#sub!simon riley

[machveil]

POOKIE!! hear me out a fic for an extremely sub!ghost like to the point where he's on his hands and knees literally sobbing his heart out because he wants to eat you out and you're denying him because you're just enjoying watching him beg but eventually you give in

(I'm ovulating don't judge me im not usually this cruel 😭)

pookie… I see and hear you, I feel you in my bones we’re jumping straight in

CW: Fem!Reader, Sub!Ghost, weepy Simon Riley to soothe the soul… and other things, clothed humping, oral (fem!receiving)

tactical gear still fastened and balaclava tugged up just over his nose, the sight before you has your thighs pressed together as you sit on the edge of his bed. Ghost, in all his glory, sitting at your feet - tears wetting his eyelashes and balaclava as he looks up at you. he’s still large even when he’s kneeling, but the way he’s behaving makes him look so small

the last deployment he had been on, one where you stayed back at base, had taken such a toll on him. all in one piece, but exhausted and sore. he was admittedly gross right now, sweaty and gear dirty from field work, but god— as soon as he had guided you to his room he all but fell to his knees for you. “Please, jus’ wanna taste you sweet’art.”, strained, voice ragged and gravelly from giving out constant streams of orders. pitiful, deep brown eyes gazing at you as he tugged his mask up

something about the way he looked made a spark flicker to life in your chest, heat pooling in your gut. Ghost is never like this, your Ghost would never be like this - let alone on base. your Simon Riley? that’s what makes this all too familiar, the way he’s looking up at you like you’ve hung the moon and stars. that’s saved for the comfort of your home, your shared flat back in Manchester. to see him like this? a needy, desperate man crawling towards you, resting his chin on your lap? who could blame you for wanting to see a little more?

it almost makes you feel bad when a choked sob leaves his lips - you had let him slip your slacks off, pooled around your boots. your boots, maybe that was why Ghost’s eyebrows were screwed together as he sloppily mouthed at your thighs. “You can— just need you to cum for me first, Ghost.”, maybe that request was too cruel for him, you knew him too well. the sight of him grinding his painfully hard bulge against your boot, spit and drool slicking your thighs as he cried against your lap. you know he can’t, not like this. Ghost— Simon’s too used to you helping him

he can’t cum, not without you - your hand, your mouth, anything you’re willing to give him, even if it’s just his mouth pleasing you. skin on skin contact, it’s nothing compared to grinding on your boot or using his hand. his sclera are tinted red at the edges, salty tears mixing with his spit as he sucks at your thighs, anything to keep his mouth occupied as his hips buck against your shoe. five minutes, five minutes too long when Simon looks up at you. scarred lips smeared with his own saliva, a broken little hiccup followed by a shoulder shaking sob leaves him, “Missed you— please, please, lemme make you feel good, lovie, m’sorry.”

he nearly breaks down when you shift to tug your underwear down, shaky hands coming up to rest on your knees. before you can even finish saying ‘okay’ Simon is parting your legs, slotting himself between your plush thighs. sloppy, a man starved of affection and your cunt for weeks. it would have tugged at your heartstrings if you were paying attention to him, head lolled back as he desperately sucks on your clit. if you had been paying attention you would have caught his sobs, your poor Simon, crying against your cunt. as good as you feel, Simon’s already gone, underwear soaked through as soon as he had his mouth on you

[thephantomsdream]

Simon with a collar on, held by a leash and head thrown back as all he does is slam into you, your sweet praises filling his ears.

"Good boy." You'd moan, feeling his big cock fill you up as you just take it. It's all you needed, your sweet baby to fuck you from behind as you disconnect. And good thing you had an obedient man that did anything you wanted eagerly.

"You feel so good, baby." He'd groan at your words and look down at your thick ass bouncing with every slam of his hips into you, watching his cock spread your cunt again and again. He'd grab a handful of your ass fat, growl like the filthy animal he was and slam harder, earning a good scream from you.

Filthy fucking girl. He'd spit out if he could, but it didn't matter. He was just as fucking filthy, collared up, leash in your land pulling him towards you, owning every fiber of his being, ordering him to slut himself only for you. You owned him anyway. Yes, you fucking did. With every order, every touch, every glance, he was yours to command.

And he thrived when you did. Simon was made to be your dog, your rabid animal that only you could take and tame, even if at times the leash was for decoration, since taming him seemed to be the last thing you wanted.

Rough, dirty, filthy, all he had to do was pound your cunt and manhandle you. As he just was, lost himself in your core, mind dizzy, no other thoughts but you, his owner, mistress, love.

And as he watched you throw your head back, he put his hand around your throat to keep it there. The moan he got from you drove him wild, just as the way you pulled the leash onto you, making him lean down, glue his torso to your back as he still fucked you raw, rough and good.

"That's it, baby. Give it to me harder." Orders whispered into his ear as he held your throat still, by his head, and braced himself, spreading his legs for stability and plummeted, his heavy breathing hitting your ear.

And as you threw your head back, your eyes rolling in the back of your head, you saw it in his eyes, the way he was lost into the passion of the moment, teeth gritted and sweat falling from his temple. He was reduced to his most animalistic instinct, all he truly craved the moment you put that collar on him.

Lost in your dripping cunt, you smiled at him, your temple touching his, feeling his other hand take a handful of your tit and groan, the vibrations of his chest hitting your back, cock burried deep inside of you.

"My sweet baby." You coo, feeling it arrive. A wave of ecstasy as your whole body burns in heat, and he feels it too, as if connected, and bites into your neck, slurping on the sweat and meat, one objective in mind. And while all he chases was you cumming and creaming his cock, he agrees with you. He is sweet, isn't it? He slams into you, hearing your whines. He's being so good for you, isn't he? He slams again, his grip on your throat tightens, and so does your cunt around him. He's your good boy, yeah? He felt it, your pussy spasming. You love him, don't you? He drilled harder.

And as you finally came, screaming like a desperate whore for him, he saw you fall to the side and smirk at him, dizzy, breathless, heavy tits lifting and falling with each of your pants. And you looked up at him, smirking, knowing he isn't done. He kneeled on the bed, panting hard, waiting. Cock hard and wet, your cream at his base and pre-cum leaking from the tip. And he waited.

"Aww, baby. You aren't done, aren't you?" You coo and tease, adjusting to lay on your back and spread your legs, then with a quick movement of your wrist, you pulled the leash towards you.

"Come here, puppy. Fill me up good, yeah?" It was all he needed to hear before he descended onto you.

