#under the cut bc it's soooooo long

[selchwife]

on a more serious note (spoils c&w for everyone reading this blog bc we're far past that point. as a people. you guys all know plenty about what's going to happen in this fic)

i think the mortician and the rake actually do have a kind of interesting relationship precisely Because like, the mortician is an emet expy but i've created circumstances that prevent him being romantically interested in the rake, so there's something else going on there but it's still quite strong.

like the mortician was working with the rake, essentially, during the rake's time as a spysassin in the great game, and the mortician is not a fucking idiot so he was aware of how the rake was being treated by the procurer (as were most people, honestly, bc the rake was not the first or last child to be victimized by this creep). but when you're involved in the game there is often not a lot you can do about things of this nature, and despite the many other scruples he'd happily abandoned in order to meet his goals, it really galled the mortician. and he was fond of the rake, in the way adults are SUPPOSED to be fond of obnoxious teenagers, and despite generally finding him annoying still tried to treat him nicely enough in a way he knew he wasn't getting from other adults, although they weren't close.

i think the rake going to prison is kind of what hardens the mortician's heart permanently, honestly. what little he could do for the rake was not enough, so why even bother with sympathy anymore? the only real like, morality chain he has left in the neath breaks. and this is when he goes from pretty bad to MUCH, much worse. eventually the rake does get out of jail but rather predictably he wants nothing to do with his old life anymore, so the mortician knows that he's out and knows he's avoiding ever seeing the mortician again and i think it does kind of hurt his feelings that the rake remembers him as part of the problem rather than as someone who wanted to help him and couldn't.

also like, on top of everything else that would make the mortician having a romantic attraction to the rake impossible, i think having known him during the time that he was facing CSA specifically is like. he would just feel like he was revictimizing him, so that's another dimension to his being completely disinterested in him.

and of course the fact that he can't cheat on the corpse in his basement he's trying to bring back to life, but

[evermoreal]

it always leads to you ࿐

pairing: simon riley x reader

genre: dad’s best friend au, fluff, smut, a touch of angst

cw: smut - this is 18+ minors dni, age gap (ghost is in his 40s, reader is in her 20s), fem!reader, reader is implied to be shorter than ghost, unprotected sex (bad idea!!!!!), praise kink (excessive use of ‘good girl’), oral (m & f receiving), face-fucking (he’s gentle abt it), ummmm a man that is Not ghost makes unwanted sexual advances, small mention of blood (someone gets a cut on their forehead). please lmk if i missed anything !!!!!!

summary: coming home for the holidays is both a blessing and a curse — cheesy music, bittersweet nostalgia, and simon riley, your father’s best friend and the man you’ve had a stupidly big crush on for years.

author’s note: hiii!! um a Few things . firstly, i seldom write smut & when i do i never post it. i have put off posting this for so long bc i was so nervous — it was originally meant to be a christmas gift to u guys 😭😭 n e ways we Prevail. also i despite being Obsessed w him i’ve never written for ghost !!!! i want to do soo much more for him & the other cod men, so if u have any reqs/ideas, my asks are always open !!! love u guys soooooo much i hope i enjoy ! 💋��

word count: 11k (sorry 😭)

credits: title is from tis the damn season by taylor swift, and the beauuuutifullll render/edit of ghost is by user dwisesz on twitter!

before you met him, you’d heard endless stories. for as long as you could remember, your father recounted tales of his friend ‘ghost’ from the army. every time he came back from deployment, there’d be something new — ghost’s snipe from 2,700 meters away, ghost making your dad laugh so hard beer came out of his nose, ghost making a new recruit cry simply by staring at them.

there were others, of course, too; gaz, who your father had quite the soft spot for; john, who quickly became your favourite when you met him a few years ago and he snuck you a sip of wine at dinner; soap, who was new to the team but had enough passion to carry an entire army on his back.

ghost, though — he was your dad’s favourite. though he claimed to be too honourable for favourites, the way your father spoke about him made it clear. a simultaneous respect and affection woven through every recounted story.

it was a shock you didn’t meet him until your freshman year of college. your father and ghost’s leave fell around the same time, and your father had invited him to stay with your family. your father never revealed much about ghost’s history, but you knew it was dark and splattered with blood. he was alone now, and though he claimed he preferred it that way, he’d accepted your father’s invitation.

from your bedroom, you’d heard the front door creak open, and without so much as a breath you were bounding down the stairs, bare feet smacking against the hardwood. your father was in the midst of putting down his bags when you threw your arms around him. “dad!”

he reciprocated immediately, pulling you tightly against him. “hi, honey. i missed you.”

as you pulled back, he patted your head, and you spotted a shadow along the floor. following it toward the still-open door, you found a broad, menacing figure, blocking most of the sunlight. he was nearly as wide as the doorway, and the top of his head just barely made it under the threshold. over his face was hidden by a black balaclava with the faint impression of a skull along the front, faded with age and use. despite the endless stories, you were immediately intimidated, and stepped closer to your father.

your dad squeezed your arm, chuckling. “lieutenant, this is my daughter.”

looking between the two of you, simon took a slow step forward, and extended his hand. his movements were careful, like you were a wild animal he didn’t want to spook.

hesitating briefly, you slipped your hand into his. the warmth of ghost’s hand bled through the gloves he wore as he squeezed yours once. “nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

“it’s nice to meet you, um, mr ghost.” you had to crane your neck to look him in the eye.

a low, raspy chuckle rumbled from his chest, and beneath the balaclava, his eyes creased into tiny half-moons. “just simon is fine, love.”

and, really, he didn’t even give you a chance. there was no warning, no preamble. in an instant, fear ignited into something far more dangerous — attraction.

with a warm stomach, you smiled, and tried your hardest to keep it from growing too wide. “right. um. simon. yes.” you bit your cheek. “i’ve heard a lot about you.”

finally releasing your hand, he murmured, “terrible things, i assume.” his wink was quick and cheeky and certainly wasn’t meant to release a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, and yet . . .

“mostly,” you joked, and beside you, your father laughed. it was a rude awakening — ice water splashed over your silly little daydream. this man was only a few years younger than your father — in no universe would he give you a chance, and in no world should you want him to.

as quickly and as unassumingly as you could, you excused yourself, claiming you were in the middle of packing — which was mostly true. you were due on campus in less than two weeks, and if you didn’t start now, you’d leave it until the night before and end up forgetting something.

initially, you’d dreaded spending two weeks under the same roof as simon. it was a surefire plan to end up embarrassing yourself, because you’d never really been able to act normally around a crush, especially one in the shape of a 6-foot-whatever behemoth. yet, as the days went on, that dread steadily began to lift. despite your school girl crush, simon was easy to talk to. a lot of the time he was quiet, but his eyes never wavered from you, listening intently and humming where it mattered. he was fun, too — he recommended good movies, took you shopping while your father ran errands, taught you the best places to hit a man if one attacked you.

(a picture of simon, dramatically curled up in pain after you’d accidentally kicked him in the balls during a lesson now sits in your phone’s ‘favourites’ folder).

two weeks went by far too quickly, and before you knew it, your dad and simon were lugging your belongings up and into your dorm. not a single bag was left for you — you were tasked with the important duty of telling them what went where. when all was said and done, simon handed you a tiny piece of paper with a ten-digit number scrawled messily across it.

“in case you ever need me,” he explained, warm brown eyes peering at you beneath terribly long lashes. “i know your dad’s always there, but — just in case.”

then, he’d patted your head and squeezed your shoulder, murmuring a, “good luck, kid.”

and, though he was lovely to look at and talk with and exist around, you knew it would never be anything more. no matter how desperately a silly little part of you wished it. he spent time with you because he didn’t have anyone else. never had a daughter or a niece to spoil or playfight with. it was endearing, the way he interacted with you. wholesome and innocent and if that was all you’d ever get, you’d be happy.

— ∘♡༉∘ —

college was a lot. it was simultaneously the best and worst time of your life, passing by at both a snail’s and bullet’s pace. somehow, you ended up halfway through your final year. the holidays had rolled around, leaving you on a train, weaving over the tracks as you made your way back home.

in the years you’d been away, you’d kept in contact with simon. he joined your family for every holiday, and beyond that, you texted him often. sent him photos of your proudest grades, spirit days, or yummy meals. he’d even occasionally text you first, asking how your classes were going, if it was raining there like it was here, if you got home safe on the nights he knew you went out.

the landlord he’d rented his shitty apartment from ended up selling the place and simon had to relocate, finding a place only a few minutes from your dad’s. they loved to bug you, now — sending selfies and videos. to occupy themselves on their offtime, they’d opened a car repair shop together, and it only got worse.

you weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow, but you were feeling homesick and your bags were already packed. before long, you were stepping out of a taxi, bags in hand, and ambling up to the shop.

the reception area was tiny, sweetly decorated for the holidays and playing some generic christmas station. leaning against the desk was soap, slyly flirting with the blushing woman behind it.

his eyes lit up upon seeing you. “the fuck’re you doin’ ‘ere, lass?” he questioned far too loudly. immediately, you shushed him, and he caught on. “ooh, i love surprises. they’re back in the garage, workin’ away. y’want me t’film it?”

giggling, you shook your head, accepting the quick side hug he gave you. when you slipped through the garage door — opening it bit by bit, never too quickly lest it creak, soap returned to the customer.

the garage was stocked with cars in disrepair and various parts you couldn’t name if your life depended on it. the stench of motor oil, cigar smoke, and antifreeze stung your nose as you made your way over, where simon was wheeled beneath a car, thick thighs flexed inside oil-stained jeans. your father was turned away from you, bent over a shoddy metal table table and observing an array of papers. an ancient radio sat next to them, croaking out a rock song from your childhood.

“one of these days, i’m gonna teach you to use spotify,” you called, voice bouncing off the cement walls and ceiling.

a bang proceeded your words, and in the same instant, your father turned around, exclaiming your name and wrapping you in the world’s tightest bear-hug.

“we were supposed to pick you up tomorrow!” he said, voice muffled to your ears beneath the suffocating squeeze of his arms.

“figured i’d surprise you,” you supplied, stepping back from his grasp once it loosened. immediately after, you were enveloped by simon, who stunk of grease, cheap cologne, and tobacco. you inhaled; it was lovely.

“my favourite college student,” he murmured into the top of your head. “how y’been, trouble?”

when you pulled away, a dark splotch caught your eye. a small but growing patch of blood stained the top of his balaclava, turning the black fabric a murky shade of brown.

“shit! you’re bleeding!” you yelped, stepping away from him and searching your surroundings — there wasn’t much for medical supplies in a garage.

beside you, your dad was laughing; a deep, wheezy sound. “did y’hit your head?”

simon grunted, shooting you a playful glare. “if college doesn’t work out, kid, y’ve got an easy spot on the one-four-one. you’re quiet as a mouse. scared the shit outta me.”

despite yourself, you snorted. “i’ll keep that in mind. d’you guys have any bandaids?”

“there’s some in the office. bottom drawer of my desk,” your father replied, voice tinged with amusement.

“thank you, dad. simon, come. i took a first-aid course in high school.”

obediently, simon followed, keeping just a step behind as you moved through the garage. from his table, your father called, “we’re going out for dinner tonight, don’t make plans!”

“sir yes sir!”

simon and your father’s office was a small room just off the garage. carpeted, with off-white walls and dusty blinds letting in yellowish rays of sunlight. dusty photos hung from the wall; a few of you and your father; the 141; a german shepherd simon adored.

moving to the desk, you bent over and dug through the mountain of junk in the bottom drawer. the box of bandaids was shoved into the corner, bent and creased. simon copied your movements, rounding the desk and sitting on the worn desk chair.

“d’you know if you have anything to clean it with? hydrogen peroxide, saline, any kind of antiseptic?” you questioned, opening the drawer above it, which contained only invoices and a chequebook.

humming, simon stood, moving to the cabinet and pulling out a bottle of whiskey. at the roll of your eyes, he chuckled. “it works, doesn’t it?”

