#pathetic!simon

[shotmrmiller]

Valentine's day with Pathetic!Simon

You should've known Johnny had been serious when he talked to you that morning.

"LT's never had anyone to gift fer Valentine's. Just...let him give ye the flowers 'n accept the chocolates, aye?"

Simon stood in front of you, pinning you in place with his beady gaze, a bouquet of red roses in his clenched fist.

The ends of them look torn. You really hope he didn't just rip these off of someone's front yard.

He interrupts your inner musings by forcefully presenting them to you— velvet petals brushing your lips, causing you to jerk your head back slightly.

Allllrighty then.

Tenderly, you raise your hands and grab them— encircling the base of the rose just above his hold.

"Thank you for these, Simon. They're very beautiful," you croon. His delivery might be awkward, but you truly are grateful for them. Every individual rose is pristine, colours vibrant, stems strong and firm— not a brown petal nor wilted leaf in sight.

They're perfect.

Until your fingers are pricked by something pointed.

What?

You let go quickly and turn your hands up to inspect them. Sure enough, there's blood beading up on some of your fingertips, and the soft flesh of your palms.

And you grab Simon's wrist to lift the bouquet to eye level.

Thorns.

They're everywhere, and Simon's knuckles are white from how tight he's holding the roses.

"Jesus! Simon! You've got to be kidding me! Put them down!" As you let him go, you quickly spin around to fetch your first aid kit, but a forceful grip on your shoulder stops you in your tracks and spins you right back around.

"Just get a vase for them," he rumbles.

In disbelief, you protest, "What? No! You need—" but he swiftly interrupts you, his grip on your shoulder tightening marginally.

"What I need is f'you to get a vase." His firm response is resolute.

"O-okay, I...I er, got a few under the sink." With a silent stride, Simon stays close behind you, his hand that had touched your shoulder now curling around the back of your neck— only letting go when you reach for the sink base.

Placing it on the countertop, you ask him if he would now put them down.

"No. Fill it with water."

Simon nods when you do as he says, then drops them inside the vase— and you can't look away as red furls inside the once-clear water, turning it pink.

He clears his throat, catching your attention, and when you turn to face him, Simon's handing you something else.

It's a flattened snickers bar. You can see caramel peeking out from one corner, and the wrapper is streaked with some of his blood.

Delicately, you grab it with your thumb and index by the sticky edges and place it on a paper towel.

"How did you know that snickers are my favorite?" Simon doesn't answer, only looks at you unnervingly expectantly.

Right. Let him give me the flowers and chocolate.

"Thank you so much for all of this, Simon. Happy Valentine's Day."

He lets out a deep sigh (of relief?) and opens long arms. You walk up to him, wrap your arms around his waist— the side of your head flat on his broad chest— and let out an undignified squawk when you feel your spine pop as he returns the hug.

You blatantly ignore the bulge firmly pressing itself into the soft flesh of your lower stomach, and definitely don't think about how large it feels.

"Happy Valentine's Day, pet."

Later, Johnny laughs so hard that he cries when he sees the rust-colored streaks of blood on the Snickers wrapper.

"Simon's an intense man, what can ah say?"

[aphelionwrotes11]

(MDNI 18+) (unedited)

Trucker!simon x reader (afab)

CW: smut, unprotected PiV penetration, dubcon (slight alcohol consumption, not a lot)

Part 3

Trucker!simon, as puntual as ever, raps his heavy fist against your door at 7pm sharp. You have to take a final look at yourself in the mirror to ensure you still look well groomed.

When you open the door Simon’s huge form takes up nearly the entire doorframe. He’s wearing heavy dark blue jeans, a flannel button up, and a thick leather jacket. He has a bouquet of red and pink roses. You get to enjoy his uncovered smile as you fawn over them.

He lifts them for you to smell, but the only thing you catch of whiff of is his musky cologne, rich and deep. Once you get the roses settled into a vase, Simon walks you to his pickup with a warm hand resting firm on your hip.

When you ask him where he’s taking you, he just glances your way with a smirk,

“You’ll see, lovey.”

You giggle and ask him how much longer it’ll be.

“Wot’s the matter? Just can’t wait much longer for it to be over and be in my bed?”

