#evil simon

[cottagedeer]

This Simon knows the dangers of the crown since he thoroughly studied it.

[pikansanok]

Yesterday...

Sprunki Sprunki Sinner! Kiss, kiss, kiss! They didn't kiss at all.

[hamburgernotsohelpful]

Simon you Rat Bastard, I know there was something wrong with his ass

[maxissupercool]

poly141 but it includes nikolai bc he literally is THEIR helo guy, walk with me now.

[wxnheart]

He's missing you, missing his baby, and he can't help it. Can't help but think of your touch, your scent, and the way you say his name. The way you love him. Can't help but think of the way you plead for more as he fucks you, as your legs wrapped around his waist trembles with each thrust and he knows he's bringing it home.

Shit.

And so he calls you. Wants to hear your voice, wants to hear you want him the way he wants you. Wants to hear you tell him you love him. He calls you and makes you touch yourself for him, makes you tell him who you belong to. And fuck if the way you say his name isn't heaven to his ears.

He doesn't touch himself. Doesn't want to even though he's rock fucking hard. Just wants to bask in your pleasure and so he does, closing his eyes and listening to the music of your moans, biting back a groan of his own as you cum and he ruins his pants with the intensity of his own orgasm. Damn. He likes this pair, too.

But it doesn't matter, not when he's thinking of how fucking beautiful you always look after you've cum, when you're both basking in the afterglow and your love is once again reaffirmed. And he can't wait to get home. Can't wait to get to you. Can't wait to feel you under him and hear heaven once again.

Can't wait to hear you want him the way he wants you.

[boobgoogler]

tried my hardest 2 be on model hope this isn't too bad

[skypperlegacy]

Hello. I'm really sorry I haven't updated here, I really don't know how many people are going to see this. The place in the photo above is called Catia, it is a popular lower-middle class area close to where I live.

Currently in Venezuela the largest electoral fraud in its history is occurring. Thousands of people around the country are protesting against A DICTATORSHIP that has left the minimum wage in misery, economic support for elderly adults in almost nothing, and universities in ruins thanks to the fact that the governors steal the money. money that is destined to fix them. There are few artists or public figures in my country who say anything about it, since many of them have bought their silence. Please, many in our peaceful protests have been kidnapped by the national guard, and they are minors. They are transferred to El Helicoide, the largest torture center in the country.

I am currently serving first aid during the protests, but I also fear for my life. There are seniors and many young people with us. Today a guard almost stole my cell phone.

You would help us a lot as a nation by reblogging this and spreading it, thank you very much. May the virgin bless you.

[victusinveritas]

[tiddygame]

Simon started his sleeve well before he became Ghost.

It started when Joseph was about 3 1/2 and Simon got a nasty scar on his arm that made the poor kid upset every time he saw it. Joseph knew that it didn’t still hurt, but for him it was a reminder that is uncle was always in danger. It scared the kid to think about what caused it, even though Simon assured him that he was okay.

So after a brief discussion with Beth and Tommy, he figured he’d get a tattoo to cover it up. A sleeve would be expensive, but if it meant Joseph didn’t cry every time he saw the scar on his uncle's arm, it would be worth it.

It took some looking around for an artist that was willing to tattoo scar tissue and one that he trusted, but it wasn’t long before he was scheduling a consult.

Then he realized he had no fucking idea what he wanted to get tattooed.

He felt like getting a flaming skull or half naked lady permanently etched into his skin would defeat the purpose and he most certainly was not going to get something in a language he didn’t speak.

His mom jokingly suggested that he could get a floral sleeve and cover his arm in flowers.

And, well, it was close enough to a dare that he couldn’t turn it down so a few weeks later, he’s got his appointment set up to turn his arm into a garden.

He has quite a few types of flowers in there (some that his mom loves, some that Beth and Tommy had at their wedding, etc. etc.) with vines and leaves to fill in the gaps

The appointments are quite far apart with his deployment, Simon didn’t want to deal with a healing tattoo in the field. They started at the scar, covering it up and then expanding from there.

Joseph loves the flowers.

He was always so excited when Simon let him fill them in like his arm was a coloring book, even if he still struggled to stay in the lines.

He used to cry every time Simon left and it would break his heart, but now Joseph demanded that his uncle return as fast as he could so he could go back to coloring his arm and talking about sharks.

Joseph loved the flowers.

It took a while for him to go back.

There was no reason to, not anymore. He had more scars, but there wasn’t anyone he had to hide them from.

The tattoo was left unfinished for a long time, only part of his forearm was done.