“i suppose it does,” you replied, collecting the fast food napkins you’d spotted while searching for the bandaids. then, after he’d sat once more, you softy placed your fingers at the bottom of simon’s balaclava. “may i?”

whenever simon’s eyes met yours, your breath hitched. every single time. whether it was because of that stupid crush that never went away or because his gaze were simply so intense, like an entire world existed within small pools of deep brown. pulling you in, drowning you. it was impossible to look away.

again, he hummed, granting you permission. gently, you rolled the fabric up, revealing his face inch by inch. this wouldn’t be the first time you’d seen his face — he spent far too much time around you to hide it. he still wore it more often than not, though, and every time he bothered to tug it off, it was like seeing it for the first time. roman nose, full lips, the scar across his brow, the prickly dusting of facial hair along his jaw. it was a shame he hated photographs — you’d frame it if you had any less sanity.

in your distraction, the tension had grown thick, humming in the silence of the room. clearing your throat, you took the whiskey from him, turning it over in your hands. “this stuff is shit.”

his face twisted. “how the hell d’you know what whiskey tastes like?”

snorting, you uncapped the bottle, and began to soak the corner of a napkin. “y’know, riley, i’ve been legal for a while now.”

his lip twitched, forming a crooked smile. “i know. it’s hard not to. y’keep growing. every time i see you, you’re . . .”

he trailed off. placing a gentle hand on his forehead, you tilted his head backward, and began to gently wipe at the cut. “i’m what?”

imperceptibly, he shook his head, careful not to jostle you. “more of a woman.”

you barked a laugh at that, and his smile grew. “more of a woman? what does that mean? i had tits when i met you, simon.”

simon rolled his eyes. “that’s not — what i meant. you’re . . . not a kid. you’re meaner now, for one.”

resuming the cleaning of his wound, you pouted. “mean? you wound me. maybe i’m just not scared of you anymore.”

“no, you’re not mean. always been a sweetheart.” his eyes fluttered shut beneath your ministrations. “you were scared of me?”

you giggled, and placed the bloodied napkin in the trash. then, you dug out a bandaid. “no, not really. nervous, maybe. intimidated.”

“is my handsome face really so daunting?”

this time, your laugh was lacklustre — he’d hit the nail straight on the head. “you’re bigfoot in a skull mask. before you spoke, i was a bit nervous.”

“but you’re not? now?”

peeling the parchment from the back of the bandaid, you met his gaze. “no. why would i be?”

this time, it was simon that looked away. you delicately placed the band-aid over the cut, before he said, “thank you, angel.”

you smiled, and, like you were drunk of the proximity of him, placed a quick, daring kiss to the band-aid. “if i wasn’t such a generous nurse, i’d say you owe me. you’re lucky.”

simon breathed laugh, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think the tops of his cheeks were pink. clenching and unclenching his jaw, he murmured, “lucky indeed.”

— ∘♡༉∘ —

in hindsight, believing your high school friends were capable of growing up was one of your less intelligent ideas. call it boredom or stupidity, but when a few of your old friends invited you out to the bar, you were compelled to accept.

it, unsurprisingly, went dreadfully. the first half of the night was fine — the first round of shots was purchased by one of the sweeter ones. you caught up over murky-coloured cocktails, swapping stories about your new lives and reminiscing over your old ones. the alcohol warmed your skin and loosened your limbs. the night went on and the amount of patrons doubled; you recognized a lot of them from old classes or bus rides or kindergarten friendships.

a boy from high school, one that hadn’t said a single nice thing to you in the entire four years, approached you with something that was supposed to be a smirk. you were polite at first, nodding along to his slurred words, exhaling when he attempted a joke. he dragged a hand over your thigh, and when you shifted away he easily followed. you excused yourself, muttering something about using the restroom, and he took it as an invitation.

“y’like it public, huh? never took you as the type,” he garbled, sliding off the barstool and following your movements. “i like whatever you like, baby.”

“no, i — actually need to pee,” you stated, glancing around the bar for your lost friends. he stared at you for a long minute, eyes narrowing.

“mm, fine. i’ll — i’ll pull up my car, we can head back to my place.”

“no, i—” you began, eyeing his sleazy grin and glazed-over leer. “i don’t want to go home with you. i’m not interested. i’m sorry.”

it takes a few moments for him to wrap his head around your words; each one spelled out across his face as it’s processed. finally, his expression twisted into a sneer.

“should’ve fuckin’ known not to waste my time with you,” he barked, unfocused eyes glaring daggers at you. “once a whore always a whore, huh?”

the most embarrassing part of this was the tears. you didn’t let him see them — too prideful to let them fall before you muttered a “fuck you,” and escaped out the side door.

the night air was freezing, twinged with the sharp bite of early winter. without a jacket or alcohol — you’d sobered up as soon as his hand touched your leg — to warm you, you were left hugging yourself, digging your phone out of your purse.

you could have sobbed when a red battery symbol lights up the screen, before flickering back off, dead. you just might have had you not spotted a pay-phone a few meters away.

there were only a few coins in your purse. had it not been kept for just-in-case situations like these, there would be none at all. shoving a few into the coin slot, you dial the number you’d had memorized from childhood.

it rang several times, wind whistling in your other ear, before your father’s voice stated, “sorry, can’t reach the phone. leave a message.”

a choked sound left your throat. what the hell were you supposed to do? most of your friends had split off into tiny sub-groups, and you were too ashamed to ask any of them for a ride. there was the option of asking a bartender to call a cab, though the idea of that was, for no real reason, profusely embarrassing. then, you remembered the one other phone number you’d memorized.

you don’t really know why — there was no reason for you to remember it, especially over any other phone number. yet, when he’d handed you that crumbled sheet of paper, your eyes had traced over the shapes of the numbers, and for some reason committed them to memory with no further effort.

whatever the reason was, you didn’t feel like questioning it. you were merely thankful you did. with cold fingertips, you pressed the digits into the payphone.

he picked up on the fourth ring. “who’s this?” was the greeting.

“it’s me,” you replied, and you barely were able to finish saying your name before he was cutting you off.

”what’s wrong? are you alright?”

huffing a quiet laugh, you said, “‘m fine, simon. i just—” you sighed, clutching the phone tighter in your hand. “i went out with my friends, an’ i—i’m just not having a good time. i tried to call my dad, but it’s past ten, so he’s passed out. i’m sorry—”

“where are you?” he asked, and there was a rustling in the background.

there were only a few bars in town—he knew immediately where this one was. “i’m on my way, i’ll be there in ten. are you in a safe spot, sweetheart?”

“i’m in a telephone booth. my phone died.”

“of course it did. would you be willing to go in an’ ask the bartender to use the phone?”

“no.”

“alright. okay. just stay on the line with me then, okay? d’you have any extra change, in case y’run outta minutes?”

”yeah. i should be good. i’m—listen, si, i’m really sorry—”

“if i hear that word come outta y’r mouth again we’re gonna have issues,” he said, and you laughed despite yourself. “‘m glad you called. now i’ll get t’see your pretty face.”

a girlish giggle sounded from your chest, and if it weren’t so damn cold, you might’ve been embarrassed. “i hate bars.”

“y’go to the wrong ones,” he replied. “one day i’ll take you out to one of my favourites. show you a decent drink.”

“my drinks are decent,” you argued. there was a whooshing sound on the line, and you panicked. “you’re not driving your motorcycle, are you?”

“didn’t have anything else with me,” he said. “y’got a problem with my harley, trouble?”

“your harley is a death machine.”

simon chuckled. “i’ll drive slow with you.”

“you should be driving slow now.”

another laugh. “i’ll be there in three.”

“simon!” you admonished. “you said ten!”

“that was four minutes ago.”

shaking your head, you said, “your lack of self-preservation should be studied.”

in the few seconds he took to reply, your teeth clacked together, and simon swiftly asked, “are you chattering?”

your lack of response served as one on its own, and he continued, “doll, what’re you wearing in this telephone booth?”

“um,” you started, chewing your bottom lip. “a skirt.”

“and a jacket?”

“uh.”

“christ,” he swore. “your lack of self-preservation should be studied. it’s not even 5° out.”

“jackets are a lot of work to carry around in a bar,” you argued, though you knew it was fruitless. “and i wasn’t really planning on spending any time in a telephone booth.”

“y’should always prepare for the worst,” he stated. “what if i hadn’t picked up, hm?”

“you always pick up.”

for a short moment, the other line was quiet, with only the quiet whoosh of the wind brushing past the speakers. then, “yeah, i do.”

the way he said it — so tenderly, like an admission — had any response dying on your tongue. your heart felt oddly warm, and didn’t quite know what to do with yourself, curling and uncurling the phone cord around your fingers.

“‘m here, trouble,” simon said, saving you from further awkward silence. a headlight glared against the glass of the phone booth, hallowing fingerprints and rain stains. squeaking out an, “okay,” you hung up the phone with a click and stepped out.

he was off his motorcycle already, immediately tugging off his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders before pulling you against him.

“god, you’re a fuckin’ ice cube, sweetheart,” he said. he held you like that for a while, arms wrapped so tightly around your frame that you worried you’d morph into him. not that you minded — he was warm.

afterwards, simon cupped your cheeks, tilting your head upward as he examined you, as if you were ill or injured. furrowing his brow, he asked, “were you crying?”

you attempted to look away, ashamed, but in his grip it proved futile. “not much.”

“what happened?” he asked, and there was something in his voice, laced in the low rumble of it, that sounded threatening. it wasn’t meant for you, that was clear — he’d never direct anything hostile toward you. before he had even the barest idea of who or what made you cry, he was already furious at it.

“it’s nothing.”

“tell me,” he demanded. then, softer, “please. i just — need to know.”

moving your gaze from a far-off shape in the night towards his, you were unable to keep it from him. “i—this guy. i went to high school with him.”

a spark lit his gaze. “what’d he do?”

for a few breaths, you were quiet, trying to sort the words into something only mildly wrath-inducing. “he wanted, um, to take me home. i didn’t want to. he got upset.”

the spark caught, lighting his gaze into a furious blaze. even beneath the balaclava, you could see his jaw clench. he stepped away from you and set on a warpath toward the bar.

“simon—no,” you yelped, hurrying to catch up with him. it was a difficult task—your shoes weren’t comfortable and his long legs moved swiftly. finally, you caught his leather sleeve in your grasp. “don’t. please, don’t.”

at the sound of your voice, soft and warbled, he stopped, turning to face you once more, and whatever he saw on your face had his eyes softening.

“i don’t want to deal with him any more than i already have,” you said, staring up at him. “i just—i just want to leave. can we go to your house, please? i don’t want to be alone. i don’t want to think.”

the neon bar lights cast strange shadows across your frames, illuminating you in various bright colours as you stood, gazes caught in one another. simon seemed to fight with himself for a moment, fury and something far more tender battling for authority. the latter won out; he exhaled a long breath, hand cupping the back of your head and pulling you into him once more.

“let’s go, yeah?”

you nodded, following with your arm wrapped around his as he led you to the bike. attached to the back was an extra helmet, which he placed atop your head, adjusting it with a heady stare you couldn’t meet. the helmet smelled like pine and tobacco and vanilla and simon — it was everywhere, and you blissfully drowned in it.

when it was to his satisfaction, he tugged his gloves off and pulled them over your fingers. they were large and loose on you, and they were still warm from his skin. afterward, he pulled his own helmet back on, and held a hand out, helping you onto the back of the machine. large hands adjusted your hips, manhandling you into the right position, and it took everything in you not to make some sort of embarrassing squeak.

“okay,” he murmured, bent over your shoulder. “i’m gonna sit on the front here. you’ll have your arms wrapped around my torso, okay? and you’re not gonna let go, at all. yeah?”

you nodded. “mmhmm.”

“i need to hear your words, love.”

meeting his gaze for the briefest second, you repeated, “i won’t let go.”

“good. i won’t too fast with you, but if y’need me to pullover, just let me know, yeah?”

another nod, and this time he gave you a pointed look. “i’ll let you know,” you stated, lips just barely twitching.

with a gloved hand, simon pat your helmet and mounted the bike. after the briefest moment of hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his middle. even through the leather, he was warm; you couldn’t help but burrow a bit further into him. with merely a glance at simon, it was obvious he was built — far more than any other man you knew. to feel it beneath you, though, was an entirely separate thing. he was solid and unyielding but not harsh; a thin layer of fat kept him just soft enough.

“good girl,” he praised, patting the hands you’d entwined in front of his belly. you pressed your eager grin between his shoulders.

the motorcycle rumbled beneath you, and, slowly, he eased the gas, weaving through the tightly-crammed parking lot. just as he was about to exit the lot, he asked, above the exhaust, “you alright?”

