#simon-writes

[thelostmagicians]

Hugs | Steve Harrington

Summary: Steve Harrington hated hugs until you came along. [1.9k]

Fluff, comfort, slight angst, implied homophobia (against Robin)

♡

Steve Harrington hated hugs.

Hugs were meant to be soft and warm like ice cream on a sunny day, crackling fire on a chilly night, but to Steve they were anything but.

He blamed his aversion to hugs on the lack of affection he received as a child. He couldn’t recall a time when his father even gave him a simple pat on the back let alone a hug. And his mom, she tries, but when a rare ‘I love you’ slips past her lips it’s in the same tone she uses for the grocer at the store, so Steve can never tell if she means it.

Steve didn’t know the meaning of love until Nancy Wheeler broke his heart and Dustin Henderson nuzzled his way in with an unlikely friendship and demodog. Since then, he’s opened up his large and previously empty heart to a talkative Robin Buckley, Dustin and his group of ragtag friends, Nancy Wheeler (albeit it’s different now), a smidge for Jonathan Byers, and even Eddie Munson. Even though he loves his friends to the point of self sacrifice he can never seem to spare them a hug. He’ll give them an encouraging nod and an affectionate high five, but he’s never been able to engulf any of them in the warmth radiating off his chest. And Steve feels awful for this, he truly does. He felt awful when Dustin had to seek solace in Robin’s arms when Eddie was injured and when Lucas clinged onto Max’s hand while she was on life support. He knows they understand it isn’t anything personal, but he still wants to be able to show his feelings through a soothing hand hold or a comforting embrace.

The first time he sees you he's at Nancy’s house for a small gathering celebrating the completion of her and Jonathan’s internship at the big fancy newspaper in New York. You’re in the kitchen helping Nancy with the snacks, smiling wide at her full of sunshine and sparkle, a stark difference from the gloomy aura of Hawkins.

“I see someone’s caught your eye already,” Jonathan giggles, breaking him out of his trance.

Steve glances at you a final time before he turns to Jonathan and steals his drink.

“Hey, why can’t you just get your own?” Jonathan whines a little, the result of a smoke sesh with Argyle and Eddie slowly wearing off. Steve can tell he’s only got a few minutes left to question Jonathan about you before he sobers up and uses this to tease him in the future.

“Who is she? Don’t think ‘ve seen her here before,” Steve tries to act as nonchalant as possible, but he can tell he’s failing with the way Jonathan smiles.

“She’s mine and Nance’s friend. We met her at the internship and she wanted to visit here for a change of scenery. Isn’t that crazy, someone from New York finds a place like Hawkins interesting enough to visit?”

Steve nods in agreement, because why would someone like you, someone so full of light and everything good want anything to do with the drabby town of Hawkins.

“What’s her name?”

When Jonathan says your name loud enough for him to hear over Robin and Eddie’s loud chatter Steve gasps softly. He mumbles your name to himself thrice because it tastes sweet on his tongue, sweeter than the cherry popsicles he likes so much. You talk for the first time that night, nothing past basic introductions, but it’s enough for him to drive home with a smile on his face because he liked the way your lips looked when you said his name.

_

The first time you hug him he’s taken by surprise his body goes rigid and then pliant. He isn’t exactly reciprocating the hug, but he isn’t pushing you away like he would the others. He pulls back first taking a look at your disheveled appearance, Nancy had called him earlier frantically telling him you needed to be picked up from Creel House and he wasted no time coming to your rescue.

He brushes the dust off your shoulders as you huff in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry for this, Nancy told me to wait for her and Jonathan to get back but I wanted to see the house for myself. I thought I could handle it, but I guess it’s a little too creepy for me,” you explain sheepishly.

Steve chuckles awkwardly, still a little loopy from your hug, “Yeah this house isn’t for the faint of heart. We brought the kids here once to err- explore and we still have nightmares about it.”

Steve curses under his breath as you give him a curious look, pushing more details out of him. “There were just a lot of spiders, ya know and the history makes it creepy enough,” he plays it off like it was no big deal but he had an inkling you knew there was more to the story.

_

The second time you hug Steve it leaves him winded, but he decides he likes the feeling. He lets you hold onto him longer than last time and pulls back when you sneakily go to ruffle his hair. He pouts a little, hands swatting yours away while he tries to fix it the best he can without a mirror.

“Don’t worry Steve, you’re still the prettiest person in all of Hawkins,” you say giggling.

His cheeks heat up but he likes you too much to throw a fit about your teasing. You’ve gotten closer over the past few weeks, always bringing him and Robin lunch during work and he thinks he might just keep you.

_

Steve realizes you're a hugger when the first thing you do after you pick him up from the station is trap him in your warm arms instead of yelling like the others would have. He thought he was over high school bullshit, but he couldn’t hold himself back when Robin called him from Tammy Thompson’s house on the verge of tears because Tommy Hagan accused her for looking at a girl a little too long for it to be considered straight. He was fuming when he pulled up to the house, Eddie meeting him at the doorway trying to convince him to not make a scene. He tossed Eddie his keys telling him to take Robin home while he threw punch after punch at Tommy for making someone he loved feel unsafe.

He pushes you off gently trying to explain what happened but you shush him softly, eyes falling to Hopper as he claps him on the back a proud smile on his otherwise stoic face. Everyone’s waiting for him when he arrives at the Byers, Joyce with a first aid kit, Jonathan with a smug smile (probably reminiscing his first fight with Steve), and Robin with eyes full of love and gratitude. He lets everyone fuss over him that night before he falls asleep on the Byers’ couch with your hand holding his.

_

Steve lets you hug him often now, he rolls his eyes and huffs a bit, but allows it with the pretense of it being the last time. It never is, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

You’re on his kitchen floor passing a bottle of wine back and forth sharing core memories. The others have gone home already after the last movie ended but you seemed reluctant to leave, so Steve offered you the guest room and a pair of old pajamas.

“Do you have any happy memories, Stevie?” You ask gently.

Steve shakes his head, “Not really, didn’t really have much of a happy childhood I guess, the only one I can think about is going to my Nana’s for christmas, but she died when I was five.” Steve’s a little tipsy now absentmindedly spilling his heart out to you not thinking about the repercussions.

You smile sadly, “I know what you mean, sort of.”

Steve waves his hand urging you to go on. You sigh softly, “I’ve been almost everywhere and yet it feels like I haven't experienced anything. I have loving parents but I never feel like they love me for who I am, they only love me for what I am, you know? To them I’m more of a trophy, something crossed off on the path of life to show accomplishment. I told you I came to Hawkins to research small towns for a project, but I think that was just an excuse. When I met Nancy and Jonathan they spoke so fondly about everyone back home. They might’ve been in New York, but their hearts resided in Hawkins. I wanted to find that for myself and followed them here…and I think I did.”

Steve shoots you a soft smile full of hearts as your eyes fill with unshed tears. You try your best to scoot over in your tipsy state and fall into his lap resembling a clumsy hug. This time he doesn’t pull away.

_

It’s nearing summer break for everyone now. Nancy and Jonathan are heading back to New York in a few weeks to present a proposal to your guys’ boss in New York for a new paper about small towns with mysterious histories. They put together a portfolio with files full of research done by you, articles written by Nancy, and photographs taken by Jonathan. The kids are finishing up finals and making plans for junior year. Robin passed her first year at community college and he quit his job at Family Video to work at the station with Hopper. And you, you decided to stay back in Hawkins. Steve can’t find a better excuse than this to throw a summer party at his house.

The sun is shining, bellies are full, hearts are happy, and laughs are loud in Steve’s backyard. Steve opened up his pool for the first time since Barbara Holland’s death and he thinks it’s time he starts moving on. Everyone is in the pool having fun, everyone except you and Steve. You’re lounging on one of the chairs, Jane Eyre in your hand and a lazy smile on your face, so it was no surprise Steve chose to stay at your side.

Steve is terrified to bare his heart to you, to tell you how he really feels, he thinks he might as well hand you his heart and a hammer on a silver platter. But then he remembers the shy smile you had when you told him you were leaving New York for good and you were staying in Hawkins. He looks over to you, your book finally pushed aside in favor of watching your friends have fun and he can’t hold his feelings in any longer.

His fingers brush up your arm slowly making their way to pet at your soft cheeks.

“You know you’re the only one who’s allowed to hug me.” It’s a concealed declaration of love an I love you that only the two of you can decipher.

“I know.” I love you too.

Steve smiles shyly before gently cupping your chin and pressing his lips to yours in a much awaited kiss. He pulls back gently only to pull you into his chest. He squeezes you hard pouring all his love into the first hug he’s ever initiated.

Steve Harrington used to hate hugs, but not so much anymore, not when your arms feel like home.

