader sorry but like.

maybe you're a personal assistant for someone important, and the plane you're on for some work trip crashes. you and a personal guard who everyone called 'ghost' are the only one who wash up on the shore of an abandoned island. you wake up before him and do your best approximation of cpr, try to cover his body from the bugs and smack away the crabs because what the fuck else are you supposed to do. he wakes up eventually, thank god, and seems... far more comfortable than you

so you follow him around some. sue you, he knows how to make shelter, he collects rain water easily, and when you find a fruit tree, he lifts you up on his shoulders (without asking first, but still) to reach it. he's quiet, and big enough to be scary without even trying, but he's the only thing helping keep you alive.

a few days in he finds boar tracks. when he says he's going hunting you try to convince him otherwise - you don't have a weapon, how are you even going to kill that thing? it's not a prey animal, it's going to come after you! listen, not to sound selfish, but i'm kinda screwed if you go off and get yourself killed! but he doesn't listen, and you get so frustrated you storm off, stressed and overwhelmed and already convinced he's gone

you're relaxing at the fire later, arms wrapped around your knees while you watch the embers float up into the dark sky. and there's a sound behind you that nearly gives you a heart-attack, a sight that all but does the job. it's ghost, soaked in blood, dragging a corpse nearly his size by the leg behind him.

oh my god, you'd say, because he actually managed to do it. you fawn over him, making sure he's not hurt, then shift to cheering and celebrating. and he's hot, radiating with it, with the energy of a predator who completed a satisfying hunt. do you know how to cook this thing? you'd ask, and he does.

it's only when you reach for a piece of the cooked haunch that he stops you, holding you easily by the wrist. not yet, he says. haven't done much to deserve it, have you?

what? you say

had to work for it, didn't i? he says. had to earn my keep. don't see why you shouldn't have to do the same.

it's only when his hand drops to his belt that you fully realize what he's telling you. he tugs you easily to your knees, the fire at your back as he pulls your face close

[emptygirlsickdarkworld]

Simon Ghost Riley x Fem Reader

dom simon, age gap, size difference, simon!smut ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Riley’s Hoodie

“Hey,” says Simon, gravelly voice quietly cutting the silence and attention from your book.

“Oh! Hi, Simon,” you reply shyly after being startled.

You thought the sound of a man entering the house may have come from one of the ones who live here, but you were mistaken.

His large frame takes a seat next to you on the little couch you share with your housemates. His frame double the width of yours causes his lap to take up the rest of the room on the couch. He’s still got his tactical uniform on, mask, balaclava and all. He smells thick of gun powder, cigarettes, and woody cologne. Brute didn’t even take his boots off. He leaves just enough room between the two of you that as long as no one moved, your bodies wouldn’t touch.

You thought you were home alone, you haven’t even seen anyone here yet today now that you think about it. Because of that, you were only wearing silk pajama shorts and a hoodie you stole from Johnny’s room. It fits like two Johnnys could be inside of it. With Simon in the living room, you have to bunch up the sweatshirt to make it apparent that you have some sort of pants on.

Simon’s the mate of your good friend Johnny, whom is great friends with your older brother. He may as well be like a big brother to you. Being in uni, you needed a place to stay away from the dorms. Johnny let you know a room freed up in the house he shares with his military mates. The bills split up made it cheap and hard to resist. You’ve never seen the large man out of his uniform and mask. Johnny says he’d seen him before, but wouldn’t tell you what he looked like. He’d teased you for asking him. “Johnny home?” he asks.

“No, I don’t think any of your friends are. Just me, unfortunately,” you inform him.

“Not unfortunate,” he says, almost like his body forced him to admit that. “Didn’t have time to catch him this evenin’, needed to give him some paperwork. Put it on the kitchen table whenever he decides to make it back from the pub.”

“Okay, I’ll make sure I remind him,” you reply.

Simon stares at you for what feels like an eternity.

“Right. Be on my way then,” he says, hands on his knees to rise his giant frame off of the couch.

“Wait!” you call out, faster than your brain could compute.

“For?” he questions, sitting back in his seat.

