Stalker Simon who shows up at your house in the middle of the night before letting himself in; heâs already made himself multiple copies of your house key. First, he watches you sleep, as always, towering over your bed silently. He takes a picture, needing to capture the way the moonlight peaks through the window and shines across your face.
Then, he shifts closer, the floorboard creaking under his boots. You donât stir, he almost wishes you wouldâhe likes it when your eyes go wide, when you start to tremble under his stare.
He reaches down slowly, gloved fingers softly brushing against your cheek. So soft. He wonders if youâd scream if you woke up now, or if youâd finally stop pretending you donât want this.
He sets his phone down on your nightstand, camera still openâhe likes to see the way you look from every angle. Likes having proof youâre his.
He takes the hem of your shirt between two fingers and lifts it up inch by inch, baring your skin to the cold air. He feels his cock twitch against the zipper of his pants. God, youâre perfect like this. Helpless. Waiting for him to do whatever he wants.
And he will.
Just not yet. Not like this.
He leans down, voice a low rasp against your earâhis breath hot on your skin, making you shift in your sleep.
âNext time, love,â he murmurs, gloved hand sliding under your shirt to cup your breast, his thumb circling your nipple until it peaks. He feels your body arch, soft and pliant, chasing his touch even without waking. His cock is throbbing now, and he has to grit his teeth to stop himself from taking you right there.
âNext time youâll be awake for me.â
He forces himself to step back, but not before he picks up a scrap of lace from your hamper. Something to remember you by until he comes back.
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simon hated how thin the walls of the barracks were. he hated the way he could hear your moans through the wall, hated the fact that it wasn't him getting those sounds out of you. but at the same time, he was the only one to blame.
from the moment you arrived on base, simon had his eyes on youâthe cute new medic. he had been happily surprised when you told him you were not looking for anything serious; he wasnât either. being military was complicated enough, no need to add a relationship into the mix. but it didnât mean you two couldnât have a bit of fun together, right?
at first, it was perfect. you spent your days patching up messy privates and bold sergeants, getting shouted at by your superior because you were not fast enough or you were being too nice. at the end of the day, you just needed simon to take control. he was not a selfish lover at all, always making sure you were well taken care of before he went for his own pleasure. after that, you'd be on your way to your own dorm, legs shaking a little. and it worked well, you didn't think you needed more.
simon didn't talk much. he listened when you ranted, but he always cut you off by kissing you or manhandling you onto his bed. thatâs where you spent most of your time with him: his bed. and when you were done, he'd send you on your way. it didn't bother you; you weren't looking for commitment.
only one thing bothered you: he was hiding you. sure, you were not together, but he made sure his teammates didn't know he was rocking your world almost every night when you were on base. when you asked him why, it turned into a big argumentâtoo big for just a situationshipâso you had left his room without trying to talk him out of his misplaced anger. you thought you'd leave him be for a few days, and then you'd be back to normal. working on yourself, you accepted the fact that his team didnât know about your arrangement. it didnât matter.
it came as a shock when you made your way to his dorm, a couple days later, and stumbled upon one of the sergeants from another task force making her way out of simon's room on wobbling legsâa sight that reminded you of your own walks of shame. you had barged into his room, not caring that he might be naked, and demanded explanations.
"ya weren't 'round, needed a bit o' fun," was all he had said, shirtless and smoking a cigarette at his window. he didn't even look at you. it was like he knew you would be coming.
you weren't around? you had been working because two idiots decided to have a knife fight, leaving you with a lot of stitches and paperwork.
and it's not as if you were both back home; you were staying at the same fucking barracks.
on your way back to your room, you walked straight into johnny mactavish. and johnny being johnny, he flirted with you. and with you being hurt and humiliated, it worked. it didn't help that johnny was extremely good-looking and very friendly. hell, simon didn't even let you see his face.
now that you were having the same fun with someone who wasn't ashamed of you, you realized that it did pain you that simon wouldn't even dare look your way if he was with the 141. not only did johnny look at you, but he shamelessly flirted with you in front of whoever was around, calling you "his bonnie," even though he knew you were not official. it felt good.
so this was how you ended up in johnny's bed. to be honest, you were feeling petty, so you were being loud, not even trying to quiet your moans a little. every time you had sex with simon, his hands were always somehow muffling your moans. but johnny? oh, johnny thrived on hearing every single noise you made. and you thrived knowing simon was hearing it all on the other side of the wall. at first, you had been shy, expecting johnny to want to hide you the same way simon did, but you couldn't have been more wrong.