You gape at him, your face flushing red, and he chuckles. He must notice you squeezing your thighs together, because a moment later he plants his massive hand on your thigh, giving you a gentle squeeze.

By the time you two make it to the restaurant, you’re certain there must be a puddle on his brown leather seats with how much he was squeezing your thigh, teasing his fingers just under the skirt of your dress. Your legs feel like jello as he helps you out of the truck.

The place he’s taken you is a lot prettier than you imagined, cute and atmospheric. You’re a bit shocked that a gruff man like him would know any places like this.

Has a reservation for the two of you, at a table he specifically chose. A private table in the corner, nestled between two large plant covered windows. You gasp at the view, looking out over the well lit street.

When you ask him how he found such a lovely place, he tells you he knows the owner’s husband.

“S’my ol cap’s wife, used to be in the force with em’. Same team. Lovely couple, they’ll like you.”

You listen to him speak, asking him questions about his time in the military. When it’s time to order, you take a final glance at the menu, your brows furrowing. It’s a real nice place, and the prices reflect that.

“You can get whatever you want, lovey.” He says, but you just frown. So he looks up at the waiter and tells him to give you both another minute.

You explain that you’re sorry, everything’s just so expensive, you don’t want to cost him too much. He looks offended and grunts, leaning over to you.

“Money ain’t an issue f’me.”

“I’ll get you anything you want, anything at all, bird.” He says so gently, you’re unsure he’s even talking about food.

By the end of dinner, your belly is full and your cheeks are warm, from him or the glass of wine, you aren’t sure. The two of you talked for hours, and your stomach still hurts from how hard he made you laugh with his ridiculous dad jokes.

You feel giddy as he walks you out to his truck, arm around your shoulder. You nestle yourself into his side, taken in his heat and his smell. The mood shifts once the two of you get into the truck. Suddenly the air is too hot, and you would really love to lose a few layers.

Just like before, he plants his warm palm on the fat of your thigh, massaging his fingers into it. But this time, as his fingers breach the skirt of your dress, they keep inching up until his thumb is pressed up against your clothed sex. You suck in a breath as he applies some pressure to your throbbing clit.

“So wet already, ain’t ya bird?” He whispers, his voice thick.

The only response you can give him is a whine as he shifts his hand till he’s grinding his palm against you. You meet his pace, moving your hips against his hand, grasping his arm as you whimper.

His other hand grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white. He struggles to even keep his eyes on the road, and when he finally glances at you, just to see you looking up at him all needy and flushed, he has to resist pulling over and taking you right here in his truck. Instead he just presses harder on the gas and on your wet pussy.

By the time you’ve made it to his home, you’ve already cum twice. Your gasping and twitching as he jumps from out as soon as he puts the truck into park, speed walking to your side and ripping the door open to smash his lips against yours.

Carries you up the front door, your legs wrapped around his waist. He parts from you only once to unlock his door and take you both inside. He pushes you against the wall, tearing of his jacket as you pull off your own. His hands grab the hem of your dress, you help him pull it over your head. You blush as he pauses for a moment to take in your matching set, red lace bralette and panties.

“This all f’me? So perfect.” He groans. Hand coming up to cup your tit and press a wet kiss to your lace covered chest.

By the time he has you laid out in his bed you’re naked and hot. You claw at his shirt, whining at him to take it off.

He complies without second thought, ripping it off and revealing a muscled, scarred chest. You can’t help how you practically mewl at the sight of him.

He bends down as he’s removing his jeans to press kisses down the expanse of your throat. His mouth finds a nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He licks your chest sloppily, groaning as he sucks hickies on your tits. He stands straight as he pulls off his boxers, revealing a thick cock, the tip an angry red as it leaks precum.

“Look a’ what you do to me love. Never been so hard.” His voice is low and nearly whiny near the end of his sentence.

Spends a real long time stretching you out on his thick fingers. Sucks on your tits and neck the whole time. He’s almost as loud as you, watching you as you squirm beneath him with groans falling from his lips. You cum at least 2 times, but you aren’t sure, your bones feel like jelly and your vision is so blurred from tears you can barely see Simon’s face. If you could see it, you would see how pussy drunk he looks, absolutely love struck.

