#sub!simon

Word Count: 2300

Content warnings: smut, Sub!simon, unprotected sex, P in V, this got a lil freak nasty 

(ahhhh this is my first smut im big nervous)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 2.5

Simon followed you up the stairs to your apartment, palms sweating, pants tight. The second the lock clicked and the door swung open you grabbed Simon by the belt pulling him inside, immediately leaning up against the now closed door he had to put his hands out to stop from crashing into you. Caged between his arms you tugged his shirt bringing his lips to yours. Your hands began to roam all over his defined chest while one of his gripped your hip pulling you into him. “Couch” you mumbled between kisses, barely pulling away enough to speak the word. Feet fumbling, both refusing to separate enough to look where you were going. Once the back of his calves touched the couch you pushed his chest forcing him down onto the couch, taking a moment to look at the way his pupils were dilated, chest heaving and arms reaching to bring you back to him. Lifting one leg on either side of his lap, you straddled him, lips finding their way to his neck. Leaving a wet trail of bites and kisses on his neck you began to tug at the hem of his shirt, prompting him to take it off. The moan that left your lips at his exposed torso made his grip on your thighs tighten. Simon had never been ogled like this. You were looking at him like he was a full course meal that you were going to eat and lick the plate clean. Your lips found his again, body beginning to grind onto his. His large hands pulled your dress up enough to expose your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh helping you grind onto him. The friction of his jeans on your clothed crotch had you letting little mewls in his ear. His hands began to tug a little more at your dress until you pulled away from him. 

✦ COD MEN × MILF!READER ✦

✦ JOHN PRICE — "married above his class and knows it"

absolutely adores that you’re older, richer, and put-together.
he walks around your house like a man who just won the lottery but doesn’t want to jinx it.

loves when you’re a little condescending in that posh, cruel-woman-who-reads-literary-smut voice.

you once told him, “you’re cute when you try to argue,” and he got hard immediately.

buys you flowers that don’t match your decor—just to hear you say,
“next time, darling, red roses. not gas station daisies.”


loves watching you dress. tights, garters, earrings, lipstick. drinks it in.
“you’re going out like that?”
“yes. and no, you’re not invited.”


💋 bedroom dynamic:
you keep him on a leash emotionally and let him off it physically.
he groans your name like it’s a prayer.
he’s your little war dog. proud to serve.

✦ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY — "would crawl across broken glass for your approval"

you scare the shit out of him and it turns him feral.
like you ask if he’s ever “dated a woman with her own will before,” and he goes silent.

loves your cold tone, your smug little smirk, the way you sip wine and speak slowly like you’re explaining something to a child.

you call him “simon” when you’re serious, and he shivers.
“simon, sweetheart, sit. I’m not done speaking.”


he calls you ma’am more than your first name.

your house is spotless. your perfume costs more than his rent. your stare makes him feel small.

he could kill a man with his bare hands, but you could ruin him with one raised eyebrow.

💋 bedroom dynamic:
you call him a good boy and he thanks you.
he doesn’t take the mask off—but he whimpers when you press lipstick kisses to the fabric.
“m’not scared of anyone but you.”

✦ JOHNNY “SOAP” MACTAVISH — "barking up the tree and loving it"

shameless about it. sees you in heels and immediately goes, “jesus fuckin’ christ, woman. let a man breathe.”


knows you’re out of his league and flirts anyway.

calls you “Mrs. Robinson” as a joke. you roll your eyes. he almost comes on the spot.

offers to carry your groceries just to feel useful.

will talk to your kid’s school principal, fix the leaky faucet, and still ask, “...so when are you gonna ruin my life, gorgeous?”


gets flustered when you kiss his cheek.
cocky on the surface, melting underneath.

💋 bedroom dynamic:
you tell him to shut up and take it. he loves it.
he moans with your heel on his chest.
likes being bossed around. likes being lectured.

✦ KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK— "absolutely thinks you're the hottest woman alive"

he’s respectful. smooth. clean-shaven and chivalrous because he thinks you deserve the best.

brings you wine and says “it pairs well with someone like you.”

watches you do your makeup and acts casual, but his dick is hard the whole time.

will listen to you complain about your ex for 2 hours just to be near you.

you called him “charming, for someone your age” and he turned pink.

gets off on the fact that your text messages sound like formal invitations.

