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[cod-bin]

i might change my theme when I get back

[cod-bin]

don’t look at me like that (unless you’re gonna stay)

wc: 1.9k

series masterlist (part 4)

a/n: yall can eat this up while im away 💋

cw: slight mentions of sex, heavy swearing by simon, angst (only a little), angry!simon (not at reader), jealousy

He doesn’t say anything else that night.

Not after the kiss. Not after the way he climbed into bed with you like it was second nature, like you were his and he was tired of pretending otherwise. Just laid there — rigid at first — like his body didn’t know how to relax. But you felt it. The way he slowly gave in.

The way his fingers found yours in the dark and curled tight.

Now it’s later. Still dark. Still quiet. You don’t know how long it’s been, only that Simon hasn’t moved. Not really. He’s still behind you, chest warm against your back, arm slung low around your waist.

His breath ghosts the shell of your ear, steady and deep, and for a second you think he’s asleep.

But then he shifts. Just slightly. Like he’s trying not to wake you.

You keep your eyes closed.

It’s stupid, maybe — the way you lie there, pretending. But something about the stillness is too fragile to break. Like if you speak too loud, he’ll remember who he is. Who you are. And it’ll all fall apart.

His fingers twitch against your stomach.

You wonder if he’s thinking about the kiss. You are. You haven’t stopped. It’s branded into you now — the way he kissed you like he was angry at himself for wanting it so badly. Like he’d been holding back for so long, he didn’t know how to be soft.

Maybe he doesn’t.

Maybe he’ll regret it in the morning.

That thought burrows under your skin like a splinter, sharp and sour. You swallow hard.

Because he’s Simon. And Simon kisses girls he doesn’t call back. Simon stumbles in at 3 a.m. with perfume on his collar and scrapes on his throat and never, ever stays the night.

Except… he’s here.

Still.

Wrapped around you like he needs it.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. And the longer you lie there, the worse the knot in your chest grows — tight and anxious and scared to hope.

He could have anyone. He has had anyone. Pretty, loud, wild girls with glossy lips and legs for days. Girls who don’t disappear into silence. Who don’t hide behind their bedroom doors, afraid of their own cough echoing through the walls.

So why you?

What the hell could he possibly want with you?

Your throat feels thick again. Too full of everything you’re not supposed to feel. You try to breathe past it — in, out — but it gets caught somewhere between fear and disbelief.

Behind you, Simon shifts.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

His voice is low. Not groggy — just rough, like gravel dragging across concrete.

You hesitate.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” you murmur.

“You didn’t.”

There’s a pause. Not heavy, but full. Like he’s giving you room to say something else.

You don’t.

After a second, you feel him move — slow and deliberate — until he’s propped up on one elbow. You feel the heat of his stare before you see it.

“Turn around,” he says quietly.

You don’t want to. You don’t trust your face not to give you away.

But you do.

And he’s right there — face shadowed in the dark, eyes impossibly soft for someone who’s always been made of stone. He looks at you like he’s trying to read something in your silence, like your stillness is speaking a language only he can understand.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he asks.

You blink up at him, startled. “Nothing.”

“Lie better.”

Your chest tightens.

“It’s nothing. I just…” You trail off. Then you force a little laugh, weak and unconvincing. “It’s weird. Having you here.”

Simon’s jaw ticks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t ask what you mean. He doesn’t have to.

You see it — the way something flashes behind his eyes. Guilt, maybe. Frustration. You’re not sure.

He shifts again, leaning closer, until the room feels too small for what’s sitting between you.

“You think this doesn’t mean anything?” he asks, voice low.

You blink. “What?”

“This.” His hand brushes your side, where his arm had been wrapped. “Us. Right now.”

Your mouth opens. Closes.

“I don’t know what it means,” you admit.

He studies you like that hurts more than it should.

And then, suddenly, he’s talking.

Not loud. Not fast. Just steady. Steady in the way a dam breaks — slow at first, then impossible to stop.

“I don’t do this,” he says. “Stay. Lie in someone’s bed. Let ‘em see me like this.”

Your breath catches.

“I know I’ve made you feel like shit. I know I’ve been an asshole.”