When he finally lines himself with your entrance, he gently squeezes your hips and presses a few sweet kisses to your mouth.

“You ready bird? Think ya can take some more?” He asks softly.

Yes, yes, please. You tell him. Finally.

Doesn’t waste another moment and finally pushes himself into your slick cunt with a low groan. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, gently thrusting himself into you at first.

“Feel s’good.. so so good.” He mumbles against your skin, halting his movements for a moment.

He lifts himself to his elbows, analyzing your face to ensure you’re comfortable. With your approval he starts moving, fucking you with long and languid thrusts. Pulling his cock all the way out before pushing back in.

After a while of him moving like this, you feel like you’re about to fall apart again. You claw at his back, legs wrapped around his waist as he hits a gooey spot within you that has you clenching on his cock.

“Give it t’me sweetheart, please, I need it.” He says, sounding utterly wrecked.

And once you come on his cock, he loses it. He starts humping himself into you at an ungodly pace, one that has you crying and mewling his name. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, you can’t even form the words to ask him to slow down, but given the look on his face you aren’t sure if he’d even hear you.

He looks so out of it, practically drunk. His eyes are half lidded and lips parted as he grunts and gasps. His hands hold your hips in a vice grip that you know will leave marks, not like it matters though, he’s already marked all over your chest and throat.

“Been- been waiting to take ya out fer- fu-uck-“ he pauses, his hips snapping against yours, “since I saw ya bird- knew you were mine. All mine.” He growls out.

His eyes nearly roll to the back of his skull as you clench down on his length, he lets out a breathy moan as he slows his movements.

“W-where you want it birdie? Where y’want me to cum?” He gasps out.

Blows his load as soon as you squeak out a quiet “inside.”

He’s growling, gasping and panting, as he pumps his load into you. Keeps thrusting even after he’s cum, pressing his nose into your hair and whining.

Once the two of you have come down, and you finally stop seeing stars, he quickly hops up to get a wet rag and cold glass of water. Cleans the both of you up and urges you to take a few sips, finishes what’s left of the glass once you do.

You practically pass out as soon as he’s got you wrapped up in his warm, burly arms. He stays awake though, petting your hair and gazing at your pretty face. He’s finally got you, and he’s never letting you go.

Note: it was HELL trying to get this done for you guys today :((( my wifi decided to die once I was halfway through with the first part of this fic, which then deleted everything and I had to rewrite EVERYTHINF. That and my poor doggy has been losing his mind over the fireworks going off every ten mins (curse you Fourth of July). It’s fine tho, cuz I think it turned out so cute. Ofc I had to add in the fluffy ending, also please forgive the repetitive word use and unnecessary commas!! I’m planning on coming back and editing this one hardcore, if I end up adding any major things to it I’ll just post the updated version (as well as this one) but this will do for now!! Just wanted to give u guys something to chew on cuz I left you all high and dry with the first part lol

Simon Riley master list

[featherlouise]

It was like a vision from an angry god

[beloveds-embrace]

(dukedom au, but you are gone for a week cue four men yearning)

The estate feels terribly empty without you.

At first, John tells himself it is only because the house is large and his duties are many. It is a fine excuse- an easy one. He can pretend, for a little while, that his mood is not soured by the absence of your voice at breakfast, by the fact that your perfume no longer lingers in the halls, by the cold, empty side of the bed where you normally sleep.

A week. A mere week, and yet John feels as though you have been gone an eternity.

The others are no better.

Johnny, usually so full of mirth, lingers in the kitchen longer than necessary, creating dish after dish that no one eats. He sets out a plate for you at every meal, stares at it as if willing you to appear. Sometimes, in a fit of frustration, he abandons the dining table entirely and takes his meals in the kitchen, where the staff quietly shuffle around him, their own hearts aching for the absence of their beloved duchess.

Kyle keeps himself busy, burying himself in the estate’s affairs. He goes over reports he has already read twice over, polishes the silverware himself when he thinks no one is looking. John finds him in your sitting room one evening, carefully dusting the spines of your books, though that is hardly his duty.