[gvnwitchrxse]

‼️I NEED More Sub!Ghost x Femdom!Reader‼️

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In general, there's hardly sub!Ghost fanfictions and I'm becoming very irritated by that 😖😫‼️

It gets tiresome after reading and coming across to so many fanfictions of Ghost 'man-handling' readers 😵😷

More Mommy and baby boy kinks pls (my personal favorite) 🥺🙏 It would be amazing 😍

‼️Reblog to Spread the Word ‼️✨❤️‍🔥

[gvnwitchrxse]

THIS! THIS! THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!!

dom simon this dom simon, that WHAT ABOUT SUB!SIMON

what about simon who falls apart at your touch, gets whiny and needy, ruts his leaking cock onto your shoe as he eats you out. humping at you like a dog in heat. almost cumming when you degrade him.

what about simon who rolls his eyes to the back of his head when he first pushes into your heat. soft, breathy moans fall from his lips as he starts shaking, his rhythm sloppy because he cant get over how heavenly you feel around his cock.

what about simon who melts when you praise him, scratch his head when he does good. cums untouched when you play with his nipples.

what about simon who loves to be a pillow princess. laying down on the bed letting you do whatever you want to him without any complaints. always pliant and soft. not being bratty at all, just a perfect pet for you.

what about simon who cries during sex because it all feels too good and becomes too much very fast. your cunt milking his overstimulated cock as he sobs and writhes below you.

simon who loves to let go of the control when he's underneath you. his hands always working reverently to touch you, make you feel as good as you make him feel.

just,, sub simon.

[bitin-and-barkin]

STRONG OLDER MEN. I want to see a man, so rough and tough in the streets actually be a big sweetheart and SO nervous in bed. All flustered and whiney, rutting against your thigh like a one dollar whore. I need to see them overstimulated and crying from pleasure while you suck them off or eat them out. I want to see them be so scared about hurting you while they fuck you oh so gently, SO horny, but so afraid of hurting you. I wanna see one cry and whimper into your neck while they ride you soo well like a good boy <3 you let them cum as much as they want because they're being soo good for you (and they NEED that privilege cause they are soo sensitive and will cum so much) and they eat ALL of your praise up

[dmitriene]

kissing at simon's riley tummy, out of pure tenderness, laying between his spread legs, meaty and muscled as his thighs tremble, tensing, your soft lips trailing along the fuzzed hairs that trail beneath his boxer briefs, where he's all swollen, leaking a large, wet spot against the fabric, twitching at your every little smooch, your hands playing with the dusted hairs at his thighs.

soft layers of pale skin, scarred and uneven beneath your every touch, every little sweep, his stomach padded with gained fat and yielding muscles, rippling lightly when you lick across the area, suckling a gentle bruise, something yours along the canvas of painful experiences on his body, something holding the love in it.

simon huffs, breathing heavily through his slacked mouth, eyelids heavy and framing the murky irises of his eyes with quivering, translucent eyelashes, peering at you when you tease too close to his cock, heavily swollen against his leg, as you pepper kisses against the cotton of his boxers, feeling the throb of the engorged girth, the bulging veins.

he let's you tease him gladly, cloak in these raking up and down touches and lingering kisses, sometimes so close, sometimes too far, yet still enjoyable as your warm breath sweeps across his skin, soothing and pulling throaty, needy sounds that make simon purse his lips together tightly, holding them, fighting the whimpers as his hips buckle, eyes watering.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[zg0nuwa]

i’m not switching between my hyperfixations because i’m autistic, i’m just a whore

[alpacwip]

I feel absolutely feral

Hallowed by Your Hands

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Rating: explicit (18+ mdni)

Classification: flashfic

Summary: a little rambling but it’s pure filth, my loves

Warnings: smut, penetrative sex, porn with feelings, sub!ghost, softestdom!reader, touch-starved, desperate!ghost, needy!ghost, obsessed!ghost, crying, brief mentions of killing/violence, the briefest mention of a knife

Simon “Ghost” Riley is inexperienced and touch-starved and I will die on this hill. He is pathetic and clingy and overwhelmed and completely fucking obsessed with you.

This man. This man okay. ‬

He will wrap all 6 foot whatever, 200+ pounds of himself around you. Face buried in your neck, arms around you, forearms pressed against your back, hands grasping at your shoulders, your waist, whimpering at the feel of you. Lock your ankles around his waist and pull him harder against you and he will sob into your neck. ‬

Needy, pathetic, gasping, hips twitching, wet eyes, sobbing against your skin. God, you want him close? He wants to crawl into your bones. Wants to fucking live there. He can’t believe you want him close. Close enough to hurt you — he knows you know he could kill you, easily — and you’re still letting him put his hands on you. Begging you for more without believing he deserves what he’s already getting. He can’t help but be greedy. Can’t help but feel shamefully guilty about it either.

Yank his hair, make him look at you, his eyes twitchy and darting around — he can’t bear to make eye contact for more than a few seconds at a time — shame, shame, shame, please, please, please. Teeth sunk into his bottom lip, keening when you move against him. Shuttering and crying, holding you so tight it bruises. Crying harder when you brush away his tears, breath hitching when you press kisses all over his face. Forgetting how to breathe entirely when you kiss and bite and suck at his neck. Stuttering mess, screwing his eyes shut to try to talk, tripping over his words but he can’t stop babbling. ‬

“Feel so fucking good, you feel so good. You- fuck, f- hhgn- fuck, make me f-feel. So. G-good. How- ah- how do you feel so- feel so- ah! Ah, ah, nghh, please, p-le-ase, pl-ease, please,”

Panting, whining mess. Still wrapped around you. Desperate. Undeserving. Can’t let go. Won’t let go. Can’t. Never. You’ll have to kill him. Have to kill him. But you don’t. Won’t. You’ve never even hurt him. So soft, so warm, make him feel so good it aches down to his bones, but you’ve never hurt him. He knows, trusts somehow, that you won’t hurt him. Driving into you like it’s his only purpose, hips jerking in short stunted thrusts, grinding against you when he looses focus, trying to keep his cock as deep inside you as he can, face burning red when you call him out for humping against you like a dog in heat.

Stammering, looking away, moaning — open and loud — when you touch his face to make him look at you, telling him to take what he needs. Never hurt him. Hand on his side, stroking, petting his skin. Fingers twisted in his hair, burning, electric, so so good. You touch as much of him as you can reach and he thanks you for it, sweeping your fingers over his fevered skin, he thinks he might die with it. Everywhere you touch glows and he feels holy from it — hallowed by your hands alone.