“Uh, well. I didn’t know the guys all went to the pub, and I um. I made some dinner, it’s almost ready if you’d like a plate? You don’t have to if-” you’re cut off, rising from the couch to check on the chicken baking in the oven.

“Would love that,” he interjects.

“Oh, okay,” you reply with a smile.

Once in the kitchen, you pull dinner out with an oven-mitted hand. The scent of warm chicken breast and cooked vegetables fill the space. You’ve always liked to cook for the men of the house, it boosted your ego when they would praise you for your skills.

You can hear Simon taking his gloves and boots off in the living area as he neatly places everything by the door. He emerges in the door frame as you’re making plates for the two of you, he’s taken his mask and balaclava off.

His short, clean, dark blonde hair is spiking in every which way. His honey-amber brown eyes are glistening in the warm glow of the moody lit area. The scar tracing across his lip is almost beautiful, like an artist painted it there. The corners of his thin lips turn into a small smile when he registers that you’ve been holding a plate unable to move for at least two minutes.

“Smells lovely,” he grumbles sweetly.

“Uh, yes. I mean- thank you, Simon. Your plate is ready,” you say, darting your eyes back to the task at hand.

Your plates are across the table from each other, and you both finish them in a surprisingly comfortable silence.

“Was so fuckin’ delicious, love,” he tells you. “Used to think Johnny was a bit weird for having a young girl living here. Turns out she’s quite a bit more mature than we tease him for. Amazin’ cook just like he said, too.”

You take the plates from the table and return them to the sink, preparing them for a wash.

“Ugh yuck, Simon. It has never and will never be like that with Johnny! He knew me when I was born!” you defend in disgust.

“Yeah? That why you take hoodies from his room?” he retorts back, standing up from the table to move closer to you.

“How would you even know that I took this?” you sass back.

“Smart little girls like you should take a moment to observe the clothes they steal before they wear them,” he smirks.

“What are you even talking about?” you sass, confused further. “Johnny could’ve given me this, you don’t know that I took it.”

“Don’t think Johnny would give you a sweatshirt that quite literally says my last name in big letters across the back,” he catches you, the sound of his voice much closer now.

You set the plates down, clean your hands, and turn around- slowly. You’re faced with an enormous man crossing his big and bulging arms. You can smell his addicting scent filling the air around your small frame. He’s got a smirk drawn across his face, the glum light making his lip scar look deep. The heat behind your cheeks is rising quickly, you’re beet red in the face. A wave of embarrassment feels like it’s swallowing you whole.

“Why would Johnny have your sweater, anyway?” you ask hesitantly, leaning back on the sink in intimidation.

Suddenly you’re aware of why the sweater was so big, and why it smelled so pleasant. It did have a small 141 logo with a rifle underneath it on the side, but you didn’t think to turn the sweater around. You start to tug on the sleeves, realizing you can’t hand it over in front of him. You’re bare underneath it from your shower earlier.

“Had our gym bags mixed up, he took mine by accident few days ago,” he says, leaning his face closer. “Y’know, I’d like that back.”

His gravely voice sends an unfamiliar flutter to the lowest part of your stomach. Your chest is tight, face growing redder by the second.

“Umm, any chance I may return it to you later?” you ask, avoiding his impending stare- darting your eyes anywhere but the massive figure in front of you.

“Why’s that, hm?” he taunts. “Like wearin’ it that much, yeah? You like how tiny it makes you look?”

“Um, well- yes. Maybe that, yes. But I’m also not really wearing a shirt underneath it either. Wasn’t expecting special guests tonight…” you admit.

“Don’t care, love. It’s mine. Take it off and give it back,” he requests.

“But, Simon, I don’t-“ you’re cut off.

“Just said I don’t care love. Take it off,” his face switches from a smirk to a stern glare.

“Oh, well okay. I’ll be right back with it then,” you choke out a whisper as you start for your bedroom, to change in privacy.

A massive palm gripping your shoulder stops you cold in your tracks. The sheer strength of Simon’s fingertips firmly hold you in place. The red heat of your face and neck evaporates from your skin, leaving you feeling like you’ve just gotten caught doing something very bad.

