#Bazinga!

[zeravera]

The Randoms

[atomikats]

froppy!!! (and these other guys ig)

[pomoynick]

Lesbiabs

[seallybilly]

apolocheese i forgot his eyebrow Anyway subscribe

[sweetdaveandhellasollux]

[ifoughtthehomestuck]

about time i dd this...heh..

[pinkgirl3sblog]

megan / meg

new oc to something i hope to make a story of ᓚᘏᗢ

[renedemarie82]

hEllo Neil

[ofghostsandmen]

MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Learning to draw my sunshine wife

[aztr0punk]

when i start thinking about my ocs suddenly my brain comes up with the most earth shattering lore addition or something .and it starts up like an engine

[ebodebo]

Your stalker is Simon, but he never goes too far. Gives you calls, stays a distance away from you to keep you safe at night or whatever, he leaves you notes when your mental health is going bad, reminding you to eat or drink water or like to drink your meds? Sorry if it's a bit weird :3

Number One Fan

—thinking about stalker!simon riley…MDNI

It was late, eleven or so at night, as you trudged into your house. Your dick of a boss was being a pain in the ass about office hours, so you stayed later to hopefully get in his good graces and get that overtime check.

You set your keys on the table at the entrance, wiping your tired eyes as you hung up your coat. You walked into your room, noticing a neatly folded piece of paper on your nightstand. You halted, feeling a sense of uneasiness, before gently stepping to grab the note, deeply sighing as your eyes scanned over the words etched into the paper.

Take your vitamins, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold, now would we? Also, no more alcohol. Bad for you.

- G

You had a stalker. Well, have had one for the past two months or so. It’s strange, really. The guy can get in and out of your house with ease, but he doesn’t ever take anything. He just leaves notes reminding you to take your medication and calls when you have a terrible night.

You called the police the first time you found a note, but they said they couldn't do much since it wasn’t a direct threat to your health, so you stopped calling them. Initially, you thought the guy would get bored of you and leave, but sixty-ish days later, you are still getting his ominous notes and calls.

It was looking like you had attracted a nester.

You grabbed the tainted paper and stuffed it in your side table drawer, along with all the other numerous notes he had left you. Turning on your heels, you walked back into your kitchen, reaching to grab a fresh bottle of wine. There was nothing like a little bit of liquid courage to take the edge off.

As you poured the wine into your glass, your home phone rang, startling you to where you had spilled some of your wine on the counter, causing it to leak down your wooden cabinets below.

“Shit,” you curse, grabbing a wad of paper towel and setting it in the red to soak up as you walk over to the phone.

“Hello,” you answer, voice a little agitated.

“Left you a note,” the gravelly voice said, making the hairs on your neck stand. It was him—your stalker. You gripped the phone tighter, wrapping the coiled cord around your pointer finger.

“Thought I wrote no more alcohol,” he says sternly.

“I told you to stop calling this number,” you muttered.

“Just checkin’ up,” he urged.

“Well, don’t,” you hissed, feeling a slight numbness to your pointer finger as you pulled the cord tighter.

“Boyfriend isn’t treating you well,” he says knowingly. Your eyes widen. He was right. Your boyfriend was a major douche, but you’d been dating him since high school, so you felt this odd sense of obligation to continue being with him.

“He’s…fine,” you say, though your voice carries hesitation.

“That so?” He smugly questions.

“Yes. You need to lose this number,” your voice is assertive and strong. Maybe he’d finally take the hint.

“He can’t even make you come.” He was right, again. Let’s just say your boyfriend mainly caters to his urges and needs, leaving you to pull out your vibrator in the middle of the night and take care of it yourself.

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head again. You part your lips to speak but are unable to make any words come out. You find yourself genuinely dumbfounded for the first time since he showed up.

“Tell me I’m wrong?” He urges in a low voice.

“I—he’s, he’s more than proficient in the bedroom, but that’s none—” you lie, unsure of why you felt the need to defend your boyfriend to a random guy before he cuts in.

“I could make you come and not even touch you,” he lazily says, words oozing in confidence. You loathed how his words shot straight to the spot between your legs. God, what the fuck were you doing? Getting all worked up over your stalker, who you couldn’t even fucking see. Maybe you were just as crazy as him.

