REGAN♕

simon riley who admittedly had a good time, playing beer pong with the men of your family (and l.j, your masculine lesbian cousin of the corral) next to the bonfire outside and getting to listen in on the family drama whenever he came to check on you with the rest of the women in the living room. his stomach was in his ass before he relaxed; until one kid had the nerve to approach him with an astounding question: “excuse me, why do you sound like that?”

thank god you were nearby to save him when it happened. you interjected by picking up your nephew with an awkward and exaggerated “o-kayyy.” simon watched you lick your pursed lips as your brain calculated your next words. “baby, simon is from a place far, far away from here. like- he had to get on an airplane to get to grandma’s house.” simon crossed his arms and shifted his stance; a motion he often did to hide positive emotions, especially when he’s wearing the balaclava. oh, you were good at this. half of him feels like an absolute bastard thinking about breeding you while you’re talking to a literal child at a family Christmas event but his stupid man brain rules his body even now.

simon riley who chokes down a deep chuckle as the younger boy pops up at the mention of an ‘airplane.’ you resettle the four year old on your hip and continued, “you know how ramual from school speaks spanish because he’s from mexico? it’s like that, simon is from england, so that’s why he speaks like he does.” you’re so kind and generous, calmly and appropriately educating a child on cultural diversity like you’ve been teaching kids for years. that’s when he made his decision: he’s flying you out to manchester, his hometown.

simon riley who adored your excitement when he sent you a screenshot of two booked tickets for a trip to europe. he didn’t even have to specify which part- you jumped on him as soon as he came back to your grandparents house from a day out with a few your family members, kissed him hard then leaned away just enough to speak against his lips: “i bet your home is beautiful.”

simon riley who fucks you like he’s got something to prove the moment you get comfortable back into your own home, about two hours away from your previous location. classic southern roads. he’s biting at your neck while youre pressed between him and walls, using your hair as a handle to manhandle you around, not bothering to even remove any clothing- everything’s getting pushed up, down, or to the side. luckily your boyfriend groans a breathy explanation in the form of dirty talk; about how the next time your family group chat pings your phone and asks about “you and your soon-to-be husband,” he wants to gift your family a photo of ultrasound pictures with your wedding bands crossed aesthetically in the corner. your ultrasound pictures, y’know, pictures of his baby growing inside his mrs. riley?

simon riley who secretly starts planning and saving to move you to england. he starts by the trip to manchester, observing how well you’d adapt and your overall experience here. once he got confirmation you would be fine in england, he began his subtle comments and questionaries.

“thinkin’ bout maybe upgradin’ if i do happen to knock you up.”

“there’s some nice ‘homes downtown, think you’d like em.”

“england’s got some of the highest rates in education, yknow. raise our lad to be smart like his daddy.”

you raised an eyebrow at the last statement, shaking your head. “si, i would love to move here with you with or without the baby,” you bit your lip, setting down the paper evidence simon provided you to sway your decision. slowly, you crawled towards him while keeping eye contact. you sat on your heels at his feet, your gaze slutty and glossy. “i took a test. i’m not pregnant. yet.”

simon brought his hand up to slide his palm over his face. he’s almost damn near forty, how does he feel like his jeans tighten this quickly? he groans as you reach for his belt.

“lieutenant riley?” your chirp. he notes the octave change in your tone.

“yes, lovie?” he breathes, already worn and desperate. he regrets telling you his rank. you only ever call him this to get him going.

“do i have your authorization,” you unbuckle his belt and jeans, blinking up at him. “to milk your cock,” you free his stiffened cock from his boxers. “and use it to breed my pussy?”

damn. if he was any more or less aroused, he’d cum all over your gorgeous face. he need to be inside you. quickly. you were testing him and he’s already had to keep his hands to himself to respect your family. if it’s a breeding his missus wants, it’s a breeding his missus fucking deserves.

simon riley who cheerfully turns down the repetition of christmas carols on his truck’s radio as he pulls into your grandparents driveway the next year, right hand on your left hand, fingers playing with your wedding ring (i hc he knows how to drive in america), his pretty brown eyes gazing at the car seat behind him where his one year old son sleeps peacefully. while simon looks forward to your family’s christmas tradition, he’s really looking forward to the after party, where he gets to indulge in his own personal christmas tradition- cumming buckets into his creaming wife’s perfect cunt until absurd hours in the morning roll around. gotta bring the fam a present for next year, right?

Simon who has you flat on your back after your picnic date. Set the whole thing up when you briefly mentioned how romantic it would be to have lunch under a big tree, wind playing in your hair as you admire the peacefulness of the view around you. Almost as breathtaking as the smile that takes over your face when he guides you to the set up, admiration singing in your eyes when you squeeze him tight under your arms.

Tease him for being slightly suspicious about insisting you wear a dress and when you both settle on the blanket and Simon starts unpacking the picnic basket, the moment feels perfect. Under the biggest tree in the small field of Simon’s backyard, miles from other people because he valued his privacy.

Wind blowing your hair, makes the trees sway, soft brushing of their branches together filling your ears. Has you relaxed as Simon settles all the food he put together for you to eat. Made a cherry pie that was to die for and as you eat and talk, lay down to get comfortable, the atmosphere slowly fills with longing. Small talk drifting off when Simon settles beside you, eyes locked onto you until he leans down to capture your lips.

He hovers over you, kisses you soft and sweet as your hand combs through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Swallow his groan and arch under his palm caressing your waist.

You buzz at the low smack of your lips together, legs clenching when Simon picks up the pace. Squeezing your ribs and nipping at your lips, makes you breath harder, nipples hardening and sending zips down your spine when the material of your dress drags along them.

Tongue dipping past your lips and dragging across your teeth, pace so fierce that you have to pull away to breathe. Mind swimming as you catch your breath and while your lips pulse and ache, Simon drags his own across your jaw and down your neck. Lightly skimming them down your shoulder enough to pull a whimper from you. Soft kisses that make you shudder and keen when his palm scraps along your thigh and under your dress.

Wind filtering under the lift of your dress around Simon’s wrist, sending goosebumps over your feverish skin. Nudges your legs wider to rub gently at your clit through your underwear with his knuckle. Traces the seam of your pussy and groans lowly at the wet spot.

“My pretty girl.” He murmurs against your temple, presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Shiver running down your spine at the caress of his voice in your ear and when Simon gently pinches around your clit you breathe a soft moan.

He leans down to press tender kisses around your chest, dully nips at the plushness of your breasts. Nose nudging at the peak of your nipple. Only tugging the fabric down when you squirm and whine with impatience.

You tense and whimper when Simon takes your nipple into his mouth, sucks harshly and laves his tongue roughly across it. Hips jerking when he digs his knuckle firmly into you. Is slow to slip his fingers under the edge of your underwear and pull the fabric to the side so he can hear you huff and dig your nails in his hair.

He lifts the edge of your dress to your stomach, coos at the slickness of your cunt and bites down on your nipple to release the feralness that builds in his chest at the sight.

You squeak, hand fisting his hair before he presses soft kisses to the sting. Simon finds your lips again when his fingers slip between your folds, collect your arousal to aid in the short, quick circles his finger makes around your clit.

You moan into his mouth, suck at his lip to hear the low grunt vibrate his chest. Pull away to watch your face as he picks up the speed of his hands, breathes into your mouth when it falls open, moans and pants warming his face as you buck your hips.

