#simon ghost x reader

okay, so maybe he has something wrong in his head because he fucked it until he was shooting blanks, and the cum to pumpkin gut ratio was eye opening.

what better way to put it to use than to bake it into a pie and give it to his favorite girl? the one who runs that plant nursery down the street. it's only fair since you're the one who sold him the pumpkin seeds to begin with, gave him advice on how to grow a plump pumpkin, perfect for fucking with his thick cock—he didn't tell you that part.

they’ll be just doing the simplest things, going to the store for example, and all this girl can think about is her bae making sweet sweet love to her in the aisle! like girl, all he’s doing is checking out the different spices for dinner!

they get home and when it’s time for dinner, she INSISTS on sitting on his lap and feeding him. she can never get enough of her simon!

giving himself to you uncensored

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x bimbo!reader

summary: you're so in love with your boyfriend

masterlist!

a/n: love, love, loveeee this request, anon!! i hope yall enjoy and requests are open in my ask box!! :)))))

simon riley was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to you.

you first noticed the muscular giant during one of your gym sessions, practically drooling at the sight of his tatted biceps. during his bench press, his veins bulged each time they flexed, the repeated up and down motion hypnotizing. just how much can he lift? you’d think to yourself, biting your lip while watching his sets.

he wore a black balaclava too, a skull design on the front— something that only added to your attraction towards the mystery man.

and when you saw him doing his hip thrusts, imagining him hip thrusting into you… that’s when you knew you had to introduce yourself.

“hi! i’m y/n,” you cheerfully started when he was finishing up his last set— it’s not like you counted! eyeing the metal bar rested across his meaty thighs, you couldn’t help but to acknowledge his strength. “i calculated around 580,” you pointed towards the weights, “so that definitely means you can handle me.” “‘s tha right, sweet'eart?” his deep voice responded, and you felt your thighs clench together. god, even his voice is fucking hot.

standing from the bench, he racked the weights and bar, walking over to you after. a smirk formed under his balaclava when he got a good look at you— a pretty bonnie with the confidence of a lieutenant like himself.

he liked that.

so when he reached you with an extended hand, "they call m' ghost," departed him too.

the contrast of his rough, gruff hand against your soft, smooth one sent shivers down your spine, wondering, how would his hands feel touching other places?

you were right, of course. the brute could, in fact, handle you, proving his worth in the year and a half you’ve been dating.

when he confessed his birth name, simon riley, around three months into your relationship, all the precious praises from his sweet girlfriend came out. "simon! what a lovely name. it's perfect for you!" you littered kisses across his face— even if they were always blocked by his balaclava. "thank you for trusting me with this, si." he smiled at the nickname.

he had already gotten this far, taking a leap a faith, "one more thing i need to tell you, hon'," he began reaching towards his balaclava, the ends crinkling in his hands, "or i guess, show ya."

when he removed the face covering, everything went silent.

it may as well been a staring match between the couple— no one moved, talked, or even blinked. you were just taking him in, taking your time taking him in, and simon knew that.

he watched your doe eyes analyze his face, scanning every scar, thinking, she's probably wonderin' how m' got em'.

"you're so beautiful, simon," rang through the air, your hands clutching either side of your boyfriend's face. gasping at the sensation, the feel of his flesh against yours heavenly.

you've wanted to see your boyfriend so badly, show him affection the way he does to you, but you were aware of his boundaries and the time he would need to cross those boundaries, so you never pried. but now that he was giving himself to you uncensored, you needed more.

using your grip, you pulled his face to yours, kissing the brit. he instantly responded, turning the gentle kiss into a heated makeout. he forced his tongue into your mouth when a small moan escaped you, caused by him grabbing a handful of your ass. "luvie'," he said, in between kisses, "yer fuckin' perfect."

now you take any chance you get to stare at simon.

he doesn't wear the balaclava ever around you anymore, and you still cannot get enough of it.

your boyfriend could be doing the most mundane tasks— reading a book in his favorite arm rest chair? large legs propped on the ottoman? oh, you were salivating, wanting him to flip you like he flips the pages to his book.

or when he'd be cleaning, the loud groans and grunts rumbling from his chest when he'd bend over, paired with the cracks of his bones, had you reeling. i need to hear him up close, biting the inside of your cheek, when you heard him again, i need him so bad, you thought, shifting on each foot.

when you're shopping together— someone needs to come sedate you.

your boyfriend always pushes the grocery cart, meaning you can hold onto his beefy bicep as he leads you both around the store. you loved how simon's muscle was too large for your hand to fully grasp, often bringing your other to finish the job. you would occasionally squeeze his muscle too, imagining the feeling of his biceps encircling your torso.