“You couldn’t,” you assert, trying to keep your tone strong, but he could hear it. The needy strain it held. He let out a rough laugh. You wrapped the cord tighter around your finger and saw it turn a pale white.

“Let me see those pretty tits he gets to see,” he encourages. You suck in a sharp breath, teeth coming out to sink into the flesh of your bottom lip, piercing the skin a little making coppery liquid coat your tongue.

Your conscious is telling you that you shouldn’t be doing this, you had a boyfriend, and this guy was insane, but the little devil on your shoulder told you to pull your tits out and make him put his money where his mouth was, which overrode your better judgment.

You could hear his deep breaths rasping over the phone when you uncoiled your hand from the cord, skimming up your stomach to the dip of your breasts, gently unclasping your bra, and pulling it out from the bottom of your shirt.

You hesitate a moment before you grip the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and throwing it to the side. You were now bare from the stomach up, awaiting his response.

“Wish I could take one of em’ in my mouth. Give em’ a nice squeeze while you ride my cock,” he rasps. You gasp, finding yourself bringing a hand up to caress a breast gently.

“But, this is about you. I’ll make you feel good,” he assures, his voice husky as he watches you play with your breasts.

“Okay,” you find yourself choking out, breathless.

“Pull your shorts down,” he commands. You oblige, slipping your shorts and panties down, dropping them so they both hang around your ankles, revealing your bare cunt.

“Christ. Fuckin’ perfect pussy,” he gruffs. You sink your teeth more deeply into the fat of your lip, feeling wetter as the seconds pass.

“Let me see you touch yourself,” he says. “Go on.”

You take your hand caressing your breast and bring it to your slit, carefully dragging your pointer and middle fingers up and down where you ache. Your lips part as you let out little breathy noises that have the guy nearly coming in his pants.

“Doin’ so good,” he lazily says. “Sink them in.”

You moan into the phone as you sink your fingers deeper into you, grazing your sensitive clit. Swirling and pumping in and out, spewing lewd moans that go directly into his ear that have him heavy breathing.

However, you change positions so your hand presses against the wall for support, shifting the phone to smush against your cheek and muffling your voice.

“Can’t hear you,” the rumbled voice says through the phone, making you lean more into it, wanting to feel his voice on your skin.

“Need to hear you, or I won’t let you come,” he states matter-a-factly.

“Fine,” you grit, taking your hand off the wall to correctly grasp the phone so he can hear all your mewls and moans as you continue pumping your fingers in and out of yourself.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised. You hate that the sentiment just made you impossibly wetter; your arousal covered your fingers, but he wasn’t done yet. He had made you a vow, and he intended to see it through.

“Faster, faster, faster.” You quickened your pace, following his directions—so obedient. The pace quickly turned into a feeling you had only ever been able to give yourself, but on a different level. It made your skin itch with desire. It was a mix of euphoria and nirvana—something people only prayed they could reach.

It was taboo, and unethical, and wrong. Maybe that’s what made it feel so good. Knowing it was immoral. Maybe it was the massive adrenaline rush you were getting. Or perhaps the dopamine being shot through your body. Honestly, you really didn’t give a shit what it was, you just knew it felt so fucking good.

You felt that familiar toe-curling tightness in your lower stomach, signaling your climax. Moaning so loud as your arousal coated your fingers as your body violently shook, almost knocking you off your feet and onto the hardwood floor.

Once you felt your high diluting, you gripped the phone tighter, issuing a quiet “hello” to see if he was still there. He was silent for a moment before finally speaking, his voice hoarse.

“Clean up your mess.” Was all he said before abruptly hanging up, leaving you to stand with a cold hand as the air brushed against your soaked fingers. But, you did as you were told, sticking your fingers in your mouth as you sucked them clean of any remnants of yourself. Doing just as you were told because you are not anything if not an excellent listener.

a/n: sorry if you didn’t want smut, but this was just such a hot idea…also, i don’t condone cheating unless it’s with simon riley xx

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[bovinaeblogs]

the crown wants ice cream

[spearslug-box]

surv

Ough

wanted to do this for funny... will probably do more idk

[animentality]

[fooppchekk]

Chat how do we feel about this