[mebssann]

imagine you're living in the post apocalypse and your adopted dad still makes you do homework

[sentientfloatingeyeball]

Possibly the greatest NPR exchange ever recorded

[kurogxrix]

me when the READER in the X READER has a name:

like babe the fic ate but i do NOT look like an Aurora🙁

[ghostly-whiskey]

simon riley who you "meet" through a program where you can send care packages to soldiers. you don't think much of it at first, just a simple package with a few necessities and treats. and along with that, a short, but genuine and handwritten letter thanking the unknown soldier to you for their service.

and when you go to retrieve your mail a few weeks later after getting home from work, brows furrowing together as you shuffle through the stack of envelopes.

bill. another bill. advertisement. paycheck. handwritten addressed envelope from 'ghost'.

your brain doesn't even connect the dots until you are inside, fingers gently picking at the envelope until your able to drag a finger through the seal to open it. a simple piece of what looks like notebook paper is pulled from inside. unfolding it, eyes quickly scan the letter to get an idea what it's about.

you've done plenty of care packages before. never did you get a personalized thank you letter back, so, this was a first. the letter starting off by thank you for the package and that he enjoyed the items, especially the "sweet treats". the two words put in quotations as he referred to what you referred to them as in your own letter. your own brain cringing slightly as you remember what you wrote.

again, thank you for all that you do and enjoy the sweet treats!

and while you expected the letter to end after thanking you, it didn't. additional lines asking about you. the sets of questions ranging from asking how long have you been doing the care packages to general questions about yourself. then, at the very end, after signing off as 'ghost', you couldn't help but notice the chicken scratch of handwriting that added:

p.s. you don't need to respond back if you don't want to, just figured it be nice to get something back in return. thanks again.

[tacticalprincess]

simon and könig being unable to stop bickering for a second, even when they’re balls deep inside of you. they’ve got you in an Eiffel Tower, könig’s cock filling your glossy pussy while simon stuffs your mouth. it took ages of convincing for them to even consider this position, but eventually they decided to put their discrepancies aside for the sake of you, their precious, spoiled little thing. it didn’t last very long though…

“jackhammer much, mate? you’ve got her choking on me over here.” simon points out, his heavy hand stroking your hair soothingly. könig’s using your hips as leverage, bucking into you at a rabid pace, each of his thrusts lurching your body forward and forcing you to take more of simon’s dick down your poor throat. “what happened to treatin’ the princess with care?”

“it’s okay, she likes it. isn’t that right, maus?”

your cheeks warm up as you hum around simon’s dick noncommittally. nothing gets passed the l.t though, and suddenly he’s gripping you by your hair, pulling your mouth off his cock.

“wait, you let him fuck your face?” he asks, sounding genuinely offended.

you wipe the line of spit that trails from your swollen lips all the way to his still hard dick, hovering just out of reach. you huff. “he’s more sadistic than you…” you say sheepishly in response, voice staccato from könig’s thrusts.

“you tellin’ me i’m the soft sex guy? the aftercare fuck?”

“‘s alright, mate.” könig reaches over your naked body to pat his comrade on the shoulder. “youve got boyfriend dick. happens to the best of us.”

[swordsandholly]

Thinking about a mechanic!AU where the 141 boys run a garage and need a new receptionist. They hire you because you’re just so cute (great tits) and have a decent resume but it becomes a slight problem when they realize you’re a bit… dense.

Total ditz to be precise.

But they can’t really get mad when you get the keys for clients mixed up and look at them with those big eyes all teary and a little pout pushing out your lower lip.

Price is the most patient, perfectly content to walk you through how to file paperwork and fill out forms. Instructing you in a low voice while his breath brushes the shell of your ear. It’s really their fault for having such a terrible system, you know? Don’t worry about it too much, dove. He’ll settle his big hands on your shoulders and gently trace up and down your arms. See? You’re getting it. Just needed some more practice, hm?

Johnny is more than happy to show you around the garage, rattling off everything he knows about all those nitty gritty details that go right over your pretty little head. He’ll pop open the hood of some sports car and point to the engine to show it off. No, bonnie, you’ve got tae get in close. Closer.

Until you’re bent entirely over in one of those too-short skirts you wear everyday. It takes all his willpower not to yank you into the supply closet.

Gaz is just so sweet to you. Always bringing you little treats and candies to suck on. To help you concentrate, of course. Always greeting you with a soft ‘baby girl’ at the beginning of your shift. Whenever you’re standing around be it at the printer or counter - wherever really - he’ll slip a hand on your waist. It always trails a little lower, his pinky just edging on the hem of your too tight jeans.

Ghost gets frustrated with you to the point of causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes. He’s feels guilty, sure, but bloody hell just print the damn receipt. He avoids you for the most part. Until one evening when it’s pouring down. You forgot your rain coat of course, silly girl. He offers you a ride which you take happily.

After that he can’t get rid of you. You bring him coffees (how you remember his order word for word but not where you last left your own cup is beyond him) and giggle at his jokes. When a client gets too snappy or too loud he’s the first to step in - standing behind you glaring at them with his huge arms crossed over his chest until they back down.

[suguann]

When you first introduce him, Simon instantly knows that he hates your now ex-boyfriend—especially after he broke up with you only two months into the relationship, and the reason behind it sets his teeth on edge.

You’re perfect and so sweet; how could he—

“He broke up with me because…I um…Do I really have to say it? It’s embarrassing.” 

He bumps his knee into yours because he really fucking sucks at saying the right thing when the moment calls for it. “You don’t have to say anything.”

With a huff, you get a little flustered and glance down into your glass of beer, brows furrowed. “I couldn’t make him fit.” 

It’s so soft, but he hears it as if you’d shouted it across the bar.

The only thought he can think of is that your ex-boyfriend is an idiot once he has your back pressed up against his chest and trembling thighs spread over top of his. Three of his thick fingers already work deep inside of you, filling the room with filthy squelching sounds and your breathy moans.

His thumb carefully drags over your clit, loving how you twitch in his arms. “See? Someone just needed to stretch your little pussy properly, huh?”

“Mhm.” You nod, pressing yourself further into him, thighs butterflying open. “It feels so good.”

“You’re so loose and wet. I bet my cock would slip right in.”

Your walls clench and flutter around him, and it takes everything in him not to toss you onto the bed and fuck you into his sheets. “Simon, can you fuck me? Please?” 

It’s hard to deny you when you ask so sweetly, but he can’t give you what you want—not yet. You whine when he pulls one of his fingers out, but it cuts off into a surprised squeak when he grabs your smaller hand to bring it between your thighs. 

“Put one of your fingers inside your pussy.”

You turn your head to look up at him, kiss-bitten lips pulled into a pout. “But—”

“Come on, love, be good for me.” Teeth nip your jaw as a warning. “I know you can be so good for me.”

Slowly, you ease your finger in beside his with little pants of his name. His cock jumps against your back as he watches your cunt open up to suck in the intrusion—it makes his stomach twist. Simon traps your finger between his and curls them alongside his inside you, tearing a sharp cry from your chest.

“You’re so gorgeous.” His words are raw, rumbling somewhere deep within his chest. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. So full. Better than your boyfriend ever could.”

Masterlist

[elexaria]

simon swore up and down he’d never want kids, he was certain he’d end up just like his old man and he would rather die than let a child grow up how he did. he tells you, “look at the state of me, yeah? not exactly father material, am i? i’m tapped in the head, ‘ts not fair to give a kid any of that.” as he taps his temple with his pointer finger.

years pass, and those words echo in your mind as he holds your chubby baby in his rough hands, one gently splayed on their soft tummy while the other supports their head. he’s gently suspending your baby in the air, mimicking helicopter noises as they squeal and giggle happily. simon has the biggest grin on his face as your 3 year old begs him to let them have a turn as a rileycopter, small hands tugging on his cargo pants with pouty lips.

not exactly father material, simon? you beg to differ.

[thelostmagicians]

Summary: Eddie Munson's reputation has never been worse, but you must like him for him. [2.8k]

Fluff, comfort, slight angst, sad boy Eddie

♡

This ain't for the best, my reputation's never been worse, so you must like me for me

Eddie’s always had a bad reputation, in high school he was known as The Freak, which soon morphed into Devil Worshipper, but the worst label he’s had so far had to be Murderer. It’s been almost a year since he’s been cleared for the murders of Vecna’s victims, but Hawkins has yet to move past it and believe in his innocence. 

His friends stay strong by his side and even Hopper has a soft spot for him now, but it still isn’t easy. He’s taunted and harassed relentlessly, everywhere he goes, fired from jobs, rejected by girls, and his once dream of going on tour with Corroded Coffin squashed when he lost their slot at the Hideout. Some days, he thinks about packing it all up and moving away, leaving behind his past and the trauma, but he wants to be strong. He wants to show people that their words can’t break him any more than the Upside Down already has. He’s made peace with the fact that his reputation will never change and that he’ll lead a despairing life in Hawkins, but at least he’ll do it with pride. 