Ghost didn’t care. He wore long sleeves even in weather warm enough to cause heatstroke; he couldn’t look at it.

When he did, he didn’t see an unfinished tattoo, he saw his nephew. Saw him looking up at his uncle with big brown eyes, begging Simon to carry him. Saw him sleeping under the Christmas tree.

Eventually he returned. He requested a slight change to the design and showed the artist a photo of four headstones and the bouquets that accompanied them

(There was a fifth, partially out of frame and cut off, vase empty)

The artist nodded and got to work.

In the new sketch, a few new flowers were added, but the first thing Ghost noticed were the four little garter snakes that had been weaved through the petals.

Ghost nodded and that was that.

Every now and then a rookie would see it and start to laugh, but when they remembered the reputation of the man they were laughing at, it was quickly cut off with hasty (and futile) apologies. (They were still going to end up running laps until they vomited up their lungs.)

It was rare that he was exposed enough for people to see the tattoo and from a distance, it just looked like a simple sleeve. It wasn’t long before his little garden became a lesser known rumor that followed him around and joined the other whispers.

Ghost didn’t care. He didn’t get the tattoo for himself or any prying eyes. From the moment he booked the consultation to leaving the parlor with his sleeve complete, it was all for Joseph.

The rookies could spread whatever rumors they want, his nephew would have loved it and that’s all he wanted.

The first time Soap got a proper look, he just stared at it for a while before going off on a story about when he was little and picked up a snake thinking it was a stick.

From anyone else, it would have felt like that were trying to change the subject so they didn’t have to acknowledge that The Ghost had such a “feminine” tattoo.

From Soap, it was comforting in an odd way. It was obvious that Soap wanted a better look at it, but he never pushed Ghost. Just like the mask, Soap was patient.

Later down the line, it would morph into quiet nights with Johnny tracing the lines and trying to identify each type of flower. He’d look to Simon for any clues but would complain that Simon always looked too love-struck for his facial expression to give any hints on if he was getting close.

Simon didn’t deny these claims but still refused to offer any help.

And even longer after that, Johnny would shakily color in the petals as he tries to regain his fine motor skills.

The markers would often slip out his hands and the shakiness meant he couldn’t stay within the lines, but the fact that he was there at a all, debating which pink to use on the peonies and getting frustrated with himself when he couldn’t get the cap back on, was enough of a miracle that Simon could barely keep himself together as his sleeve regained its color for the first time in years.

When Johnny was done, Simon hugged him with one arm, holding the tatted one up and away so that the new ink wouldn’t smudge.

Eventually, Simon would tell the story of why he got the tattoo, even if Johnny already had a pretty good guess based on the wistful look Simon had when talking about it. He would tell him which ones his mom loved, which ones had been at Beth and Tommy’s wedding, and which ones were just the artist adding some to make it more cohesive.

But for now, they would hold onto each other tightly, neither of them willing to separate. Maybe for some, crying over a box of sharpies wasn’t a happy ending, but Simon didn’t care. He had Johnny in his arms and that was all he could ask for.

[scalytunster]

Ace Attorney doodles

Shelly

Simeon

Evil Gregory

[disgustingtwitches]

A Rose in Harlem

Simon Riley is an enigma—a brooding, complex man with a shadowed past that he can’t escape. You’re just an ordinary person until he claws his way into your life and you can't help but give in to him. The only problem is that you try to keep things casual, while Simon's never been one to settle for that.

Long live the rose that grew from concrete, when no one else ever cared.

Masterlist

PART 3

(He longs to be) Close to you

***

You freeze, heart pounding, the moment shattered. Who the fuck is that? You think to yourself, panic creeping in. Another knock then a familiar, playful voice from the other side of the door.

“Bitch! I know you're home!”

“Oh my God. Ishta.”

You completely forgot about your little watch party with her. This can't be happening now. Of course it's happening right now.

“Hm, that a girlfriend I don't know about?”

Simon murmurs, nuzzling his face to your neck.

“You need to go.”

Your voice is low, urgent, but it only seems to amuse him. His hands wrap around your waist, pumping his hips upwards, rubbing himself against your soaked underwear.

“What, you're kicking me out? Just like that?”

He nips at your neck, making you yeep. He tightens his hold, long arms locking you in.

You tense, trying to wiggle from him but him and his stupidly defined arms aren't budging.

“I'm serious; you need to leave, now.”

You twist in his arms, your anxiety growing as Ishta's knocking gets louder. She's never been patient.

You can feel his lips curve into a smile.

“You're tense, should relax a bit.”

“Relax?! Oh my God, I'm gonna kill you.”