The broken, wounded-animal noise he lets out when you press your hand against the back of his neck, squeezing the sides ever so slightly as you pull him down to kiss. He’s killed people like that, the brutal dig of his fingers against their airway. He’d let you, he thinks — as you lick into his mouth and he whimpers when you nip you teeth against his lip — he’d let you wrap both your beautiful hands around his throat from the front, he’d let you squeeze until his vision went fuzzy and his lungs burned with it, and he’d trust you to do it. Fuck, he’d let you hold a fucking knife to his throat. The thoughts makes his cock twitch inside you. You’d never hurt him. Feels so fucking good.

He’s a mess of heat and scar tissue and strength. Leathal power clinging to you like a lifeline. You hold him together. Searing through all his jagged-edged pieces like molten fucking gold till it’s all he can see, all he can feel — the warm honey haze of you. You, you, you. Bright as the fucking sun. You. The beginning and end of everything he could ever want.

Breathy, whimpering, keening noises as he cums. He gasps and paws at you, trying to pull you even closer. Groaning as you praise him, basking in being your good boy as he shivers through the last of his orgasm. Sobs and whines and says “thank you, thank you” the whole time. God, he wants you branded into his skin.

You’ll have to wait a bit until you can convince him to let you up to get a rag. Embarrassed but loose limbed and relaxed as you clean him up and kiss his eyelids and make him drink a glass of water. He’s never felt so fucking loved. Never felt so safe as he lays — on his stomach between your thighs, settled heavy on you, his head resting on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, arms locked around your waist — and you play with his hair and soothe your hands across his shoulders and tell him how good, how beautiful, how perfect, how loved he is. He puts your sweet words against his heart, lines his ribcage with them, like armor.

He says it — his biggest and most treasured truth — softly, carefully, reverently, against your skin, “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you so much,”

[tojisun]

hhh thinkin about choking simon while you’re riding him. his eyes are blown wide open, his face flushed with oversensitivity. he bucks his hips up every time you bounce, his moans slipping past his gritted teeth like a murmured grunt.

“fuck, baby,” you keen, your voice a hissed lilt. “so thick ‘round me.”

“shit,” simon rasps, going cross-eyed at how good everything feels—the warm press of your walls around him, your hand tight around his neck. it’s not that your grip is even strong, but the constant pressure of your hold grounds him; it fills him up with razing euphoria.

he adores having you this way, all dominant and in control of him; all snarled grin and teasing mewls. he’s putty in your hand, all for you to use, and simon is dizzy at the thought of it.

you giggle, tapping at his lips. “open wide, baby.”

simon breathes in sharply, his nose flaring in his excitement. he follows your command with obedience, his tongue lolling out slightly because he knows what will come next.

you lean forward just enough that your nose brushes against him before spitting in his mouth, and simon groans, throbbing with desire.

you watch him swallow it down with a fevered smile, your cheeks round in your own drunken happiness.

“good boy,” you trill, leaving open-mouth kisses along his jaw.

[simonz-angel]

jackin off nerdy!loser!college partner simon riley

his pen falls, fingers going limp as your lips press against his. he’s soft, pliable beneath your fingertips, arching into your every feathery touch, panting into your mouth messily.

your notebooks lay open and abandoned, paper ticking softly with the chill of wind that passes through the open window. and simon’s chin hitches, tongue pressing and threading around yours sloppily, inexperiencedly.

and when you’re fingertips dip beneath the thin material of his stretchy joggers, he’s gasping in a broken moan, the angry tip of his cock leaking in a pearly mess of precum.

“you’re mine, simon,” you breathe into the open shell of his mouth, tongue swiping his bottom lip, tasting him up on your tongue. your fingertips disappear into the scratchy, sandy curls that frame his pretty cock, hand fisting up around him so suddenly he chokes. “say it.”

his big brown eyes peer up at you dizzily, a haze blurring his usual intense stare. he’s panting, hair disheveled, glasses cocked crooked over the bridge of his nose. “i-i’m yours, i’m yours, yes..”

he’s whining, hips reeling up off the floor as you wrist flicks, pulling the skin of his cock taut before you’re smoothing your hand back down. you watched over him, free hand digging up into the short of his blonde hair, pulling his drooping head back to get a real look at him.

you’d must admit, he was a pretty, pretty boy. the dripping honey of his eyes encapsulated with his sparkling blonde lashes, crooked nose dented in on the sides with his glasses, his pretty pink lips lathered in a lewd mixture of your saliva. and he panted hot, open-mouthed against your face, staring up at you with some dumbed down look.

“when you ace me through this semester, baby, you’ll get the real thing, ‘kay?” you pout down at him, bringing one of his hands beneath your skirt. n when his fingertips skim over the wet fabric of your panties, your desperate pussy clenches, stomach rolling with his hesitant touches. “until then… “

[gothghostiie]

okok listen - telling the 141 "use your words"

cw: brat!reader, dom!reader, no actual smut, manhandling, begging, brat!soap, sub!ghost, gn!reader

price doesn't like being fucked around with; if he's feeling you up on a stressful day, just wanting to release some tension, and you stop him with a hand to his chest, telling him to use his words? you probably have a death wish. before you can even react he's got your cheeks in a tight grip, glaring down at you while your nose almost touches his. "wanna repeat that, lovie?" he asks lowly, sarcastically. you both know if you give him another bratty answer you're in for it.

Soap's eyes widen when you tell him to use his words while he's trying to get into your pants. goes all red and tense, you already start to think you overstepped something here and want to apologise; before his face shifts to a look of submission and a bit of defiance. he tries to get his hands under your shirt again without saying a word, wanting to resist you and your - what was supposed to be a joke - order, wanting to test you. I'd be lying if I said he didn't love how rough you suddenly get with him.

Gaz and you are mutually fooling around, he's sucking on your neck and kissing down when you tell him to use his words - he just stops for a brief moment before grinning up at you. "want me to use my words baby? tell you all the things I wanna do with you?" he says in a teasing tone, pushing his tongue into your mouth for a sloppy kiss before trailing kisses to your ear and whispering all the nasty, dirty things he wants to do with you right now, his tone low with occasional chuckles at how you're suddenly putty in his hands.

ghost might be my fav - he's snuggled up to you, hand pushing into your sweatpants when you grab his wrist to stop him, telling him to use his words. he freezes, staring up at you through blond lashes and with pink cheeks; you can practically see the internal struggle he's in. he's torn between wanting to appear big and strong, and just giving in. it's not a long struggle, especially when you run a hand through his messy hair, face burying in your neck as soft begging falls from his lips, trembling hands holding onto you tightly as if you might push him off if he doesnt.

[gvnwitchrxse]

🤤❤️‍🔥

Good ol’ Boy.