you'd whine when he tried to loosen his grip, "jus' needa grab 'tis for us, yeah?" leaning down to place a kiss on the crown of your head when he saw you nod, "good girl. m' not goin' nowhere."

he turned to the shelves with the spices, raising his arms to grab the ones you both would need to cook dinner tonight. for some reason they were all on the very top shelf— good thing simon's huge!

his shirt lifted with his arms, revealing a couple of his structured abs and his sexy v-line, which was peeking through the band of his pants. was he doing this on purpose? being hot at all times to get you bothered? he had to be.

you felt your core throb, a low heat slowly rising. what would i have to do for him to take me right now in this aisle? you asked anything that would listen.

when it was time to eat dinner, "why 's there only one chair?" "hmmm?" "where did all tha otha' chairs go?" "what other chairs?" "luv'."

but simon couldn't care enough, and you really didn't know where the chairs went, so, inevitably, you got your way as always.

simon sat in the free chair, your body perched comfortably on his.

he had his hands on both sides of your hips, gently kneading the flesh. you took turns feeding yourself and your boyfriend, claiming, "you already bought and cooked everything! at least let me feed you. i want to take care of you too!"

besides, his hands were already occupied with touching your body! he couldn't feed himself anyways!

you even wiped away any excess food on his lips with your thumb, bringing it to your mouth for a taste.

simon adored the sight of his sweet girlfriend cleaning him up, licking up his mess. choosing to tighten his grip on your hips, soft moans escaped when you felt his fingertips digging into your skin.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐

Genre : fluff, drabble

Pairings : husband!riley x wife!reader

Summary : your husband gives you a pleasant surprise by coming home earlier than you expected.

Note : not my best work, just a little something i thought of before sleeping, expect errors, badly written

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐

Tags : @yournansstuff, @girlvsghost, @coeurbrule

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐

“I love you, I love you, I love you, goddamnit,” you repeat in one shaky breath, pressing the twentieth kiss to the lips of your husband, who had come home two days earlier than you expected from a week-long, gruelling mission.

you dont realize how your simple kindness made simon grow more obsessed with you. he begins showing up unannounced, knocking at odd hours with flimsy excuses just to see your face: he claimed to have heard a strange noise coming from the hallway and wanted to check on you; his phone died and he needed to borrow yours; he noticed your window was cracked open and worried someone might have gotten in. it was weird because from simon's house, it was nearly impossible to see your bedroom's windows.

eventually, he forged a key to your flat and let himself inside while you were out or asleep, claiming that he was doing it for your own good. "it's not safe," he explained to you, voice low and rough, "for a young girl like you to be living all alone."

spandex stretches over his skin, trapping the warmth his body radiates against him. he feels as though he’s almost drowning, sweating, panting, choking on his own breaths. the mask blocks off almost all his senses, hearing reduced, blonde lashes fluttering in tight blinks as the webbed eyes blind him.

his knees are left aching, weight crushing them into the hardwood flooring beneath him. they’re spread, composure slipping and rolling right off him till it’s puddling beneath him. or between those very legs, cock straining tight against the fabric. the suit can barely fit the stretch of it, weakening the threads with the sheer thickness of him.

“think you could eat my pussy well with that mask on?” the question has him perking up, tongue grabbing at the inside of the spidey mask. his posture aligns too quickly, head tilting every which way to try and get a good look at you, he can make out the soft cock of your head, the way your fingers dip into the edges of your panties….. oh fuck.

“yes! y-yes, i could so so w-well, ma’am.” he’s gasping, watching the silhouette of your panties glide down your plush, fatty thighs. the way they pool at your feet, my fucking god, he’s stealing those away for himself. (in the most unfriendly neighborly spiderman way ever) “let me, p-please!”

it’s almost degrading, and every second has him soiling the blue that hugs around his crotch. he prays you don’t notice it, the way the fabric drinks in the pearlescent tears, staining it too many shades deeper. it leaves his skin so sticky, webbing over the bushy hair that frames his sweet cock, skin tacky and alight.

poor simon’s in almost tears, as you watch over him, your looming shadow forcing his body to curl into itself. throat choking up around desperate little whimpers, whines, palms pressing at his thighs to reprimand himself. he knew if he even dared to reach a shaky finger out, you’d have him crying out with a fist around his cock. he knew not to disobey, like a good boy.

you can’t help but let the sight consume you, the way he hunches into his own body, shoulders sagged, head hung. he shakes in pathetic little mewls, fingers grasping at the clung fabric in attempt to settle himself. it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

