Summary: Simeon Asks To Do Something To You

🔮 summary: simeon asks to do something to you ♡
⚠️ warnings: suggestive content!

The desk hits your lower back, and faintly you feel a hint of pain, but it's washed away by the heat from Simeon's body pressed against yours and the daze of pleasure that's coursing through your veins.
His hands are all over you; wrapped lightly around your neck, your shoulders, caressing the front of your shirt. You gasp into his mouth when he finds your nipples, lightly pinching them.
"Sorry!" He whispers against your lips, but by the cheeky smile you can practically hear in his voice, you don't think he feels that bad about it. He does relent, however, and moves them down to your hips, digging in his fingertips and yanking them even closer to his own. He has to momentarily lift you up to get them to meet his and he uses the opportunity to set you on his desk, scattering the papers he's ever so neatly organized and sending them flying to the floor.
You panic for a second, hoping the ink from whatever he was writing when you walked in had dried, but Simeon insists on pressing his tongue to the roof of your mouth and ever so slowly dragging it back into his, making your mind short circuit with pleasure. You relax further, deeper, hungier into his kiss, trying to pull him as close as you can.
He laughs, breaking the kiss, and you find yourself gasping for air. "Angels don't need to breath?" You pant out, gazing into those cerulean pools he calls eyes.
"Technically, no," he answers. He has the same grin on that you're used to seeing, but with you, it looks so much more... mischievous.
"I could think of some uses for that." He laughs again, like a silver bell ringing through an empty church, lifting his hand up to trace your nose to where it meets your lips. He leans in to kiss you, letting his hand fall to the desk, when he hits something metallic and cylindrical that rolls across the desk.
You both turn towards the noise, finding it to be Simeon's quill. He leans over to pick it up before it rolls off the desk, getting strangely quiet as he focuses on the pen.
"Simeon?"
"Let-..." His cheeks turn pink and he shifts his gaze to the corner of the room, far, far away from you.
"Let me write on you."

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More Posts from Melancholy-flora
alone time (simeon x gn!reader)
i finally got simeon's first memory ssr, his paws 2 UR, but i couldnt scrounge up enough DV to pull for his dia de los muertos UR… honestly who decided to keep giving him UR cards?? content warning for stuff under the cut: -drugging (it's kinda ambiguous aka: this could be read as an accident or intentional, but it's still drugging) -non-consensual somnophilia, non-consensual sex (i mean even if the reader does have feelings for him, they didn't explicitly consent to being touched.) ++lots of foreplay and jealous pining, body worship and praise, some dacryphilia, and morally gray simeon word count 2.2k words minors don't interact

