#you x ghost

[uhohdad]

HEADS OR TAILS

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Summary: Ghost can’t decide if he should let you finish.

Word Count: 800

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, No use of y/n, non-gendered AFAB reader, edging, orgasm denial, dom!Simon

“Simon,” You plead, stretching out his name with a whine.

“Not yet.” He says, strict and gruff, his thick cock ruthlessly pounding into you. He’s been milking your g-spot for forty minutes now, cruelly edging your dripping cunt with his thick cock.

He’d already fucked you to the border of orgasm six times, waiting until your muscles tense and filthy praises turn to incoherent breathy nonsense before he suddenly stills his forceful thrusts to warm his cock inside of you, keeping you filled while revoking you of the hard pounding you craved.

His grip on your hips tighten, cutting off your desperate needy attempts to grind on him from your position underneath him.

His cock would twitch approvingly inside you at your pathetic begging and pleading at him to keep fucking you, to give you permission to finish around him.

As much as he wanted to give in to your bargaining, he remained disciplined, keeping his throbbing cock buried inside you as he watched your desperate pleading for him continuing to fuck you like the slut you are.

“Please, Si- Please!”

He’d just look down on you, donning his usual apathetic stare as he commits your flushed and desperate features to memory, observing your shaking hands as they cling to him in a prayer for relief.

“I’m not done watching you beg.” He grits, strict and even as he waits for the heat building in your lower abdomen to mellow before he can begin the process all over.

You let out another whine, throwing your head back against the pillows in defeat as your hips futilely struggle against his bruising grip, desperate to grind against the cock warming inside you.

He waits until you settle, your breathing slowing and your body relaxing before unforgivingly pulling his length out and plunging it all the way back in. He doesn’t giving you a warning, savoring the surprised gasp you make. Even he’s having a hard time restraining himself, not refraining from brutally pounding your dripping cunt.

Your loud and needy moans echo throughout the room with the sounds of your creaking bed, his flesh crashing into yours, the obscenely wet noises of your pussy receiving him over and over.

Your nails dig into strong shoulders, leaving crescent shaped indents on his skin as you struggle to accept his power. His muscles tense as he leans over you, hands still firm on your hips to prevent you from sliding away from him, keeping you close enough for him to bottom out inside you with each thrust.

You pick up where you left off, the euphoric white heat underneath your skin building steadily with each rhythmic slam into your abused cunt.

“Simon!” You hiccup, back arching off the mattress.

You’re sobbing now, the pathetic cries leaving you without thought.

“There we go, that’s good love.” He praises, voice low and gravely through his hitched breaths.

“Please - Si, please!”

“Tell you what love.” He offers, his chest obscuring your view as he reaches over the nightstand. You hear the scraping of metal on wood before he’s face to face with you again, holding up a quarter between two fingers as he continues milking your g-spot.

“Since I can’t decide, we’ll flip a coin. Heads, I’ll let you come. Tails, you have to wait another round.”

Your brows furrow at his proposition, mouth parting as you eye the shiny coin between his fingers while bouncing on his forceful cock. You’re ashamed at the warm flush that spreads to your lower abdomen at his power move. Leaving your orgasm up to fate, tauntingly dangling the hope for release you’re so desperate for inches from your face.

You let out another whine in between choked moans. A fuzzy haze settles over your thoughts from the overwhelming stimulation, you’re far beyond cock-drunk now, completely hypnotized by Simon and the pleasure he gives and rescinds at his own will.

Without missing a beat, he rests the quarter on the nail of his thumb, a smug grin creeping on his face at the worried look you gave the coin. He savored your pleading wide eyes, brows pinched in worry.

Time slows when he flicks the coin in the air, the shiny metal reflecting light as it rotates, holding your breath as your fate is left up to pure chance.

You thoughtlessly beg the coin, and Simon gives a pleased hum at your shameless desperation.

He catches it with his hand, taking his time as he sets the coin on his opposite arm and keeps it covered. He cups his fingers around it as he takes a peek, shielding it from your prying eyes, an arrogant smirk creeping on his face as you lift your head to see.