And Simon, ever so composed, ever so unreadable, is perhaps the worst of them all. He disappears for hours at a time, taking long, aimless rides through the countryside, returning only when the moon has risen high in the sky. He never says where he goes, and no one dares ask, but John knows it is longing that chases him from the estate. When he is not riding, he is haunting your parlor, sitting in your chair by the fire, fingers tracing over the embroidery of the cushion you had so painstakingly stitched by hand.

John had thought himself a patient man. He had been patient when you were wed, when you were shy and uncertain in his home. He had been patient when you discovered his lovers, when you had laughed instead of recoiled, when you had slowly, slowly, let yourself be drawn into their warmth.

But this- this absence of you-

John is not patient now.

He receives your letters, of course. Short, sweet things, penned in your careful hand. You speak of your relative’s health, of the weather, of how you miss the estate and the men who reside in it. You ask if Simon is eating properly, if Kyle is getting enough sleep, if Johnny is not overworking himself. And John- you ask of him too.

I dream of you, my love. I think of you often. Of all of you. Do you think of me?

John exhales, rubbing a hand over his beard as he stares at the parchment. He is sitting at his desk, the candlelight flickering, casting long shadows over the room.

Do you even need to ask?

He folds the letter carefully, setting it atop the others in his drawer. The mere thought of you dreaming of him makes his body ache in ways he cannot put to words, even as he pens a reply for you. He does not mention how empty and lifeless the the estate is without you- you must be worried already by your relative’s health and tired still from the long journey. He can’t put more on your plate.

Though, he hates how the days pass slowly.

By nightfall, John sits alone in the drawing room, a fire crackling low in the hearth, but the seat beside him is empty. Your embroidery frame remains untouched. He glances at it, at the last piece you had been working on- a delicate bloom of violets, only half-finished- and finds himself running a finger over the fine thread.

“Ridiculous.” He mutters under his breath. And yet, he does not move from his place, staring into the fire as if waiting for the sound of your footsteps.

In the kitchen, Johnny kneads dough with more force than necessary, his arms sore from the effort. He does not complain, but his movements are sharp, restless.

Johnny knew he would miss you. He had expected it, had braced for it when he kissed your cheek in parting and told you to travel safely. But knowing it and feeling it are two different things.

The kitchen is too still. He finds himself setting out two teacups in the morning instead of one, expecting to hear your soft voice asking what was for breakfast. He catches himself reaching for the honey you like, only to stop halfway and set it back down with a sigh.

He spends more time than usual baking, filling the kitchen with scents of warm bread, sweet pastries, things you love. The staff enjoy it, of course, but they aren’t you. They don’t smile at him with that particular look in their eyes, don’t sneak tastes of jam off the spoon when they think he isn’t looking.

On the fourth evening without you, Johnny sits at the long dining table, his hands folded in front of him as he stared at the empty chair where you usually sat.

“I should’ve gone with her.” He mutters, drumming his fingers against the polished wood.

“You wouldn’t have been allowed,” Kyle replies, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. “She wouldn’t let you drop everything just to follow her like a lost pup.”

Johnny huffs, but he doesn’t argue.

Kyle, ever dutiful, remains composed, but there is an air of unease about him. The routine of the estate is well-kept, yet something is missing. Someone is missing. He finds himself checking the front gates more often than usual, as if expecting your carriage to appear earlier than usual.

Kyle keeps himself busy. He always did, and this week is no exception. The house still needs running, duties still need tending. But even as he works, he feels the weight of your absence like a missing piece of a puzzle.

He notices it in the small things. The way the household staff move, more subdued, missing the warmth you carried into every room. The way the evening routine feels… off. You had a habit of lingering in the hallways after supper, speaking softly with the maids, the footmen, offering a kind word or a knowing glance when someone needed it.

Without you, the house feels colder.

Kyle does not sigh or linger by windows, does not wallow the way Johnny or John do. But on the fifth day, when he enters the library to set fresh candles, he pauses by your reading chair. One of your books lays open, a silk ribbon marking your place. He reaches for it, smoothing a hand over the page before exhaling slowly and setting it back down.

That night, he locked the doors a little later than usual, waiting- just a little longer- for the sound of your return.