You try to look away. He doesn’t let you.

His hand comes up — fingers grazing your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw.

“You think I don’t want you,” he says softly. “You think I just came here to fuck.”

You flinch.

“I didn’t,” he says. “I swear to God, I didn’t.”

“Then why?” you whisper. “Why me?”

It comes out too raw. Too desperate. You hate yourself for it — for needing to know, for asking like it matters.

But Simon doesn’t pull away.

He stares at you for a long moment, like he’s weighing something heavy.

Then he leans in, presses his forehead to yours.

“You’re not like them,” he says, so quietly it makes your heart ache. “You never were.”

You swallow hard.

“You hide away. You think no one sees you. But I do.”

He kisses your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.

“I see you when you’re tucked in the corner of the couch with your books. When you sneak out in the morning before I’ve even gotten dressed. When you cough in your room and think I’m not listening.”

You close your eyes. “Simon—”

“I notice everything,” he says. “And it’s been driving me fucking crazy.”

And then he kisses you again.

This time it’s not frantic. Not angry.

It’s soft.

Like he’s trying to prove something.

Like he’s scared of what it’ll mean if he doesn’t do it right.

You melt.

There’s no other word for it — you melt into him, into the heat of his body, the weight of his hand on your waist, the way he kisses you like you’re precious, like he’s afraid he’ll scare you off.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far.

Just enough to look at you again, eyes unreadable.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he says.

You reach up, touching the side of his face.

“We’ll figure it out.”

He stares at you for a moment longer. Then he nods.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “We will.”

—————

Simon doesn’t let you go.

Even after everything’s been said — after the softest kiss, after the whisper of we’ll figure it out — he just holds you. Like maybe if he lets go, it’ll all come undone. You feel it in the way his arm tightens around your waist, in the way his nose nudges the side of your face like he’s making sure you’re still there.

You let yourself lean into it.

Let yourself want this.

“You should sleep,” he murmurs eventually.

You shake your head, voice low. “You’ll disappear.”

His silence answers you. Not a lie. Just quiet.

Then — “I won’t.”

You glance up at him, skeptical.

He huffs, almost a laugh, eyes heavy but honest. “I’m shit at this. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.”

You don’t know what to say. So you nod. That’s all. Just… nod.

Simon shifts, presses another kiss to the top of your head. His voice is rough again when he speaks, but not like before. Not angry.

“You were right, by the way.”

“About what?”

“I hook up with a lot of girls.”

Your stomach twists.

“But it’s not because I want to. It’s ‘cause I didn’t know what else to do. You think I didn’t notice you? Truth is, I noticed you so much it fucked me up. Every time I saw you in the kitchen with your tea and your goddamn hoodie sleeves over your hands—”

He pauses. Breathes. Shakes his head like he hates himself for saying it out loud.

“I didn’t know how to want someone like that. All soft and quiet and real.”

Your heart is beating so loud it hurts.

He exhales. “But I want you. And I’m not gonna pretend I don’t anymore.”

You’re quiet for a moment.

Then, softly: “Okay.”

That’s all he needs.

Simon pulls you closer, tucks your head under his chin, and stays.

—————

You stay like that for a long time, just breathing each other in, the quiet of the room thick and heavy but somehow safe. You realize how much you’ve been craving this—the simplicity of being held without having to pretend, without the noise of the world pressing in.

Simon’s fingers trace lazy patterns on your back, his touch steady, almost reverent. The way he looks at you now, not with that usual cocky edge but something softer, something almost fragile, makes your chest tighten in a way that’s both terrifying and thrilling.

“Never thought I’d say this,” he murmurs, voice low enough that it’s just between you two, “but I’m glad you got sick.”

You blink up at him, startled. “What?”

He presses a gentle kiss just behind your ear. “Because otherwise, I wouldn’t have had a reason to come find you like this. To actually be here. Not just passing through.”

Your heart twists. You want to tell him it’s not fair, that you don’t want him to just show up when you’re vulnerable. But the words catch in your throat, and instead you lean into him, letting yourself be held.

There’s a long pause. Then he whispers, “I don’t do feelings. You know that.”

You nod slowly. “I know.”