The exposure of your chest sends a zing down your spine, buzz shooting to your clit every time the wind teases at your nipple. Eyes clenched closed when Simon circles your opening, dips the tip of his finger in only to pull it back out.

“Simon.” You whine and scrape at the nape of his neck. Know it makes him shudder and do as you please when his finger fills you up. You sigh and pulse around him, groan filling his chest at the feel of how warm and tight you are around him.

“Such a good girl, baby. Here comes another one, you’re doing so well.” He coos into your hair, presses a kiss to your cheek right when he presses another finger inside and you moan at the stretch.

Pant and gasp as he works his fingers in and out, palm brushing against your clit every time he pushes in, has your hips chasing after him when he pulls out. Tits bouncing as you jerk has a groan building in his throat, makes his forehead fall to your chest just to feel the rush of your breaths.

Simon nuzzles his teeth into your nipple to feel you shudder against his lips, moaning filling his ears as he curls his fingers. Cranes his neck back to see your eyes squeeze shut, mouth fall open in a loud squeal, and your back arch. Your jerk sends your chest knocking into his mouth and he takes the unconscious request without question.

Your body burns as you melt under his touch, hips squirming as your nails find purchase in his back. Moans and whines getting louder while the hot coil in your stomach grows tenfold at the constant probe of the spot that has your toes curling.

Simon trails sloppy kisses up your neck, breathes into your ear when he feels you pulse wilding around his fingers, arousal gushing down his palm, obscene squelch’s making your face flush.

“Messy girl. Gonna cum f’me, baby? Show me how much you like my fingers buried in your cunt.” He goads, fingers working in harsh, short thrusts as he grounds his palm into your throbbing clit.

You gasp, air stuck in your lungs at the constant grind and thrust of Simon’s hand. Low moans filling the air at the hoarse whispers in your ears egging you on.

“She’s doing so good, baby. Suckin’ me in, a little filthy, but she can’t help it can she, hm?” You keen at the sarcastic tone in his voice, makes you whimper and shake your head pathetically, legs tensing closed and kicking out when he laughs coarsely in your ear.

Simon tuts softly, presses soft kisses to your temple before slipping his leg between yours to keep them open. “You know better than that.” He coos, pecks your lips when his palm crashes down on your clit harshly during this one particular thrust. Hushes you with a curl of his fingers.

Heat in your stomach turning to fire as your legs try to shut around Simons. Hand flying to grip his wrist while your back arches. Loud cries clawing up your throat, hips grinding into Simons hand that moves frantically to draw your orgasm out as long as possible.

He groans lowly. “There she is.” Head leaning down to take your nipple in his mouth and suck harshly, trapping the peak between his teeth.

Your hands claw at him, mind buzzing and fading into black before your eyes peel open, soft whimpers breathing onto Simon’s lips as he kisses you, small pulses around his fingers fading into a gentle fuzz that covers your body.

Fingers slipping out with a shudder, pulling the wet edge of your panties back over your sloppy and swollen pussy before giving it gentle pats that make gasp.

Simon brings his fingers to his mouth, eyes locked so intently on yours that you blush at the vulgar moan he lets out as he sucks his fingers clean.

Electrician!Simon who’s onto his first appointment of the day. Never anything crazy, always a light switch or outlet that stops working, maybe a DIY gone wrong. Guess he shouldn’t complain since he doesn’t have to break a sweat over it.

Knows from just the look of your house that you’re one to decorate, if the set up on your porch is anything to go by. Knocks on your door with a rough hand, eyes the cute little welcome mat that knocks off clumps of dirt from his scuffed and worn work boots, decides too late to kick off a good chunk when you yank the door open.

You’re a pretty thing, gaze up at him like he’s gonna save the day, all smiles and a whiff of something sweet. “Hello, good morning! Thank you so much for coming-” you blabber and hold the door wide open for him.

Talk his ear off in the foyer as his eyes take in the sight of you and your house, for once feel the need to take off his shoes so he doesn’t leave a speck of dirt to taint the cute little space you’ve made for yourself.

All ears since you won’t let him get a word out, not that he minds since you really don’t catch how fixated he is on you. How his eyes skim over your face, your delicate throat, your shoulder and collarbone that peaks from underneath your too big t-shirt.

You don’t even notice he’s slipped off his shoes until you lead him over to the light switch that’s stopped working. Pause in the middle of your rant about how it could have been an easy fix but you decided to leave it to the professional, to gush about how you didn’t mind that he wore his shoes inside.

“Didn’t want to dirty yer place.” He says roughly. Voice gluing your lips shut and sending butterflies swirling in your stomach. Eyes tracking him and maybe a little of the movement of his shoulders when he kneels down to unscrew the light switch. Finds his own treat in taking quick peeks of your legs.

“Oh, well thank you for being so kind.” You blush, a little nervous about his size. All broad shoulders and muscles that make your insides do flips.

He mentions turning the electricity off to the outlet with a deep groan as he rises from his knees. Lead him to the breaker with goosebumps on your skin, groan replaying in your head, and you stutter something about being in the living room while he does his work. And Simon indulges himself by watching you walk away, nearly makes him trip over his own feet when he reaches for the breaker.

He finds you perched on the couch when he comes back for the light switch. Windows wide open for the dozens of plants around it, acts like a spotlight over you and it makes it hard for him to tear his eyes away. Lets them linger on your legs in those cute pajama shorts for a second too long that a nagging in his chest starts to grow.

Mostly focused on getting you straightened out but he’d be lying if he said you weren’t in the back of his mind.

Felt like a pervert when he wondered if you had a boyfriend. Shook the thought out of his head when he turned your lights back on, flickered the light switch for you when he feels your eyes at his back. Heard you stand from the couch and bound over to him with soft patters.

“Thank you so much! How much do I owe you?” You tilt your head to the side, waiting with your wallet fidgeting in your hands, all innocent like and it makes him suck in a deep breath. Might’ve been a mistake when the smell of you fills his nose, makes his chest burn.

“On the house.” He murmurs roughly, worrying with his work belt so your pretty little face isn’t engraved into his mind when he leaves. A little too late now since he can’t stop breathing in so deeply to chase the smell of you.

You shake your head quickly and frown, even wave your hands up at him. “No, please, let me pay you for your work.”

“Easy fix.”

“Still.”

Your eyes plead with him. Sight of you makes him hungry, but Simon shakes his head firmly, more so to knock the growing admiration from his brain. “Don’t worry about it.” He says stiffly, trudges over to your front door and slips on his shoes, hating how much he likes the sound of you rushing after him.

“W-Well thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”

You listen good too. The idea makes him unsteady. And when he yanks open your door with a little too much force, about to leave and potentially never see you again, his eyes land on that mat. Wants his shoes to darken it with his frequent visits. The thought makes him whirl around, neck heating up when you jump slightly in surprise.

Clears his throat when that heat travels to his ears. Eyes darting around your face, mouth hungry and parting to ask for your number or if you have a boyfriend, but he just can’t bring himself to do it.

Looks like a gaping fish while you hold the door open, so uncertain and meek. Quiet now unlike before when you were talking his head off, curiosity in your eyes. And all Simon manages with a ball in his chest is a short, “Have a good day.”

“You too!” You respond to his back and shut the door with a lingering gaze, will go about your day like normal all while Simon wonders when you’ll call for an appointment again after he may or may not have meddled with your breaker.

