#simon “ghost” riley

[thinkerer24]

Little NSFW blurb before bed.

Simon and Price get a bit... Competitive when it comes to you.

Simon is a nasty motherfucker.

He goes through one of those industrial sized jar of lube in a month, the workers at the sex shop knowing him by first name. Doesn't really need toys, though, a simple vibrator doing the trick quite efficiently most days. His skills overpower the need for any accessories to be entirely honest; a fact that even your neighbours are aware of (quite unfortunately) due to the constant squeals that you bestow upon their poor ears at varying times in the day. The walls are pretty thin, too, and anyone could hear the low cadence of Simon's voice cooing at your fucked out body if they tried hard enough.

"Yeah, baby-is that it? That's the spot? Wanna squirt for me? Show me how pretty you spray?"

"Fuck, yes, I love how tight your throat gets when you're gagging. No-no, baby, don't run away, come on. This is where you belong, isn't it? Choking on my cock? This is how you wanna die, huh? Yeah? Nod for me, baby."

"Your asshole winks so perfectly at me when you're fucked out, sweetheart, you know that? No no, don't whine- you're the prettiest fucktoy I've ever had. "

But he's always the nastiest when he's got something to prove. Especially when it's in front of his boss.

It's borderline abusive how sore he leaves your pussy after goading Price into eating you out, a slightly toxic banter flowing freely between them. You were so embarrassed when John lapped at your wet cunt as Simon whispered absolute filth in his ear; too low to make out the words properly but just enough to know it was driving John crazy. He humped the bed wildly, still fully dressed, as both your legs encircled his neck in a near-fatal chokehold. His tongue drew tight circles around your clit, thumb pulling the hood back slightly so he could attack with military precision. Alternating between flattening it out to lave at your cunt, and pointing it, sharp and deadly, to lash at your clit, he left no stone unturned to make you scream and beg and cry for relief.

"Is this doing it for you, baby? My senior making you cream over his tongue? Is this what you think of when you're fucking me? Big, bad, John with his huge dick, just breaking you open? Am I not enough, baby?

"No-no, no, no, Simon, no, fuck, no, I don't - i don't think of anyone else, baby you have to believe me, fuck!"

"Yeah? Then why are you coming and squirting all over his face, baby? I thought you only came for me? Is that not true?"

You vehemently shake your head but Price just huffs at your cunt and curls his fingers in a way that makes you devastated and your body betrays you, again.

You're coming with a guttural scream deep from within your chest and it makes Simon's eyes roll in the back of his skull at the sight. Your body is wracked with tremors as Price grips your thighs tighter and doesn't let go of your clit, much like the dog that got the bone. It seems like it goes on forever, John licking and pumping into you, Simon with his nasty words talking you through the strongest orgasm you've had in your life, and your soul snatched from your body and witnessing the entire ordeal from a safe distance.

Once you're down into your body, and can feel your limbs again, Price releases your poor clit with a pop and smacks your wet folds with his entire palm, a little thwack to bring you back to him faster- he hasn't got all day. You jerk at the contact to your overstimulated clit and you think you're going to die again, when you look down and see Simon in between your legs instead of John.

When had they switched?

"Ready to show him who really owns you sweetheart? How sorry you are for squirting for another man? How much tighter you get when it's me who's fucking you?" Simon coos in faux sympathy as he palms his cock and rubs it in between your folds, making your tummy cave in with the sensitivity. Price smirks as he lays down beside you on one elbow as his fingers coated with your slick come up to your lips and he shoves them deep into your mouth, making you gag and tear up. He comes close to your ear and snarls, "If you come harder than you did with me, love, you're going to get punished, yeah? Does that dumb little fucked out brain understand me? Yeah?"

You don't think you're going to survive this.

[drop-cherries]

Ghost's Secret wife. Part 2 part 3

You were nervous, anxiety pooling in your stomach as you ran around your shared house with Simon.

His friends were coming over, though he only called them his "work buddies" but you knew that was a lie. Mostly because the soft fondness that would roll over his features when he talked about his work days in the evening as you lay in his arms.

There was a smell of Simon's favorite dish that wafted around the house as you frantically fluffed the colorful couch pillows, and straightening the blankets that laid across the back.

The sergeants under Simon didn't know you existed let alone Simon was married. He always kept that part of him a secret. He didn't want them that close to him in fear of losing them someday in the midst of battle.

You were a sweet little thing. Far too good for someone so hardened by life like him. It surprised him how kind you were day after day, helping him clean up after a mission your softness with him baffling. Because never did he have someone take so much care with him like you do

You dressed in your favorite sundress, the one that always had Simon swooning.

The door bell rung right as Simon stepped out of your bedroom. He walked up to you asking if you were ready, with your sweet smile you looked up at him his heart skipped a beat. You nodded and he moved away to open the door but not before pecking you lips with a soft kiss.

The door opened and his friends loudly greeting him but stopping in their tracks then the spot you.

You lift up your hand and wave, and the one you know as Johnny opens his mouth his jaw dropping as he notices the ring on your finger.

Price moves past him greeting you with kindness, the only one of Simons team that knew who you were. Gaz stands next you soap equally as surprised as Simon walks over to you wrapping his arm around your waist.

"You have a wife?!" They both balk.

[cryptidvaquero]

ghost 👍

[pricetagged]

idk I just torturing simon and I love the idea of him—at some stage of his life, idk maybe immediately after he's declared dead— not having anywhere to stay.

His residence in Manchester got gutted and sold, greedy estate agents and solicitors picking it apart as soon as they got the death notice.

He could rent hotel rooms. Stay in the barracks. But sometimes he just needs—space. Familiarity. Simon Riley is dead and buried, but not buried deep enough.

So he goes back to his old house. He knows every nook and cranny. Knows which floorboards creak and which doors get stuck. He'll just cosy away in the attic and come out when the new tenant is at work, no problem. Barracks-living, only the other person won't know. It'll only be for a few weeks at a time—

—but he catches sight of you. The new tenant. Sweet little thing who saw the ugly, empty shell and decided it was for her.

Not a lot of money, no. But you've tried to make a home here. Decorated over the gouges and scars, filled the empty spaces with little signs of life.

You've taken such good care of the place. You're taking such good care of it, all by yourself. Off to work in the morning, and home late at night when it's far too dark and he knows the latch isn't as secure as it should be —kicked and shouldered too many times when his mum would work the courage to kick out his da—

So you need him. You're not saying it in words, but what is he meant to think when he sees how you leave the windows open all through the day and night? When you shuffle about on your weekends with only a playlist or podcast for company?