-

The first time Eddie sees you, it’s storming outside. Wayne is getting ready to close the garage while he’s checking the register. He sees you running towards, your worn out purse doing nothing to cover you from the pouring rain. Your shoes squeak as Wayne ushers you in, gently pushing you to stand near the heaters.

“I’m so sorry, I know it’s closing, but I just moved here and my car keeps making this weird noise, and tomorrow is my first day of work and I don’t want anything to go wrong and…” you keep rambling, frustration seeping through your words.

“Take a breath darlin’, you’re okay,” Wayne reassures.

You nod, hands clutching your bag as you take deep breaths. Wayne’s gaze meets Eddie over your shoulder as he gestures at him to bring the office chair around. Eddie grimaces when the chair squeaks against the tile floor, hoping you won’t notice, but his wish goes ignored when you meet his eyes. 

One look into your eyes and he’s a goner, his heart fights to jump out of his chest, his hands clam up on the chair, and he forgets how to breathe. You shoot him a soft smile and he nearly topples over, legs having a mind of their own. He hurriedly drags the chair near you while Wayne gestures for you to sit. 

“What’d you say was wrong with your car?” Wayne’s voice breaks Eddie out of his trance and the smirk he gets tells him Wayne knows more than he lets on. 

“I’m not really sure, it just makes a chggg… chggg…” you trail off, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. 

Eddie chuckles under his breath, god you were so fucking cute. 

“What time does your work start tomorrow?”

“nine a.m.,” your eyes light up with hope at Wayne’s question. 

“We’ll have it done by eight, you can come pick it up then. Do you need a ride back here?”

“Oh no, It’s only a five minute walk away from my place. I’ll be okay, thanks.” You glance out the door, the storm barely visible now, you thank both of them profusely rushing out the door, squealing with giddiness when you think they can’t see you anymore. 

“That was awfully nice of you,” Eddie accuses. 

“Yeah it was… only for my favorite nephew though.”

 “I’m your only nephew,” Eddie huffs, “Still didn’t think you would volunteer to work late because I have a crush.” 

Wayne smirks at Eddie’s admittance, “I didn’t. Have fun working and don’t forget to double check the doors before you leave.” He shrugs on his leather jacket, bustling through the front door, leaving a very confused Eddie in the lobby. 

_

Eddie stays up until three in the morning, fixing everything wrong with your car. He goes home sluggish, but doesn’t forget to set an alarm for seven, so he won’t miss you when you come to pick up. 

He’s awakened by a loud pounding at his door, instead of the shrill of his alarm. He trips over clothes as he shuffles out of bed, grabbing his old hellfire t-shirt before swinging open the trailer door. 

Wayne’s frantic face appears before him, hands grabbing his shoulders and checking him over, while repeatedly asking if he was okay. Eddie runs his hands through his hair finally fully waking up at Wayne’s distraught voice, “Wha’s going on, somethin’ happen?”

Wayne’s eyes turn dark, “The shop… someone came over and…”

Eddie doesn’t let Wayne finish before he’s grabbing his jeans and shoes and running towards the building. He can spot the words from nearly a mile away, crimson paint making it unmissable. Murderer covers the entire side of the building, the dripping of the paint being a near perfect replication of blood, the windows are smeared with the same paint, handprints accompanying the paint strokes. The sight itself was gruesome and cruel, the situation wasn’t anything new to Eddie or even Wayne, but it was still distressing when it happened. It was the same viscous cycle over and over again, Eddie and Wayne reporting the incident to Hopper, who would then catch the perps, but release them just as fast because he had no power against the rich of Hawkins, and then Eddie and his friends would spend the next few days helping Wayne scrubbing down the shop. This has happened so many times that Eddie doesn’t even flinch anymore, but today was different, you’re coming in to pick up your car in under an hour and he doesn’t think he can get the shop cleaned up by then. A disgruntled sigh leaves his lips as he grabs the nearby mop and bucket to start scrubbing. 

-

Time passes by quickly, Eddie’s arms sore from tirelessly scouring, but he isn’t even a fourth of the way done. Just as he’s about to head in for a quick water break, he spots you flitting over in your pretty blouse and flouncy skirt. You reach his side before he can hide and he busies himself with wiping off the red paint on his jeans.  

“What happened here?” Your soft voice sets his heart aflame and he tries to think of any excuse to explain all this away, but his mushy brain forces him to tell you the truth.

“I-I don’t really have the best reputation in Hawkins and people are… um v-very keen on reminding me of that,” he stammers. 

You glance up at the wall, the r at the end of murderer being the only thing that’s almost gone. Wayne was able to spray down the windows with the hose, but some of the handprints remained stubborn, similar to the scars he’ll never heal from the night he saw Chrissy die. You frown looking at the mess and Eddie feels like he’s suffocating, your silence heavy in the air, filling his mind with intrusive thoughts of despair. 

“Your car’s ready by the way, it shouldn’ give you anymo’ trouble,” he whispers.

You nod and head inside, returning momentarily with jingling keys. “Wayne said you stayed back late to work on my car, thank you.”

He shrugs, “It’s no problem.”

He’s expecting another awkward silence, but you surprise him, “Do you need help? I mean I can’t help right now because I have work… but I can come back after and help you out.”

“You want to help me? Did you not see the murderer written across the walls?”

“I did. I just don’t believe you’re as good of a murderer as Hawkins thinks considering I’m still alive.”

Eddie laughs loudly, head thrown back, brown curls flying on his face. “I don’t know I did work on your car, so maybe I’m trying new methods, you know, straying away from the usual stabbing.”

You smile at him before getting in your car, you roll your windows down as you back out, yelling out, “I’ll be here at five!”

-

We can't make any promises, now can we, babe? But you can make me a drink

You stayed late that night, helping him until Wayne’s shop glittered clean, what would have taken him a few days to finish, only took him a few hours. It felt like everything was easy when you were next to him, your presence alone giving him a new outlook on life. He talked to you for hours and hours, words flowing out like quick sand, sharing every thought and experience and you were no different mouth moving a mile a minute, eager to learn about him, but also teach him about you. 

Although you exchanged numbers before parting ways, you hadn’t had the chance to give him a call, work and a new environment getting in the way. Eddie on the other hand found excuses to not call you in fear of what you might say. Maybe you only gave him your number to be nice, or you hadn’t called him yet because people’s opinions on him finally got to you, or maybe you just didn’t like him. He knew the excuses were a shield to protect his heart, but no matter how many times he tried he could never find the courage to dial your full number, always stopping before the last digit and hanging up. 

-

He’s genuinely surprised when you walk into the Hideout at 2 a.m. on a Thursday morning. You look rundown and tired, but your eyes light up when you see him, smiling so bright it blinds him momentarily. 

“H-hi.”

“Hey, Eddie. I didn’t know you worked here.” That was a lie. You knew he worked here once your co-worker let it slip that she avoided the Hideout because of Eddie. You started frequenting the bar almost every night hoping to catch a glimpse of him, until finally one of the other bartenders showed mercy and told you the time for his next shift.

“Yeah, I work the dead shifts, when people really aren’t around,” he looks down sadly, busying himself with dirty scotch glasses. 

You smile softly, hand reaching to squeeze his, “You’re not who people say you are, I hope you know that.”

His neck heats up, blush blossoming its way towards his cheeks, “you know I never thanked you properly for that night, helping me out with cleaning the shop.”

“How about you make me a drink and we’ll call it even.”

-

Sometimes I wonder; when you sleep, are you ever dreaming of me? Sometimes when I look into your eyes...I pretend you're mine, all the damn time

Nowadays, instead of nightmares keeping Eddie awake it's you. You're always in his dreams, keeping the bad memories at bay with your sweetness. Sometimes he dreams of the day you first met, but most nights he dreams of a future together. He isn’t brave enough to ask you out, but he can feel his heart get stronger and stronger the more time he spends with you, the usual taunts and threats being easily brushed off now instead of sticking to him like honey. He doesn’t know what a future with you looks like, but he hopes it’ll always feel like this, safe, happy, and serene. He dreams of holding your hand, whisking you away on dates, and charming you until your heart gives out and you finally shut him up with a kiss. Waking up from a dream about you is more painful than waking up from a nightmare, knowing that everything he dreams to have with you can only be achieved when he’s asleep.

_

You wake up everyday eager for nightfall so you can see Eddie in your dreams. It hasn’t been long since your first meeting, but you’re addicted to him, his laugh, hair, charm, wit, everything and anything about Eddie is your favorite thing in the world. You feel at peace just thinking about him and you’re eagerly counting down the minutes for when you can see him next. You dream about lying in bed with him, waking up late, cooking breakfast, doing laundry, all the chores you hate doing, but you want it all with him, even the boring-ness of life. You have to set your alarm an hour early now, otherwise you’ll keep snoozing it just to bask in your dreams longer and soak up as much Eddie as you can before facing the reality of him not being yours. 