he stopped everything, looking up from between your legs with a bit of concern. "doesnae feel guid?" he asked. and after you assured him that it did, in deed, feel really good, he added, "then dinnae get shy on me, bonnie. want tae hear ye," a cocky smirk plastered on his lips. and you swore he had never been that attractive.
well, maybe he had been more attractive when, after you two were done, he cuddled you, begging you to stay the night. another thing you'd never imagined simon doing. it was easy with johnny. it wasn't just sex. he'd take you out to eat junk food, you'd go to the movies next to the base, and then you'd go back and have your fun. you even heard him talk about you with gaz. and you'd talk about him with your colleagues.
when simon was a shadow, johnny was the sunâhis presence impossible to conceal.
the problem was that johnny still had no bloody idea that simon had been there first. every time johnny mentioned your name, simon's mood would shift. he'd snap more often, telling johnny to shut upâsomething that wasnât new, given johnny's tendency to talk a lot. what was new, however, was the tone. normally, when he was fed up with johnny running his mouth, simon would adopt a light, almost joking tone. but now? it was pure anger and frustration.
"whit got yer panties in a twist, L.T.?" johnny had asked one time, too fed up with simon's behavior. "maybe ye should find yerself a little birdie to ease yer nerves, ye know?" simon's reaction was immediate. he got up so quickly his chair fell back. johnny could see the way his lieutenant's breathing had picked up, his knuckles white as if he were about to hit soap. but he did no such thing. he just left. communication had never been simon's strong suit.
as johnny watched him leave, he knew he had gone too far. but, god, how could you both think he was that dumb? his room was just next to simon's. he had heard you all those times. he had seen you leaving simon's room. he had seen simon take another girl back. he knew.
johnny just decided that if simon was too dumb to treat a sweet little birdie like a goddess, he wouldn't be caught dead doing the same thing. johnny worshiped, that was what he did. and if someone hurt the things he liked, he attacked.
he was dead set on making you forget everything about his lieutenant. what was it they said?
Simon âGhostâ Riley with a chronically ill wife
Simon knows exactly what you need, sometimes before you even do.
Heâs protective over you, thatâs in his nature but heâs never patronising.
Heâs a quiet caregiver - heâs there with your favourite drink, pain meds and a heat pack. He quietly refills your meds when youâre running low or he notices your pill box is empty.
âCome on love, letâs run yâa bath.â
His hands, those strong hands would massage all the kinks and stiffness out of your neck and back.
He never makes you feel bad for not being able to do something.
He helps with the laundry and chores.
On your good energy days heâll go on long country walks and hikes with you and on days where you need rest he naps with you, your head on his shoulder or in his lap on the sofa.
Heâs always there with you at appointments and first to grumble at doctors or nurses if theyâre not listening to you.
He never lets you apologise for âbeing a burdenâ heâd place a kiss on your forehead âyouâre not a burden love. Never say that again.â
You soften him. Teach him patience and tenderness and how to love himself despite his own pain. You teach him kindness.
anyways, as i was saying about older bf!simon and his willingness to please learn
pt 2 to this
âyou ever heard of a nut video with sound on?â
obviously, he hasnât- far as heâs concerned, if you havenât told him about it then it doesnât exist to him.
no skin off your nose, youâd spend the rest of your life teaching him about the âlatest trendsâ if it meant he kept sending those filthy fucking videos to your phone.
(your favourites on tiktok were purely filled with ideas)
heâs holed up in a remote location, killing time till he can be home and actually do something to you rather than send you a bloody video about it.
your instructions come through clear and concise, just how he likes:
âitâs whatâs written on the can, si- you can pick the setup but i just want to see you cum and, most importantly, i want to hear itâ
youâre lucky simon is such a practical guy and maybe you could thank price one day for making him so good at following orders.
when heâs got his alone time heâs setting his phone up to record on the edge of the window sill, moonlight fighting through the curtain to illuminate him.
heâs lost the bulkiest of his gear, down to his tactical trousers and a compression t-shirt. the images in his tattoo sleeve almost move when the light catches them right.
balaclava on (the one that just shows his eyes above the painted image of a skull) and heâs standing up to undo his belt (that you think looks like an airplane seatbelt).
you can hear his boots against the floorboard as he steps back to give you the full view of him undoing his trousers, taking his sweet time because he knows it drives you fucking batty.
heâs so big that the phone is working overtime to get all of him in the frame but you see exactly what you need to- thick thighs at your eye line and massive hands drawing down his fly.
on (you assume) the other side of the globe, youâre at home in your shared bed and youâre propped up right in the middle with the smell of simon engulfing you as you watch the video play out before you.