You need him. Good thing he's already there.

Go read this thing by gougie if u like the 'there's someone living here' thing - they do it sooooo much better

[emmster]

old art but I still love this one

[verdantcreek]

there’s no otter like you 🦦

[rasberrybabez]

Baby Bump

Simon has made plenty of mistakes in his life, one of them being leaving you for another hookup. But when he shows up again, baby in hand and a duffel bag in the other, what can you do?

Because even if that baby isn’t your, it certainly feels like it is. Only when Simon’s there.

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Tags: technically baby trapping, parenting, single parents/co parents, reference to parental neglect, details relating to breastfeeding, pregnancy symptoms, smut (eventually), reference to previous injuries during intercourse (not between characters), tension that doesn’t quite count as angst but is tense enough to raise some eyebrows, second chance romance 🩵

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

XoXo-Razz.writes

The guest bedroom wasn’t huge, but it certainly wasn’t small.

Simon could make do. No, he could treasure it as the gift it was. Soft blue covers with fluffy white pillows, a cream colored blanket draped over the edge of the bed.

It was perfect.

You clear your throat, still holding the door for Simon as his mind seems to clear, blinking a few times before hiking his duffel bag higher up on his shoulder. He readjusts his grip on Kai’s carrier, sighing softly and pushing into the room.

He lets the duffel bag fall into the corner, placing the carrier on the bed too. It’s always tricky to get Kai’s buckles undone, but when he’s tired, stressed and practically shaking with the shock of you actually letting him stay, it’s a new type of struggle.

Kai looks up at his dad, those same soft blonde locks falling in small wisps over his head. He blinks up at Simon. Coos softly.

Simon sighs.

“I know buddy… this shit’s tricky. Give me a sec…”

You sigh, watching Simon in his struggles. The weight of the world on his shoulders, the tiny hand wrapped around his finger, looking up at the man you used to know with expectations. A tiny little life… that he has to care for all on his own.

You slip from the door, swallowing hard. It feels odd to want to help… heart pounding with the fear of overstepping. But Simon just looks so damn tired… probably busy traveling and trying to find a place to stay. Trying to find a way to raise a small baby by himself.

And as much as you’re scared, you can feel for him. Because that’s still the man you used to know, the one that used to whisper into your ear after sex. Hold you close and press kisses to your neck. A kiss for a secret… and he told you all of them.

Your hands reach out, brushing past Simon’s as you work the carrier straps. The click of each clip, slowly maneuvering the black strips out from under Kai’s arms. The little baby’s eyes go wide, cooing softly as he looks up at you.

Those same hazel eyes as Simon’s. Fuck it hurts, seeing a tiny version of him… a tiny version that has nothing to do to you. No ties to you or your life with him.

He’s not yours.

You clear your throat and take a step back, looking up at Simon and blinking a few times to clear the weird fog taking over your vision. A few heartbeats pass as he stares back at you, shoulders relaxing and war hardened eyes tracing over your face.

Your hair is shorter, cropped right above your breasts. Are they bigger? Is it just the shirt you’re wearing? Simon can’t tell. But your eyes are just as fucking gorgeous as the day he left, lashes just as long and wispy despite the pain he watches you hide. Every glance at Kai that makes your heart swell and deflate in a matter of milliseconds.

“…thank you. Means a lot to me, sunshine…”

You nod, glancing down at the small baby that he picks up. Kai is dwarfed in his father’s arms, tiny and wide eyed, curious about the world.

“Yeah… of course.” You look over to the duffel bag on the floor, sighing softly. Simon’s entire life, along with his sons, packed up into a single bag. “Do you have formula? I can heat up some water if you want…”

Simon nods, hoisting Kai to his hip and moving to his duffel bag. He grunts softly as he picks it up, placing it on the bed and rustling through it. A few minutes later, and he holds out the package to you with a small smile.

“I’ll come and heat it up if you show me where your microwave is-”

“I got it.” You say suddenly, almost surprising yourself with the sincerity and determination in your voice. For a moment, you panic… maybe you overstepped. “Y-You just look really tired… you can take a nap, I can feed him and put on Tv, it’s fine if not-”

“Thank you.”

Simon says softly, cutting you off. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are tired, but for the first time since he stepped onto your porch, he looks like… Simon. Hardened, yes… a soldier through and through. But almost… calm. Peaceful just to be in your preach as. Happy.

He hands you Kai carefully, smiling and grabbing his bottle too. You cradle Kai with both arms, hanging onto the box of formula and his bottle with a free hand. One last look at Simon as you walk to the door.

And the first smile he’s seen from you in a while.

The door closes with a soft click as you exhale slowly, looking down at the baby in your arms, now that you’re alone. Kai looks up at you carefully, tilting his head and cooing.

And then he giggles.

Your eyes widen in surprise as the baby giggles up at you, tiny hands fisting your shirt. He’s definitely curious, and eyeing your breasts like his next meal. You snort, because he probably thinks they are.

“Sorry baby… no milk for you there. Come on.”

You pat his back, walking downstairs and back into the kitchen. Placing the formula and bottle down, you pause and think. You said Simon could stay a week… maybe you shouldn’t buy a baby bottle heater.

It doesn’t stop you from wanting to.

Kai coos up at you again as you sigh and nod, daring to press a soft kiss to his head. It’s irresistible, the soft forehead with the same fluffy hair as Simon.

It takes a few minutes for the water to heat, and you scoop powdered formula into Kai’s bottle while you wait. He rests at your hip, starting to get more and more demanding, pawing small hands at your breast and even tugging down your shirt to reveal your bra.

You just shoot the baby a look.

“Just like your father… you like my tits a little too much.”

When the water finally heats, you’re able to pour it into his bottle and shake it up. The previously peaceful baby boy is now on the verge of tears, soft little coos turned to hungry cries as you try and shush him. Rock him and bounce him at your hip, finally passing the bottle to his lips.

The relief on his face is immediate, and so is the relief on yours. Sighing, you hike him up higher against your chest, moving to the living room with a once again peaceful baby. He suckles his bottle noisily, looking up at you with wide eyes all too similar to Simon’s.

But the pain they leave behind is slowly ebbing.

You find a nice seat tucked into the corner of the sofa, grabbing a spare towel from the laundry basket on the floor first. You’re sure Simon has a burping cloth, but it’s not like you’re going to go and wake him. That man needs a nap more than his son right now.

Kai suckles against your chest as you scroll through the Tv, finding an episode of some reality show you were busy watching. Nothing life changing, surely not… but a background noise as your attention is trained on Kai.