“But maybe… maybe I can learn.”

And in the quiet dark, with his arms wrapped around you like he’s never letting go, you believe him.

☆taglist☆

@little-mini-me-world @h0lydrag0ns @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @pixiellove @fruitymoonbeams-blog @jokerivory @arrowacer @4ri3n @yasmin-003 @charliehunnamsleftsock @strawberrymilk99 @queenoflaflames @xigua2kuai5yijin @arnnf @genea-myers @elixir-of-dreams @turtlegreentia @pinkembodiment @bbygirl9 @echo9821 @illyanam1011 @luciferstempest @lostintransist @dethspllz @letstryagaintomorrow @hypertail @cr0wbrz @enfppuff @elegantangelenthusiast @trashprincss @youngandweird @mafer383 @eremika104 @avgdestitute @poshestpigeon @tessakate @hyperobsessedd @ohdrey89

[cod-bin]

so i did promise part 4 of don’t tempt me…

[cod-bin]

I’m sorry not to be mean but never have I ever met myself with anyone making a comment about anyone at the gym, I wonder if that’s actually a thing? People here are actually really chill (?) and everyone cares only for themselves because they go there for a reason. The only comment I might think of would be “omg they’re hogging the machine I want a turn”.

yeah i did this because that’s what anon wanted in the ask. people say stuff maybe not at the gym but more in general i was just writing what the request asked for

i really don’t have that happen ever but i know people outside of the gym who say stuff like that sooo…

[cod-bin]

stop you’re so sweet 🥹❣️

lowkey definitely relates to me a lot heh

you always looked fine to me

gym bro!simon x insecure!chubby!reader

ask

wc: 3k

a/n: omg anon this one hit close to home 🥺 literally whenever i go to the gym this is literally me so it was lowkey easy to write 🫶

You’ve been going to the gym for months now. Same time every evening. Same locker in the corner. Same oversized shirts and sweatpants, no matter how hot it gets. Not because you’re lazy. Not because you’re sloppy. But because every time you tried to wear something tighter—something even remotely flattering—you caught a look. A side-eye. A smirk. A whisper.

“If I looked like that, I wouldn’t wear that.”

That one stayed with you for weeks.

You didn’t even finish the set that day. Just left early and sat in your car with your heart in your throat.

Since then, it’s been full coverage. No skin. No curves. Nothing to point at or judge. Just baggy clothes, headphones in, and eyes on the floor.

Still, the comments find you sometimes. Not always mean. Sometimes fake-nice. Sometimes stupid little jokes you pretend not to hear.

“You’re here every day—where’s the progress?”

“Damn, it’s 90 degrees and she’s still dressed like it’s January.”

“Probably just here to feel better about eating later.”

You never react. That’s the worst part. You just lower your head and keep going, even when your face burns and your throat tightens. Even when it takes everything in you not to disappear.

But someone always notices.

And his name is Simon Riley.

He’s hard to miss. Built like a wall. Hood always up. Giant hands gripping weights like they’re nothing. People move when he walks by. Girls preen when he’s near. He never reacts. Never flirts back. Just keeps his eyes on whatever he’s doing and nods at people when they say hi.

He’s never said more than a few words to you.

A quick, “You done with this?”

Once, a low “Need a spot?” when you nearly dropped a barbell.

And one quiet, raspy “You alright?” when you accidentally wiped your eyes too hard after a whisper that hit too close.

But lately… something’s changed.

You feel his gaze sometimes. Not in a creepy way. Not like the others. But like he’s checking—watching. You’ll finish a set and look up and he’s already looking away. You’ll walk past and he’ll move slightly, like he’s clearing the way just for you.

One time you caught him staring after a squat set—your sweats riding low on your waist, your baggy tee damp with sweat—and his jaw clenched like he was holding something back. You told yourself you imagined it.

Until the night he actually waited.

You’d finished your workout, earbuds in, head down, already planning what you’d eat in secret later, and then—

“Hey.”

You turned. He was leaning against the front desk, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes on you like he had every right.

“Me?”

He nodded once. “You free Friday?”

Your throat closed. “Uh. Why?”

His lip twitched—just a hint of a smirk. “Thought you might wanna get food.”