You snap in a hushed tone, yanking yourself free (well, more like he finally relents and lets you go). You tug your shorts up while he follows suit, much more leisurely than you. He quips while letting you drag him towards the fire escape,

“Can't believe I'm the other woman, thought I was special, angel.”

“You're not making this easy.”

“Mistresses rarely do.”

Simon smirks, while you pull him to the window. Ishta knocks again, louder this time.

“Stop jerking off, the ice cream is melting!”

Simon snickers and you push him through the window onto the fire escape. His large frame steps out, stretching out while he turns to you.

“What? No kiss goodbye?”

“Simon!”

He doesn't budge until you lean out the window, planting a quick, chaste kiss on his scared lips. His hand cups the back of your neck, practically shoving his tongue down your throat, before you wrench yourself away.

“Bye.”

The words come out harsher than you mean while you shut the window, watching him slip into his place, not trusting him to sneak back into yours.

Ishta's voice whines from behind your front door. You smooth out your clothes, pasting a sheepish, wide smile. You take a deep breath before opening your door.

“Hey girl! Sorry I-”

“Was jerking off thinking about your neighbor? I know girl. Get that nut in friend.”

She empties her tote, sets some wine bottles down and grabs two cups from the kitchen before bending to sit on the couch. You wince watching her try to sit where his bare ass was.

“Oh! No don't-”

She looks at you curiously, frozen mid-squat— your brain scrambling to find something remotely plausible.

“I spilled tuna juice there earlier.”

She narrows her eyes at you, searching your face. She must be satisfied with what she sees because she shrugs and moves to the other side.

“Can't smell fishy. Got a date later.”

She pops open a bottle, pouring a generous amount into each cup. You grab the one she offers and take a seat on the arm of the couch.

“A date, huh? Is it that finance guy from last month?”

She rolls her eyes, turning on the TV.

“Oh God, no. He was so fucking annoying, trust fund baby.”

You laugh a little, grateful for her not pressing you on the couch thing.

“So who's the lucky guy?”

She waves her hand vaguely, her attention already on the TV, looking for a show.

“Met him at the park. He was jogging—shirtless, obviously—and tripped over his own fucking shoelaces. Adorable. Total himbo vibes.”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling into your glass.

“Thought you liked nerds.”

“That's the thing,”

She turned to you, grinning like a fool.

“Ok so, we were talking about showers,”

“Naturally.”

“Naturally. Anyways, he starts going on about different hypotheses of 'the shower curtain effect' with this dumbass smile on his face. I'm trying not to stare at his tits and just ask him if he wants drinks before I start drooling. Obviously, he says yes, and here we are!”

She finishes her glass and helps herself to another. You lean closer to her.

“So what's the plan? Drinks, talk about nerdy shit, and then stumble into his place and ogle at his star wars figurines?”

“First off all,”

She raises a finger.

“He’s an artist, so get it right. And secondly, he's Scottish. So like, the accent makes everything hotter.”

You hum curiously.

“My apologies, I clearly underestimated his international flare.”

“You did. Also, you're welcome for letting you live vicariously through me, by the way.”

She flips her hair over her shoulder.

“Oh, oohh my goodness. Thank you for your graciousness.”

You say in mock appreciation, hand over your heart. Her eyes twinkle when she winks at you.

“Freely granted, my dear. I'll text you all the juicy details.”

“Lucky me.”

You say dryly, swirling your wine glass. Ishta lightly hits your knee.

“Look at us. You got your English guy, I got my Scottish one. Just gotta snatch up an Irish and Welsh one, and we've got a whole set!”

“Please be serious, girl. Also, he's not ‘my guy’, he's just a neighbor.”

“Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that. We'll see how long that lasts.”

***

You've been more moody lately. From Ishta unintentionally cock-blocking you, to work being particularly demanding, and finally, Simon terrorizing you relentlessly.

Ever since ‘the incident’ he's been on you like white on rice. He'll stop you in the mornings in the foyer and casually talk about how he came to the thought of you last night or stand behind you in the elevator and grind up against you, laxly apologizing.

“Sorry. It's just such a tight fit here, right angel?”

You silently thank God Simon has the sense to pull these stunts when no one else is around to witness his brand of debauchery (he doesn't, you just got lucky no one's there when he pulls that shit).

You're barely holding onto your patience. Every word he says, every deliberate touch grates on your nerves. He has you on edge, dangling by a thread. A simple nudge could send you tumbling— yet he never quite gives it. Instead, he leaves you like this, toeing the line.

Waiting. Waiting on you to make the jump.

