sub simon idea (maybe, idk): him having such a hard time appreciating himself or even admitting that there is something about him that someone could appreciate. he just doesn’t feel like it cpuld ever be the case. so naturally he gets edged until he praises himself enough. just him gasping and whining about how pretty he is, how reliable, how strong until he finally, finally gets that orgasm his body has been burning for.
(and as a bonus he gets cooed at softly while he cums, the compliments are just making him shake harder)
ANGEL (Sub!Ghost x Dom!GN!Reader)
crow’s masterlist
authors note; i am alive, i am back. you can thank black ops 7 for getting me to write this. enjoy. listen to angel by massive attack for full effect. 1.6k words.
Simon has a love hate relationship with your mind and determination. He appreciates your hard working attitude, your ambitious nature, and your discipline; but fucking hell, he did not expect for you to be mad at him when he kept making negative remarks towards himself. Simon’s always doubted himself; sure, he talks himself up during banter, but there’s a lot of moments where Simon doesn’t believe he could be… enjoyed. Loved, maybe is the word.
He doesn’t expect you to take that as personal as you seemingly do.
“Fuh-fuck.” Simon gurgles out, fireworks going off behind his eyelids. You’re mean, you’re so fucking mean and he can’t handle it. His fingers curl into the sheets below, his other hand grasping your wrist. His legs feel like fucking jelly and his cock is so hard, it hurts. He calls out your name in a shaky tone as your hand slowly strokes his slicked cock, wet with your spit and his pre-cum. You meanly press your thumb to the underside of his dick right under his tip, pressing against the sensitive spot you know is there.
It earns you a choked out moan and his hips spasming upwards, electricity shooting through him from the base of his spine. Your eyes trail over his body; his pants and boxers are pulled down to just above his knees, his shirt and jacket pushed upwards over his pecs, the fabric gathering up near his neck and collarbones. His belt clinks with every movement, his balaclava pushed up over the hooked part of his nose.. As your hand runs down the wet skin, your thumb pressing against a prominent vein in the process, you absentmindedly think that maybe next time you should tie his wrists with his own belt.
“Say it.” You utter; the phrase, no, command is simple. Can Simon follow through and be obedient is the question. Can he? Simon breaths out harshly as your hand curls around the base of his dick, squeezing deliciously. He can hear the squelch of the fluids mixing. Fuck. He knows what you want from him—you want him to say something positive about himself. You want Simon to value himself the way you do.
Problem is, he can’t. Simon hasn’t been able to do so in a while. He has moments where he feels good, but he has more moments where he feels bad. Gross and undeserving. Unfortunately, that’s most of the time. It’s not like he particularly enjoys being mentally cruel to himself; quite the opposite. Simon just ends up going down a rabbit hole where his brain won’t shut up.
His lips press together and open a few times as your other hand caresses the inside of his big, hairy thigh, fingertips tracing an adductor muscle. Despite feeling hot all over, it sends a cold shiver up Simon’s spine, urging his back into an arch. Simon knows you aren’t continuing, not until he even murmurs self praise. You’re mean and cruel and he hates this. It’s oddly… embarrassing, to some degree. Being unable to say something nice about himself.
You pull Simon back to reality with another squeeze, earning a grunt and his leg kicking out a little. “Fuck.” He mutters, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows harshly. His belt clinks as his leg twitches. “Say it.” You repeat yourself, your tone sporting an edge to it.
Simon thinks about it; if he does this, you’ll let him cum. You’ve edged him twice now—you both know he can handle much more, but he isn’t sure how long you’re willing to draw this out without letting him cum. He isn’t interested in knowing. His dick hurts and his balls fucking ache like hell. Simon knows better than to play these games—but his mind.. It isn’t cooperating.
He doesn’t see the point in praising himself. What good will that—”You’re still thinking, hm? Thought good boys know how to shut up and listen.” You mutter, gently dragging your nails across the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, dangerously close to his scrotum. It drags a delicious spine tingle and shuddery gasp from the big man underneath you.