@celestialsun888

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Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!Reader

Genre: Filthy Smut! [+18 MDNI]

Word Count: 2.6k

Synopsis: Ghost pushes you just enough to see if you have it in you to top him.

★ TW: Bottom!Simon/ Top!Reader, heavy teasing, Simon being a little shit, size kink (ofc ofc), vulgar language, slight angst if you use binoculars, public sex, knife play, slight overstimulation, face sitting/riding (f!receiving), *slight* voyeurism, established relationship (more like fwb), he calls you mommy like once, (Let me know if I’ve missed any!)

✒ Authors Note: I had to bc the switch in me said so. Also: who doesn’t wanna hear him whimper? ;3 Also also, idk shit about MW2/ the military and all that, I am just hyper fixated on this man so if something isn't accurate pls spare me lol. This also isn't super proofread so if there are mistakes, shhh.

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Simon always had a way of getting under your skin. Knowing all the right buttons to push and saying all the right words that provoked you. 

You and Simon had been seeing each other casually a short while after you joined task force 141. He showed little restraint in making teasing passes at you during training, making the other members catch on quickly to you and the Lieutenants relationship. Soap even questioned you about it often, shelling out jokes he knew he couldn’t make around Ghost. 

You hated how Ghost just knew you so well, how observant he was. One small change and he knew it. 

“What’s with you today?” His husky voice questioned, taking off his gear and throwing it onto his bed. The room was small and cramped allowing little space for separation from his words. Thankful for a short break from training that allowed for little free time. His eyes followed your figure as you stripped yourself of your gear as well. Observing you intently. 

“Nothing.” You huffed. You remained focused on the floor, the walls. Anything but him. 

He hesitated from undressing, watching your demeanor stiffen as you felt his sharp gaze cut into your back. You didn't have to look at him to know, his presence was suffocating on its own. You knew when he watched you. The strangely gentle noise of his footsteps inched along the wooden floor, creaking with every step. Each step closer made you nervous to continue undressing, you kept your back to him avoiding any kind of contact. Rough, firm hands positioned themselves on your shoulder, gently tracing down to your wrists. He always managed to make you feel engulfed by him, his size taunting you. His chest was to your back as you felt his hot breath on the nape of your neck. The body heat and sweat that radiated off of him seeped into you, reiterating his stark presence. 

“Doesn’t seem like nothing?” The movement of his lips now grazing gently along the side of your neck sending chills that formed along your skin. You could tell he was trying his best to get it out of you and hoping to get lucky that it leads to more. He always starts with being gentle and kind until you give the signal that you want him in the worst possible ways. Everyone knew he was kinder to you, but they assumed it was only because he fucked you and he didn’t want to lose his precious toy in such desperate times. Even if it was true, you knew he had a sweet spot for you though he often tried to hide it.

That's how it went with Simon: Build you up, wash you in sweet divine praises, suffocate you with tension till you're needy for him, eventually forcing you to seek release with him as he makes you see heaven. But you hated how he always acted so… dominant. You wanted him needy, him to beg and whimper for you, though you would never say it. He always told you he enjoyed you playing the ‘innocent’ good girl for him, so you devotedly agreed. I mean what would he think? Would he laugh at you for being so little in comparison to him, not even able to possess a fraction of the strength he has, and wanting to…top him? The thought dissipated as he nestled his nose into your neck, his stubbly chin itching along your delicate skin. You shook him off trying to escape his rather sweet advances. He shifted his posture and stood with an offended acknowledgement. 

“The fuck is with you?” He threatens.

“Why do you tease me like that?” You say referring to his taunts earlier that day. You tried bubbling up any self respect you had. “Like–like,” you stutter, “like I'm just so much weaker than you. I am very capable, Simon.” 

His eyes followed you as you gave distance between you two, narrowing in on every word you spoke to him. Your tone sounds harsh and more aggressive. He let you go on, intrigued by your forwardness.

“You treat me like all I am to you is your submissive little doll that just does whatever you say. That you can just tease me and humiliate me for your own sick pleasure.” you protested. His eyes serve a glint of understanding before growing dark again. He knew what you were saying without even having to say it. 

“That's what you're good at,” he mockingly justifies before turning his back to you. The silence of his argument settles into the heavy room, suppressing any ounce of rebuttal.  

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Training seemed harder later that day. Simon refused to even look at you, no more teasing or taunting. Perhaps the little dispute you two had earlier irked him more than you thought. Or maybe he was just being respectful of what you expressed to him: that you no longer wanted him to tease you in such a way that made you feel submissive. 

Your thoughts raced, unfocused on the directions Price was giving out to your team for the drill.

“Ghost. Y/N. You will be our snipers.” You jolted back to the present where you watched Ghosts' empty eyes devour you. Fucking great, we are partnered together. Even though nine times out of ten you were partners, you had hoped this was the one time you weren’t. As everyone splits off into their designated pairings preparing for the training drill, Ghost approaches you.

Your breath hitched as you tried to remain calm. 

“Lucky me huh?” He scoffed. You followed his lead as he continued to walk past letting the snarky comment trail behind him. Ghosts broad back tapered down into his waist, his hips swayed slightly as his barbaric walk guided you to the lookout. 

Conversation lacked while you sat with him, occasionally staring down the scope to see if anything was happening. You felt the urge to say something, to mutter some sort of apology for snapping on him earlier, but he was quick to beat you to it. 

“Where the hell did that come from? Your little outburst earlier?” He asked forwardly. 

“I–I just—” you struggled to be transparent.

“What, you wanna top me or something, sweetheart?” his eyes never breaking away from the field he was surveying, your hands felt itchy from the confrontation. Your face flushing with heat trying your best to not make it obvious. He was so blunt, did he really know you that well?

“Would you let me?” you ask sickeningly innocent. He silently chuckled under his mask, not giving you the satisfaction of seeing his shit eating grin. 

“You can't even tell me you wanna make me your bitch, how could I take you seriously, princess?” he baited. He always called you that when you were under him, taking every inch of him. He worshiped you with that name. A name that solidified your submission to him. 

“If you can't handle it just say that,” you retort back. “I mean, it seems like you're the bitch considering you are afraid to let a little ol’ girl like me top you.” Your eyes now fixed on the field as well, letting whatever floats to your mind out due to irritation. He looks up from his scope and mutters a string of obscenities. 

“You wouldn’t be able to, angel. It's just me being honest. You're only good for taking it….” he leaned his head back down to his scope, “...if you want to top me, then do it.” 

As his words lingered in the air for you to ponder, Soap's voice came over the comms. 

