Simon who yearns for his pregnant wife. (MDNI 18+)
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Simon Riley wasn’t sure what the hell he was listening to.
Or more accurately… what kind of nonsense these sergeants were going on about.
"Fuckin' hell.” one of them, Ramirez, muttered over his mug. "Wife's knocked up with number two, and it's like tryin' to hump a bloody beach ball. No positions work, she's always knackered, and half the time she just wants to sleep. Sex? More like a chore I gotta check off the list."
The others chuckled, nodding like it was the gospel. "Tell me about it.” another chimed in. "Mine's the same. Gained a ton already, and the hormones? Christ, one minute she's all over me, the next she's cryin' over a stupid animal shelter Ad. Wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."
Simon didn't move, didn't breathe a word. His gloved hands tightened around the edge of his tac vest, but not from anger. No, it was something hotter, sharper, coiling low in his gut.
They were wrong.
So bloody wrong.
He thought of you—his wife, his everything—curled up in their bedroom back home, that soft swell of your belly just starting to show under his old shirts you loved to steal. Five months along, and you were glowing, all curves and fire, your body a map he couldn't stop exploring.
He shifted, feeling an erection growing under his gear. Just the thought of you did that to him now. The way your breasts were fuller, heavier, straining against the lace he bought you the last time he was on leave.
How your hips swayed a little wider when you walked, teasing him without even trying. Sex wasn't a chore—no—it was a privilege.
Last night, you'd been on your side, his hand splayed over the bump where their little one kicked, and he'd slid into you slow, deep, your gasps mixing with his growls. "Simon..” you'd moaned, arching back against him, your skin fever-hot and slick. He'd cum faster than a fucking virgin, all because of how beautiful you were, swollen with his child.
The sergeants droned on, oblivious. Simon pushed off the wall, a ghost in the dim light, heading home.
He needed you now—needed to feel that life you'd made together, to bury himself in the woman who turned his world from shadows to something worth fighting for.
As he stepped into the your home, the door clicked shut behind him, he found you on the couch, feet up, reading one of those baby guidebooks with a smirk.
"Miss me, Lieutenant?" you teased, eyes sparkling.
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he knelt before you, hands gentle on your thighs, trailing up slow as his gaze darkened. "Every fuckin' second, lovie. Especially now."
His voice was rough, laced with that hunger only you ignited. And as he leaned in, lips brushing the curve of your belly before he found his way between your thighs, he knew this was heaven, not hell.
Pornstar!Simon who has to have his face between your ass cheeks when he eats you out.
cw: +18 mdni, cunnilíngǔs, booty eating.
This is so vulgar, just keep up! Run with me
A man who got addicted to the feeling the first time you sucked his soul out of his throbbing cock. And maybe Heaven just had to be between those plush thighs no? But this— this wasn’t just sitting that perfect glossy pussy on his mouth.
No this is what enlightenment was.
That exact moment he wrapped his arms arms around your waist all your waist down on him, leaving hungry stripe after stripe through your sensitive heat to your budding clit and sucking it, your back arching in ecstasy just enough that your his nose meets your perfect little hole back there and his can’t fucking breath. Is makes him harder, munching on that soaking little box of you’re as he drowns. The man is intoxicated by the whole ordeal, your scent, that tangy sweet taste of your cunt on his tongue.
The way your hole tightens when he dips his tongue inside you, swirling it around your gummy hole that has you trembling, keening so loudly. You try to escape him but Simon only drags you back, his words fucking slurring as he breathlessly drawls out, “Hold on swee’art, hmm- hold on.”
Only makes him easy at you fast, flattened tongue sliding their your messy arousal and to your ass hole. Flicking at it and groping your ass till he goes back down, repeating the action.
“Simoon!” You gasp out, letting him left you to get a better angle, your thighs over his broad shoulders and you can only hold onto his torso for deal life. He groans, that sloshing sound mixing with your moans as the man eats you faster. Hungrier, suffocated as he feels the curve of your ass cheeks on his face, a heavy hand coming down that makes your ass sting and pussy clench so prettily tight. Probably a done deal as her feels them jiggle against him. “Bloody hell, ‘s good baby, fuck me- ‘s so good,” he whines against you, hand sliding to your sensitive Pearl and rolls it between his fingers. “Been needing this puss m’whole life princess, shit.” He’s french kissing your cunt, sloppy and messy, spitting down on asshole before rimming you, rubbing your clit fast as he sloppy laps at both of your holes till your screaming his name and cumming all over his damp face.