You blinked. Stared. Tried to decide if this was some kind of joke.

“You’re asking me out?”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. You nodded. “Okay. Sure. Yeah.”

He just nodded again, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Pick you up?”

You nodded again, stupid and flushed and already spiraling.

And now it’s Friday night. He’s on his way. You’ve changed clothes four times. Cried twice. You don’t own anything “hot girl cute.” You don’t even own jeans that make you feel good.

So when he knocks, you answer in your sweats and an oversized tee.

Still thinking maybe this was all a mistake.

And there he is.

Simon Riley. All 6’4 of gym-bro intimidation, in a plain black tee that fits him like a second skin, his arms crossed, hood down, eyes soft but unreadable. He glances down at you—at your flushed face, your bare collarbones, the baggy tee that probably looks ridiculous—and frowns just a little.

“You alright?” His voice is low, warm. The kind of voice that wraps around you without asking.

You nod. “Y-Yeah. I just—um. I couldn’t decide what to wear.”

His brow twitches. “So you picked nothing?”

You freeze.

“I mean—not nothing,” you say, tugging at your shirt, cheeks going hot. “I just… couldn’t find anything I felt good in.”

Simon tilts his head. His eyes sweep over you, quick but careful. “Can I come in?”

You hesitate. It’s messy. You’re a mess. But you step aside anyway.

He steps inside, boots heavy on the floor, and turns to look at you like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. “So that’s it?”

You blink. “What?”

“You’re just gonna tell me you couldn’t find anything,” he says, “and expect me to believe that’s why you were panicking behind the door?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “I wasn’t panicking—”

“You were.” His voice is so calm it makes your chest ache. “I heard you trip.”

You let out a weak laugh and hug your arms over your middle. “It’s dumb. I just—”

“You don’t feel good in anything.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

He looks at you. Not with pity. Not with confusion. Just with this weird, heavy softness in his eyes that makes it hard to breathe.

“You look good now,” he says simply.

You stare at him like he just said the sky’s purple.

He shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “I’ve seen you at the gym. You always look good.”

You laugh, but it comes out shaky. “Yeah, in my giant sweatpants and hoodie.”

“Exactly.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re joking.”

He shakes his head, steps a little closer. “Not even a bit. You think I’ve just been sitting there watching you squat for fun?”

You blink at him.

He smiles, faint and slow. “Okay, maybe a little for fun.”

“Simon—”

“I like how you look,” he says, and there’s no hesitation in it. “And I like how you carry yourself. Even when people stare. Even when you keep your head down and pretend you don’t hear ’em. I notice.”

You swallow. Hard.

He doesn’t say it like it’s romantic. He says it like it’s true. Like he’s been thinking it for a while. Like it’s obvious.

Then he glances at your couch. “We’re staying in.”

“What?” you blink.

“Not letting you spiral over clothes for the rest of the night.” He moves past you and plops onto your couch, legs spread, one arm thrown over the back like it’s his now. “C’mon. I’ll even let you put on one of those dumb romcoms you pretend not to like.”

You can’t help it—you laugh. “You haven’t even seen my Netflix.”

“I’ve seen your hoodie rotation,” he says, eyes twinkling. “Don’t need to.”

You roll your eyes but feel a flutter in your chest.

He pats the cushion next to him. “C’mere.”

You hesitate.

“You’re not hiding,” he says, quieter now. “Not from me.”

You sit beside him, cross-legged, still hugging your arms like a shield. He’s warm beside you. Way too big for your couch, thigh pressing lightly against yours. It feels dangerous. Familiar. Safe.

“You seriously don’t think I look—” you start, then stop.

He turns to you. “Bad? No. Not once. Not ever.”

You look down. “I always feel like I have to prove something. Like if I’m not shrinking, people think I’m lazy or gross or… I don’t know.”

Simon shifts closer. “Fuck ’em.”

“Easy for you to say. You look like you were built in a lab.”

“Still insecure,” he says. “Still hate my reflection sometimes. Still overthink every time I talk to someone like you.”

Your head snaps toward him. “Like me?”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “Yeah. You’re funny. And sweet. And every time I’ve seen you, you’re kind. Even when people are dicks.”