And maybe then he’ll have worked up enough courage to ask for your number.

Simon groans lowly, throws his head back and lets his eyes shut. Thinks back to the day he came back to your house, you opened your door all apologetic and embarrassed because you didn’t know what was up with your house and things messing up but Simon was there to help. Told you not to worry, that he’d fixed you right up.

Took him no more than a few seconds to undo what he mixed up, but you didn’t know lounged in your living room. Didn’t know the extra ten minutes he was back there “working” was him exploring the rooms of your house.

He didn’t look through your things, just wanted to see what you had. No harm no foul.

Told you it was on the house again and you begged so sweetly for him to let you pay or at least in a different way. Gave him the opportunity to ask for your number all while his neck warmed uncomfortably. Let you type it in his phone while his eyes drank in the blush across your face and how your throat bobbed when you swallowed thickly.

All shy when you handed his phone back and Simon took his time chatting you up before taking you out on a date. Found out you weren’t as innocent as he thought when your hands were all over him when he brought you home.

“Daddy why’d you stop?” You whimper, pussy fluttering around Simon’s cock when you peek around your shoulder to gaze at him.

Simon reopens his eyes, drinks in the sight of you bent over your dining table. Was too eager to wait until he got you in bed and how exactly was he supposed to say no when you lay yourself across the table and hike your dress up for his eyes to feast on your ass and that pretty thong you wore for him?

And Simon found that he quite liked the name you gave him, made his palms hungry to fill with your hips as he jerks forward, fills you to the hilt with his cock and he loves the way you cry out at the stretch.

“I’m here, baby. Daddy’ll take care of you.”

You moan at the hoarseness of his voice, goosebumps covering your skin at how deep you feel him. Can feel your body warm, sweat at your back as his hands skim along your hips and fall to squeeze your ass.

Simon finds you so precious with the straps of your dress fallen to your arms, tits smashed and red against the table when his hands got hungry for them. Thong wet and pooled around one of your ankles.

The next punch of his cock takes the breath from your lungs, hardly have enough time to catch it before he finds a rhythm that pulls ragged gasps and pants from your throat.

Let’s his hands slowly roam across your back and hips, loves the feel of how soft you are under his calloused palms, crooked grin forming on his lips when you shiver.

Squeezes and pulls at your hips, finds pleasure in filling his palms with your flesh. Eyes tracking how red your skin turns, makes him send a sharp thrust in your cunt that earns him a loud keen and ball of your fists.

“F-Faster, Daddy, please.” You whine, voice low and bouncing off the table to your ears, makes your face heat at how pathetic you sound.

“Since you asked Daddy so nicely, baby.” Simon coos and caresses your back with his palm. Knows he’ll give you exactly what you want and maybe a little more so a soft trail of kisses between your shoulder blades reassures him a little more than you.

Groans lowly in his chest at the smell of you, just what he was chasing after the first time he got a whiff of you. Simon settles his forehead down and sucks in a deep breath full of you, holds it until he becomes a little light headed, blows it out shakily and grins when he feels goosebumps rise on your skin.

Kisses up to your shoulder and combs your hair to the other side, leaves the span of your neck clear for his lips. You shudder, whimpering at how gentle his lips brush along your neck and Simon gives you the last bits of his soft side before planting a firm palm around the side of your hip and the other on your shoulder to brace himself.

Simon starts all of a sudden, slams his cock into your weeping cunt to hear you gasp and sputter at how hard his leaky cock head knocks too deep inside you that tingles race up your neck. Can feel you fluttering around him until he pummels his cock into you and the clamp of your cunt is a blur of feeling.

Only hears your whorish, pathetic and whiny cries that reveal to him long you’ve been waiting for a daddy that’ll fuck you silly, but you didn’t have to wait any longer because Simon was here to stay. Didn’t mind being your daddy, not at all when you sing so prettily as he batters his cock into your tight cunt.

Groans at the your helpless whimpers and moans, can feel you try to run from him but when he moves his fingers to thread through your hair, gathering it in a tight fist that pulls your neck back taunt, you really couldn’t get away from him if you tried all curled up and forced to take him.

You lurch back and forth, bouncing on his cock, mouth agape and spewing cries to the ceiling. Ache in your neck from the tight pull that Simon has on you, but the pleasure from his cock sends it to the back of your mind. Can only think of how deep he feels, how his cock paints your walls with his pre-cum.

“You’re taking me so well, baby, even when Daddys cock’s being a little mean to your poor pussy.” Simon purrs, body tense and flexing to fuck you just the way you wanted.

You keen, his words barely registering in your silly head but making your body hum all the same. Faintly register the creaks of the dining table from Simon brutal pace, but the overwhelming feel of his cock distracts you from anything else.

Throw your arm back to push at his hips, try and give yourself relief when stars burst behind your eyelids everytime his cock knocks at your cervix.

“S-Slower, Daddy. Too much.” You cry, eyes stinging at the burn of your ass when Simon’s hips slam into you. Can hear when your skin makes contact ring in the air, makes you jolt forward and choke on your gasps, but Simon loves the shake of your hips. Finds himself mesmerized when the color changes from that pretty flushed pink to an angry red, evidence of how how he bullys his cock into your cunt and Simon would feel a little sorry if it wasn’t what you asked of him and if you didn’t swallow his thick cock up so easily.

“I know, baby, I know. But you can take it. I know you can, Daddy’s brave girl.” Simon calms you and unravels his fingers from your hair, lets your head slump against the table in hopes it might give you room to breathe and become too cock drunk to want him to stop.

Your head grows fuzzy, drinking in the way your body buzzes with pleasure. Pussy stuffed full and throbbing, electricity traveling up your spine, nipples aching and tingly against the table enough to make drool slip past your lips and pool on the table.

Simon curls his empty hand around you waist, has to clench his jaw when he sees how big his hand are wrapped around you. Feeds into his ego because you really couldn’t go anywhere if you tried, too big and strong for your thrumming with pleasure muscles to try and pull away from.

Makes him really put his back into it, fueled by your loud moans and the creamy ring around the base of his cock formed by your sopping pussy. All shiny and glittering with arousal, he couldn’t understand why you kept trying to run away from him when your cunts crying for him so much. He didn’t even need to prep you, your pussy was weeping so bad for him. He slipped inside of you liked a dream, sucked him in all warm and tight, even now Simon strained to keep himself from cumming with sweat beading at his forehead and heat warming his neck

Simon leans into you, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, arms flexing and bulging muscles as he presses your hips into the table. Mind running wild with how easy it was to get ahold of you. “Fuck, baby. Yer so fucking tight, swallowing up my cock like a whore. Like ye were made fer Daddy’s cock.”

Your lips quiver, moans tearing up your throat, nipples raw and angry from chaffing against the table. Can feel your body humming so violently that you go a little lightheaded. Suck in ragged deep breaths just to keep your head above water.

“C-Can feel you in my t-tummy, Daddy.” You sputter, nails digging into the table. Eyes rolling when his cock hammers into your walls. Dewy sweat covering your body in a thin layer that makes your hair cling to you.

Simon’s hips stutter, lets his eyes shut and repeat your words over and over, curses to himself when his balls throb and his ears warm.

“Yeah? Ye like that, baby? Daddy can put something real special in yer tummy.”