It kind of surprises you, given the whole…incident. You expected him to follow you into your apartment one day and finally consummate whatever twisted, simmering thing you had going on. But he didn't. Seemed to enjoy making you squirm.

***

You could almost forget about him during the day. Almost. Work has been a circus lately, thanks to your boss—the museum curator who seems to thrive on chaos. She’s brilliant, yes, but she’s also impossible. Barking orders, demanding perfection, treating every missed detail like a personal betrayal. You spend your mornings running errands and your afternoons fielding phone calls from artists who need their egos stroked. The only moment of reprieve is when you’re in the gallery itself, away from the madness, the artwork pulling you into a quiet, timeless space.

But even that doesn’t last. Today, you spent hours installing a new piece—a massive, fragile sculpture—and as soon as it was in place, she decided it needed to be moved six inches to the left. Six inches. By the time you got home, your nerves were frayed, your patience long gone.

He’d been waiting in the lobby when you arrived, as if he knew you’d had a long day. His presence suffocating, his voice a low murmur in your ear as he stood too close, his hand brushing your hip when you reached for the elevator button.

“You look tense, angel.”

“Simon, please.”

“‘Please?’ Wow, must've been really bad today.”

He chuckles to himself, like he's so fucking funny.

You rub your eyes, the tired dryness a reminder of the day you'd had. He sees this as an invitation to step behind you and wrap his arms around you. Large frame towering over you, long arms sliding around you.

“Not in the mood for this today, Simon.”

You mutter, void of its usual bite.

You don't even have the energy to push him away when he plants a kiss on the side of your neck, softer than the last time his lips touched your skin.

“So sweet when you're tired out. Wonder if you're like this after-”

The elevator dings and you pull away, pushing his head off your shoulder and trudging to your place. At this point, you're too drained to care about his games, too tired to rise to the bait.

If he wasn't going to stop playing, wasn't going to do anything but pussyfoot around, you had better things to do—like collapse on your bed and sleep for 12 hours straight.

You reach your door and fumble with your keys, cursing under your breath when they decide now is the perfect time to be elusive in your bag.

“Need help?”

You don’t jump. You’re too used to that voice coming from behind you, low and amused. His words echo in your head more than you’d like to admit these days.

“No.”

You say, sharp enough to bite through the air as you finally fish the keys out and shove one into the lock.

It sticks. Of course, it sticks.

He says something you ignore while he leans against the side of the doorframe, watching you struggle. Your head lands on the door with a soft thud, forehead pressing against the cool metal.

“You’ve been quiet tonight. Not like you to let me have the last word.”

“I’m too tired for this.”

“For what?”

“For your bullshit.”

You spit, jiggling the key rougher than necessary.

Simon hums, entertained.

“There she is. Was worried I lost you for a minute.”

The key refuses to turn. Between him looking over your shoulder and the fucking door mocking you, your patience starts to shred, gossamer-thin.

When the door finally opens, you turn to him.

“Do you ever shut up?”

He shrugs.

“Not when I’m having this much fun.”

“You call this fun?”

“Watching you fight with a door? Yeah, a little bit. Had my money on the door though, unfortunately.”

You swear his grin is almost audible under that mask.

Your eyes narrow, heated.

“Don't you have somewhere else to be?”

He doesn't miss a beat.

“No, actually. Not tonight.”

“Of course not, when do you ever?”

You mutter, yanking your keys out of the lock.

“Just keeping the schedule free for you, love.”

“Free to annoy me?”

“Something like that.”

Your eyes drift from his face down to his arms crossed over his chest. His compression shirt doesn't help, the material stretching in a way that feels obscene.

Then while he watches you stare, he flexes subtly.

It pulls a laugh out of you, the sound slipping out before you can help it,

“Whore.”

He pulls his mask down, showing off his own smile. His canines sharp and slightly crooked, but somehow it makes him more attractive. Like he doesn't just accept his imperfections, but wears them proudly, fully aware of their charm.

“Just for you, angel.”

“Your persistence is coming off pathetic.”

You huff half-hearted, crossing your arms.

“Doesn't seem to bother you much.”

Simon goads. You think this is the happiest you've ever seen him.

“It does.”

You lick your teeth, feigning irritation. He mirrors the movement, finishing it off with a smile that makes your face hot.

“Go on then,”

His voice drops lower, thick and languid, molasses poured slow on a hot day.

“Tell me how you really feel.”

It's quiet for a moment. He tilts his head, eyes glinting and the edge you've been teetering on crumbles underneath you, all reservations and restraint gone. You grip the strings of his hoodie and pull him down to your face.