Simon swallows hard, his head turning to the side. Your hand leaves his thigh, reaching up and grabbing his jaw and turning his head back to you. His eyes meet yours for a moment, a breathy noise leaving him as your fingers skim across the stubble across his jaw that’s grown over the past day and a half. Your presence makes him feel.. Small. Embarrassed and weak. He hates it one second, loves it another. “Wait–” Simon groans as you give his cock a little stroke, leaning down and spitting on his length in order to keep it wet. You hand curls around his base again—God, it’s so fucking possessive. It makes Simon so warm inside.
“Let me see all of you. Maybe then, you’d understand.” You breathe out, your fingertips slipping under the balaclava, pausing. He knows that you’re waiting for his permission—his go ahead to expose him. Simon’s cock twitches in your palm as his mind connects the dots and he nods to you, his eyes locked onto your lips that twitch into a satisfied smile of approval, a smile that makes him warm. You peel off the balaclava, putting it aside before he feels your fingers running through his blonde hair.
Simon shudders; you’re so gentle. So good and so meaningful with it. You’ve always had a way with your actions, speaking words without actually talking. Every touch, he never has had to doubt. Your intentions have always been so clear with him—to love him, to care for him, to get Simon out of his prison of a mind, to just be on Earth with you, even if it’s just for a few minutes of pleasure.
That’s what is what convinces Simon. Not your words, but your smile. Your gaze, your touch. The silent “i love you”s that are imprinted in every finger pressed to his overheated skin. He has days where he wonders if you’re even human because surely there’s no earthly explanation for a blessing like you to want a curse like him.
Simon feels the familiar bite of emotion welling up in his chest, tight and biting into his heart like vines. Instead of choking it down, he knows you’ll handle his prickled heart with much more care than himself. He hands you the reins. “I-I’m.. Good.” Simon utters, his tone guttural and raw as his eyelids flutter; your hand starts to slowly jerk his cock as a reward, making him spill his dam. “I’m strong, I’m.. fuuh–fuck, I’m fuckin’ handsome, a–and–” He babbles, not knowing how to praise himself.
You swoop in like always. “Mhm, the hottest man I’ve met.” You coo softly, teasing his leaking tip with your thumb, letting the milky pre-cum smear into the vein on the underside of his dick. “The team wouldn’t be the same with you. Say it.”
Simon grunts out, his hips giving a little twitch. “Mhhhn, the.. The team needs me, I’m valuable, I’m needed, I’m the best fuckin’ sniper Price has–” Simon gasps out as your hand speeds up. You grin, tilting your head, your other hand coming to his mouth, wiping spit that dribbled past his lips and tears that spilled out of his lash line. “I’m, shhit, I’m.. sexy, God, I’m big, lemme cum, please–”
Simon’s already so close, it’s fucking mortifying. With the way you’re looking over his exposed body with hungry and affection eyes, your hand skimming down his stomach, tracing his muscles and your other hand jerking him in relatively slow, tight strokes, spitting to keep it sloppy because you know that’s how he likes it—Fuuuck, you aren’t even going fast and his balls are drawing up. The ball in his lower belly is tightening and you’ve barely done a fucking thing.
God, he’s so gone for you.
“You’re close, baby. You’re twitching.” You murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his lip, training down his tear stained cheek, licking the tear that trickled down to his ear. “You’re fucking beautiful, Si. I don’t understand why you make me do this for you to realize. Maybe you just wanna feel me on you, hm? Is that it?”
Simon’s eyes roll as your hand speeds up around his dick, and your voice is in his fucking ear, invading his brain and taking ahold of his nervous system. You’ve merged with him and his reactions and you don’t even know. You don’t even know.
He’s babbling something, he doesn’t quite hear it. Judging by your smile, Simon’s probably mumbling some random compliment, any compliment towards himself. His hand around your wrist tightens, a whimper getting past his lips as his legs kick a little. “Go ahead, pretty. Good boy.”