Your throat burns. “That’s not—”

He cuts you off gently. “I like you.”

You stare.

“You don’t have to say it back.” His voice is quiet now. “Just don’t sit there thinking you’re not worth being liked.”

You bite your lip. “I just never thought… someone like you would want to…”

“Someone like me?” he echoes, brow raised.

“You’re intimidating. Like. Hot intimidating.”

Simon snorts. “You ever seen yourself stretch after a lift?”

Your cheeks go nuclear. “Simon!”

“What?” he grins. “Not my fault you look good with your hair up and those little flushed cheeks—”

You throw a pillow at him. He catches it easily, then tosses it aside and grabs your hand before you can look away.

His hand is so much bigger than yours. Warm. A little rough.

“You don’t have to be anyone else tonight,” he says. “Not for me.”

Your chest is tight. But it’s not painful. It’s full. Like he just cracked something open inside you, and now all the air’s rushing in.

You lean into him, just slightly.

He wraps his arm around you and pulls you in fully.

Your head fits against his chest like it’s been there before. Like it’s home. His other hand rests lightly on your knee, not moving, just grounding you there.

“Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t really want to watch a movie.”

“That’s alright,” he murmurs.

“I just want to sit here for a bit.”

“I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

And he means it. You can feel it in the way he holds you. The way he settles in, like this is all he wanted.

You exhale slowly, finally letting your body relax against him.

Maybe you’ll wear something cute next time.

Maybe you won’t.

But right now, you’re not thinking about how you look.

You’re just thinking about the weight of his arm, the way his fingers graze your wrist, and how good it feels to not hide—for once.

He notices.

He always has.

☆taglist☆

@poshestpigeon @avgdestitute @eremika104 @lostintransist @little-mini-me-world @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @h0lydrag0ns @trixilove257 @fertilise-me

[cod-bin]

Ripped ghost truthers come to my doorsteps to die.

[cod-bin]

ALSO REMINDER:

if you guys wanna become an emoji anon i would LOVE THAT SM!! like tell me absolutely anything. lore, drama, annoying family driving you insane. TELL ME

i love all of you btw ❣️

[cod-bin]

*she was too stunned to speak*

12/10 would recommend 🩵

You should go to your room.

Move your ear away from the wooden door and take light steps toward your bedroom, promptly forgetting whatever it is you heard.

But you can’t.

Your feet are planted, unwilling to move as you listen just outside your roommate Simon's door.

Inside, you hear his soft groans, and the wet sounds of him stroking his cock travel under the door, shooting straight into your ears.

You feel like a fucking creep.

And, unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time.

Ever since your dad pushed Simon into your house some weeks ago to be your bodyguard while he campaigns state to state for reelection, you have partaken in some questionable escapades.

Like stealing one of Simon’s work shirts and laying it over your face, his scent still fresh as it floods your nose as your work at your aching cunt with your fingers. Your fresh arousal meshing with the soft cotton of your panties leaving a large wet spot in its wake.

Or when you sat in the living room, watching him through the large glass sliding door as you peered into the backyard. With only a blanket covering you, you grounded yourself against a small pillow while watching him work out.

Shirtless, sweating, and with bulging biceps, he did curl-ups with a heavy set of weights. You had coaxed an orgasm so intense that you had forgotten your surroundings, and didn’t smother a loud yell.

Simon sprinted in, throwing open the sliding door. His hand rested on the gun tucked in its holster at his side.

“Everything alright?” he asked, his voice breathy yet firm.

Your skin burned, but you managed to issue a quick yes before your eyes drifted to his sweaty bare chest.

His light chest hair was matted, and his shorts rode low on his hips, revealing a strip of light hair that extended from his belly button to his pubic area.

“You need me to put a shirt on, cupcake?” he taunts with a quipped brow.

You had almost passed out, but it was harmless.

Weird, but harmless.

But, this.

This was completely different territory.

You were intruding on something so profoundly personal, intimate.

And yet, that fact didn’t stop you from slipping your cold fingers into your panties. Your pointer finger slipping inside your soaked cunt without much force.

A curse slips of his tongue as you hear the slick sounds pace increase. You can almost imagine him behind the door.