“You're insufferable.”

“Yes.”

“A tease.”

“Mhm.”

“Worst neighbor I've ever had.”

“Ouch.”

He says, though his tone is anything but wounded. If anything, it sounds downright gleeful.

“Makes me wanna do awful things to you.”

You say in a hushed tone, a newfound energy pumping through your veins. The space between you grows smaller as you tug him even closer, his hands instinctively finding your waist, steadying both of you.

“Yeah,”

His voice is low, molten. A scorching heat that flows from his mouth down your chest and stomach.

“Probably use those pretty little hands, leave marks. Bruises I'd feel every time I breathe.”

You twirl the strings around your fingers, leading him into your place. It feels like tugging on a leash tied to a dangerous dog— wild and unpredictable, tethered to you and you only. He catches the door before it slams shut, closing it without looking, dark eyes honed in on you. Makes your stomach do flips.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

His silence is answer enough, a smirk playing on his face. You muse, shoving him toward the couch with a playful push,

“Maybe I'd keep it simple, knife to the heart. If I could find it.”

He spreads out on the cushions, pulling you to him, making you straddle one of his thick thighs.

“Sounds painful, tell me more.”

“Maybe I'd tie you up. Make you beg for your life.”

When you say that, he groans— an honest-to-god groan and his grip on your hips tightens.

“It’d be hard, getting through all that muscle and bone,”

He grabs your wrist, making you press two fingers on the hard, fast pulse right under his jaw.

“Be quicker and easier to hit it right here. Faster way to go out.”

You cock your head to the side, biting back a moan feeling the beat of the vein under his skin go impossibly fast when you hum.

“Think I'm gonna go easy on you?”

His response is instant, almost desperate if you thought he was capable of that emotion.

“I hope to God not.”

He wraps himself around you, pressing you up against his solid frame like he's trying to meld his body to yours.

***

He's been at this for long, too long. He hasn't even taken off either of your pants, all too happy to have you grinding your pants against his denim. It's got you so pent up, you're half crazed, panting in the crook of his neck and mumbling pleas for relief.

“Want you, Simon.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head and you groan in frustration.

“Been a real brat lately, can't reward that kind of behavior.”

“Pleasepleaseplease-”

“Sound so pretty, begging for me.”

You're trying anything at this point. Anything but ripping his clothes off. Or yours.

“Don't you wanna feel good too?”

Your tone is so dulcet, it's almost too sweet in your mouth, words dripping with a carefully calculated innocence. You play with the waistband of his jeans, before you can get too far he takes hold of your wrist.

“I know what you're trying to do.”

There's a pause while you pull back to look at him, a sheepish smile on your face.

“Is it working?”

“Hmm…”

“Simon!”

You huff, almost whiny. He relents, only a little, bouncing you on his thigh once before forcing your hips to grind down harder on him. It makes you lean into him again, he presses a soft kiss on your temple, the kind of gesture that feels almost like he's mocking you with a false sense of soothing. As if he feels bad for you—his touch gentle but somehow condescending.

“Poor thing, could've gotten it sooner if you wanted to. Closed mouths don't get fed, you know?”

He sounds amused, lips still brushing against your temple. Your mouth finds its way to his neck, he lulls his head back, giving you more access to it. It's sweet, tender, starting at his collarbone and moving up slowly until you get to the artery he made you press up against earlier. The moment your teeth press up against it, he comes undone.

“Gaggin’ for it that bad?”

The sound of his belt clicking makes you downright giddy, you lick his neck, feeling his heartbeat under your tongue.

“Mhm…”

He grabs your hand to shove it down his pants and your brain goes static for a moment.

“Had me waiting all this time, and now you want it?”

It's growled into your ear, something about the way it's almost spat out, mean—it sends jolts of electricity between your legs.

“C'mon, show me how much you missed it.”

Your face heats up at his words and he lets out an entertained huff.

“He missed you too, ya know.”

A breathless giggle escapes you when he flexes, making his dick jump in your hands. You pull him out of his pants, eyes going wide. You've felt how big he was before, but seeing it was a whole different thing. Made it all real. Something about the way his pink tip peeked out made you laugh a little, a fleeting thought of him blushing everywhere, even on his dick.

“What?”

He furrows his brows a little, curious.

The truth tumbles out of you before you can stop it. You think you've made a mistake until you see him. His face is unreadable at first, and you brace for some sharp quip or a look of annoyance.