💋 bedroom dynamic:
he’s gentle. attentive. desperate to prove he can please a woman like you.
you ride his face and he thanks you.
calls you “gorgeous” until your ears ring.

✦ Phillip Graves — "calls you ma’am with his mouth and baby with his hands"

delirious over the fact that you’re older, richer, and don’t need him.

comes over in full tactical gear just to fix your WiFi and flirt.
“you got a man for that?”
“i have employees, Graves.”
“ouch, baby. that hurt my feelings.”


loves your little gold jewelry, your classy kitchen, the way your heels sound on hardwood.

gossips with you like a southern church wife while taking off your panties.

says he loves a woman with “history.”
“makes you real. earned. strong.”
“plus, them younger girls can’t handle what I’m packin’, sugar.”


💋 bedroom dynamic:
filthy. nasty. relentless.
calls you “mama” to your face and somehow makes it hot. ties your wrists with your own scarf and says,“that’s what happens when you mouth off, darlin’.”

✦ König — "silent simp for the woman who terrifies him"

you’re the most confident person he’s ever met and he is obsessed.

opens doors, carries your bags, stares at your legs like a man dying of thirst.

you ask if he’s nervous. he goes “...yes.”

lets you push him down onto the couch and straddle him, trembling the whole time.

you kiss his neck and ask if he’s scared. he nods.

stares when you walk in wearing heels and perfume and a silk robe.
“you look… wow.”
“use your words, baby.”
“i don’t have them anymore.”


💋 bedroom dynamic:
he worships you like a goddess.
moans in German. lifts you up like you weigh nothing.
likes being praised for lasting long. “did I do good?”
“...can I do more?”

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

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

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

imagine his shock when the door to the, nearly empty, pub opens up and he sees his captain stood there with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face

he’s never begged before.

not like this. not with his back arched and his thighs trembling and his hand fisted in the sheets like it’s the only thing keeping him there.

“please,” he chokes out, voice wrecked, eyes shining with tears threatening to fall. “fuck—please, i can’t—”

you don’t let up. not when he twitches in your hand, not when his breath stutters, not even when he tries to twist away from your touch like it’s too much.

“you said you could handle it,” you murmur, lips against the shell of his ear. your tone’s light, teasing—but your grip on his hip is firm, possessive. “what happened to all that bravado, lieutenant?”

“gone,” he gasps. “fuckin—gone. you took it. you fuckin—”

he shudders violently when your fingers wrap tight around him again, dragging him right back to the edge. he bucks up, desperate, and you smirk.

blurb for simon and his socially unaware princess who makes him pass out in her cunt every night. for @goodsoup19

DUBCON WARNING: reader drugs simon with sleeping pills and he wakes up handcuffed to the bed. he gave consent prior for her to use him whenever she wanted!! DUBCON WARNING. I REPEAT DUBCON WARNING!!

🩷🧁🫧🎀

It’s not like simon’s never had sex before. I mean he’s a man so of course he has needs. And lord knows he gets what he wants when he wants it. He hasn’t had sex in a bit, due to deployment and the physical therapy in between those. But this? it feels like he’s back in his 17 year old body getting head behind the market.

You took control of him. he was still the one with the upper hand, and he was definitely the dominant one, but it seemed like now you were taking what you wanted. using him for your personal gain. making him your own sex toy, your person dildo. the thought made his cock throb and his tip leak inside of you. The way you’re bouncing on his cock, slipping almost all the way off before forcing it back in had his resolve slipping away ever second.

With his hands cuffed behind him, you slowly started to regret his comment. “can’t keep yer fookin hands off me, can ya bun? desperate little thing.” he could see the fire in your eyes in that moment. and he should’ve known how this would end up.

For him being such a suspicious military man and all, he sure sucked at knowing when a pretty girl was drugging him. God, Price would chew him up and shit him out if he ever found out about this.

Simon is pulled out of his thoughts as your hand slips around his throat to squeeze the sides of his throat, slowing blood flow to his brain. the loss of oxygen making him harder and whinier. it’s everything he’s needed and gosh it’s so good.

You glance down to see tears slipping out the corner of his eyes, arching your back to lean down to lick them off his cheeks, leaving a flush of crimson on his face. he can’t help the way the blush flows down his body, and the musky sweat that starts at behind his knee caps.

you stay like that, tits pressed to his chest as you pick your hips up and down. sliding your arms under his back, right by the cuffs. you cage him in, legs locking in place to keep him inside of you. he fights the urge to cum but he can’t move!

