#the saliva hanging from Simon’s lips

[kruemel8]

Paying attention to hands when Simon was riding Wille. Pretty sure he came untouched. Willes got skills

Your observation skills are on point as is Wille’s lovemaking. 🎯

[cherryredstars]

Construction worker!Ghost x Teacher!Reader? They're married and every time Ghost comes home he's instantly pussy drunk at the sight of the reader and hurries up finish eating so he can get to 'dessert' and makes sure his lovely wife gets absolutely cock drunk to remember forever like he always does?

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley" x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Oral Sex

Unedited

His back aches.

A common occurrence after lugging around bags of concrete and bricks. There is an uncomfortable knot that always flares between his shoulder blades, and Simon sniffs in discomfort as he shifts his hard hat between his arm and side. He's long decided that if a warm shower doesn't help his muscles let up, he'll ask you for a massage. Maybe he'll even ask for you to use the really expensive, nice smelling lotion you bought as a treat to yourself.

His keys knock together as he opens the front door, the scent of you and homemade food instantly flooding his senses. The house is pleasantly cool, drying the sweat that still clings to his skin from the long day in the summer sun. He can hear whatever you're watching from the entrance as he hangs up his work vest and hat, turning to find you sitting in front of the coffee table. Colorful paper in different shapes is spread out in front of you, no doubt something for your students. You turn at the sound of him entering and you give him that breath-taking smile that still makes his stomach dip.

You get up from your spot, letting him get a clear view of the outfit you wore to work today. It's a pretty little summer dress with splashes of color and a skirt flowing just below your knees. Simon can feel saliva pooling on his tongue as you approach, his fingers twitching. You have to balance on the tips of your toes to reach his face, your hands grabbing his cheeks as your soft lips press against his chapped ones. You smell like glue and the summery perfume you wear to match the season. You pull away far too quickly for his liking, and his hands grab at your waist so you don't go too far.

"I've been waiting for you," You declare, hands planted flat on his paint-stained shirt. "Dinner is on the table."

Simon hums, his thumbs rubbing at your sides through the fabric. He lets you lead him to the table when your hands slide down to capture one of his, tugging him along behind you. He can't help the way his eyes follow the curve of your spine, dipping down to the soft swell of your ass. He licks his lips as he sits down at the table, hungry for something more than a home-cooked meal.

You just look so tempting as you sit across from him, giving him that cute smile before you begin eating. You don't even act surprised when Simon starts devouring his plate, already used to his unending appetite. You're barely halfway done with your food when Simon cleans his plate.

"Do you want seconds?" You ask him, looking up at him.

Your stomach drops when you meet his heated eyes. Something in you stirs, and you have to look away for a moment to avoid being sucked into his hypnotic stare.

"In the mood for dessert," Simon grumbles, leaning back in his chair. You gulp, the meaning of his words hitting you straight in your chest. Still, you decide to play coy.

"We have some cookie dough I can pop into the oven real quick?" You offer, pushing yourself away from the table. "Or I can get us some ice cream if you want something cold."

Simon says nothing as you begin to gather the plates, but he pushes away from the table and follows you inside the kitchen. You can feel the heat of his body searing your back as you place the dishes in the sink, hesitantly turning your head to face him. He towers over you effortlessly, and you gasp when his large hands grab at your hips and turn your body to face him.

He lifts you onto the counter top without a single sign of struggle, the back of your dress becoming wet from small spots of water. Even now you have to turn your head up to look him in the eye, and your mouth slightly gapes as he leans in.

"Craving something else." He finally responds, hands grabbing at your skirt and yanking it up to your waist. You gasp, watching as Simon bends down to inspect his next course.

Your panties already have a darkened patch of arousal, and you make a noise of embarrassment when he presses his nose to it and inhales the sweetly tangy scent of your slick. He pushes further, letting his tongue lap at the spot and groaning as if he could taste the full extent of your drooling cunt. Your hands fly to his hair, the short strands filling your palms as you moan out.

You can feel the bastard smiling against you, his warm breath driving you crazy. One of his hands slips away from your skirt, the fabric draping over your thigh and bunching on the counter as he uses it to move your panties aside. The cool air against your core makes you gasp, but it's quickly replaced with the hot suction of his mouth. His mouth is scolding as he suckles at the tiny bud between your folds, wasting no time in taking his desired fill of you.

He alternates between long sucks and rapid licks, toying with the bundle of nerves before moving to your dripping slit. The tip of his tongue prods at it, not quite penetrating the leaking hole. Simon groans softly against you when you throw your feet over his shoulders, your heel digging into a sore spot in his back. But the pain just heightens his senses, pushing him to finally tongue fuck you.

A string of moans and whines escape your lips, hands tugging at Simon's hair as waves of pleasure fill your stomach. You try to call out his name, attempting to tell him how amazing it feels- how quickly your high is approaching- but it gets lost in the mind numbing pleasure that fogs your brain. You're left shaking when the build up explodes, your body slumping and your hands trying to push Simon's face away. He grunts, fighting you as he laps up the last of your release, savoring the taste as it coats his mouth. He pulls away with one last, harsh suck to your clit, chuckling when you whimper from the sensitivity.

He lets you catch your breath as he stands up, fixing your panties and skirt. Your body is lax and sluggish, and you don't protest when Simon begins to carry you out of the kitchen and to the bathroom. He whispers soft praises into your ear, telling you how well you took his feasting and how pretty you looked while doing it. You smile happily to yourself, tightening your arms around him as best as you can in your sedated state. As Simon carries you, he realizes that the annoying knot in his back has disappeared.

Maybe all he needed was a good taste of his wife's pussy to heal him.

[shotmrmiller]

this is just another pathetic!simon blurb. Not the second part to this. unedited.

Johnny is Simon's wingman.

One quiet evening, Johnny sits you on the bed and asks you if you'd do Simon a solid.

"A favor is me washing his clothes, or making him breakfast, Johnny! Not sucking him off!"

He is completely undeterred by your reaction and just grasps your hand to press a kiss on it. "Ach, dinnae be like that." He's out of his fucking mind, you think, and you move to walk away when he blocks the exit with his body.

"Bonnie. Just hear me out. Ghost, err, Simon, he's lonely. He's a big man, with an oppressive air about 'em, aye? His stare is unnerving to say the least. Lasses run for the hills when they see em— if they aren't frozen in place with terror."

You can feel your soft heart crack because Simon is so sweet, so kind— how can anyone be afraid of him? and that's what you tell Johnny.

He tightens his lips into a firm, white line to keep from telling you that the Simon you think is just so sweet, has shoved his tactical knife in between the ribs of his enemies remorselessly, and breaks their necks without a second thought. He snuffs out life as if it were the only thing he was good at.

"Aye, bonnie. He's not very good when it comes to lasses. He can be intense, and not a lot of people can handle that," Johnny kisses the palm of your hand, "But not ye— yer good at handling intense." And then he says the most pitiful thing you've heard. "It's been decades since someone's touched him willingly."

Johnny's eyes glow as he physically sees you give in, and you've barely given your assent when he's bolting out the bedroom door.

With a shaky exhale, you get up and start to change into something more comfortable. You're probably gonna be on your knees for a while.

--

You gape once you see Simon pull out his manhood. "Er...How are you, uh- what?"

Simon's cock is huge. Monstrous, even. It's so heavy it doesn't even stand erect— just falls downward. He's so thick, you don't think you can even wrap your hand around it. His balls hang low— full and would overflow your hand if you cupped them.

At least he trims.

Simon took his mask off for this, so when you look up at him through your lashes, his cheeks are ruddy, and he's nervously biting his bottom lip.

In a comforting gesture, you extend your hand and take his hand in yours, applying gentle pressure to his curled fingers, coaxing him to let go of the tension.

"Relax, Simon. You're alright. Nothing I can't handle."

Johnny is watching you proudly as he sits next to Simon on the edge of the mattress.

"Aye, LT. She'll treat ye right, wont ye bonnie?"

You nod, and shuffle closer, to be inches from Simon's length.

"I've got you. Just feel, hm?" Slowly and deliberately, you interlace your fingers with Simon's. "I'm gonna start now, okay?"

Sticking your tongue out, you tentatively lick his slit, tasting the leaking pre-cum, and swirl your tongue around his head. When you encase your lips around his tip, his hot, salty seed is instantly coating your tongue.

You let go of his hand to wrap it around him and pump as you bob your head, helping him ride out his orgasm. The moment you feel him stop twitching in your hand, you pull away and are about to swallow— only for Simon to lean down and slant his lips over yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth. He curls it around yours, completely uncaring that he's tasting himself.

He breaks the kiss and licks his cum and your saliva from the corner of his lips.

Johnny laughs as he reaches down to wipe the mess left behind with his thumb.

"That was a filthy kiss, wasn't it bonnie?" and then he turns his attention to Simon, murmuring into his ear loud enough for you to hear. "How was Bonnie's mouth, LT? Was it like ye hoped? Her slick tongue against your slit? I bet it felt heavenly."

You don't know if it's the thought of your lips wrapped around him, or if it's Johnny so close to Simon's ear that his lips graze the shell of his ear, but Simon's length stirs, rising to half-mast.

It's been 2 minutes, and he's ready to go again.

--

Simon must've gotten more comfortable, or his mind is simply hazy with lust, because the moment you put him into your mouth, he harshly thrusts into you, blocking off your air and triggering your gag reflex.

The hurck you choked out was unattractive and thank goodness Johnny was here because his reaction was almost instantaneous.

"Ghost, no— ye cannae do that, aye? Yer much too large for her, have tae take it slow," and chuckles. "Otherwise, she might bite."

Simon speaks for the first time that evening. "I don' mind a little teeth."

Johnny cackles. "Whether ye like it or nae, ye have tae be considerate. Let her work ye, she knows what she's doin'."

You stick him in your mouth again, and this time flatten your tongue as you go as deep as you can, and curl it to drag along the thick vein on the underside of his cock when you pull back.

Johnny hisses and asks Simon if it feels good. If the tip of your tongue is snagging on the ridge of his flared head— if it feels like your throat wants to swallow him whole.

Simon's ears are red, and he's panting harshly as he jerkily nods at what Johnny's saying, never looking away from you as you work him into another peak.

He comes with a snarl when you cup his balls, and a fingernail scrapes the thin, sensitive skin of his perineum.

Johnny coos at Simon, "Oh, that must've been delicious, the way her fingers stroke ye. The way her throat closes up around ye when ye push a little too far."

Simon spurts more cum onto your tongue when he hears that.

--

You've been on your knees for what felt like hours, and Simon comes for the fifth time that night when you slightly pinch the tender skin of his head with your teeth.

This time, Simon grabs himself to come over your face— viscous, globs of cum over your eyes and nose. He taps his cock on your cheek, a sticky slapping noise resonating in the room.

--

You sit with your eyes closed and hear someone get up and walk toward the bathroom, hopefully to get you a bloody towel, when you feel a strong, wet tongue drag across your cheekbone.

"Gross, Simon."

"Nae, bonnie, it's really not that bad. Otherwise, ye widnae have swallowed most of everythin' LT gave ye."

"Gross, Johnny."

@pieckyghost i aint finna get locked up again!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

istg i check your blog religiously 😭 can i request ghost x reader that is rlly insecure of how she looks and bc shes so shy, so she never expected to be in a relationship bc she doesn't believe she ever rlly deserved that, and thinks that ghost will leave her eventually, so when he finds out he comforts her. so like angst to fluff

—Nervous Eyes

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [No one understands how you two get along - not when you're so different. It makes you second-guess yourself. He notices.] ❞

You sit at the bar and turn around your glass of Bourbon, the amber liquid sitting at the bottom as you blink at your reflection with slow eyes. It was late, but you were far from drunk—not even a light buzz was addling your brain with honied thoughts or actions. No, there would be none of that tonight. 

Not when the woman was still hanging off Simon’s arm like a bad rash. 

She was pretty, you admitted; beautiful, even. A sort of natural confidence and the looks to pair—ones that most people would go under a knife for without a second thought. Swallowing down saliva and not the alcohol, you tighten your lips and shove down the feeling in your throat. You shouldn’t be acting like this; you had no reason to. 

There was no doubt in Simon’s loyalty or intentions, but your insecurities still lingered. He’d tried to shove the lady off of him as soon as she’d showed up—growling a ‘piss off’ and a flash of his dark brown gaze. Anyone without a death wish would have darted away immediately; maybe fled the country to be safe. She’d instead taken up the seat next to him and was talking up a storm as his fingers tightened over the tabletop. 

Breathing out slowly, you try not to look at her, generally placid nature a large factor in your hesitation to come out to this place at all. 

Simon was…a lot, you knew. 

Big, scary; all around intimidating with his balaclava, hoodie, and jacket atop. Black gloves—he screamed serial killer except for the fact of his dog tags that clinked with every swivel of his head to you. 

But the allure to his character was what charmed a lot of people, especially in bars when the drinks started to do the talking.

Sometimes you wonder if it was only a matter of time before he found someone better. Better suited to his… demeanor.

Simon’s fingers tapped the table twice to try and get your attention, side-eyeing you with a blank expression of annoyance at the lady’s constant prattle in his ear. 

The woman loudly continues to talk about her ex-husband not a foot away from his face, trying to get into his pants unabashedly. Rage simmers deeply in his chest, but he won’t cause a scene—he can’t leave either. Not without you, and right now, you’re not even glancing at him. 

When you don’t look up at his tapping, a strange emotion sitting on your normally smiling and bright flesh, Simon goes stiff. His shoulders tighten as he stares; attention entirely on you at all times. He sees your sigh, your intentful staring at your reflection with the occasional darting to the woman’s pristine features. 

It puts something into immediate focus, and the Brit’s eyes go to slits. 

Just as you decide it would be better for you to be drunk, staring to bring your glass to your lips, Simon snaps out at your side.

“Bloody slag,” the bar pauses at the monotone but subsequently harsh words yet quickly picks back up again. “Would you fuckin’ shut your mouth? Bastard’s runnin’ more than your damn husband did.” You choke on your drink, pulling back to cough into your arm violently with a sputtering inhale.

While you catch your breath, wide-eyed staring from over your elbow, the woman gapes and blinks like a deer that had been shot through the ribcage; gasping out stuttered questions.

Simon, in a wave of deep anger, takes out his wallet and slams bills to the bartop, sliding off his stool before gliding past you—taking the meat of your arm and pulling you along. Gently, only the slightest pressure to make sure you don’t stumble as your feet meet the floor. 

In your stupor, you follow after quickly, allowing him to drop his grip. 

“S-Simon, what are you—?” When you’re outside, you’re instantaneously corralled down the side of the bar, latched onto, and lifted easily so you’re over one of the man’s shoulders. You yelp, your face burning like fire as your voice goes high-pitched. “Simon!” 

“Seen the way you’ve been lookin’ at yourself,” He grunts out, gritting his teeth as your hands dig into his spine for stability. But he knew just the right amount of force to keep you from falling. “What…? You think I’d give that old broad a good shag? Throw away the prize that I’ve got right in front of me?” 

A harsh scoff echoes out, and seconds later you’re plopped down onto the top of a stack of pallets, hands slapping beside your hips and a clothed face millimeters from your own. You suck in a gasp and stare, entranced by how the lights burst inside of Simon’s pupils as he towers over you, a wall of muscle and will.

“I-I didn’t…I don’t,” you stutter, mouth opening and closing. “I’m not…”

His eyes narrow, scrutinizing you down to your marrow. “Not what, then? Say it.”

There’s no getting out of this.

“Simon,” you see his lips thin through his mask and you sigh, looking away instantly from the shame that courses your bloodstream. To force the words out was a physical pain to you, a dent in your lifespan. Your skin burns and the sting of embarrassment comes into your eyes. 

“I’m not…pretty…” The man stills to near stone, eyes twitching a centimeter wider before they, too, halt all movement. “You shouldn’t have to be bothered every time someone better looking comes over because they don’t realize you’re seeing me—because they’d never think we’d be together. I…I don’t want you to think you’re weighed down by a…a…” 

You lose your train of thought, and the only word coming to mind is a sharp knife to your chest. You glare at this chest, at his tags as they swing, and clench your jaw, taking down shallow breaths from your nostrils. 

Simon utters the very word you dread in a tiny voice, accent deep, “...burden.” 

All you do is shakily nod as the minutes roll past—the shadows grow longer and the night colder. Simon stares and stares, chest pounding with a fast heart and a tight wind of bulk. 

His hands at your hips tighten into fists, grunting, “That’s the worst fuckin’ thing I’ve ‘ad to hear in ages.”

You blink away your unshed tears, darting your vision back up before a hand connects with your jaw and angles it up, balaclava shifted to his nose bridge as Simon pressed his lips to yours in a breath-stealing kiss. Opening your legs, he drags you forward by the small of your back and presses you to him with a growl, hearing your small mewl in answer. 

His grip is firm and all-consuming, as it always is, and his mouth gives the tinge of alcohol and conviction. Hand on the back of your skill, you shudder and sink into him as he presses deeply, dragging each other back and forth with gasps and smacking flesh. Your hands grasp at Simon’s shirt, trailing his abs as he moves back with a grunt and a lick at his red lips.

Saliva gets caught in the corner of his mouth. 