He tells himself that it was a mistake. That he just accidentally grabbed the same herbal tea as that one night when you slept over in Purgatory Hall. But he couldn't just throw out an entire pot of tea, could he?
He had to admit though, seeing you struggle to fight off drowsiness, seeing you blink and rub at your eyes to stay focused on the conversation, seeing you try to—but ultimately fail at—stifling your yawns. It was endearing.
And besides, this kind of tea wasn't a sleeping draught. Nothing at all like the kind that Lucifer would use to treat his chronic insomnia. No, it was a relaxant, making the drinker more aware of their exhaustion, more receptive to the idea of rest and recuperation.
That meant you were more tired than you let on.
"...sorry, Simeon. I—" The enth yawn interrupted your sentence, "—I think I need to rest my eyes..." Moving your empty teacup aside, you propped your elbow up against the armrest, leaning your chin into your palm. But your efforts to stay awake were to no avail, you soon realized. "...On second thought, I didn't realize I was so sleepy..." Your words slowed to a snail's pace, before you fell silent. Your eyes slid shut.
"Just let me put these away for a moment. I'll walk you back," he reassured you with a soft smile gracing his lips.
Your voice came out muffled from how you were resting your head. "...thanks..." you hummed.
He rose from his seat to take the used teacups and teapot to the kitchen area. When he returned, you were still in the same position you fell asleep in. It didn't look comfortable, especially not for your neck.
He took a step closer to you, brushing the tips of his fingers against your shoulder. Noticing the slow rise and fall of your chest, he hesitated before trying to wake you. Should he instead let you rest for a little longer, he wondered.
Well, more than that, he couldn't just leave you lying like that.
He called your name softly, "sorry, let me help you get more comfortable..." Taking a seat next to you, he gently pulled you up into a sitting position. One hand supported your shoulder and the other your midsection. Your back rested against his chest. Your head lolled against him now that you were fully asleep. His hand rose to card his gloved fingers through the unruly locks of your hair, tracing the curve of your ear, following the line of your jaw, then finally coming to stop just shy of your lips—
He laid you out on the sofa, making sure to keep your head propped up against one of the throw pillows. Now that your legs were stretched out, you wouldn't end up painfully sore once you woke up from your nap.
(Or he could have just awoken you normally. Watched you stir back into lucidity, watched you blink up at him with bleary eyes before taking his hand and letting him walk you back to the House of Lamentation. Maybe you would have leaned against him and asked if the both of you could take your time, slowed your stride and let this time together stretch on for as long as it could. You hardly ever took the initiative to be upfront with him, always a little shaky or anxious when in his company.)
Despite your shy and reserved nature, he could remember multiple times where you've shown that you were anything but that: a time when he wasn't sure if you had changed your cologne or your soap. When asked about it, you hid a sheepish expression behind your hand and said it was a gift from Asmodeus. There were several times where you've shared granola bars, sandwiches (that he made for you), crackers, sweets (made by Luke) all sorts of snacks with Beelzebub and Belphegor. There were plenty of times where Mammon and Lucifer got to have you to themselves, easily calling you to their side or making plans with you out of the blue. Even when it came to mundane conversation, you would always bring up book recommendations from Satan or mention something from a TV series that Leviathan's been following.
Rarely ever did he get to see you like this. He always made sure to keep a respectable amount of distance between you two. He had seen the way the demon brothers would glare anyone who stepped too close to you, who put themselves too far into your personal bubble. But for some...unknown—maybe, divine or even mystical—reason, the both of you would find yourselves together like this. Close to each other with no demon brothers, nor that sorcerer, and especially not that young angel around to interrupt. Now was the perfect chance for him to leave his own mark on you, wasn't it?
A small groan escaped your lips and your brows furrowed, disturbing the peaceful expression on your features. Simeon stiffened, his hold tightening on you for a fraction of a second. He should stop, he should stop doing this right now—
His breath hitched. "A-ah...sorry I—"
You shifted, almost nuzzling against him. Through the thin barrier of your clothes, the heat from your body felt like a brand against his skin and yet he didn't want to let go of you. His hands slipped underneath your shirt, mapping out the soft flesh of your midriff, rising higher to splay his fingers over where your heart was. He could feel his pulse thumping wildly in his chest, while your own was steady.
"...Mm...Belphie... too hot..." you mumbled, pulling away. Or well, you would have, if you weren't caged in Simeon's arms.
His earlier alarm morphed into something uglier. Something more twisted, something downright possessive.
That wasn't right. You were supposed to be calling his name.
His hand cupped your chest, he marveled at how it fit into his palm. His fingers stroked and teased your nipple erect. Gently tugging at it and rolling it between the digits. Simeon gauged your expression, how your jaw tightened and your body tensed up. A shuddering moan escaped your lips, but you remained unconscious. How he wanted to map out every inch of your skin, to worship your body with his hands and mouth.
Maybe you weren't completely unconscious, your body was aware of these sensations and it was reacting to him, to his touch. Welcoming him.
Burying his face into the crook of your neck, he breathed in your scent once again.
His pants grew tight, he couldn't ignore his building arousal anymore. Pushing the hem of your shirt up, he pressed his lips to your sternum, the base of your ribcage, slowly rising to wrap his lips around your nipple and laving it with his tongue. His other hand doesn't stop toying with the other nub. From his ministrations, your breathing quickened and your cheeks flushed, the color spreading down to your neck.
He needed to stop now before it got too much, before you woke up but—
You were pushing against him for more, rutting your hips against him.
He pulled away and released the nub, now shiny with spit and red from stimulation. One of your hands is fisted in the fabric of the sofa cushions. Your expression has given way to a small frown. But the most important thing was that you were still unconscious.
God, he wanted more of you. He couldn't just stop now.
The exhale that escaped his lips did little to relieve his rising guilt. And furthermore in spite of that, he was painfully hard. He unbuttoned his pants and moved to free his cock before stopping in his tracks. His gloves—he clumsily yanked them off and tossed them in the direction of the coffee table. Now without the barrier of the fabric separating him from you, the contact of his bare skin against you set his nerves alight. He pressed his palm against your stomach, digging his fingers in and soaking up every bit of warmth radiating from your skin.
His other hand wrapped around his erection, stroking up and down. he bit back a groan at the welcome friction. His pace quickened, his arousal spilled onto the skin just below your navel.
What would it feel like inside you? He doubted you would feel anything less than divine around him. If you were awake, what kind of expression would you be making right now? Would you be staring at him or would you be peeking at him through the gaps of your fingers? Or were you the more impatient type, equally desperate to touch him while whining for more?
Either way, the sight of you under him was breathtaking. You were breathtaking.
"...hm...?" Simeon froze at the sound of the questioning hum that left your lips. His clean hand slapped over his mouth, did he say that last part aloud? His body continued to betray his baser instincts despite his mortification. The tip of his cock continued to leak, creating a small pool of arousal on your skin.
His pulse thundered in his ears as he waited to see if you continued to stir. When you didn't, before his guilt could fully stop him—
He already pulled your pants down and lined his cock up to your entrance. A hushed litany of apologies spilled from his lips, but he couldn't make do with just his hand. But he wouldn't penetrate you fully, no, he didn't want to hurt you, he just...
...needed a little more.
He couldn't hold back the low moan that rumbled from his chest as he pushed into your entrance. Your walls, albeit relaxed, still clenched tightly around him. One of his hands settled onto your waist and the other braced against the spot beside your head. Puffs of your breath met the skin of his inner wrist, warm and steady, occasionally hitching as he brushed against—what he presumed to be—your sensitive spots. His gaze lowered to where the two of you were connected.
Mesmerized, he wondered if you could fit more of him.
"Ngh..." A quiet curse left his lips. The thought was too lewd to imagine, he paused and let the spike of arousal pass before he continued to slide into you. When at least less than half of his cock was inside you, he would pull out and repeat the process again. Gentle, careful, methodical, in spite of his growing impatience. With slow and shallow thrusts, he was eventually met with little resistance.
You were doing so well, opening up for him while continuing to suck him back into your warmth. Quiet praises mixed with moans escaped from him. He moved to brush the messy strands of hair out of your face to gaze at your expression. Could you come just from this? Was there a chance of you both being able to come together like this?
You stirred at the touch, his hand moved to your cheek and he let his thumb rest on your bottom lip—
Your eyes fluttered open and you blinked up at him. "Huh... Simeon...?"
Drawn out of his languor, he yanked his hand away as if burned. "Ah...this...this isn't what it looks like—" His sentences were fragmented. Scattered. Disjointed.
You moved to sit up before you froze, slowly becoming aware of the sensation beneath your hips. "W-what's...happeni—" Your words cut off with a gasp. You tightened even more around his cock. His fingers dug into your waist, leaving marks.
Try as he might, he couldn't respond. His eyes squeezed shut at the sudden overwhelming tightness that engulfed him. He couldn't stop from sinking deeper into you.
You pushed at his shoulder, limbs still heavy with sleep. "Wait...s-stop...!" Your breathing hitched for a second time. "Simeon...please stop—" Your words tapered off into a pained whine as his dick brushed against your inner walls. Your hand clutched at his wrist, nails digging into his skin.
Lethargy still clung to you. The gesture didn't hurt a single bit, only leaving faint crescent-shaped imprints.
The desperate note in your words brought him to meet your gaze. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. His hand came up to brush them away before pushing you back down against the sofa. He briefly pulled out of you, he was close—so close to coming. "I'm sorry, please bear with me..." His lips brushed against the pulse point of your inner wrist in an apologetic gesture.
Your eyes widened in realization and you shook your head. "N-no, it won't fit, it won't fit—" You squirmed in his hold. "Please don't, please—I promise I won't tell anyone about this..." Your voice grew thick, more tears streamed down your cheeks.
Your pleas fell on deaf ears as his hand slid down your waist to hook against the back of your knee, curling your leg around his waist. The tip of his dick rubbed against your hole, making you reflexively twitch at the sensation.
He leaned closer to you, pressing his forehead against yours. "It'll feel good, I promise," he reassured you gently before lacing your fingers together with his.