Simon, meanwhile, says nothing. He does not pine aloud, nor does he linger like the others. And yet, there is no denying that your absence gnawed at him.

He had been the last to fall for you, the last to let you into his heart. He thought himself made of colder things, of old scars and solitude, yet you had settled into his life as if you had always belonged.

And now, you were gone.

Simon finds himself drawn to your rooms, not stepping inside, but lingering just outside the threshold. He will not enter without you there. But he stands in the hallway sometimes, late at night when even the candles had burned low, and simply… listens.

There is no sound beyond the distant hoot of an owl. No soft breathing, no rustle of your gown as you move through the rooms.

He closes his eyes.

“Come home soon, Duchess.” He murmurs, voice lost to the empty halls.

The estate is not whole without you.

By the seventh day, they are restless.

John stands at the front of the house, hands clasped behind his back as he stares down the road. Johnny hovers in the entrance hall, pacing. Kyle has ensured everything is perfectly arranged for your return. Simon has taken to standing in the courtyard, watching the horizon.

And then- at last- the distant rumble of carriage wheels.

They do not rush, do not appear desperate, but the moment your carriage comes into view, relief ripples through them.

The door opens. You step out, your gaze sweeping over them- soft, surprised at the intensity of their presence. And then you smile, and it is as if the week of longing melts away in an instant.

John steps forward first, taking your gloved hand and kissing it, but his grip lingers. Johnny barely restrains himself from pulling you into an embrace. Kyle exhales, tension easing from his shoulders. Simon says nothing, but the way he looks at you speaks volumes.

“You’re home, Duchess.” John murmurs.

Your smile widens. “I am.”

And at last, the house is warm again.

Dukedom au masterlist

[littleindulgences]

thinking about them coming home to find you in nothing but their robe… gn!reader

When John returns home in the wee hours of morning, he can’t help but stop and stare. You’re in the kitchen, brewing something strong by the smell of it, swaying your hips to a song only you can hear. Something dark curls in John’s belly at the sight of you—fresh from a shower, hair still wet, bundled up in the threadbare flannel of his robe. He can’t stop himself from pressing the entirety of himself against you, ignoring the way you gasp in surprise when he buries his face in your shoulder to press a kiss there. His big hands grope at the fat of your hips, slide down to massage your thighs, groans when he feels your hand thread through his hair. He bunches the fabric up around your ribs and makes a punched-out sound—you’re not wearing a thing underneath.

“You’re home early,” you’ll breathe, caught up in his startling intensity.

“Missed you so much,” he’ll say, and his whole chest aches at the gleeful laugh you give when he sweeps you into his arms and carries you to bed.

You don’t notice when Simon comes home until you suddenly have an armful of him. The big brute can’t stop touching. He’s kneading your ass and panting into your neck and rubbing against you like he’s possessed. His gloved fingers roam under the worn fabric of the robe you’d thrown on after your shower—the robe you’re just now realizing is his. He practically whines when you try to pull away for air.

“Please, bird,” he all but begs, dropping to his knees before you, “please, can I?”

He’s already pressing his face between your legs before you can really give an answer, so forcefully you bump into the counter with a yelp. You gasp his name as he goes to fuckin’ town, yanking on his hair from the onslaught of stimulation. You really shouldn’t have showered in the first place, love. Look at the mess you’re making.

Now, Kyle likes to pretend he has self-control. And he does! …Until it comes to you, that is. Until it comes to finding you lounging in bed, halfheartedly wrapped in Kyle’s ratty old robe, when he’s been gone for over two weeks. Suffice it to say: he pounces on you. You can’t help the yelp you give when he flips you over, laying you bare like a Christmas present in the middle of June. He thumbs circles into your sides as he leans in close to lick into your mouth.

“So pretty, so fuckin’ pretty,” he says over and over as he mouths at your collarbones. “So, so, so pretty…”

“Kyle!” you protest, laughing, trying to get him to give you a second to catch your breath.

“Inaminute,” he moans, rocking against you. You’re just so sweet, fresh from a shower—Kyle could swear you were divine. Don’t blame him, love! He just can’t help himself!