“mmhmm,” you hummed, cheek pressed against leather. then, “yes.”

with that, he accelerated onto the road, joining the late-night traffic. the wind whistled in your ears and bit at your exposed legs; you pressed yourself further against him, and his back vibrated with the sound he made in acknowledgment. above, yellowish streetlights warmed the pavement and passing cars. gas stations and markets and various homes passed by in a colourful blur.

at a red light, while you sat still, simon’s hand came down, brushing over your knuckles in slow circles. the movement was featherlight and you wondered if it was unconscious — as soon as it flicked back to green, he moved the hand back to the handles without any acknowledgment.

the ride to his place was closer than it would have been to yours. simon lived in a small, red brick townhouse, far enough from downtown to be quiet, and close enough to access it without any hassle. he could afford better, though he opted for this because ‘it was all he needed.’ a stove to cook on, quiet neighbours, and a bed to sleep in — these were his only requirements.

steering the motorcycle beside the curb, he parked it there, and leaned backward into you. “how was that?” he asked. the world seemed strangely quiet without the hum of the engine.

“fast,” you said lamely, honestly. “not as bad as i thought, but i still prefer cars. they have walls. and heat.”

simon laughed, shaking his head. the sound echoed through his shoulders, which you were still pressed against. “when i get you a jacket i’ll make sure it’s heated.”

the idea of simon purchasing you a leather jacket to ride with him more often — it made your face heat up and your cheeks ache with a restrained grin. you were barely able to get yourself under control before he was sliding off the bike and offering a hand to you. even with his help, maneuvering your way off with mostly-numb legs was a difficult task. you just barely were able to land steady-footed on the pavement. as if simon knew this, he kept a hand on the small of your back as you walked up the steps to his home.

inside, it smelled like simon. pine, english breakfast tea, and something unique to him. the only thing missing was the stench of a cigarette; you knew he refused to smoke inside.

the decorations were minimal yet cozy; it was surprisingly neat. besides the pair he’d just kicked off, the shoes were lined up along the wall. you’d been inside very few times, and never long enough to observe. in the living room, the lamp was still on, bathing the room in warmth. there was a cup of tea on the coffee table, only a few sips left. beside it was a novel you didn’t recognize, dog-eared halfway through.

every detail felt important, like a glimpse into him. had the bar not left you feeling sticky and unkempt, you could have stayed here observing for hours. yet, your shirt felt suffocating across your chest, and the nape of your neck felt sweaty despite the earlier chill.

“um,” you began ungracefully. “do you mind if i use your shower? i feel . . . icky.”

his lips twitched at your choice of words, and he nodded. “yeah. lemme show you the bathroom, sweets.”

following him up the stairs, he directed you to the bathroom, pulling two towels out of his linen-closet. then, he said, “shower’s fuckin’ complicated. too fancy. lemme get it started for you.”

you watched as he ducked in, fiddling with buttons and knobs until steam danced over the glass doors. afterward, he looked back at you, peering at your figure. “that’s not very comfortable.”

you followed his gaze, glancing over your outfit. “well, no.”

he huffed. “i’ll get y’something of mine,” he stated, and made his way toward the door. “i’ll leave it on my bed, yeah? just down the hall. if y’need anything, sweetheart, just shout. i’ll be downstairs.”

giving a soft smile, you nodded and said, “okay. thank you, simon. really.”

“no need. i’d let y’live here if it meant never going to that fuckin’ shitehole again.”

“it wasn’t that bad of a bar.”

he gave you a dead-pan stare. “shite. hole.”

amused, you rolled your eyes, and pushed the door shut. on the other side, you heard a chuckle — the smile that bloomed on your face at the sound was unbidden.

it’d be a lie to say it didn’t feel strange to strip in simon’s house. the fact that only a few walls stood between you sent a strange thrill through you. it was in your best interest to ignore it — your heart and body had incredibly inappropriate reactions to the man, and tonight they seemed to be at an all time high.

he was being kind, nothing else.

once your clothes were peeled off and discarded on the tiled floor, you stepped into the shower. immediately, the warmth enveloped you, melting the tension out of your muscles and washing it away.

simon didn’t have much of a selection when it came to soaps. you were thankful he had a decent face wash, though — at least there were no three-in-ones.

the body wash smelled lovely — that dizzying, woodsy scent native to simon danced alongside the steam in the bathroom as you lathered it across your skin. though it was tempting to stay for longer, you didn’t want to waste too much of his water. you stepped out, and wrapped a shockingly soft towel around your abdomen.

the house was quiet when you stepped out of the restroom, clothes collected in your hands as you padded toward simon’s bedroom. this was the one room you hadn’t yet seen, though you could have predicted quite a bit of it. neat, minimal decorations. a king-sized bed because anything smaller wouldn’t fit him. folded atop were joggers and a sweatshirt.

it wasn’t a surprise you had to roll up the pant legs until they were ridiculously cuffed at the bottom. the sight of yourself in the mirror made you snort; you were drowning in simon’s clothes. butterflies swarmed your tummy, too—you were in his clothes, like you belonged to him. the train of thought was dangerous, you quickly looked away.

exiting his bedroom, you heard a quiet, continuous popping sound. padding down the stairs, you followed it into the kitchen where simon stood, collecting a bit of butter and a salt shaker.

though your steps were quiet, simon’s eyes were on you before you even stepped inside the room. his gaze swept your figure, dwarfed in his clothes, lingering just long enough for you to catch it before he was shifting it away, jaw twitching beneath his balaclava.

after a moment too long, he said, “hey, trouble.” his voice was low. “making popcorn. there’s tea.” he gestured with his chin to the counter where two mugs sat, one of which you’d gifted to him nearly three years ago now. a black cat was painted on the front, a grumpy expression wrinkling it’s little face (“it reminds me of you,” you’d said). in a significantly less interesting mug was your tea, several shades lighter than his black.

“thank you,” you murmured against the lip of the glass, wincing slightly when a sip burned your tongue.

“do you—” he began, taking the popcorn out of the microwave and pouring it into a bowl. “how’s a movie sound?”

you grinned. “it sounds lovely.”

“there’re dvds in the cupboard out there,” he explained, sifting the butter and salt through the popcorn. “take your pick.”

a snort. “why am i not surprised you still use dvds?”

simon raised a brow. “i spend half my life in barracks. netflix is a scam, love.”

“sure,” you said, grinning impishly. “grandpa.”

despite your teasing, his movie collection was vast. a lot of them you hadn’t heard of, though you picked out a familiar one, presenting him with your choice when he joined you in the living room.

“diehard, hm?” he gave a crooked smile. “tis the season, i suppose. you have good taste, sweetheart.”

“i know,” you stated proudly. “but you should keep complimenting me.”

simon huffed a laugh, and placed the disc in the dvd player. “i already feed your ego too much.”

making yourself comfortable on his couch, you agreed, “you really do.” then, when he procured a blanket and draped it across your lap, you snorted. “this isn’t helping.”

placing the popcorn between you, simon tugged off his balaclava and shoved a few pieces in his mouth, saying, “sorry, sweets. can’t help it.” his smile was lopsided and boyish, charming. the tv flickered on, basking the room in a blueish glow, before simon clicked ‘play’ on the movie.

together, you watched the opening scenes of the movie. a few jokes were muttered back and forth, but, other than that and the sounds of the film, it was quiet. the popcorn was delicious, lathered in an unhealthy amount of butter and salt, you shovelled it into your mouth.

the tea, too, was lovely. warm and sweet, and, combined with the comfort of simon’s presence, you were sleepily lulling back into the plush couch. with low eyelids, you tried to make yourself comfortable, manoeuvring your body this way and that. huffing, you stared down at the couch, searching for a decent position, when you spotted simon’s lap.

all muscled and soft, he’d make the perfect pillow. would he mind? you sincerely doubted he would. it was innocent, after all. you simply wanted to relax. the only one it might be awkward for was you, and if you could get past your stupid crush for a single hour, it’d be perfect.

after one more moment of doubt, you stretched yourself out and hesitantly laid your head on simon’s lap. beneath you, he tensed for a moment, and you just about thought you’d fucked everything up before he relaxed back into the couch. a large hand made a home on your back, running soothingly up and down your spine.

laying against simon like this — it was so peaceful. your mind hushed to a low hum as you nestled further into him, eyes trained on the screen. his fingers trailed upward, tracing a pattern on the nape of your neck and returning south.

the movie was entertaining, though you felt yourself slipping into sleep. occasionally, simon’s fingers would slip over a ticklish slip of skin, and you’d shiver, causing him to exhale a chuckle.

slowly, as your mind quieted, so did the sound of the film, until it was an unintelligible mumble. the world started and ended with simon’s thighs beneath your cheek, and his hand against your shoulders.

against your eyelids, the screen was bright, lighting them up uncomfortably. huffing sleepily, you pressed your face into simon’s lap, burrowing further in an attempt to make yourself comfortable. beneath you, something firm prodded against your cheek, and at once you were very awake.

simon, suddenly, stiffened. the hand on your back halted, fingers hovering over your skin before dropping away completely. “oh, fuck—christ, sweetheart, i’m so sorry. i’ll drive you home, okay? or—i’ll call a cab, if you’d rather that—”

“simon.” the word was firm enough to catch his attention, quieting him if only for a moment. your mind swam—a mess of confusion, lust, excitement, and need. when it proved too difficult to sift through, too impossible to cohere, you voiced the one word you could manage:

“please.”

despite the long-forgotten movie being your only source of light, the reaction simon had was the clearest you’d ever seen. his breath hitched, chest rising and falling rapidly. his gaze, so dilated it was almost entirely black, narrowed on your face. it darted between your features, like he was searching for some sort of hidden meaning in your words, like he didn’t quite believe you.

in retaliation, your hand, trembling only slightly, came up and grazed the too-large tent in his trousers. immediately simon’s hand gripped your wrist, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling sharply.

“kid—” he said then, and the word was wrapped in molten heat. it was gravelly in a way you’d never heard before, a rumble in his chest. goosebumps broke out along your skin. “don’t start something you’ll regret.”

“i’m not,” you stated bravely, daringly. you adjusted your position, only to face him better, and he did not let go of your wrist. you hoped he couldn’t feel the rapid thrum of your pulse beneath his thumb. “please, simon. i want this. i’ve wanted this.”

that snagged on something in his brain; caught his attention and held it. he stared at you, intense as ever. behind his gaze was a dilemma; a war you could only see traces of. after a few suffocatingly long moments spent beneath heavy tension, something won out, and the grip on your wrist loosened.

immediately, with years of want behind your touch, you grazed your hand over his clothed length once more. the breath in your chest stuttered when you grasped it, feeling just how big he was beneath your fingers.

a sound rumbled in simon’s chest; a groan of sorts. exploratorily, you tilted your head down, holding his burning gaze as you brushed your lips over his trousers.

“fuck,” simon cursed, hand grasping the back of your skull. he didn’t push or move you at all; he simply held it there, like he couldn’t bare to not be touching you himself.

the button of his trousers was difficult to undo with shaking hands, but you managed, pulling down his fly barely seconds after. with uneven breaths, you delved beneath the band of his briefs, pulling him up and out of the fabric.

the sight of simon’s cock was enough to get you off on it’s own; too thick for one of your hands to wrap around it, long enough that it bobbed against his shirt as you stared, too entranced for embarrassment. he was uncut, and there was a mound of curly, dirty-blond hair at the base, trimmed just enough to stay out of the way. you exhaled, breath ghosting along his length. the grip simon had on you tightened

again, you looked up at him. simon’s gaze was unwavering, as if looking away was some sin he was too pious to commit. it was then, as he gazed down at you with a burning gaze, that he seemed to read something in your expression. a pleading, a search for guidance. whatever it was, it had him speaking. “go ahead, sweet girl. get y’mouth on me.”

like his words triggered some sort of instinctual response in your body, your mouth was immediately moving. you licked a long, languid stripe from base to tip, revelling in the warm, salty taste. then, your lips wrapped around the head, suckling slightly before descending another inch.

“fuck,” he cursed again, hand moving in soothing circles against the back of your skull. “good fuckin’ girl. such a good listener, aren’t you?“

the words pulled a whimper from your throat. you released his dick for the briefest moment, a string of saliva connecting you, before wrapping your lips around him again, hollowed cheeks taking as much as you could manage. the fact that it was only half was disappointing.

“christ, angel. y’mouth is — heaven. fuck.” the choked sound of his voice only emphasized his point. when you made another noise, something between a whimper and a whine, he chuckled, and said, “like me talking to you like that? telling you how good you are? fuck, y’re so sweet. my sweet girl.”

moaning against him, you attempted to take more. betrayed by your gag reflex, you pulled back, choking, eyes glistening with tears.

simon cooed, hands cupping your jaw and thumb brushing over your cheek, wiping away a tear that’d escaped. “oh, angel, y’don’t need to take so much so fast. you’re doing so well. lemme show you. is that okay? can i help you?”

swallowing the excess drool in your mouth, you nodded, and his eyes crinkled with a smile as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“words, love.” though his voice was soft, it was a command. “thought i taught you this already.”