“Taking a quick break LT, we will let you know when we resume.” Ghost relays understanding though his walkie and sits up to lean on a large rock behind him. You mimic him. A few moments of silence passed. 

“Hm,” he chuckled lightly to himself, “surprised I still haven’t been taken advantage of. Must not want it that bad yeah?” He jokes, manspreading and rutting up his hips to adjust into a more comfortable position. You fidget with the knife in your hand out of boredom and a slight distraction from the tension.

“Honestly, it doesn't even make sense–you trying to dominate me.” Anger flushed in your stomach. “You're tiny, you know. You don't hold much weight against me,” before finishing his demeaning thought you swiftly meet your knife to his neck, partly covered by his skull balaclava. His eyes lighting up with passion and intrigue. 

“Shut the fuck up, Riley,” you protest. He didn’t move or utter a word, his seated position staying the same, possibly shocked at your defense, or maybe just wanting to see where it goes. Maybe you did have it in you, it just took a bit of provoking. You made your way on top of him, knife still to his throat, as you did your best to stretch your legs over his wide frame. He sat there, a smirk outlined through his mask, eye contact never breaking. You traced your knife up to his chin, catching the fabric with it, exposing his stubbly neck and jaw. Your free hand resting on his upper thigh, close enough to his crotch to make him squirm. 

“I can make you my bitch no matter what size I am, Simon.” His eyes now inflamed with excitement. The knife to his neck, the vulgar words. You calling him your bitch for a change. You inch the blade up ever so slightly hearing the scratch of his stubble. You could feel his bulge through his pants as you leaned into him more, “I'll make you a good ol’ boy for me.” 

His chest rose and fell deeply, the erection growing in his pants. “Please me good, Riley, and I’ll make you feel the closest to heaven you will ever get.” Hands tracing over your waist he grabs you, hoisting you up to center your hips in front of his face as he remains seated against the rock. Unzipping your pants, your delicate panties show, his gloved fingers moving to massage your clit not yet removing the delicate fabric to reveal your dripping cunt. 

“Lift up your mask, show me your pretty mouth Lieutenant” you demand. He is devotedly obedient to your request. His balaclava rests on the bridge of his nose, his eyes waiting for your next demand. 

“Open.”

You slide your panties off to the side, exposing your dripping essence to him and anyone who could potentially look up and see you. Slowly, you start to grind against his wet tongue, lapping up any bit of excitement that came from you. Soft goans vibrated against you as he became more rough with his mouth, sucking your sensitive clit only to stick his thick tongue back into your core. Lapping circles around your pussy. 

“Don’t stop until I cum. That’s your only purpose, do you understand?” His needy moans expressing his devout service. You inched closer to your climax as you started to grind harder against his face, your puffy clit hitting his nose, offering added pleasure. The sloppy strokes of his tongue became erratic as the knot in your stomach tightened fully, arousal dripping down his jaw and neck. The lewd noises of his moans into you made you weak, causing your high to be intense. Your body shuddered as you came, breath hitching as his hands held you on his mouth, sucking your sweet lips through your climax. As you pulled off of him his eyes were wild with desire, the idea of you forcing him to please you showed through his tented pants. His bulge pulsated, twitching within the fabric that wore a wet stain that pooled next to it. His cock was already leaking, just from eating you out. Did he…cum?

“Fuck,” he exclaimed shakily, hand reaching down to obscure your sight of his premature ejaculation. He really enjoys being submissive huh?

“Did you cum?” you inquired. Nervous laughter escaped his lips. You parted his hand away from his pants getting a better look, eyes darting up to meet his. 

“Oh you naughty, naughty boy. I didn’t say cum while you please me now did I?” Disappointment lacing your tone. “Do you know what disobedient boys get when they dont listen?” The sarcastic tone in your voice alluding to a rhetorical question. You wind your hand up following through to meet Simon's reddened cheek. A loud smack echoing through the air. 

“Punishments.” 

You unzip his pants exposing his thick length, still twitching. Cum dripped down his warm shaft as some of his essence still leaked from his slit. You cooed at him, expressing pity for his lack of self control. 

“Ah~” he moaned weakly, still sensitive, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t–” His pleas were cut off by another ridgid slap. You could see his compliance in his glassy eyes. 

“Look at you, a mess. Pleading for my forgiveness, can't even control yourself when pleasing me. Looks like you get off on being my bitch, huh?” you hissed at him, unrelenting. “Since you want to indulge in pleasure, you're gonna have to beg me to cum. And maybe, if I’m feeling nice, I'll let you.” His chest heaved.

You grabbed his already sensitive cock and teased it, watching him hiss as he accepted his fate. You worked your hands up and down his shaft, feeling it stiffen. You hold out your hand signaling him to spit in it. He obeys. Lewd, wet noises exude from you both as he fingers your pussy through your underwear while you stroke his length quickly. His whimpers and whines encourage you to continue your salacious advances. His whimpers start to elicit needy cries, rutting and bucking his hips more into your hand. His fingers quickly move in and out of your sopping cunt causing his mind to race, drawing swears from his lips. His balls feeling heavier, his incessant whines becoming more convoluted. He was close. 

“Do you wanna come for me?” you insist. “Then let every little whimper and beg fall from your lips Simon. Tell me how bad you want this.” His head shoots back, submissively exclaiming fucked out phrases, seaching for pleas and begs that satisfy you.

“Fuck, please–mmph– please let me cum.” His words dripping with euphoria and depravity. “Let me fucking cum, I’ll be good for you, so good. I’ll be your good fucking boy mommy.” With one firm stroke meeting with his bucking hips he grasps for the dirt around him as thick spurts of cum shoot out of his reddened cock. Ropes of cum spill over your hand, making a mess of his unzipped pants. Making a mess of himself. Convulsing within your tight grip his eyes clamp shut. Tears welling up in the corners, so close to spilling out. His intense climax halts his breathing as he falls from his heightened state. Tip extremely sensitive, swollen from his release. Your hand pauses before gently rubbing your thumb over his slit. He hisses from the touch, followed by a deep sigh. 

“Aw, good boy Simon,” you praise. His vision is still trying to focus. Shock sets in as he realizes his enjoyment of your treatment. 

“Fuck, princess,” He teases, trying to regain some form of control. You shoot him a playfully annoyed look. 

The comms come on as his walkie sits in the dirt inches away from the two of you. Soaps' voice echos over the call, “Are we ready to continue?,” a slight pause of dead air, “By the way, never thought I’d hear the day LT begged like that.” 

Ghost pulled his balaclava over his embarrassed expression and grabbed the walkie. 

“The only begging you’ll have to worry about is begging me not to kill you after all this is over.”