-

Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head? 'Cause I know that it's delicate  Is it cool that I said all that? Is it too soon to do this yet? 'Cause I know that it's delicate

You and Eddie hang out almost everyday now, whether it’s an early morning at the hideout or late nights in his trailer, you talk about anything and everything, conversation flowing easy and warm. He looks happier than he did the day you met him, almost boyish and young, eyes full with hope. You hope it stays that way. 

You feel different too, lighter on your feet, a smile permanently etched on your face, and love blossoming in your heart. You know you have feelings for Eddie, strong ones at that and you know he feels something for you too, but you see the hesitance in his eyes almost like he’s scared to believe you’re real. Every time you reach for his hand he pulls back, fearful his touch might burn you, he shuffles farther away from you when he sees a passerby hoping to save you from the ridicule that accompanies him. You’ve told him you don’t care what others think, but he thinks it’s too good to be true, which is why, today, you decide you’re going to sweep Eddie Munson off his feet. 

Your first stop is flowers. Eddie has never said anything about his favorite flower, but you think sunflowers are the most fitting for the boy who warms your heart. You stop by Benny's for his usual order before heading to his trailer, your palms sweat and your knees shake, walking the short distance from your car to his front door seems like a battle, your heart as heavy as the bags you're carrying in. You're nervous, sure, you're pretty confident that he likes you like that, but change is still nerve wrecking, even if it can be good. You knock fast and loud before you lose your courage, part of you hoping he doesn't open so you can go back to wallowing, but another part, a bigger part, of you is giddy with anticipation. 

He swings open the door, sweats hanging almost too low, and an old band t-shirt falling off his shoulder thanks to the stretched out collar. 

"Hey, sweetheart. What brings you here?"

The speech you had prepared vanishes, mind becoming blank as his stare looms over your face, you act before you speak, hands shoving the sunflowers roughly in his chest. "These are for you. I didn't know your favorite flower, but I thought you'd like sunflowers... 'cause, well... you're my sun, I guess." You shyly meet his gaze.

His eyes are tender, oozing love, but it's his tone that makes your heart plummet. "Sweetheart, this is nice 'n all, but we... you and I can never work. You don't wanna be with someone like me."

You sigh, dropping the Benny's takeout on the floor, you reach out and let your fingers brush back his curls, and then slowly trace down his forehead to his cheeks, then lips. He sighs softly, eyes closing as the ache in his heart is replaced with bliss, your fingers stop at his chin gently cradling it, encouraging him to meet your eyes. 

"Eddie, I don't care what people think.. or say.. or do. All I know is that I'm my best when I'm with you, you make me feel alive and safe. I like you for you. If I make you even half as happy as you make me, then..."

He chokes back a sob, bringing you chest to chest forcing you to share the same breath of air. "I'm my best when I'm with you too. You've changed my life for the better, you're my first thought in the morning and my last one at night."

You laugh through your tears bringing his face close to yours hoping you can finally taste the lips you've dreamed of, but he beats you to it, pressing his lips to yours, giving you a kiss as soft and tender as him. 

Eddie‘s delicate heart finally mending with your love.

[whinesandwhimpers]

down bad simon may look a little like this

You've stepped outside for some fresh air so when Simon walks out a few minutes after you and lights up a cigarette, your face immediately scrunches up in disgust.

He catches your expression. "Not a fan of smoking?"

"Came out for some fresh air."

"Hm, seems like more than that." He muses, turning his head away to blow out some smoke.

"I just think it's gross."

He's silent for a few moments and you think maybe he's offended even, but then he turns back to you and clears his throat.

"That one of your deal breakers then?"

"Deal brea—yeah. It is. Don't think I could bring myself to even kiss a smoker. Why? You interested?" You joke, expecting a laugh and dismissal of the conversation.

He immediately throws his cigarette on the ground and snuffs it out with his shoe, then walks over to the bin and pulls the half-full carton out of his pocket and throws it and his lighter out. Just like that. He walks back over to stand in front of you, his large hand coming up to rest on your cheek, an intensity simmering in his dark eyes as he looks at you.

"Yes."

[loveindefinitely]

task force 141 with a controversially young civilian girlfriend.

-> mentions of large age-gaps, referenced sexual content, alcohol use. afab!fem!reader. minor dubcon (everyone's drunk.)

thinking that you're studying in uni. working on the side to try and afford rent and, if you're lucky, some noodles every other night. you don't really get seen compared to your friends, who go out clubbing and spend their spare time on dating apps.

one time, your friend drags you to a bar. not usually your scene, considering its clientele is more for tradies, and military-type men. not like the stuck-up blue collar boys at your uni.

cue you getting drunk off your ass, barely even standing, when you bump into one johhny mactavish.

he holds your elbows, your chest crashing into his. gentle with it, too -- kind and sweet and grounding.

"y'alright, lass?" he asks, a small smirk on his face, eyes darting across your frame greedily. he, in all fairness, looks nearly as drunk as you. he stumbles a little with your weight.

you giggle, tilting your head to look at him. say something stupid like, "you don't look like a student."

his brows raise, his dimples deepen. "aye, very smart, hen."

you preen with the compliment, a cheesy grin stuck to your face. you make no move to stand up and leave. you think your friend just left with a guy anyways.

johnny moves you, muscled arm around your waist as he takes you to a booth.

three other men sit in it, only one looking somewhere in a ten-year age bracket to you. they're all impossibly large, filling out the space with ease. your stomach swoops, but you easily blame the alcohol.

manoeuvring you so you sit in his lap, johnny's hand is a comforting weight on your waist. he huffs a laugh.

"didn't realise we were goin' for jailbait, soap," the youngest one chimes, dark features shining in the pub's dim light. his eyes trail your frame silkily.

you can't stop the roll of your eyes -- your inhibitions have made you senseless. "'m not, 'm completely," you drag out the syllables, "legal."

a hand on your thigh makes you jolt, and when you look over, a blonde man with a black medical mask raises an unimpressed brow. "got a problem, kid?"

you shoot him a weak glare. "not a kid. weirdo."

the arm around your waist tightens, as does the weirdo's hand encompassing your thigh.

"not scared of anythin', are you darl'?" the final man in the booth asks, hands folded together where they rest at the table. he looks at least double your age, and that simple fact along with his drawling words has your core tightening.

"what's there to be scared of?" you ask, stupidly. your head tilts to the side, unknowingly moving to rest on johnny's shoulder. he doesn't comment.

"miss bein' young and drunk," gaz sighs, hand softly gripping the gin sat on the table in front of him.

"you look young," your brows furrow, not understanding. how old could he really be, to act so nostalgic of your current predicament? "how old are you guys?"

it's an embarrassing question -- makes you feel like a child all over again. but your interest is quickly peaking, and your need for answers overpowers your need for decorum.

johnny's the one to answer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers.

"gaz, the pretty one over there, he's twenty-eight," he murmurs, heat stirring low in your gut as you nod mindlessly, meeting gaz's eyes.

johnny stokes his thumb over the skin of your hip, and you curl into him further -- stranger be damned.

"i'm thirty," he hums, and god, he sounds so fucking sensual you're about to melt into his arms. if you aren't already.

"the guy in the mask?" said man's hand tightens impossibly against your skin, fingers just shy of grazing your aching pussy, "he's thirty-seven. got a lot of experience, aye?"

you shudder.

"what about you?" you end up voicing, shyly meeting the last man's gaze. he takes a slow sip of his whiskey.

he leans back into the cushion, eyeing you carefully.

"forty-three."

your thighs squeeze together, and fuck, if that's not a turn-on. no matter how unsafe you should feel, surrounded by four military-grade, older men, it only manages to have you wet beyond belief.

all you can manage is one question.

"take me home?"

[sant-riley]

[Touchy feely] [tf141 headcanons]

(Romantic impied Task force 141 boys x gender neutral!reader headcanons :))

Summary: Being the sweetheart of the task force means the boys are not shy about the fact that they're all simps and always want some sort of contact with you at all times.

Consists of romantic/suggestive headcanons for each of the guys and little things they do with you <3

Words: about 1.5k (this was supposed to be short, whoops)

Warnings/Info: Can be read separately but it is intended that they all harbor feelings for you at the same time, possibly out of character for everyone, some swearing, the guys manhandle you, as always, let me know if I miss something!

Thinking about how each of the boys is so touchy with you, it doesn't matter where you are or who you're with, they're shameless.

Other units and teams who will sometimes share the base with 141 know better than to ask questions or directly say anything to one of the guys or you for that matter. Not that they could anyway, seeing as you always have at least one of them attached to your hip.

Price:

Anyone who walks into Price's office late at night to turn something in is used to seeing you next to the Captain on the little dingy loveseat he has in there.

John is usually smoking a cigar, taking care to not blow smoke your way while your head is resting on his shoulder. Your eyes closed as you hum at his words. It's terribly domestic for a military base.

John likes to gently play with your hair while he speaks about missions he's been on, always somehow trying to braid despite not knowing how to for jack shit, whether it because it's you or just the mindless motion, he's not willing to say.