With him so close to your chest, it almost feels like you’re the one feeding him. Like that pulse and beat of your heart matches his… and the want to care for the small baby like a mother he doesn’t have. You shouldn’t get attached, you took Simon and Kai in because he had nowhere else to go.

Because deep down, you still love him.

You know you shouldn’t. He hurt you in a way no one else ever has. Because of some mistake along the way to what you hoped would someday be permanent. But you understand why he had to… he had a son. Has one… the small boy cradled close in your arms, head pressed against your chest and tiny hands wrapped around yours. Feeding him a bottle.

A bottle you know you’ll heat up again and again and again. Maybe a baby bottle heater is a good investment… scratch that, it has to be. It cost £60 anyways, so it might as well work.

This next week is going to be hard. And exciting, and wonderful. Painful, to be so close to Simon again.

Maybe it’s the closure you’ve always needed.

Maybe it’s the doorway to something new.

[whiplashrogue]

Twitter art dump! A Big angy boy

[bravo4iscool]

simon riley is a chubby chaser. prove me tf wrong. man loves to feel plushy hips and big thighs and he gets so fucking full of himself when he carries his s/o around because he’s able to do it with fucking ease.

he would love to beat the shit outta anybody looking at them the wrong way. a single glare intimidating the person looking or whispering. no one, and i repeat, NO ONE messes with his s/o.

in public he gives them the prince(ss) treatment but at home he’s worshipping the shit outta that body. these thighs haunt him in his dreams and he loves teasing and planting kisses all over them. also the stomach of his s/o. this man is fucking obsessed with it, gently placing his head on it, showering it with affection and little kisses…

and i 100% believe he’s a goner for hugs with his s/o. he can‘t get enough of them, feeling the softness of his partners body against his rough chest and skin. he could hug for hours. matter of fact, he doesn’t want to let his s/o go.

he was falling for his s/o the second he saw them but bro was in fucking denial… thats why he treats them with such crazy affection now. he‘s tryna make up for the time he lost by trying to convince himself he wasn‘t in love with them like a stupid teenager.

(little side note: his favourite praise for them is „atta girl/boy“…)

brain rotting over this😗✌🏼anything i missed lmao?

i‘m thinking bout making a taglist, would you guys want/like that???

REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!!!

(masterlist)

[thinkerer24]

I've never played the COD games so I thought it was so super cute that universally and unanimously we named Simon's dog Riley like that's so fucking cute man but imagine my disappointment when I saw that it's a canon thing and he does actually have a dog called Riley. Like, okay. I'll stop having joy and whimsy from now on.

[drop-cherries]

Ghost's secret wife part two...part one part 3

You're tucked into the side of your husband as you sit on the couch. John sitting on the chair adjacent. Johnny and Kyle sat on the floor arms resting on the coffee table.

Monopoly was spread across the the table. Your all time favorite game. Simon has a distaste for it but can never say no to his wife.

Johnny and Kyle have been staring the entire night. They were still so surprised Simon was hitched. Let alone by someone as soft and kind as you.

It's Johnny's turn to role, doubles...for the third time this round. He lets out an exasperated groan and moves his piece to jail. You laugh at his antics and he notices Simon looking down at you his face turned in a soft admiration. A stark difference from the face he has when yelling at privates all day.

"How did you guys even meet?" Kyle asks from next to Johnny.

"Well," You start. "Iwas having trouble bringing my groceries up the stairs of my old apartment complex, and Simon ended up coming up the stairs behind me and taking them from me."

You smile looking up at Simon. "I think it was love at first sight." You finish a pink blush darkening your cheeks as you look back down at your hands fidgeting.

Kyle and Johnny both let out sweet "awes" that make you giggle and smile.

Simon squeezes you showing of his gorgeous grin. The boys were shocked the years they've know him he's never smiled like that.

[siren-141]

unholy

summary: you get picked up by a mechanic shop owner after your car breaks down. the night turns into something that you both needed. pairing: mechanic shop owner Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader warnings: car sex, age gap (reader is at least mid-20s, simon is about 40 in this one), slight size kink if you squint, semi-public sex but not really (in reader's driveway but nobody's around), fingering, oral (m rec), justified cheating (not against reader; simon's married but his wife fucking sucks and is cheating on him already) word count: 2.8k a/n: so this actually took me two months to write lol but enjoy :)))

COD masterlist ☾ main masterlist

18+ only, minors DNI

This was honestly the last thing you needed.

Standing on the side of the road, you looked at your pathetic car, tire barely hanging onto the wheel after it was blown out. You hadn’t even realized that you were speeding down the old road, let alone that you were flying over a fairly deep pothole. You realized it though when you had to hit the brakes and saw the smoke from your front passenger side rising up.

It was just around midnight, and you had just left the bar where a local band had been playing. You needed a pick-me-up after the week you’d have – hell, after the month you’d had. Busy in school, assignments coming at you non-stop, dealing with being newly single and frustrated. Why did guys have to suck so much? Whatever – no time to think about that now.

Calling a few tow truck services, there was no luck. Either you were too far out or too expensive, taking advantage of the female voice they were talking to to jack up their prices. Family over an hour away and friends that were close enough to come get you, but you couldn’t leave your car here on the side of the road, who knew if it would still be there in the morning? All you could do was thank the gods that you had taken the back roads home, choosing the scenic route so you could blast your music and take your time getting home, instead of going on the interstate and having a blowout.

While you were tapping away at your phone trying to think of different options, you could see headlights in the distance. Squinting, you couldn’t decide if you wanted the person to stop or if you’d rather take your chances being out at night alone. Watching as they got closer, you breathed a sigh of relief as you watched the truck pull off to the side of the road just up ahead.

The door opened, and out came this hulking of a man. Easily 6’4”, shoulders broad as ever, sauntering over to you in a scuffed up pair of work pants, a white shirt that wasn’t so white with all the oil stains on it, and an unzipped black jacket. You couldn’t really see his face, a plain black mask covering from his nose down. From his look alone, you didn’t know if you should be turned on or afraid for your life – somehow, you chose the first.

“You okay?” he called out, voice deep and gruff.

“Yeah, I just-” you sighed, cutting yourself off. “Left the bar earlier. Tire blew out, I hit that pothole back there. Towing companies are either too far out or charging too much.”

He nodded his head, walking around to inspect your wheel. He squatted down and even as close to the ground as he was, he still came up to your stomach. Fuck, this guy was big.

“I can get a ride home but I don’t want to leave my car out overnight, probably wouldn’t be here by the time I came to get it tomorrow,” you explained, fidgeting with your phone. You could see the man’s shoulders and back move, almost like he had scoffed at your suggestion.