“I’m not leavin’ you unless I get my head blown to bloody bits,” he frowns, dead eyes darting up and down your blown eyes and panting breath. A flicker of a smirk dashes his expression. “So forget about it, Love.” 

Simon’s gaze flashes with a soft reassurance, humming under his breath before he leans in once more. 

“No one tastes like you do,” you drag him back into you as he mutters on your eager lips. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[thegnomelord]

for the prompt game, if it's still open, maybe 8 with Ghost? maybe with hatefucking and at the point you're both at it's basically a routine but all of the nasty words and cruel moments are really just because you're both brutes that have trouble expressing emotions properly, and all you really want is just some kind of deeper connection with each other, but with your shitty use of words, arguing and eventual growling into into his mouth as you shove him down onto the nearest flat surface is the only way for you to get that. and perhaapps at one point, one of you, reader or ghost doesn't matter, let's something softer and more caring slip through the angry facade? ofc if you already have one for 8 or you just don't like this idea you can im really sorry and you can ignore me, no pressure and I love all your writing :')) <3

Okay anon holy shit this is GOOD! You should think of writing yourself like what I'm seeing in this prompt is good shit :D Play the game HERE

Prompt: "If this is a joke it isn't funny."

CW: NSFW, Sub Bot Ghost, Dom Top MReader, hatefucking, degradation, confessions, soft sex,

It always starts the same; Simon's roughly patting your shoulder and telling you to not cock it up, your equally harsh response for him to keep up with you, rough voices hiding the unsaid 'be careful's. Insults like 'dumbass', 'moron', 'dead weight' crackling over the radio when the other's pinned down by fire, the electric static and suppression fire muting the worry in your voice, the hint of care in Simon's tone.

And it always ends the same; harsh stares across the room while you debrief Price, casualty numbers turning into critiques of the other— you should have noticed the terrorist, Simon should have kept the sniper in mind — prickling barbs and venomed words turning into shoves and punches, leaving bruises on each other's skin instead of the kisses you want to lay down.

Soap loves comparing you to dogs, and that's what you are— animals; talking would kill you both so you end up expressing yourselves through teeth and claws. There's blood on your tongue as you push Simon onto the bed and he pulls you down with his teeth digging into your bottom lip, rough fingers pulling away clothes only to push into bruised flesh, drawing hisses and growls.

'I want you' Ghost wants to say, instead "Stop being a pussy," comes out, blunt nails dragging deep scratches down your back. 'I'm happy you're alive' "You fuck as bad as you fight." Simon tastes blood as he kisses you, both of you struggling to pin the other to the bed.

"Shut up." 'I missed you' you snarl and pin him on his front, trapping his massive arms behind his back so he has no support, his head pushed into the pillows and arse high in the air, your thigh parting his legs. You huff a laugh when you see his cock already hard, hanging uselessly between his thighs. "Slag, good for nothing but taking it up the ass." 'I care for you'.

'You're important to me' Simon swallows the blood and spit in his mouth, jerking in a half-hearted attempt to free himself. "'least ah have a use," he growls, chest stuttering for breath as you bear down even more weight on him. You push your fingers into his mouth to wet them and Simon bites down, loving you with his teeth first, the sting of pain binding you together.

"Yeah, as a cocksleeve." 'I'm sorry' You don't give him a warning, just pull your fingers from his mouth and push into his ass. It's only enough lube to not tear him, but the stretch hurts, burns, and Simon both loves and hates how this roughness makes his cock hard and heart flutter.

"That-hah-" Ghost pants into the sheets, eyes prickling with tears with how he tries to keep them open, body forced to submit to you as your fingers stretch him, fuck him, tenderly brushing against his prostate before pushing to the last knuckle, pain and pleasure burning up his spine. "-that's not true."

Pulling out your fingers you give him a sharp slap on his ass, "Sure is," You use what saliva you have on your hand to wet your cock, swirling the drool in your mouth before you spitting right on his hole for extra wetness, your sudden action making his spasming hole clench and relax reflexively. "Look at how you're clenching." You mount him, pushing your weight down on him until he can barely breathe, cock bobbing against his hole. "Acting like such a bitch!"

You ram in him to put emphasis on the word and Simon bites his tongue so hard it bleeds, resisting letting any noises out. He's never vocal in bed, no matter how hard you fuck him, how many bruises your hips leave on his ass or how many hickeys you lay on his throat, how often your balls slap against his, he never utters more than a low groan.

But he wants to; good god Simon wants to tell you how good you feel, how every brush of your cockhead against his prostate has him seeing stars, how much he loves feeling you pound into him, who bodies bound into one by such a primal connection. . . but he can't, his mouth clamps up when he tries and even if he manages to spit something out it just comes out as venom, earning him firm slaps on his ass and your weight bearing further down on him.

You spill into him, pinning him so hard beneath your weight he can barely breathe, only remembering to rub him into an orgasm when your balls are good and empty, cock plugging his hole full of your cum. Your hands are harsh, his panting ringing in your ears until his cock twitches and he cums onto the sheets beneath him, whole body shaking to hold his moans in.

You collapse onto him, just enough sense in your head to roll you two onto your sides so he isn't laying in his spend or suffocating beneath you. Uncomfortable silence rings in your ears as you pant, bile churning in your stomach; This is your usual, soon enough Simon will tell you to shove off, he'll get up, take a piss, and leave.

And this song and dance will repeat until one of you dies.

Even without sight you feel Simon open his mouth, vestiges of harsh words burning on his tongue. Maybe it's post-orgasmic bliss that makes you speak, "Hey," Your hands tighten around his middle, "Stay the night." You curl around him like a lover; something you know you're not.

He shuts his mouth so quickly you hear the 'click' of his teeth, whole body freezing because this is as new for him as it is for you. "If this is a joke," He growls, turns his head just enough for you to catch his glare. "It's not funny."

Your tongue burns with the usual words— 'Only joke here is you' — but you don't, instead a slow and low "I'm not kidding." escapes you, like something forbidden, something to keep secret lest you get divine punishment.

Simon's mind buffers like an old computer, too many thoughts stuffing his head that he can't understand a single one. This is too far removed from the usual, hummingbirds knocking on his skull as a warning. But his body relaxes while he's still thinking, a stagnant breath escaping his lungs. "Fine."

You think of saying something, but it's better not to. Instead you huddle closer to him, still connected in a carnal way but now it feels so much more. . . intimate. Your hands wander over his toros, a gentle exploration instead of a race for release, your fingers carding through his body hair down his happy trail and up again.

Simon's head tils back to give you access to his neck, your lips soft against his skin as you kiss the bruises you'd left, both of your bodies slowly moving to close the small space between you two, urged to share your warmth.

You shift your hips, only realizing you're hard again when Simon moans. Moans. "Sorry," You duck your head, hands gripping his hips to pull out but he stops you, a rough sound in his throat.

"No," Simon doesn't look at you though the blush across his face is easy to spot. "Keep going," Tilting his hips back into yours tears a moan from both of you. Your cum eases the slide in, his walls stretched and pliant, wetly sucking you in like a needy thing.

Another time you'd have laughed at how desperate he's acting, but the low moans and a little "Fuck, just like that," you earn by rolling your hips has your mind shutting off. You can't believe how vocal he's suddenly become, getting louder the slower and gentler you move your hips, your cock slowly pushing in and out of his hole.

You bury your head in his neck and blindly stroke his leaking cock, kissing the skin under your lips, your eyes closed shut as you thrust into him slowly, your tender and slow movements pulling moan after moan out of him. His hand winds back to cup the back of your neck, pulling you up just enough to give you an awkward kiss but it's sweet and raw and so desperate—

You don't notice he's cumming until his walls clamp down on you, Simon whispering "I love you," so soft and quiet under his breath that you don't hear him, too busy filling him up a second time, but your mind buzzes with warmth all the same.

You lay as you were, somehow so exhausted that even moving an inch is anathema to you. Both of you, it seems, if the way Simon's back is warm and pliant against your chest, his breathing slow and steady. Tomorrow you'll need to talk (or do your best substitution of it), but for tonight, you can hug him close and finally have an answer to what it would feel like to have him close without the sex, to just be with him. . .

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Two Ghosts One Stone [Ghost x Reader x Ghost]

Warnings: 18+, Double Penetration, Binding/Restraining, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Stomach Bulging, Manhandling, Dirty Talk, Name Calling, Degradation (Slut-Shaming), Fem! Reader, Mentioned/Implied Aftercare, The Masks Stay On, etc.

Simon watched, his eyes dark and intentions darker, his pants drawn down his thighs. Behind you, Ghost gripped you by your hips, pulled you back so you could feel something prodding you. You gasped.

“Come on,” said Simon, a drawl in his voice; haste. “Hurry up and take her already – we ain’t got all night.” And, the demand hanging in the air, both Ghosts laughed, a joke between the two of them – one you understood all too well. As if Simon’s impatience rubbed off on him, Ghost’s fingers dug into the skin of your sides, making you wince. And, before you could breathe, you felt him – his girth, his weight – his tip had been at your centre, and now, he was halfway inside. You yelped.

“God !” he strained. You felt his stomach to your back – he was leaning against you, as if for support. His breathing, heavy, gave the illusion of exhaustion; of relent. “Fuck, you’re tight, Princess,” he rasped. Leaning forward now, his lips came to your ear. Even through the mask, you could feel his breath, scorching, against your shell.

“Let’s see how loose I can get you by the end of the night.”

Now, rubbing circles into your hips, he erected to his full height, his front no longer to your back, and pulled out. Time was but a pinprick between then and now as he slammed himself inside you – all of him, all at once. And, just as before, you let out a noise of surprise, though this one was subdued – steeped in the beginnings of euphoria. And, just as before, he was heavy. Thick and veiny, you could feel the veins along his cock, bulging and wide as he took you, his breath shuttering, his head thrown back as he let out a yell, short and sweet, a shriek.

And Simon watched. Watched you grip the bed sheets, trying to catch your breath; watched as your head rose to face him, lips parted. The image of his cum drooling from your mouth, you thoroughly used and enjoyed flashed in his mind. He pumped himself once. Twice. He’d coated himself in saliva; a makeshift solution to his aching problem.

His chest fluttered with every breath, chest heaving as he watched you, pumping himself faster once Ghost took to a rhythm. Ghost wouldn’t let you fall far; his grip on your hips kept you glued to him, his praises of “Good girl, keep taking me,” enough motivation to at least try and remain at your spot on the bed. And to send electric euphoria between your legs. You whined, and Simon, still at the wall, gave a minute gasp.

To begin with, with his founding strokes, Ghost made this task somewhat possible, the force of his hips against yours enough to knock you forward, his strength pulling you back. But, as the seconds turned into minutes and Ghost began to lose himself, his thrusts became…stronger. Insatiable.

“That’s it,” he told you through breathless praises, the feeling of his thighs against your backside becoming more frequent, bruising. “Such a good girl–” He pulled out, almost all the way. You scarcely had the time to scream as he slammed himself – all of himself – back inside, sending a stab of pain through your middle. You choked, your breath catching in your throat, and fell forward, your chest to the bed sheets, Ghost’s grip no longer able to hold you. He was gone. Truly and utterly. You could tell in the way he moaned, low and loud and filling the air with dark electricity – a call to arms. He didn’t even reassure you as you tried to regain your breath, tears burning your throat, warned off by the building euphoria in your centre.

“Fuckin’ Hell, Ghost – be gentle,” came Simon, whose voice, gruff as usual, was sharp with territory. His breathing, though hitched as his hand stroked himself, particularly close to his agitated, reddening, weeping tip. Pre-cum beaded from his slit, collecting on his palm as he slid it down his shaft.

“There’ll be nothin’ left of her the way you’re pummelin’ her.”

Even though he was behind you, you could feel Ghost’s smile beneath his mask, felt a weighted darkness pressing on you.

“That’s the goal.” He pulled out all the way and tore his way back inside. You shrieked, moaned, your mouth pressed to the sheets, muffled by the mattress. As little as you wanted to admit it, you wanted them to destroy you, to fill you so utterly and entirely that nothing else existed except them. And it seemed they wanted that, too. Especially with the blackened gleam in Simon’s eye as he picked up the pace, fisting himself with an almost voracious sentiment, his eyes narrowing as he refrained from succumbing to the tidal euphoria building within.

You felt that the ecstasy building between your legs mirrored Simon’s, exceptionally so when Ghost, still slamming into you, forcing you deeper and deeper into the pillows, ceased, pulled you close to him by your hips, and continued, hitting a hidden, wanton angle. Electricity spasmed through you, and you gasped, letting out a breathy moan. Ghost laughed, sly and slender, his hand sliding up your thighs, straying between your legs, drawing ornate patterns into your skin. You shivered, the feeling of his incongruously gentle touch with his harsh, biting thrusts almost too much to bear. You could feel yourself clenching down on him, lips mouthing his cock as if choking on his girth.

His hand, large, rough, warm, slid from between your legs. His palm rested on your stomach while he rolled slow circles against your clit. The static building in your core spasmed, a phantom tendril lashing out. By reflex, your legs tried to close, but Ghost was having none of it. His other hand gripped your thigh, hooked around it and forced it apart. You wailed, unable to shield yourself from his attack. Not like you actually wanted to.

“Oh no, Princess,” Ghost said, his voice a low purr. Simon’s breath quickened, the slick sounds of his solo excursion the vocals to the symphony of ghost ploughing into you. “I want to see all of you,”

 And see you, he did. In fact, he watched, observed you – like an experiment. Not that you could see it, rather felt its palpable presence – Ghost’s stare was sharp, razor. He took in the red, sodden, aching mess you’d become, friction marks from where his thighs met yours in a slapping, thumping manner, crescents where his nails had dug into your skin and kept you tethered to him, to the outcome he was forcing you closer and closer to. You could tell you were soaked; the brief chill hitting your backside and thighs whenever Ghost pulled away gave you a horrendously honest look at how desperate you were for the two men. That, and the collation of fluids collecting and rolling down from between your thighs.

“‘F only you could see her, SImon,” came Ghost. His breath shuttered, wavered as he worked to keep his pace, his skin slapping against yours, his hand becoming drenched between your thighs. “If only you could feel her,” he pressed his palm into the bottom of your stomach. And you wailed. Of course, you’d felt Ghost’s dick weighted inside you, but to have you feel him more, pressing your stomach so you could feel his cock against your skin, felt unreal.

“Bet you couldn’t fill her like this.”

Had your euphoria not built to a point where everything was muffled to you, you may have seen the room darken, the atmosphere grow heavy. But alas, you were past the point of oblivion, innocent to the pointed, glaring, fiery stare Simon gave Ghost, and the immediate ceasing of his strokes. Even Ghost seemed to slow, though kept pumping into you, rubbing you, agonising you.

You didn’t hear Simon’s footsteps, the heft of his boots against the floor as he approached the end of the bed, and, with his free hand, grabbed you by your hair. He yanked your head up to meet his, and while you gasped, a shriek died in your throat as Simon shoved his cock into it, stifling you, choking you. You let out a yelp, tried to retract, but Ghost’s frame behind you and Simon’s painful grip on your follicles made such a manoeuvre an impossibility.

“Suck it up, cum slut,” said Simon. Now, looking up at him through bleary eyes, you saw the steel in his stare. He didn’t let you accustom yourself to his intrusion before he pulled out and slipped back in, protruding deeper into your mouth, the taste of salt smattered against your tongue.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want Ghosty here to get upset,” came a voice from behind. You almost turned around, flashed a pleading look to him, asked him if he were intentionally trying to invoke Simon’s wrath on your behalf. But an ache formed in your jaw as Simon used you as he had his hand prior. And, just like Ghost, he was anything but gentle.

The longer he had you wrapped around his shaft, the more potent the taste and viscosity of a foreign substance coated the insides of your mouth, painted it white, drooled and dripped down your chin like saliva. And all the while, you couldn’t stifle or help the moans Ghost drew from you, the vibrations of which seemed to reach Simon as his mouth dropped open he threw his head back. “Fuck,” he breathed, his Adam’s apple thick and protruding just beneath the lip of his mask. Ghost smiled, lips drawn thin beneath his mask. “Looks like Simon’s close,” he said. You could say nothing in response, to which Ghost gave a short, stark laugh – a scoff. A hand reached up to your jaw, gripped you by the cheeks. And squeezed. You could feel Simon’s cock slick against your gums. And so could he.

Before you could accustomed yourself to this feeling, Ghost’s crushing grip about your cheeks, Simon’s pounding, unrelenting rhythm, Simon twitched in your mouth and, with a lasting, gruff cry, became blinded by ecstasy. The after-effects of which you felt fill and drip from your mouth and down your throat.

As if like clockwork, Ghost, his breathing remaining laboured, began to feel loose behind you. His killing pace remained but there was a softness to it there had not been before – a bluntness. With Simon panting above you, his release dripping down your throat, making your chest sticky, and Ghost’s increasingly rhythmless strokes bringing you both closer and closer to your end, your body scorched, ached where you had been used – where you were being used. You’d have cried for a moment’s respite had it not been for how Ghost’s hand slipped to your breasts, held them, squeezed them to his palms. The way he held you had stray electricity shock between your legs, tipped you ever closer to the edge.