“please,” you whispered. “show me how,” his face was close enough to see the thin wrinkles around his eyes, the soft dusting of a five o’clock shadow over his jaw. “wanna make you feel good.”

simon’s lips curved before they pressed against yours, all gentle and soft like you’d break if he were any rougher. it was inebriating to be treated so reverently, hands holding your jaw like you were something precious. simon made you feel like you were.

his lips moved languidly. he took control of it easily, guiding your lips with his own. he didn’t escalate it, didn’t shove his tongue into your mouth like so many other boys had. he kissed like he found pleasure in this alone.

arms tangling around his neck, you gently ran your nails over the nape of his neck, where fabric met skin. simon groaned, softly nipping at your bottom lip. you giggled.

as much as you adored this — you’d kiss simon for hours if he’d let you — you were getting impatient. you’d gotten a taste for him, and you were quickly becoming addicted.

when you pulled away, he let you, stare darting between your kiss-swollen lips and glazed-over eyes. he watched your gaze trail back down to his crotch, and chuckled quietly.

“eager thing, aren’t you?” he questioned, leaning in to press one last kiss to the corner of your mouth. “go ahead, trouble.”

you didn’t need to be told twice — keeping your head on his lap, you laid out on your belly, across the couch. his hand found your head again, and this time, he gently guided you forward, allowing your lips to find his cock once more.

“that’s it, love,” he murmured. he had you stay like that for a while, suckling contentedly on the head and lapping your tongue over his slit.

“if y’need to come up for air, tap my thigh, alright?” he instructed. you nodded, before correcting yourself, allowing him to slip from your mouth only to voice, “okay.”

simon exhaled, the sound shaking towards the end as your long laved the underside of the head. “good fuckin’ girl.”

though you’d blown guys before, this — simon — was different. something about him, his scent or the sound of his voice or simply his presence, created a haze that had your mind going cloudy. with your lips wrapped tightly around his cock, your world started and ended with simon riley.

little by little, he inched you down his cock. never too quick and never too much. in that moment, he seemed to know your body better than you. always stopping just before your gag reflex was triggered, just before your limit was reached.

“look at you, breathing outta your nose. you’re a natural.”

your breathy moan vibrated against simon’s cock; his thighs tensed, though he didn’t buck his hips or push you down. he continued his languid pace, inching you down only when you could handle it.

“so good,” he muttered. at this point you’d taken more than half of of him. breathing steadily out of your nose, you used a spare hand to grip the remaining length, pumping it in time with your mouth. “fuck. ah, angel, ‘m gonna cum if you keep tha’ up.”

spurred on, you hollowed your cheeks and took another inch, blinking away tears. his pelvis barely a few centimeters from your nose, now, and with one last deep breath, you swallowed back the rest of his cock.

“fucking christ—!” simon swore, pulling you off of him as gently as he could manage. you sputtered, coughing and sniffling as tears ran freely from your eyes.

“oh, none of that now, love,” he cooed, big hands cradling your jaw as he kissed away your tears.

“did i do something wrong?” you asked. your voice was raw.

“no, no. of course not, love. you could never do anything wrong,” he stated, pressing a lingering kiss to your hairline. then, he chuckled, warm breath ghosting along your skin. “‘m not as young as i used to be, pretty girl. ‘n if i’m finishing tonight, i want it to be in this sweet cunt.” to make his point, he cupped you over your panties, which had become embarrassingly wet over the last bit. sensitive, you whimpered, curling further into him and grinding down. “how’s that sound, hm? y’gonna let me fill y’up?”

vehemently, you nod, gripping the wrist that’d snuck up your skirt for support. “please. yeah, yeah. i want that, si.”

with shaking hands, you gripped the bottom of your top in an attempt to yank it off. swiftly, simon stopped you, one hand large enough to catch the both of yours. “mm-mm. if ‘m gonna fuck you, ‘m gonna do it proper. y’deserve better than a shitty couch, dove.”

in the next breath, you were swept up into simon’s arms, legs wrapped tightly around his torso. a high-pitched squeak escaped you and tapered into a laugh as he carried you up the stairs, towards his bedroom.

“such a gentleman,” you joked, toying with the collar of his shirt.

“i try’,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your palm when it cupped his jaw.

after closing the door behind him, simon gently dropped you on the bed. you giggled as you bounced, bracing yourself on your elbows and looking up at him. for a moment, simon stood, gaze locked on your frame, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“fucking hell,” he cursed, finally. “you’re a dream.”

“a dream?” you echoed, grin simpering into a smirk. “y’been dreamin’ about me, riley?”

in a single, fluid motion, simon tugged his shirt off. he was a mass of muscle, age just barely softening his edges. tattoos ran up his arms and across most of his chest, where hair the same shade as his happy trail grew.

“‘course i have,” he answered, like it was obvious. then, he kicked off his slippers and fit himself between your legs, arms bracing himself just inches above you. “making me act like a fucking teenager again, wakin’ up to wet boxers.”

the thought of simon having wet dreams about you made your head spin. dumbly, you blinked up at him, and found yourself unimpressed with the balaclava still covering the upper-half of his face.

“can i?” you asked, voice quiet enough you wondered if he’d even be able to hear it. his small smile, though, gave him away. he nodded.

little by little, you rolled the offending material upward, revealing every mesmerizing inch of his face. tossing it to the side, you took a long moment to admire him: the long blond lashes, the sloping scars, the light spattering of freckles, his crooked nose.

“y’so pretty,” you stated, honestly. rose blossomed across his cheeks and nose, leaving you with a wide grin. simon pressed a kiss behind your ear, though you had a sneaking suspicion it was to hide his face.

“think that’s supposed t’be my line, love,” simon replied, gently nipping your throat. as you giggled, he continued downward, kisses growing sloppier as they reached your collarbones. then, he pulled back, fingers slipping over the hem of your shirt. he met your gaze for a brief second, searching for the permission you’d always give him, and tugged it off.

left in only the lacy scrap the lingerie shop deemed a bra, simon stated openly at you. this time, it was your turn to squirm, hands instinctively reaching to hide your face. easily, he caught your wrists.

“no. no. i wanna see you,” he said, squeezing your arms once. “cover your face and i stop, alright?”

huffing, you kept your hands at your side, and he twitched his lips. afterward, he smoothed large hands across your skin, over your stomach and ribs, cupping your chest. “so gorgeous.” he squeezed. “fuckin’ hate the idea of you going out in somethin’ like this when i’m not with you. no more. if y’wearin’ this, it’s for me, yeah? no one else.”

biting your lip, you nodded, not trusting your voice enough to speak. simon disagreed with your decision, seeing as he pinched your side. “no one else,” you affirmed.

“good girl.” he drew out the words, eyes trained on your chest, before he was reaching behind and unclamping your bra with his fingers. sliding it off, he tossed it haphazardly into the growing pile of clothes on his floor.

simon wasted no time in resuming his assault on your skin, leaving a kiss here and a bite there. he swirled his tongue over your tits, paying special attention to your nipples, playing with one while he had his mouth on the other. little marks littered your saliva-soaked skin when he reached the top of your skirt.

one more glance at you and he was tugging it down, along with the flimsy nylons you’d worn. swiftly, he pressed an open-mouthed kissed to your cloth-covered cunt, easily keeping your hips down when they tried to buck.

the air was cold against your soaked cunt when he peeled back the fabric, pulling it over your ankles and discarding it on the floor. as had become his habit, simon took a moment to admire you. eyes blazing and turning the skin beneath it warm. your hands fisted the blankets as you resisted the urge to cover up.

“so pretty,” he said, moving backward down the bed and climbing off it. then, he tugged you with him, earning a tiny yelp, before kneeling at the end of it. “wanted t’taste you for fucking ever. y’gonna let me, sweetheart? hm? you gonna let me taste your sweet cunt?”

nodding, you squeezed your eyes shut and breathed, “please, simon.”

his fingers, warm and steady, trailed up your thighs, pulling a shiver from you. “spread your legs a little wider for me, baby. there y’go. good.” then, slowly, they inched towards your centre, spreading you open. you didn’t have to look to know he was staring.

all at once, his tongue was on you, licking a long stripe up your folds and over your clit. you moaned embarrassingly loudly, trailing off into a long whine when he didn’t let up. your fingers knitted themselves in his blond waves, tugging as gently as you could manage. he groaned in approval, the sound vibrating through your cunt and sending your back arching.

“fuck! simon,” you yelped. his hands held your legs apart when they attempted to close, overwhelmed by pleasure.

he slipped away from your heat only to say, “keep sayin’ my name.”

whining, you pushed his head back into you, and he chuckled, resuming his ministrations on your cunt. simon was talented with his tongue — something jealous burned you at the thought of how he got so good. the thought was quickly scrubbed from your brain, though, when he flicked the tip of his tongue over your clit, circling it once, twice, before descending again.

“please,” you whined, though you didn’t know what you were asking for. his pace had slowed, now, sloppily making out with your cunt like it was something he could worship. “simon . . . ”

the pleasure was inescapable; your body was torn between grinding down on his mouth and trying to wriggle away from it. it didn’t help that he was doing it so leisurely; tongue moving languidly through your folds and over your clit like it was for his pleasure instead of yours. that thought got you off all the more.

your legs trembled, winding around simon’s head and damn near suffocating him — not that he cared. when you glanced down, he was watching you, nose shiny as it brushed against your clit. simon smirked — you could feel the movement against you.

had you been in any other state, the sound you made as you tumbled over the edge might have embarrassed you. as it was, though, you didn’t have the mind for anything other than pleasure as your back bowed off the bed and your legs tightened around simon’s skull.

he was saying something — you only understood bits of it, but it sounded like a mindless litany of praise. “there you are, there we go. so good, so fucking good.”

he paired each praise with a kiss to your cunt until you were trembling from overstimulation, just pushing past the edge of too much. simon climbed up the bed and pressed wet kisses across your face; when he licked into your mouth and you tasted yourself, you moaned.

“you’re a fuckin’ vision, sweetheart. never knew you’d cum so pretty. y’gonna let me see it again? hm? y’gonna let me fuck you, baby?”

you were nodding before the words were even out of his mouth, snaking your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. without breaking it for longer than a few seconds, simon moved the two of you further up the bed until your head rested against his surprisingly soft pillows.

simon groaned appreciatively when your nails scraped against his skull. you grinned, and breathed, “you like pain just as much as me.”

simon chuckled, biting your chin. “maybe. when it’s you.”

“what was that you said earlier? something ‘bout feeding my ego?”

another laugh, and he joked, “i’m too far gone, now, i think. i’m just here to serve.”

“prove it.” your lips curved into a lust-drunk smile. “fuck me.”

with one last peck against your lips, simon smirked, and said, “yes ma’am.”

he leaned over you, then, tugging open the creaky drawer to his bedside table and fishing around. “shit.”

“hm?” you hummed, following his gaze to the foil packet between his fingers.

“‘s fuckin’ expired.” simon’s brow furrowed, and he brought the packet closer, squinting. you grabbed it from him, tossing it on the floor.

“i don’t care,” you said, probably stupidly, but the thought of not fucking simon right now had something foul twisting in your belly. “want you.”

running broad hands over your legs, simon gazed down at you, like your expression would say otherwise. you rolled your eyes. “i’m clean. i’m assuming you’re clean, if your condoms are expired.” simon pinched your side, and you giggled. ”please? want you to fuck me, simon.”

simon exhaled, and shook his head, smirking. “yeah?” he asked, fingers trailing over your belly. “y’want me to fuck you? cum in this little cunt?”

“yeah, yeah. please. want that.”

his lips press against yours again, hands continuing their journey downward until he was exploring your sensitive folds. you whimpered, quietly, but simon caught the sound and tutted. “i know, sweets. but i’ve gotta stretch you. don’t wanna hurt you, right? not tonight.”

lubing his fingers up with your slick, he started with his middle, circling your hole before slowly pushing inward. your earlier orgasm had relaxed you already, and he was able to add a second in no time. he explored for a moment, pumping his fingers in and out, curling them upward until he found that spongy spot that had your head rolling back in pleasure.