“Nonsense,” he stood back up, walking closer to you – taking in how you looked. Black lacy top with dramatic bell sleeves on it, a flowy black miniskirt. Platform boots that made you a few inches taller, but still much smaller than him. There was no way on earth that he’d have seen you and not pulled over to help. “I can call one of my guys to come pick up your car and bring it to my shop to stay overnight. I can bring you home if you wouldn’t mind, your friends wouldn’t have to wake up and drive out here.”

You weighed your options and somehow, that was the best one you had. “Okay, yeah. Thank you.”

About 10 minutes later, a man pulled up in a tow truck, having the man move his truck from in front of you so he could back the tow truck up to the front of your car. As the man got out of the car, you saw that he was attractive too – dark brown skin that looked as smooth as ever, sparkling eyes that smiled kindly at you even though it was half past midnight. Grey sweats and a black hoodie with a mechanic shop logo on the front – you guessed that they worked together. You stood back as you watched the two men hook up your car and load it up.

“Thanks Gaz, owe you one.”

“‘s no problem, Simon,” Gaz clapped him on the shoulder, giving you a quaint smile and wave before getting into the tow truck and hauling your car back the way he had just come from.

–

“So,” you said as you got into the truck with your savior for the night. “You just know a 24/7 road service guy, huh?”

“Mhm,” he said, driving down the road. “I own that mechanic shop a couple miles back that way. Opened it up whenever I retired. He works with me.”

You nodded your head, keeping the conversation light. You figured he wasn’t one for nonsensical small talk, considering he had been quiet so far, only really saying what was needed. You could appreciate that.

“So where’d you retire from?” You asked him, looking out the side window at the trees starting to disappear the more you got into town.

“Military,” was all he said, still keeping it short and light. You hummed, figuring he’d talk more about it if he wanted to.

“What do you do?”

Your eyes unfocused from the trees, and you shifted in your seat. “I’m in school, grad school. Work in one of the offices on campus during the week. Gets boring but it pays for my schooling, and I enjoy being there, so that’s what counts I guess.”

It was silent for a minute.

“Got out of the military couple of years back, whole squad actually retired together. Came back, married a nice girl. Two step-kids – teeangers, really. Boy and a girl.”

You almost deflated in your seat. Of course, you shouldn’t have expected much – your love life was filled with disappointments littered throughout. Maybe his friend Gaz was single. But this was still a kind stranger that thankfully was not a serial killer, and you were still grateful for all of his help tonight.

“Oh, that’s nice.” He grunted, rolling his eyes at the statement. Whoops.

“She’s busy at her office. Works at one of the law firm buildings downtown. Got her sister watching the kids at her house.”

“Thought they closed at 5..?” you asked, eyebrows creased in confusion.

“They do. The CEO stays late sometimes though. Think she just wanted an upgrade from a shop owner.”

Oh.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, focusing your attention back on the buildings going past you.

“So you went to the bar by yourself?” he asked, cutting the silence once again. You confirmed for him, telling him your friends either had work that night or just couldn’t make it for some other reason.

“Mm. Boyfriend didn’t come out with you then?” Now you snorted, rolling your eyes.

“No such thing. Actually just left him about a week ago. Too immature,” you started. “He could never keep up with anything…no job, no hobbies. Never any time for me either way.”

“Hm. Sounds like you need a real man in your life then, yeah?”

You could feel your face heat up. Shifting in your seat to press your thighs together without him noticing, you tried to keep your cool. You weren’t dumb – you could see that Simon was older than you at least by 15 years. Not only did he have a job, but he owned the damn place. Established. Smart. Married. But, married to a cheating wife in a loveless marriage. And here you were: had a job, in school. Established for your age. Frustrated. Sexually frustrated.

“Guess so,” you looked over at him, meeting his eyes briefly until you had to look away, face heating up. He focused back on the road.

It was silent after that. The radio played classic rock on its station, and you found yourself deep in thought about everything going on – about the man giving you a ride home. Your leg bounced up and down nervously, and didn’t stop when he pulled into the driveway of your apartment. Biting at the inside of your lip, you didn’t even realize that you had made it yet.

You could hear him sigh, and it snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you could even think about thanking him and going inside, he reached over and grabbed your thigh. “Stop the bouncing, love.”

Your lips parted, not expecting his actions. Your leg stopped bouncing, your heart taking its place, hammering in your chest. You watched his thumb run across your skin before you looked over at him, honey eyes meeting yours.

His hand crept up your thigh, squeezing at the plushness of it before continuing upwards. He gently nudged at your other leg, and you caught the hint, slightly spreading them – just enough room for his hand to fit in the middle. His finger lightly rubbed over your clothed clit, feeling the lace of your panties under the rough pad of his fingertip.

He looked down, taking off his mask and carefully putting it on his gear shift. When he looked up at you again, you scanned his face. He was easily one of the most attractive men you had seen – amber-colored eyes looking right back at you, a scar running through his eyebrow and one cutting into his top lip.

He pressed a little harder against your clit, a shiver going down your spine and a small gasp coming from you. You were sure that if you looked in a mirror, your pupils would have been completely dilated at that point.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, leaning in closer but continuing his movements. You could see his hardened cock straining against his pants.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you breathed against him, his lips just inches from yours.

“I know,” his fingers slipped past the lace and began to rub directly onto your clit, dipping down to bring your slick up for more lube. You held back a whimper at the feeling of his finger rubbing circles into your nub, legs opening wider. “So tell me to stop.”

His fingers pushed into you, going slow to let you adjust to the new feeling. You can’t remember the last time anything other than your toys or your own fingers was down there. Two fingers slid in and out of you, and you could hear the sound of your slick, very audible in the small cab of his truck. Crooking his fingers, he pressed against your sweet spot, and you couldn’t hold back the whine that came from your lips. “Answer.”

“I can’t,” his lips crashed against yours, your hand coming up to the back of his neck to pull him closer. His tongue slipped into your mouth, taking control – you let him. There was nothing more that you wanted in this moment than for him to take control. His lips fit perfectly against yours, slotted as you kissed for what seemed like forever before he pulled away.

“Take these off,” he snapped the waistband of your panties and you rushed to slide them off, leaving your skirt on. Your hands shook with anticipation as you kicked the fabric off from around your boots, leaving it on the floor of his truck. His large hand cupped the side of your face, leading you right back to him to kiss you again. You reached over to grab at his bulge, and he lifted his hips up just enough to slide his pants and briefs down to his thighs and free his hard cock. Wrapping your hand around it, he groaned and you broke the kiss to get a good look at him.