He slowly extends his arm out to you, his hips not having let up on your dripping cunt in the slightest.

“Guess it’s your lucky day, love.”

Original Works Masterlist

[lovelovelovelovelove987654321]

His Knight In Shining Armor

Simon doesn't quite think this is real. You. Him. The warmth. Doesn't quite understand how he can touch you without hurting you. Yet, at the same time, not hurting you is the only thing he understands. He would rather be buried alive- again-, would rather be surrounded by the rot and death that is his brain forever than lift a finger towards you. You are his everything. His sun, his moon, his rock, his ocean tides. Everything he does is governed by the push and pull of your mere existence. 

“Time izzit?” You asked oh, so sleepily, lips pressed against his throat, nose tucked under his jaw. “Time for you to go back to sleep.” And with a small huff, you do. He still marvels at that, you know. The way you trust him so much, that you take everything that comes from his mouth as truth. The way you feel safe enough around him to just close your eyes and sleep. Near him. The monster, the demon, the husk of a human being, the creature made up of the shreds of humanity left on the battlefields once the corpses have been dragged away. The thing that can't bear to look in the mirror because what he sees there shouldn't be allowed to roam the earth. Not in broad daylight, at least. Him.

Yet you just saw a man. A closed off, emotionally unavailable, stubborn man, but a man all the same. He’d surreptitiously ask what your eye scores were after every time you went to the doctor, because maybe you were hallucinating, just a little. A lot. Because how could you see anything worthy of love in him? 

He knew that, in the conventional western view, his body was attractive. He hated this body. It works, and that's good. But he hated how it accompanies him everywhere he went. He wished he could become a fleck of dust, maybe, be breathed in by you and settle in your lungs, listen to your heartbeat for the next several centuries. 

When he looked at his hands, he saw them dripping with dirt-thickened blood. When he saw his legs, he saw them broken and bruised. When he saw his feet, he saw the harbingers of all the death that followed him. When he saw his arms, he saw simply tools of war. When he saw his torso, his chest, he saw Roba. He saw the organs that should have done the word a favor by failing him long ago. He saw the heart he could no longer feel beating. When he saw his face, he saw no trace of the man he might have become. Instead, he sees a machine. 

When he sees his scars- oh, when he sees his scars- he sees the evidence of death and pain and hate and despair that surrounded him everywhere he went. He saw nothing deserving of life. 

But you. You.

When you saw his hands, you saw the hands you held when you were happy or scared. You saw the hands that had caressed you so gently, so lovingly. You saw the hands that had picked you flowers and given you gifts and brushed your hair from your face. (“I love your hands,” You’d told him once, twice, a million times.) When you saw his hands, you saw love.

And that gave him hope.

When you saw his legs, you saw the legs that had tangled with yours as you slept. The legs that took up room on the sofa, the legs that cracked and popped every time he stretched. You saw the legs that got humped by your best friend's dog, the legs that had run to catch up with you at the carnival and the supermarket and the park and the campground and everywhere else you had ever been. When  you saw his legs, you saw love. And that gave him hope.

When you saw his feet, you saw the feet that had tickled yours in the pool, the feet that had gotten buried under the sand at the beach, that wore the stupidest shoes you'd ever seen. You saw freckles and pale skin (“They look a bit like dead fish, Si!” You’d once said as you laughed.) You saw the bad circulation and wool socks and too-long nails. When you saw his feet, you saw love. 

And that gave him hope.

When you saw his arms, you saw the arms that had kept you warm on cold nights. The arms that had held you safe as you watched movies. The arms that had kept you together, had kept you from breaking apart, when you had laughed and cried and everything in between. You saw the arms that reached things on shelves that you couldn't, the arms that were strong enough to lift you up and twirl you around. When you saw his arms, you saw love.

And that gave him hope. 