“aww, poor baby,” you whisper out, hiking a leg up over his droopy shoulder. you tug, grinning when his hands reach for purchase, at your thighs, then clawing at the ground as he stumbles. you can almost see the awe, the relief, and you can almost see the way his tongue grabs at his bottom lip, mouth watering at what hovers so close.

pt.2 to this ⟢

want had begun to consume him. hunger crawling over him, hunching his shoulders, biting at his gums. he wanted a fucking taste of you, your sweet skin, your sticky spit. god, fuck, anything, as long as it was you.

it didn’t help the way you’d throw your head back, giggling yourself breathless at johnny’s jokes. he couldn’t even spare the jealousy, pupils splintering at your bared, arched neck. the way your breasts heaved as you caught you breath, the way your lips cracked wide, pretty, pearly teeth out.

beneath his belt was a mess. boxers wet, stuck against his sweating flesh. his poor cock had been crying out for hours, raised up, thudding with every whoosh of his blood. it was like nothing he’d ever experienced, need trapping him in his own skin till all he could do was writhe.

but he took his chance when you disappeared into your bedroom. falling to his knees, he couldn’t fucking think straight, desperation clinging to his skin, clogging up his brain. you didn’t have time to react to his advances, his thick fingers curling around your thigh, hips shuffling until he was settled over your shoe.

“simon, get up.” you shook your head, surprised at his actions. but he didn’t listen, pressing his crying cock against you. and he humped, grinding himself down onto your shoe, your leg. it was the most pathetic thing you’d ever seen, yet it had your stomach cloying with something so utterly dangerous.

“p-please, baby,” he whimpered, jaw dropping as he pressed his mouth against the sweetness of you cunt, so close but hidden away behind the softness of your joggers. “c-can’t…. don’t make me go back out there like t-this.”

it was like something you’d never seen before, the anguish in his tone. he was so gone, so beyond saving, it was almost sad. your gut wrenched, fingers crawling over the back of his head, grabbing the short roots of his blonde hair tight. you pulled, wrenching his panting, whining mouth off you.

he stared up at you, eyes dizzy. you felt his hips as they ground down harder. his gaze was full of awe, just fucking himself at the sight of you. it was working, every grind had him dripping into his boxers, the longer he stared the closer he got. you were just so perfect, so pretty, he couldn’t help the way his brain jumbled up, balls perking up in the sparking excitement.

he was fucking up against you, so desperately. every thrust tight, rolling his stuffy cock against the denim of his jeans. the friction had him delirious, had his tongue rolling out, drooling up at you like some animal. but the sting in his spine was too strong to care, to stop himself. release pricking his skin, burning at his stomach and so he sped up, ground harder.

his tongue lolled out, so hungry for a taste of your skin. maybe you’d shove your fingers down his throat, let him gag on them, maybe you’d try and silence him with them. maybe you’d slather his tongue in your spit, forcing him to swallow it down. just the thought had him crying out, so lost in the pleasure he’d absolutely forgotten about the scottish lad sitting back in the living room.

“you’re not going to cum, simon.” your words weren’t harsh, but they had him flinching, eyes widening, nails grabbing into your flesh as you stepped away. you bent down slowly, matching his height. you were close enough to smother in his panting breath, close enough to watch the tears drip down his flushed cheeks.

“you’re going to sit out there like the good boy you are, and wait ‘til johnny leaves. if you last long enough, maybe you’ll get to finish tonight, baby.” you finished off with a press of your tongue to his lower lip, spit dripping down the pink pillow, before stepping around him and exiting.

you, who was created by him and a fae consort. you, who was fathered by the very man who now owns you, and sits you on the throne besides his.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆🍒 ⋆˚✿🌹⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆🍒 ⋆˚✿🌹⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆🍒 ⋆˚✿🌹

pairings : husband!riley x fem!reader

Genre : breeding kink, 18+, smut, mdni, dirty talk, language, no plot, just filth and breed :p

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆🍒 ⋆˚✿🌹⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆🍒 ⋆˚✿🌹⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆🍒 ⋆˚✿🌹

Tags : @yournansstuff, @girlvsghost, @coeurbrule

(Feel free to join the taglist for Ghost fics: but also feel free, if you want to be removed, just comment <3)

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆🍒 ⋆˚✿🌹⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆🍒 ⋆˚✿🌹⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆🍒 ⋆˚✿🌹

simon, your, insatiable husband, with a need for a baby, has you folded in half, your legs pressed against his chest, his forearm locked around your thighs to keep you pinned in your place.

and god... he'd been at it for what felt like hours. maybe an hour. or maybe it was two. but again you'd stopped keeping track a long time ago.