You pussy sings, fluttering and gushing around his cock because you know what he means. And you love playing along with him.

Eyes half-lidded as you take in the silhouette of his body over you. Can see the bulges of his arm muscles as they strain on the table. You choke, hiccup on your words as they tumble past your gnawed and red lips, “Like what, Daddy?”

“Fuck.” Simon murmurs, nails finding purchase in your flesh as he eyes the creamy ring that leaves residue on your swollen pussy lips. “A baby, pretty girl. You want Daddy’s baby in yer tummy?”

You keen, clamp your insides tight around him and Simon groans because he already knows your answer, can feel it make his balls draw tight.

“Yeah,” you whine, orgasm weighing heavy in the jerk of your hips back into Simon. “Please give me a baby, Daddy.”

Simon teeth grind as he works his hips faster, amped up by your eagerness to take his cum. Lips pursed and drawn in a line as your moans ring louder, pussy speaking against his cock.

Simon’s nostrils flare, voice guttural when his thrusts turn sloppy. “Daddy’s gonna cum inside you, yeah? Have to hold it in real tight, okay? Or Daddy’s baby won’t stick.”

You clamp tightly around Simon’s cock, earn a choke from behind you that makes you hum in approval. “I’ll try my best, Daddy.” You whimper, orgasm probing at your walls and causing your hold to waver.

Simon’s fucks into you with messy thrusts, balls throbbing with the quiver of your walls around him and it only takes a few more knocks to your cervix for you to cum on his cock and pull him with you.

You squeal, hips raising and squirming, held down by Simon who curses, jaw quivering as he paints your insides with his cum and he prays with everything in him that it does stick. So you’re with him forever just like he planned.

You whimper, body warm and throbbing, tingles making you twitchy as Simon runs his hands soothing along your back. Tugs a wet, weak smile from you after drooling so much when your mind went a little silly while cumming. Don’t even remember to keep a tight hold as to not let his cum leak out, but Simon keeps you plugged, doesn’t plan on pulling his cock from you yet.

You give him a tight smile when you sit on his couch. It’s not like you. He doesn’t say anything until you take a few puffs and your tense shoulders start to sag.

“What happened?”

“Boss was just being a dick all day.” You turn to give a real smile, eyes crinkling, “Good thing my drug dealers got a soft spot for me though, huh?”

“Who told you that?” He smirks, raising his eyebrows.

Your mouth drops in surprise, smacking his shoulder playfully.

“That’s mean.”

He laughs before continuing softly. “You’re my favorite client, you know that.”

That makes you smile, head rolling onto the back of the couch and he decides he likes making you do that. You close your eyes and when your chest starts to slowly raise with soft breathes, he decides to let you sleep.

The next time he sees you, you’re leaving the club, and when you recognize his car you jog over with an excited smile on your lips. You’ve got this little black dress on that makes it awfully hard to focus on anything else besides the curve of your hips.

“Simon! What are you doing here?”

“Bird? The hell you doing out here?”

“I went out with my friend.” You point to a man standing close by.

His jaw tenses, “Get in.”

“Huh?”

“Get in the car, bird. I’m not arguing.” He’s already climbing out of the driver's seat to open the passenger door for you.

“I’m not gonna just leave him, Simon!” You say, but you let him guide you into the car anyway.

“He’s a big boy. He’ll survive.”

When he gets to your house you turn to him with a mischievous smile, “Were you jealous?”

“Of who?”

“Don’t play dumb!”

“Just making sure you’re safe s’all.” He shrugs casually.

You lean across the center console, “It’s okay. I’m not interested in him.”

“Good.”

That makes you smile bigger, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt, “You gonna come in and smoke with me?”

“Course I am.”

You drag him inside giggling, stumbling a little over your high heels. You waste no time changing, pulling the dress over your head as you walk down the hallway, giving him a glimpse of your lacy covered ass before you disappear into your room.

You come back out in an oversized shirt and shorts. “Proper smoking fit now.”

“Could’ve stayed in the dress for me.”

You frown, “Was getting uncomfy.”

“Like you like this more anyways.”

That makes you smile shyly, sitting next to him on your couch. He’s already lit a joint, it’s pink, and the sight of his big hands around it makes you giggle.

“Couldn’t even wait for me to start?”

“C’mere.” He grunts, pulling you on to his lap.

It’s the first time you’ve been there since you begged to ride him. The memory makes him chub in his jeans.

He takes a big inhale before gripping your chin, dragging you to his lips, and exhales the smoke into your mouth. You squirm in his lap in surprise, fingers fisting his shirt with wide eyes, but you inhale as much as you can manage. You cough when he leans back casually, licking your lips like you were trying to chase the taste of him.

“Let me try.” You murmur.

He places the joint in your lips. You inhale before leaning forward nervously and blow the smoke into his mouth. It’s not as big as his hit and he swallows it easier than you had. Theres a long pause, the both of you staring at each other, your fingers smoothing the edges of his shirt you had bunched, before he puts the joint back in his mouth.

The two of you eventually take turns shotgunning the smoke into each other’s mouth. The pause between each inhale gets longer and longer, agonizingly so. Even more so when you keep your lips close, not kissing, just there. Breathes fanning over each other’s faces, your body becoming heavier and heavier on his thighs with each puff, the weed pulsing in your veins making you more lax than before.

The space between the two of you has gone a little hazy and you’re not entirely sure if it’s because of the joint or the smoke filling the room, but all the two of you can focus on is the other. You smell like tequila, and there’s a part of him who knows he shouldn’t be doing this when you’re drunk, but you’re so fucking pretty in his lap, eyes lidded and edges stained red, lips parted to take shaky breaths.

“‘s all gone.” He says, holding the tip.

“Yeah.” You whisper, but your eyes stay focused on his lips.

The corner of his mouth twitches, “That’s not a good idea. You’re drunk.”

“But you’re high now too, aren’t you? Evens it out.”

He chuckles, “I need more than just one j to be high, pretty.”

You frown.

“You were on a date anyway. Don’t think you want this.”

Your frown deepens, “Wasn’t a date. He’s just a friend.”

He hums, ignoring the irritation pulsing at his temples, fingers smoothing along your hips instead.

“Just a kiss?” You murmur, “Hold me over til I’m sober.”

He tuts his tongue, but he pulls you down anyway because he’s a man after all, he can only resist so much when you ask so sweetly. You smile against his lips, eyes fluttering shut and tugging him closer to you.

It’s slow, the both of your lips are a little numb from smoking, and the taste of the strawberry paper he buys for you has left a fruity taste in your mouths. His fingers tingle where they’re at your hips and there’s a pressure in his head from smoking. He can’t stop himself from deepening the kiss when you taste like that and sound so sweet against him, maybe it’s the weed in system that makes it harder to resist.

You let him lick into your mouth then, and your hips start to grind along his hardened length in his jeans when his tongue meets yours. You gasp against his lips every so often like you can’t seem to fill your lungs with enough air before diving back in impatiently because it’s such an inconvenience that you have to part in order to breathe.

He’s strong, god he’s strong because he manages to pull away, your lips stained a darker color, and you blink at him sadly when he stops your hips. All he can think about is how wet you probably are, just ruining your lacy panties, but he slides you off him anyway.

“Should drink some water and go to bed.” He says.

Your brows crease, pout on your lips, but you nod anyway.