When you saw his torso, his chest, you saw the solid plane of flesh that you leaned on for support. You saw the dips and curves, all perfect places for you to rest your head. You saw the weighted blanket you used him as. You saw the lungs that breathed in your laughter and smiles 24/7/365. You saw the heartbeat that kept you on track, reminded you that it would all be okay. You saw the organs that kept Simon alive. When you saw his torso, you saw love. 

And that gave him hope. 

When you saw his face, you saw the smiles he reserved only for you. You saw the eye crinkles, the nose scrunches. You saw the lip quirks and the dimples and and the beautiful brown eyes that housed the soul of your beloved. You saw the pale eyelashes, the under-eye bags, the smattering of extra pigmentation that were scattered across the bridge of his nose. You saw the furrowed brows and the crows feet. You saw his laugh and his voice and his whispers and his hums. When you saw his face, you saw love. 

And that gave him hope. 

When you saw his scars- oh, when you saw his scars. You saw his pain, yes. You saw the gruesome stories that were carved into his skin. You saw the death and the blood and the hatred that had imprinted itself in his very being. 

But.

You also saw the proof of how much he loved you. You saw the saga of his love, the confirmation that, no matter what, he would come back home to your arms. You saw perfect trails  to follow with your lips, the perfect places to press caring kisses now and then. You saw silly shapes of animals and constellations and plants and boats and maps of make-believe kingdoms. You saw everything that he was, everything he had done. When you saw his scars, you saw love. 

And that gave him hope.

Hope that he could be a better man. Hope that he could keep you safe and happy forever. Hope that, one day, he might be worthy of your love. Hope that maybe he could be something more than just the sum of his parts. Hope that, perhaps, your goodness might seep into his pores and infect him. Hope.

[bi-writes]

ok ok how about mute?ghost who you aren't sure if he's actually mute or if he just chooses not to say anything. you hear a different answer from everyone you ask. (18+)

ever since mexico, wouldn't say a fucking word.

nah, mate, he's been zipped shut since he enlisted.

heard it was a mad accident.

what you mean? heard him telling off privates not even a year ago!

well, since you're a certified yapper, and ghost can't (won't) tell you to shut up, you make him your living diary. whenever you see him around, you sit next to him, stop by his office, hop up onto his desk and talk to him. you tell him about your day, about the recruits that bother you the most, about the meals in the mess hall being worse on saturdays than on mondays (fuck, you'd think the weekend would put some pep in their step, no?).

but gosh, when ghost finally had you seated in his lap with your pants around one ankle, you really weren't expecting to hear him.

pussy-drunk, tongue out, hands gripping your ass as he listens to the wet smack of your thighs against his, and that's all it takes for him to let out the filthiest groan you've ever heard, enough to make you spiral, see red-hot stars, to shake and cry until you're cumming and babbling and even more incoherent.

when they talk about ghost, you still keep your mouth shut. you're still not sure if he talks, fuck if i know, is what you say.

but if you suck his cock just right, you're certain he's singing.

[heavenbarnes]

thinking about your older bf!simon that cannot cope with being far from you.

when you’re in the shower, he’s sat on the lid of the toilet on his phone (watching those rug cleaning videos) enjoying your faint singing under the stream of water, the smell of your body wash on the cloud of steam- ready to pass you a towel or get your back.

when you’re at your desk, working from home or studying, he’s just on the other side of it reading the paper with one outstretched leg tangled with both of yours. he’s dead quiet when you’re on a call, just happy to be around.

when you’re doing laundry, collecting the clothes in the hamper and crouching to stuff them into the washer- turning around and accidentally colliding with a thick wall of muscle.

“sorry, love”

he steps aside but you can hear his soft footfalls as he continues to follow you throughout your home.

when you’re both watching something on the couch, what starts as his pinky locked with yours turns into his arm around your waist. that turns into your head on his chest, which culminates with you falling asleep in his lap with his cheek on your head and soft snores emanating from his lips.

when you grocery shop, you push the trolley but his chest is to your back, arms either side of you and hands clasped over yours on the handle. you can thank his military training for his uncanny ability to tell exactly when you’ll stop walking.

when he wakes up in the middle of the night, on a rare occasion when you’ve managed to slip out of bed without him realising, he’s immediately in a panic calling your name.