(if youâd thought about it you shouldâve cast it to the bedroom tv, hoping the neighbours didnât mind)
simon sits back down with his legs spread wide, one hand gripping his thigh as the other rubs himself over his boxers. his eye contact with the camera was fucking intense, like youâd hoped, just like when heâs on top of you.
heâs dressed in all black and the moonlight is obscured but you can still see him firming up in his pants. his eyes flutter, an infinitesimal amount but youâve been tuned into his every move since you met him.
your thumb leans hard on the volume up button and you can hear the diegetic sound of the building expanding and that usual technical hum that comes with a video. but at this pitch, you could hear him.
his breathing was chopped, chest expanding visibly as he pulled his cock out into clear view. jeeeeesus christ, it was never something you just got used to.
long, reasonably straight, fucking thick. even his hand struggled to make it look smaller as he wrapped around it, giving one dry tug.
as he closed his palm over the tip, you saw him make a swipe before he brought his hand back down considerably smoother than before. youâd had your hands down his pants enough times, man leaked like a fucking faucet.
simonâs head tipped back as he started to pull himself off, balaclava raising just enough to expose some of his throat. if you were there you would be perched in his lap, letting him do the work but running your tongue under the lip of the fabric.
one of the best things about the videos simon sent was, he didnât really understand how sexy he was. he didnât think any of the videos particularly watchable so heâd just send them on first take. if you liked them, you liked them- yours was the only opinion that mattered.
what that meant was, you never got b-roll. everything he sent you was unbridled perfection. captured exactly as it happens with no faffing about.
always whatever youâve asked for, whenever you ask.
(simonâs nothing if not inexplicably obedient)
he brings his hand under his chin to spit into the wide span of his palm, wrapping back around his cock and tugging. his foreskin moved over the head, rolling back down and thick veins bulging under his grasp.
youâd almost forgotten the conditions of your request, totally fucking enamoured by the sight in front of you when it caught you off guard.
a guttural moan ripped out of simonâs chest as he twisted his wrist.
his free hand moved to cup his balls, big and heavy, he rolled them in his palm as another groan sounded out of him. what you wouldnât give to be knelt between his thighs with the whole lot in your mouth.
you knew how much of an ask this was, you really had to work him up to making noise when it was just you two in bed. these days? you couldnât shut the man up when he was balls deep and his face was buried in the crook of your neck.
but this was another step, this was him on his own with his crew just through the walls. heâd be a plain liar if he said there wasnât that rumbling trepidation in his chest. heâd put it to bed though.
all he had to think of was you, one hand gripping your phone and the other between your thighs as you watched him through with a hazy smile- that kept him going.
with the thought still heavy on his mind, you didnât have to strain to hear your name drift off his lips. his hips bucked into his hand as he did, speeding up the motion of his strokes.
you were going to black out, his tattoos flexing and his chest expanding with every stuttered breath. simon looked like a god among men and he fucking sounded like one too.
âfuck, sweetheart- youâre so fucking filthy giving me orders like thisâ
your cheeks were burning, he wasnât wrong but you werenât expecting him to call you out quite like this.
âwhat does that make me? always so fucking eager to do what you say? make a dirty old man, yeah?â
wheeeeeew thatâll do it, your thighs snapped together around your hand as your eyes nearly rolled back in your head. whenever you thought you couldnât take any more, he was always there to do you one better.
âonly for you, pet- you can always get whatever you fucking want from meâ
and you knew he was serious, thatâs what made it all the more debilitating. simon was unshakeable, youâd seen him go out of his way to defy orders if he didnât think the person worth his time.
when it came to you? you could tell him to kill and he would.
(he probably had)
simonâs hips were twitching, back arching in a way heâd rather die than have anyone else know about. his mouth was hanging open beneath the balaclava, your name and a string of expletives falling off his tongue.
so quick you nearly missed it, the hand that was cradling his balls moved to grip the fabric of his shirt and push it up his toned front. you couldnât call his abs cut and defined, there was aged layer to them, but they were undeniably there.
youâd rested your head on them, pressed your palms against them, even ridden them enough times to know they were there. regardless, he looked fucking perfect under the moon glow as he stroked himself hard and long.
eyes locked onto the camera, broken moans on his lips, you saw his hips lift one last time as thick spurts of cum began to paint his stomach and chest.