confession: as I was writing the fuckening part... unholy suddenly came on. is it a coincidence or--
Head empty. Only thought is Simeon finding out about your self hatred and railing you until you can't remember any of those thoughts
-body worship, insecurity, bit of angst, breeding in the tags-
Omg he'd be so gentle... He asks what's troubling you when he sees you frown at yourself in the mirror. When you tell him you're feeling self conscious and ugly he just disagrees immediately.
But Simeon knows all too well how little words can change someone's mind, often feeling disgusted and disappointed with himself for abandoning the brothers like he did. For choosing the celestial realm just for its familiarity. He's such a coward.
He knows now that conventional beauty is only skin deep and the ugliness just beneath the surface is often much worse than one would think. And he's stunned when you're talking about yourself like that because in all the time he's known you, he's never even once thought anything about you was ugly.
If anything, he was the ugly one.
His first attraction to you was your looks and the way you carried yourself. Every moment he spends with you he finds new things to love about you and it just crushes him that you don't see it. So even if he can't change your mind, he at least needs to prove to you that it doesn't matter what you think.
You're beautiful without even trying. Just a smile from you takes his breath away without fail. The words to describe how incredible you are always fail him. Being with you is healing. His wretched broken heart has been heavy with sin and betrayal for as long as he can remember but you make him feel like it can be fixed. Or maybe that he never really was broken to begin with.
All he wants is to give that feeling back to you.
So he shows you. Pulls you away from the mirror. "Focus on me. On how I love you." Is all he mumbles before tenderly kissing you. Your kisses get deeper, your insecurities vanishing as he pulls away. His eyes are full of adoration, lost in you.
You close your eyes and feel. His hands worship every part of you, taking his time to press kisses down your torso, wherever he thinks you're most insecure. He mumbles loving words as he goes, the author in him crafting the ultimate love scene just for you to hear.
And if you still don't believe him? Well, he'll keep going as long as he needs to~
While fucking Lucifer, the main goal is to make him so fucked out
I'm talking
His eyes being rolled back with his mouth agape and drooling. His chest heaving, only letting out tiny whimpers as he squeezes the sheets in his fist.
To leave his legs shivering and hips twitching in the afterglow of how hard he came aauggh
I am thinking so hard about ruining Lucifer, he deserves to have all the stress fucked right out of his body ♡