“in here, my love”

as soon as his heart settles, he realises the bathroom light was probably a dead giveaway. you’re taking a wee, you’ll be back in a minute.

that doesn’t stop a sleepy simon from leaning in the doorframe, shielding his eyes from the big light as he waits for you to finish up.

even on the short walk back to bed, you can feel fingers twisted in the back of your shirt- almost like you’re leading the way.

minute you’re both on the mattress, you’re being wrapped up in his arms, slotting you perfectly into the curve of his front- almost like you’re made for him.

(and you are)

[y-ckysstuff]

I love the head cannon that Ghost likes to stare a lot. Not at anything in particular, just staring.

Then he realizes that he really likes staring at you. He's fucking you in missionary, basically rocking both of your bodies and the bed with each deep and heavy thrust, putting his body weight into it. He's got his large hands planted beside your head, maybe your legs clenching on and off his hips as he thrusts.

Between your moaning and his fat dick making your pussy drool, you don't notice him staring into your face, huffing and groaning every now and then but otherwise quiet.

Between your moaning and crying about how good he feels, grasping onto his thick wrists for support as he pounds, you finally acknowledge him staring into your eyes.

"S... Simon?" You say breathlessly, being a little confused.

He stares a little longer before realizing what he's doing and shakes out of it, leaning down so your faces are right against each other, but not quite touching, slowing his thrusts down into a deeper, more loving pace, "You're fuckin' beautiful..." He whispers.

He captures your lips before you respond, not that you could with the way he's fucking and loving you.

His thrusts get sloppier, still deep and hard, his tongue intertwining with yours messily. You couldn't believe how much you turned him on by just being looked at.

Nor could he, yet here he was, groaning as one thick hand wrapped around the back of your neck, kissing you harder as he cums ropes inside of you.

[simonbrain]

simon riley who becomes even more smitten with his wife whenever she's angry at him. he doesn't know why, but seeing her scold him for something as simple as forgetting to put the toilet seat down or forgetting to grab a tub of ice cream just makes him grin. it makes him want to gently remind her who's in charge (at least in the bedroom; he knows how much power she has over him. he's weak to her).

all he has to do is cup her face and coo, "i'm sorry lovie, i'll do better." and suddenly she's not very mad anymore. if that doesn't work, he just pushes her against the nearest surface and eats her out until she's a babbling mess (he tried doing that in public one time; she waited until they got in the car to complain about that too).

her attitude rarely gets to him though. if anything, it just turns him on. although if she gets too mouthy, he'll just let her yap without saying anything, just staring down at her. that's when she knows she's in actual trouble.

after she mellows out and simon finishes having his fill of her, she'll get very shy and grumble at him for that dirty trick she falls for every time. "did i not do enough of a good job love? need another round?" she shuts up after that, turning her heated face away from simon's smug grin, the bastard.

[sunsetsimon]

thinking of simon gaining some weight when he gets back home from a long mission. he's like a big bear, warm and comfortable when he traps you in his arms. you're obsessed with his stomach chub, his abs now giving away to soft fat, filling out his shirts more.

your hand keeps ending up under his shirts, resting on his tummy, your fingers occasionally caressing his skin. simon huffs, slightly tickled by your soft touch along his belly. the corner of his lip curves as you sneak your hand into the waistband of his sweats and boxers, pushing past his blond happy trail to his pelvis.

your fingers graze the tip of his flaccid dick, a twitch in simon's thigh the only acknowledgment of your sudden touch. "oops-" you jump, pulling back and laying your palm back on his stomach.

"watch it," he rolls his eyes, shifting his hips to adjust himself. he can see your lips curled to hold back a smirk from the corner of his eye, refusing to turn to you and acknowledge it. he knows it wasn't an accident anyways, you minx.

[lapetitepatisserie]

cod × fem!reader ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

The familiar sound of keys in the door alerted you to your husband’s return.

“My love?” he called, looking for you, boots making heavy footsteps as he made his way towards you and your child. His eyes soften once they land on you and your baby girl.