Simon thinks he blacks out for a moment—all he feels is something exploding in his gut, his balls pulsing. His cock pumps out thick, hot ropes of creamy cum, shooting all over his abs, spilling over your knuckles–even reaching his neck and pooling in his left collarbone. “Jesus, Si. Pent up, hm? You’re so fuckin’ sexy, I can’t believe you let me do this.” You murmur in his ear, eyeing the way his cock is twitching and throbbing. You milk him, squeezing the base of his cock with every spurt, mimicking a clenching hole.
Simon gasps, mouth opening and closing. The warm pleasure leaks up his spine and seeps into his bone marrow, making him melt and go limp. He feels so heavy, so warm. His hand leaves your wrist, seeking out more of your skin by skimming up your arm, over your shoulder and to your cheek. He feels you press your cheek into his palm.
Simon’s panting as you lean closer, his hand cupping the nape of your neck as you press your forehead against his.
His safety net. His love, his life—his home, right here. And you want him.
Simon with a collar on, held by a leash and head thrown back as all he does is slam into you, your sweet praises filling his ears.
"Good boy." You'd moan, feeling his big cock fill you up as you just take it. It's all you needed, your sweet baby to fuck you from behind as you disconnect. And good thing you had an obedient man that did anything you wanted eagerly.
"You feel so good, baby." He'd groan at your words and look down at your thick ass bouncing with every slam of his hips into you, watching his cock spread your cunt again and again. He'd grab a handful of your ass fat, growl like the filthy animal he was and slam harder, earning a good scream from you.
Filthy fucking girl. He'd spit out if he could, but it didn't matter. He was just as fucking filthy, collared up, leash in your land pulling him towards you, owning every fiber of his being, ordering him to slut himself only for you. You owned him anyway. Yes, you fucking did. With every order, every touch, every glance, he was yours to command.
And he thrived when you did. Simon was made to be your dog, your rabid animal that only you could take and tame, even if at times the leash was for decoration, since taming him seemed to be the last thing you wanted.
Rough, dirty, filthy, all he had to do was pound your cunt and manhandle you. As he just was, lost himself in your core, mind dizzy, no other thoughts but you, his owner, mistress, love.
And as he watched you throw your head back, he put his hand around your throat to keep it there. The moan he got from you drove him wild, just as the way you pulled the leash onto you, making him lean down, glue his torso to your back as he still fucked you raw, rough and good.
"That's it, baby. Give it to me harder." Orders whispered into his ear as he held your throat still, by his head, and braced himself, spreading his legs for stability and plummeted, his heavy breathing hitting your ear.
And as you threw your head back, your eyes rolling in the back of your head, you saw it in his eyes, the way he was lost into the passion of the moment, teeth gritted and sweat falling from his temple. He was reduced to his most animalistic instinct, all he truly craved the moment you put that collar on him.
Lost in your dripping cunt, you smiled at him, your temple touching his, feeling his other hand take a handful of your tit and groan, the vibrations of his chest hitting your back, cock burried deep inside of you.
"My sweet baby." You coo, feeling it arrive. A wave of ecstasy as your whole body burns in heat, and he feels it too, as if connected, and bites into your neck, slurping on the sweat and meat, one objective in mind. And while all he chases was you cumming and creaming his cock, he agrees with you. He is sweet, isn't it? He slams into you, hearing your whines. He's being so good for you, isn't he? He slams again, his grip on your throat tightens, and so does your cunt around him. He's your good boy, yeah? He felt it, your pussy spasming. You love him, don't you? He drilled harder.
And as you finally came, screaming like a desperate whore for him, he saw you fall to the side and smirk at him, dizzy, breathless, heavy tits lifting and falling with each of your pants. And you looked up at him, smirking, knowing he isn't done. He kneeled on the bed, panting hard, waiting. Cock hard and wet, your cream at his base and pre-cum leaking from the tip. And he waited.
"Aww, baby. You aren't done, aren't you?" You coo and tease, adjusting to lay on your back and spread your legs, then with a quick movement of your wrist, you pulled the leash towards you.
"Come here, puppy. Fill me up good, yeah?" It was all he needed to hear before he descended onto you.