Lying in his bed, his body tight and itching for relief. Head tilted back against his headboard, as he strokes himself lazily, eyes hazy and teeth digging into his lip.

Your slip another finger inside your cunt, grinding your clit as you lean against the wall just next to his door.

Your start to think of what he would do with you if you were inside his room, bare knees pressing into the vinyl flooring as you took his cock inside you mouth, his fingers threading through your hair.

“So fuckin’ good, cupcake,” he mumbles, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. He lets out a rough noise as he comes in your mouth, eyes darkening when he sees you swallow his come on your tongue.

He pulls you up, setting you in his lap, teeth nipping at your lips and lips sucking yours. He presses his finger against your clit as you grind yourself on his thigh.

“You were squirmin’ down there, huh? Need it that bad?” he grunts, his warm breath fanning your cheek. “Needy fuckin’ girl.”

Your hand presses over your mouth as you feel your body convulse around your fingers and you hear him sputter a choked noise.

You hear the soft creak of the bed as he gets off, and with your chest still heaving, you spin on your heels and pad back to your room.

After you reach your room, your body tingling, your phone chimes. You take it out, the screen glowing, and see a single text from Simon.

“Should have come in, sweet girl. Had your picture in my hand.”

[cod-bin]

you always looked fine to me

gym bro!simon x insecure!chubby!reader

ask

wc: 3k

a/n: omg anon this one hit close to home 🥺 literally whenever i go to the gym this is literally me so it was lowkey easy to write 🫶

You’ve been going to the gym for months now. Same time every evening. Same locker in the corner. Same oversized shirts and sweatpants, no matter how hot it gets. Not because you’re lazy. Not because you’re sloppy. But because every time you tried to wear something tighter—something even remotely flattering—you caught a look. A side-eye. A smirk. A whisper.

“If I looked like that, I wouldn’t wear that.”

That one stayed with you for weeks.

You didn’t even finish the set that day. Just left early and sat in your car with your heart in your throat.

Since then, it’s been full coverage. No skin. No curves. Nothing to point at or judge. Just baggy clothes, headphones in, and eyes on the floor.

Still, the comments find you sometimes. Not always mean. Sometimes fake-nice. Sometimes stupid little jokes you pretend not to hear.

“You’re here every day—where’s the progress?”

“Damn, it’s 90 degrees and she’s still dressed like it’s January.”

“Probably just here to feel better about eating later.”

You never react. That’s the worst part. You just lower your head and keep going, even when your face burns and your throat tightens. Even when it takes everything in you not to disappear.

But someone always notices.

And his name is Simon Riley.

He’s hard to miss. Built like a wall. Hood always up. Giant hands gripping weights like they’re nothing. People move when he walks by. Girls preen when he’s near. He never reacts. Never flirts back. Just keeps his eyes on whatever he’s doing and nods at people when they say hi.

He’s never said more than a few words to you.

A quick, “You done with this?”

Once, a low “Need a spot?” when you nearly dropped a barbell.

And one quiet, raspy “You alright?” when you accidentally wiped your eyes too hard after a whisper that hit too close.

But lately… something’s changed.

You feel his gaze sometimes. Not in a creepy way. Not like the others. But like he’s checking—watching. You’ll finish a set and look up and he’s already looking away. You’ll walk past and he’ll move slightly, like he’s clearing the way just for you.

One time you caught him staring after a squat set—your sweats riding low on your waist, your baggy tee damp with sweat—and his jaw clenched like he was holding something back. You told yourself you imagined it.

Until the night he actually waited.

You’d finished your workout, earbuds in, head down, already planning what you’d eat in secret later, and then—

“Hey.”

You turned. He was leaning against the front desk, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes on you like he had every right.

“Me?”

He nodded once. “You free Friday?”

Your throat closed. “Uh. Why?”

His lip twitched—just a hint of a smirk. “Thought you might wanna get food.”

You blinked. Stared. Tried to decide if this was some kind of joke.

“You’re asking me out?”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. You nodded. “Okay. Sure. Yeah.”

He just nodded again, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Pick you up?”

You nodded again, stupid and flushed and already spiraling.