Pornstar!Simons member ripples out cum as he sets you down on the bed, cock still blushing red and throbbing for you. His fingers dance on your sensitive pussys hairy folds, a finger sliding into your hole that’s still pulsing.
“F-fuck, wait Si-“
But his pretty brown eyes are glazed over, staring into your matching ones as he licks his pink lips that still have your syrupy cum on them. He gulps down, panting, longing watching the way your body jolts at he curls his thick digit inside you, “You think- you think you can squirt in my mouth dovie?”
a/n: this pussy grip and this pussy fight back, ass fat he wanna—
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.
Synopsis: Simon has been watching you for a while. So he waits for your heat to finally make a move.
-> on ao3 too!
Moodboard inspo
Wc: 4.8k
Cw: Non-canon au. Omegaverse. Alpha!Simon. Omega!reader. Kissing. Make outs. Short plot. Fingering. Dacryphilia. Brief mention of blood (sorry). You’ve got a deep dish. Bulges. Size difference. Squirting. Marking. Scenting. Pubic hairs. Knotting. Unprotected sex. p in v. Fat dick!Simon. Cum eating. Cum play.
Grey dull skies. An enmity of snowy clouds. Barely audible patters of snow smear the concrete. Frost fragments fracturing the roads. Small cracks. An icy cast. Slippery. Polished by the freezing air, reflecting a cold blue-grey.
The town is quiet. People retiring to their homes. A combination of flats and houses. Bricked. Semidetached. All lifeless and ashen now painted in snow.
It’s December. The cold’s really taking root. You’re in a small cabin just a few yards away from the main road. Dark wood, white stained trees looming around, making it seem like you're buried deep into a forest. Luckily, you live close by to the nearest town centre. English weather was never really nice.
You’re in your kitchen. Pastel yellow coloured walls, adorned in small beautiful plant paints. Pictures of flowers you’ve taken over the years. Paintings you’ve bought. Small counter top, bluey-grey marble board at the surface with white coloured sides. You’re wearing your white turtle neck paired with a long black silken skirt and black Mary Jane flats. All covered by a long black trench coat. The week’s coming to a close. You’re running out of ingredients.
Black pen in hand tapping slowly at your bottom lip, a small note in the other.
Meats, vegetables, fruits, water bottles, go to pharmacy.
You’re missing something. Eyes squinting in annoyance. Brain raking, it’s bothering you. You’re getting lost in the walls around you, trying to figure out what this thing is. You repeat the list again.
Meats. Vegetables. Fruits. Water bottles. Pharmacy.
Ah.
Suppressants.
You rolled your eyes scoffing at yourself. You’ve been a bit forgetful lately. Waiting until your suppressants are nearly out. You’re checking your cupboard. One..two pills left you count. You sigh.
“Tomorrow.” You say aloud.
You’re used to this little life you’ve created. Weekly shopping, Sunday cleaning. Wake up 5am. Earphones in. Jog, eat, shower, work, repeat.
Like clock work, you’re awake. Still black out. Alarm panging, dead on five. Screeching in your ears.
You’re laying in your long sleeve bunny pyjamas belly flat on the bed, head turned, pressed into your pillows. Brows screwed, eyes squinting, sleep lines etched on your face. Crust stuck at the corners of your eyes. Your nose crinkling in annoyance. Sniffing. You bring up your right elbow from its disfigured but comfortable position and smack it down on your alarm clock sitting on the bedside table.
Groaning, you rise slowly. Stretching your back, tiptoeing, arms up high now folding behind you. Heading to the bathroom, you’re splashing cold water on your face. A slow deep breath. Arms steady, hands holding either side of the sink. You meet a tired you in the mirror. Opening it, you reach for your scent repellent. Just two sprays. Now you’re ready for your day.
Shutting the front door behind you, earphones in, you stretch a bit. Left arm swinging, right arm under it. You do it the other way. Back bent downwards, legs straightened, arms elongated, touching your toes, the ground almost. With a gradual rise and a long exhale, you’re on your way. Unhurried, lazy runners pace. You maintain that for a lap around your cabin. Then you’re headed to the main road. ‘Nettles’ by Ethel Cain playing softly in your ears. Low melodious. Pace still measured, arms shifting each step. You’re a few metres in, flats, houses forming in your peripheral. A corner shop open. Bright. Vivid.