“Where y’ think you’re goin’?” he intimidates further. “Didn’t ask y’ to walk all the way to your room, did I?”

“N-no, Simon. You didn’t…” you trail off, standing stiff.

“Now tell me, love. What was it that I asked you?” he says.

“You said… take it off…” you reply, confused.

“Good. Smart little girl you are,” he praises, fighting a grin on his lips. “So, keep it up and do what you’re asked, yeah?”

He lets go of your shoulder, and you shake like a leaf. You slowly put your arms down, thumbing the hem of the bottom of the sweater. You start to lift the heavy blanket of a hoodie up, white knuckling the bottom in fear. You pull your head out of the bottom, inhaling his sweet and addicting scent that clings to the soft fabric. You hold the jacket in front of your bare chest, covering your innocence, waiting for your next instruction from Simon.

“What else did I say about the sweatshirt?” he asks, his smirk growing and turning almost devious.

“You said… to give it back,” you admit with difficulty.

“Listen, sweetheart. Know I’m bigger, older, scarier than you. But I also know you’ve got a little crush on me, yeah?” he teases.

“W-What?” you ask, confusion knitting your brows together.

“Don’t play dumb,” he says, leaving only inches between your bodies. “Soap’s ratted on you, says you ask about me all blushin’. Told me you ask about my face and all.”

“That fucker,” you whisper in distain.

“Aww, and she doesn’t deny it. C’mon love, the way you bite that little pink lip when I’m near you already told me,” he soothes with his deep voice, quiet tone.

“I-I don’t… I suppose that, well, um-“ you try your best to find anything to say.

“Gonna give me that back now, or what?” he says, tone shifting back to sternness.

“Simon…” you whisper in complete embarrassment. “I’m bare underneath, only shorts on…”

“Right. Give it back now, c’mon,” he says, holding his big hand out to grasp it.

Your body responds to Simon’s command before your brain can even catch up. The cold air of the old house bites at your soft flesh, exposing your entire chest to him. The cool breeze floating in the dim room highlights the curvaceousness of your upper chest. The shift in temperature stiffens your nipples, and your skin is quickly warmed yet again by the heat of embarrassment flooding through you.

“That’s a good girl, see? Wasn’t so hard to do what I asked now, was it?” he asks sweetly, admiring you with his smoldering eyes scanning your figure.

“Simon…” you trail off in a hushed voice, crossing your arms in attempt to cover your tits. “No need to hide ‘em from me, love. Must be so busy always lookin’ at my big arms the way you do. Don’t even notice I’m always observin’ that sweet little figure you’ve got,” he compliments.

“You’re an old perv, Simon…” you sass, avoiding his gaze at all costs.

“What? Sayin’ it like you never wished that’s true?” he asks, closing the space between your bodies.

You’re cowering in Simon’s big shadow, exposed in nothing but your little silk sleep shorts. The way he’s pressed against you is driving a fluttering sensation in all of the wrong places. You’ve always wanted Simon close, but you never thought this far into it. What is a girl like you to do when such a fucking hot and brooding man teases you like this?

The way his tactical pants tighten around his thick, muscular lap has always driven you wild. In addition, the straps to his side holster squeeze his big man thighs even tighter-accentuating his largeness. His black v neck t shirt is in the biggest size he can get, his bulging muscles ripping through the hems of the sleeves. You often find yourself wishing you could give Simon a reason to put your little neck in a headlock, right in the crook of the strongest part of his vascular arms. A tactical vest sits on his broadened chest, the straps dancing over his traps. His skin glows pale in the dark house. Tattoos and scars on his huge body are showing the sheer age he’s got on you, making your insides slick up even more.

“Quit teasing me Si…” you choke out, sounding like a weak plead.

“Think this is teasin’?” he chuckles.

Suddenly, a large and calloused hand grabs the rear nape of your neck. It tilts your eyes up, forcing you to look into his. He takes his other hand to trace gentle circles around your neck, down to your collar bones, working their way to your breasts. He brushes your sternum, up and down. He circles his huge knuckles around the curve of your breasts, tracing a finger tip to one of your nipples. He traces back and forth over the hard nub, until he feels you shuddering beneath his touch.