You text him in the middle of the night two weeks later.

‘You up?’

‘For you.’

‘I think I’m greening out andd I’m rlly scared can you pls come pick me up?’

‘Where are you?’

‘I don’t knowww.’

‘Send me your location.’

You’re at some random party, and you give him a wobbly smile when you see him. That same friend at your side.

“Hi.”

“Hi, bird. Let’s go.”

You nod, your hands shaking when you lace your fingers with his and he drags you through the crowd. He takes you to his, helps you change into some of his clothes, and presses a glass of water to your lips. You chug it like you’re parched, barely saving any room to breathe.

“You’re gonna stress me out.”

You laugh quietly, “Sorry.”

“Gotta be careful smoking too much when you’re not somewhere you’re familiar with.” He sits you down on his bed.

“I know. It just kinda happened.”

“How you feeling?”

“Better with you.”

That makes his teeth show.

“You want me to put music on?”

You shake your head, “Just want to lay with you.”

He invites you over for a smoke session a few days later. You roll the joint between your thumbs nervously like theres something heavy on your mind.

“If you don’t wanna smoke we don’t have to. Just thought since it’s kinda our thing now.”

You smile big, “Our thing?”

“Mmhh.” He hums with a nod.

“That’s not what I was thinking about.” You murmur quietly.

“What’s it then?”

“You sleep with a lot of your clients?”

He chokes on the smoke he’s inhaled, coughing so much that tears well in his eyes.

“What?”

“Um, well. Have you fucked any of your other clients?” You bite at your bottom lip.

“Jesus, bird. No.” He coughs.

“Are you lying?” You squint.

“Never lie to you.”

“Okay.”

You smoke in silence after that. Your feet rest on his lap the entire time as you lean against the armrest. He runs his fingers along your ankles and up your calves to distract himself from the way your lips wrap around the joint. It’s innocent at first, he was being innocent at least, but then you nudge your toes on the bulge in his sweats and he raises his brows at you.

You shrug, a devilish smirk on your lips.

“Accident.”

But then your legs fall open a little, your pretty thighs parting slightly for him. It’s an invitation, an awfully tempting one and it all happens so fast, he almost doesn’t even realize he’s nosing along the wet patch of your underwear and placing your legs on his shoulders until you squeak in surprise. Foreplays not needed this time around, not when your drunken makeout session has weighed heavy at the recesses of your minds ever since.

Your panties come off easy enough and he beelines straight to the source. He kisses along your thighs once, twice, a third time and your breath gets faster with each approaching stamp of his lips. Except, his thumb finds your clit first, just soft strokes while his breath fans over your embarrassingly wet cunt.

When he does lick one flat swipe along your clit your back arches around the couch armrest. And then he dips lower and fucking groans into your pussy when he gets a real taste of you, eyes closed like he’s got sugar melting between his teeth and not you filling his senses. He indulges himself, just a little, slipping his tongue into your pussy, so he can lick the taste from the tap.

When he returns to your clit, your toes curl against his back, and your head slumps into the couch. You’ve got one hand stifling your moans and he’d make you take it off and sing for him, but he’s more concerned with laving at your swollen clit than anything else. He keeps his tongue gentle, each lick broad, to make sure he’s really smothering every inch of you.

You cry out when he takes the bead between his lips and sucks softly. Your mouth forms an o and the look you give him is so cute that he can’t help but smile into your pussy. Furrowed brows and big beady eyes, lashes wet at the edges like the stimulation was becoming too much.

You don’t try to pull away though, instead, you arch deeper into him, hand curling around the back of his head and pushing him closer to your clit. His big hands find your hips when you start to grind on his face messily, and it takes everything in him not to buck his own into his couch because he’s sure you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever fucked.

His nose bumps along your clit with each slow drag of your hips, and his face is drenched in juices down to his chin. He hopes the smell fucking sticks, hopes he can taste you on his tongue later tonight when you’re not there and he’s missing you.

You finish with his name on your lips and your thighs squeeze around his head tight. He licks it all up, lapping eagerly at your walls while your legs slowly relax, falling open onto his shoulders, and twitching with each followed lick in overstimulation.

When he comes up, your chest is heaving, like you were the one down there suffocated by your thighs and pussy. There’s this dopey smile on your lips and he can’t help but smile back, leaning down to kiss you with your arousal all over his face.

You don’t even scrunch your nose, you lick right into his mouth hungrily like he hadn’t just been feasting between your thighs.

“You’re fucking perfect.” He grunts between sloppy kisses, hands fumbling with his sweats.

He feels you smile, “You’re the one who just ate me out.”

You make a surprised noise when the fat of his head slips into your entrance unexpectedly, hands clambering to his shoulders to find purchase on anything. He slides right in, your pussy nice and lax from your orgasm or maybe its from the joint the two of your shared. He rests his forehead against yours when he bottoms out, eyes trained on your face. Your nails dig into his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut, and mouth popped open in pleasure.

“Fuckkk,” He drawls, “She feels so good.”

You whine, nodding against his forehead.

He starts with shallow thrusts, fucking into you just deep enough for you to get used to the stretch. When you start to impatiently arch into him for more, he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and pushes forward.

The new angle makes you moan loudly and the pace Simon sets is brutal. He’s got your knee to your shoulder and theres this ugly feeling swirling in his chest from your antics all fucking month.

“Been fucking stressing me out all month, you know that?” He grits his teeth.

You shake your head, but he wasn’t really looking for a response.

“Can’t just fucking stay home, can you? Always gotta get yourself into some trouble, don’t you?” His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh.

You whimper at his tone, “It’s not on purpose.”

“Asking if I sleep with other girls, like you aren’t smoking with other men.”

His hips slam into you hard at the end of his sentence, like he’s emphasizing his words.

“They fuck you like this? Huh?”

You shake your head again, “No! No, just you Simon.”

He’s not even sure where that came from when you guys have only fucked once, you’re not his, but you’re wrapped around him, pressing kisses against his neck because you think he’s mad and how can he not be jealous?

“You all mine?” He whispers, hips stuttering with his strength to not finish.

“Yes, yes, god, yes.”

Demon!Simon Riley couldn’t help but smirk as you fainted. It was a valid reaction from a mortal, he supposed, who had no idea the supernatural world existed, and had just witnessed a creature appear in their home

Demon!Simon Riley still stood at 6 feet 3 inches and could have passed as a normal man, albeit a very buff and bulky man, if it weren’t for the black mass that covered his head. It didn’t look like a mask, but instead an aura escaping him that screamed danger. Now that he thought of it, that was probably the reason you had passed out

Demon!Simon Riley waited around until you came to. He was sitting on your couch, flipping through historical dramas on your TV. He had shifted slightly so the black aura around him had dimmed considerably. He didn’t say anything when he noticed you were waking up. 

“Are you… an actual demon?” you couldn't help but ask

Demon!Simon Riley snorted and replied sarcastically, “no, love, I’m just a regular human that appears whenever demonic incantations are read aloud.” He picked the TV show The Great and you couldn't find any words. He grunted when he saw the outfits and when the title An Occasionally True Story popped up, he muttered, “yeah, obviously. That’s not what Catherine the Great looked like.” 