“Go on, Princess,” Ghost rasped. His voice was deeper now, serrated – as if his throat was seared with…something. “Cum for me,”

Not that you’d been holding out for Ghost, but something about the authority in his voice, the fact that you had warranted his permission, sent you spiralling. Still gasping around Simon’s girth, he finally looked down at you, and, instead of pulling out, gripped you by the hair again.

“I wanna feel your screams, angel,” he said, eyes half-lidded yet still piercing. And you couldn’t hold it anymore.

White-hot euphoria took your senses, had you hostage to the whims of the two men before and behind you. You clenched, gripped Ghost, to which he made a strangled noise that not even his mask could contain, filling the dense, moist air with a primal growl. You practically shrieked, the reverberations of your staining voice stimulating his softening, sensitive appendage. He grunted, glowered, sucked breath in between gritted teeth.

“God, Darlin’ – fuck – you’re so tight,” panted Ghost, his strokes becoming slower, almost stilled by the force with which you held him. 

The fireworks within evolved, dimming with each wave that flowed from your core outwards, leaving you limp. Simon took the liberty of removing himself from your mouth, stroked your bottom, puffed lip with his thumb. You scarcely made out his praise, him calling you his “Good girl,” between Ghost’s panting, his low moaning, and the static in your head.

“(Y/N) – I-I’m–”

Ghost didn’t have chance to finish his sentence for his climax tearing through him, reaching into his soul and withdrawing from him a deep, guttural moan, breathy yet weighted at its centre. You felt warmth filling you from within, felt Ghost still, his pounding no longer stoking your fire, letting you ride the wave with your cheek in Simon’s hand, eyes glazed and lips parted as you tried to regain your breath.

A stillness settled, rearing its head.

At some interval of this quietude, Ghost pulled out, the only indication being the sound of liquid friction and his weight falling back onto the pillows behind. You’d felt little of this – merely a blunted retraction, your lower half growing numb with every second that passed.

“Almost milked me dry,” said Ghost, and while there was a distinguishable whine to his tone, he wasn’t complaining.

“Yeah,” came Simon, taking a step towards the bed. “Thought you wouldn’t be able to hack it, Love.”

You did little in reply save for a smile, reserved and quiet, but a response all the same.

You hadn’t realised yet, but your body was much weaker than before, being that Ghost had thoroughly enjoyed and used you; Simon, too. But somehow, you knew that wouldn’t let you off the hook, warrant an ‘early night’. No, not if the feeling of Ghost all but sneaking up on you from behind, his arms enclosing your waist and pulling you into his chest was anything to go by.

You whined. Ghost growled, gripped you by your jaw and forced your chin to point heavenward, making swallowing very difficult and making some form of eye contact with him facile.

“Oh no, Sweetheart,” he drawled. “We’re not done with you yet,”

“He’s right,” Simon said. The same Simon whose belt now lay wrapped around his wrist like a serpent, one knee on the mattress, his chest puffed with newfound vigour. “He might’ve had his fill of you,” his eyes flickered down to your stomach, a bump having formed there, the culmination of Ghost’s thick load still oozing from between your legs. “We can’t stop ‘til I’ve had you, too.”

Everything happened so fast it may as well have been a technicolour show of memories, time skips and jumps, for during the scuffle (which was really just Ghost forcing your wrists together, Simon tying them, and you whining when Simon forced your legs apart, exposing your already sensitive parts to more punishment) you were bound, restrained and defenceless.

Ghost had finished what Simon had started, prying and keeping your legs apart by digging his ankles between yours, spreading your legs as far as you could allow. Simon slid your bound wrists over the back of his neck, keeping your front open. The look he gave you – veiled almost entirely by his mask – was visible in his eyes; a rabid determination seen only in those with nothing left to lose.

Between the numbness between your thighs and the newfound proofing feeling at your back, Simon edged closer, held himself in his hand, stroked once. He almost twitched, his eyes narrowing.

“Now, Angel,” he said. He leaned closer, his nose an inch from yours. You felt his tip against your lips. “I don’t wanna what any complainin’ or cryin’ unless it’s because your pathetic little cunt can’t take any more of me,” a hand came to your throat, stroked the ridges – your Eve’s apple – still stretched by Ghost’s grip.

You said nothing, but a look of hazy resolve in your eyes told Simon all he needed to hear. He looked past you, to the man behind you, who, when Simon nodded, released your jaw. You almost wanted to celebrate. In unison, they lifted you, Ghost by your waist and Simon by your thighs. The next thing you knew, you were full – painfully so – pressed between two walls of men.

You let out a winded cry, jostled between the idea of leaning against Ghost or taking to Simon’s chest for comfort. The former made the decision for you, taking his hands from your thighs and bringing them to your waist. He shushed you, gently, voice free from condescension and irritation. It was an imitation of comfort, a gesture.

“It’s okay, Princess,” he whispered in your ear. He massaged slow, calm circles into your sides, his hands coming to rest upon your stomach. “It’s alright, breathe for me – there’s a good girl.”

Simon’s expression seemed to mirror Ghost’s, for a softness possessed his gaze, one which encouraged a hand to trail to your cheek, holding it. He wiped a lone tear. “I know, Sweetheart,” he said. “It won’t hurt for much longer, promise.”

Perhaps their altruism was only a show. Perhaps they were true in their comforts, purveyors of their reassurances, for the pain did pass in the minute that followed. And, when you nodded, told them they could continue, the air changed.

Simon and Ghost brought you up and slammed you back down on their lengths, following a rhythm to which, accustomed now, but no longer numb, you tried desperately not to get lost in. Not again.

The embers of your last orgasm ebbed within as the two took you, Ghost’s hands resting on your waist, feeling him and Simon inside you, your stomach swollen. You hadn’t even noticed until you felt Ghost give a short laugh in your ear, and spoke over you.

“God, Simon – have you felt her ?” he said. Simon, looking to where Ghost’s gaze rested, gave a groan. He could see perfectly well what Ghost was talking about; having two men inside you at the same time, two particularly well-endowed men, no less, was bound to have some physical effects on your body, but Simon hadn’t anticipated them to be so immediate, rather assuming them to be an aching between your legs the next day or the inability to walk properly.

You couldn’t help but pay attention to their conversation, one which, while about you, did not include you. Or so you thought.

Simon’s hand came to lay upon your front, and, while he ploughed into you, he felt himself inside you. “God, (Y/N) – ‘m surprised you ain’t burstin’ from the seams,” he said, a deep drawl in his voice. You wanted to retaliate, say that you were, but the vigour with which he slammed you onto him now knocked the air out of you, made arguing pointless. And, as if in competition, Ghost followed suit.

“Seein’ as you’re so eager to get ahead,” said Ghost. “How’s about we see who can ruin her first.”

It wasn’t a proposition.

Simon smiled.

He pulled out, entirely, and threw himself back in. You let out a moan, something between a scream and a whimper. Whatever hopes you’d had of holding out for the whole night were dashed in that instant. 

And you couldn’t be happier.

The coil in your centre tightened, the telltale sign that you wouldn’t last another ten minutes if you were lucky. And, given your track record of the evening, you weren’t going to place any bets.

Simon and Ghost’s breathing was deep, heaving, and you had no doubt the masks and the physical excursion did little to help things. Though, the sounds which poured from them – micro-whimpers and whispered moans – existing within the crevices of these pants were too enticing for you to care.

Simon’s hands came to rest on your thighs, where he squeezed your skin, grabbed any conjuration of muscle, meat and fat he could, and uttered more praise to you. “My girl,” he said. “You’ll always be my girl – no one else’s,”

Ghost did nothing to dispute Simon, but the squeeze to your sides suggested he wasn’t agreeing. Or going down without a fight.

A mere ten minutes into this fresh Hell and you already could feel yourself going numb again, the electricity at your centre having grown, your nerves burning with a need for release. You’d have conjured the words if you’d known them, but you feared your mind had been turned to jelly under the competition of the two military men.

You could tell they were close to finishing, what with their breathing growing deeper and more uneven by the second, their thrusts becoming uncoordinated, desperate, seeking any and all solace they could glean from burying themselves within you. And, of course, the praises.

“Doin’ so well, Angel,” one would rasp, while the other would show you their gratitude, moulding your breast in his hand and sucking his mark into your throat.

There came a point where you weren’t even sure you were human anymore, with you still remaining conscious yet limp amidst this exchange. Save for the need to let go, to have the energy inside you now burst free, you felt a mere toy to these men. And you loved every second of it.

“I c-can’t–” you managed to choke out. Simon and Ghost kept at their attack, their pursuit of that which they coveted most; your pleasure. The room, heavy with everything you’d done, was filled corner to corner with your gasping moans, Simon’s guttural growls and Ghost’s grunting. All the orchestra of a dream come true.

“Cum for me, Princess,” heaved Simon. A desperation lay in his voice – one which sought the same release as you, and that only through your climax could he achieve his.

“Yeah, Darlin’,” came Ghost, thick and hot behind you. “Show us how we make you feel.”

And that was the last straw.

You moaned, long and hard, and you came. Your body scorched with fire and electricity, a storm you could hardly keep to yourself as you threw your head back against Ghost’s shoulder, your stomach arching into Simon’s. Your coil snapped, combusted, and you were left a heaving, panting, near-crying mess.

You gripped Simon’s shoulders while Ghost’s front pressed to your back. Within quick succession, one finished after the other, their growled moans carrying through the room and into your mind as, still impaled and overcome with a euphoric exhaustion, you rested against the two men. 

You knew they’d take care of you – run you a bath and tend to your every need in the minutes following. But right now, you just wanted to be here with them, feeling their hearts thunder like drums against your skin.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

Taglist: @montenegroisr @projectdreamwalker @animarix @konigsblog @sweetirilly @crystaljade22 [will not be adding ageless blogs]

[naivegh0ul]

Hngggg I'm losing my mind over sweaty Ghost. Filthy, smells absolutely vile but in the best way possible. Maybe this is just my scent kink talking, idk 🤷🏼‍♀️

(warnings: smut, gender neutral reader, scent kink, armpit licking, blowjobs, overall filth)

(word count: 1167)

His shirt is drenched, and his sweatpants are hanging low on his hips, revealing his happy trail, sticking against his skin from how sweaty he is.

He's sitting on a bench, his mask pulled up above his nose as he drinks from his water bottle, some dribbling down his chin from how fast and messily he's drinking it.

It has you thinking about how he'd look between your legs, his jaw and mouth slick with your juices and cocky smile on his face, showing off those pointy canines.

You wouldn't mind getting beard burn on your thighs from his stubble, rubbing against your thighs from how messy he's being.

Ghost catches you staring, clearly mid-daydream, and he sends you a wink, those deep brown eyes of his filled with lust. He stands up, pulling his mask back down before turning away and heading towards the showers.

Now that would be a tragedy, to wash away his intoxicating scent under the shitty pressure of the base showers, using some random bar of soap. No, you have to stop him before he commits such a heinous crime.

You follow him into the communal showers, and as he strips out of his clothes, his bare body being revealed piece by piece, you get an amazing show of just how strong Ghost is.

Ghost knows you're there, no doubt, he's trained in the art of you, so it's no surprise that when he steps into the shower cubicle, he waits a moment before turning the shower head on, giving you time to get naked and join him.

He knows you're there when he feels a pair of hands on his hips, your thumbs rubbing softly. "Thought you could wash away all that sweat without me knowing, Simon?" Ghost hears you say, your tone surprisingly dominant.

You flip Ghost around, pressing his back against the cold shower wall, and Ghost lifts his arm up for you, knowing what's about to happen. He lets out a groan as you immediately dive in, shoving your face into his armpit and sniffing, sniffing like a damn dog.

He feels your hot tongue poking against his already steaming skin, lapping up his sweat from his workout, your nose deep in the hair there. "Fuck, look at you, filthy bastard." Ghost chuckles teasingly, his other hand not currently in the air resting on your lower back, occasionally sliding down to cup your ass.

"Saw me and just couldn't resist, huh? A fuckin' dog is what you are." Ghost slaps your ass as he speaks, smirking at the way you moan into his underarm. He grunts in surprise when you turn your head to the side and bite his pec in retaliation to his words, your teeth marking his skin, staking your claim.

You huff annoyedly, turning back to the task at hand. You bury yourself in Ghost's armpit, lapping up his sweat and inhaling his dirty scent. After a while, you pull away, panting slightly. Ghost watches as you sink to your knees and lean forward, cupping Ghost's cock. Not to jerk him off, no, but to push it out of the way so you can nose at his musky balls, sucking one into your mouth.

"That's the spirit, just like that." Ghost praises, groaning quietly as you slather his balls in saliva. Ghost truly moans when you lean back and grasp his cock, your hand wrapped around the base, and you take the head of his cock into your mouth.

The way your lips stretch around Ghost's cock, jaw becoming slack to accommodate his size, it has Ghost grabbing your head and slowly pushing you further down his cock.

He feels you choke, feels you swallow as the tip of cock bumps the back of your throat, and you're not even halfway down yet. "Come on, sweetheart, you can take it. Relax that throat for me." Ghost says, his voice gruff yet gentle. "There we go, good job." He praises and watches you shudder, feels the vibrations as you moan around his cock.

His hips jerk at the sensation, thrusting his cock further down your throat by accident. Ghost moans at the feeling of your wet, warm throat struggling, tightening up around him as he's too big for you. "You can take it, love. I know you can." Ghost grunts.

You look up at him with wet eyes, unshed tears in the corners as proof of how much of a struggle it is for you to take Ghost's cock. That fact just gives Ghost an ego boost, makes him feel a burst of pride as he knows that you've taken him fully many times before.

It makes Ghost all the more proud of you as he slowly slides more of his cock into your mouth, your throat relaxing and letting him slip all of his cock inside.

"Fuck." Ghost groans, his head falling back against the tiled wall. "Gonna fuck your face now, love." He warns and pulls your head back slightly before pushing it down, grunting at the feeling. "Doing so well for me, sweetheart."

Ghost looks down at you, admiring the way your pretty lips stretch around his cock, the way your eyes flutter shut each time he pushes you down on his cock, throat contracting as you swallow. "Gorgeous." Ghost whispers as he gazes down at you, brown eyes filled with admiration.

You whine, eyes squeezing shut from embarrassment and Ghost chuckles softly. "Alright, I'll stop." He says teasingly, a rare smile on his face as he continues to slowly move your head up and down his shaft, that familiar coil curling in his gut with each pass.

He speeds you up slightly, bobbing your head while also thrusting, pushing you down at the same time his hips press against your face. "Mmm, 's like you were made for me." Ghost exhales heavily as he feels himself getting close to the edge. He pulls out slightly before grinding against your face, his cock forced deep down your throat, making you choke a little.

"Come on, 'm almost there. Gonna cum down this perfect throat." The shower room fills with the sound of shaky breaths and slick noises, your gagging loud and lewd. Ghost grunts on each thrust, his balls tightening as he teeters on the edge.

The feeling of your hands snaking up his thighs and resting on his hips is what does it for him. He comes with a moan, cock twitching in your mouth as he spills his thick seed down your throat, forcing you to swallow. Praises spew from his mouth, 'good job's and 'so good' echoing through the shower stall.

After a moment, Ghost pulls your head back, his cock now soft, although it jumps when Ghost looks down at you and sees you looking back up at him, lashes wet with tears and an eager smirk on your face. "Fuckin' insatiable, you are." Ghost chides with a laugh, leaning back against the wall as he catches his breath.

[stardoesstuff]

¡Zombie ghost!

Zombie! ghost x reader

Summary: you and zombie!ghost are stuck together during the apocalypse

(Reader doesn’t really talk)

Society promptly fell the moment the virus spread from human to human, from mother to child. People resorted to violence to fill the hole that was left within their hearts.

You rummaged through an abandoned supermarket, looking for canned foods, which lasted longer and tasted better than slightly mouldy food.

A strained groan followed behind you, his undead self weakly lugging around an arm for eating. Emergency food for you.

“Mrrh,” ghost murmured, gesturing to the arm, which stunk.

“Ghost no I can’t eat that”

Ghost stared at you, his jaw hanging loose.

(He’s not kidding.)

He pointed a rotten hand at the arm, “Mrrh,” he groaned.

“Mrrh…”ghost let out a frustrated groan at you.

“Nom nom nom.” He mimed biting the flesh

“Mrrrh,” Simon’s mouth curled into a frown.

Slowly, he lowered his arm, “Mrr.” Simon groaned, annoyed. You were his only form of entertainment, his only friend.

You could feel his hands grasp you around the waist, his jaw falling onto your shoulder. He was lonely. Starving for affection, he couldn’t communicate.

“There’s no need to be sad”

“Mrrh.” Simon continued to groan.

His fingers curled around your waist, his cold touch burning through your shirt. You could feel his fingers wrap around you, his face pressing into your shoulder. You could feel his warm breath against your neck.

“Marrrrr,” Simon moaned. You could feel saliva gather on your neck as he tried to press his head against you.

“Marr,” he groaned. Simon’s hands were on either side of you, gripping you tightly. He really needed a hug.

The moment you touched him back, he embraced your arms tightly, burying his head into your shoulder. He had never hugged someone since his transformation.

He was starving for some affection. He was lonely, and he hadn’t spoken any words since his zombification.