You could use a drink.
You head down further into town, body directed at the shop. Eventually meeting the door of the shop, your body slightly adjusted to the frozen air. A ring of the bell is heard as you enter. The male shop keeper notices you, his face resting in one of his hands, eyes heavy. Sagging. A purple brownish colour engraved below them. His head falling and quickly rising. His eyes lighten fairly upon seeing you. Waving sluggishly at you. You give a soft smile and wave back.
Heading to the drink section, you grab a five hundred millilitre bottle of water from the fridge and walk up to the till. Placing your bottle down on the counter, you pay shortly after.
“Have a nice day.” You say. Short, soft, concise.
“And you too.”
-
The sun had already risen. A pale whitish sphere, faintly piercing through. 9am, the clock read. You were in your home, had already showered, eaten. Although your fridge was practically begging to be full. Only a couple red peppers remained. ‘More shops will probably be open.’ You thought.
You were out the cabin, car keys in hand on your way back to the town centre. A small, red Mini Cooper sitting slumped in heavy snow just outside. You open the drivers side, snow falling off that side of the car, and sit down. Plugging your keys into the vehicle, wind shields wiping away at the snow covered front window. You drive steadily into town.
Meats, vegetables, fruits, water bottles, pharmacy — must go!!
A vivid image of the note you made flashed. It repeated in your head, chanting almost.
First stop, the supermarket.
-
A cold quiet morning. Harsh crispy air brushing against your cheek. Your eyes crinkle at the feel of it. You’ve parked your car in a nearby parking garage.
Not so often you see the supermarket this silent. You’re dressed warmly in a loose white shirt underneath a grey jumper. Straight legged dark blue jeans covering your black uggs. All hidden under your black trench coat.
Boots crunching in the snow, you’re walking in. Automatic doors sliding open for you. You grab a basket and begin your search.
-
Heavy bags weighing down at your sides. Full of fresh ingredients, meats.
Meats, vegetables, fruits, water bottles, pharmacy.
“Alright.” You whisper, cold air passing through your lips, pleased with your small achievement of the morning.
Second stop, small shop.
You enter the shop, a bell sounding as you do so. There’s a few people in the shop. About four if you bothered to look. You pay no mind though. Just solely focused on one task at hand. That task being water bottles. You’re pacing around the shop, eyes raking up and down the shelves. The bottles. Finally. Placed on the grey marble ground, in front of a transparent fridge directly reflecting the shop door. A free mirror, you think. You crouch down, hands out and ready to grab one pack. For a reason you couldn’t explain, your eyes glance up to the fridge, unfocusing, you see a few people walking by, their figure cutting out where the fridge ends. Still looking around, you see the trees, how they’re no longer green but white. The no longer brown wood, eyes trailing down the trees back to the public. Eyes- you notice deep hazel eyes staring as if staring at your open skeleton itself. Fixed on yours. You let the thought of the transparent fridge fool you into believing no one could see you. A coincidence.
Shrugging, you pick up either end of the pack of water bottles and stand to your full height. Out of curiosity, you eye the see-through shop door.
Khaki coloured eyes. Closer now. Black jacket. Hooded up. A man that seems to be in a balaclava?
He’s huge, you ponder. Biceps nearly bursted at the sides of his black coat. His lower half is covered by bushes. Your face contorts into a puzzled look. There’s no way he saw you. You don’t want to believe it. Looking away you head over to the till and pay.
Exiting the shop, hefty bags carrying all your shopping, a litter of bumps gather on your skin. You want to believe it’s from the cold. A low lump sitting at your belly. A warning maybe.
You head over to the last stop on the list. The pharmacy. Suppressants. Your brain reminding you once again.
It’s a cramped place. Medicine stacked on the dark wooden shelves across the room. Chalky walls. Ashen almost. The lights flicker a bit. Must be old. There’s a man at the other side of the till. Got a gloomy look to him. Thin glasses hanging at the top of his bridged nose. Crinkled skin. A small bruise on the side of his cheek. Eyes droopy.
“Can I help you?” You hear his tired voice ask.
You give a small smile.
“I’m here for a replenishment.” You keep your eyes on his, still smiling as you readjust a bag on your arm.