Eyes going wide, he was huge. You could have assumed, given the size of his body, but fuck. Your fingers could barely touch when wrapped around his cock, vein running on the underside of it, his tip growing red and leaking. “Shit,” you whispered, eyes fixated on him. You gave him a couple of strokes, thumb pressing on top of his tip, and his head tilted back until it hit the headrest of the seat, eyes closed. You couldn’t hold yourself back anymore, feeling like you were going to go into a frenzy.

Leaning down, you took him into your mouth slowly, moaning around him from the taste. “Up,” he said, tapping your back, and you popped off of him, repositioning yourself to kneel sideways in the passenger seat. Going back to your previous actions, you bent down and took him into your mouth again, lapping at his head while you stroked the rest of him with your hand. You could feel him shift, and then felt his hand gripping at your ass.

Even though you couldn’t see it, you could feel that his entire hand covered most of your ass, and you could only imagine what it looked like. His fingers ran through your cunt, feeling the slick that had gathered there and smeared on your thighs. He toyed at your clit before pushing two of his fingers back in, making you moan around his cock. The feeling of being filled pushed you, bobbing your head down further down his cock.

“Fuck, you feel so good, love,” he breathed out, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again, taking in the sight in front of him. Pretty girl sucking his cock, hair pulled back out of your face with his large hand, back arched in the seat next to him as he fingered your tight hole.

You raised your head up, letting spit pool in your mouth before letting it drop onto his cock, adding more lubricant to suck him off easier. As you went back down, he picked up his pace. You arched your back even more, pushing back against his hand for more, and he pulled your hair a little tighter in his hand.

He could tell you were about to cum – you didn’t even have to say it. He could feel your walls tightening around his fingers, could see how you’d deepen the arch every time he hit that magic spot in you. He could feel you unintentionally slowing down.

Crooking his fingers just right, he pushed deeper into you and that was your undoing. Your voice was partially muffled as you came, moaning and whimpering around his cock as much as you could, stopping all movement with your tongue but unintentionally sinking down further on him as your whole body tightened from your orgasm washing over you. Goosebumps rose on your skin as you preened at the euphoric feeling running through your veins, head a little dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the blood pumping hard through you.

Seeing you come undone and your brain essentially melt from the orgasm was the last straw for Simon. Pressing his head back into the truck’s headrest, he groaned as he spilled down your throat, large hand squeezing at your ass enough to leave reddened skin behind. His hips pushed up just the tiniest bit each time more cum would spurt out, and you gladly swallowed it all.

Your mind was a haze as you pulled off of him, weakly sitting up and the both of you fixing your clothing. You adjusted back to normal in your seat, reaching down to grab your panties that had been tossed on the floor, and before you could even think of putting them back on or at the very least walking inside with them, the man beside you took them out of your hand. You watched as he pocketed them.

“Just something to remember you by, hm?” You looked down, hands fidgeting as a small smile crept on your face.

“Well…thanks for the ride,” you said awkwardly, avoiding eye contact as if your jaw wasn’t starting to ache from being stuffed full just minutes ago. Before you could grab for the door handle, Simon had cupped the back of your neck and kissed you again, this time gentler.

“Remember your car tomorrow,” he said, almost a whisper. From the look in his eyes, you knew that this was far from the last time you’d be meeting him under these circumstances. From the look in your eyes, he knew that you needed this just as much as he did.

Nodding your head, you gave him a small smile and left the truck, walking inside your apartment and shutting the door behind you. You listened to him drive off after he saw that you had made it in safely, and your head just spun. You don’t know what the hell just happened, but you’re glad it did.

[pricetagged]

butcher paper

Here's a young (maybe 19-early 20s) Simon struggling with his emotions, working as a butcher's apprentice, and fixating on the pretty student waitress at the café next door (':

Content: plus size f-presenting reader; allusions to domestic abuse (Simon's past); fat-shaming (not Simon); little bit of violence, unedited. (Link to Ao3)

He's not sure that it counts as desire. Interest. It crawls over him, makes him feel aggressive, makes him want to dig his teeth in and shake and snarl.

It's hunger.

And he knows hunger. Knows it like he knows the cigarette burns on the back of his hand. Knows it like he knows his old man's a waste of space and that he has to defend his mum and protect Tommy and- and-

He's the man of the house, only the house is rotten. Woodloused frames, crumbling bricks. Gutted. Empty shelves hidden behind broken doors. Chipped plaster, electricity cutting off. Squeaky steps that always clued them in when the old man was on a rager (not that it helped, creaking out a warning but giving no clue where to run. The percussion leading to a gallows' jig; the heavy step before the hit).

But the old man's gone now. And Simon is left trying to fill in the boots he doesn’t know how to wear. All growth spurt and gangly limbs and anger. So much anger at the old bastard. Tear-soaked anger at his mum sometimes (buried deep behind the shame that he feels when he thinks of her black and blue. Anger and shame, bitter roots that he chews at to soothe the clench of in his jaw and the grind of his teeth). And then he sees you through the window. Through the peeling CHRISTMAS SPECIAL sign highlighting ham joints and turkey and pigs in blankets.

You're so soft.

You look like you’ve lived a life well-fed and well-loved. Something round and sweet and helpless, like the puppies he and Tommy had seen dumped in the park while they snuck cigarettes and swigged from cheap supermarket cider.

And that brings him back to the hunger. He's an awkward creature, shuffling to the café where you work part-time. He's more feeling than man, all rage and appetite stuffed into a skin suit. You sense it too, nerves tugging at the tilt of your smile as you approach the scavenger that swept in to sit at the cheap plastic tables in this greasy spoon. He sits awkwardly, too, hunched over the table like his stomach is gnawing at him. Big hands snapping the disposable plastic coffee stirrers and shredding the napkins. That first day, he just stares at you. Sneers a little when you flutter over to take his order.

You slosh the tea a little when you serve it.

He sees the burn bloom, watches as you suck at the sting with plump cheeks and a rosy little mouth, and he just wants to dig in and scratch hard to see you do that again.

It becomes a habit, watching you. He finds out bits and pieces listening as he rends and chops and saws through muscle and bone, stinking of sweat and iron. You're here as a student. You're living in student digs (good, best that you avoid the up-and-downs and rough streets that would fit a student budget), and you're a real sweetheart. Old Sal who has been running the café for the past 30 years leans a heavy elbow on the display counter as he chats with the boss.