Before you could ask if he had somehow met Catherine the Great, he turned towards you. “What do ya need?” You still didn’t answer, mouth hanging open

Demon!Simon Riley sighed as you still didn’t answer. “Listen, love, I’m probably not gonna hurt you. At least not now, anyways. Depends on what you want. You mortals always want something.” It was clear he didn’t like conversation from how he didn’t say anything afterwards, just continuing to watch the TV show. It wasn’t until a long time later you told him of your ex-boyfriend

Demon!Simon Riley whose eyes narrowed and flashed pitch black when he heard of your plight. He had seen the horrors of man throughout the years and it seemed like it hadn’t gotten any better in the last few centuries. 

You were explaining how you didn’t know what Simon wanted from you in return when he held up a hand. “I’ll take care of it,” he said 

Demon!Simon Riley felt his lips pull up into a small smile when you asked what the exchange would be. He shrugged and replied, “won’t torture you forever in Hell, birdie, if that’s what you’re worried about.” And then he was gone

Demon!Simon Riley showed up a little later, looking pristine. “All done, birdie,” is all he said before sitting back down on your couch to finish his TV show

Demon!Simon Riley, as it turned out, wasn’t intent on leaving. You spluttered and stammered, but he seemed rather content living with you. You weren’t sure what the hell was happening, but it wasn’t as if you were going to tell a demon to get the fuck out of your house

Demon!Simon Riley kinda became a part of your routine, oddly enough. It didn’t seem like he needed to eat or sleep, but still hung around your place. He would disappear sometimes (no more than a few hours at a time) before popping back into your life and scaring the shit out of you. You were getting horribly skittish about your sudden lack of privacy, no matter how much he tried to calm you down. (His way of calming you down turned out to be staring at you until you stopped hyperventilating)

Demon!Simon Riley didn’t talk much, which was why it was terrifying when he suddenly just materialised in your kitchen sometimes, beginning to cook a dish from the 13th century that he suddenly remembered. He seemed to have an infinite supply of whatever he wanted and always refilled your fridge, which in this economy, you weren’t complaining about

Demon!Simon Riley was so odd to have around. It seemed surreal and every day you woke up, unsure if it was all a dream

Demon!Simon Riley certainly was not a dream and he made it very clear by getting almost too comfortable. You weren't sure if it was because you summoned him in your own home and he was somehow now tied to it, but he was acting like he would never return to Hell now. You almost wanted to call the friend who recommended this in the first place and curse her out

Demon!Simon Riley was determined to catch up on everything he had missed within the last centuries. He used your library card and began reading through the books you had at home while also using your subscriptions for shitty TV

Demon!Simon Riley was pretty quiet. He didn’t talk a ton, but when he did, it was sarcastic remarks about how humans had changed or stayed the same. He particularly liked watching shows about Satan or religion and just ripping it apart in a steady, low monotone. You got sort of used to hearing him grumble about the inaccuracies as you were working

Demon!Simon Riley randomly gave you little bouquets of flowers or precious jewels. You weren’t sure where he got them, but when a diamond necklace suddenly appeared on your coffee table with no explanation, you wanted to ask if it was made out of condemned souls

Demon!Simon Riley also somehow kept the entire house clean? It seemed a bit counterintuitive, since he was a spawn of Hell, but it was nice not having to dust

Demon!Simon Riley began walking around shirtless which you couldn’t do anything about lest you confront the demon now living with you

Demon!Simon Riley who sat on your couch, shirtless, and reading

Demon!Simon Riley knew what he was doing. Asshole.

Demon!Simon Riley, as said before, was 6’3” and just muscle. He had a layer of fat on him that made his tummy roll when he sat down and looked delicious. His biceps seemed like perfect chew toys and his thighs squished out whenever sitting. It was like he knew when you were ovulating

Demon!Simon Riley called you birdie and love

Demon!Simon Riley just wouldn’t go away. You weren’t sure that the age-old demon knew what overstaying was or how to take a hint, but it didn’t seem like it. Eventually, you had to sit him down and lay out the problem. After you were done, he sat there, quiet. After a while, you had to ask, “are you okay?” You weren’t sure if a demon could feel emotions, but you wanted to try

Demon!Simon Riley sat back on the couch and crossed his arms in the AC/DC hoodie he had somehow got. “I thought you liked having me around,” he muttered. You were quick to assure him that you did, it was just a bit weird sometimes and you wanted to know if there was an end date

Demon!Simon Riley shrugged. “I got you those flowers,” he mumbled. You told him that they were very nice and you really did appreciate all the gifts. “I was in the middle of Bridgerton,” he continued in his rough voice. Then, he stood. “But I’ll go.” Before you could protest, he was gone. 

It was an adjustment, to say the least, to have him gone. You had gotten so used to him popping up that going without him for long stretches of time felt unnatural. You somewhat expected him to just reappear one day, but it didn’t seem likely. His presence had become a welcome constant and you missed having someone to bitch about your coworkers with. He knew all of the drama about the HR lady. You lasted for all of four days

Demon!Simon Riley was summoned back and this time, you didn’t faint. He looked rather nonplussed when he reappeared in the pentagram, as if he was practically pouting, but that faded when you quickly hugged him

Demon!Simon Riley said, “you still don’t need the pentagram.”

That night, you sat down with him to watch Bridgerton with him. It seemed to be one of his favourite shows, oddly enough. It wasn’t long before you noticed some trends. Bouquets of flowers appeared in the show as did jewelry and you gave him a side-eye when you recognised his actions as old courting rituals

Demon!Simon Riley simply shrugged and said, “I didn’t think you would want an eternal globe of hellish fire. I settled for flowers.”

Demon!Simon Riley whose eyes turned black when you had sex

The glass is a vignette of steam as you're lathering clouds of perfumed suds all over your body completely unaware your boyfriend is watching you like some pervert. Any other normal boyfriend would just make his presence known and probably join you in the shower. Not Simon. He would be content to watch with a half lidded gaze and half hard cock as you massage all those nice smelling shampoos, conditioners and shower gels in. He should get in the shower with you. God knows he probably smells like sweat and someone else's blood all metallic and musky, coppery and earthy.

"Jesus Christ-!" You shriek as you finally lift your gaze up and see Simon leaning against the door watching you. "Simon why don't you fucking knock?" "Nice to see you too, love." The corner of his lips tug upwards, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "Don't stop on my account. You didn't do yer conditioner." Simon jerks his chin towards the shower shelf with your array of products.

You can't help but roll your eyes as you reluctantly grab the conditioner. "Fuckin' weirdo." You mutter under your breathe as you squeeze a dollop into your hand, glaring at Simon while doing it. "Did you even call me? Thought you were getting home later." Simon shrugs as he steps forward and leans against the shower door. "Wanted to surprise you." Those soft brown eyes of his are locked onto the way the water cascades down your sternum, how it drips off your pebbled nipples. Your drenched hair sticking to the back of your neck, forehead and temples framing your face into an image Simon wishes he could sear into his brain. The water glistens and highlights every delicious dip and curve of your body. He could take a photo. Then add it to his ever growing collection of lewd photos of you in his phone.

"Are you gonna shower too, Si?" You finger comb the conditioner through your hair as you turn to him, his eyes are still taking you in like you're a marble statue in a museum. All soft and perfectly shaped. He could drag you out of the shower and into the bedroom and stuff his aching cock into that cunt he missed so much. Or he could strip off his clothes right now, step into the shower and press you up against the cold tiles as he'd stuff you full of his thick fingers until your thighs started to shake. Tempting offers all of them, but he had to wait at least two minutes until you can rinse out your conditioner. "Take your time, love. I've got all night." Simon's length was starting to strain at his jeans now, but you know what they say. Good things come to those who wait, right?