For a moment, he held on tightly to you, a few tears falling from his face. You could feel his body convulse as he cried. You could hear a small, weak sob escaping from his rotten lips. He held you close to his body, as if he couldn’t let you go.

[eudaimonia111]

Meeting Him  | Simon Bellamy x GN! Reader

Summary: Reminiscing over reader's progression of a relationship with Simon.

Warnings: Swearing, staring, mutual pinning, kissing, cuddling, basically a bunch of fluff.

Words: 1,423

AN: This is my first ever fanfiction so sorry if it's rough or needs any work. I hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

Please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work. Thank you.

________________________

When I started my community service, I was kinda pissed, to say the least.

Tires strain to a stop as a silver car stops at the curb in front of a boring gray community building. A shoe creeps out of the vehicle and onto the asphalt with a slight pitter-patter. The car's shining doors meet the frame with a resounding slam.

Dark semi-circles reside underneath Y/n’s eyes, which roll after the conversation with the person driving. The tires give a loud screeeeech, and the car skids down the drop-off area and out of the parking lot.

The person stumbles up the scratchy concrete and yanks the cold metal handle to the building open with their fist.

The building is empty and unremarkable. Some bland colors through the chilly halls include a dull orange of uncomfortable chairs, printed “motivational” posters hanging up on the white walls as if anyone gave a shit about the people there, and not to mention the washed-out unflattering lighting the whole building has.

After changing into the paper-like orange jumpsuit, they go outside and join the other six delinquents.

I had just gotten there, and this kid with big, bright blue eyes could not keep staring at me.

They sit, crisscrossed on the concrete outside, beside a big reflective pond. A wooden paintbrush in their hand, leisurely dragging the coated bristles along the withered, metal bench. 

Y/n’s brain was practically melting from the constant burn of Simon's gaze on the side of their head.

The vibrant blue eyes glance up again from their occupied place of the covered graffiti on the park bench. 

Unlike the last fifteen times, a sigh comes from the now-opened mouth of the observee. Their head swiftly turns, the expression of their face less than enthusiastic. Lips planted in a firm line and eyes, although a little more energized than that morning, still tired. This time more than just physically.

The anxiety-ridden boy quickly moves his eyes back to the bench and the task at hand, as if he had never been gazing at the interesting person at all. Feeling the weight of the person’s gaze, he swallows the saliva in his mouth in a big gulp, trying to breathe with even controlled breaths.

After Y/n looks off to their chore once more, Simon takes a second to smooth out the hair on his forehead with a rigid aggressive hand, a nervous tick of his.

Even though I felt slightly bad for him because of Nathans instigating comments, I still felt that he was a bit weird but could kind of tolerate him.

That was, until we were all slightly having fun. 

Y/n was carrying a chair over to its designated place as Nathan was rambling on and on about his step dad the man who lives with his mom.

Words flew out of the Irish boy's mouth for too long to count. The second he slowed down to a stop and they would think it was finally over, he would start back up again. But it’s better than the stuffy silence of the empty, echoey, hallways.

Placing down the plastic of a burnt orange chair, they look over and see Nathan's arm around Simon, his warm hand resting on the curve of the shorter man's shoulder.

A passerby would have guessed them to be great friends. They would most definitely pull a displeased face at the language that was spewing from their mouths though. 

“Cock, anus, ballsack. Yeah?” The green-eyed guy asked, referencing the pixels that formed a raunchy picture on his flip phone.

Simons's mouth pulled up at the corners and created indents on the sides of his face. His ears lifted slightly and his full cheeks were rounded with the movement. His eyes were shiny and glistened with the happiness of being included and regarded as a friend.

Almost forgetting to let go of the chair, Y/n gazed at the boy with a twinkle in their eyes.

Admiring his boyish, crooked smile, the breath was stolen from their lungs. From his rosy cheeks to plump, delicate lips, Y/n had no power to not get sucked into the display of joy.

They were almost completely lost in the floaty space of their mind until Simons's icy blue eyes drifted over to them, this time Y/n being the one caught staring.

They cleared their throat and ducked their head, continuing to work, pretending their cheeks don't feel like they're burning. This just made his smile brighter than it already had been.

To say I tolerated him was an understatement. 

Then, there had been this weird stage of us admiring each other from afar, too scared or unsure of ourselves to do anything about it.

After being caught so many times staring, a person over time, doesn't care to look away anymore.

There is no embarrassment, that having died out a long time ago. Instead, one continues to openly gaze at the person, hoping that they will be there forever, just to examine the details of that person's face.

Nathan would loudly argue at the pair that they were giving each other “fuck me eyes”, but instead, they were simply admiring the beauty of the other. 

Light blue eyes swept across Y/n's face. Taking in all the details and perfectly placed imperfections. The indented pores or lightly shaded wrinkles. Light rays sprinkled past the clouds and rained down on their body.

If someone had asked him at that moment, he would have uttered truthfully that they looked like an angel. Angelic. That's the only word that would come to his head.

A gust of air brushed past them on the windy day on top of the roof of the community service building.

The eyelashes of Y/n fluttered as they opened their eyes and immediately darted them in Simon's direction as if hearing his thoughts. 

He didn’t blush this time. Didn’t become embarrassed anymore. No anxious assumptions even crossed his mind. Instead, he continued to stare.

Y/n smiled lightly, taking the staring as a compliment. No inkling of judgment tracing their kind features.

All of a sudden, the button-up collar of Simons's uncomfortable orange jumpsuit seemed a little too tight.

I eventually got fed up with it.

The rubber of Converse tapping away on the linoleum floor is what caught Simon's attention. Glancing up with his beautiful blue eyes, he sees Y/n, the person he had been crushing on, determinedly strutting in his direction. Hair that made up his eyebrows came together in a furrow, a line indenting his skin in between them.

Y/n stopped in front of him, chest puffed out in faux confidence. “Go on a date with me.” Came from their mouth. It wasn’t a question. It was a demand. 

Simon openly gazed up at them from his sitting position. His mouth opened, jaw dropping in shock at the situation in front of him. “Y- yes.” He uttered once his brain caught up with his mouth, blinking way more than necessary.. “Good.”

Y/n seemed to lose their mojo, figure relaxing from their rigid posture, and handed him their phone, waiting for him to put in his number. Simons is now the one who straightens up and accepts the piece of metal, quickly pressing digits into it with the pads of his fingers.

The time I first started my community service, I was annoyed, to say the least. But I’m glad it happened. I had the privilege of meeting him.

I roll over in the soft blankets, scooting closer to the figure radiating warmth. Blankets jostle with my tired but relaxed movements. The heavy weight of his arm over my waist is comforting as I nuzzle into the side of his neck. I pucker my lips and leave a sloppy, chaste, sleep-filled kiss there. 

The limbs caging me tug me impossibly closer to the muscly body. “I love you, darling.” His voice is deep with sleep as he whispers the affection in my ear.

I run my hand underneath his shirt and on the silky soft skin of his waist before feeling around the curve of his back, resting it there. “I love you too, baby,” I utter out of my scratchy throat. “Now go back to bed, it's too early,” I groan. A puff of air against my shoulder lets me know he’s laughing. 

I place one more kiss on the warm skin in front of my face before I let the peaceful darkness of sleep overtake me once again.

AN: Hi everyone! Thank you so much if you read all of that. I wanted to create this because Simon fics are so scarce. If you like it please let me know or reblog it or something, it would mean the absolute world to me. Any and all tips for my writing are greatly appreciated.

[iworshipkeanureeves]

A Private Show

John Wick x f!character 

Summary: It’s John’s birthday and his wife has a surprise for him.

Words: 2350

Warnings: pole dancing/stripping, smut (bodily fluids, oral)

Exhausted after another grueling, yet successful job, John was getting ready to head back home tonight. Exiting his bathroom in nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips, he felt at peace, leaving his job behind for a while. He was finally getting some personal time.

John was so lost in his thoughts about returning home that he barely noticed a purple envelope lying on the floor; someone must have slipped it under his door while he had the shower on.

Suspicious and holding a gun in his hand, John slowly opened the door, taking a look around the corridor, hoping to see the person who was behind that; however, no one was there anymore. Curious to know what was inside, he had no choice but to open the envelope.

Given the usual, John wasn’t expecting anything good in there. Best case scenario, he thought there could be directions for a new job, meaning he would have to stay here for the weekend. And worst case… he didn’t want to think about that yet.

Holding the envelope in his calloused hands, John carefully opened the letter. He was pleasantly surprised to find a short note written in an immaculate cursive.

From the first glance it looked printed, but no, it was handwritten; the letters so perfectly smooth and so familiar that John was sure about the person responsible for these lines. It was her, it must have been her.

Just as he was to put the letter down and go search for a nice three piece suit, John heard his telephone ringing. He hesitated for a second, thinking he should better concentrate on following the address, but eventually he decided to pick it up, just in case.

“The car is waiting for you, Mister Wick.” It was Charon calling from reception, his tone suggesting that John should not reject the night that was awaiting him.

“Thank you.” His answer was concise, masking the excitement, and, after putting the phone down, John rushed to get dressed.

---

Stepping out of the car, John learned that the address belonged to a strip club. He was not exactly sure what to think of it, but he couldn’t really complain if that was her organizing it. Was there a surprise party awaiting him inside? Had she hired someone to dance for him? John had so many thoughts, but he was rushing indoors to see for himself what the letter was about.

Inside the club he was met by the dim lighting, only neon purple showing the way. John couldn’t see any people hanging around, leading him to believe that there was something really special planned for tonight.

He was burning with anticipation, walking towards the main lounge with shiny poles enlightened on the center stage. Deeper into the club, John noticed that there was a bottle of dark whiskey, his favorite, supposedly waiting for him; he got himself comfortable on a velvet sofa waiting for the show to begin.

As John was putting the bottle down after pouring himself a drink, he heard I Put a Spell on You by Nina Simone starting to play. The lights suddenly shifted, concentrating on a single pole, the one that was closest to him.

Then finally, John saw her. His wife. Slowly walking out of the shadows, wearing just a set of black see-through bralette paired with a diamond lace G-string.

The sight made John forget about the glass he had just poured for himself, forcing him to lean closer to the stage. He even held his breath for a moment or two, admiring his woman sensually stepping on a podium; her scarlet lips forming a sultry smile accompanied by a sinful gleam in her eyes.

Keeping the eye-contact she leaned her back against the metal bar, sliding down in a lengthy, sensual motion, keeping her angles together, but spreading her knees further apart. She kept her one arm up, clenching the pole above her head, while another teasingly stroked her inner thigh, concentrating John’s attention towards her center, driving him crazy with what was only a prelude for the show he was about to receive.

There was already a lump forming in John’s throat and he could hardly swallow marveled by the sight of his wife gracefully standing back up, swaying her hips together with the beat.

She walked around the pole, showcasing her behind, her perfectly round cheeks framed by the shiny jewels forming a string. John’s brain was short circuiting, the heat overpowering his core, as she was arching her back, rolling her body against the shiny metal bar.

Hooking one leg around it, she effortlessly mounted herself up the pole with grace. She was spinning, her free leg flowing in the air. Unbelievably, his wife kept upping her game, flipping over to face the floor, splitting her legs like it came natural to her.

She had the perfect flow, seamless fluidity in her motion. John could only wonder when or where she had learned.

Finally gathering the strength back to his hands, John took a sip of his drink, minding her surprising flexibility, the way she could spread her legs like it was simple for her. He felt his pants tightening thinking about all the things he could do bending her in various shapes, the way his hips could thrust deep into her, keeping her legs far apart giving the maximum access.

It was like she was reading John’s thoughts, sliding downwards with her body upside down, inverting the last second before reaching the ground. She landed into a perfect split, her bottoms subtly bouncing from hitting the floor.

John was admiring her glowing skin, the way she was showcasing her legs, sensually standing up with the help of the pole. He was eager to just go there and rip that meager outfit away from her.

Luckily that wasn’t necessary as John saw his wife stepping down from the podium and nearing his sofa, making his excitement shoot high. She kept teasing him, approaching John slowly with an erotic swing; her hands went to her back, unclasping the bralette and leaving her topless, giving another delicious treat for John’s eyes.

“A lap dance for my birthday boy,” she breathed in vulgar tone, hovering over his legs and making him press to the backrest with a single firm push. John inhaled, feeling her heat beginning to grind against his expanding crotch; her hands went under the lapels of his suit, nails digging into his tough chest.

“Can I touch?” John asked, taking a final sip and setting an empty glass on the table; he needed to free his hands, in case her answer was yes.

“Anything, darling.” The salacious words rolled over her tongue, and she delved into John’s lips, feeling his palms cupping, and then kneading her ass cheeks. The second she pulled away from the kiss, John’s mouth caught her nipple, sucking passionately and sending shivers all the way to her limbs.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled John even closer, making his face drown in the fullness of her breasts. She knew her pussy was already dripping, ruining his pants, but his bulge felt too good against her folds to worry about that.

She removed his jacket tossing it to the ground, and while her swift fingers moved to deal with his buckle, John was unbuttoning his vest at the same time. She kissed him once more, before kneeling down between his legs and sliding down his unzipped pants; just enough to get a hold on his stiff member, warm and meaty, looking colossal in her tiny palm.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll come before you even take it in your mouth.” John stated in a deep, carnal tone; his hands shaking form the need to pull her head closer and wrap her lips around his twitching cock.

“Patience,” she smirked, making a single, painfully slow lick from base to tip, her tongue gathering drops of precum emerging from his flushed summit. She stayed there for a while, her lips sucking only the tip, tasting salty liquor with her unhurried tongue.

Her eyes were fiery, assuring John that he was in for a long night. It was his birthday and she wanted for him to fully relax, forget everything about the world that was outside the club. At least for once in a really long time.

Gazing into John’s eyes she started gradually increasing the amplitude, taking more of him with each bob. She was getting really messy, saliva dripping at the corners of her lips, the music getting overpowered by the dirty sounds.

“Fuckk-“ John choked out, feeling her lips gliding his length, her palm stroking what was too much for her mouth. He couldn’t resist but to clench her hair in his hand, directing her movements; her pace and depth. Some of the jabs were almost too much, but John knew her the best, he wouldn’t have done so if she hadn’t been able to take that. His wife loved a little struggle, John was sure of that.

Each time her lips were reaching closer to the dark hair nesting his length, John felt himself nearing his edge; but he wasn’t going to come yet. John was pretty good at controlling himself, even when his wife was skillfully working between his legs. Having a fistful of her hair, John halted her movements, carefully helping her up. 

“Is something wrong?” She asked, sinking into his lap once again.

“Not at all.” He joined her lips for a quick, yet filthy kiss. “It’s just that I can smell your pussy all soaked, desperate to be filled.” John pulled her petty panties to the side, running two of his fingers between her folds. “Look at that, I wasn’t wrong.” Pushing his digits in, John cherished the sight of his wife slightly gasping, as he was stretching her walls before invading them with his hefty cock.

“Please, John.” She begged in a needy voice, her pussy throbbing with anticipation, waiting for his member to finally enter her.

“Patience,” John smirked, “You said it yourself.” He kept pumping her, his lips gently brushing against her neck, his free hand hugging her waist. She tried sinking lower to meet his fingers, but still, that wasn’t enough; not even close.

Knowing how to beat John at this game, she gave her palm a generous lick, then wrapped her finger’s around his stiff cock, stroking it gently, slightly clenching each time her hand was gliding up.

After a couple of mutual pumps, she felt John’s fingers abandoning her pussy and she watched him sucking his digits clean, then sticking them between her lips, rubbing into her tongue. “You’re a fucking dessert, love.” John hissed delving into wife’s mouth, alcohol mixed with her arousal being shared between them.

Caught up in the kiss, she felt his member slowly plowing her slit. John paused at her stretched entrance taking a good look into her desire-filled eyes, before gradually invading her heat.

She smiled at him sinking to the very base, staying there for a brief moment to adjust to his girth. “All good?” John whispered, wrapping his arms around his wife and running his fingers along her spine.

She nodded and hummed, leaning closer for a kiss. Just as their tongues collided, she started rocking her hips, the friction feeling so pleasurable, that it was impossible to stay still.

John admired her breasts bouncing in accordance with their pace, her nipples hard, perfectly beautiful; just like everything on his precious girl. She was the best birthday present John could ever receive.

He didn’t even have to thrust; it was all her, sitting in his lap, riding him to heaven. She felt amazing, her tight walls milking his cock like they were a perfect fit for each other.

“Faster.” John commanded slapping one of her ass cheeks, making her gasp and encouraging some more profound moves. They were both breathy, their lips joining and separating every few seconds, moans and groans thickening the air between them.

John could barely say another word, feeling her pussy soundly sheathing his ready-to-burst cock; her warm wetness splashing on his crotch with every move, his pubes getting soaked in her sweet juice. They were both almost there, their muscles tense, the build-up soon to be unleashed.

Seeing his wife getting close, John dragged his palm over her hip, his thumb finding her needy clit, pressing not so gently to it.

“Oh fuck, baby I-“ She whimpered, feeling her mind getting clouded form the sensation of his tip hitting her in the perfect spot, and his thumb rubbing determined circles on her painfully swollen bud.