“there it is,” he said, and though your eyes were squeezed shut, you felt his smirk against your skin; heard it in his voice. “that feel good, pretty?”

the answering nod you gave was shaky and sudden, hands gripping onto his forearm for dear life. “fuck me, si. please—want your cock.”

“i know, i know. one more finger, how about that? then we can give you what you need.”

with a groan, you nodded, and sent him a short glare. he snorted, and muttered, “so impatient.”

“been waiting for fucking years,” you argued, though your point might’ve been lost in the quiver of your voice. “‘m allowed to be a little impatient.”

“years, hm?” his third finger prodded at your entrance. “guess i should hurry, then. poor thing.”

the way you dug your nails into his skin was both in pleasure and retaliation. three thick fingers pumped slowly in and out of you, curling in a way that had your thighs shaking.

finally, he slipped the fingers from you, the whine you gave turning into a moan when he plunged them into his mouth instead, savouring every bit of you. “so fuckin’ sweet.”

when simon’s fat tip ran through your folds, you tensed, and questioned if three fingers would really be enough. “simon . . . ”

though his voice was strained, he stopped, glancing up at you. “yeah, sweetheart?”

“i don’t—” his tip ran over your clit ”—fuck, i don’t know if you’ll fit.”

simon tsked, the hand not controlling his cock coming up to brush the hair out of your face. “don’t gimme that, sweets. you can take it, i know you can.” he kissed your jaw. “i’ll make it fit, yeah? how’s that?”

shakily, you exhaled, meeting his gaze. truly, you didn’t know if it’d wavered from your face all night. his eyes were so sure — you could do nothing but believe him. it’d fit. you nodded.

“yeah, yeah. there’s my girl.” again, his lips were on yours, tongue licking into your mouth. minty toothpaste, tea, and cigarettes overwhelmed your senses as his thick tip pushed inside, swallowing every moan you gave.

when he’d made it a few inches, simon pulled back. “how’s that?” he questioned. “y’okay, lovey? want me to keep going?”

you couldn’t nod fast enough. there was a bit of pain, but the pleasure of the stretch won out easily. tangling your hands in his hair, you yanked simon back down for a long, messy kiss. really, it was more so a clash of teeth and tongue and heavy breathing than a kiss, but you digress.

by the time simon was fully sheathed inside you, it felt like he was in your fucking lungs. he gave you as much time as you needed to adjust, though the way his fists clenched and unclenched beside your head proved how greatly he wanted to move. digging one of the legs wrapped around him further into his skin, you urged him to.

“fucking christ,” he groaned. simon dropped his head for a moment, hot breath fanning over your neck as he slowly rocked in and out. “y’so fucking tight.”

“m’not tight, you’re just huge,” you argued, a furrow in your brow. simon bit the juncture between your throat and shoulder—you giggled, the sound delirious.

propping himself up on his forearms once more, simon slowly pulled out, leaving only his tip inside of you, before swiftly thrusting back in, setting a harsh, steady pace.

little high-pitched sounds came from your chest with every thrust, cock abusing that spongy spot inside you that lit fireworks behind your eyelids. with the way you were clawing at his back, you’d be surprised if simon didn’t look like he was mauled by a wildcat tomorrow.

“so good. gripping me like a fuckin’ vice. swear it was like you were made for me,” he breathed, teeth grazing over your ear.

sense had long since left you — you only nodded, murmuring back, “for you, f’you.”

maybe the way his cock kissed your cervix would have you cursing tomorrow, maybe the way your back bowed with pleasured tension would have you hunching over in the morning — you didn’t care. right now, your world consisted of simon’s searing brown eyes and the toe-curling pleasure he supplied.

“feels so good.” your words were breathy, punctuated with a tug to his hair.

“yeah?” he questioned, smiling lopsidedly. “good. gonna fucking ruin you. you’ll never be able to take another cock without thinking of me—thinking of how good i made you feel.”

shaking your head, you whines, “no. no one else. only you.”

simon growled, thrusting especially hard as he licked and sucked at your throat. “yeah. you’re mine, aren’t you? my girl.”

“yours,” you nodded. “‘m yours, f’rever.”

simon groaned out a slew of curses, cock twitching inside of you. one hand reached down toy with your clit, making quick, slippery circles. “want you to cum again, baby. ‘m not gonna last much longer and — fuck — i need t’see it again.”

you’d already been dancing along the edge — his thick fingers and raspy words were a harsh push, leaving you dangling by one hand.

your eyes rolled back into your head, and his other hand was swiftly gripping your chin, gently shaking you. “on me, love, keep y’r eyes on me.”

with great effort, you kept your hazy gaze on his face, which was twisted in the effort to stave off his orgasm. you whimpered, and murmured, “say it again. say i’m yours. please.”

“oh, sweetheart,” he groaned, head dipping into the crook of your neck for a moment before finding your eyes again. “you’re mine, ain’t ya? my sweet girl. yeah. an’ i’m yours — always will be.”

the second the words left his mouth, you tumbled over the edge. your entire body shook, curving inward and wrapping itself around simon like it was trying to burrow inside him. in the haze of it, you heard simon shout, before warmth was spilling inside your cunt, filling you up to the fucking brim. if simon wasn’t simon, you were sure the grip you had on him would’ve broken something by now.

when you came back to, the world was quiet — soft breathing echoed through your ears, his and yours indistinguishable from each other. simon’s head was buried in your neck, the weight of him just bridging the edge of uncomfortable. it was bliss.

eventually, he rolled over, cock pulling out with an equally disgusting and enticing squelch. his spend leaked out of you, dirtying his sheets. neither of you minded, it seemed — he easily pulled you across his chest, pressing his lips to your warm forehead.

“y’with me, lovie?” his voice was barely more than a murmur.

you hummed, hand moving upward to trace over his sweat-soaked chest. “i think so.”

a quiet laugh vibrated in his chest, breath dancing across your face. you smiled in turn, crooking your neck to gaze at him. keeping in theme with the rest of the night, simon was already staring at you — his eyes seemed to shine when they found yours, and his lips curled up in a rare smile. you were met with the embarrassing urge to take a picture.

“you’re a mess,” he stated, chuckling quietly as his eyes darted across your face and body.

narrowing your eyes, you pinched his pec, and his chuckle became a laugh. “a beautiful mess, sweetheart. ‘s the prettiest you’ve ever looked, i promise.”

you rolled your eyes, and argued, “‘s your fault.” then, attempted to sit up — though his strong grip on your shoulder kept you down. simon frowned. “where d’you think you’re going?”

“i need to pee,” you stated, and he let you up with a huff. “then i need to fucking shower, again.”

simon made a sound. “how ‘bout i run you a bath, hm? lemme do the work.”

smiling softly, you glanced back at him. he took your hand that lingered on his chest and brought it to his mouth, pressing kisses over your knuckles. “that’d be lovely.”

simon stood, and when you looked over him, you smiled. hair mussed, lips swollen, skin glazed in sweat — he was just as much of a mess as you. in a single movement, simon swept you into his arms. with a yelp, you clung to him, and he carried you, bridal-style, into the bathroom.

placing you on the lip of the bathtub, simon left for only a moment to dig through his linen closet, and returned with a wash cloth. after running it under warm water in the sink, he helped you up once more and gently ran it between your legs.

afterward, while you used the restroom, simon ran the bath, using that intoxicating body-wash as bubble bath. spotting his back, which was covered in bright-red scratches, you giggled, feeling only a little bad.

“i’d say sorry for y’back, but really i look no better,” you stated. hickies and bite-marks littered your skin, decorating your neck, chest, and thighs.

snorting, simon moved to look in the mirror, eyes tracing the pinkish abrasions trailing from shoulders to spine. “i’ll wear ‘em with pride.”

once the tub had filled, steam dancing around the mound of bubbles, simon, again, helped you up. his skin was warm, and if the bath wasn’t so enticing, you’d be tempted to stay here, pressed against him.

easily, he lifted you up and into the bath, following you not long afterward. it was a shock he could fit all of his limbs in the tub, even moreso when you could fit between his legs. it was a bit squishy, but you couldn’t have traded it for anything — laying against his chest while his hands ran up and down your body. thighs, stomach, chest, arms — he touched you softly, reverently, lips pressing behind your ear.

“did you mean it?” you asked. the quiet hum of your voice seemed loud in the silence of the room.

“mean what, love?”

swallowing, you played with his fingers, and supplied, “that ‘m yours. that you’re mine.”

simon exhaled, and you could feel the small curve of his lips against the back of your neck. “i meant it.”

[prncssie]

Okay, hear me out: reader wearing Hobie's clothes. I think he would personally go bananas, and it literally does not matter how they fit you. His t-shirt clings to your curves? Lovely. Big and flowy like a dress on reader's smaller body? Perfect. It would honestly be adorable. Not only I think he would encourage it, but also wouldn't be able to keep his hands away whenever he sees you. The t-shirt and boxer's combo? He's be so eager to get you somewhere where he can show you properly how pretty you look.

Love from ☄️

comet anon! hi dolly i saw your comment and i forgot to respond bc i got the sillies :p so glad you liked it gorgeous! i was wondering if you’d stay anon after exposing yourself like that 😭 response under theeee cut

hobie is suuuuuch a lover boy you can’t tell me otherwise. he’s just a little cutie and he can’t help but want you all the time. like alllllll the time. like in public he’s all cool or wtv but he’s probably a stage five clinger but in his own way yk yk. not like physically touching you but he likes to crowd your space or be near you or just breathe your air. he would sit in the bathroom while you shower and idk play you his most recent favorite song

so yeah no doubt he’d absolutely love coming home from a long hard day of upsetting the politicians and wondering if he can realistically egg their houses and see you in his clothes. he’s the type to give you his clothes on purpose. “here. i think you’d like this.” and it’s one of his most loved shirts that he’s worn thin and had to patch together bc hobie does not believe in waste!!!

it’s like a little treat to him. he does not gaf what you take from him 😭 you can haaaaave it. take his whole closet so he can get all in your face and admire you, even when you try to push him away bc it’s too hot and his houseboat doesn’t have strong enough ac or you’re making breakfast or literally doing anything that doesn’t involved him. it gets even worse when it’s summer time bc he is soooooo attached to your hip behind the closed doors of your privacy. hands literally everywhere and they’re so bad and bc he got bit by that radioactive spider he’s always constantly freezing or constantly burning up. it all depends on the weather.

i think the only time it really turns sensual is when you complain that he’s too warm and to gtf off and his response is probably to take your his clothes off then. he’s cheeky like that but it’s not smooth at all but he’s probably laughing the entire time. he’s so UGH ilyhsm

[controversial-blorbo-bracket]

Controversial Character Tournament Round 2: Kromer from Limbus Company vs Anders from Dragon Age 2

(remember that these characters are fictional and your fellow tumblr users are real. please be normal in the notes, i will not hesitate to block if you harass people)

Propaganda under the cut:

Kromer:

HATE: - "Nasty, scrungly, murders people for having advanced prosthetics, but yet the fandom still loves her, I will never understand that"

Anders:

LOVE: - "So Anders blew up a chantry as a symbol of mage rights. He's wild. Completely feral. I love him so much. He's canonically Bipolar (like me) but it's written in the worst possible way. He is possessed by a demon, technically. He's so unhinged. So many people hate him. He is technically a terrorist. The later game literally changed it so even if you agreed with him, no you didn't" - "hes SOOOOOO." - "He has a controversy page on wikipedia (It is not about that time he blew up a church). He likes cats. He gives poor people free magic healthcare. There is so much discourse about him all the time. His writer hated him. He escaped a cult. He's canon bipolar AND bisexual. He's possessed by a spirit of Justice (who rocks so hard.) He hates the Catholic Church. He lives in a sewer. He's really mean and petty. He was put in solitary for a solid year. He's one of two openly queer (i.e. mentioning it outside player romance) companions (the other being Isabela Dragonage) in his main game. Anders isn't even his birthname, it's a nickname given because he didn't speak for months when he got taken to the Catholic cult prison at 12. He drank long-lasting poison to fight an evil corrupting force because he wanted to not be murdered or have all his emotions lobotomied from him by the Catholic church prison guards (This is almost completely unrelated to the possession.)" - "Anders! He's a medic for those too poor to afford healthcare! He loves cats! He has a cat named Ser Pounce-a-Lot because he's a perfect man. Anders absolutely says ACAB, except in DA2 it's ATAB: All Templars Are Bastards. He's canonically bi! He runs an underground railroad-type deal for mages to escape from abusive institutions! He blew up the in-universe Catholic church for opressing his people (mages)! Some say this makes him a terrorist. I say this makes him a babe ❤️❤️❤️ He is unreasonably mean to Fenris, but imo that's just Bad Writing we can handwave away ok? ok. cool." - "there is a controversy section on his wiki page bc his bisexual ass made the straight male gamers angry by flirting with their characters. ppl in the fandom have also been arguing nonstop for 12 years abt his actions at the end of da2. do u want to go to anders discourse? too bad we're going to anders discourse."