"She's lovely, taken to it like a fish to water," his raspy, smoke-charred voice is cheery as he waits for the bacon and sausages to be weighed and wrapped. "Only asked for Thursdays and Fridays off since she has afternoon classes then. Otherwise, I almost have to round her out of the shop, doing more afternoons and weekends than my own kid."

You're hardworking too, then. He wonders if it's because you're hungry too, needing something to do with your time, living on pot noodles and supermarket ready-meals like he'd heard some students do. It's strange how that thought sits uncomfortably, makes him want to hunch over you and bring you his scraps.

That week, he decides to talk to you. Only the words get caught, don't come out quite right as he stares at the way your jumper clings to the soft curves under your faded apron. When you turn around, bustling to other customers, he can't help but stare at the line of your skirt. It's real pretty, decent, sitting just above your knees but Christ, he wishes that it would roll up a little higher. That it would catch on the corner of a table or hitch up as you raise your arms and swish past with a tray full of fry-ups. He almost gets lucky as you bend over to mop up a spill just across the room. Your thighs widen as they press against the table, tights stretching thin and sheer and he just can't tear his eyes away-

(The hunger in his stomach turns hot and biting, makes his cheeks flush and his mouth dry-)

But it's ruined. Fly in the soup, hair in the dish, as you catch him and your eyebrows pinch together as you look away. There's something guarded, bitter, in your lovely eyes, and the dryness in his mouth turns wet and sour. You seem to take pains to avoid him, swapping out with Sal's son so that you can work the counter instead of the floor.

"'m Simon," he grunts as he goes to settle the bill. "Work at the butcher's across the street."

You clearly didn’t expect an introduction, shoulders relaxing and hesitant smile blooming as you give your name in return.

"Yeah, I know. Sal mentioned you a few times. He's tried to give me the rundown of practically everyone on the street, feels like."

"Y'should come in t'the shop," the invitation rushes out in a way that makes him feel clumsy. Perhaps that’s why he did it; to have you in his space, with his head and his footing right. Here, he feels every inch the artificial man. Pieced together, too big and too looming, with no help or guidance on how to talk to soft things and pretty girls.

You grimace a little, eyes focused on the till as you count out his change. "Not really on a butcher-shop budget right now."

"'S'alright. I can keep something aside for ya," he doesn't mention how it would come out of his wages. How it would come out of what he brought home to his mum and Tommy. It didn't matter, though, when he was used to going without.

"That's - that's really nice, actually," Your sweet face is glowing now, and he feels like he could bathe in the warmth of it. "Next time you come by lunch is on me."

He sees the way you tuck your chin and smile as he walks away, and that bottomless pit in his guts feels just a little more full.

(He doesn't quite catch the snickers of the boys at table three, whispering and nudging each other as you come to take their orders. This time.)

He stares more and more through the window of the shop, watching as you come and go. Watching the way you greet the regulars and skirt around the group of lads who like to linger in the evenings. There's something sharp, nasty, to the way they circle around the entrance. The way they cackle and hoot when the one with the eyebrow piercing smirks and whispers to his mates as they force you to brush past. They're a pack of hyenas, shrieking and smug as they toy with the poor little thing that's walked past their watering hole. He's seen this type before, practically grew up with them. His old man was probably one of them, perfecting his cruelty while young, cementing it as part of his nature.

It has Simon sharpening his knives while he grits his teeth. Has the boss tutting at him when he cuts too close to the bone.

He knows there's something violent in him. The old man tried to bring it out then snuff it out, getting scared when the knife that he sharpened was able to cut him in return. He's no stranger to bloodshed. No stranger to the calloused, deprivation-dimmed apathy that breeds like algae in the environment where he was forged. Dripping, slimy, suffocating.

Doesn't mean he likes it, though.

(He'd gone back for those puppies, you know. Felt wrong leaving them. Felt like a rebellion against his old man's sick life lessons as he dumped the box outside the doors of a local veterinary clinic).

So he keeps his eyes peeled, stakes out the café like he owns it. Stares down anyone who looks at you wrong until they look away, muttering under their breath. 'Fucking freaky dead-eyed git.' It seems to work.

And you seem to like it, sparing more smiles for him. Bringing him bigger portions than normal and topping up his cup before he even needs to ask.

"I know you've been working since seven, Simon. Gotta keep your strength up," You seem bashful as you slide the plate across, and he just eats it up.

You've been looking at him, thinking about him. It's not something he's familiar with, having someone care for him. His mum loves him, of course. Tommy too. But it’s not the same, not when it's been his job to take care of them. His job to step up to the mantle and into the shoes that his father should've filled. Watching the sway of your wide hips as he tucks into the steak and kidney pie with gusto, he feels satisfied. The hunger is there, always is, but it's not gouging at him under the skin. It's satiated, pleased. The kind of comfort that leaves his eyes heavy and his belly warm.

It's a routine you fall into, and everything is rosy-

Until it's not.

He's closing up shop, wiping down the counters and getting ready to haul down the shutters when he sees them. Those stupid pricks, travelling in their pack and signaling that their quarry is in sight. Look, there it is alone and limping and- You're in a rush, leaving later than usual and shrugging your coat on carelessly as you shout your goodbyes to Sal. You're in that skirt again, the one that makes his lower belly tighten and mouth feel dry.

"Oi, look! Dirty scrubber has her fat arse hanging out!"

It sets them off, chittering and howling as you freeze wide-eyed and lip-quivering.

"Gonna be sick, mate. Don't want to see your knickers, love. Didn't even know they came in that size."

He doesn't even see red. Doesn't see anything but your pretty, round face crumpling as you try to tug your skirt out from where it got caught under your coat.

The ringing of the bell by the door muffles the sound of the first punch. His fist crunches into that prick's nose, and he wants nothing more than to keep going until his face is little more than meat and pulp and blood. He can taste it, smells the blood in the air like a shark.

But you're watching.

"Bit bored with y'taking the piss out of her," he snarls it as he hauls the man by his jacket, shoving him hard against the wall until his head thwacks against the bricks. Easy as hauling a side of beef. "Why don't ya try me next?"

The man seems dazed, head spinning and nose dripping. His mates, too, look floored. Ready to scatter and abandon their leader to the bigger beast. Only the promise of more blood keeps them watching, feeds their nasty appetites and he's just itching to let them see. Watch what happens; it's coming for you next.

"Speechless now, eh? Had so much to say earlier," he's spitting the words out, teeth snapping as he leans down so close to the man's face that he can see how his pupils constrict. "Apologise."

And he's smarter than he would give him credit for. Smart enough to whimper out his 'sorry, sorry, sorry' as he drops to the filthy, damp pavement when Simon swivels towards the others. Something about the set of his shoulders, the way his hands and apron are splattered with the gore of man and animal, has them scattering.