“See… you are teasing me,” you whine, half a moan at this point.

“Teasing means it feels good, right baby?” he asks, giving one nipple a swift pinch.

“Fuck.. mmh. Yes, yes it does,” you groan for him.

“Means you’re not gettin’ just what you want, too yeah?” he asks, using his massive hand to fully grab one of your tits with a possessive grip.

“I- I don’t know, Simon. I just- mmh. Fuck…” you stutter, unable to focus your dizzy head. “Please!” you cry out.

“Poor little thing doesn’t even know what the fuck she wants,” he laughs. “Beggin’ for what?”

He holds the grip on your nape firm, and he uses his extra hand to pull your body closer into his. He wraps it around the small of your back, your most sensitive parts making contact with his clothed leg. Simon can feel the warmth radiating from your warm slit, the thin silk of your shorts doing nothing to conceal how you really feel. You can’t help but writhe around beneath him, the way he’s speaking to you and touching you is making you submit to his control.

“Aww, look at that,” he coos in your ear. “Callin’ me a perv, but y’can’t even control these little hips now that I’ve finally touched you.”

“Y-you are a perv, Si…” you argue back softly. “Got me practically naked underneath you.”

“Blushin’, hidin’ from me, callin’ me that little nickname…” he growls. “Great way to get me to teach you what a real perv is like.”

He gently grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your face to his. He crashes his thin and chapped lips into yours, moving his hand from your waist to your ass. His massive palm swallows a cheek, using his fingertips to roughly grope your soft body. He shoves his thick tongue into your mouth, poking and prodding at yours to make them dance with each other in sync.

Your body gives into what your heart desires, and you melt into his touch. Your hands grab him by the straps of his vest, positioning your wet and needy surface on his leg even harder. You can’t help that your arms are pulling him down closer to you, sinking into the desperation of the intense kiss. You feel Simon’s throat making his sexy laugh into your mouth, and he picks your small frame up off the floor entirely. Your head is so dizzy and spun with desire that you don’t even realize his giant arm is supporting your ass, while your legs are now around his thick waist. He’s maintained a fist in your hair, making sure his mouth is still connected with yours. “Simon? What are you doing?” you pull away to ask.

“Told y’ love. Teachin’ you what a real perv is really like. Wanna call me that, you’ll find out what it really means,” he growls, gently setting you on your mattress with ease.

With a swift motion, Simon yanks your little silk shorts off. The air hitting your warm and needy pussy causes you to gasp, half in embarrassment and half with the lack of sensation of the seam of your shorts providing you the smallest relief.

“Can y’ tell me what this is?” Simon questions.

His big pointer finger directs your attention to his left knee. There’s a large wet patch from where you couldn’t control yourself, squirming around underneath Simon’s touch while he tongued your mouth. The sheer embarrassment causes you to close your thighs and throw a hand over your face.

“Hidin’ from me isn’t an answer. Wanna try again, tell me what that’s all about?” he asks again.

“I’m sorry, Simon!” you cry out. “I didn’t mean to make a mess on you… I- I can wash them for you if-“ his giant hand roughly covers your mouth, tears welling up in your eyes.

“A mess…” he teases with a pity laugh. “How cute is that? I don’t want you to wash my fucking pants, love. Wanna make you have a bigger mess.”

“Perv,” you cross your arms.

“That’s it. You act like this little innocent thing, and you’re not. You’re a little brat. A fucking slut, truly. Only little fucking sluts make messes like this all over a big old man they should be afraid of,” he says, leaning down.

His lips graze yours, and he starts to feel all over your body. His massive hands cupping your tits while his lips explore your neck, collar, arms, tummy. You can’t help but moan at the gentle sensation. You’ve never felt anything like it.

“Little sluts make noises just like that, too. Did you know that, sweetheart?” he asks half sweetly.

“N-no. I can try to stop if that’s what you’re asking? It just feel so- mmmh. Feels so fucking good,” you moan out.