BOTH: - "I really liked Anders in Dragon Age Awakening, I thought he was fun and funny, but he's insufferable in da2 and his fans and apologists are so annoying. He's a terrible person in that game and they have to make stuff up and ignore all the awful stuff he says and does. He's so awful I always kill him at the end of the game because I hate what he became."

[westbifire]

Just a couple of thoughts but...

(blue is just me rambling)

What if Kuras gave Vere the knowledge and power to become a god and then tried to use Vere to overpower the god he served, aka OG god bc its easier to write. Vere would go with it because he's a greedy power hungry lil man, (his fatal flaw) maybe even at the expense of his own village.

(This got long so more theories abt everyone under the cut)

Then what if OG god guided the Senobium, who they now in the present game serve, on how to control Vere. They succeeded and Vere was abandoned by Kuras who was taken to be punished for his sins.

What if Mhin was a researcher who recorded different myths, including Kuras's and Veres. Their expedition decided to explore the newly developed Shroud. Mhin returned the sole survivor with a curse that would turn them into a monster from the world they tried so hard to escape. When they returned it was to a future world where their home was destroyed and monsters were accepted.

And what if Leander as a young man found Mhins research in the Senobium or his parents library. Which guided him to Kuras. He got close to Kuras to try to learn the information he gave Vere. When he left hightown he took some of the pages with him (why some of Veres information is missing in the lore). Wow guess who he slept with... Mhin the author of those research papers (in this theory at least) WHAT A COINCIDENCE!!! Leander definitely uses emotional connections to use people (including Mc in the beginning at least) so why would he not try Mhin?

From the lore sheets we know know the 'infamous ruler of the Shroud' is coming to or is already in the human realm and its probably Ocudeus. We never know it might not be (soooooo fingers crossed that its not and we get a hot overlord antagonist 👀 RSS do you hear my prayer) but it probably is so here's the theory for that. If Ocudeus comes to the human realm the only big fish for him to fight that we know of is OG god. Which definitely would end in "carnage".

I dont know man... what if?

[forest-hashira]

ok i'm bursting at the seams to talk about this with literally anyone soooooo. here are some little things from the dragon rider au (mostly world building, some are plot points but nothing too big!). putting them under the cut so you don't have to scroll past a long post!

also, for anyone interested, this is the playlist i made for this au! pls ignore my deadname on the account

lot of this is inspired by how to train your dragon, so there are slike. some viking-esque elements included, they're not actually vikings & this is set ambiguously in fantasy-japan

Nanami's family runs a bakery. he also has a sister for no other reason than i wanted to give him one haha

won't go into what happens to bring any of this about, but: Nanami adopts & raises Yuji, Geto adopts & raises Nanako & Mimiko, and Gojo adopts & raises Megumi and Tsumiki. found family my beloved.

in my head most of the dragons look like (or at least similar to) the dragons in httyd. except satosugu's dragons, who look much more like traditional japanese folklore/mythology dragons. reader's is somewhat similar, but theirs has wings

i spent an UNGODLY amount of time researching & deciding on names for some of these dragons but i am so proud of them. i will discuss those more in detail if y'all want but i'm not gonna do it here bc it could technically be considered spoilers for anyone not caught up on the show

i played around with ages in this fic a little, so Nanami/Geto/Gojo are all in their early/mid 20s when they adopt their respective kids

there will be some background/implied ships in here besides the main one (satosugu/reader) but i doubt it'll be very much

ok gonna stop there for now before i just word vomit everything into this post lol. if you guys wanna know more just lmk!!! this has completely taken over my brain and i am so excited about it. please be excited with me i think it's gonna be really good 🥺

@peachdues thought you might be interested in seeing this but if not you can ignore it 🙈

[maroonangels]

hey guys I need to share my unhinged thoughts that yall might hate me for

chook & spider being blood cousins. In the most tragic way

explanation under the cut cause it’s long (promise it’s worth the read)

- so chook is like 2 years older than spider and to me cait has a brother who is chook’s dad and back before cait hated men chook probably got placed to be in charge of spider when they were kids

and they were close but also chook had already started to hang out with the wrong people so that kinda influenced how he interacted with spider

and spider is spider so. he didn’t give a fuck. he was that baby cousin that was soooooo happy to be hanging out with his older cousin and would listen to every word he said and blah blah all the little kid shit (+ spider being an only child so he clings harder)

and for whatever reason cait started to hate her brother, probably starting the men hating train she’s on, and also saw chook was going down the bad path so she went “spencer you’re banned from going over there and speaking to either of them idc if we’re related”

so chook & spider get distant and chook ends up picking cash up shortly afterward, he’s only a year older than spider so like- perfect, stand in cousin if you will- but spider still sneaks over to chook’s occasionally since his dad is never home & cait is lowkey neglectful so she doesn’t notice shit

and cait uses chook as an example for why spiders destined to be a bad person, his blood is chook and chook & his father are- not great. also cait is straight convinced he’s selling drugs like his cousin (maybe he does for a bit who knows)

fast forward to canon (s1) and spider still sneaks over to chooks sometimes bc he knows chook is bad but fuck you that’s his family and spider is nothing if not loyal like a dog - also free drugs

then the shit with harper happens and spider is actually CRUSHED. he cannot. his big cousin (that he still idolizes in a fucked way) is confirmed to be the nightmare scenario that cait has been telling spider he’d turn out like for YEARS now

and that lil comment spider made in ep1 s2 where he says something about harper “at least she didn’t throw dusty in jail” or some shit - he KNOWS harper isn’t lying but fuck is he upset about everything and he’s also a prick that only knows how to cope by lashing out so

- I have a lil fic idea in my head that I can share if anyones interested, idk if I’ll actually write it but it’s there -

[lumiereandcogsworth]

okay you messaged me about Reecy and his wife discovering they have a little one on the way but please,,, please do share more about him as a papa 🤲🏻 and maybe how Adam and Belle feel about being grandparents ?? and Maurice, the man the myth the legend,,, please tell me he lives long enough to be a great grandfather 🙏🏻

EEEEEE this is so great i would LOVE to talk about this yes yes thank you :))

okay yeah so as i’ve mentioned, maurice, naturally, becomes a parent last out of his siblings. i honestly don’t have a concrete timeline about WHEN renée & juliette marry their silly husbands. i even debate who gets married first, though i think they get married not far apart from each other. but maurice, being so much younger, is still a teenager when his sisters are in their Romance Eras™️

i do know that renée has the first grandchild, a son whom she names after her father — adam. which, very much makes adam feel soooooo….. like…. do i even need to explain. the gravity. the WEIGHT. the way that so many years ago when HE had his son, he wanted to name the boy after his grandfather because he was a good man. and then…….. renée does the exact same thing 🤧🤧 Yeah. also it’s kinda funny bc adam’s mother’s name was renée so it’s like. this bit of the family tree is like renée. adam. renée. adam. afjskdj. but that’s how it goes sometimes. i hope little adam the second ends up with a daughter named renée, just to be funny. but i barely know about that kid. he’ll make a great king some day though :)

ANYWAY ! BACK TO MAURICE !!! THE BOY !!!!!!!!!!!

so EVENTUALLY yeah maurice marries eloise, the only girl he’s ever been in love with. gosh their love story is so precious. the thing about maurice is that he’s such a charming, sweet little social butterfly. maidens have alwaaaayys had crushes on him. he’s THE PRINCE! and he’s so handsome and kind! and funny! and weird! the ladies love him! but what’s so sweet to me is that maurice had all the attention that his father once had, but he handles it like, polar opposite. despite how social he is, he Barely dips his toe in the waters of romance. he just doesn’t get crushes very easily! he’s thought girls were cute, sure! but i think deep down he knows that romance should be as deep and ridiculous as his parents’ love is, so he kind of holds back waiting for that. and what’s even funnier is that eloise is soooo not a romantic. she’s so OVER that. she ROLLS her eyes at romance novels and all that crap. but then she meets maurice by chance, and she doesn’t even realize he’s The Prince because she doesn’t keep up to date with anything, but she falls for him so suddenly. and then when she realizes WHO he is, she’s like ooohhh my GOSSSHHHHHH you Cannot be serious😮‍💨😮‍💨

they go through their own little dramatic love story plot, maybe one day i’ll get it all written. in the meantime, let’s cut to the epilogue >:3

so yessss as i was saying to you, when eloise tells her sweet golden retriever husband that they’re going to have their very own baby, he just WEEPS. like really and truly it’s comical. he cried so much. he has always been the most emotional of his siblings, By Far, so it’s not shocking by any means. but it’s so precious. he LOVES his family too like. yes they all love each other but maurice just… ahh. he really loves his family. and so the fact that… he’s going to have His Own???🥺🥺🥺 ough he just loses it. he’s so excited and he wants to tell adam & belle and eloise’s mother RIGHT AWAY !!! but eloise is like heyyyy can we maybe just keep this between us for like. two seconds 🙃 and maurice says it will be SO HARD to keep this from them but also he understands, so they do keep it under wraps for just a little while. (though he definitely accidentally tells his best friend xavier. who accidentally tells his brother sebastian. who cannot help but tell his wife, juliette. WHO CANNOT HELP BUT TELL HER SISTER RENÉE— this family is so bad at keeping secrets. anyway.)

so lol maurice & eloise end up having SIX beautiful children. six!!! and they also always have dogs and cats and horses, eloise looooves animals very much. but their children!! ah!! they both were SURE that they’d have a boy first, but out came this precious baby girl. they were both so surprised (i think when eloise told him it was a girl, maurice’s first words were: “are you sure??” lmao) but OUGHHH they both fell in love with her so quickly, of course. maurice wanted to name her eloise, after her mother, but eloise didn’t quite want to do that, so they settled on a name adjacent: eliana. eliana rachel, after eloise’s mother. the following five are: adrien maurice, théodore adam, hugo vincent, isabelle claire, and odette maria. and yes, reecy is the best papa ever to his six little ones.

he’s so immediately proud of them, always. he’s so loud about how he loves. he always has been, but it’s just amplified with his own little gremlins. he loves carrying them around on his shoulders (and they all love it too) and he’s very silly and he’s incredible at making them laugh, even when they’re crying or hurt or sick. they just can’t help but smile when papa comes to tell dumb jokes or silly stories. he’s very sweet and empathetic with them too, and he always tries to listen to them as well as his parents have always listened to him. and he ALWAYS makes sure his kiddos know how much he loves their mama, because that’s what his childhood was like, and it made him feel so safe 🥹🤧

eloise is an incredible mama too, of course. she’s the quieter, more reasonable parent, if that wasn’t obvious lmao, but she adores her babies. she loves to be with them outside and teach them about animals and nature. she loves to hear their wild stories. some of them are so much like their father, she can’t help but laugh. and they often seek her advice, because of how even-keeled she is. and she, too, always makes sure that they know how much she loves their papa. she loves being reece’s wife, she loves sharing life with him, even as INSANE as that man will always be. life’s an adventure with him, and she’d follow him anywhere.