[songbirdmunson]

when men pathetically rut into you at an animalistic pace, trying to fight back the urge to moan like a slut, but once you drag your nails down their back they can’t shut up. telling you how they want you to mark them up, how they want everyone to see what you do to them. their hair falling into their eyes as every muscle in their body tenses, their orgasm threatening to break at any moment. wrapping your legs around them, pulling them closer and closer until every inch is deep inside of you, the wetness from your bodies running down your thighs and underneath you. yeah, give me that. <3

[konigsblog]

older-boyfriend simon riley with a voice kink.

tw/cw; age difference/age gap, voice kink, afab!f!reader, handjob, sub!simon, alcohol consumption, simon is aged in his 40-50s. MDNI 18+

“god, baby— don’t be a tease, little one.”

simon didn't think he'd ever be in this position. he never thought he'd be pinned down on the couch with a pretty young thing like yourself sitting on his lap, your soft fingers wrapped around his shaft, jerking him off while whispering in his ear.

your voice is seductive; each word goes straight to his hung cock, held firmly by you. you drag and rub his boner gently, forcing simon to maintain eye contact with you despite his loving eyes being half-lidded and full of lust and euphoria—the smell of alcohol reeking from simon. simon attempted to make out with you countless times, only for you to push your finger against his lip and hush him, telling him to listen carefully to every word that flows through your lips while you get him off.

god, he's so pent-up. it feels as if you're dragging his orgasm out purposefully; the playful grin on your face is noticeable and perhaps a sign that you're taunting him. your strokes are slow and calm; simon's twitching dick is leaking all over your fingers when his tip begins drooling. he can't help himself; the pleasure and sensation are addictive, and he can't get enough of the harmony and sweet, sultry sound of your voice against his ear, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine.

“can’t go much longer, sweetheart—fuck, hurts so fuckin’ bad ‘nd feels so good...”

simon heaved and growled, his meaty cock throbbing and twitching uncontrollably, pulsing at your comforting and relaxing touch. you went from praising him for being so obedient and for listening to your orders to shaming him for being in a relationship with someone half his age. he can't help himself, cumming all over your hand, your giggles leaving simon's cheeks pink and flushed, humiliated at the mess he's created.

[2kiran]

subbot!ghost that's shy about how loud he can be >< he can barely see with tears in his eyes because you're making him feel so good :(( domtop!m!reader with prompt 10! take ur time <33

SIMON RILEY X TOP!READER

prompt, let me hear you

“Fuckin’ hell, luv,” Simon groans, large hand wrapping around the back of your neck. His head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut and he drags out a whine. “Yeah?” Teasingly rolling your hips, brushing past his sweet spot to feel the impatient tug provoked by a sharp twist of his calloused fingers. “Hngh, do-don’t be such a tease.”

“You like it when I am.” Simon rocks against you in response, thighs squeezing around yours, and he’s too far gone to snap. Shit, your cock is keeping his greedy hole so full, head light with pleasure when you suddenly pull all the way out, rim clenching and unclenching on your tip — then burrowing in again with a rough slam.

“Ah, haah—” His free hand clamps down on his mouth, silencing himself before he lets out an embarrassing moan.

His eyes fly open, jaw tensing as his hard length weeps pre. His whimper is muffled, tears catching on his lashes, and he’s suddenly conscious of how thin the walls of your home must be. He swears he’s almost going cross-eyed, you’re right in his throat and he’s lewdly quivering on your cock. Simon’s desperately stopping himself from yanking on your hair, uncertain if it’s whether to shove you away or force you closer.

Gently, your hand search for his, panting when you’re wrapped in his tight warmth again. “Oh, baby,” your thumb swipes across Simon’s knuckles, attempting to pry his palm away though his teeth are already sinking into his bottom lip. “Let me hear you, yeah?”

You take both of his wrists, pinning them above his head and you’re almost concerned he’ll draw blood with how hard he’s biting himself. Has there always been two of you?

Oh, now you’re a blurred group of three, and it makes him clench on you harder through the dizziness. He can feel himself shying away from the firm grasp of consciousness, all that is left of his thoughts are you and your big, stupid cock that keeps teasing his insides, forcing out choked-out moans.

He doesn’t want to seem like an idiot, doesn’t want to sound like one. He’s close to piercing his own lip, all in vain to keep his little groans from echoing throughout the quiet space.

But then Simon cries out as you ram back deep in him — cock pulsing and fuck he doesn’t want you to stop — finally unable to contain the needy whimpers that threaten to humiliate him. It’s raw, hoarse, aching when it finally breaches its confines. He’s trying to blink away the beads pooling from his eyes, simmering down his cheeks but you’re here to help him, wiping them away sweetly.

He’s shivering, too fucked out to think about anything besides your warmth and soft stare being constant reminders of how good you are to him. “Please,” a pathetic, little plea. He needs you so bad it’s physically hurting him. “More, nnh, I n-need you.”

[thegnomelord]

just read about demon hunter reader and demon ghost cuddling, and the first thing i thought was how ghost would react if, one of these times, reader ends up having a wet dream and dry humping his ass 😋

about time that our demon thinks of getting laid, he's disgusted and turned on at the same time

Sorry this took a while lads :Dd, I'm getting back into writing after all that shit with my school but I got a summer job as an assistant medical worker with 12h shifts every other day so It might take a bit for me to write stuff.

Hush, Hunter

CW:NSFW, MDNI, demon Simon Ghost Riley x male hunter reader, grinding, wet dreams, handjob, blowjob, size difference (demon ghost is like 11 feet tall.)

Your ‘husband’ is strange, even by demon standards.

He grumbles about the inconvenience brought on by your mortal failings and fragility, growling whenever you have to stop at a gas station to buy food or at some dingy motel to sleep. He grumbles even more about being confined in the stolen human skin suit he's forced to wear to blend in.

You can ignore the stranger with the stolen face and hellfire eyes throwing dark glares at you for the most part, except for when the demon decides to make the binding ring around your finger heat up when you spend too long talking to the pretty cashier. And it only takes a few more seconds of not paying heed to the incessant burn before Ghost Simon looms behind you, glaring at the flustered cashier like she’s a fey trying to trick you into the Fey Lord’s court.

And the big bastard never gives you any explanation on why he’s acting like that, just drags you back to your car, slamming the doors closed with enough strength to shake the entire vehicle. He’s like a cat honestly; hisses at you, but doesn’t want to let you out of his sight or claws.