"That goes for the rest of ya! Don't ever want t'see your ugly fucking mugs around here again," he spits on the ground, itches at his jaw with his wrist as he watches them run.

He can't hear them anymore. Can't hear anything over the sound of his heavy panting and pounding heartbeat.

It's cold out. He's only realising it now, standing in the December chill with just an apron over his jeans and t-shirt. It has him shaking, flexing his hand as his knuckles start to sting and swell. He welcomes it, welcomes the familiar bite as he pushes down the savage, ragged anger rippling through his chest.

"Simon-"

"Y'alright?" he cuts you off, faces you head-on.

And all the rage saps out. You're not cowering away. There's no disgust on your face. No tears or embarrassment either, no. You've got a crumpled packet of wet wipes in your hand, reaching out for him. Concerned.

"Figure you'd want to get that prick's blood off you soon as possible," you give him a sad little half-smile. "Didn't have to do all that for me, Simon."

"Yeah, didn't have to." He concedes as he steps closer to you. Crowds into your space until you're toe-to-toe and he can feel your warmth. He brushes his fingers against yours, lets them linger on your soft skin as he reaches for the wipes. "I wanted to."

-----------------------

Let's all pretend that this was okay and ignore the fact that I still haven't posted the wips that I keep going on about 🫠💖

Just a little self-indulgent drabble idea that I had today, thinking back to watching 'My Mad Fat Diary' as a teenager, feeling nostalgic ~ (The Finn-defending-Rae scene had 18yo me in a chokehold lol).

[lethalchiralium]

simon’s been in the kitchen for longer than you expected.

you just asked for a glass of water - you had spent all night bent over wrapping paper and presents and enough ribbon to wrap the house twice, and all you wanted as you laid down to sleep was water. and of course, the sweet man he is, he got up and left to get it. twenty minutes ago.

maybe he fell asleep on the way there, you didn’t know, but you still slid into your slippers and tied your fuzzy robe tight. quietly escaping your bedroom, shuffling down the stairs and towards the kitchen when you hear a giggle. every muscle in your body froze, your body suddenly and silently flush against the wall as you peered towards the sound.

winnie’s curls bounced as she pressed a bow to a wrapped present, using her whole body as momentum. the huddled figure beside her made your chest squeeze with so much love that you thought it would burst.

simon, neatly wrapping presents, quietly spoke to winnie, “be gentle with mama’s presents. we don��t want santa to be sad if they’re messed up, do we?”

“no, daddy.”

“thank you, duckling. now, can you write ‘to mama’ on there? it would help santa so much when he gets here.”

your daughter instantly sprung into action, scribbling on the wrapping paper as your smile mirrored hers. you could watch them wrap presents all night - simon’s gentle direction and winnie’s endless happiness. instead, you turned around and retreated back upstairs. didn’t want to ruin the surprise that simon and santa’s little helper were creating for you.

happiness masterlist

[p1n-p0int]

Honest to gods, I'm working on that that hc, but hear me y' all...

I have a "Ghost who's too closed off due to his trauma, doesn't talk about his past nor his work (the details he's allowed to say), and a reader who is desperately trying to save him from drowning in his self-hatred, and everything seems fine between them til the day before Simon's countless employments where reader pokes the bear too hard and Ghost snaps at them before leaving for the base" agenda running free in my mind

Like man, he loves you but the constant betrayals he went through, both familial and work related, before making him unable to let you into his comfort zone properly. Don't get me wrong; this man loves you to death and could do anything and everything, illegal or not, for you at the drop of the hat, but the thought of you knowing about his past? It sends him spiralling.

Thus why he doesn't see any issue in keeping you at arm's length and out of his business 'til the night before he has to depart for a mission.

You randomly begin to talk about hypothetical marriage and children you two are going to have one day. A happy life together you wanted for yourself and Simon... He threw you a side-glance telling you to drop it, he told you twice when you insisted on interrogating him as to why a loving family he could come back to from employment sounds bad... He has never meant to verbally snap at you the way he did - you backing away from his reach zone and putting a heavy kitchen table between him and you as an additional barrier, your brain was terrified of the man you were seeing in front of you. But it was not your Simon that was speaking, it was some twisted, traumatized soldier? child? part of him peaking its sorrowful head out, that much you knew - triggered his traumas. He couldn't hold it in. You pushed way too many times and his glass-like wall broke under the pressure.

When he was done ranting off to the grimy image in his head and looked up at you, scared of him, he bolted, grabbing his things and running out of your shared flat, not able to face you and the look on your face that's going to haunt him for the rest of his days. Because, sworn with a hand to his heart, he thought he singlehandedly ended the relationship there and then.

I don't have detailed route options for this one, but definitely, just like for Price, I'm planning for:

that hits all the raw points and talks about all the important topics of mental health, PTSD, self-worth and trust issues, you name it basically. A bit darker, with Ghost literally going through it to make himself better for the reader and first and foremost himself. (Groveling on his knees, fix-it route)

Ghost coming back from the employment, determined to discuss the previous fight with them, explain his side of view... Only to find the reader long gone from their apartment. (Angst route)

[rasberrybabez]

🖤Killed In Action

-Simon “Ghost” Riley who isn’t as dead as you think

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆-NSFW-MDNI-⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Simon is supposed to be dead.

Scratch that, he is dead. Your boyfriend of nine months is as dead as they get, and the dog tags hanging around your neck are proof of it. The call three weeks ago from his captain is proof, and the recurring nightmares of his dead body are hard cold evidence.

The nightmares never stop.

The image of his body in front of yours. Every night he dies in a different way, bloodier than the last. He dies protecting you, always. But that makes it worse.

You don’t want to think about his death, but you catch yourself doing it more often than not. When you’re petting his-now your- dog Riley, who is in a constant panic about when his owner is going to come back. The German Shepard stays up later than you, whining throughout the night.

You don’t blame him.

You haven’t been to work in weeks. Three weeks, since the day you got the call. And yet somehow money keeps appearing, and your rent has been paid in full. Like magic.

You just lay in bed, wake up. Sit on the couch, order pizza. Watch whatever channel is on. Walk Riley.

And then you cycle back through.

So today, getting Pizza for breakfast is something not too out of the ordinary. The doorbell rings, and you pull out your wallet. A twenty dollar bill? You didn’t order that much… you can’t really temper what you order anymore.

But when you open the door, it’s not the pizza boy you see. Not at first.