John will usually walk you back to your room after dinner or time in his office unless he's swamped with work.

A small hand on the small of your back while he leads you. It's always a respectable touch, though he tucks you into his side, nodding at everyone you may pass.

If you're comfortable with it, he likes to press a kiss to your head, smiling that goofy ass smile, and tells you to get a good night's rest.

He lets you help him trim up his beard, he won't let you do all of it but he likes the closeness of it, him sitting down while you gently shape it up, tilting his head up and he tries his best to not stare directly at your chest.

The fact that he's letting you this close to his neck with a razor is a sign of trust, maybe small for others but for a man that doesn't drop his guard and doesn't truly trust others, it speaks volumes.

The first time he let you, you were barely putting any pressure and he grabbed your hand in his and showed you. "You're not gonna hurt me, put more force into it, yeah?"

Don't get me started on going out on walks in London with Price, he wraps you up in his beanie and some big leather jacket he has that dwarves you, helping you move through crowds by once again holding the small of your back, or taking your smaller hand in his. (He doesn't correct anyone if they mistake you as married)

He likes to kiss the back of your hand and laughs when it makes you blush and sputter out that his beard is scratchy.

Ghost:

Ghost is a subtle one, he won't actively reach for you or your hand but he does have some part of him against you most times.

Whether it be his leg, arm, or thigh, anything works. A normal place yall will be seen together is in the dining hall, you've both learned to ignore the stares from everyone else.

Simon never eats there, just sits with you until you're finished and then you both move on to either his quarters or somewhere else so he can peel his mask up to eat a bit.

However, while you're eating and telling him about anything under the sun, he'll lean over and wipe some crumbs off of your mouth with his thumb softly, which again, you're used to so okay whatever but Recruits always are taken aback in their seats.

Ghost's reflexes kick into overdrive with you. His hand going to cover a corner of a table 9/10 times before you completely wreck your shit, but when he does miss (sometimes on purpose).

He'll bring a hand up to rub at your head for you, chuckling under his breath before cooing down at you "That hurt pretty? Sure look like it did."

Whenever you two specifically are paired onto a mission, doesn't matter if any of the guys complain, he will share a cot/tent with you. He claims he runs the hottest (he doesn't, it's Johnny but he will not lose on this) and can keep your body the warmest.

He pretty much lugs you on top of him and wraps his arms around your waist, he'll press a hand against your head if you keep fidgeting, rasping at you to go to sleep. He takes great pride in the fact that you're usually out like a light very shortly.

I've said it once and I'll say it again, Ghost likes to hook a finger into your body straps and pull it really hard and let it smack you to get your attention if you're not actively paying attention to him, he'll soothe the area but he's smirking behind that fucking mask.

On that note, he definitely does the "You got something right here." And points at your chest and immediately pull up to flick your nose hard as fuck, he KNOWS his own strength but sometimes your eyes water and he immediately feels bad.

Ghost rests his head on your chest a lot, he finds your heartbeat to be soothing and reassuring, also grunts if you don't wrap your arms around him in return, bro literally shoves his head into you and groans

This is a grown man but it's cute so you let it slide bc he'll never ask for it outright, he just assumes you'll cradle his head.

Soap:

Johnny is the most shameless motherfucker here, I'm talking about draping himself over you, grabbing at your cheeks, ruffling your hair, kissing you dangerously close to your lips (it drives the others mad), he's the most unapologetic about it and will gloat to the others.

Manhandler #1, isn't above grabbing you by your hips and picking you up to move you somewhere, he's literally gone and grabbed you from some rookies side to come stand next to him with a smile and you're just so used to it that you just shrug and go along with it. (He gets slightly jealous, why would you stand next to some random ass dude and not him??)

Throws you over his shoulder, or likes you to cling to his front or his back and just carries you, he says it's a comfortable weight. If you ever dare say you're too heavy, he's gonna go to the gym and work out even more to PROVE to you that he simply doesn't care, he will carry you.

Extremely bad habit of sneaking into your room to fall asleep with you, Price has come into your room many times to see Soap sprawled on top of you, he's drooling and snoring and you're knocked the fuck out (he's like a glorified weighted blanket).

I've touched on this before but he only wants you to cut his hair for him, yeah he can go to the barber on base but he much prefers you and loves it when you scratch at his scalp. He also likes to just have his head in between your thighs but that's something else for another time-

Soap specifically slings you over his shoulder a lot, especially off base where he truly doesn't have any fucks to give.

You're not going to bed because you have other work?? Too bad, shoulder time you go. You're not willing to get up and make yourself food? Good thing he's here, either pick what you want from the kitchen or throw some clothes on bc he IS dragging you out of the house.

Johnny likes to draw on you a lot, it ranges from scribbles, to sometimes his name if he's feeling cheeky (he's drawn it on your thigh before and you didn't notice until Gaz shot you a look), to intricate drawings of whatever he can think whether it be a landscape or an animal.

He always holds you steady and it isn't uncommon for your limbs to fall asleep but it's worth it, if only to see him smile.

Gaz:

Gaz is probably the most secretly clingy person out of the four, he CAN function without your touch but does he PREFER to? No.

His first instinct in any situation is to grab you and shield you, he's the fastest of the four so his body moves without thinking and it's saved you more times than any of you would like to count.

The one mission where you both fell out of a moving truck, he tucked your body into his despite it costing him his shoulder popping out of the socket, you couldn't help but freak out while Ghost moved to pop it back into place.

"Why the fuck would you do that? Look at your arm!" "It's nothing." "Garrick what the fuck-"

When you're out anywhere off base, he's holding your hand, good luck trying to pull away bc he is not letting go. Too bad so sad, resign to your fate.

I think Gaz is definitely good at dancing, at least with you and when the right music is on, you cannot tell me this man wouldn't twirl you around and shit-fight me on it. He'll even lift you off your feet, laughing when you scramble to grab at his shoulders.

He goes stark still if you rest your head on his shoulder, not because he's nervous but because he's worried about waking you up when he knows you deserve a rest.

He'll usually wrap his arm around your shoulder to hold you in place so the heli ride doesn't jostle you so much, gentleness rubbing his knuckles along your arm to soothe you.

Gaz is the one who holds you when you have nightmares, on rare occasions when Soap isn't in your room and you just need to be held with no talking, you always without thinking find yourself in Kyle's room, his arms wrapped around your waist as he tucks your head under his chin, no questions asked.

He'll maybe hum a tune to help you relax but other than that, he lets you lead the way.

[alexthetrashyracoon]

Simon was a light sleeper, he had to in his line of work, but he wasn’t just a light sleeper when he was on duty, but at home too.

So when one night he was woken by a clanging down in the kitchen, Simon sat straight in bed, clear headed and focused on locations the reason for that noise.

A small smile slipped on his face, someone was stupid enough to break into his home, must be Simon’s lucky day.

“Stay here, I’ll take care��” He whispered into the dark room, hand patting the space next to him only to find it cold.

You weren’t there.

Simon’s blood froze.

The smile was gone.

His mind ran with a million questions at the same time. Did something happen to you? Were you in danger?

Without hesitation he slipped out of bed and out of the room.

He searched the guest rooms but found everything empty and quiet. So Simon sneaked downstairs, seeing lights on in the kitchen.

To be honest, Simon shouldn’t be surprised. He should absolutely not be surprised to look at the clock on the wall to see the time being three in the morning and you, sitting on the counter, in one of his shirts and your unicorn slippers on while snacking on a freshly opened bag of shredded cheese.

“And here I thought someone broke into our home.” Simon announced his presence and stepped next to you, realizing that you had been daydreaming while eating.

“Damn, don’t scare me, Si!” You complain and cough harshly as you felt some shredded cheese making its way down your windpipe.

He laughed and patted your back, helping you to take a deep breath again. “Sorry, sweets. Like I said, thought we get robbed. What happened that caused me to wake up? Usually you’re quite as a mouse eating your shredded cheese.”

“You left the salad bowl out, I haven’t seen it, ran into it with my fat ass. Sorry for waking you. Know how much you love your sleep.” You mumbled and leaned against his side.

“Mhm… but not as much as eating shredded cheese with you at three in the morning.” Simon grinned and stole the bag of cheese from your hands. “That’s for waking me.” He ate half the bag before handing it back to you. “And that’s for making me think we were getting robbed.”

He stole a sweet kiss from your lips when you were closing the bag of cheese, grinning when you accidentally let it fall to the ground in surprise.

If anyone asks where I was, five words, Genshin Impact and Honkai Star Rail. Sorry <3

[swordsandholly]

Double Date - Double Down

NSFW | MDNI

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!plus size!reader

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: When you get a call in the middle of the afternoon from your friend begging you to fill an empty spot on a double date your initial instinct is a hard no. After all, no one wants to go on a blind double date and be surprised by the fat friend. It doesn’t help that this Simon guy is stupid fucking hot and obviously doesn’t like you - if his lack of talking is anything to go by.