“How’s my princess?” he drawls, voice deep with exhaustion from work.

You look down at the child sitting in your lap, occupied with trying to fit a chubby foot into her mouth. A steady finger reaches underneath your chin, lifting it to meet his warm, intense gaze.

“I’m talking about this one.”

[idreaminphosphorescence]

what if ghost and you were on the same team. and you know, you guys acted like normal teammates. except that one time soap caught you and ghost leaning into each other after one particularly hard mission. gaz saw you kissing ghost on the cheek one morning when you think no one saw you both. price noticed how you both always managed to find each other in a room full of men.

and then one time when the team were hanging out at a bar. you all were pissed. soap asked if you guys were shagging each other and you answered with,

"oh, we're actually married!" you'd said with a bright smile and flushed cheeks.

and the way the men instantly sobered up after that and stared at you, mouths hanging open. soap managed to spit beer on gaz's face. price's cigar hung loosely from his open mouth. you bursted out laughing at the ridiculous sight.

and simon? well, simon thought it was about bloody time they tell the team. (he was getting tired of soap constantly making up conspiracy theories about you and him.)

— masterlist.

[manicrouge]

'I'm too old to do anythin' like that now,' Simon says, shaking his head.

'But daddy,' whines the little girl standing in front of him, her small hands tugging at his black t-shirt, 'mummy was telling me all about how you a- and my uncles used to save the world and I wanna learn cause I wanna be just like you!'

He lifts his head, spying you standing in the doorway with a bright grin on your face. 'What you tellin' her that for?'

'Because she wants to know how to beat the boys in the street when they're having water fights,' you say, 'thought your military experience would come in handy.'

'They're always laughin' at me,' she pouts, 'and sayin' I can't fight cause I'm a girl.'

There's a switch that is flipped at her confession and when he looks to her and then raises his head to look at you, you swear you're looking at the Lieutenant instead of your husband.

'Is that so?' he asks, to which your daughter nods her head quickly. He holds his hand out to her and she takes it happily. 'We'll teach them to mess with a Riley, ey sweet pea?'

[lovelovelovelovelove987654321]

Sacrificial Dove

A/N: Hey! Hope you guys like this one! I have actually no idea what to write so asks would be deeply appreciated.

Content warnings: Some mildly graphic gore at in the last paragraph.

He should have worshipped you sooner.

He beats himself up every single day about it. He should have been kneeling in front of you from day one, because the signs of your strength had always been there, he just hadnt wanted to see them.

Instead, he saw weakness. He saw flaws. He saw someone too emotional, too sensitive, too indecisive to be in the 141. He didnt understand how you'd made it in. Sure, you did okay in training sessions. You were a decent shot, he could give you that. And, okay, you had an okay memory. Could rattle off facts about weapons like it was the end of days. Yeah, fine, you could admit that you had occasionally surprised everyone by suggesting a maneuver that none of them had thought of. Fine.

But anyone could memorize facts. How could someone who cried when they spilled their coffee be any good on the battlefield? For Gods sake, you had a 'good luck teddy bear' on your keychain! Someone like that would simply not be capable of shooting enemies point blank. No sir.

So when the next mission rolled around, Ghost wanted to protest. But that wasnt his way. So he glowered and went along with the stupid fucking idea of bringing you along. You would die, he was sure.

He moved away from you once they had touched down. He was absolutely positive that he would see your corpse once he circled back around. He did his thing, killed his targets, did what he was supposed to. As he neared your position, he heard rapid gunfire. Not at all unusual, given their line of work.

Your funeral would have a closed casket, he thought with some satisfaction. You had been too pretty. It would be good to see you dead.

But as he peeked around the corner all the air left his lungs. There you were, angel of death. Ghost had never believed in heaven, never, but this had to be damn near paradise.

You were coated in blood. Soaked. Dripping. You were holding a machine gun and utterly annihilating anyone who came near you.