“Your name please.” He responds dryly. Your face falters a bit.
You give him your name. He types away at the old white desktop on his right. He reaches over to a small brown plastic bag and hands it to you.
You hear a small chime of the pharmacy bell but don’t pay too much mind to it. There’s heavy thuds behind you. A hefty musky smell, woody almost with a hint of an orange peel. A citrusy smell meant something. A near heat or rut possibly. A familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach. Fear? It's only footsteps, probably getting their suppressants. You’re still focused on the man in front-
“Have I seen you ‘round here before?” A deep baritone voice sounding behind you. Close to you. You spin around, eyes all wide at the sound of him. The pharmacist immediately drops into a crouched position. He knows that voice. Can’t let this customer see him.
“Uh—uh…” You stutter. Lip quivering.
You know him. Know exactly who this is. Simon Riley. Or what the town calls him, ‘Ghost’.
The whole town knows of him. They know to steer clear of him. Never get in his way. Avoid him if you can. Don’t let him get you. A menace. Killer. All sorts of nasty comments you haven’t heard before. He’s got a familiar balaclava on. Almost looking like the one you saw earlier. Squinting eyes staring deep into your wide ones. Head tilted slightly, amused by your reaction. You can’t tell though.
“Can’t talk?”
“Uhm no—no. No you uh haven’t.” You’re shaking your head looking everywhere else but at him. There’s a thin line of sweat forming at your forehead. You try not to wipe it.
His broad frame, blocking everything in front of you. You finally look up at him, eyes all doey, scared.
“Hm.” He grunts, gives you a slow look over. Eyes falling slowly down your frame then back up to your nervous face. Cute.
He turns back around and exits the pharmacy. You heave a sigh of relief. Ghost? Talking to you? You nearly don’t believe it. Not until the pharmacist behind you speaks.
“H—here. Please leave. Quickly.”
Weighty bags on either side of you, you’re walking over to your parked car. The cold air, still lingering. You’re heart patters in your chest. Simon Riley. Absolutely no way.
You make it to your car, fiddling with your bags arms scurrying deep in each one to find the key. You hear it unlock and you’re carefully placing the bags at the back seat, then heading quickly into the front. Door slamming shut. Locked. Both hands on the wheel. Knuckles losing then regaining colour.. You’re brain still lagging. You look around yourself, assessing the area. You see him. Again. Your breath stutters when you notice him. He’s staring deep at you. He’s to your right, body slightly hidden by a tall bush. You’re tapped in place, body hypnotised, regulating. Registering something deep. Pooling low. A small warmth. There’s no way. Your body recognises him as compatible. You have his full attention.
Your breath’s still stuck in your throat.
“Simon.” You breathe out finally. It’s almost as if he heard you because he’s walking now. Quick measured steps toward you. You’re shaking. Yet you can’t move. Hands still plastered at the wheel. He’s nearer. Walks over to the passenger's seat window. One two firm taps at the window. Eyes still fixed on him. He never left yours. Your body responds before your mouth can. A needy smell illuminates you. Lemony. Citrusy. Your eyes are fully dilated. The omega in you keening. Inviting. You want him. Your brain hasn’t caught up yet. His scent now etched in your body. You didn’t even realise he had been warming you up to his smell this whole time.
A whisper of a faint musky orange peel surfaced your brain. It was when the autumn air still lingered. That citrusy smell you couldn’t get enough of. You’d perch over your opened windows, eyes all closed as you relished the smell. He was scenting your home and you didn’t know. You recall hearing small cracks of sticks but it could’ve been anything. Except it was Simon.
Your right arm moves to open the passenger door. He opens it and sits his burly body inside your car, shutting the door as he does so.
You’re still looking at him, mouth parted slightly. You can’t understand why your body is reacting this way. He’s still staring. Eyes heavy, low. You don’t know what it is but you start the car, engine roaring quietly. You’re driving home now. A hidden command from him. Your omega wants him in your space. Wants him to invade your things. Invade you. Is it your heat? That’s not until a couple— days. You wanted to think weeks. But your body has found a compatible mate. It just so happens to be the worst person you can think of.
You park in your entry, turn off the engine and slowly look to your left. Eyes hazy, breathing hesitant. A whine stopping at your throat. Trapped in your esophagus. He knows you want to. Doesn’t need to ask you.