And now it’s Friday night. He’s on his way. You’ve changed clothes four times. Cried twice. You don’t own anything “hot girl cute.” You don’t even own jeans that make you feel good.

So when he knocks, you answer in your sweats and an oversized tee.

Still thinking maybe this was all a mistake.

And there he is.

Simon Riley. All 6’4 of gym-bro intimidation, in a plain black tee that fits him like a second skin, his arms crossed, hood down, eyes soft but unreadable. He glances down at you—at your flushed face, your bare collarbones, the baggy tee that probably looks ridiculous—and frowns just a little.

“You alright?” His voice is low, warm. The kind of voice that wraps around you without asking.

You nod. “Y-Yeah. I just—um. I couldn’t decide what to wear.”

His brow twitches. “So you picked nothing?”

You freeze.

“I mean—not nothing,” you say, tugging at your shirt, cheeks going hot. “I just… couldn’t find anything I felt good in.”

Simon tilts his head. His eyes sweep over you, quick but careful. “Can I come in?”

You hesitate. It’s messy. You’re a mess. But you step aside anyway.

He steps inside, boots heavy on the floor, and turns to look at you like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. “So that’s it?”

You blink. “What?”

“You’re just gonna tell me you couldn’t find anything,” he says, “and expect me to believe that’s why you were panicking behind the door?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “I wasn’t panicking—”

“You were.” His voice is so calm it makes your chest ache. “I heard you trip.”

You let out a weak laugh and hug your arms over your middle. “It’s dumb. I just—”

“You don’t feel good in anything.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

He looks at you. Not with pity. Not with confusion. Just with this weird, heavy softness in his eyes that makes it hard to breathe.

“You look good now,” he says simply.

You stare at him like he just said the sky’s purple.

He shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “I’ve seen you at the gym. You always look good.”

You laugh, but it comes out shaky. “Yeah, in my giant sweatpants and hoodie.”

“Exactly.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re joking.”

He shakes his head, steps a little closer. “Not even a bit. You think I’ve just been sitting there watching you squat for fun?”

You blink at him.

He smiles, faint and slow. “Okay, maybe a little for fun.”

“Simon—”

“I like how you look,” he says, and there’s no hesitation in it. “And I like how you carry yourself. Even when people stare. Even when you keep your head down and pretend you don’t hear ’em. I notice.”

You swallow. Hard.

He doesn’t say it like it’s romantic. He says it like it’s true. Like he’s been thinking it for a while. Like it’s obvious.

Then he glances at your couch. “We’re staying in.”

“What?” you blink.

“Not letting you spiral over clothes for the rest of the night.” He moves past you and plops onto your couch, legs spread, one arm thrown over the back like it’s his now. “C’mon. I’ll even let you put on one of those dumb romcoms you pretend not to like.”

You can’t help it—you laugh. “You haven’t even seen my Netflix.”

“I’ve seen your hoodie rotation,” he says, eyes twinkling. “Don’t need to.”

You roll your eyes but feel a flutter in your chest.

He pats the cushion next to him. “C’mere.”

You hesitate.

“You’re not hiding,” he says, quieter now. “Not from me.”

You sit beside him, cross-legged, still hugging your arms like a shield. He’s warm beside you. Way too big for your couch, thigh pressing lightly against yours. It feels dangerous. Familiar. Safe.

“You seriously don’t think I look—” you start, then stop.

He turns to you. “Bad? No. Not once. Not ever.”

You look down. “I always feel like I have to prove something. Like if I’m not shrinking, people think I’m lazy or gross or… I don’t know.”

Simon shifts closer. “Fuck ’em.”

“Easy for you to say. You look like you were built in a lab.”

“Still insecure,” he says. “Still hate my reflection sometimes. Still overthink every time I talk to someone like you.”

Your head snaps toward him. “Like me?”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “Yeah. You’re funny. And sweet. And every time I’ve seen you, you’re kind. Even when people are dicks.”

Your throat burns. “That’s not—”

He cuts you off gently. “I like you.”

You stare.

“You don’t have to say it back.” His voice is quiet now. “Just don’t sit there thinking you’re not worth being liked.”