But when your nightmares get so bad your only chance of sleeping is on the floor, well hidden behind the bed with your back flush with the dingy motel wall, Ghost surprises you by laying down with you. Sure he grumbles about the demeaning position - laying like some mongrel dog - but he still does it.

Ghost is on his side, his broad muscular back to you, rough inky scales swallowing all the moonlight that filters through the blinds and turning him into a pitch black wall of muscle. He’s so still you might even think he’s sleeping – you know he’s not; demons aren’t tied to mortal laws, nor are they subject to time’s iron grip, that’s what makes hunting demons so dangerous. The only indication you have that he’s awake is the occasional twitch of his tail and the slight shuffle of his wings when you accidentally get closer to him in your attempt to get a comfortable position.

You flinch when his one wing spreads out and back, but the blanket of black and blood dyed feathers soon eases the tension in your body. Probably too quickly, definitely too quickly, but Ghost doesn’t draw attention to it and neither do you and the night is cold and he is blissfully warm and he stays stock still when you shuffle a bit closer. You're glad he pays no attention to you when you get comfortable against him, barely an inch of space between you two.

His feathers tickle your face, they’re softer than you’d expect a wrath demon to have, fluffy like the down of chicks. His scent invades your nose, rough leather and steel oil and something distinctly demonic you can’t name. . . but it’s strangely comforting.

Laying only an inch or two away from a demon goes against everything you’ve ever been taught. Your nerves should be on a razor’s edge, but instead you’re calm. You don’t know why your fucked up mind finds comfort in the fact a possible threat would need to go through half a ton of murderous wrath demon to get to you. And you don’t want to think about it either, you’ve had far too many sleepless nights for your brain to care how you manage to sleep so long as you do. And the moment you close your eyes, you’re out like a light.

Ghost has gotten used to your nightmares.

Just like his father’s absent love, your nightmares are consistent. He’s almost impressed how such a frail thing like you could hunt the likes of hydras and Hell Dukes when you barely sleep a wink most nights. The longest you’ve gone is a couple of hours of restful sleep before you woke up trying to claw your eyes out. You never talk about it, nor does he, Ghost may be a demon but he knows far too well how the mind can haunt someone.

And Ghost has gotten good at telling apart the individual nightmares by how you squirm in your sleep.

It takes a little longer for the nightmare to start than usual, but he knows you’re neck deep in it when you heart starts it’s frantic drumming in your chest. He ruffles his feathers as your hands grip his sides, your breath fanning over his skin. He thinks it might be the basilisk haunting you this time by the way you press yourself flush with his back, burying your face into the space between his shoulder blades until your nose is flush with his spine, back hunching to further shield your eyes.

Ghost doesn’t, nor will he ever, mention the low happy rumble that escapes him when you snuggle up to him. His feathers fluff up, the scratchy hair of his tail flattening down - about as silk soft as he can make them. It’s little better than throwing pearls before swine, you won’t remember any of this after all, but doing this strangely doesn’t feel as much of a burden as it should.

Usually the low deep purring growling will chase away your nightmares and lull you into a dreamless sleep for a little while, but not this time. You squirm against his back like an eel, muscles tensing to grip his sides until dregs of pain dance along his spine. Your breath fans across his scales, your heart pounding in his ears like that of a rabbit’s caught in a snare. He’s just about ready to turn around and wake you before he feels it—

Your arousal pokes his back, hard like iron.

Only now does he pick up the slight sweetness of arousal in your adrenaline rich scent. “Hm- fuck.” You mumble as you roll your hips to grind your cock against him. “Slow- fuck fuck- slow down.” You breathe out, and Ghost swears this must be another part of his father’s eternal punishment. The sudden thought that your dream is of a sexual nature smites him with all the intensity of his father’s rage.

Who do you think you are, taking his little mercies for granted? Who do you think you are, grinding against him like some mongrel mutt? Who do you think you are holding him as if you are more than the eventual reward for the maggots fervent prayers? Who do you think you are—

“Ghost- Simon. . .” His name, his original name, leaves your lips; it’s the softest he’s ever heard you speak.

“Human.” He seethes and rolls around, pushing the warm feeling –warm like a campfire compared to the blistering pits down below that usually dwell in his chest– out of his mind. “Disgusting.” You’re so small compared to him, your head could easily fit in his rough hand, a momentary lapse in the binding’s protection all that it would take for his flesh rending claws to cleave through your skull. He’s thought about it often, of the look in your eyes as your life fades, of how good your blood would taste, of how nice your shoulder would look with his teeth marks on it. . .

His hand is gentle as he reaches to brush your cheek, like he’s handling glass, rumbling when you lean into the touch. “Wretched thing.” He growls, hand sliding from your cheek to your back and pulling you close. He feels you nuzzle into his wide chest, carefully bullying his thigh between yours, steel hard muscle tensing to give you a good surface to grind on. “Nothing more but a mongrel waste of flesh.” He doesn’t notice how quickly his voice has lost heat, barely above a murmur as he listens to your breathless gasp and watches your back arch.

For someone usually so guarded, you are painfully naked in flesh and soul, responding so wantonly to his touches; from low moans to soft little murmurs of ‘Simon’ and ‘more’ that has him mindlessly rubbing his thigh against your crotch in hopes of getting more of those so painfully human sounds. You moan and nuzzle into his chest, your body like soft clay in his hands now that you’re no longer shackled by the chains of pride and prejudice that your mind conjures around him

You’re like a strange bug to him; a part of him wants to pin you down, to tear you apart with vicious claws and see if there’s anything different in the way your heart beats, in the way your lungs move, in the way you exist — something substantial to show why holding you in his arms doesn’t feel as degrading as it should.

He wonders, briefly, if this is what God saw that made him love Adam so much. Why God did not have the heart to kill Adam for his disobedience.

Greed moves his hands like they’re puppets on strings, flesh rending claws carefully tracing the bumps of old and fresh scars that dot your abdomen — perhaps you aren’t so pathetic, it takes strength to survive this long. Your skin prickles from his touch, your breath fanning over the rough belly scales protecting his front as his hand slowly moves down. He hooks a claw under the band of your underwear and pulls down until your cock springs out right into Ghost’s hand.

Ghost hasn’t seen many cocks before, why would he?, but a low sound comes from his chest at how neatly your cock fits in his hand, how neatly all of you fit against him. And only now does it dawn on him that he doesn’t know how to do this— he’s a wrath demon for fuck’s sake, he understands war and bloodshed like it’s the back of his hand, but this? This is new territory.

Well, he’s never been one to back down when he’s gotten this far.