You’re both stumbling into your cabin, his tongue deep in your mouth. Balaclava bunched on his crooked nose.
He’s ripping your coat off your body. Biceps contracting. Your black trench falls carelessly on your floors. Green veins running up his large hands holding the back of your neck, your waist. One of his hands drifting down, gripping your arse. Groaning into your mouth. Spit mixed. Your odours intertwine. A ripe lemon and orange peel staining the air.
You're whining. Teeth clashing. He’s biting at your bottom lip. Strong arms wrapping you. Engulfing your body.
“Been watching you for weeks.” His voice came out heavy, breathy.
You can’t respond with anything other than a mewl. Your hands haven’t left the fabric at his chest. You’re clutching at him. Body all needy. The warmth at your lower belly blooming into a vicious heat. White hot pleasure taking hold of you. Body seizing up. You're stunned. Eyes all wide and wet. Breath coming in fat heaves.
“Si—” You whimper out. Knees bending. Betraying you. Submission. He sees your body submitting to him before you can even voice it. You really want to. Badly.
Beefy arms pull you up and into him. Your legs hanging off his forearm, head lolled out, falling backwards.
He knows where your room is. Knows where everything in your home is. He knows exactly where you keep your suppressants, your diary. He’s read it all. You’ve never heard anyone enter your home at night. Yet he’s always there. Watching you sleep. He admires how your tits puff out when you breathe in, how you drool a bit. A few snores. Fucking obsessed with your body. The fat of your thighs. His alpha knew you were his.
You’re trembling, snivelling into his chest. He sets you down on your bedsheets, body going slump. He stands to his full height, pulling down his balaclava back over the rest of his face and just watches. Hidden again.
He’s slow to take his jacket off. Pulling the zip down in a long stroke. Shoves it off his body.
“I need nghh~” You’re moaning out, hands attempting to take your top off. Too weak. There’s a little drool spilling at the side of your mouth.
He doesn’t bother to take the rest of his clothes off. He’s come too far in this to focus on himself.
“Shh.” Your body, listening immediately.
He hauls your top off for you, now left in just a black lace. Sweat glistening on your chest. Beads rolling down.
“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” He curses low.
His arms circle your body, taking the lace off. Tits spilling out, the air wafting over your hardened nipples. You sob. Body clutching in on itself. He doesn’t let you. His large hand, pushing you down at your shoulder.
“No movin’.” A warning.
Your arms are flat on the bed, hands resting above you, fisting the pillow. He removes your lower clothing in one strong pull. Your hips lifting instinctively. Your insatiable need to please your mate.
Panties gone. You're vulnerable before him. Hairs decorated around your wet pussy. Weeping. Leaking. A bead of slick sliding down from your hole onto your arse. Hips twitching.
Your body’s flushed, waiting. He’s being too slow. He has to savour this moment.
“Please.” You whimper out.
“A talkative bird ain’t ya.” He voices, still low toned.
“Gotta please this pussy, don’t I?” Taunting you. Letting out a low, mocking whistle.
He’s got his knees pressed into your bed, hands on your inner thighs, pressing into them. Your pussy parting each time. A tear slips out of you. Your head’s thrown back into the pillow. Lips tightly pressed, suppressing the moan trapped at your throat. Eyes shut tight.
He presses in once more, and you can’t help the noise that left you. You bring down one of your arms, scratching at his, trying to bring it where you need it most.
“Want me there, hm?
My fingers in your cunt?”
You’re vigorously nodding. A string of ‘please’s leaving your wet, kissed stained mouth. He doesn’t remove your hand. Doesn’t need to. You can’t move someone as big as him.
You still can’t see his face fully. Only his eyes. But you know he’s smiling at you. You make out a small dent under the balaclava. His alpha pleased at your omega. You want to see more of him. But your heat won’t let you form the sentence.
He doesn’t care though. He’s going to take you.
He brings his rugged thumb, circles it on your throbbing puffy clit.
“Angh!”
Your hips twitch towards him. More beads of slick fall out your drenched pussy. A few more tears rolling down your face. The heat nearly consuming you.
His thumb moving slowly up and down your clit, inching towards your gaping hole. Your hips follow on instinct. Rolling with his hand.
“Fuck sakes.” You’re a sight. His tip leaking heavy drops of pre.
His thumb finds your soaked hole, another bead leaking out coating it. He pushes in slow and deep. Long thick thumb stretching you out.