You huff, stepping out a bit in a pair of Simon’s boxers and one of his shirts, RILEY in bold on the back. You fist the twenty dollar bills, reaching for a pizza before you freeze.

There is no pizza, only a hard, muscular chest that your hand collides with. Your gaze snaps up, and the money slips from your hands.

“Trying to pay me to go away, luv? Ain’t that rude…”

You let out a startled cry of surprise, eyes wide as you stumble back against the door. It pushes open, your foot landing inside the foyer to stable yourself. Because that certainly isn’t a pizza delivery guy.

That is the man you love.

Tall, no mask. Bloodied face, fried and caked onto scarred skin like sticky, gruesome mud. A cocky grin but eyes that speak every other emotion he can’t say, filled with longing, pain and relief.

He takes a step forwards. You take one back. Watch him flinch.

“…jus’ me luv. Nothin’ else…”

He says as softly as he can, holding out his hands for you to inspect. They’re cut badly, burns trailing up his arms, dipping between tendons and muscles, disappearing under his sleeve. Tattoos duller. Bloodier.

“Y-You’re dead, Simon… you’re-this isn’t real, this isn’t real-” you say, panicked breathing rising. Hyperventilating.

His eyes go wide as he shakes his head, reaching out. He looks cautious, but reaches anyway. Wraps his hands around your wrist and tugs you to his chest.

“Sh-sh-shh… hush, baby… I know, I know… I can explain it all, I’ll tell you it all…”

The tears in his eyes catch you off guard. Is much so, that you’re crying too. Fisting his shirt and burying your face into his chest. Clinging to him as he grunts in pain but pulls you impossibly tighter, closer. Pushes into your apartment and holds you against the door, kisses you like he might never again.

Because you never thought he would again.

You’re a sobbing, whimpering and sniffling mess as Simon hikes your legs up around your hips. Riley is static, bouncing around and barking as he follows the two of you into the bedroom, whining and crying. Simon laughs, a teary laugh, patting Riley’s fluffy head.

“Ya’ did good, boy… took good care of our girl…”

You sniffle into Simon’s shirt as he rubs your back, pressing kisses to your face and neck. He’s exhausted, bloody and hurt but home. Home, with you and Riley.

He takes in a raspy, shaky breath that’s more labored than it should be. Presses a kiss to your temple, murmuring against your skin.

“They couldn’t find my body… saw enough blood and flesh to count me dead… found my mask… I was alone in the fucking wild for weeks, baby… and all I could think of was getting back to ya.”

You pull back a little, still hiccuping over tears as you cup his face in your hands. He looks like hell, bloody and torn. Shredded.

You take in a ragged breath, because God it hurts to look at him like that. “D-Does your team know?”

Ge nods stiffly.

“…you need a bath, baby…”

Simon snorts, a grin splitting over his weary face. He rubs your back, pulling you closer with how you straddle his lap. Riley is just happy to be here, wagging his tail as it thumps steadily on the bed.

“Yeah… I do…” he sighs softly, but his smile starts to fade. He meets your eyes, swallowing hard. “…look, baby… this is a lot to take in. I don’t want to overwhelm you, I want you to trust me but-”

You cut him off with a quick kiss to the lips, whimpering softly. Your hand slides down his jaw, thumb tracing over his jumping pulse point as you shake your head.

“I trust you, Si… trusted you the minute I say your eyes… know those eyes anywhere.”

He sighs against your lips and nods, standing and hiking you higher up him, legs tight around his waist. He pats Riley once, moving to the bathroom with you in his grip. Riley whines, and he chuckles softly.

“Sorry pup… adult time.”

You whimper softly, sniffling as he moves you both into the master bathroom, shutting the door so that no pesky dogs can get in. He sets you on the counter, pressing a kiss to your forehead before moving to the bathtub and turning on the faucet.

You watch him do it, watch Simon as he strips off his shirt and throws it to the side. You grimace as you see He scars that mar his chest, but he just smiles in your direction.

“Every one to come back to you, Luv…”

You nod, letting him pull off your shirt, another on of his really. Then he peels off the hovers you’re wearing, groaning softly. You whimper.

“I need you, Si…”

He nods, carrying you both over the bath. He tears off his cargo pants and throws them to the side, peeling of his boxers and leaving them to pool on the floor. He groans as the two of you sink into the warm, bubbly water, rubbing your back.

“I know… gonna fuck this pretty cunt right… been too long without me.”

You go to protest that he shouldn’t be fucking you, especially not when injured, but he ignores you. Grabs soap to start scrubbing your body, lathering some on the dried blood along his skin too.

And then he’s lifting you up as you squeak, dusting his cock with one hand and lining it up to your soft pussy with the other. You gasp and grip his shoulders, sinking down onto him with a low moan and a soft cry. You’ve never felt fuller than when you’re with Simon, and it feels different when you thought you lost him.

You cry out as he groans, pulsing inside of you. You’re sticky, gummy walls are too tight, and fuck he thinks he could come right here, right now. But with a shaky pant, he meets your eyes, kissing along your chest and fondling your tits.

“Gotta get clean love… gotta get clean…”

You whimper a soft yes, nodding and reaching for the soaps. Simon grips your hips, thrusting up as you do and sloshing water out of the tub. You cry out in pleasure, slipping a little.

“Simon!”

“Can’t help it luvie… missed ya too much…”

You huff and pin him with a teasing glare, squirting shampoo into your hands. You reach out, running them through Simon’s hair and trying to late her up the bloodied short blond strands as best as you can. It’s difficult when Simon’s cock won’t stop fucking up into you.

You whimper, soapy hands falling to grip his shoulders again as he grunts. His thrusts get more erratic, more intense. He shifts a bit, gripping your thighs and helping you ride him. Water slow shed out of the tub, soaking the floor around you both.

You cry out as the tip of his cock nudges against your cervix, testing the limits of your spongy walls. You whimper, panting softly.

“‘s too much Si…”

Simon grunts and shakes his head.

“Nah… you can take it luv…”

He continues at his harsh pace, panting as your hips move up and down through the water. He’s addicted to the feeling of your thighs smacking against his, the wet noises and the water soaking every surface it can. Soon enough your cunt is clenching around him, and you’re crying out in pleasure.

“Simon-”

“That’s it… come for me…”

Simon grunts, coming as you do, his cock forcing into your pussy as it spasms around him. You’ve never felt cry out and pant, sweaty forehead falling to his, the water now tainted with your cum.

You whimper softly as Simon sighs, strong arms wrapping around your body, pulling you closer. He presses a kiss into your hair, murmuring softly.

“never gonna die while you’re alive, luvie… not on ma’ watch…”