“Come on, love.” John began rocking his hips, intensifying their collisions to the point where it was impossible for either one of them to hold on. “Cum for me,” he grunted, feeling his whole body seized by the commencing orgasm, just in time for when his wife’s toes curled, and they both trembled in each other’s arms.

Their whole bodies were burning, John’s cock twitching with every spurt, his hot seed generously coating her throbbing walls. “I love you,” John growled, burying his face in the crook of her neck. It was the peak of his high; John’s hands were pressing at his wife’s back, pushing her close to his chest.

“I love you too,” she breathed out into his ear, shaking surrounded by his embrace. After tangling her fingers inside John’s hair, she gently pulled his head backwards and sank into his lips. A slight movement of her core made John’s member to fall out of her aching hole, and she felt his slickness dripping down her thigh.

“Let’s go clean you up,” John lifted his beloved wife, bringing her legs to wrap around his waist, his dress shirt already soaking up most of the mess.

“Fine, but then I’ll show you what else I’ve got,” she beamed. “The club is ours for the whole night.”

Tag-list: @keandrews​​​ @rdjloverxxx​​​​ @greenmanalishi​​​​ @lilywoood​​​​ (message me to be added or removed)

Masterlist

[demivampirew]

Keep Calm and Go to London chapter 29

Previous Chapters in the masterlist

Triggers: Panic attack; anxiety; crying.

Tag list:  Here’s the incredible people who   showed me support (thank  you    so  much for that) and people who  asked  me to tag them too  ☺️   (I   think  I will write a few chapters  of  this story, if you want me to tag     you, tell me ☺️   ) @cavillanche @mary-ann84 @henry-owns-these-tatas @yespolkadotkitty @dancingwendigo   constip8merm8       penwieldingdreamer iloveyouyen  littlefreya  wondersofdreaming      alyxkbrl solariumss  sweetybuzz25 @thethirstyarchive @agniavateira   @honeyloverogers @hell1129-blog   @lunedelorient​  @michelle-1185​  @madbaddic7ed​     @summersong69​ @kaatelyyynn​

The sweet melody force Henry to wake up. The combination of an angelic voice and piano wasn't something he wanted to miss. As he approached the living room, he saw you playing the keyboards while singing some beautiful lyrics. He leaned against the wall to listen to the delightful tune without distracting you.

You're all I need my one belief the winds of time will carry me to live without dubiety don't let this ever end

We've flow afar beyond the sea to find each other finally we've waited long and patiently to build a bridge between dualities.

Shivers ran through his body, the combination of your voice, the soft instrumental and the lovely lyrics gave him chills. You were writing the final lyrics of your new song when you finally noticed him.

- Sorry, babe, did I wake you up? - you apologized. - Yep, but it doesn't matter. That's the greatest way of waking up.-he replied, grinning. His lips felt dry as he gave you a tender good morning kiss. - I have to give you a lip balm.- you said playfully and he laughed.

As you made kissing sounds and called his name, Kal appeared from the kitchen, where he was bitting  a bone- and went straight to Henry. As you did for his birthday, you put a little surprise for Henry in the doggy's collar. He kneeled on the floor and then took the tiny gift bag and inside of it, there was a silver locket that contained two photos: one was Kal and the other was a picture of you. The gift also included a little card: "Happy Father's day, daddy! Love, Kal." A huge smile appeared on his face.

- I love it, Kal, thank you!- he exclaimed while petting his furry son. Then, he lifted his head and looked at you with those gorgeous blue eyes of his, "Thanks, baby" he added. - It was Kal's idea. He's even so egocentric that he put himself as well.- you joked referring to the fact that your picture was there with the Akita. Seeing and heard him laugh was among you're favourite things on the entire world. If he was happy, you could feel the sunshine hit you no matter the time of the day, the season or the weather. As Taylor's song says " I see sparks fly whenever you smile".

Later that day, you called your dad to congratulate him on his day. Henry had his own zoom family reunion for Father's Day. It wasn't a lie that you couldn't be there because you were going to phone your old man, but there was also the anxiety of intruding in something private. It didn't matter how in love you were with each other, you felt that 4 months of dating wasn't enough time together to be part of those special moments, especially after his birthday. Due to the pandemic and the fact that his family lived far away from him, you haven't had the chance to meet them yet, at least personally, so you felt that they might felt curious and ask questions and it'd seem that you were stealing their thunder. Today was all about his dad and his brothers. Despite avoiding the Cavill online hang out, you made sure to salute them on father's day. You sent a direct message to Charlie, the only member of your boyfriend's family you had the chance to talk several times when he and Henry video-called and you had a good relationship with. You included him and the rest of them in your Father's Day post on Instagram as well as pleading Henry to deliver your best wishes. Your day couldn't be better, you felt. While you scrolled through Instagram, giving likes to your friend's post delivering sweet thankful words to their dads, partners, etc a notification let you know that Henry posted as well. After going to his account, a bright smile appeared on your face as you saw the photo he posted. It was a photo from his childhood; in it, he was standing next to his brothers and his father. He was leaning against his younger sibling with the rest standing behind them with the Cavill Senior besides his sons. Only one of the children wasn't smiling and had a "bad boy" face, it was Simon. So, except for the young man, all had happy gestures, specially Henry who looked cheerful. The picture seemed to be from a wedding or a similar event giving the fact that they all were wearing suits. Underneath said portrait, your British man dedicated a few words to his family: "In this here photo only one of the Cavill men was a father. Now.... a few years later, only one isn't! Happy Father's Day to you, my incredible father, and to you my awesome brothers! Legends to a man.Also, for those that don't know, this is how we dress in England all the time.#FathersDay" All the joy you were feeling before vanished instantly. Now anxiety had fully taken over your emotions and air couldn't get inside your body. You ran into the kitchen and grabbed a bag to breathe in. You went into the house's main bathroom to hide from Henry so he wouldn't find out that you were having a panic attack. The rolled down your eyes and you felt as if needles were being sticked to your heart. "In this here photo only one of the Cavill men was a father. Now.... a few years later, only one isn't! " "..., only one isn't! " the words kept repeating inside your mind and you could even hear his voice. When Henry told you that whatever was your decision about having kids, he wanted to remain by your side, it made you extremely happy to know that you'll never lose him, but in the same time, you felt even more anxiety than before. One thing was to know that you could lose him in the future for not wanting the same thing, but there was the upside that he'd someday make his dream come true; another thing was for you to take away the possibility of being a dad because he loved you enough to give up his longtime desire of having kids. What if someday he regretted his desition? Would he blamed you for not doing the right thing and set him free? Will breaking up with him be the right decision? There was always a chance that if you felt that couldn't have kids in the near future, that it could happen in a distant future. You could always adopt or freeze your eggs so you could find a surrogate in your body wasn't in conditions to carry a child.

-Baby, you want to watch a movie?- Henry asked you as he knocked on the bathroom's door. You had been there for almost an hour, burning your poor brain with all those existential questions. You took a deep breath as you wiped your tears. - Yeah, babe. I'll be there in a minute.- you replied making an extra effort for him not to noticed that you'd been crying. - Ok, I'll make popcorn in the meantime.- he said and left. You stood up and faced the mirror. After washing your face, you made sure there were no trails of your tears. After sitting on the couch, you tried hard to focus on choosing a movie. You ended selecting a horror movie called "The Ritual". A big bowl of popcorn rested on your boyfriend's lap as you watched the movie. As much as you tried to pay attention to the movie, you barely understood what was going on since your brain would repeat his words and the questions you made to yourself before. You took deep breaths to avoid having another panic attack and break into tears. As the movie was reaching its climax, your man paused the movie. It took you a moment to notice it and to see that he was starring at you. - Are you ok, princess? - he questioned worried. You faced him, smiling and nodding; of course you couldn't speak because otherwise the lump in your throat would give you away. He inspected your face.- Are you sure? You can tell me if something's wrong, do you know that, right?- he pointed out and you nodded again, hoping he'll quit the interrogation and play the movie.

Unfortunately, he did not give up. He knew something was going on and would not continue playing the movie until he knew what was wrong with you. - You're lying.- he reproached you.- You haven't even touched the popcorn and you love it; you haven't stopped moving your thighs from side to side, quickly and that's something you do when you're extremely anxious; you also play with your nails, that's another nervous tic you have and not to mention that you haven't made one single comment during this entire time, I've been waiting for your clever comments and jokes, but no a single sound came out from your mouth. You have been breathing deeply and shallowing saliva which is something you do when you try not to cry.

Damn it! He knew you way too well. What was the point of pretending anymore? He already caught your bullshit. Your burst into tears and after he left the bowl on the tea table, you rested your head on his lap as he caressed your hair and your face, letting you cry as much as you need it. After a while, when you felt eased, you sat again and looked at him, who was expecting an explanation of what was going on. You took as much air as you could and finally spoke:

- I saw your Instagram post. - you pointed out. - Ok.- he said, unsure of how that could have made you upset. - You said that you were the only one who wasn't a father and I know that you truly want that, and people saying in your comments how someday you're going to be a great dad and me thinking what if I can't give you that? You assured me that you wanted to be with me anyway, but I feel that'd be extremely selfish of me to take that opportunity away from you, even if my desition is not only for my best interest or yours, but also for that baby, if there's ever one, I don't want a child to be born in a world in which his mother only had him to make his dad happy. Besides that, I fear that if I don't give you children, someday you'd regret staying with me and may even hate me for not doing that or for not let you go to find someone that can give you that.- you explained while a few tears rolled down your cheeks. Henry removed them with his thumbs and then grabbed your face, forcing you to look him in the eyes. - I might enjoy to play video-games, to read fantasy books among other "childish" things, but be sure I'm a man. I'm mature enough to make my desitions and know the reasons behind them. Am I sure that I want to be with you even if you don't want kids? Absolutely. I already feel happy and complete by your side, and if someday we have kids I'd no longer be on cloud nine, but cloud infinite; especially by knowing that I'd have them with a woman who loved me enough to change her mind and with a person smart enough to know that the kid's feelings and necessities are more important than both ours. Could I be sad if I never become a father? Possibly. Would I regret my desition? No, because I know why I made that decision. Would I blame you for not giving me kids, if that happens? Hell no; I wouldn't be forced to stay, if I stay it'd be because I wanted so, and the only one to blame if I make a bad desition is me and, as I said before, I know why I want to stay with you no matter what, so I'm not even going to blame myself.- he took a short paused and continued- Look, I'd always wanted to play Alexander, the Great, did that happened? No, but I'm ok with that. I desired to play Bond for a long time and that seems like another dream that will not come true, but I'm ok with that too. At least I had the chance to play Sups and Geralt. I know might be a silly comparison, but maybe that way you understand what I'm trying to say. In that scenario, you are Superman and Geralt. You're the amazing thing that happened to me even and my life would be awesome even if I don't get Bond or Alexander.- he chuckled unsure if he was being clear. You smiled, feeling a lot better and then kissed him. His lips tasted so good. The sweetness of the popcorn left trails on them. You sat right next to him, grabbing his arm and putting your head on his shoulder. He kissed your head and was about to play the rest of the movie when you stopped him and questioned if it'd be ok with him if you play the movie from the beginning to really watch it this time. He smirked and agreed, saying that i'd be ok to see it again because there were some parts he didn't pay much attention either. Your jokes and sassy comments about some silly plot points and characters actions were all he needed to know that you felt much better.

Disclaimer: As much as I’d love to write a song, I haven’t done that, so the song reader writes actually exists and belongs to the band Epica (Twin Flames is the name of the song if you want to listen to it - is beautiful  ♥)

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

Daddy Dan Lauria…..

Chapter Two: A Fantasy Come True

Featuring Dan Lauria

My name is Simon White and this is my encounter with a celebrity. It was mid June of 2019 in Green Bay Wisconsin and I had just finished a business meeting early. I had a day to spare before my flight back home, so decided to check out the sites. I decide to check out the Door Kinetic Arts Festival when I found out Dan Lauria would be there during the DKAF Donor Event, where he will perform scenes and monologues from the Broadway play “Lombardi.” I’ve had a thing for Lauria since his role as Jack Arnold in the television show “The Wonder Years,” so I thought what the hell.

After the play, I spent rest of the afternoon experiencing the festival when I saw Dan again, walking around by himself. I didn’t see his agent or a crowd around him, so decided to make a bold move and walk up to him. He looked  at me, nodded, and I introduced myself as a fan. I found out that his agent had left and he was just relaxing, trying to recover from the hectic day. Still feeling bold, I told him that I had always been interested in him sexually and had many fantasies about him; that I had masturbated many times, across the years, thinking about him and imagining how he looked nude; that I had always been very eager—and I still was– to see him “down there.”

He was surprisingly receptive. Well, one thing led to another, and our conversation turned into how I would satisfy him if I got him into my bed. It didn’t take long before we both went back to his hotel room. I made the first move, leaning in to kiss him which was something I’d wanted to do for so long. Quickly, he started unbuttoning my shirt, unzipping my pants, and basically tearing my clothes off as he moved his tongue around inside my mouth. I told him to slow down and then ask if he could make this memorable for me.

"What do you have in mind?” He asked with big smile on his face.

“Why don’t you take your clothes off.” I asked as he stood there looking dumb fuddled.

“You know, like a striptease.” I added.

“Yea … I understand.” He said but still hesitated.

“Come on Dan. Don’t be shy with me. I’ve been wanting to see you naked ever since The Wonder Years.”

Dan would later confess to me that he had never done something so exotic before and was a little embarrassed by his body. But the eager looked on my face gave him courage.

“Well if you want to see a fat, old man with bad knees naked, then here goes.” He finally said as he took his suit coat of and then undid his tie.

I moved over to the bed and took a seat as I watched him started doing a striptease in front of me. Even though there was no actual music playing, I had stripper music going on in my head as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. As it came off, I saw that, though not quite as hairy as some of the “bears” I liked to see, there was plenty of body hair on Dan to enjoy. It continued down a slight paunch stopping at his belt line which he was now unbuckling. I watched in growing excitement as he pulled down his beige slacks and exposed his white jockey shorts that were tented out.

I was mesmerized by his crotch as he moved his hand down to his crotch and gave himself a squeeze. This may have been Dan's first time doing a strip tease, but he sure knew how to get mt dick hard. Then he began to pull his shorts down inch by inch until his pubic hair came into view. Dan's eyes never left mine and as I looked up at him my entire body shuddered as he yanked his waistband down briskly. He smiled to my reaction to his fully engorged manhood springing upward and bouncing like a diving board. It was about 7" inches thick, resting on top of a set of huge bull sized balls.

After kicking aside his underwear, he lowered his hand back onto his cock, stroking the full length as his loose hanging balls moved back and forth. He grinned as he told me, “It’s all yours if you want.”

If I had been working my cock at all, I would have nutted right then.

“You’re beautiful.” I finally said as he continued stroking his thick dick.

“And you are totally blind.” Dan said.

“You are beautiful!” I said as I dropped to my knees, grabbed his cock and closed my mouth around it, making him moan with intensity.

“That feels wonderful!” He cried out as my warm, wet tongue began to massage his fat dick as I held his entire dick in my mouth.

Jut then he grabbed the sides of my head and began fucking my face. I could feel every vein of that old cock as it went in and out of my mouth. I could smell the mustiness of his cock as my nose brushed against the full mound of  pubic hair. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the smell of Dan’s crotch and the wet sounds of my lips sucking his erect shaft. The sensation of that cock sliding almost out of my mouth then, back in till it touched the back of my throat was incredible.

“So…gooood…” Dan moaned as his hips sped up. I could hear him panting as he kneaded my hair and I felt the head of his wonderful cock swell just before he tightened his grip.

“Can't cum yet. I’ve got to fuck you!” The actor said suddenly pushing my mouth away from his cock.

“Turn around!” He ordered in a loud manly voice of his that I found myself compelled to obey.

“Now bend over and let me see that ass.” He added.

I quickly did as Dan ordered and suddenly felt his wonderful, warm, wet tongue flicking against my asshole. GOD! It felt wonderful. But he didn’t stop with just licking my asshole as suddenly I felt his fat tongue wiggling its way inside my asshole. The sudden rush of pleasure caused by Dan’s tongue as it entered me almost made me cum. Suddenly I was hunching his tongue involuntarily and in response, Dan just drove his thick tongue even deeper inside my hole. Then he started turning and twisting it causing me to almost lose my mind. A few minutes later, I felt the head of his thick cock along my crack and especially my saliva dripping hole.

“Oh shit!” I cried out as he entered me causing me to pull my ass away from him.

“Keep that ass still.” Dan said as he held me in place.

Then he forced inch after fat inch of dick inside of me until I had the entire 7" inches in me. I was in heaven having my hole stretch by a hard cock, feeling his heart beat inside me though his pulsing manhood. He gripped my hips firmly and began to slowly pulled out till the head almost slipped out then thrust it smoothly back in as each entry into me made me catch my breath.

“That’s right. Take my cock.” He said as he plunged his fat cock deep into me.

His rhythm began to pick up speed as he grunted with pleasure. I gasped out loud with each thrust into me as his grip tightened.

“You like that huh?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me how bad you want my cock in your ass! Beg me!”

“I love it, I need it. I need it SO bad. Fuck my ass, own it!” I said as I was pushing back against his thrusts enjoying the sound of skin slapping together and that hard dick pounding my ass.