You scream. Back bowing. Toes curled into the sheets, fingers still scratching at his arms. Your head is lulled to the side, the whites of your eyes on display.
He’s thumbing your hole. Quick deep strokes of his thumb.
Squelch squelch.
“She’s a loud twat, ain’t she?” Voice rugged.
You’re moaning loud, your heat making it feel way better than it’s supposed to.
Fuck you’re close. Body heating up even more, twitching, writhing. Leaving moon shaped dents on his forearms.
“You markin’ me already?” He’s cackling low.
“Ngh c—close!”
“I know.” You pussy throbs.
His voice has such an intense effect on you. He’s been scenting your clothes so you get used to his smell. Needs your body reacting before you do.
One…two..three pumps of his thumb and your convulsing. Body quaking. Mouth hung open in a beautiful ‘o’ shape, brows squinted. You silently cry out letting your orgasm wash over you. Long waves of heat spread over your body.
“Need you.” Voice all gone, yet you managed to whisper out.
“You’ll ‘ave me.”
He slowly pulls his thumb out and stares at it in awe, glistening in your cum. You’ve marked him as yours, now he has to return the favour.
Not giving you any time to recover, he plunges two thick long fingers deep into your pussy. You let out a shocked scream. Hips jerking at the sudden stretch. He leans his body into yours as he pushes his fingers as far as they could go. He’s close to you now. Face just a few inches from yours. You're breathing out hefty breaths, fanning his hidden face. Eyes fully dilated.
“Got a deeep cunt on ya.” He praises. You moan in response. Your arms feel heavy, your trembling fingers attempting to hook the edges of his balaclava and pull down. It comes off revealing messy blonde locks. The two of you reach forward, lips meeting in a sloppy kiss. Mouths open, breathing heavy. Tongues rolling against each other. He’s pistoning his fingers fast. Quick deep strokes making it hard for you to kiss him back. It’s too messy.
He’s grunting into you, you’re whining into him. One hand gripping the hairs at his nape. The other gripping the hairs at the middle of his head. You're rolling your hips into his hand. His thumb bumping your clit every stroke. He’s fucking at your g spot, fingers curling, scissoring your pussy. You break the kiss with a loud moan.
“C—can’t take it! Simon—”
“You will. Didn’t wait this long for you to tap out.” He sounds so rough.
“Anhh! Hngh.”
Another few scissors of your pussy and you’re sooo close again. You’re whinging, body twisting, turning away. You want to run. Want to scream at him. Fight him.
You’re smacking at his chest, he’s still too close watching your face so intently. He needs to see what makes it contort. He likes that you fight back. Makes him harder. He’s straining at his boxers. Cock twitching, itching to be inside your needy cunt. He knows you need his knot.
You're slapping his shoulders, hands balled up in fists, punching at him. He curls his fingers just right and you’re screaming. White blinding pleasure. You’re clutching at him now. He’s fucking his fingers at that exact spot. Engrossed in the way your brows contorted, the way your cheeks deepen in colour. How your wet lashes stick to the top of your cheeks.
“F—fuck fhuck!” Your orgasm, ripping through you.
Your arse pressed deep into the sheets, back arched, pussy gushing out ruining his hand. Arms flailing.
Squelch
His hand sliding out slowly from your bruised pussy. Admiring your work on his fingers. Shining wet. He sees your pussy lips flutter in the corner of his eyes.
“You’re something else.”
He brings his stained fingers to his mouth, sucking them deep, relishing the taste. Groaning deep. Eyes fluttering shut.
“Knot. Y—your knot please.” You cry out. Head still planted to the side. Arms wobbly, you reach out to his dark grey joggers. Fingers tugging at the top of it. His happy trail peeking out. He helps his dick out of his joggers, his boxers next, not taking them off fully. It’s so big. Thick veins running up a few sides, dark red at the tip. Angry. Purple almost. So girthy. Leaking so much pre. He’s so wet for you.
Your omega hungry at the sight. The orangey peel stench, very prominent now.
“Gonna fuck you now. Knot you.”
“Please.”
He lines his fat cock at the opening of your cunt. Rubs it slowly up and down your clit. You’re hips jutting, bucking away from him.
The tip pops into you in a slow, deep stroke. He stalls for a moment. Hot pulsing pussy pulling him in.