“wait wait! b-bird you gotta ngh fuck fuck you gotta let me up!! m gonna cum in ya please please hold on!! can’t can’t ‘old it.”

He’s scared and it’s evident in his eyes. he’d love to cum in you but he knows you’ve never let him before, scared for your boundaries. he can’t hold it and he doesn’t know if you know that, too stuck in that familiar sexed up haze. but you are aware of what’s happening, almost too much. this is exactly what you want. his cum inside your belly,that warm feeling you keep hearing about. and Simon cums a lot, almost a fountain. it shoots everywhere when u give him a hand job and you want him to cum in you, right now. and simon always does as you say.

you feel him shoot milky ropes inside of you, probably nudging your cervix now. but you don’t stop. not even when he’s wailing right by your ear.

“bun, bun!! baby!!!, p-please… please just… j-just ohh! Ah, fuck, oh fuck oh fuck ! Oh, God, please! Please! too much too much!” you’re ignoring his babbling, not caring about his needs know, only wanting yours.

“aw the big bad military man can’t take it? too overstimulated?” you soothe, faux sympathy dripping with every word, but he’s too fucked out to know that. blissfully unaware, too pussydrunk. what a fucking man.

“yes baby p-please, fuck fuck bun... you you... ya gotta stop... please, c-can't... can't take it... too fucking warm too tight... y-you're killing me... shit shit, please! please, just just gimme a moment g-gimme a moment, need a minute, a a second even, please! you're holding me too tight... like a fucking cage!! needa... f-fuck, shit shit shit! there's so much... so much fucking cum... it’s your fault, fuck, please!!”

Simon's moaning was downright sinful as you lowered your hips over his cock, slow as syrup, letting your ass meet his thighs for just a moment before you lifted up again.

(Or sub!simon/switch!simon x dom!reader)

cw: non-penetrative sex, sprinkle of dacryphilia?, sub/dom dynamics, language, sorry if I forgot some…

Simon wasn’t sure how long the two of you had been at this. He was sure that fact that you have had him on the edge at least three times now, and that you’ve allowed yourself to cum twice.

And that even if someone had a gun to his head, he wouldn't be able take his eyes off you.

The way your back arched as you rocked your hips over his thick, veiny cock.

Hair tumbling down your shoulders, and cascading over your perfect tits.

Eyes glassy and blown open.

Your mouth hung wide in pure ecstasy — chasing your third orgasm of the evening. Who was counting?

His large calloused hands roamed your thighs and hips. Finally being allowed to touch you, after he had restrained himself through your first orgasm.

“Good boy, my sweet pup,” you had cooed at him, lazily dragging your finger down his jaw. “You can touch now, but I’m not done using you just yet…”

Your smirk had him growling at you, knowing you held the power still. He wasn’t used to be put in his place, but it was something he allowed you to do.

Now, you were grinding on top of him like a woman possessed. And Simon? He was a whimpering mess beneath you.

“P-please luv,” he groans, his strong fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. “I can’t — oh fuck, I can’t take anymo’,” he grunts.

You don’t let up in your pace. Instead, your triumphant smirk returns and you pick up speed — rolling down to gain more friction.

A loud moan ripping through your throat. Small whimpers pouring from his.

“I-I need to cum,” he begs, his voice shaking. His eyes screwing shut from trying to hold back. He knew you wanted him to wait — he wouldn’t disappoint you. Ever. “P-please, dove, please tell me I can cum. I’ll be so good, ungh, luvie…”

His voice had cracked, as a small tear fell from his eye. You leaned down, kissing right over the tear.

“Okay my handsome man…” you whisper against his cheek. Slowly sitting up, so you can look down at him. Pace never slowing. Smirk ever present. “Cum with me.”

Your permission was all he needed.

As soon as he felt your pace stuttering, and your nails digging into his chest — he knew. You were right at the edge with him. With an almost feral growl, he cums. His nails digging into your hips as his cum leaks out onto his stomach. Hot and sticky.

You collapse onto him breathing heavily, his arms wrapping around your middle. Feeling the mix of you two smearing on your torsos.

Soaking in the afterglow of your orgasms for a few moments.

“Clean me up,” he grunts against the top of your head. “Huh?” Is the only groggy response you could manage.

“You said if I was good, I could do whatever I wanted,” he replied, his voice low, husky.

“Now clean me up…”