By now, Dan was fucking me so hard and fast that I calloused on the bed. He followed me down driving his huge cock ever further inside of me. I could feel his hot breathe on the back of my neck and I wanted desperately to turn my head and kiss him. So I reached around and grabbed his head and pulled it toward my as I turn it to the side. He lowered his weight on to me and kissed me deeply forcing my mouth open. Locked in that kiss with him slamming his whole body against and in me I moaned into his mouth with each thrust.  

“Take my cock! Take it all!” Dan called out as he pushed his dick as far up my hole as it would go and held it there.

“You like it? You like my cock up your ass?” Dan asked.

“Yes.” I moaned.

“I know you do!” He called out as he started pounding my ass harder with his thick dick.

I lost all track of time as I didn’t know how long we fucked like that. Kissing and panting, grunting and sweating, but suddenly Dan finally pulled his dick out of me and rolled me over. Then he got up on my chest and ordered me to open my mouth as he squeezed his shaft firing a stream of cum that landed in my mouth. Another stream quickly followed, hitting me across my face as he kept jerking and having cum spilling out of his cock. His his cum was like honey to me and I wanted it all. I opened my mouth as he stuck his head in for me to polish off.

After a minute or two, I reached down to masturbate, but Dan brushed my hand from my dick, slipped down between my legs and took my fat dick into his mouth. He devoured my cock, sucking it like it was his last meal. Dan had me so hot that I immediately shot off into his mouth. He swallowed my load, then used his tongue and mouth to suck out the last few drops.

“That was wonderful.” Dan told me as he lay beside me.

“Sex with you was better than I have ever fantasized it would be over all these years. Thanks.” I said.

[diningpageantry]

Payback

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17026485

Word Count: 1338

Summary: Sixth year fighting as payback for shittiness leaves Baz willing Simon to actually push him out the window. Simon has a different answer, though.

Carry On Countdown 2018 Day 22: Revenge

“You winked at my fucking girlfriend?”

Snow’s got his hands on my shirt, skin careful to not grace mine as he jostles me. Anemantia hasn’t kicked in, but we both know it should soon. He jerks me back again, sending me nearly tripping over the tie he’s sloppily left on the floor.

“I didn’t wink at her for nothing, Snow,” I grumble bitterly, still glaring down at him disapprovingly. “I’d told her a joke. Jealous you can’t make her laugh?”

Hands trembling and fists clenching tighter, his glare holds stronger. “Jealous? Of you?” His weight shifts as he holds his chin higher to match my eyes. I hate that this makes me want to swoon.

I suppose I accept it now; my destruction. My emotional obliteration, my constant torture of wanting to walk into the flames. Simon Snow being, perhaps, the only person I ever want to be near, despite him scorching me alive.

Maybe this is my payback for being so shitty to him. There’s the slightest possibility that my hatred transformed into admiration, or maybe it’d always been there, lurking in my subconscious. All I know is when I went to punch him last year, I wanted the split of his lip against mine. Especially the trickle of his blood against my saliva.

“I’m not jealous of you, you blithering idiot,” I mock, jaw shaking with a slight tremor. It’s not a lie, because I’m not. I’ve never been jealous of him (except, maybe except for how everyone loves him). No, it’s Wellbelove to who I’m craving to be. But he can’t know that. I never want him to know that.

I back up from him carefully, keeping a stone-cold gaze as he works himself up further. The room reeks now, smelling heavily of burnt magick and a wildfire, prickling at my skin and drowning my lungs and brain.

He eyes up the window behind me, brain clouding like the room around us. Just a spark, and he’ll set me ablaze (at last). “Then what the fuck have you been trying at?” he snarls, jerking me hard enough to make me stumble back against the wall, brushing against the freezing stone wall and opened wood-framed window.

I can’t go any further but down.

Fingertips wrapping around Simon’s and feeling the fabric of my lapels scrunching between the rough scratch of his knuckles, I swallow my words back and follow the shove of my shoulders and head out the window.

I wonder what it feels like to die. To tumble into the moat and let my body sink to the inky bottom. I wonder how my family would react; would they be sad? Disappointed? More than likely the latter (except, perhaps, Mordelia, but she would learn to cope).

This is payback. All the shitty things I’ve done; every time I tried to nearly off him.

This is what I deserve.

“Do it, Simon,” I say, going soft at the brush of his skin. My eyes shut, my breath catches, and I let myself stop struggling. “Push me out, fucking do it.”

A few seconds pass, and I don’t feel the whistle of the air, nor do I feel the brush of the wind beyond what I’m feeling already. I dare myself to open my eyes; to see the building anger before he finally throws me off.

At last, when I find his gaze, it’s not of anger, but of fear. He’s in a panic, studying my face before I feel his crashing into mine.

It’s a caste, rushed kiss, and it’s searing my skin.

I don’t have long to enjoy it before he pulls back, breath working up as his magick makes the room feel like a static screen. My hair starts lifting a little, an electric brush sweeping the air as his breath hitches.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes, hands softening against mine while keeping there. “Stay here--don’t jump, please.” And with that, he’s letting go and running off to somewhere unknown.

With my fingers brushing my lip and heart racing, I gape shamelessly at the open door. While I’d absolutely love to act erratically, I wouldn’t dare disobey Snow at this moment.

Despite the initial shock and awe, it settles into me that he hasn’t returned in the (at least) ten minutes that I’ve spent stood frozen. Slow lowering down, I settle back on the floor, back pressed to the wall and legs sprawled out in front of me. I don’t quite have the energy to do anything except for stare forward and wait anxiously.

Whatever Snow did, whatever Snow’s doing is driving me insane. Maybe this is his actual plans for revenge; to drive me off the deep end. To make me question everything I know and everything that’s happened up to this point, then to leave me questioning.

The sky slowly sinks into roses and yellows, filtering into the room and leaving a soft pink glow over everything.

That’s when I finally hear Snow’s footsteps ascending. He looks exhausted; he looks scared and overwhelmed and tired.

He looks like he made a mistake.

I dare open my mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s dry, and I don’t have anything to say anyway.

Instead, he just steps closer, settling himself on the ground between my legs with knees brushing my thighs. As he slowly closes in closer, I grab for words, brain going somewhat fuzzy.

His fingertips brush against my jaw, making my stomach churn and breath hitch. As he closes in closer, I blurt out my mind.

“What about Agatha?” I can’t just be something he comes back to. I can’t let him kiss me out of pity. I can’t let him wreck his future.

“Don’t worry about that,” he murmurs, “we’re done. Just shut up and kiss me, okay?”

I need to stop thinking. I think about everything; I try to know everything, but maybe I don’t need to know this. I don’t need to understand because Snow’s asking me to kiss him while sitting here, sat between my legs, and touching my face like that.

So I don’t. For once in my life, I stop overthinking and I just do it. I reach out, hands wrapping around the scratchy fabric of Snow’s jumper, and pull him into a kiss.

The magick swirls and rests in the air over time, a mixture of his and mine. The hanging scent of matches and burnt toast; of fresh embers and an eternity of waiting for the fire to settle. Darkness fell over the room, leaving us in the moon’s blue haze. He took off my shirt a while ago, hands pressed to my chilled chest and warming it under his touch. His cross is long gone. We’ve been snogging so long that my lips went numb and I’ve gone through at least three cycles of mental questioning before I’d settled on just the word “fuck”.

A short while passes of final extended kisses and skidding touches before we break fully and stare at each other silently. Thankfully, he has half the mind to not take his hands off me, because he’s skating them up and down my exposed chest as we lock eyes. It takes forever to work up the courage to speak.

“What is this?”

Even in nearly the darkness, I can see his clueless face drawing into one of his famous unsure looks. “What do you mean?”

I don’t even know if I’m breathing. “Why are you snogging me? Why are we doing this?”

“Because…” His hands rest lower, making my stomach do flips as the skin of his palms warm my gut. “I didn’t want you to die.”

I can’t mock him for that. I can’t snap at him like this. “It was your opportunity. You deserve payback for what I’ve done.”

With lips pursing and a curl falling into his eyes, Snow seems to let himself relax into me. “That can come later,” he whispers. “We’ll figure that out later. Right now, I don't want to let you go.”

[goodgoodpolypals]

What is simple in the moonlight, by morning never is || Chapter One

Simone presses her hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the setting sun, staring out into the distance expectantly. The air outside the fairgrounds is hot and sticky with late August humidity and it’s perfumed with the faint smell of manure, standing there alone forces Simone to focus on that, hyper aware of the way her hair is sticking to her forehead and causing her to regret her choice of wearing a knee length black skirt. Those concerns dissolve, however, when Tara comes into view, just barely a dot on the horizon. She’s dressed smarter, too-short shorts and a tank top,  her red hair collected in a messy ponytail that hangs low on the back of her head. It whips back and forth as she petals furiously on her bike, slowing when she does, letting her legs dangle loosely and draping her wrists over the handlebars as she enters the last stretch before arriving in front of the fair grounds.

Simone’s stomach flips like it always does when she sees her best friend. It’s followed by a strange constricting in her chest and a feeling she can’t pinpoint, but it always makes her want to chew on her lip. She does now, and she kicks herself for it like she always does, because this feeling that causes the impulse also terrifies her. She wants these feelings to be ones of platonic love, or at the very least she wants to believe these feelings are nothing more than that. But she knows that isn’t the truth. And she is acutely aware of that now, looking at Tara with her pink cheeks, her summer-tanned long legs on display, and that smile… That easy going, mischievous smile drives Simone crazy. And she’s wearing it now as she chains her bike to the metal bike rack.

Tara pushes a piece of Simone’s damp hair out of her face, cocking her head at her best friend before slipping the hair tie of her wrist and offering it to Simone. “You should put your hair up,” Tara suggests, and it’s such a little thing but Simone melts a little as she reaches for the band wordlessly, tying her hair up without question. That was the gist of their relationship, really, Tara came up with the ideas and Simone went along with them faithfully.

It had been Simone who was the bold and crazy one before Tara moved to town, she was a whole new storm unleashed, no, a hurricane was more accurate. She was the type of girl to drink gin straight from the bottle and demand the things she wanted and never settled for less. Simone was happy to give up her throne to her, she was deserving of it. And Tara chose her to befriend, and Simone counted herself lucky just for that. Which is why she feels so selfish for wanting more, and why she’s so scared of messing their friendship up.

“Ready?” Tara asks, holding out an arm. Simone links hers through it automatically, because is she ever.

The pair always does things up big, whether it be parties, shopping trips, sleepovers, or just school lunch in the cafeteria. But the fair is one of the things they do best. They buy wristbands for the whole night, they ride all the rides, and fill up on cotton candy and fried Twinkies, and ride all the rides again until they get sick, they dance chest to chest and out of tune with the music and they tease the boys who stare at them, they play all the games and rack up a whole bags worth of prizes between the two of them and at the end of the night they would sit on the concrete wall that serves as a divider between the parking lot and the fair grounds, eating powder-sugary funnel cakes and chase it with huge cups of ice cold lemonade as they wait for Simone’s mom to pick them up so they can spend the rest of the night talking about how much fun they had.

Things are a little different now that their older, but Simone knows it will still be a good time, because it always is with Tara.

As soon as they have their bracelets, Tara takes Simone’s hand and begins to tug her forward. Simone struggles to keep up with her lively friend as she is forced to weave through the crowd, laughing as she does, because it’s fun to be led by her, trustingly following only her hand and the faintest peek of her red hair. It isn’t until they come to a stop that Simone has a chance to ask what’s up with her, but by then she already has an idea, because it’s not a ride they are standing in front of (like Simone had assumed Tara was leading her towards) but a boy. He’s from their class, Simone knows that much and that’s about it. He’s got dark hair and a pair of glasses that makes him look slightly geeky, but it works for him, somehow, and Simone thinks that he is attractive, but not in the way she thinks Tara is.

“Simone, this is my friend Patrick. He kindly let me ‘borrow’ his answers in geography last year.” The sly grin Tara gives Simone is enough to tell her that her fear is confirmed: this is a set up. Tara is setting her up with her friend because she thinks SImone is lonely. Or she thinks it weird that Simone hasn’t dated anyone and seems to not have any interest in doing so.

Simone wants to be mad at her, especially since this isn’t the first time that she’s tried this, but she knows Tara means well. And it’s also hard to be mad at Tara at all. So instead, Simone jokes, “So this is the reason you can’t tell the east coast from the west?”

Tara snorts and punches Simone in the arm.

Even with the new tag along, things don’t change too much. They still ride all the rides, and then ride them all again when it gets dark enough to turn on the neon lights. It’s all the same, but it feels new in the glow of the pinks and greens and their screams are drowned out by music that gets cranked up as the night really begins. The tilt-a-whirl is Simone’s favorite, because it’s one of the few rides that seats three people, and thus is one of the few that actually allows her to ride with Tara. It’s also fun to work together to crank the big wheel in the center, making their car spin faster and faster until the world and the lights and the people outside of it is just a blur. Everything moves so fast outside that car but inside time seems slowed.

Simone is thrown up against Tara by the force and the sound of her laughter fills her ears, Simone’s hand involuntarily falling to Tara’s thigh, clutching on to it so hard that she leaves white marks where her fingers were when the ride finally stops and they untangle and stumble off. And while they right themselves and search for something to eat, Pat takes Simone’s hand. She doesn’t pull away, because his hand is warm and he is nice, and funny and smart and he and Simone have more in common than she’d originally thought. Tara notices, of course, and tosses a smile over her shoulder and wiggles her eyebrows. Simone’s cheeks heat up for reasons more than just being embarrassed.

The trio eventually find a wooden picnic table to squeeze into, Pat and Simone on one side, Tara on the other. They munch on hot dogs and slices of pizza and take turns sipping out of the supersized, too-sour fair lemonade they bought. Simone knows even in that moment, that she won’t be able to remember what they are even talking about. Video games, school, movies they’ve seen and want to see, it doesn’t matter. It’s a beautiful memory already.

Patrick gathers the table’s trash and excuses himself to the bathroom, and it’s just Simone and Tara left alone, sitting on opposite sides of the splinter-filled table. Simone is too caught up in the cotton candy sweet night that she isn’t even thinking about her feelings. But then Tara reminds her by saying, “You look amazing tonight, you know.” Simone nearly chokes on her own saliva and takes a gulp of the lemonade to cover it up. “So happy.” The smile on Tara’s lips isn’t her usual, this one is a little more mischievous.

“I’m having fun.” Simone is thankful for the pink neon lights on the food truck beside her, for the blush on her cheeks is unrelenting. She plays it off as a light hearted compliment but Simone can feel her heart in her throat as she says “You’re beautiful too. As always.” Tara laughs and Simone is thankful that she didn’t find it too weird.

“Hey, let’s take a picture,” Tara suggests, patting the wooden bench beside her. “To commemorate tonight.” Simone follows, of course, and finds herself pressed up against her best friend, the warm skin of their arms pressed against each other’s, the dark hair that has escaped from Simone’s ponytail tickles Tara’s shoulder and they grin from ear to ear as Tara snaps the picture. Simone thinks it’s the best one she’s ever been in. She tells her to send it to her, and Tara does, and Simone knows already that she is going to print it out and hang it on her wall, and frame it and have it as her phone background. Because not only do they look good in it, but because it will always be a constant reminder of the moment before it was snapped.

Simone had been staring at the screen, at Tara’s half of the screen, and she realized that she could never be with Pat. Ever since Tara had introduced him Simone really had been giving it thought, because he was a good guy, and having him around hadn’t ruined the night like she’d originally thought, and they made a fucking awesome trio. Simone thought she could learn to love him like she does Tara, but in that moment before the picture, she realized that wasn’t true. Not as long as Tara was around.

Suddenly, pulling Simone out of her thoughts, Tara’s hand comes down on her arm. “We have to dance.” She says it so serious that Simone laughs, but Tara keeps a grim expression. The song that is playing is a popular, horrible but catchy pop song, and those are always the best to dance to. So Simone agrees and they pull their legs out from under the table and find the spot with the most room. It’s a big patch of dirt, under a tree, and even though no one else is dancing, Tara pulls Simone right into it.

The best part is they don’t take themselves too seriously. Simone pretends to be really into dabbing and Tara does some grinding move on her butt which makes Simone blush yet again. Then Tara takes her hand and spins her around a few times, and then more, until she goes from feeling like a princess to feeling dizzy and she pushes Tara playfully. Simone is laughing, and it’s a loud and terrible laugh that people like to make fun of, but never Tara, and even now it only makes her laugh as well, even though it’s drawing everyone's attention.

When Pat comes back they only stick around long enough to tell him that it was their turn to go to the bathroom. And it’s  when they squeezed into the cramped and too-warm bathroom that Tara finally asks, “So what do you think of Pat?”

How fitting, since she’d just had her own epiphany about him. Tara is looking at herself in the mirror, reapplying her vanilla chapstick that makes the air around her smell just a little bit better, and Simone leans her back against the sink next to hers. “He’s cool. You didn’t have to set me up, though.”

“I know, I know,” It’s Tara’s form of apology, and Simone shrugs it off. “Believe it or not,” Tara begins, turning so she’s also leaning against her sink, “He actually had eyes for you first. He wanted me to put in a good word.”