He stared at you without responding, and there was a long pause of silence before your smile dropped into something smaller.

“Wait? Do you not sell?” You covered your mouth, “Oh my gosh that’s so embarrassing, they told me they bought from you before!”

“Relax, bird. I do.”

“Oh! Great, that’s great. Um, how much for an eighth?”

“On the house.” He smirked, digging through the back of his car.

“What?”

“First time buyer, gotta guarantee you like it.”

You caught the bag he tossed you with a shy smile on your face, humming. “Okay, thank you!”

Ghost watched you jog to your friends after that, holding the bag out to them with a proud smirk.

The next time you bought from him, you were all by yourself, jean shorts showing off your pretty legs.

“Hi.”

He chuckled, “You’re back.”

You leaned into the window, low-cut shirt clinging to the swell of your breasts.

“I am.” You smiled, “How much for an eighth this time, for real?’

“Already have some pre-rolls, you can just have ‘em.”

“Huh? No, I didn’t pay you last time!”

“No one ever wants the pre-rolls anyway,” He shrugs, he lies. “They’re cherry flavored.”

That sparks your interest, “Really? I didn’t know they did that.”

You hand him your phone then, “Put your number in, yeah? So, I don’t have to hope to randomly run into you to buy more.”

When he hands the phone back you laugh after reading the contact name, “Ghost? That’s your drug dealer name? Really?”

“Do you want free weed or not?”

You laugh louder this time, “Yes! Yes! I was just teasing. Thank you!”

You text him two weeks later, a stupid meme at that with beady eyes, ‘more, please sir?’

He hates the way it makes the corners of his lips twitch.

He’s mobile that day, and you send him your address with one too many exclamation marks tagged on the end. You run out in leggings and slippers, a giddy smile on your lips.

“Hi.”

He laughs, “Hi, bird.”

“I liked the pre-rolls!” You say excitedly, leaning into the window, “Never had those before.”

“Yeah? What you need today?”

“You have any more?”

He frowns a little, “Get in with me, I’ll roll you some.”

You open his passenger side door too willingly, “Oh good. I don’t know how to roll,” You confess, “My friends usually do it for me.”

His mouth dips into a smirk, “Yeah? ‘Ts not that hard, watch.”

You lean closer, eyes wide like he’s actually teaching you valuable information and not how to roll a joint.

“Gotta make sure to take out all the seeds and stems before you grind it.” You watch him grind it enraptured. “Gotta roll up the tip first, then, wrap the paper tight.”

You nod eagerly.

“Fill it with your flower, roll it upwards with your thumb to make your shape. Then,” He licks across the paper, “Seal it with the glued edge, and twist the tip.”

He holds it out to you, “There you go.”

You take it between your fingers with a soft smile, “Thank you.”

You text him three days later, a picture of a lopsided joint that he definitely didn’t sell you.

‘How’d I do?’

‘Looks like shit.’

‘That’s mean :(‘

‘Come over, let me help.’

‘On my way!’

You show up an hour later, the crooked joint in your hands. You sit on his couch with a frown.

“You know, I didn’t think it came out that bad.”

“Give it here.” He laughs, “You packed it up wayyy too much. Got too much at the end here too, didn’t tap it out.”

Still, he lights it, holding it out for you to smoke. You take it between your fingers, inhaling a small amount before coughing slightly. He smirks at your watery eyes, taking the joint from you to smoke it.

“Sorry,” You say, “I got my lip gloss on it.”

He chuckles, the tip glistening with the gloss, placing it in the corner of his lips, “Doesn’t matter.”

It tastes like your lip gloss. Strawberries and weed.

You take turns smoking it. Simon watches you the whole time, with lidded eyes, focused on the way your pretty lips curl around the joint. The way your chest rises with each inhale, your eyes becoming heavier and heavier, a lazy smile smeared across your lips as you lean closer to him on his old couch.

All he can think about is those lips wrapped around his cock and not the tip of the joint. And he’s definitely rock hard in his sweats, but he doesn’t care if you notice, not when you keep giggling at every bad joke he cracks.

He jerks himself off when you leave, promising you’ll be safe and text him when you get home. He finishes when your message pops at the top of his screen ‘made it safe :)’

He invites you over himself a week later because he’s got random inventory, he ordered them himself, of strawberry wraps and he’s certain you’ll like them.

You do like them. You’re melted into his couch, blinking lazily at him.

“How come you never charge me?” It’s a whisper.

He looks at you, the room dizzy with smoke and your pretty gaze.

“Never make pretty girls pay.”

“Oh?” You sound disappointed, “So, you give it free to other girls?”

He shakes his head, “Just you.”

You squint, “Are you only giving me free weed so you can get a lay?”

He smirks, “Is it working?”

You scoff, smacking him in the shoulder, “Unbelievable.”

He catches your wrist.

“You giving it to my friends for free too?”

“Careful,” He smirks, “You’re starting to sound jealous.”

You roll your eyes, trying to pull away from him. He keeps you close, tugging you into his lap so fast you have no choice but to slip onto his thighs. You don’t look at him, eyes focused to the side.

“Just you.”

You peer down at him then, “Huh?”

His fingers find your cheek, still burning from the embers of the joint, “You’re the only one I don’t charge.”

“Yeah?” You whisper.

“C’mere already.” He murmurs, pulling you down to kiss him.

You make a noise of surprise, like you hadn’t expected your smoke sessions to lead to this, with his cock pressed between your thighs eagerly, grip on your chin and hip to keep you close to him.

You kiss him back earnestly, smaller hands finding his shoulders. He loves it, fuck he loves the way your hands shake against his skin, the vibrations that leave your chest and fill his. He’s been dreaming about this since the moment you walked over in your tiny skirt.

Your bottom lip pops away from his, glistening with his saliva and not the lip gloss you insist on wearing.

“Wanted you to do that for ages.”

He chuckles against your lips, “Yeah?”

Your hips grind against his then, “Only reason my friends made me go was because I wouldn’t shut up about how hot you were.”

He presses his teeth against your neck, fingers making quick work of your belt and pants. “Came over with your ass and tits out, been jerking off to the memory ever since.”

You inhale sharply, “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter when his fingers find your cunt, squelching with the sound of your arousal. He dips one finger in, drawing a whimper from you, and god you’re so fucking warm. The weeds got you nice and lax, a small grin on your lips as he coaxes you with one thick finger and he's sure he's never wanted to fuck someone more.

Your grin turns into a broken cry when he adds another, lips quivering around the shape of his name. Ghost. Ghost?

His thumbs already on your lips, gaze strong on you, “Simon.”

You nod in quiet understanding, “Simon.”

There’s a sticky strip of arousal that clings to your panties when he slides them off your thighs and it takes everything in him not to bury his face below and smell.

You scramble to his sweats, tugging them down impatiently. He lifts his hips willingly, lets his strained cock smack against his abdomen angrily. You lick your lips when you see it, eyes wide at the sight.

He grips it by the base, thumb coming up to wipe at the precum spilling from the tip.

“Oh my god.” You groan, “Let me ride you, please.”