A/N: Just a fun little oneshot I used as a warmup between working on chapters of future multi chapter projects.

“I said *no*.” You snap, angrily folding the washcloth in your hands.

Your friend splutters from the other side of the phone, the desperation in her voice only growing now that she’s on her fourth ask. “*Pleeeaase*! Steph backed out last minute and no one else is free-“

“How do you know I’m free?”

“You just said you were!”

You huff. She’s got you there. When she first called, you admitted you didn’t have anything going on but that was *before* she told you the plan for the night. Before she mentioned that her very, very conventionally hot military boyfriend wanted to do a little double date with his friend and one of hers. Plus, you take a least a little offense to being second choice. Really, last choice, it seems.

“Cass, you can’t just set up a blind date and take your fat friend. That’s not-“

“You’re not fat, love. You’re beautiful.” Her words drip with turned honey. You make a gagging face to yourself in the mirror. “You just need more confidence!”

You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could try, for the millionth time, to explain to her the nuanced ins and outs of dating as a fat woman. The rules and stats that could rival even the most complex rpg… or you could be petty. It takes less time to be petty. “If I go, you’re paying for my drinks.”

“Johnny’s friend will probably-“

“Yeah, and when he leaves you’re paying for my tab.”

“He won’t-“

“We got a deal?”

She clicks her tongue. “*Fiiiine*.”

At least you can get wasted for free either way. A small consolation. She texts you the time and location, barely leaving you with enough time to shower and turn yourself into something presentable. Not that you really care. It’s going to be shit either way, most likely. Staring yourself down in the mirror, you suppose you could at least try to look somewhat attractive. If you’re about to get rejected (or possibly shouted at, you’ll never forget *that* horrendous interaction) you might as well feel your best.

The pub is small as you push through the front door. Casual. A couple pool tables, some darts, a large bar and few booths with stools on the outer side. You scan the room, searching for Cass’s familiar face.

“Over here!” Cass waves with a wide arc at you, a grin plastered from ear to ear. At least she’s having fun.

You take a long breath, bracing yourself for whatever is about to happen. Cass introduces you to her boyfriend - who is somehow even hotter in person. You can see why she’s so smitten with him. Johnny looks you up and down as he shakes your hand. He doesn’t comment, or make a face, or really react in any particular way, but you can feel a shift. Something in his eyes…

Maybe it’s just your imagination. You’ve always been a little over sensitive.

“Si will be back in a sec. Stepped over tae get a drink.” He flashes a grin.

You hum, quietly folding your hand as Cass pushes a cocktail for you that she preemptively ordered. Criticize her as much as you like, she knows her mixes.

“There he is.” Johnny grins, turning slightly.

You follow his gaze, heart sinking as your eyes settle on the man approaching your table. He’s massive. Tall and wide. Total brick shithouse. His face is mostly covered by a black surgical mask. A few years ago you might have questioned it but at this point you couldn’t care less, especially when his dark eyes meet yours, small flecks of gold honey catching the low bar lights. Barely styled tufts of blonde hair stick up from his head. They look like they might curl if he let it grow a little longer.

All in all, wayyyy out of your league.

He settles into his seat with all the confidence of any military man - back ramrod straight. He extends a large hand. “Simon Riley.”

You murmur your name, somewhat enthralled by the half lidded, almost bored look in his eyes. Now that he’s closer you notice a large scar splitting his left eyebrow and light, newly forming crows feet in the corners of his eyes.

“S-so you’re military, too?” You stutter, eyes trained on his the massive hand holding his glass. It’s nicely vascular, his nails are well groomed but it also looks like he could snap you in half with it.

Not that that’s entirely a bad thing - whatever that may or may not say about you.

He nods. “I’m a Lieutenant.”

“Oh! Officer position. So you’re smart, then?” You try to be charming, to give him a sweet smile and keep your body language open.

“Enough.” He deadpans. It takes a few beats for you to realize he’s not going to say anything else.

“Uh…” You squirm awkwardly under his gaze. It’s intense - his dark eyes nearly black in the low light of the bar. “I do hair.”

Conversation is slow, to say the least. The longest answer he gives you is maybe five words. He only flips up the mask long enough to take a sip of his drink every so often. You start to talk less, opting toward a group conversation in which Johnny takes the lead, which he is obviously very good at. He regales you and Cass with a few stories of his and Simon’s adventures. Some funny, some brave, some worrying. He’s setting the man up to be a god, nearly, but Simon himself just shakes his head and insists Johnny is exaggerating.

You wonder what he sees in Simon. Alternatively, you wonder what *you’re* supposed to see in Simon. Besides his good looks, of course. He’s… bland. Obviously bored if his constant glances toward the exits and rhythmic, occasional tapping on the corner of the table are anything to go by.

“Want tae go dance, lovie?” You overhear Johnny as he leans in toward Cass.

She glances at you, then Simon, then back to you before nodding enthusiastically. “We’ll give you two some time *alone*.”

In any other situation, you’d probably beg her to stay in desperation for a conversation buffer. Here and now, though, you’re grateful. You can finally let this poor guy off the hook. You wait until they’re gone; fully out of earshot before turning to the man in front of you.

“I…uh… look…” You chew your lip, glancing between him and your folded hands on the table. “Sorry… I know I’m probably not what, uh, what you expected… I get it if you want to leave. It’s - you don’t have to stay, or whatever. Don’t have to be polite…”

He cocks an eyebrow, eyes boring through your skull. “Why would I want to leave?”

“I know what I look like. You don’t have to be nice.”

His raised brow turns into a slight frown. “I think you’re quite pretty.”

You scoff - blushing despite yourself. “Again, you don’t have to be nice.”

“Do I seem like the type to just be nice?”

You continue to gnaw at your lip. He’s got you there. Simon definietly doesn’t come off as the type to bow to polite society. “You’ve barely talked to me.”

He stares for a moment. It’s his turn to avert his eyes, swirling around the whiskey in his glass awkwardly. Almost bashfully. “It’s not you. I’m… not great in public… especially in crowds…”

Oh.

*Oh*.

You’ve completely misjudged him, haven’t you? Shit. He’s just a big awkward lug isn’t he?You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Oh God, *I’m* the asshole, aren’t I?”

He chuckles, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I’m sorry it’s just…” you scrub a hand over your face. “Most men don’t really want to be surprised with a fat girl on a blind date. Guess I assumed the worst.”

Simon hums. A low vibration that settles into your bones. He gets up, sliding into the booth side of the table beside you - his massive frame pushing into your space. He smells like spices. Cinnamon and pepper. A little hint of leather and tobacco underneath. It’s heady, and some primal part of your mind wishes you could roll around in it like a dog.

“Some men might like a waifish little thing, that’s their business, but personally…” He leans in, a large hand resting on your wide thigh. “Yeah. I like somethin’ I can get a proper handful of.”

“*Oh*.” You squeak, back stiff. Was that what you saw in Johnny’s face before? Approval?

“‘Ere’s a thought - we go back to mine. S’quiet. Can talk more freely. See where the night goes, hm?”

You smile hesitantly, finally looking up to meet his gaze. It’s honest. Kind. Dark pools of sincerity. It’s against your better judgement. Impractical. Out of character. Even so, you allow yourself to surrender with a warmth in your cheeks and a small nod.

“I’ll get an Uber.” He pulls out his phone, tapping away. “Five minutes out.”

“Want to wait outside?” You offer, nodding toward the front entrance. Simon just nods, following you out close behind. Neither of you say much of anything while you wait, but you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He taps on his leg a few times in much the same way as he did on the table.

He dutifully opens the car door for you, letting you slide in before climbing in beside you, long legs slightly cramped in the small sedan.

“You don’t live on base?” You ask as the Uber drives away from the infamous military housing. You’d been there once or twice - a while ago when you were younger and messier.

“S’too loud.” He shrugs. “Too crowded.”

“Well, at least you’re consistent.” You smile.

Simon hums, resting his hand on your thigh once again. It’s casual, not too high up or too much pressure. Not presumptuous.

“How’d Johnny get you out there in the first place? If you’re so *averse*.” You tilt your head.

He shrugs, “Was supposed to be another Sergeant we work with but I guess he cancelled. No one else was free.”

“Ah, so we’re both last choices, then.”

“Yeah?”

“Made Cass promise me free drinks if I came.”

“Smart girl.” He chuckles, holding out a hand to help you up out of the car upon your arrival. His hand is warm when you take it, and a small part of you feels disappointed when he lets go.

The building is small. Old. All red brick with a thirty year old intercom and an elevator that you’re pretty sure hasn’t been inspected since the place was built. About halfway down the hall, you start to second guess yourself. You don’t know a thing about this guy - you don’t know what’s going to happen as soon as you get on the other side of his door. His weird, bright red door. Wait - why is this whole floor covered in red doors?

“Alright?” He grunts, back turned to you as he wrestles with the lock.