You bite your lip. “I just never thought… someone like you would want to…”

“Someone like me?” he echoes, brow raised.

“You’re intimidating. Like. Hot intimidating.”

Simon snorts. “You ever seen yourself stretch after a lift?”

Your cheeks go nuclear. “Simon!”

“What?” he grins. “Not my fault you look good with your hair up and those little flushed cheeks—”

You throw a pillow at him. He catches it easily, then tosses it aside and grabs your hand before you can look away.

His hand is so much bigger than yours. Warm. A little rough.

“You don’t have to be anyone else tonight,” he says. “Not for me.”

Your chest is tight. But it’s not painful. It’s full. Like he just cracked something open inside you, and now all the air’s rushing in.

You lean into him, just slightly.

He wraps his arm around you and pulls you in fully.

Your head fits against his chest like it’s been there before. Like it’s home. His other hand rests lightly on your knee, not moving, just grounding you there.

“Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t really want to watch a movie.”

“That’s alright,” he murmurs.

“I just want to sit here for a bit.”

“I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

And he means it. You can feel it in the way he holds you. The way he settles in, like this is all he wanted.

You exhale slowly, finally letting your body relax against him.

Maybe you’ll wear something cute next time.

Maybe you won’t.

But right now, you’re not thinking about how you look.

You’re just thinking about the weight of his arm, the way his fingers graze your wrist, and how good it feels to not hide—for once.

He notices.

He always has.

☆taglist☆

@poshestpigeon @avgdestitute @eremika104 @lostintransist @little-mini-me-world @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @h0lydrag0ns @trixilove257 @fertilise-me

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OMG OK

so but imagine a gym girl (chubbyish!reader) who’s like super insecure of her body and works out in sweatpants and a baggy tshirt (even tho the body is tea) and simons like the average, scary (but quiet) gym bro who secretly likes reader based off the few times they’ve spoken or how she just hangs her head and ignore when people mock her for wearing sweatpants and he like somehow asks her out and he’s about to pick her up like at the door and she’s still deciding what to wear cuz she’s insecure but she lets him in and he’s doesn’t believe “she just couldn’t find something” and he ends up saying they’re staying in and he just holds her in the couch the whole time night 🥺

ok that was a yap lmao

GIRL U GOT IT

coming soon tonight 🫶

edit: fic

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ok I have something coming out tonight and part 4 of don’t tempt me coming at some point tomorrow!!

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rewatching pretty little liars makes me wanna die girl YOU MISSED A SPOT

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inject me with this please

I WANT MORE OF BUTCHER SIMON SO BAD , you know when they started to become couples his business got growing up and he had to open other meat shops and restaurants and he became rich and asking her to marry him while she’s pregnant with his child ahhhhhh

Hi anon! I love writing butcher!simon too oml😭 It's not rlly turned out how you described it to be, but we have more parts to write and read! Enjoy!

butcher!simon who woke up after the night you two spent together (I shall say the night he spent in you). And fuuck, how pretty you looked for him! Hair all messy, naked, wrapped in the blanket in his bed. But smile faded from his lips when he thought "No, you weren't fully his yet."

butcher!simon who was afraid of you ghosting him after that night, but to his relief you showed up at his shop the next day, all dolled up and beautiful, kissing him in front of other customers, making him be over the moon and ready to cum in his fucking pants.

butcher!simon who started to receive messages from you that you're feeling sick and you puked a couple of times:( That's when the man realises: he bred you just right. You're pregnant with his baby.

butcher!simon who rushes to your place, wanting to feel your warmth as soon as possible and thank you for carrying his baby

butcher!simon who falls on his knees to pat your belly gently, to feel your now a very little baby bump with his palm

butcher!simon who goes shopping for your future baby immediately after finding out you're pregnant. Chooses clothes a size bigger , because he's oh so sure that his baby will be chubby like his daddy

butcher!simon that finally made sure that you're fully his.

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okay guys do you want purple lace bra or part 4 of don’t tempt me before i leave??

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okay guys do you want purple lace bra or part 4 of don’t tempt me before i leave??

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send me a 🐮 and I'll make you a moodboard from the first 4 pics on my Pinterest feed