scars illuminated under the night sky, mirrored by shiny patches of hot cum splattered across the same stretch of skin. the hairs on his chest were matted with sweat and were now being splashed with how far he was shooting.
you could only watch with your mouth hung open as he tugged himself through his orgasm. soon it was only the sound of his laboured breathing, chest rising and falling as he tucked his soft cock back into his pants.
just when you thought that was it, you found one of his hands lifting up the edge of his balaclava till his lips were exposed. two fingers of his other hand swiped up some of his spend before he lay them on his tongue.
knuckles in your mouth, biting down to suppress a scream, simon readjusted his clothes as he stood and took a heavy step towards the camera.
one hand braced on the window sill, the other gently gripping himself through his trousers- his voice was so fucking gravely it couldâve reverberated round your room.
âwhatâs next sweetâart? you name it, itâs yoursâ
simon who has trouble hiding his expressions without his balaclava. he's worn it for so long that when he's at home with you, you're laughing at how his jaw drops at how your toddler smacks her head into a cabinet and doesn't cry at first.
you stop him from fussing as kids usually look to their parents on how to react, only he ends up making your daughter cry for her mama after she glances at you, then her father.
"y'know it's your fault, simon." you murmur to him, ten minutes after he's calmed your daughter down. he blinks, glancing at you as he pauses in his tracks in the kitchen, waiting for you to go on. "you can't hide your expressions for shit."
simon's face tints pink, his eyebrows drawing together as he becomes hyperaware of every expression now. "what? my fault?" he sputters a little, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, only making you laugh more.
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he was just coming back from a long mission, awaiting to be in his wifes arms in his big comfy bed.
Normally Simon would have his ring on a necklace just so that way it wouldn't fall off.
But before the mission the chain broke, he didn't think much of it so he just put it on his finger. The ring wasn't too loose so he didn't think it would really fall off
As he's walking to get his bag, he reaches for his ring, he didn't feel it. Where was it? How could be loose it?
he starts to look around everywhere. maybe it fell in his bag, maybe it fell on the ground around him.
No it didn't. he had to have lost in during the stupid mission.
He starts to panic. it was his engagement ring. his ONLY engagement ring. he couldn't loose it, it meant too much to him.
As he starts to drive home, hes trying to recall his steps. trying to find out if maybe just maybe he just misplaced it.
before he walks in the home that he and she shared, he keeps looking, keeps hoping to find it.
He couldn't find it . the love of his life gave him a ring and now he can't find it.
He started to tear up, getting frustrated. Then he hears the front door open, her frame standing in front of him, eyebrows furrowed.
"Babe what are you doing?" she asked in confusion.
She walks to him and hugs him, missing him the same way he missed her. only to see his eyes watery and his nose stuffy
"Si, are you okay?"
"I lost the ring"
she giggles
"Oh hunny, we can go get another band babe"
his eyes only start to water more.
"I want the one i had before"
she giggles again, his tone making her think about an tiny kid throwing a fit over a lost toy.
She grabs his hand "How about we go sleep and think about buying you two rings, one for work and the other for home?"
He nods his head.
This was the time that she saw how much she meant to him. The simon Riley was so worked up about loosing his ring. she giggles at the mere thought. The big burly man crying in her arms.
It was safe to say that they went to the jewelery store the next day to get the man his bands.
He came out looking exactly like his father. He acted exactly like him. He didnât sleep, he had nightmares too often, he loved watching telly, he wouldnât sleep without you near him, and so much more.Â
While you make lunch, Simon sits on the couch with Tommy, watching a football game. The little boy was in his own jersey, babbling everytime his father yelled at the tv. The sight was adorable to anyone who had eyes. He copies his father, bottle in hand, drinking every time his daddy takes a sip of his rootbeer. Tommyâs eyes light up as his daddy turns to him. âTeam sucks, donât they, bubby?â
Tommy didnât understand, obviously, but he babbles away anyways, like a fan meeting their favourite celeb. Simon was tommyâs favourite person. You always said that they were twins. Tommy always wanted to do everything his daddy was doing.Â
âShould we just eat on the couch?â You ask, carrying two plates in hand. Simon nods, patting the spot next to Tommy. You hand Simon his sandwich before turning to Tommy and sitting next to him. You pull the bowl of soft rice off your plate, feeding Tommy little bites off the plastic spoon, He continues watching the game with his dad, chewing with his little gums.Â
Heâs halfway done the rice before Manchester scores.Â
Simon stands up, cheering as loudly as he can. Tommy tries to copy him, knocking over the bowl of rice.