He slides lower on the couch, tapping your hips casually in agreement like he hadn’t been picturing you on top of him for weeks, “Go on.”

You rise to your knees above him, shaking hand grabbing his cock so lightly it makes his eyes flutter. You glide his tip along your seams until it snags at your entrance, and you make a soft noise when he pops through. You slide down eagerly as much as he holds your hips and grits through his teeth to take it slow.

Your head falls to his shoulder when you sink to the base, his head rolling to the back of the couch because you’re so fucking warm and tight, and the weed definitely isn’t helping because he’s feeling everything ten times worse.

And when you lift your hips, he swears he sees heaven between your thighs when you drop back down and your pussy makes an obscene squelch.

You bury your face in his neck, arms around his shoulders and just fucking go at it. Ass slamming against his so fast the room echoes with each slap. You whine high-pitched with each thrust like you aren’t the one setting the pace, like you aren’t the fucking yourself raw around his cock.

“Jesus, bird, slow down.” He grunts, fingers dimpling your skin.

He says it because your legs are shaking and there’s sweat beading on your chest, whimpers falling from your lips endlessly, but more so because he doesn’t want it to end this soon. When he hasn’t even laid you back properly to fuck you the way he had hoped.

You don’t listen well.

You just keep sloppily fucking yourself onto his cock because you’ve found the sweet spot, the one that has you on the brink of an orgasm.

His lips on your neck do it for you, your toes curling into his shitty ass couch when you break. You soak his balls then, pussy clenching so tight around him he has to bite down on his cheek so he doesn’t bust.

He’s already moving you to your back, finding a home between your thighs when you come back down. You don’t even argue, like the perfect thing you are, folding your own legs to his shoulders, and arching into the couch.

He slides in slow, and your pussy spreads for him so prettily.

“Fuck,” he drawls, “Listen to her, just fuckin dying for me to fuck her.”

You whine loud at that, hips bucking to get him to move. He doesn’t wait a second longer, thrusts so hard into you, you feel it in your toes and your legs straighten out in shock.

He fucks you slow and hard, pace languid from the weed pulsing in his veins. You like it, at least he thinks you do from the way you keep writhing under him, the beginning syllables of his name broken on your lips between every thrust.

When he leans forward, pressing your knees to your shoulders, you gasp in shock from the stretch, but then his tip snags against that spot in your cunt that melts your brain into mush, and your eyes just roll into the back of your head.

He smirks proudly, bullying his length against that spot until you’re pushing at hips, murmuring something along the lines that it’s too much.

He doesn’t stop.

You pulse around him when you cum a second time, sweet voice ripped from your throat, and turned into blinded pleasure when he stamps his thumb against your swollen clit. Your feet tense at his shoulders, fingers tight against the cushions.

He finishes inside of you then, head falling to your shoulder with a deep groan, hips fucking into you with each pump.

as you rode into the Great Yard, the grey-and-white banners of House Stark danced gently in the crisp northern breeze, their embroidered direwolves watching over the courtyard. the entire castle had assembled to greet guests : lines of guards, household servants, noble bannermen, and maesters, all standing at rigid attention with warm mist pluming from their mouths into the freezing air. at the head of it all stood the Lord of Winterfell and his family.

your mind instantly raced back to the lingering whispers of your ladies-in-waiting back at the Eyrie. the courtly gossip about the Warden of the North’s son had painted him as a huge man of few words, remarkably gloomy and taciturn even by the notoriously stoic standards of Northmen.

seeing him in the flesh proved every single rumor true.

Duncan was utterly impossible to miss. he towered over the crowd, standing out starkly even among a sea of northernmen clad in dark wool and leather. even among his own family, his sheer size was staggering. the dark, heavy furs layered over his broad shoulders made him look positively massive, pinned dramatically across his chest by two gleaming silver direwolf brooches.

your father was the first to dismount, leaping down to embrace his old friend, the Lord of Winterfell, with a warm, brotherhood-forged hail. servants quickly rushed to your side with a mounting block, helping you step down gracefully from your horse.

you smoothed the heavy folds of your mink-lined skirt, taking a brief breath to compose your fluttering nerves. but as you turned around, the air left your lungs entirely.

in just two long, effortless strides, Duncan had closed the distance between you. in his eagerness to finally greet his future to be lady love, he hadn't truly calculated the velocity of his moves. for a man his size he moved so impossibly fast and silently that you nearly walked right into his chest, as you were about to face the crowd of northmen, stepping back with a soft, startled gasp.

up close, he was a wall of shadow, leather, and fur, blocking out the sun and the cold wind entirely.

the moment he saw you startle, horror struck Duncan’s chest like a physical blow. he hadn't meant to loom over you like a mountain; he hadn't realized how completely his broad shoulders swallowed the light, or how his proximity forced you to crane your neck just to see him. panic and acute, burning shyness flared beneath his stoic northern exterior. he felt awfully out of place, desperately wishing he could shrink back three steps, terrified that his mere presence had made you feel cornered or even worse afraid.

"forgive me, my lady," Duncan rumbled instantly, his deep voice heavy as a rolling thunderstorm - and though if you weren't so tired, you might have caught the faint suppressed tremor of pure, flustered nervousness in his tone as those striking blue eyes locked onto yours for the very first time.

quickly composing yourself, you reined in your startled breath and dipped into a graceful curtsy, the fine Vale velvet of your gown fanning out against the snow.

"my lord," you murmured softly, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.

hearing your voice - soft and clear, with the gentle cadence of the Vale - sent an unexpected feeling of something very dear through Duncan’s entire frame.

you were finally here. you were his betrothed. his future Lady of Winterfell.

yet, as quickly as that warmth flared, a sudden, mortifying wave of shyness crashed over him.

it hit him all at once just how ridiculously massive he was compared to you. he hadn't realized in his hurry how completely he had crowded your space, standing so close that his towering shadow practically swallowed you whole - and then you took a small step back as his broad back inadvertently walled you off from the rest of the courtyard.

that slight movement pierced him with a sudden, flustered panic. memories he usually buried came rushing back in a quiet, embarrassing wave. none of it had ever been said with malice - not when the stablemaster, a rough and blunt but kind-hearted man, would chuckle that no ordinary horse could carry such a giant to battle; not when the maids in the corridors whispered, exchanging conspiratorial glances and lowering their eyes whenever the young lord walked past; and certainly not when his own father would clap him hard on the back with a booming joke about his height.

none of them meant any harm. yet, over the years, those harmless remarks had somehow pushed Duncan’s shoulders into a habitual slouch, training him to constantly try and shrink, to occupy as little space in the world as possible.

and, gods, how agonizingly clumsy and awkward he felt right now, standing over someone so delicate and refined. was he suffocating you? had he frightened you with his sheer size? he suddenly wished he could shrink three feet just to not feel so monstrously out of place beside you.

his jaw tightened in a desperate effort to mask the burning heat rising to his ears.

with agonizing care, Duncan reached out, his giant, calloused hand engulfed yours with caution, holding your slender fingers as if a fraction too much pressure might break them. a faint, slightly shy smile softened his features, and the icy blue of his eyes melted into something impossibly gentle as he leaned down.

lowering his massive frame, he pressed a feather-light, reverent kiss to your knuckles, his heart hammering against his ribs far louder than any northern war drum.

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GYAAAAAAH FINALLY MY FIRST FIC AFTER A HUUUUGE PAUSE