“Uh - why is your floor color themed?”

Simon laughs, wide shoulders shaking with the movement. It’s a low sound, something that vibrates in his chest. Makes you want to press your ear to it, see how it feels. If it will reverberate into your bones as well. “The old lady that owns the building is a bit… unique. Likes to talk about colors and karma and destiny stuff.”

“Ah.” You nod, as if that makes any sense at all. “So you’re red?”

“Apparently.”

His apartment is actually quite homey, as you step into it. From a stiff military man like him you expected something akin to an ikea floor model. Instead it’s furnished with a well worn, green couch. A large TV with an extremely up-to date surround sound system and an entertainment center filled to the brim with CDs sits against the wall. A few movie posters fill the walls. All horror classics - you count three of the scream movies. The first two final destination. There are condensation rings on the coffee table.

Behind you, you hear the door lock and unlock three times, but you don’t pay it much mind.

“Want a drink?” Simon asks, already popping open a decanter full of something gold on a small drink cart beside the kitchen island.

“Sure.” The agreement is automatic - blurted out before you can second guess taking a drink from a total stranger.

You watch a little too closely as he takes off his light jacket, exposing his strong arms and a half sleeve tattoo. It’s a bit tacky, all skulls and military symbols. The black ink has been sun worn over time. The motif of a young getting his first tattoo after enlisting. He settles down on the couch with the decanter and two glasses, patting the spot beside him. You plop down. It’s pretty comfortable, honestly.

His fingers loop into the mask’s straps. You find yourself watching with wide eyes and bated breath as he removes it. His nose is crooked - broken more than a couple times, you think. There’s a scar running from his nose to upper lip that could only come from a cleft palette. It’s charming, in a way. When he turns toward you, you notice a patch on the side of his face that looks like a rather large burn all the way down to his sharp jaw. The roughness of him works, somehow. The scars and tattoos and choppy hair all coming together to create the visage of a life hard lived.

“You’re really pretty…” the words slip from your tongue before you can stop them.

Simon splutters out a laugh, the slightest hint of color appearing across his cheeks. “Didn’t take you for a flatterer.”

“I’m not.” You huff before nodding toward the posters. “Horror fan?”

He hums, passing you a glass. “Are you a fan? Of horror, I mean.”

“Found footage!” You grin a little too excited. “It’s the best genre.”

“Terrible taste.” He scoffs.

“Wrong! Found footage can be anything you want it to be - slasher, thriller, mystery, mocumentary. Anything.”

“Which makes them messy.” He argues. “Anyone can make one.”

“Yeah! Theres so many hidden gems out there.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh, I’ll put you on them. We just need to get you a good one.”

“Askin’ me on a second date already, love?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You shove at his shoulder. He was right, it is so much easier to talk freely out of the bar. Away from everyone and everything. His posture is far more relaxed, laid back into the couch with his hips canted forward rather than stiff as a board.

“We could watch one now?” He offers. If you were more sober, you might have heard the twinge of pleading in his voice. As it stands you’ve already drained the glass he gave you and are perfectly buzzed enough to be ignorant to the subtler parts of communication.

How convenient.

“Okay.” You whisper.

After a bit of debating back and forth you settle on Hell House. After all, it’s been your tried and true method for getting anyone and everyone into the genre. You don’t notice it, at first, but you slowly begin to scoot closer to him as you fold your knees up on the couch. Eventually, tucking yourself under his arm sling across the back cushions. Between him and the drinks - which you’re pretty sure is a rather fancy bourbon - you feel what could only be described as snuggly. Limbs loose and pliant, smile easy and words flowing as you cheer and jeer at the characters together.

At some point, Simon’s dark eyes meet between yours. You lean in, so does he. Inch by inch until your lips meet. It’s tentative, at first. Testing the waters. His lips are soft and move expertly against yours. You part for him has his tongue darts across your lower lip.

It’s easier than it usually is for you. Easy to let him pull you over his lap. To rest your hands on his broad shoulders as you take each other in. Normally, you’re not a person for one night stands. A commitment kind of gal. You can’t exactly say no, though, when you have a beautiful man’s hands traveling over your body like it’s the only thing in the world worth paying attention to right now.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to grunt, “Bedroom?”

“*Yes*.” You gasp between kisses.

Suddenly those large hands grasp under your ass as you’re hauled up. You grapple to hold onto the back of his neck, keeping your weight forward.

“Simon!”

“Yes, love?” He asks as if he didn’t just life you like a sack of potatoes.

“A-aren't I heavy?” You question as he makes his way through the apartment, peppering kisses over your neck and jaw.

“No.” He replies bluntly. Like what you asked was stupid.

You’re placed on a bed with all the gentleness of a rare china plate- one hand cradling your upper back and the other tucked under your thighs. There isn’t any time to take in the room before Simon is kissing you again but you do count approximately five pillows and zero navy sheets.

That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Simon leans in close, nose ever so slightly bumping yours. “Before we keep going, I want to establish a rule. Red light means stop. At any time, for any reason.”

You can’t help but smile. “Okay.”

“Say it back, doll.”

“Red light means stop.” You reach up and cup his face. So handsome. So warm.

“Good girl.” He murmurs. “Let’s get these off, hm?” Simon pulls your clothes off deftly - dragging those rough palms over your skin as he moves and kneading at the plushness of your hips appreciatively.

You reach up to tug at his shirt. “S’not fair if I’m the only one naked.”

Simon chuckles and hastily sits back to yank the shirt over his head, giving a lovely show in the process. You think this what people mean when they talk about an Adonis. There’s a comfortable soft layer of his strong abdomen. Something you want to sink your teeth into. Your fingers trace each dip and curve of his muscles, the lovely shape of his pectorals, the raised scars littering his body. Floral shapes from bullets along with slashes and smaller jabs. A particularly nasty one runs down his side, coving his ribs. A burn, you think.

“You’re beautiful.” You murmur. Definitely out of your fucking league. You move to sit up, reaching for his waistband.

His hand pushes your shoulder back on the bed. “Let me take care of you tonight, bird.”

Your face warms. Simon kisses your cheek, continuing down to your chest and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Gently sucking and nipping at it while flicking the other with his hand. A shameful whimper escapes your throat.

Simon leans up to murmur in your ear, “What do you want, sweet girl?”

“Want you to fuck me…” You murmur, embarrassment making you want to close your legs. His solid hips block you.

“Oh, I will, but first I want those beautiful thighs wrapped around my head.” Simon continues to place kisses down your body, over your stomach, stopping right at your panty line and tracing along it with rough fingers. His arms circle your thighs and in one swift motion your hips teeter on the edge of the bed, Simon kneeling between them. His fingers hook in the waistband of your underwear.

“W-wait…” You sit up on your elbows.

He freezes, looking up at you.

“I, uh, I haven’t exactly *landscaped* in a while… wasn’t really planning-“

Simon huffs out a laugh. “I’m a grown man, love. You think a little bush is gonna scare me off?”

All thoughts related to anything within the proximity of embarrassment come to an instant halt as Simon’s lips wrap around your clit- sucking and nipping and lapping like a man starved. Like he’d die without it. A low groan rumbles through his throat.

“F-fuck!” You gasp, whimpers and moans interrupting any chance you may have at putting words together.

“Taste so fucking good, princess.” He mumbles against you. A shaky moan rattles through you as he pushes a thick finger in, working it gently. His other than grips your hip tightly, pinning you in place. The pet-name sends a shiver down your spine - leaving you rolling your hips and clenching on the finger inside you.

“Fuck, Si…” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I can tell your close, baby.” Simon groans. “Cum for me. Come on, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking tongue.”

The bastard knows the power he has in that voice. He *has* to. That baritone gravel sinks in your veins and all you can do is whimper. Panting pathetically the closer you get. His fingers curl up and your back arches harshly as your climax washes over you. Your legs tremble as he works you through it; stopping just shy of pushing you too far.

“Hey!” You gasp indignantly as a jolt shoots up your spine as he settles a final, harsh suck on your clit.

Simon taps your hip, climbing back over you as you scoot up on the bed. He carelessly kicks off his pants as he goes, toeing them off before settling between your legs. Those dark eyes rake over you leisurely - taking in every inch. Every curve and dip and flaw categorically. He sucks in a breath and sighs. “Bloody ‘ell, look at you… so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your face heats and you look away. “Who’s the flatterer now?”

“Not me. Just bein’ honest.” He places a quick kiss to your soft jawline before reaching over to dig through his nightstand drawer. You don’t miss the gold foil of the condom wrapper.

You can’t stop yourself from licking your lips as he pulls off his boxer briefs. Simon is uncut, already ruddy and leaking and just begging for your mouth. Maybe next time, though. He’s already slipped on the condom, carefully hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and the other around his hip. The man has a laser-focus to him, you’ll give him that.

“Still want t’ keep goin’?” He mumbles, eyes locked on his cock as is drags between your folds.