as for adam & belle being grandparents, aaaahhhhh they love it so much honestly. of course adam had some existential qualms about Aging and all that. but the moment he held little newborn adam ii in his arms,,, yeah it was over. he’s WEAK for his grandbabies, he’s PATHETIC. they walk all over him, truly. belle obviously loves being a grandma. she’s a very fun active grandma, always making up games and projects for them to do. alwayyys telling fun stories that get more fabricated every time she tells them. adam is like a quiet old bear as a grandfather. of course, adam and belle aren’t particularly OLD when they first become grandparents, but, adam’s always been an old soul. and his baby HAVING a baby is enough to make him feel decrepit. and they certainly take the energy right out of them. did i mention when all’s said and done, adam and belle end up with sixteen grandchildren? oh yeah. this castle will get SO much more chaotic than it already is >:3

but yeaaaah they love their grandbabies! very very much!! i think belle was with renée & juliette when they delivered each of their babies, which was very special (and also sort of healing for belle, who of course did not get to have that experience with her own mother.) — and she offered to be with eloise too, of course!! but eloise is a bit more private and she had her own mother to be with her, which belle totally understands💙💙 she adores her daughter-in-law. belle’s actually the one who met her first!! but now i’m rambling, let’s answer the final question lol

okay, dear beloved maurice senior. so the short answer is YES he does get to become a great-grandfather. but like i said earlier, since i’m not tooooo clear on the actual timeline, and how old everyone is when they get married/become parents, AND because i’m not even sure how old maurice sr. is when he dies, it’s hard to gauge exactly how many of his great-grandchildren he meets. he definitely meets renée’s first son adam. and most likely juliette’s first daughters, twins mary & delilah. (this is exciting because she got the twin gene from maurice! he had twin younger brothers, felix & nicholas. so it’s like !!!!!!!!!!!! very cool.) but after that,,, aaahhh i’m not certain! i can’t say for sure if he gets to meet reecy’s kiddos. he definitely gets to MEET eloise, i THINK. but yeah the adult-kiddos timeline is definitely more hazy to me than when they’re younger. but yes, maurice does get to become a great-grandfather, and he loves his family SOOOOO much 🥹🥹🥹 imagine! all this beauty and chaos, just because he got lost in the woods one stormy night🤧

[downforthegas]

Going into my Wa//lly Dar//ling skunk au I just came up with a while ago 🍎

Someone joked(?) about me making a skunk!Wally au and uh... I think that would be really cute (and hot), so... (headcannons plus art under cut)

Skunk!Wally is pretty much the same as the original but extra gassy

He's got a big floofy tail that swifts side to side when he farts. He also has little skunk ears hehe

He's got a very sensitive tummy. He has a hard time with dairy, eggs, onions, APPLES, leafy green veggies, but it doesn't stop him from enjoying those

Wa//lly's farts range from loud short bassy toots to long, hot silent farts that often last minutes on end

Wa//lly's very polite and tries not to gas out his neighbors when he's gassy, which leads to some pretty bad bloating (his tummy gets soooooo big). His neighbors say he should let it out if he's uncomfortable, so he quickly steps outside to blow off steam. If not, Barn//aby has to rub his poor bloated belly (not that he minds) and maybe Ho//me squeezes him between the door and door frame.

Speaking of Ba//rn and Ho//me, they're mainly comfy with Wa//lly's stink due to being around him a lot. But sometimes the stink is too much for Ba//rn and his dog nose, but he still tolerates it bc his friendship with Wa//lly is that strong

Wa//lly's fart stink depends on his mood. If he's feeling anything positive (happy, calm, in love), his farts emit a lovely apple smell, which they also do if he eats too many apples. If he's feeling negative (sad, angry, stressed), they stink of rotten eggs and milk. Nerves and just feeling neutral also give him gross farts.

He can spray! He won't use it on anyone, it's just that sometimes, not often, he feels the strong need to spray and has to do it in private. If not, a quick scare can lead to an accident. He has to step outside in private, pull his pants down, and let the spray out, which can sometimes force a fart out

If he's really, really urgent, sometimes he'll fumble trying to pull his pants down and accidentally sprays in his pants, leaving them stained and stinky, and leaving him embarrassed

The neighbors all make sure to accommodate for Wa//lly. They make sure to give him safe foods and if he's feeling gassy, they remind him to step outside (cause he forgets). They pretty much do anything they can to make him feel comfortable.

Y/N can make Wa//lly super nervous and tooty. He'll try to talk to you but his nerves get the best of him and his cute monotone voice gets drowned out by a long burbling fart

If he knows you're into his gas, he'll be more comfy farting around you, even loading up on trigger foods so he can make loud, smelly impressive farts just for you. Whether it farting on your lap to dutch ovening you to sitting his stinky butt on your face, he'll make sure he makes you happy

Whenever he's in his big comfy chair, he lies his tail over his lap and rips a hot silent fart to warm himself up. Works great in the winter too

And now, a Skunk!Wa//lly drawing~

[seeingivy]

method acting asks!

taking a break from my finals studying to answer these!

@citricblitz haha....haha....

no i'm just kidding. that's really only the start of the angst but there are bits and parts of happy sprinkled in here and there. giving slow burn a real meaning I fear

OUCH THIS HURTS MY HEART SO BAD thank you so much. this is so so sweet this makes me so so happy that there are other people who enjoy it so much EEK.

like I desperately need to lock in for finals but the second that i'm done with them next week im planning on posting the two last chapters back to back with tweets on tweets

correct. jean was ken. sasha was the little girl sasha. reiner was alan.

THESE TWO ASKS GO TOGETHER! oh @elliesbabygirl how I love you. thak you sOOOOOO MUCHEEEEKKKK this makes me so so happy. I somehow happened to stumble across turning page after forgetting about it for a while anD THEN I HAD to include it for the jeankasa wedding

we'll see.

wait this is so funny

levi is kris jenner. simply the mastermind behind the entire show and matchmaking all these children together. the devil works hard but method acting levi ackerman works harder I fear.

mikasa is kim. solely for oh my god I lost my diamond earrings in the ocean

sasha is kendall jenner. only for how she cut that cucumber.

historia is kourtney. a hater down to her core.

eren is scott disick during his dating hyla era. he's just kind of there but has the ride idea sometimes idk

thank you so much!

this is so silly I love it

colt and y/n used to share a room when they were little and talk all night but then falco would join because he would get fomo

colt and y/n do legos together and falco is the one that teachers her how to play video games and stuff

they all used to play club penguin together and to that little sled race game that can be multiple players

colt was randomly really popular in school and had lots of friends so he would pretend to not know y/n and falco whenever they waved at him

falco used to do choir yup

they all have the little markings with their heihgt from when they were kids and in y/n hiding in her house era they made her add one even though she's WAYYY taller now just to give her a lil giggle

not sure if I mentioned yet but here are the next method acting songs + spoilers:

long live, did you know that there's a tunnel under ocean blvd, and this love

cabin eren haircut

the opposite of forced proximity....forced SEPARATION!

these hands LITERALLY had to let it go free but its ok bc this love came back to me yk

[thejessis]

Cameron’s death sounded rough OOF 💀

IT WAS BRUTAL AND I WAS ACTUALLY FOR REAL SCARED FOR NICK'S LIFE BUT THE WAY IT PLAYED OUT WAS SOOOOOO GOOD!!! perfectly-timed dice rolls (some good, some extremely bad) plus an absolutely stellar performance by our storyteller who absolutely killed it, the dialogue from every session of that situation STILL gives me goosebumps

(I tried to write a short tl;dr but this was not a tl;dr scenario so I PUT MORE DETAILS UNDER A CUT)

so some events had recently escalated, cameron was spiraling, and he & his sabbat bff claude had kidnapped two of nick's sisters who happened to be in town (the twins!) as a result. the coterie "rescued" them - except one of them turned out to be a shovelhead disguised with chimerstry, so it turned out they had only rescued ONE (gianna!) of the girls and the other (arianna!) was still being held captive

nick called claude and offered up himself leaving the country with cameron in exchange for the safe return of his sister, so while the rest of the coterie was rescuing ari (for real this time) and dealing with claude, nick was driving alone to meet cameron so they could leave las vegas together. except the plan all along was to make sure his sister was safe first and then 1v1 cameron when they were alone in the middle of nowhere

except nick! failed! EVERY ATTACK ROLL!! this man couldn't STAB, he couldn't SHOOT, I WAS NOT MAKING A DENT, meanwhile cameron is actually genuinely very deadly and got close enough to RIP NICK'S CHEST OPEN and only didn't immediately finish him off bc he was teaching nick a lesson

and then nick, who had been dealing with Other Stuff immediately prior to this and hadn't drank in a Long Ass Time as a result, had to make a self-control roll to prevent frenzying on an empty tank + within an inch of his life, and i rolled FOUR ONES!!!!!

so nick, who spent the first 1-2 months of his embrace having beast-induced nightmares about killing cameron with his bare teeth, in an accidentally perfect and gruesome moment of narrative bow-tying, had the most catastrophic frenzy of his life and ripped cameron's throat out with his teeth! (the circumstances were severe enough that the only thing keeping nicky from diablerizing his sire to quench his thirst was that I made ANOTHER self-control roll to prevent it and by sheer luck succeeded) and then immediately slumped over, covered in blood, chest open, with like 1 hp left, and had a complete mental breakdown over it

(also he took cameron's necklace off his bones! and still has it! no one knows!!)

anyway yeah it was VICIOUS and while yes killing off my favorite npc was very sad honestly it was just SUCH a phenomenal and raw and intense series of events, I'm gonna be thinking about it forever

[nugulover69]

6 and 18!

Incredible, the answer is Jetman for both. shocking development from me, The Jet Man

6. But fr Jetman's mechs are absolutely peak to me. I like sentai mechs fine but I wouldn't call myself a big mech mark EXCEPT for these handsome boys. perfectly on theme, great color schemes and I love how spaced out their introductions are, makes them feel more earned in a way

TETRA BOY ESPECIALLY. sure he's not avian themed but basing the remote controlled mech on a rockem sockem robot is genius. I love his movements generally, how bouncy and quickly he runs but his punches still feel like they have weight to them. AND HE'S A GIANT GUN TOO. MY SON IS PERFECT CHEER AND CLAP FOR HIM NOW

Spoilers under the cut for 18. blease watch Jetman

18. its Maria/Rie, who else would it be. Ryu spent soooooo long trying to find a way to bring his beloved Rie and got SO close SO MANY TIMES but ultimately couldn't. and poor fucking Rie, when she finally breaks free of the Vyram's control, she's too horrified by all the evil she's committed to even consider returning to how she was with Ryu. and what's worse is that she's not unfounded thinking like that, bc yeah its simply not possible anymore, they've changed too much. and I like how she gets one last stab (heh) at Radiguet

Honorable mention to Tranza who got a WORSE fate than death. like yeah the guy sucked but why did they do that him like jesus christ

[lucassinclaer-archive]

i only need super minimal encouragement to talk about this soooooo ty @freetobeeyouandme lmao. been thinking about stranger things heist au again. and it got long into brainstorming territory so just... (waves hand vaguely) thoughts continue under the cut.

legacy families like the byers who never pulled high-end jobs, content in their little pond being small-time crooks incapable of understanding why jonathan, with all his flawless lifts and situational awareness, would try to reach above and start in on the big jobs.

joyce who met lonnie on a job and joyce and jonathan who protect will from lonnie's frustration when will turns out to be an awful thief who doesn't enjoy crime the littlest bit. (he does turn out to be quite the forger when the time comes, though.)

contrast with that the wheelers who are an all-american halfway happy law-abiding family whose eldest, nancy, walks eyes front into a life of crime to protect her friend and finds that it becomes inevitable, a sort of ceaseless need to keep going. who never wanted her little brother involved.

but apparently the wheeler siblings have some sort of crime beacon on them because of course nancy quite literally crashes into her brother trying to take down the same scumbag two towns over she is, although he looks at her like she's crazy when she lays out her plan and man, what her little brother has planned is actually pretty clever and much more subtle than the approach she was gonna take. they have ground rules, but she doesn't try to keep him from pulling jobs. she knows it'd be useless.

dustin is an incredibly bright kid with what may be a slight tendency to go overboard in the name of Science. he loves blowing stuff up every now and again, okay?! and also it's just criminal (heh) what some pharma companies do so he might be breaking into their headquarters and screwing with their formulas and contaminating their experiments until he figures out how to take them down permanently. sue him! (but please don't actually sue him, he hasn't found a great lawyer yet.)

lucas on the other hand was dragged into crime kicking and screaming. not something he ever wanted to do. (will will understand but then lucas kind of loses him when he did it anyway.) mike and dustin sort of kidnapped him into it, basically, when they were all still strangers, dustin and mike barely partners on this one con, and they'd needed a patsy who worked for the corporation they're stealing from. unfortunately they were still young and dumb enough to pick someone actually smart who trapped them in an office until they copped to their scheme at which point lucas demanded proof of their accusations which coincidentally was exactly what mike anf dustin were after. after that they can’t really seem to separate. he's turned into a jack of all trades, lucas sinclair - grifter, thief, hitter... even the occasional hacker. not the greatest at any, but good at all.