“Fuck—”
He pushes further in. Still slow. You feel every vein on his cock, every curve. Every inch, stretching your walls out. Your mouth, watering at the fullness.
You push at his lower hard stomach, a few hairs tickling your fingers. He’s fucking huge. You can’t take it all at once. You’re weeping, tears spilling at the sides of your face, tits puffed out.
“M’gonna make you take it.”
He hikes your thighs on top of his, pushes himself further into you, digging your knees into your chest. He sinks in another few inches. Your squinted eyes peer down at where you’re both connected, there’s still so much more. Your head falls back as you sniffle, a tiny noise leaving your lips.
He pulls his hips back all of a sudden, you gasp at the loss. Your head comes up quickly. Watching.
“Noo. Simon, fuck—”
Slamming his cock deep, hips grinding into yours. His hairs nudged right against your clit. A bulge forming at your lower belly. Your head collapsing back onto the pillow, brain fogged. Your eyes forced back, body quivering. Quick heaves of your chest, your mouth left hung open, more drool spilling out.
Plap plap
He’s fucking you so deep. Big burly body rocking into you, your pussy sucking him in so tight. So wet. So hot. The room’s filled with the mix of your bodies, your sweat, the smell of your pheromones. Blooming. Inviting him even more. He takes it.
Cock, pistoning so good. Fucking at your spots. You're wailing against him, scratching at his chest, his hard rigid stomach, his neck. Leaving red crescent marks all over.
“Anngh!”
“Such a good bird huh? Taking a stranger's cock so well.”
“Y—yeah nghh ahh.”
He’s grinning at you, a few teeth on display.
You’re gone. So far gone. You're grinding your hips into his, grabbing behind him, his back, pulling him into you. He slows. Deep long strokes now. You can’t do anything but feel it. The dent of your stomach, more evident at every rock of his body into yours. Simon places one of his hands on the bulge. Pressing. Pushing it.
You scream, your juices squirting out of your uncontrollably. You’re shaking so much. Crying. Head stretched back, you're pushing at the bed, jolting away from him.
“Thereeee’s a girl. Thaa’s it, squirt all on me.”
He’s still fucking you slow and deep, riding you through it. The bed, soaked in your cum, your sweat.
“Knot! Knot me please.” You beg. Voice strained, gone from pleasure.
Sitting up, his arms come to the neck of his sweat stained shirt. All sticky. Dark wet patch on lower part of it. He’s taking his shirt off now.
His broad hairy chest on show. Ample. Decorated in various tattoos. You’re in awe of his body.
A few wet hairs stick to the top of his forehead, cheeks dusted pink. Eyes heavy, low. He’s ogling at your scent gland, right by the curve of your neck and shoulder.
“M’gonna mark you.” His eyes gestured at the gland. You can barely hear him through your heat.
He moves both of your legs on his shoulders, pushes closer to you. Breaths mingling. He pulls his cock out to the knob, then rams into you. Quicker, harder than before.
“Ouuh fuck.”
You’re breathing all over his face. Cheeks deepened in colour.
Chasing his own high now, on the brink of release. Cock brushing at your cervix on every thrust. Did he get bigger? Your eyes widening at the thought. There’s a swollen feeling at the bottom of his— knot.
“Want my thrust knot hnyeah? Tell me girl. Thrust. Tell me how bad you wan’ it.” His voice, straining. Low, deep. Grunting.
“I wan’ it. Want it so bad. Please. Please. Please—”
He angles his face at your neck, his mouth a breath away from your gland. One hard heavy thrust into your pussy he’s finally cumming. He bites down hard. Your gland, blooming. Blood spilling from the corners of his mouth, his eyes rolling back. You shriek at the feel. Your breath comes in short, rapid pants. Eyes shutting tight. More tears spilling. It hurts so good. Burning sensation washing over you. White hot. Scorching.
White blotchy spurts of his cum flooding you deep. Throaty groans leaving his mouth. You're soaking, drinking it up. There’s so much cum, it’s spilling out. Dropping on the sheets. His body nearly collapsed on yours. Your body can’t take the weight on you. He’s so heavy. Your omega yearns for it, wants the weight on you.
His knot, plugging your cunt, trapping you together. You sigh in pleasure. Satisfaction. Content. You still feel a twitch of his cock, small spurts shooting into you.