But instead, Simon’s reaction is… different. His ears go pink first, followed by a deep flush creeping up his neck. You want to laugh again but he creeps a hand up your spine to the back of your neck, guiding you into light kisses. You still manage to slip out a few giggles in-between, a smile creeping up across his face. It's such a warm moment, you almost forget about holding him until he twitches in your hands.

“Got the prettiest laugh.”

“Is there anything that you don't think is pretty about me?”

You ask, teasing him.

“No.”

His answer is quick, unwavering, and so serious that it makes your breath catch. You search his face, expecting the usual smirk or a sly remark, but there’s nothing there but honesty. He clears his throat, the faintest flicker of vulnerability flashing in his eyes before he tries to mask it.

“Right, let's get these off.”

He guides you off him so you can stand, he shimmies your pants and underwear off. Once you kick off the fabric pooled around your feet he leans forward, breath hot on your mons.

“Missed her.”

He says so quietly, almost to himself.

“Your pretty girl?”

You run a hand over his buzz cut, and he grips the sides of your bare thighs.

“Yeah…my pretty girl.”

A wet kiss on your most sensitive spot makes your legs tense up. He traces slow, indulgent circles, like this was more for him than you. The tension in your body mounting with every flick of his tongue.

He goes on like this until your knees almost give way from a quick, hard suck. He holds you up with a strong grip under the crease of your ass.

“Think you can stand on your own for a minute, love?”

You’re far past the point of throwing a smart remark his way, your body humming with the tension he’s left simmering under your skin. Instead, you nod quickly, eagerly.

“So good for me, angel. How'd I get so lucky, hm?”

It’s less a question and more an indulgence, the kind of thing he says to soak in the moment while he shoves his pants down to his thighs. When he pulls you towards him, guiding you to settle on his lap, just brushing his tip over your slick entrance, you follow without hesitation—soft, pliant, docile.

“Such a sweet thing. Only for me, right?”

Before you get to answer, he drags your hips down, pushing himself inside you. The stretch borders on discomfort—not just because it's been a while, but because he's thicker than anyone you've ever had before.

It's all so overwhelming— his voice, his touch, his body—all glut and heavy with want. The weight of it crashes over you, leaving you dizzy, untethered. Every word he speaks seeps into your skin, warm and lingering, while his hands, firm yet reverent, treat you like something both fragile and fiercely desired.

When he slides you down more, you tense up. Thighs flexing, clenching around him. It draws a curse from him,

“Fuck…yeah, only for me.”

The moment is so much softer than you imagined it to be—aside from him trying to lick the inside of your mouth. It's coos and words of encouragement,

“Look at you, taking it like a big girl,”

“Bet you needed this as much as I did,”

Big, rough hands gliding up and down your body, squeezing gently. Slow, deep strokes sink into you until you're a shaking mess, arms wrapped around him, clinging onto him like he's your lifeline, mumbling nonsense into his neck. He's taking full advantage of the moment, of course, his voice low and dripping with amusement as he watches you come undone for him.

"Gonna be like this all the time now, pet?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Only like this for me, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

You whisper, the words spilling out as easily as your control.

“No one else gets to touch you like this, huh?”

“Uhn-uh.”

Your lips brushing against his neck, your heartbeat hammering against his chest, sweat slick against the skin.

And it goes on like this, making empty promises with the devil. Signing yourself away with no hesitation, no second thoughts. Because he kisses you so tenderly it makes you flutter everywhere. Because the way he lifts you up just to buck his hips up into you makes your brain leak out of your ears. Because here, pressed against him, drowning in his voice and touch, there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

He hits that spot that makes your nerves taught. You're a string wound up too tight, his name spilling from your mouth again and again, each time more ragged, a little more whiny and desperate, until it finally snaps. You shatter, the force knocking the air from your lungs while he throws his head back, your name leaking out like it's the only word he knows. You're overstimulated, thighs burning and shaking while he ruts into you. You're pushing him with flimsy arms, whining about how ‘it's too much’. That only seems to egg him on, though, spurring him to murmur filth between honeyed kisses,

“Gonna ruin you for anyone else,”

“Split you apart everyday and you'll fucking thank me for it, won't you?”

He doesn't even look for an answer from you, more than happy to bask in the mess he made of you. A few more strokes has him choking mid-sentence, sinking so deep inside you think he might've been serious about splitting you apart.

It's quiet for a moment, save for the heavy breaths shared between the two of you

“You with me, angel?”

He sighs, his lips press against the skin right over your heart. He lingers, sucking softly, the kind of pressure that's going to leave the skin tender for days—a reminder of him.

You nod, barely able to find your voice, but he waits-patient, his hands wrapping around yours.