His hand slowly closes into a fist, just a little loose around you. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t be anything but gentle in the way he strokes you. Your hips move on their own, gentle little rocks to fuck your cock into his fist and he follows along with the motion. It’s a little rough at first, he feels how the dry slide of his hand makes you shiver, but he soon finds a nice pace as your precum eases the glide of flesh on flesh.

He wants to see your face when you moan, but he can’t bring himself to pull you away from his chest when you cling to him so sweetly, your lips mindlessly ghosting over his scales. So he contends himself with coiling his tail around your leg, draping a wing over you so there’s a barrier between you and the rest of the world, so no creature from heaven high or deep below may entertain the thought of taking what’s his.

No good thing lasts for long.

He feels you wake like the first thaw in spring, slow and gradual, eyes fluttering open, mind still clouded with pleasure to really understand the position you’re in. He takes advantage of that, gripping your hip to keep you close, swirling his tumb in the precum beading at your head and squeezing his hand just right to coerce a breathless moan from your chest.

Then your eyes snap open, realisation hitting you with the same intensity as the punch you throw at his skull. But the ‘marriage’ turns that show of force into a gentle caress of the skull cheek of his ‘face’. “Ghost what the fuck are you-” You begin, cut off as another clench of his hand has you gripping his forearm and biting your lip to silence yourself. 

“Oh hush hunter.” Ghost rumbles low in his throat, his wing tensing behind your back to bring you in closer, soft blood dyed feathers encasing you in a cocoon of warmth against his cool belly scales. “No need to wake the other worms.” Disdain and mockery drip from his voice like molasses, yet strangely it doesn’t feel aimed at you. . . it must just be the pleasure making you believe that.

“You- bastard!” You snarl, trying to summon the hunter savagery that had been meticulously beaten into you, but it slumbers like a fat cat. “Fuck off- get away from me.” You aim to slam your fist against his scaled abdomen, just a little lower and to the side where the floating ribs should be, but all you manage is a slow caress of his side and back up his chest where you can feel his eternal soul burning beneath the flesh.

He laughs and slides his hand down, rolling your balls in his wide hand and squeezing just enough to be at the edge of pain– shit, that should not feel so good. You hiss and throw your head back despite the inherent danger of exposing your throat. He tilts his head down, ghostly breath washing over your ear, “We both know if you wanted this to stop you would have done so.” Oh, now you can just feel the mockery in his voice, sweet like honey that it is.

Some petulant part of you thinks of arguing, anything to retain what remains of your damn pride, but then he slides his hand back up, pressing your cock against your stomach and grinding the palm of his hand against your shaft and all the thoughts of arguing are pushed to the side by the tide of pleasure. Fuck, it’s been far too long since you ‘took care’ of things, it’s not like you have much time to wank off, let alone with Ghost hanging over your shoulder like some grim reaper. And hell, if any other hunter heard you let a damn demon jack you off, yours would be the next head put on the stake but. . . but Ghost is surprisingly gentle with you, not a single hint of pain coming from his touches, not even from his claws gently running down your side.

“Fine-” You suck in a sharp breath, head fixed to stare directly at his chest. “Make it quick.”

You feel him smirk against your ear, “As you wish, hunter.” He laughs lowly, like you’re nothing but a cute puppy chewing on his shoelaces, “Though, you should thank me for debasing myself like this.” He growls, and with a sharp move of his wing he rolls you on your back. 

You gasp as your back hits the sleeping mat, and before you can even struggle Ghost looms over you, a wall of muscle and dark scaled flesh. “Fuck no.” You growl, some scraps of pride still clinging to your mind, though even those are threatened when his broad hand returns to stroking your cock, faster this time, the drag of his palm making pleasure sizzle up your spine. Your head rolls back to rest on the mat and you don’t even notice when you close your eyes. You’re not sure how Ghost is so good at this, something sharp like jealousy curling in your stomach at the thought of him doing this to someone else. But it’s hard to think when you can feel and hear him purring, his claws gently tracing your stomach and leaving lingering heat everywhere they touch.

You jump as something slick brushes over your balls, “Look, good hunter.” He growls and you listen without thought, eyes wide when you see his tongue— it extends from the darkness of his head just beneath the rotten upper teeth of his skull, long, black, thick strings of oil coloured spit dripping off his tongue. “That’s better,” He purrs; you’re not sure how he can talk, and you’re unable to ask because he leans in closer until your cock rests against his skull, his hellfire eyes burning in the darkness and giving just enough light for you to see his long black tongue curl around your base like a snake. 

Shit– he wants to kill you.

“Holy fuck Ghost-” You breathe out, lungs burning before you remember how to breathe. His tongue moves, squeezing your base and sliding lower to lap at your balls. You’re forced to bite your finger to stop the painfully pathetic sound burning on your tongue.

He stops moving and you’re thankful he doesn’t mention the whine that slips past your lips. “Simon.” He demands, oily spit clinging to your skin and making it tingle with heat.

“Simon.” You nod along dumbly, “Fuck- Simon.”

“Good.” You imagine he’s smiling when he says that, his hand returning to stroke your cock in reward. “Call me that again.” He says, a purr rumbling in his chest and you can’t help but moan at how the vibrations travel through his tongue, making it act like a vibrating toy.

Your hands fly to grip his horns, the pleasure making you throw your head back yet you try to keep your eyes on him, hiccuping his name between harsh breaths. He doesn’t mind the touch on his horns, leaning into the touch before flicking his tongue at your taint. He rewards you for each time you say his old name, tongue and hand working in tandem to slowly and steadily march you towards release. 

You try to tug on his horns to warn him, or maybe to pull him away, but he pays no heed; he doubles his efforts, wetly slurping at your balls and base while his hand toys with your crown, his free hand holding your hips down so all you can do is weather the pleasure until you’re finally pulled under the waves. “Simon-” You gasp, cum spurting all over his hand and your stomach. 

You watch through lidded eyes as he retracts his hand, keeping his gaze on you as he lazily licks up your cum from his hand. “Better than I expected.” He rumbles, more to himself than you, leaning up to drag his long slimy tongue across your stomach to gather up all your cum.

 Shit, that sight got you hard again before you could even soften.

You’re not sure if the greed you see spark in his eyes makes you scared or even harder, but you’re not left any room to think further about it before his tongue wraps around your cock again.

Unfortunately for you, demons have no concept of time as mortals know it, so his ‘quick’ ends up being the entire rest of the night. At one point you get to the point you’re sure Ghost is trying to kill you with all the pleasure, spit polishing your cock until he’s satisfied and by that point the sun is rising and your voice is hoarse.

You can’t meet the gaze of the motel receptionist in the morning, but Ghost Simon, looks smug like the cat who ate the canary.