All Johnny registers is a flash of your bare thighs before he’s after you. You shriek with laughter as he chases you around the house. He finally catches you when you slip, hauling you upright, rough palms kneading at your chest, practically huffing your clean scent. You try to squirm away, still giggling, but he just holds you tighter. He doesn’t even realize you’re wearing his robe until he’s got you on the couch and then he’s grinning down at you wolfishly.

“Dressed up jus’ fer me, love?” he purrs, tugging the ties apart. He gives your hip a squeeze, and it’s his turn to laugh at the gasp you make.

“Didn’t think you’d be home yet,” you admit, “I missed you. Wanted a hug.” You blush, clearly a little embarrassed. Johnny just smiles wider and squishes you against him with all his strength, granting your wish—but don’t think that’ll distract him from taking you apart, dressed in his robe. He’ll make sure you don’t miss him too badly now that he’s home.

[hear-me-yell-bout-stuff]

I just notice smth as i was rewatching this scene

THE BOTTLE DIDNT JUST HIT HIM , IT WENT INTO HIS FUCKING HEAD

[chotachica]

Favorite part of The Dead Boy Detectives for sure is Edwin pulling literally every single age appropriate male character he interacted with. The absolute cunt ever

[shotmrmiller]

09 Wife with a pathetic!Simon instead.

She appears and his tac knife is quickly at her throat, but once she shows him the dog tags around her neck, along with personal info like how he was an apprentice butcher before he signed up for the military, he puts the blade away.

She's too soft, too dainty. Even if she wanted to try something, he'd snap her neck in an instant.

Then she runs a thumb across the bare, puckered skin of his lower rib cage as she recounts some details of how he got the scar there but all of it falls on deaf ears.

Her touch on his old wound feels like she's scraping his nerves raw- and it has him rock hard in seconds.

Simon can't help but think about how she isn't disgusted by his marred flesh. How her eyes rove over him with an emotion he can't place, as do her hands.

He's so painfully erect that he feels like if he shifts, the sensation of the fabric of his sleeping bottoms rubbing against his sensitive head can make him come.

Simon feels lightheaded as his vision begins to spin— breaths coming in harsh pants.

She's underneath him still, eyes wide as she gazes up at him, and he can't remember the last time he had someone in his bed without paying for it.

He swallows thickly and moves to get off of her when she bends her leg, touching his groin— her knee pushing up into his tightened ball sack, and he feels something inside of him snap.

All he can hear is the deafening noise of his rapid heartbeat. He can't see anything and he's not sure if it's because the ecstasy coursing through his body has robbed him of his sight, or if he's squeezing his eyes shut.

Simon's body is trembling with the aftershocks of his climax. His lungs burn from the lack of oxygen, and his mind is fuzzy with pleasure. As he comes back down from his high, he slowly opens his eyes— only to see her.

With a stunned expression on her face, she stared up at him in disbelief, her mouth wide open. There's a clear liquid splattered over her rosy cheeks dripping down to the side of her face.

Simon pats his forehead, only to feel it a little warmer than normal, but completely dry.

Oh.

He uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.

"Sorry."

[lyraa-kill]

quick don’t think about ghost being ridiculously horny and humping soaps boot while he’s fully naked and soap is completely clothed and ghost is whining and crying and begging to be allowed to cum and soap keeps telling him no and to beg and hump harder which just makes ghost cry more

[d0lipr4n3]

father daughter obligatory bonding time

outfit swap and simon in one of my bajillion art styles

[oh2bloved]

THE NEW EPS ARE SOO FUN

[heavenbarnes]

dunno if you’ve written this yet but could you write older bf! simon being edged or idk dominated the thought of it makes my brain go brrr🥴

ps. if you’re not comfortable w that ignore this:)

(i love your work btw 🫶🏼🫶🏼)

i haven’t written this yet because it’d dangerous for my overall health I NEED HIM SO BAD 🫶🏼

something had to be said about your older bf!simon and the natural dominance that seemed to follow him. you reckoned it was his line of work, having to be L.T- always having to be in the right place at the right time.

something he made look easy.

it wasn’t always easy, not really and not that he’d admit (to anyone other than you)

when it was just you and he, when there was no threat around the corner, when he could allow his mind to be quiet. that’s when things became really easy.