"Yeah…”

You finally manage, squeezing a hand that completely engulfs yours, brushing against it with your thumb.

"Good,"

He whispers, his lips brushing against yours again.

"That's all I need.”

And in the back of your mind, as his touch lingers, there's a small fleeting thought:

Oh, you're fucked.

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[cottagedeer]

Betty has shown her devotion.

[sickmorbiddoll]

Me when I’m reading a good fanfic and the author writes “my knuckles turned white as I clenched the sheets"

After I read that I can not bring myself to read it anymore 😭

[madhattervanessa]

Crave

Summary: Simon returns from deployment- but, there is a catch.

Warnings: sneaky nosy reader, flirting with a strong ?, pda, a little bit of voyeurism but it's all still very PG I feel

Words: 1489

A/N: Y'all already know...

Requests are open as always.

Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

prev. Part - next Part

-

It's been just over 3 months when you hear his familiar footsteps echoing through the apartment complex's hallway.

This time, however, he doesn't seem to be alone.

At least, you had not previously heard a Scottish accent coming out of his mouth. And certainly not at that speed.

"-an' I'm telling you, she fancies me, this is all just a misunderstandin'."

"You repeating tha' don't make it true."

You really shouldn't be standing this close to the door, spying on them. But... Simon isn't the most talkative person in contrast to his very chatty friend. And you're a nosy person.

His friend babbles on about some girl until you hear the keys jingle in the lock of Simon's flat.

"Don't get too comfortable. I'll be just a minute."

You smirk to yourself and listen carefully for Simon's footsteps to move back down the stairway before opening the apartment door.

You sneak out and gently knock at your neighbor's door.

It's torn open almost immediately.

You correct your gaze up a little and meet pale blue eyes.

He's cute. Young, though, for, what you had gleaned from conversations with Simon, they do.

"You're not my neighbor."

He grins and crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against the doorframe.

"Aye. I'm bloody well not, lass."

You hum.

"Feels like I've seen you before, though", he adds.

There's a roguish handsomeness about him, a cockiness- really, a telltale thing you have noticed about the military personnel roaming around town.

"Seems like you haven't left an impression."

He scoffs, obviously amused.

"I usually have some coffee with Simon when he returns from service." You nod towards the kitchen behind him.

"I can see why he would. Come on in, then. I bet the- I bet Simon could use a cup of coffee."

He steps out of your way and closes the door as you beeline to the kitchen.

"Did you guys just get back?"

"Yeah. It's been a long few months."

"I believe that", you murmur and open the cupboard, instinctively picking up your usual mugs.

"What's your name?"

"You can call me Johnny."

You shoot him a look before setting down the cups and starting to pull shots from the espresso machine in the kitchen. When you set down the first cup for Simon, you look up towards him.

"How do you take your coffee, Johnny?"

You're interrupted by the door opening.

Johnny throws a wide grin towards Simon as he enters. His brown eyes briefly flick back and forth between the two of you before he drops two heavy duffel bags on the ground.

He shuts the door with his boot and the heavy footsteps that follow serve as a visceral reminder of the sheer mass of the man.

"Black coffee will do for him", Simon grumbles.

You try not to grin at the glare that settles on Johnny.

"Get out of her face Johnny. Take a shower. Y'smell like shit."

"Aye, L.T.." Johnny briefly turns back towards you and winks. "I'll be right back, lass."

You hum, smiling now, and lower your gaze toward the coffee machine again.

When you glance back up, Simon's eyes are still on you. There's some eye black smeared around his eye sockets. It makes his eyes look bottomless and sharp, his blonde lashes a harsh contrast.

After a moment, he leaves to follow his friend.

Low murmurs sound from the bathroom next to the bedroom, but they are just quiet enough for you to be unable to discern anything.

Eventually, the shower starts up and there's some brief laughter before music starts to play, low and tinny.

The door slams shut and you start steaming some milk.

"Did he bother you?"

You jump and curse under your breath, thankful for the mostly empty pitcher in your hands.

"No. No, he didn't."

Simon is radiating heat from behind you.

"Good."

A single, high note hits your ears before the singing continues, quieter but no less off-key.

"He seems nice, though. Funny. Talented singer."

"He's a bloody idiot."

"Does he get into a lot of trouble?"

"'s exactly why he's here."

The tune in the background changes to Material Girl, as you start to sip on your coffee and step aside for Simon to grab his own.

You stand in comfortable silence for a moment, just looking at each other.

He shakes his head slightly at the first Matieri-a-a-aal echoing from the bathroom.

"Any chance you have space for a roommate?"