Luckily, it doesnât spill too much.Â
A few grains land on your lap. Simon chuckles, sitting back down.Â
Bastard finds this funny.
You throw a spoonful of rice onto him. Tommy laughs, reaching his hand into the bowl and picking up a handful of rice. He shoves his whole fist into his mouth, giggling.Â
Simon gasps. âWhat did ya throw that at me foâ?âÂ
âItâs funny,â you giggle.Â
Simon pulls Tommyâs fist out of his mouth. âBubby, say âbad mommyâ.â
âHey!â You pout. Tommy giggles.
Simon leans over his son, kissing you softly, Tommyâs fist hitting at his chin. He kisses the baby boyâs cheek, smiling. âLove you too, bubby. And you, lovie.â
Hello there, can I request a dub-con ghost (like an entity) smut? đ„č
(It's absolutely okay if you can't or don't want to đ«¶đœ)
This ended up being dub-con for them both and I think thatâs hilarious.
When you bought this genie lamp off of that shady vendor, you were sure there had to be something inside of it. He was extremely adamant about you not touching it until after purchase. You were always curious before but now it was downright suspicious. There had to be an actual genie inside.
The minute you got home you were practically tears apart the protective wrapper around the lamp. Inhaling shakily with anticipation you begin to rub at the lamp, brows furrowing when nothing happens. So you keep going, create a tight friction between your hands and the lamp. As the metal grows hotter you figure itâs just your furious rubbing. But moments later when steam shoots out from the spout, you cry out loudly, dropping the lamp and stumbling back onto the ground.
For a second you wait, expecting a genie to appear. But when a translucent Spector removes itself from the belly of the lamp instead of its tip, your brows furrow. The ghost groans loudly, a shiver running through its⊠body. He rolls his neck and although it makes no sound you see his form grow looser.
A chill spreads through the air, or at least thatâs what you tell yourself as the moment your eyes meet his heated ones, a full-body shiver runs through you. His eyes ignite with lust as he looks over your body all splayed out on the ground and ready for him.
âThanks for helping me rub one out. Let me give you something in return.â
Before you can scramble away in fear or say a word the ghost is on you and your clothes are flying off of you as if whisked away by the wind. You cry out as you can feel the sensation of his touch, his fingers sinking deep inside your wet fat cunt. You have no idea when or how you got so soaked but it makes the ghost grin wickedly, looking beyond satisfied.
âYou get turned on from rubbing a lamp, sweetheart? Or was it that you were really jerking my cock thatâs got you all drenched for me?â He asks, condescension dripping from his tone as your slick makes a mess of his fingers. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, forcing you to acknowledge whoâs going this to you.
You wanna scream, you wanna refuse his words and make him stop. This isnât what you were expecting out of this lamp. But fuck if it doesnât feel good. The sensation of his thick fingers fucking into with abandon, curling inside you at just the right spot, and making you see stars.
A part of you knows you should stop this. Stop him. But itâs almost like you canât as your body sags all the way onto the floor. You feel yourself getting lost in the pleasure, the pressure in your belly growing the more he pumps his way inside you, far deeper than any human fingers could ever reach.
Your back arches off the ground unnaturally, body warping as if possessed when your orgasm crashes into you. A fierce shriek forcefully rips its way out of your throat as the pleasure courses through you like a tidal wave, breaking eye-contact as you throw your head back. The sensation continues to build, growing so overwhelming that for a moment your vision flashes white and you reach a plane youâve never gone to before.
When your climax slowly begins to ebb, you can feel your release pooling beneath you and you know youâve just cum harder than you ever have in your life. The ghostâs dark chuckles have your attention snapping back to him and your eyes widen to see him sucking your essence off his fingers.
âThat was fun, kitten. Jerk me off again if you ever wanna go another round,â he says, so casually and nonchalantly you canât help but gape at him.
Then without waiting for a response you watch as he moves back into the lamp. The silence that follows stretches on painfully. Your limp body still quivering with aftershocks and your labored breath the only sound in the room.
When you feel like you can finally stand on your own trembling legs, you slowly make your way over to the lamp. Hesitantly picking it up. Not sure what might trigger him to come out again. You think about returning it or maybe throwing it away so he can be trapped in the lamp forever.
But the more you think about what to do with it, the more your pussy starts to tingle again. Your body remembering what just happened much more pleasantly than your brain.
Perhaps you need to keep it for a little while longer. Just to figure out what to do with him, of course. Who knows, he may still have some useâŠ