“*Please*.” You whine pathetically. Simon’s chuckle turns into a gasp as he presses in. It’s achingly slow and you roll your hips in demand for more.

Simon lets out a low groan as his hips meet yours. The stretch is perfect - just enough to feel completely full without pushing you too far. As though your bodies were made to slot together just so. Your head falls back, chest heaving as you beg him to move, to fuck you, just *please* for the love of god-

“Needy little thing.” He gives you a sloppy smile before setting a brutal pace. You find yourself clawing at his back, clinging to him as your back arches and the most obscene sounds are systematically torn from your throat. The angle he has your hips placed causes his cock to bully that sensitive spot inside you - dragging over it with every thrust.

Simon leans toward, bracing himself on his forearms and pinning you under him as he fucks into you. “So fuckin’ good f’me. Knew you would be. So soft and sweet and goddamn *pretty*.”

“*Fuck, Simon*.” You gasp, nose bumping against his as your lips intertwine. Breaths and moans intermingle as you both chase that edge. There’s nothing else, in this moment, just you and Simon and the sounds only he has ever managed to pull from you.

Your orgasm hits you like a train. Out of nowhere and all at once, tensing every muscle into a trembling mess as you clamp down around his cock. Simon sinks his teeth into your neck as his own climax takes him, cradling you close and moaning out your name so muddled you almost miss it.

For a few moments, you stay frozen in place trying to catch your breath as you come down. Your limbs feel like jelly when you finally try to move, body limp and pliable. It almost feels like a loss as he pushes off of you, leaving you open and vulnerable to the cool night air while he ties off the condom.

“Be right back.” He murmurs, slowly climbing off you and heading for an attached bathroom off to the left.

You let your eyes slipped closed only to jump and shoot back open as a dap rag drags between your thighs. A little yelp escapes you as the rough material drags across your oversensitive clit. Simon chuckles at you, tossing the rag back somewhere in the bathroom before crawling into the bed beside you. It’s so easy to curl into his chest and let those strong arms encircle you.

“Have fun, love?” Simon murmurs into your hair.

You just hum happily, smiling against his hard chest.

“Good.”

It’s just as easy as the rest of it to fall asleep like that. To seek out the warmth of his body in your satiated haze and press into him, allowing the night and rhythmic beating of his heart to overtake you. You feel four small taps between your shoulder blades just before tipping over the edge into comfortable nothing.

You wake slowly to an empty bed. The light from the window above you streams in - bathing the room in a light golden tone. It’s cozy. The blankets seem to pull you in, keeping you snugly in place. Distantly, you hear the sound of pots and pans clinking.

Shockingly, you’re not hungover. Well, not much at least. There’s a slight twinge in your head and a not unpleasant soreness in your hips. You dig around, finding your clothes strewn across the room haphazardly. Your underwear are nowhere to be found and you eventually give up with a shrug. They weren’t one of your best pairs anyway.

When you come out of the bedroom, you pause. Simon stands in the kitchen, working on something over the stove wearing only a pair of sweatpants. They hang loosely around his hips, showing off the rises and dips of his strong muscles and well defined waist. This scene somehow feels too intimate despite your activities the night before.

“Perfect timing.” Simon turns, placing a plate down on the kitchen island. The omelette before you looks immaculate, all the way down to a light garnish on top.

Your eyes turn to saucers. “You…you made me breakfast?”

“Course.” He nods sharply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if *not* doing so would be some sort of affront. Either you’re still asleep and this is all a dream or you stumbled upon the perfect man through pure happenstance.

He turns the stove off and on and off twice before standing at the counter across from you while you sit on one of the stools at the island. It’s a comfortable silence as you both eat. Simon keeps glancing up at you as if waiting for your disapproval. Boyish, somehow, despite the size and breadth of him.

It’s perfect. The eggs practically melt in your mouth and the goat cheese and vegetables taste fresh. You can’t help but him happily as you eat.

By the time you’re done, you think you might be a little in love.

Maybe you should text Cass and thank her or something. Maybe a gift basket. “Oh. My phone’s dead.”

“Didn’t charge it before y’left last night?” Simon cocks an eyebrow, chewing on his last bite.

You snort. “It was last minute, remember?”

“What if I’d been some sort of psycho? What was your plan?” He grins as he takes your empty plate. If you were a more impulsive woman you may have gone so far as to lick the damn thing.

“Are you a psycho?”

“Not generally, no.”

“Well then, nothing to worry about.” You grin, watching a little too happily as he rinses down the dishes and loads the dishwasher.

Simon just scoffs at you.

You glance at the time above the stove, disappointment settling deep in your chest. “Shit. I should get going.”

“I’ll get you a cab.” Simon offers automatically, reaching for his phone.

You shift side to side, twiddling your thumbs. “Y’know… we never finished the movie…”

Simon cocks and eyebrow. From the pleased smirk on his face you can tell he knows what you’re implying. He still patiently waits for you to say it out loud.

“Would, uh, would you want to exchange numbers? Maybe… meet up… again…?” Your voice is more timid than you’d like. This fear of rejection is new. Being rejected is nothing new for you, so why does it suddenly feel so high stakes with this one guy you barely know?

You don’t miss the way his eyes light up ever so slightly at the question. “I’d love to.”

[suguann]

Being a camgirl comes with its fair share of ups and downs, but you never expected one of the downs to be one of your unboxings from a fan going horribly wrong during a live stream—the proof of it still buzzing between your thighs beyond your finger's reach. 

A rush of embarrassment comes with knocking on your roommate’s bedroom door and asking him for help because you’re nearing the brink of overstimulation and can’t think straight enough to get the words out. It’s worse when he stands there and says nothing—all imposing with two tattooed arms crossed over his chest—while you try to get through a sentence without moaning. 

Simon looks at you with a cocked brow and something akin to amusement as he watches you squirm in his doorway. 

Then he finally says, “Get on the bed,” in a steady and low voice, opening his bedroom door wider.

You fidget under his scrutinizing gaze as you settle back against his pillows, biting back whimpers with a too-hot face and sweat dripping down your back. 

Him settling a knee on the bed makes you jump, “Let’s take a look, love.” 

Simon crawls up the bed, forcing your knees open, and you’re suddenly very aware of how broad and big he looks, towering over you—every part of you laid bare for him to see. A large hand presses right below your belly button, jostling the toy inside you, and this time, you can’t hold back the squeal that rips from your chest. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice imperceptibly deeper, his lips twitching like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “Okay, you’re going to feel a slight stretch.”

You bite your lip. “A-alright—”

Slight doesn’t even come close to the fingers sliding into you, spearing your sensitive walls open and pressing into a spot where you’ve never been able to reach with startling precision. You remind yourself that he has to do this, that he’s just being…friendly, or whatever makes the lines less blurred. 

None of this stops the fact your lower stomach burns with the promise of another orgasm when his fingers brush against the egg vibrator before accidentally pressing it deeper inside.

“Ah, there it is.”

At the sight of your scrunched nose, he asks if it hurts. You shake your head; eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to hold back the stinging pleasure racing up your spine. “N-no,” you whimper.

“Relax, okay?”

Simon doesn’t comment on how you’re implying that it feels good. So good, you think, his thumb just barely touching your clit as he twists his hand to try a different angle. Then he pushes down on your belly again, and his long fingers finally grip the vibrator.

“Oh!” you moan at the feel of it dragging down your front wall, your fingers gripping the sheets. 

He has to tell you to relax again, his voice cracking, but you hardly hear it over your heart beating loudly in your ears. His fingers drag the toy out slowly, almost too slow that you can feel it bumping against every slippery ridge inside you.

“Ah, sorry,” he says when you twitch—unapologetic—using his thumb to rub soothing circles into your stomach. “You’re so wet. I need to make sure I don’t lose it again.”

You nod, cunt clenching down at his words.

And then Simon’s fingers curl up: your thighs start quivering, breath caught in your throat, and your jaw locks up until your orgasm ripples through you. It’s unending, the strongest one yet, and just when you think it’s over, you feel the press of his palm against your clit.

“W-wait! Simon,” you moan, pushing at his hand. “No more, I‘m sensitive!”

He gets you to fall over the edge one more time before finally slipping the vibrator out of you, letting it hum softly on the bed, and your exhausted body sinks into the mattress once again. Simon gathers you into his lap, rocking you back and forth.

You swallow lungfuls of air against his chest, head still spinning and walls spasming from the aftershocks. 

He murmurs in your ear about how good you are, kisses your temple, and rubs your sides, and it’s… enlightening. Moments pass before you finally return to yourself, and when he pulls back, his brows furrow at your pout.

“All good?”

You shake your head and go with honesty. “I didn’t think you’d cuddle me afterward.”

He smiles, thumb flicking your bottom lip. “You wanted me to fuck you?” 

Your mouth falls open. “N-no—”

Then he leans down, lips brushing against your ear: “Don’t worry, love. Good girls get fucked hard.”