It’s only a little shocking to Simone, guys often had little crushes on her or thought she was attractive. But Simone was never interested, for obvious reasons. “He’s not really my type.”

This floors Tara, and she throws up her hands, “What?! He’s just like you!”

Simone is straightfaced as she shrugs. “Maybe that’s it. We’re too alike. Opposites attract, you know.” The lie feels odd in her throat as it comes up, because she doesn’t like to lie to Tara, but she does it seamlessly. Tara punches her shoulder playfully, and then wraps her arm around Simone.

“You’re impossible to please. Sometimes I think you’re just trying to be difficult.”

“I like to see you work for me.”

They spend the rest of the night walking around, chatting about whatever comes to mind and playing a few fair games every once and awhile. Simone and Tara do exceptionally well, Pat not so much, and they both give them their prizes. They stay until the last possible second, and they watch the crowd get thinner and thinner and as the speaker announces last call, Simone thinks it must be destiny, because they are standing right in front of the Ferris wheel. Of course they’ve already went on it a few times, but every time Tara would make sure Pat and Simone would ride together, and Simone sees this as the perfect opportunity.

Simone takes Tara’s hand in her own, tugging her toward the ride, explaining to Pat, whose arms are full of prizes, that they will be right back. Tara questions her but Simone doesn’t answer until the ride operator corrals them into a cart, looking less than pleased that someone actually showed up for last call. “We couldn’t not ride the ferris wheel together. It’s kind of tradition.”

Tara crosses her arms, feigning anger at not being consulted, and she looks down at Pat. Eventually though she gives way to agreement, “I guess it kind of is.”

And they both share silence as the ride moves up, and they are both remembering the first time they came to the fair together, and how scared Tara was of riding the ferris wheel because she was afraid of heights. But Simone had wanted to go on it, so Tara toughened up. But that didn’t stop her from clutching Simone’s hand and digging her nails into her flesh when they reached the peak, and squealing each time her stomach dropped as the ride did. But after a while, she got used to it. And they’ve ridden religiously  it ever since.

Simone takes Tara’s hand and it shocks both of them. But neither pulls away. The go a few loops in silence, enjoying the view of the city below, the music faded until it’s background noise, and Simone is glad this is how the night is going to end.

She looks over at Tara and suddenly feels compelled to confess her feelings. She doesn’t know what it is, if it’s the way strands of red hair have escaped Tara’s ponytail and are flying around in the wind, or if it’s the content look of concentration on her face as she looks over the rail, or maybe it’s just because this is her best friend, and keeping secrets isn’t in their nature.

“Tara…” She looks to Simone, and can tell right away that she’s struggling. Before she can ask what’s wrong though, Simone decides that if she can’t say what she’s feeling, she can show her, and she leans forward to press a kiss to Tara’s lips. It lasts only a second but feels like a lifetime for Simone, and she can taste the blue coconut slush she’d drank and her vanilla chapstick and she feels so fucking happy.

And then the kiss is over, and the silence resumes.

When the ride stops, Tara tells Patrick that they are heading out and Simone thanks him for the good time. It’s still quiet as they walk toward the parking lot, tugging at the impossible to rip wristbands. The silence doesn’t bother Simone, it isn’t uncomfortable to her, and it doesn’t even occur to her that she might have messed up until she climbs onto the concrete wall to wait for her mother to pick them up and sees Tara unchaining and climbing onto her bike.

“Hey I’ve got to go.”

Simone stifles her shock and nods. Tara mirrors the gesture and is about to head off when Simone calls again, “We are cool right, because---”

Tara cuts her off, “Of course we are!” She’s smiling her usual smile, and it relieves Simone, but she still feels embarrassed and afraid with the high of the kiss quickly fading. And as she watches Tara disappear into the dark, Simone smacks her hand against her forehead and wishes she could have just settled for Pat after all.

[motherpsyduck]

T is for TEQUILA 🍹

Here’s chapter 2 of my contribution to @simons-thirst-squad’s ABC’s of Simon challenge.

Notes: This chapter is 2 of 3. [Here’s chapter 1].There’s only 3 in total. I feel it ended where it needed to otherwise I’d be dragging it out and it would be shit.  Reader pov story, starring the beautiful Simon and a little bit of Negan. Mostly Simon(hope that’s ok!)

Chapter 2 is 4,081 words, chapter 1 is 3,683 words

Tags: @simons-thirst-squad, @readinginmymeadow (gif courtesy of @natedrkes) ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Chapter 2

“What the fuck?! Simon you broke my fucking door!” You raise your voice at Simon.

“Where’s the Tequila?” Simon’s question was slow and unnerving.

“… what-” You try your best to play dumb but it didn’t work this time. Simon stops you speaking by only having to raise his index finger. You’re silent.

“-Don’t. All you have to do is listen.” You can feel the tension in the air. You don’t utter another word and just nod. “I hope you’re not trying to hide stuff cos that generally doesn’t go over very well.” Simon advances to you. You back away and brace yourself. “I’ll ask you again. Where, is, the Tequila?” You feel like a naughty little kid. You should be taking this more seriously but can’t with the giddy feeling the strong alcohol is having on your system.

You fight back a smirk when you pick your bag up from the floor and bring out the bottle by its neck. You stretch your arm out to Simon. He studies the contents of the bottle in your hand. He glares at you.

“That, was full.” Simon’s thick finger points at the remainder of the bottle.

“Why didn’t you say you knew I took it before we left his room?” You were unsure what outcome this would bring. Simon raises his brow surprised by your courage to talk back to him again. After taking the bottle from your hands he sighs and beings to tut.

“Y/N, what’s Negan going to say when he finds out you stole his Tequila?” Simon shakes his head pretending to be disappointed.

“He has plenty of bottles. He probably won’t even notice.” You shrug trying to mask your nervousness.

“He will notice. It upsets him when people take advantage.” Simon waits for you to add something else. You don’t. You want to spit back at him how unfair Negan is and how he takes advantage of people all the time, but you don’t say anything. You take Simon’s words as an implied threat. He doesn’t speak again either. His arm simply pulls out one of your dining chairs to sit himself down. You watch as the bottle of Tequila returns to the table. Simon strums his fingers along the table waiting for something.

“What?” You ask puzzled.

“You expect me to drink straight from the bottle? I have some manners Y/N.”

“You want a glass?”

“Please.” Simon leans back in the chair to wait. He watches you stretching up to the cabinets on your tip toes to find a glass. You’re searching the cupboards thoroughly as you’ve only ever needed and used one. You never usually need more than one glass as you rarely have guests in your room. Once you find another cup you blow into it trying to remove the dust then decide to swill it under the tap water. You hand Simon the clean glass cup.

“There.” You fold your arms suspicious of him.

“Thank you Y/N.” You watched as Simon pour a glass of the smooth amber liquid. You felt sick with apprehension. Shouldn’t he be dragging me back to Negan right now? Shouting his mouth off about how I should respect our fearless leader? You had to break the silence.

“We can make a deal.” You plead pathetically as you sit the opposite side of the table. You’re somewhat friendly with Simon but assume where his true loyalties lie; with Negan. Simon’s eyes are on you when you finally speak. He leaves your words in the air for a moment as he calmly knocks back his glass of Tequila. Your fingernails scratch at the seat beneath you waiting for his answer.

“That’s right we can.” Simon coughs. “Whoo! That’s good shit!” He pours himself another shot and picks up the glass. Simon leans on his elbows across the table to you.

“I need to alleviate some… boredom.” Simon sighs and groans when he stretches his long arms over the table to you. You instantly frown at the insinuation.

“Excuse me?!” You ask sternly not wanting to give away that you’ve definitely thought about ways to alleviate boredom with Simon. You notice his large upper arms pushing out from underneath his clothing.

“Oh, what? Not like that, not yet anyway.” Simon gulps down his second shot of tequila.

“Not yet?” You ask annoyed.

Simon brings a finger to his lips and shushes you then one of his hands reaches around to his jean pocket on his backside. You watch him slide out a worn and faded packet of cards. His palm slams them hard on the table. You looked down at them curiously when he pulls his hand away. You wear an unimpressed expression on your face as your eyes are locked back onto Simon’s.

“Cards? You want to play card games?” You ask watching his pupils dilating.

“Not just any ol’ card games my dear! How about we play some strip Blackjack? Winner gets to have a drink and watch the loser… take off their clothes.” Simon flashes an evil toothy grin and stares intensely at you. You gnaw your bottom lip to suppress a smirk from him. You make him wait a few more seconds while he slides the cards out of the packet. You haven’t even agreed to this yet but your pulse has already sky rocketed from the excitement. Simon begins shuffling the deck with his talented hands. The techniques he uses are impressive. Your throat goes dry and you swallow some saliva. You stare at the liquid in the tall bottle itching to relieve your parched throat. Then you inhale and reply.

“If I do this, you’ll forget about me stealing the tequila from Negan? Negan doesn’t have to know?” You can’t believe you’re even entertaining the idea of what’s about to happen.

“Lips. Sealed.” You stared at his tongue as he mouthed the words, then back to his hazel eyes. Has he always had eyelashes like that? Your heart began beating faster as you consider the offer.

“What about my door?” You stall your final answer. Simon twists his torso in his chair to the doorway. You notice his muscular stomach beneath his shirt.

“What about it?” Simon shrugs as he turns back to you to continue shuffling the cards.

“If we’re gonna do this Simon, I would like a bit of privacy.” You wait for Simon to reply and watch as he begins to stand.

“You’re stalling.” Simon points at you playfully and his moustache curls upward with his smile. He leaves the pile of cards on the table and walks to your door. The force of Simon’s beefy leg caused it to be hanging on for life on its last hinge of the doorframe. His bulky arms are on both sides of the door as he starts to move it in a way that would block the entrance of your room. You watch his back tense and relax as he holds the weight and positions the door in the archway to block the view into the room. Your cheeks begin to burn as you can make out what his clothing was hiding all along. Simon grunts and strains, then the door simply closes and it clicks as it shuts in place.  He dusts off his hands and you watch his hips as he struts with accomplishment to return to the chair opposite you.

“Thanks for fixing my door that you broke.” You tease.

“Anytime.” Simon exhales with a devilish smirk that makes your lungs hitch your breath. You watch his large hand slide his empty glass in front of you. “You have to catch up, I’ve already had two.” Simon tips some of the strong alcohol from the bottle and into the glass. His chocolatey eyes watch your every move as you swallow the honey coloured liquid. You clear your throat as it stings the inside of your neck.

“There, now it’s fair.” Your voice is horse to contain the need to cough. You place your glass back onto the table in front of you.

“Who’s dealin’?” Simon finishes up shuffling the deck of cards in his hands.

“Pass me the cards. I want to shuffle them too.” You say with your hand reaching over the table at Simon. He reluctantly places the deck in your hands.

“What? You don’t trust me?” Simon says teasing you with an arched brow. You almost feel a jolt of electricity when his finger tips touch your skin.

“Nope.” You pop the p with a small smile while your focus is on the cards. Your slightly shaky hands shuffle the deck and you’re careful not to spill them. Then you tidy up the deck and place them neatly in the middle of the table between Simon and yourself.

“Go on. You deal.” Simon is leaning over the table on his thick forearms to get closer to your personal space. Due to his size, he’s taking up most of your small dining table. You soak up the excitement glowing in his eyes. Without a word you deal two cards each and face them downwards. The deck is then placed back in the middle. Simon slides his cards towards his chest and inspects his hand. You see his tongue poke the inside of his bottom lip. Before he makes eye contact with you you’re examining your hand. Great! Two of diamonds and a nine of spades. You don’t give anything away on your face and notice Simon’s eyelids close slightly to try and focus on some indication of what kind of hand of cards you’re holding.

“What’ll it be Si? Hit or stand?” You ask confidently.

“Hit me.” Simon growls. The way Simon spoke so low made your stomach do a flip. The cards he held looked so small in his big hands. You carefully remove a card from the top of the pile and slide it face down on the table to Simon. He reaches for it and adds it to his hand. You watch his dark eyes peek over his cards. You also reach for a card to place it with your other cards in your hand. Your new card is another nine; giving you a grand total of twenty. Simon notices the slight triumph in your expression. “Hit or stand?” He asks with a half smile.

“I’ll stand.” You reply smugly. “What about you?”

“I’ll stand too.” Simon says as he stretches back into the chair.

“Okay then. Fold.” You reveal your cards to Simon thinking you’re the winner until Simon arches his thick brow again and arranges his cards out in front of you; he had an ace of hearts, a queen of hearts and a ten of clubs, therefore equalling to twenty one. That son of a bitch! You feel the blood rushing to your face, filling up your cheeks.

“I guess that means I’m the winner.” Simon arrogantly pours himself a glass of tequila. “Now, the question is, will it be the shirt? Or the pants? It’s completely up to you Y/N.” Simon licks his lips and you feel your heart banging against your ribcage as you try to decide. You set your mind on your pants so you can at least hide your legs under the table. You stand and undo your belt. Simon sips at his drink as he watches closely with wide eyes. You unbutton your jeans and pull the zip down slowly. You bend over and shimmy yourself out of the pants. Simon can see straight down your cleavage for a moment before you kick your jeans away on the floor. You feel a chill on your legs as you stand up straight then return to your seat.

Simon is delighted with your crimson cheeks and sits in silence as you gather the cards and shuffle the deck without looking up at him. You slide him the cards after you’re done.

“You can deal this time.” You order trying to avoid eye contact with Simon. You know that if you look up at him your won’t be able to stop smiling. It’s taking all of your might not to jump his bones right at this very moment.

“Sure thing.” Simon purrs as he begins to reshuffle the deck. “Nice knickers by the way.”

“Thanks.” You respond honestly as Simon deals you your hand then his own. The deck of cards returns to centre of the players. You look at your cards; a jack of spades and a four of hearts. You lean backwards in your seat and cross your bare legs to try and keep them warm. You bite your lip deciding whether to take another card.

“Ooh but will she risk it? You seem a tad cold Y/N. I know a few ways we could warm you up.” Simon flirts from behind his hand. You shake your head and make a small laugh. You’re battling with yourself on whether sleeping with Simon would be a good decision. You never wanted to get involved with anyone who was so close in command to Negan.

“I’m fine, just focus on the game will you? Hit me.” You knew you wouldn’t be able to wipe away the grin from your mouth. Your head was light from the atmosphere and probably the strong alcohol; it was intoxicating. You wanted more. Simon lifts a card from the deck and slides it to you. Without breaking eye contact with him, you lift it from the table and add it to your hand. You eventually glance at it; a seven of clubs. You calculate your cards again in case you miscounted. You didn’t; you have twenty one exactly. You lift your head and raise your eyebrows at Simon hoping you didn’t give away anything from your face this time. Simon glances at you then back down at his cards and picks up another to add to his hand, then another. Simon inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. The uncertainty was unbearable.

“Fold?” Simon asks finally.

“Yep.” You reply and display your cards. You count Simon’s. He has a two of clubs, a three of clubs an eight of hearts and a king of spades. Simon’s cards add up to twenty three. You’re elated. “Bust!” You laugh. “Too bad Simon.” You say mockingly.

You pour a shot of the fragrant tequila and bring the glass to your lips. You stop as Simon begins to unbutton his shirt. You stare over the rim of your glass as he reaches the bottom button and whips his shirt off his shoulders, exposing his rippling torso. Simon takes a breath in to fully show off his size. Your jaw hangs slightly as you take in his physique. Damn! The apocalypse has been very kind to you Sir! As your eyes trail down the hair on pectorals you notice a few small scars scattered over his torso. I wander how he got those…You were trying very hard to restrain yourself from caressing his bare skin.

“Hey, eyes up here.” Simon breaks the trance he had over you. You blink and quickly gulp down your shot to begin another round. You squeeze your thighs together enjoying the sudden increased sensitivity in between your legs.

You win the next round too and begin to feel light headed from the tequila.  You wait eagerly with butterflies in your stomach for Simon to remove his jeans but instead he removes his boots and socks as a way of getting around undressing himself any further. You sigh at his obvious decision to make you wait longer. You hope you don’t lose the next hand.

You had a feeling the universe was siding with Simon as you lost the next game. But instead of removing your shirt, you remove your bra from underneath it and never actually exposing your chest to Simon like he was anticipating. Whilst still seated, you pull your bra out from under your shirt and hold it with a pinch above the ground to the side of you. You see Simon’s Adams apple bob as he swallows hard and watches your lacy bra fall to the floor. It isn’t enough to wet his throat so he washes it down with his winning shot of alcohol. Simon notices your nipples harden as they poke your t-shirt. He runs his thumb and index finger along his moustache with a sexually frustrated groan. You just give him a defiant glare and moisten your full lips.

The bottle you stole from Negan is nearly empty. Simon is spinning the plastic sombrero that sat on the lid of the bottle on his finger tip. You’ve lost another game which resulted in your removing your knickers whilst still seated. You crossed your legs as soon as you were naked from the waist down and sat on the bottom of your shirt. Simon was itching to pounce over the table to you but composed himself with a few neck stretches and continued the game.