“Think I want you to stop?!” he questions in anger. “You think that the sound comin’ out of ‘ya isn’t making my fat fuckin’ cock painfully hard right now?”

Suddenly, you hear his belt undo. He swiftly pulls his pants down enough to reveal his inhumanely large cock. It’s so swollen, it’s dripping with pre onto the bed sheets. You can feel your mouth water staring at the sheer size of him, it looks like it could tear you right in half. He takes his swollen head into his palm, and starts tugging at himself. It looks big even in his giant hands.

“Look at this,” he says, praising you. “Poor girl is quite literally drooling just from takin’ a good look at this cock. Eyes wide and head full of slut thoughts, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” you admit. “‘S so fucking big…”

And just like that, Simon grabs both of your ankles. He puts them beside your ears, folding you in half and exposing your dripping hole to him. He takes his time sliding his thickness back and forth between your folds, his swollen and leaking dick tip rubbing your clit. It feels so fucking good, it sends an unknown sensation to your stomach

You start to shake, your ears ring, and your head spins. Your throat feels raw from the scream you just released from your throat. You look down, and notice you practically sprayed Simon’s cock with your cum. Wet, dripping mess already.

“Jesus fuck,” Simon growls. “All I did was rub my cock on it a little…Fuckin’ hell that was hot. Princess?” he asks.

“W-What?” you ask impatiently, trying to catch your breath.

“Y’ ever even had cock before?” he questions.

You shake your head no, and for a split second, Simon feels bad. But he quickly feels excited when he realizes he gets to take your sweet virginity.

He’s nice at first. He guides himself to your dripping entrance.

“Tell me if it’s hurting too much, okay?” he asks reassuringly.

He pushes his swollen head into your tight virgin hole. It burns, causing you to wince. Your hands look for anything to grab onto for support, and Simon intertwines his fingers with yours. He’s holding your hands, slowly teasing his cock head in and out of your spongey cunt. He’s leaned over you like an attack on prey, watching and studying every single move you make.

“Starting to feel good, Si,” you moan.

And with that, another burning sensation tears all the way to your cervix. He’s fully shoved his length into your stomach, and he can see the bulge he’s created inside of your sweet tummy. He slowly ruts in and out, bumping a sweet spot inside of you that feels even better than before. He’s getting off watching himself utterly wreck you, rearranging your small insides. Your head is spinning again, unable to control your noises.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Cryin’ for me are you? Squeezin’ this little cunt around me, you’re killing me,” he moans.

His pace speeds up.

“F-Fuck, Si…” you whisper shout. “I think I’m, I’m gonna- mmh fuck!” you scream.

“That’s it little girl. Cum on this fuckin’ cock for me. Fuck. Show me how bad you’ve been craving my perv cock in your virgin little pussy,” he commands.

You explode all over him, your walls squeezing him so tightly he slips out of you. He uses his tip to rub your swollen clit through your orgasm, making the biggest mess you didn’t even know you could make.

“Mhmm, see. Told you you’re a good little slut. Makin’ the biggest mess I ever seen,” he praises.

He slaps his tip on your needy cunt a few times before shoving it back inside. He hardly gives you time to collect yourself before enduring the sheer pounding he’s given you. Your hands are wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. He’s kissing your neck and your breasts anomalistically, fucking deeper inside than before. Inhaling your pheromones like a drug. His bear-like moans and groans drive you absolutely wild.

“Simon…” you call out. “Please, please please please!”

“What does baby want? Hm? Want me to cum in this little cunt?” he growls deeply.

“Mmmh- Yes! Please fill me up, always wanted it from you…” you confess with a whine.

Just like that, Simon explodes thick, warm white ropes of cum into your stomach. He takes his sweet time to make sure he fucks it back inside before pulling out of your used and puffy cunt.

“Only sluts say things like that to men they should stay away from,” he scolds, trying to catch his breath.

“Only pervs like it,” you poke at him with a smile.

“Think I’ve really got a crush on you now,” Simon admits, pulling you closer to his sweaty and still clothed body.

“Wanted you first time I saw you,” you shyly admit with a smile. “Get naked with me, we need a shower.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Simon chuckles.