A few beats pass, his knot finally deflating. Cock only half hard now. He’s pulling out of you slowly. Beads of his cum following suit. It catches on his tip.
His breathing ragged as he brought his face down to your bruised pussy. It throbs under his burning stare. His mouth inches closer. Wetting his bottom lips, he lunges into you. Sucking, circling, licking at your pussy.
You’re whining, mewling, bucking your hips away from him. He’s quicker. Pining your hips down with two large hands. He’s eating his cum out your pussy.
“T—too much!”
“Mmh.” Groaning, voice vibrating through your over sensitive pussy.
He brings one of his hands, two fingers plugging it back in. Deep. Fucking his cum back in. You’re on the cusp again. Hips hiking up. Back arched in a beautiful bow.
His tongue curling, circling on your clit. You’re seeing stars, everything’s all blurry. You’re cumming again.
“Simon!”
His fingers slow. Just strong unhurried thrusts. You’re coming down. Breath haggard. Eyes blown.
Simon and yourself attending a wedding, only for him to take you home right after you’d been dancing. He promised he’d go to the after party with you, but ends up dragging you from the strap of your dress to your bed.
He fucks you deep and hard, wanting to imprint the tunnel of your cunt with the curve of his cock.
He leans down to your ear as he fucks you prone, panting heavy as he murmurs to you, tip of his cock kissing your cervix.
𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 is the type to make you ride him after he’s just been fucking your cunt so deep, watching the way your legs are quivering and unable to keep yourself steady. unable to find rhythm or any semblance of momentum, your bounces barely making any impact, but he makes you keep going. loves the way you’re a mess, all whimpering and pretty and desperate on top of him as he has to bury his hands in the plush of your ass to help you somewhat, whispering ‘just like that, love’ in your ear.
Simon’s little girl is unexpected to say the least. No one but the two of you knew about her, besides her pediatrician and even then Simon did not enjoy having another person know of his child.
He was terrified really. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t petrified of the wrong people knowing about her. He had seen too much to foolishly believe that the world would be safe for her. The world would be cruel enough to her already. Being his child came with a risk that wasn’t even her fault.
So when you show up on base with the little baby in her stroller, dressed in a little bonnet, yellow summer dress and the smallest shoes the men had ever seen, it was quite a shock. He had told them about you. Bits and pieces here and there. Never anything concrete. Certainly nothing about your baby girl.
She babbled nonsense as she was lifted out of her floral stroller, the one you insisted upon getting. “Ahhh bahhh bah!” She shrieked as she kicks her tiny legs, recognizing her father immediately, tiny hands clapping together.
He takes her into his arms. It looks ridiculous. Such a small thing compared to the towering behemoth of a man. “Hi, Lovie girl,” he whispers, kissing the top of her head. “You a good girl for mummy?”
You smile at your husband. You loved to see them together. It’s like Simon really became himself when she was in his arms. “The best.”
The team stares, confusion written all over their faces. Johnny looks almost offended at being kept in the dark. “Tha’ thing is yours?” He asks as he pressed a scandalized hand against his chest.
Simon merely grunts in response, adjusting the baby and grabbing her stuffed bunny from your bag.
“Don’t seem like the dad type,” Kyle mutters, though it’s void of judgment.
Simon ignores him. He knew it was true. It had been on his mind since the day you told him you were pregnant. Even now he couldn’t always shake the feeling that he wasn’t cut out for this.
Your girls babbling snaps him out of his thoughts. “Mmmaa buh.” She says with complete conviction, nodding her little head and reaching up to pull on the balaclava covering his face.
Johnny looks nothing short of delighted. He smiles at the baby and tickles her, making her scream in pure anger and try to bite him with her tiny teeth. Your girl hated nothing more than being tickled. “I’m the uncle, right?” Johnny grins as he squishes her cheeks, earning another attempted bite.
I just know that when Ghost finds a girl that matches his freak in bed he makes it known to absolutely everyone how crazy good his sex life is. Like walking around the gym with her teeth imprints all up and down his biceps, the lipstick marks not even scrubbed off his chest, bruises and hickeys all along his shoulders, showing off how crazy good the sex was the night prior to the point where it starts making everyone kind of uncomfortable.
He sheds his shirt in the locker room to show off a back full of deep, welting scratches and Gaz takes one look at them before quietly sending Johnny a text from across the room that just reads: "I feel violated."