“being so good for me, si”

your voice was silken, spun sugar, supernovas- your voice was all consuming and taking over every inch of him until he thought he might become the exploding star of it all.

firm back against your chest, pressing you further into the arm of the couch. one of your arms slung over his chest, gently stroking the firm tone of his stomach.

other arm snaking around his waist, spit slick fist tight around his cock as you slowly tugged him off. simon’s face buried in the crook of your neck to muffle whimpers.

seven- he could count seven times he was on the precipice of cumming for you. seven times he nearly spewed hot streams of cum across your fist, coating your fingers.

he hadn’t cum once.

“sweet’art, i need it”

you cooed for him, lips pressing against the crown of his head as you felt his stomach twitching and tensing under your palm.

simon only burrowed back further into your touch, coiling himself up in the shape of your body. the hand that wasn’t tugging his cock was petting the soft hairs trailing towards it.

“i know, but you don’t really want this to end- do you?”

his chest cracked open with a groan, deep and guttural as he bucked his hips up into your hand. his cock, wet and messy, slipping straight through your hold as he practically fucked himself on you.

this was the simon riley you knew and needed.

only you saw this side of him, wrapped up in you and entirely pathetic. whimpers and pouted lips as your finger tips played with the head of his cock.

this was how you knew he was made for you, rough around the edges and unmovable by nature- but for you? leaking viscose pre-cum down your wrist like a natural spring.

“nah, sweet’art- keep touchin’ please”

dead before he’d let anyone else know you could render him fucked out like this, little secret just for you both. you’d probably kill anyone that saw him look this good, anyway.

veins in his neck bulging against the skin, cheeks red hot as his lips pursed with another wanton moan. body stretching out rigid like a snake sizing up its meal.

“that’s it, si- nice and easy”

[simon-pitch]

[stevenrogered]

BRIDGERTON | 3x07, "Joining of Hands"

[gakbang]

SIMON 🙌

Uuhhhh reposting this again bc I hated the way the first one came out (sorry abt that) 😬

[iceman-soup]

cumdrunk ghost pretty please? w/ begging and dirty talk pleease?? thank you have a good day 😌

ohmygod YES okayy

amab masc!reader x bot!ghost

You've lost count of how many times you've finished inside Simon at this point, but you both know it's a lot. His legs are shaking but still clinging on to where he's wrapped them around your waist, cock leaking against his stomach as he claws at your back, craning his neck to bury his head in your shoulder whilst he sobs. You're buried deep in him, not moving and it's driving him up the wall, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks as he tries desperately to get your attention.

"Please, move, love, please," he keeps whispering, nipping and kissing at your neck but you just won't keep fucking him, instead teasing him relentlessly as he whimpers.

And you've got this stupid grin on your face as you murmur about how "big, scary Ghostie, begging and crying just for me, yeah?" He nods, mumbled begs falling from his damp lips, brown eyes gazing desperately into yours as his head falls back against the pillow again, pulling your face down to kiss him.

Whispered praise and pleas escape him, whines of "you're doin' so good, so so good, please move, please," in between him trying to shove his tongue down your throat as if he's attempting to inhale you.

"My gorgeous boy, looking so pretty right here," you murmur, finally starting to rock your hips back and forth again, making him groan loudly, back arching as he clings onto you.

"Faster, faster, sir, please." You kiss him again, biting at his lower lip to make him whine when you speed up. "Gonna cum again, please, please-" he's cut off by his own moans as his load spurts out over his abdomen, new tears of overstimulation falling as you quicken your pace.

"Didn't even touch you," you chuckle, kissing his cheek softly. "You want to stop, or are you gonna let me cum too, princess?" Simon grabs at your face, shaking hands desperately trying to pull your lips to his.

"Gonna- gonna let you- you cum," he stutters, groaning loudly when you do, then finally pulling out, kissing him again and rolling over so he can lie on top of you, face nestled into the crook of your neck. You both catch your breath for a few moments before you sit up a little, his head resting on your stomach as you look down over his sweaty body, thighs covered in the milky fluids as he mumbles nonsense, eyes closed and body relaxed, your sweet boy drifting off to sleep before you even get the chance to wipe him down or bathe him.