When it was over and done, you wiped a hand across your blood slicked face and smiled at him. Smiled. And you had blood staining your teeth and your lashes were crimson and-

Ghost wondered how you would look with his blood covering you. He could be your sacrificial dove, if you would let him.

Thank you was Ghost's last thought 2 years later when you had betrayed the team. You had him chained up in a cement room, drains inlaid across the floor. 'They tortured the others' you'd whispered in his ear, 'But I wanted you to myself'. You'd kept his mask on, a small kindness or a huge tragedy, depending on how you looked at it. Ghost tended towards the latter.

You'd slit his throat with an approving smile, watched the life leave his eyes almost fondly, his blood trickling down your cheeks like tears.

[bi-writes]

just his girl being so attracted to simon and him not understanding it. (18+)

i mean like...he's never had a girlfriend like this. he's never even had a girlfriend, period, not really, not anyone he's seen more than once, not one that he's known long enough to remember her name.

he just doesn't get it. whenever he comes into your vicinity, he can see the sparkle in your eyes. the smile that graces your face, the way your expression lights up, the way your body moves on its own just to get closer to him.

he wonders if he lets you because of the sick satisfaction he feels. to be the center of your attention, it makes him feel so fucking special, so important. another man can look at you the same way, but he knows your cunt will be dry. but when he looks at you that way, he can see the way your legs squeeze together, and he loves knowing that if he flipped up the hem of your skirt, you'd be so sticky and practically drooling there, all for him.

he doesn't think himself very attractive. he's had his fair share of one night stands, but the way you keen for him makes him so hungry. he loves hearing you whine when he grabs your ass, loves feeling you drip onto his fingers when he kisses you after a long day, loves the way that nothing else will ever make you smile the way he can when he touches your face.

"i love you so much," you whisper, and he has to look away or else he'll groan.

"i missed you," you whimper after he's been away for a long time, and he has to bite back the tremble in his lip because fuck, he missed you, too.

"you're so big, baby," you whine, and he can't help the way he chubs up immediately as you feel up his thick biceps, along his pecs, over the warm layer of fat around his solid middle. you can cum so fast just riding his big thigh, hell--you can cum by yourself just looking at him. he's so hot to you, so handsome, even if he doesn't take his mask off or any of his clothes, because you love him so much, and his eyes are sometimes all you need to feel enough. and fuck if that isn't the biggest ego boost, seeing his girl's pussy creaming just by fixating on the flex of his big hand.

his confidence is so puffed whenever he's around you. he gets goosebumps whenever your eyes are on him. even now, it's been years with you, and you still make him feel like the hottest guy in the room with the way your eyes look him up and down.

you're his perfect girl. his best prize. he doesn't understand how he ever got you, how he ever reeled you in, but there isn't a day that goes by that he doesn't understand how undeserving he is of you and how incredibly lucky he is. it makes him selfish. he has you, and he can't lose you, so fuck how he has to keep you, cause he will. and he thinks you like that, too.

he thinks you like the way he fondles you under your skirt in a crowded place. he thinks you like the way he fucks, deep thrusts as he grips your face and murmurs mine, mine, mine between low groans and fingerprint bruises. he thinks you like the way he hovers, glaring at anyone that looks your way and devouring you in a grocery store parking lot because the cashier at the till looked at your legs for just a second too long, and need ta remind ya who ya belong to, pet.

you were wet anyways, he had worn short sleeves that day, and your eyes hadn't left his tattoo sleeve since he came out of the shower. so wet, ruining those panties, his favorite little black pair with the skull print pattern along the band.

dripping, creamy, pulsing little cunt that is all his. hadn't so much as even touched you yet, and here you are, drooling so sweet. he just didn't want to waste the meal.

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Ghost: I cut my finger Y/N: I can kiss it so it'll get better Ghost: That works? Y/N: Yeah my mum used to do it when I was little *later* Ghost: I need you to punch me in the mouth Roach: Fucking finally

[lxvvie]

Simon 'I'm a bloody fuckin' gentleman' Riley

Simon who refuses to let you walk behind him. You're either in front or right beside him and never on the side closest to the street.