You snort and shoot him a conspiratory look.

He smirks before taking a big gulp of coffee.

You keep looking at him, drinking in the details, now that he is back: The eyeblack has smeared down over his cheeks and you can see where it has faded around the corners of his eyes as if he'd been laughing a lot. You set your cup down.

"I don't know, I don't want to get in between some quality time with your friend and you. Should really let you guys settle in."

"Can't settle in, yet."

You perk up a little, immediately alarmed. Simon downs the rest of his coffee before he turns towards you.

"Still missing a warm welcome from my girl."

My girl?, echoes faintly in your head.

Your hesitation seems to amuse him. There it is again, the crinkle around his eyes.

He is careful as he approaches, slowly reaching out.

"C'mon, love. Where's my welcome back kiss?"

You roll your eyes despite laughing, weakly pushing your hands against his chest, not even slightly managing to nudge the big man towering over you away.

"Oh, ew, Si-"

He catches both of your hands in his and intertwines your fingers before leaning his head down. You don't resist and simply tilt your head up towards his.

He's rough with you; his teeth clack against yours and when your lips connect right, he pins you against the counter with his hips.

You moan into his mouth and let go of his hands to instead push them into his hair and let your nails scratch over his head. He is devouring your mouth, his hands wandering until he can hold on to your waist. One of them wanders down to paw at your hip, kneading at the soft flesh there.

He delves his tongue into your mouth and you gasp. You return a nip to his lip before both of your tongues start to tangle.

It's messy and needy. You're melting into his hard grip. As you hesitantly roll your hips towards his, you can feel his cock twitch against your stomach.

He backs off and when you open your eyes, he briefly nudges the tip of your nose with his. You feel girlish joy at the sweet gesture and wet your lips as you lock eyes with him.

"That's one hell of a welcome."

"Missed you."

"Yeah?", you tease, grinning.

He grunts and pulls you into another kiss, muffling your laugh. His hand that had previously held on to your hip wanders down to your ass to squeeze, eliciting another moan from you. You let your own hands cradle his face, feeling his jaw work as you kiss.

"Damn."

You jump and stiffen against Simon in surprise.

"Don't stop on my account", Johnny adds. Simon backs off with a quiet curse and you open your eyes to peek at Johnny, standing in the doorway.

"Bugger off, Johnny", Simon grumbles before pressing another kiss to your cheek.

Your eyes lock with his friend's who is still notably shirtless, hair damp, as he leans against the doorframe.

"I was just comin' back for my coffee, Lt."

There's something underneath the amused glint in his eyes that makes a hot flash run over your spine.

"I'm uh-", you're distracted by Simon dragging his tongue over your neck before he brushes the stubble on his jaw over the skin behind your ear, "I'm going to leave you guys to it."

Simon straightens up and your eyes snap to his.

"Alright, love."

You stagger towards the door, both of the men close behind.

"If you guys need anything, just knock, alright?"

"We'll just be sleeping the flight off, hen", Johnny answers, supported by a gruff sound from Simon that sounds like an agreement.

You nod and lean up to give Simon another innocent peck.

Before you have the chance to think about it, Johnny envelops you in a brief hug. A cloud of cologne envelops you with it and he squeezes you in his arms.

"Don't be a stranger. Come by for pizza sometime, soon, yeah?" Johnny puts you at arm's length before grinning. "I'll tell you a bunch of embarrassing stories about the old boy."

You nod, feeling a bit too hot underneath the intense gaze of the two men at the same time.

"Yeah. Sure. Sounds fun."

The warmth in your cheeks doesn't fade until you are back in the safety of your own bedroom.

[tojisdove]

any sweetheart wanna send thirsts so I can ramble for a bit orrrrr 😋😋💗💗

[wxnheart]

"I don't want it just tonight, I want forever..."

He's missed this. He's missed you, baby.

Missed the feeling of your bare skin against his. Missed the sounds of heaven in his ears. Missed the way your tight heat envelopes him and welcomes him home.

Oh god, you feel so fucking good.

This moment... he wants it to last forever. He wants every fiber of your being to remember it. Wants you to remember the intensity of the way he fucks you, wants you to remember the way he has you begging for more. He wants you to remember the way he presses your foreheads together and makes you look him in the eyes, makes you see how fucking crazy he is for you, how much he wants you like you want him.

Wants you to see and feel how much he'd always want you.

And fuck, you're so beautiful when you come... but he's not gonna stop. He's not gonna stop fucking you.

He's not gonna stop loving you.

He'll do everything in his power to make you remember this moment.

He'll do everything in his power to make it last forever.