(we don't talk about erica who will one day give him a heart attack blowing up his whole carefully crafted alibi.)

steve, the getaway driver who hates his fucking job and is in it only bc there was p much nothing else to do until he finds people who show him there's a way to do it that brings him joy, when he knows what he's fighting for.

robin's a strange sort of grifter, not someone who immediately charms everyone in a room, but who knows how to make herself either invaluable or severely underestimated. she speaks like every language under the sun. like steve she has a certain aimlessness at first but unlike steve it's not due to having no ideas but more of a thing of having no options. until they're offered to her. then she's unstoppable.

max is out there somewhere being a thief different from jonathan, self-made and scared and on the west coast. but if they were to meet jonathan would recognize those gritted teeth and the hard work. it's not natural talent that made her so good at what she does but pure stubbornness.

el, on the other hand, is all raw talent and exploited for it for a long time when she's a kid. it's will who meets her first, who gives her an out, but when it lands him in trouble it's the other criminals who help her get him out. joyce, mike and jonathan develop an instantaneous protective streak for her. lucas isn't sold and dustin is mostly in love with her demolitions capabilities and nancy is hungry for the dirt she has on various government agencies.

[mattstrahm]

⭐️ for 52 weeks :heh:

you're evil for this one, bc you know how much i have to say about this fic and how much this universe lives in my head, but okay. all of this will have to live under a read more bc i'm kicking off with a long ass excerpt i want to talk about.

Week -2 Bryson doesn’t know what to do when he’s back. It’s February for crying out loud. It’s been three months and he’s been through the whole rollercoaster. And he thought he was done. But he’s back. Trea’s right there, standing in line, and Bryson does not know what to do. Trea orders some nonsense sandwich like he always did, and nothing about him seems like anything happened. Nothing about him seems like he disappeared into thin air for months. Nothing seems like he realizes the months Bryson has been living through. So sue him if he’s a little tense. If he doesn’t crack a joke like he used to every time. If he doesn’t yell “have a good day” after him. If his half of this doesn’t follow the old pattern like Trea’s does. So when he leaves and Alec gives Bryson a look, Bryson doesn’t know how to react to that either. Because it’s not like he wasn’t hit in the chest with how good Trea looks or how nice it was to see his face, but with that, hit all the nights he’d spent moping about him disappearing over the past months. Is he back? Or is he dipping his toes back in to see if Bryson will slip up again, or whatever. Bryson still doesn’t understand it. That night he lays in bed staring at the ceiling. The next two times go about the same. Bryson’s more tense than he’d like to be and Trea goes through the motions like nothing is out of the ordinary. Until Alec bets Bryson 40 bucks he won’t write his number on the wrapper next time Trea comes in. And forty dollars is forty dollars. Week 0 What he couldn’t have seen coming is Trea walking through the door bright and early on Valentine’s Day morning. He doesn’t love the implications but he doesn’t really have an option. So before wrapping the hoagie, he scribbles down his number and name on the wrapper with a marker. He shoves the roll into a small bag faster than he can think and hands it to Trea. Winces internally when Trea’s leaving and he knows what he has to say. “Thanks for choosing Primo to be your Valentine today,” he says and Trea blinks at him, before the slightest smile cracks on his face. “You’re welcome,” he says and leaves, and Bryson wonders if the earth could actually open up and swallow him.

so until this point, Bryson's been fucking Going Through It and he's been having the absolute worst fucking time in the world with his, reasonably, completely unreasonable reaction to a regular customer stopping coming. but the guy is soooooo cute and as an employee in a place where a regular usually has The Regular they would order, and Trea has never ordered the same thing twice, he's fascinated by this man.

and then he fucking comes on valentines day. because of course he does. Bryson's luck would have exactly that when there's a goddamn gimmick and the first time he remember seeing Trea was on a different gimmick day and Trea fucking argued him about it. and he so doesn't want to be doing this, especially since he's been bet 40 fucking dollars to give the guy his number. in his mind this is a disaster waiting to happen. and when it doesn't happen he doesn't know what to do.

but then here's the part you actually wanna hear isn't it. the part where i tell you the doc tis the seasonverse episode 2 is a potential sequel which doesn't even go forward in time, well it does but it also just features a bunch of scenes throughout 52 weeks, (ones featured, ones cut, new ones..) but from Trea's pov. it's unrefined as i'm actively working on other things and not this, but like i fuckin said, i think about this universe all. the fucking. time. so obviously i have what i've just talked about from the other pov to offer.

He says he has team things to take care of. So he has to fly back to DC. And it’s not a full lie, he does have team things to take care of. They don’t need him to fly back but he might as well. And get the house ready. And go get a sandwich. Which totally isn’t the reason he’s doing it. Who would fly back to DC for a sandwich? That’s foolish. But then Trea never claimed to be smart. Maybe he just really wants a sandwich. He definitely hasn’t spent multiple nights jerking off to the idea of getting head from a guy with a tongue piercing and a mullet. Definitely not. Definitely not. And it’s not like he would do anything about it. He would never do that to someone just trying to do their job. He can have his fantasies in private.  So he goes. Multiple times. Gets his sandwich. And the guy is acting weird. Trea thinks he’s acting weird anyway. Unless it was like this and he just forgot, but that can’t be it, right? Maybe something happened. He doesn’t know the guy, something might’ve happened. He doesn’t say anything. And he’s not going to admit it when it’s Valentine’s day morning that he fully planned on coming back later if he wasn’t at work in the morning… To try his luck. But he’s there. And Trea’s not that religious but he considers praying they have a gimmick. Surely they do. He doesn’t think they usually write on the wrapping paper but he could be wrong. Before he really thinks about it the sandwich is in a bag and being handed to him. And then the guy says what makes it all worth it. “Thanks for choosing Primo to be your Valentine today.” And maybe it’s out of character for Trea, but he smiles. Says “you’re welcome.” And leaves. And so what if he can’t actually have it, he doesn’t even know if this guy is gay, but it’s nice anyway.  He learns fairly fast, though. Getting home and opening the wrapping he finds on the wrapper with a rushed handwriting. A phone number and a name. Bryson. A part of the ink has stuck onto the bread but he doesn’t really care. Bryson. Wow. So he has a chance. He doesn’t know if the guy– no. If Bryson wrote his number on a lot of orders that day, but a chance is a chance. He puts a lot of effort into not texting the number immediately. 

thank u for asking about it i love u mwah !!

[myloveforhergoeson]

ash's may 2024 reading round up

find all the books and fics i read this (more like last...) month under the cut with a link to the synopsis and my reviews/ratings attached :)

this is just for fun! i'm not a professional, i just like to read <3

booklist!

Wotakoi: Love is Hard for Otaku by Fujita

(no link to an official author website bc i couldn't find one, but i bought all six books at barnes and noble!)

• review: full disclosure, this is not my first time reading this six book manga series, nor will it be the last. it's one of my favorite stories of all time and i pick it up whenever i need some comfort or reassurance :) wotakoi is three interwoven stories about adults navigating the grown up world while still harboring a love for their favorite manga/anime/videogames and whatnot from their childhood; some are unashamed of this fact like the mmc hirotaka who is unabashedly consumed by his love of videogames, while others have had bad experiences with others after being "outed" for lack of a better term like his childhood best friend and eventual girlfriend fmc narumi who does everything to hide the fact she is a fujoshi mangaka and anime obsessed girlie! the two reconnect after many years of being apart by learning they were offered the same corporate job and rekindle their friendship --> relationship :) literally has me in tears i love childhood best friends soooooooo much. there, the two make friends with the other main couple, mmc kabakura (moderate otaku, loves anime) and fmc koyanagi (crossplayer otaku). later on in the series we also get to know hirotaka's little brother noya (non-otaku!!) strike up a friendship and eventual relationship with ko (a socially anxious videogame otaku). i think it's just such well written about adulthood and learning to be who you are without fear of judgement from others. hirotaka helps narumi work through her past fears and anxieties, discovering together they they are able to surround themselves with people who love them for who they are and share the same interests. i also really love that all three relationships are distinct from other other, one being a rekindling of an old friendship --> lovers, one being long established, and one being so fresh and brand new the two don't even realize they have feelings for each other!! i could go on and on about this series, but i always feel so warm and loved after reading it <3 literally could not recommend enough. and if you're not a big fan of manga, the story has a one season anime out too!

• rating: 5/5 times i was reminded i love my friends <3 one of my favorite manga series ever!!!

2. Unfortunately Yours by Tessa Bailey (18+!)

• review: ughghsuiohaiofaobfa tessa girl i love you soooooo much so much so much so much. but idk this one was just kind of mid. run of the mill story, not characters i was super interested it, but i enjoyed it nonetheless. if you read my april review, i read the first book in this duology, secretly yours, and i really loved it! this book was about julien's sister, natalie, and her somewhat enemies to lovers relationship with navy seal turned winemaker august. due to a series of unfortunate circumstances, natialie and august find themselves in need of lots of money very, very fast. the only issue is natalie's father is old school misogynist and won't release her trust fund until after she's married, and august can't receive a business loan until he's a well established member of the napa valley community and has at least one employee besides himself at his winery. the solution? a marriage of convenience, of course, until these two get exactly what they need from each other. the issue? they have a less than stellar past with each other and a whole boatload of assumptions about their partner they slowly learn to unravel and relearn throughout the story. now normally im a suckerrr for marriage of convenience but idk i just don't think i cared for the characters enough to super be into this one. probably my least favorite tessa bailey book honestly, out of six or seven i've read? not because the story was bad, i just don't really think enemies to lovers really works in modern settings. there were lots of good parts though! bailey is a master of 'he fell first' and it is very clear that even after their rocky start, august really cares for natalie. despite the relationship starting as a sham, he's a wonderful husband and looks out for her among the community members, and most importantly, her own family. they were pretty electric together but i think that's their only redeeming quality for me lol. so yeah, not my favorite from tessa bailey, but i had a good time reading it. worth the flip through to have read both books in the series <3

• review: 3/5 times i thought "really? all this for some wine?"

fic list!

fake fanfiction reader i didn't complete any of the stories i'm reading in may... but i have been really enjoying reading the assorted btr works of partiallypearl and ceruleanmusings :)) i've read far more this month than the last, so june's list will be far more coherent i promise!!

[luckyqueenreign]

LITG: Double Trouble EP 12 Recap

last one for this week...

*spoilers under the cut*

Ryan announcing he's leaving.....

"now this is a bombshell" Roberto PLEASE!! NOT RYAN SAYING MAYBE HE PICKED THE WRONG TWIN. SIR PLS LEAVE!

Ryan *diamond scene* honestly if youre on Ozzy's route dont do it. Ryan basically tells u what we already know that Ozzy regrets being picked by her day one and that he wouldve rather have been picked by MC. and that he wouldve def have stepped forward for MC. KEEP THAT SAME ENERGY AT A BOYS RECOUPLING OZZY!! Ryan does tell you that Ozzy is planning on breaking things off with Grace at some point which is I guess "new information" but also not really. "theres a certain look in his eyes when he talks about you...It's a similar look to when he talks about his dancing. I'd call it passion" 🥹🥹🥹🥹 ohhhhh we do get an option to tell Ryan we kissed Ozzy 😬 I did it bc he's leaving anyway anddd he tells us he caught some islanders in a private moment..🙄

SCREAMING!!! NOT FB GIVING US A DIAMOND CHOICE TO TELL GRACE NOT TO COUPLE UP WITH HIM!!!!

"DONT COUPLE UP WITH HIM THEN...IF U'VE GOT DOUBTS THEN STEP ON"....MC. IS. A. MENACE. this option is V tense. it's clear theres animosity here and MC def fueled the flames.

recoupling time obvi Grace is going first 🙄🙄 "im not the type of girl to give up easily" and looks directly at MC. SCREAMING!!! im so sad Grace isnt gonna wanna be friends anymore after this 😭😭 OZZY SHOOTING MC A LONGING GLANCE FOR HER TO WINK BACK AT HIM.

I picked Lewie 😐 think I might just stick with him until we can choose Ozzy. LOLs Roberto and Amelia kissed last night??? Amelia is soooooo wrong for not telling MC that. Likeeeee this boy has been up our asses all day. first she was clearly going to kiss Lewie back and now we find out she had already kissed a guy last night AND dint tell us when we've been trying to decide which one to choose. BOO!!

I think im gonna move into my PG phase with Lewie 😬 which sucks bc total waste of the hideaway lol...in my mind MC is now super conflicted about her feelings for Ozzy so she's gonna pause on getting any closer to Lewie.

OOP TWO NEW ISLANDERS COMING NEXT WEEK!! Also thank you for a chill cliffhanger fb! im thinking its Elliot and Flo since they were in the casa postcards? or actually maybe Chloe since the postcard could also be Flo's debut. I guess we will see next week!