Simon who opens your car door and closes it after you get in.

Simon who puts gas in the car and refuses to let you handle it, especially when it's cold.

Simon who will go outside at night if you need to get something before winding down.

Simon who won't let you carry anything heavy even if you can do so.

Simon who won't let you put together or fix anything around the house.

Simon who's your escort around town if need be.

Simon who's the first to whip out his wallet. Complain all you fuckin' want, luv, he takes care of his.

Simon who makes sure everything is taken care of before leaving for deployment.

Simon who makes sure to check in with you every time he can because he knows you worry about him.

Simon who does all that and more because he's a bloody fuckin' gentleman. Your bloody fuckin' gentleman, and he wants your life to be as stress-free and easy as possible.

Simon who hits you with this look when he finds out you paid the tab instead of using the loo like you said you were going to:

[sunsetsimon]

trying to ride simon but failing miserably every time. he'll never request it from you, no, but what man doesn't love to have his beautiful girl bouncing on his veiny cock, your breasts at perfect level to be squeezed and nipples sucked? to feel himself impaling your pussy, abusing your cervix but you're too fucking desperate to care about the dull ache in your stomach.

you're working yourself so hard, puffy clit rubbing against his pelvis with each bounce, his blond pubes leaving teasing kisses that threaten to drag you over the edge. but simon is greedy, he needs more of you, faster and harder. he needs to control you.

you know as soon as his legs spread apart on the bed, it's over for you, control is immediately gone. he plants his feet down on the mattress, his hips propping you up, pushing his leaking cock even further than you felt was possible, his full balls pressed against your plushy ass.

his strong arms wrap around you, pulling your upper half down onto him so your chests are pressed together, locking you into place as he fucks you. your mind is foggy, the sense leaving your brain at the intense pleasure he gives you, tight walls strangling his throbbing dick, a silent plea for him to destroy your insides. cream dribbles out of your pussy, trailing down his balls to the sheets, leaving a damp stain in its wake.

hot tears are pouring out of your eyes, pure bliss enveloping you as he uses you as his cum dump. the only words you can blabber out are "fuck simon!" and even then your tongue struggles to work properly, senses overloaded as your orgasm washes over you, the pressure in your head so intense black dots line your vision.

you can't hear or think, only feeling the vibration of simon's chest against yours with his low groans, probably praising how good you feel and that he's right there but you're too fucked out to understand. you can only feel the sweat dripping down his chest, his skin sticking to yours as he fucks you into oblivion.

his thighs stutter as he finishes, filling you as deep as he can go with ropes of hot, thick white cum. it fills you to the brim, dripping out of your pussy and down your inner thighs, only adding to the soiled sheets beneath you. slowing his thrusts to a stop, he pushes you up by the shoulders, taking a good look at your flushed face. drool is pooled in the corner of your mouth, red cheeks stained with tears, looking as wrecked and beautiful as ever.

his dark brown eyes dance along your body, as if taking a mental video of your chest rising and falling rapidly, attempting to catch your breath while looking at him with that glossy look in your eye.

so yeah, you may fail to ride him to orgasm every time, but fuck is it worth it.

[oceantornadoo]

simon riley with a very american girlfriend who gets very flustered at every british endearment he throws her way.

“yeah, love?” youre a puddle in his lap, even when you’re just telling him about your day. you tuck your chin and bite your lip to hide the embarrassment but he’s always too cognizant of you, tilting your chin up so he can see the look on your face. “like tha’?”

“here ya go, sweetheart.” all he’s really doing is feeding you a bit of pasta but you moan anyways, the sound going straight to his cock. your tongue peaks out to lick the sauce on your bottom lip, giving him doe eyes. “i like when you call me that.”

“alright, cheeky” he likes calling out your attitude, especially when you’re on your period. knows calling you cheeky will get you to stop talking back as your cheeks warm with a combination of embarrassment and arousal. you’re tucking your face in his neck to hide your feelings as he chuckles, pulling you in further, never letting you go.

shoutout to @peachetteprice who’s been teaching me british (LOL)😌