Simon purposely lost the next game of Blackjack. You watched as he stood to undo his belt and jeans and removed his pants. You wanted to run your tongue up and down his beautifully sculpted thighs but your eyes were soon fixated on another part of his body as he stood up straight. Simon was equipped with quite the package. You tried not to stare too long at the large bulge in his navy boxer shorts. You took your time admiring his body; soaking up every inch of his powerful physique. He enjoyed you staring at him and slid down onto his seat once more. A quiet sigh escaped your mouth and your hand threw back another glass of strong alcohol down your gullet.

After witnessing Simon declothed, you quickly lost interest in the game. Once you’d had enough you scattered your cards on the table and stormed to your feet to stand in front of Simon. A long plaid shirt hugged your curves and Simon’s body had only a pair of boxer shorts to keep him warm. He shifted himself in his seat to face away from the table. He threw his cards to the table not caring who won the next round as he was fixated on your shirt that only just covered your area between your legs.

You unbuttoned a couple buttons near your cleavage so your shirt came up over your head and formed a lump on the floor as it fell. Simon was leaning back in his seat as he stares at you in awe, his moustache curling downward with his gaping mouth. You feel his searing hot arms wrap around you to bring you closer to his body to sit you on his lap. With your legs dangling down either side of Simon’s waist, his growl vibrates against the skin on your collar bone. You gasp as he bites then kisses up your neck. Your hips begin to grind on his boxers and you feel him getting harder. His soft lips collide with yours and you feel one of his hands squeeze at your breast. Your fingers rake his hair and you exhale into his mouth. Simon grins widely as he kisses you harder.

“Knock knock Doc!” A voice calls from outside the door followed by a banging. You and Simon stop abruptly. You wished you didn’t recognise that voice. You spring up and grab a sheet from your bed as the door falls away from the entrance. A familiar figure with a barbed wired baseball bat over his right shoulder invites himself into your room. “Woah. I was not expecting that! No no, don’t dress yourself on my account honey.” Negan strutted into the room crotch first. You’re panting softly with a frown; annoyed at the interruption. Thankfully you had just enough time to wrap your bed sheet around you like you would a towel to cover yourself. Negan glances at Simon sitting on one of the dining chairs to your left and puts two and two together. Simon wipes his mouth and arches his back so he’s hunched over leaning his arms on his thighs.

“What is it Negan?” You ask annoyed. Negan turns from Simon to look at you whilst you speak.

“I was just about to ask the exact same fucking question.” Negan approaches you slowly. His eyes don’t leave your sight.

“What do you want?!” You’re infuriated.

“Careful.” Negan points Lucille in your direction as a warning. You turn your chin away from the end of his bat and glare at him. Simon sits up defensively and the two of you wait for Negan to continue. “Well, excuse the fuck out of me sweetheart, but I was under the impression you would be alone. You visited one of my wives earlier. Anything I need enlightenin’ on?” Negan lowers his bat and steps close enough you have to look up into his face.

“No.” You say with a flat tone.

“Are you sure doll? Your mind might be a bit hazy and sexed up from whatever freaky stuff went on here. Simon don’t you go taking advantage now.” Negan joked pointing the bat expecting Simon to reply. You spoke instead.

“I’m sure. There’s nothing you need to worry about.” You answer honestly. You just want him out of your room. You’re not comfortable with him being this close to you with only a thin bed sheet hanging off your body. Negan looks to you through the corner of his eye before turning his head completely to face you.

“Because if there was… you know by now that you will tell me, one way or another.” Negan looked down at you and swallowed as he studied your exposed collarbone.

“Yes. I know.” You say in a defeated tone.

“Good girl.” Negan says still staring then nods, runs his tongue over his bottom lip before he turns to leave lazily. You watch him cautiously as he slowly walks through the doorway then turns back with Lucille over his shoulder. “You kids be safe now!” Negan chuckles as he pulls the broken door shut. Once you hear his footsteps and whistling get quieter the further away he walked down the hall, you shut your eyes and hang your head back briefly to inhale a large breath. Simon stands quietly and is behind you to curl his hands around your waist. You open your eyes and place your hands on top of his as he leaves kisses on your shoulder.

“He didn’t even notice the tequila.” You moan as you’re enjoying the sensation Simon’s moustached lips leaves on your skin. Simon holds you in his arms and you sway lightly with him.

“Will you shut up about the fucking Tequila?” Simon laughs and growls into your neck. You’re spun around by your hips so you’re looking up into his face. It isn’t for long as he plants his lips onto yours. One of his large hands reaches up into your hair and the bristles above his upper lip tickle your skin. His hands then peel away the bed sheet from your body while you enjoy his kiss and it falls around you onto the floor. You feel Simon’s rough fingertips trace your bare skin as he runs his hands up from your hips to around your back. He walks you to the side of your bed and he falls on top of you. You feel the weight of the warmth from his boxers poking you.

Simon’s hand snakes down to the space in between your legs making you arch your back when he touches your sensitive area. You make a small moan into his mouth. You feel his moustache curl up with his grin before he pulls away to watch you squirm with gratification.

“You’ve been a bad girl.” Simon purrs. The pleasure you feel in between your legs makes you wetter. Simon speeds up and you can barely get your words out to reply.

“Are you-gonna-t-take your boxes-o-off?” You stutter in between breathy moans as your try to keep your eyes from wondering up into your head. You wondered if Simon’s talented hands were skilful in anything else besides shuffling a deck of cards, now you know.

“Not yet.” Simon hums as he rubs quicker making your thighs jerk uncontrollably. He leans his large body over and you feel his hot breath close to your ear. “You have to be disciplined first.” You make a loud high pitched sigh indicating your body is more than eager for Simon to dominate you. ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ [Chapter 3 coming soon!]

[batbloodhoney-blog]

Bringing Up the Bodies

I apologze in advance for any grammar mistakes; I’m quite lazy when it comes to editing

Chapter Eight: Wives

Negan walked along the vegetable garden outside, seeing men and women of older ages working in the dirt. All of them knew his steps, all sat up, kneeling to him as he passed; Negan waved his fingers, a few of his men stepping behind him, “As you were, I’m just lookin’,” he muttered nonchalantly.

Everyone knew what Negan was “just lookin’” for.

When Negan came looking, he was looking for a new woman. The prettier ones were always hidden away outside, most volunteering to be with the older women in the sunshine, despite the smell of dirt and rotting flesh just yards away. Negan wanted the men to work outside and women inside, but the older women, who were gardeners and grandmothers before the dead took over asked and craved to be out once they saw it was safe to be out there.

There was muffled talk once Negan got towards the greenhouse. Negan snapped his fingers, silently ordering his men to watch the doors as he entered. The large windows were far too foggy to see inside, but the shadows let them know there were three people inside.

Opening the greenhouse door, the faint smell of fertilizer exited, and the smell of dirt was more prominent. Negan whistled loudly, knocking the end of Lucille against a wobbly table to his right. The three people; two women and a man, a very familiar man, stopped fussing among themselves and looked back. Immediately, they scrambled to their knees, bowing their heads as Negan made his way over, whistling lowly now.

“Dwight,” Negan said shortly. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Dwight looked up, shaking his greasy hair from his face, “I-I was–you see, I have–my wife and her sister needed me,” he muttered quickly.

“Wife and her sister,” Negan said to himself, his eyes scanning the two women kneeling to Dwight’s left. “Stand,” he gestured, “all of ya.”

Dwight and his wife stood, while her sister stumbled a bit. His wife was quick to grab a firm hold of her sister and hold her up, “You okay?” She whispered to her. Her sister hummed a reply, her tired eyes focused on Negan, then down at his boots.

Negan took notice of her; the woman looked sick, but she was pretty. She reminded him of Naomi, back in the infirmary; both had large sunken in eyes, pale skin. He smiled at the sight of her, whistling sharply to gain her attention; “What’s your name, honey?”

The woman looked back up him, “I’m Tina,” she replied.

“Tina,” Negan hummed her name. “You got a man down here with ya, Tina?”

Dwight’s wife held her sister protectively now, “She doesn’t,” she spoke up, “she’s far too sick to run around for some man.”

Negan cut his eyes at her; Dwight took his wife’s hand, “Sherry, Negan is just getting to know her. Don’t be rude.”

Negan smirked, nodding his head approvingly, “That’s right, Sherry,” he glared at her now, twirling Lucille on his shoulder, “don’t be so fucking rude, woman.”

Sherry swallowed hard, biting her tongue, “I apologize,” she huffed.

Negan looked back at Tina; his eyes scanning her body. He licked his bottom lip, out of habit, and took in her appearance more so than before. She was average height, average looking, her dark hair was rolled up in a bun on the top of her head. He couldn’t tell her body type under her clothes; she was thin and fragile like Naomi…

That’s why I like her, he thought, she reminds me of baby doll.

“What’s wrong with you?” Negan twirled Lucille again, looking at the three of them.

Tina sighed softly, “I have diabetes…I need insulin and medication in the infirmary–”

“But she can’t afford it!” Sherry added quickly. “The points–they’re too high. She really needs them.”

Negan shrugged nonchalantly, “Well, you have to work hard. Work hard, get points, you get medicine.”

Sherry snarled, “Its not that easy–”

“It is, actually,” Negan said, stepping forward, causing Tina to shrink back, but not Sherry.

“We were just in here trying to figure out what we don’t need so I can get my insulin this week,” Tina quickly spoke up, hoping to get Negan to back away.

“And tell me,” he leaned in close to Tina, “what don’t you need?”

Tina looked to Dwight, then to her sister, “Um…uh, laundry.”

“Look,” Dwight came forward, he too hoping Negan would become uninterested and leave, “we’re fine and we’re sorry for having you–for telling you our problems, sir.”

Negan smiled, mischievously, “I’m the boss around here, ‘n I would like to fuckin’ know when my people aren’t fuckin’ happy. So, Dwight, have you found a resolution to your pretty little sister’s medical problems?”

Dwight swallowed, his eyes darting between Sherry and Tina, “Uh, I…I could get another job, Sherry too. I could–maybe take watch at night, work the fence, or in construction. Simon told me you need more men–”

“You sayin’ you don’t want to do fuckin’ runs no more?” Negan smirked at him.

Before he could speak, Sherry interrupted, “Why couldn’t he get extra points for helping the deaf kid?”

The mere mention of Naomi set off an alarm in his head. Negan’s jaw set tight, his teeth could have cracked. Pushing Dwight aside, he stood in front of Sherry, wanting to grab her, but he did not.

“Extra points for helping the deaf kid,” Negan repeated her sharp words back, his top lip twitching. “I don’t know what your man fuckin’ told you, honey, but he didn’t help much.”

Sherry could feel the tension thickening, her heart picking up speed. Dwight grabbed her wrist and pulled her back; “Sir, she didn’t–”

Negan shook his head, shutting his eyes as he raised his hand to shut Dwight up. The green room grew awkward and heavy with tension as they all stood there in silence while Negan prepared to speak. As he did so, a thought popped into his head; in an instant, his lips curled into a smile, his hazel eyes opening and falling on Tina.

“I know how to fix your woes,” he smirked, “oh, you will very pleased with what I have for you.”

Tina’s eyes grew wide, not understanding what he meant; both Dwight and Sherry looked at Tina, seeing what little color was left in her face drain. They all knew what Negan had in mind.

•••

Naomi held up the board as the lift stopped on the third floor: I’ve never been married, never had a boyfriend

Sarai hummed in response, “Well, you know, Negan is looking for a new wife.”

Naomi looked up at Sarai, who stepped ahead of her and opened the lift doors and then returned behind her and began to push her out. Naomi was at a loss for words, wondering if this was a test; she cleaned the board and began to write, her left hand smudging some of her writing.

Negan wouldn’t want me, she held up the board to show Sarai, who all but laughed.

Smiling, Sarai gave a small shake of her head, her dark curls bouncing, “Negan would love you,” she said as they wheeled down the hall, “Negan loves all women.”

Naomi’s face began to heat up, her ears burning red, rushing up to her cheeks. Saliva pooled in her mouth, she managed to swallow it and let out a small breath. Before she could write anything else, Sarai stopped in front of two large, red double doors.

“This is the parlor,” Sarai said as she opened one of the doors, the lock clicking before she pushed both forward. “This is where we wives hang out when Negan isn’t around.”

Naomi looked around as they entered, taking in the vintage look of it all. The Parlor, she thought, looks like a brothel from a western. She did admire how tasteful it looked, she hadn’t expected it to look so clean and classy…though, she hadn’t had any idea what exactly the parlor would look like.

The double doors shut close quite loudly, causing Naomi to jump in the chair. Sarai placed her hand gently on her shoulder, “Sorry, the doors are heavy as hell.”

Naomi began to write, her thoughts taken away from the idea of being a wife: This is beautiful, did you decorate this?

Sarai began to push Naomi towards the large, spotless kitchen, “Nope, it was all Negan. He has excellent taste for a man.”

He must be full of surprises, Naomi held up the board as Sarai stopped next to the kitchen table.

“He is,” Sarai chuckled, pausing as her mind wondered about her husband. “Negan isn’t like other men. Yes,” she walked about the kitchen, pulling out a leather black desk chair with wheels, “he’s a man, but there’s something about him…he’s different, and I don’t mean just because he likes his different share of women every other night, he’s just…” Sarai shrugged, “He’s one of a kind. I never met a man like Negan.”

The things Sarai said made Naomi’s thoughts of Negan a lot more positive. She had already grown to like and appreciate Negan, but there was more that was now added to it, she could not explain it. She was beginning to like Negan more than she had ever expected to.

“C'mon, missy,” Sarai teased as she stood in front of Naomi, breaking her thoughts. “Are you okay to stand?”

Naomi gave a nod and managed to stand with Sarai’s help. She placed herself in the desk chair and let Sarai push her to the large sink; she set the chair higher, placing her back against the sink and then having her lean back over the sink.

The warm water felt good, Naomi’s mind wondered away nicely as she was treated. It was one of the few moments that the bad thoughts didn’t push themselves forward as she quieted her mind; the gushing water and the warmth and working of Sarai’s fingers in her hair made her feel like a human being again. It was a strange sensation, the same feeling she had felt in the bathroom with Margo.

Sarai sat her up gently, smiling upon their eyes meeting, “Okay, here we go, time to cut…do you know how much you want off?”

Naomi managed to let out a small breath and pointed to her shoulders. Sarai’s eyes twinkled, “You just made my day!”

••• Tanya hated the thought of being her husband’s “wing man”. The idea wasn’t a turn off, she just hated to scope out a woman, as she was always so insecure before the world seemed to end. She always compared herself to other women, she expected this to end once there were so few women left, but here she was, feeling insecure as women passed along the garden.

Many were in shorts, flowing skirts and dresses as summer was coming. Tanya watched every girl that had passed as she sat in the large acre of grass, near the growing tomatoes and carrots. After being in a dress for so long, she felt better in jeans, not so exposed, still insecure.

“Are you one of the wives?” A young blonde woman asked, her hand over her face, blocking away the sun.

Tanya looked up at the woman, nodding shortly, “Yeah. I am. Why?”

The woman looked around, then made her way over, kneeling in the grass a few feet from Tanya, tucking the skirt of her dress under her knees, “I don’t mean to bother, but do you know when the Saviors will be bringing more clothes in?”

Tanya stared at the woman, more so a girl than a woman; she happened to be the same height as Ashley was, but a bit more curvy. Her eyes were dark and small; her entire facial features seemed to be small and pixie like. Her hair was long and thick, wavy, almost in curls. She made Tanya feel insecure, but she did not intimidate her; she seemed sweet and shy.

Having blinked and returning to reality, Tanya replied, “Uh, Negan doesn’t tell us stuff like that. Sorry.”

The woman frowned, “Oh. Okay. Sorry for bothering you.”

As she began to stand, Tanya reached out, her hand failing to capture the woman’s wrist; “Wait a minute, what’s your name?” The words tumbled out of her mouth without a thought.

She knelt back down, “I’m Kae. What’s yours?”

Tanya sat up, extending her hand out, “I’m Tanya. I think…” she paused momentarily as their hands met in a soft shake, “I think I can help you out. You need clothes?”

Kae nodded quickly, smiling faintly, “I do! I have a lot of points, but there aren’t any shorts or pants that fit me. I’m down to my last two pairs of jeans and these god awful frilly dresses. I’d do anything for a couple of pairs of jeans or even a light skirt!”

“I’m not promising you much, but I would like you to come up after work and meet with me. Do you know where Negan’s office is?”

Kae shook her head, “No, I don’t.”

Tanya began to stand, “Well, I’ll find your supervisor and tell him to show you.”

Kae stood as well, smiling broadly now, “Thank you! I really appreciate it, Tanya.”

Tanya smiled back softly, hoping in her head that Negan would like her, “Don’t thank me just yet. Make sure you make yourself look presentable before you come to the office.”

Nodding enthusiastically, Kae felt excitement grow in her belly, “I will, I promise.”

••• Naomi listened intently as Sarai told her about her former life. She learned Sarai was a former model and hairdresser, though she preferred to cut hair. She had, had her life on track, happily engaged, money saved up to open her own salon in less than a year and she was taking care of her family; something she had dreamt of. When things went to hell, her life fell apart; she lost everything, and soon her family, one by one until she stumbled upon Negan and the Saviors.

“I was living in an abandoned mom and pop store,” Sarai continued her story; her fingers threading through Naomi’s hair, taking the ends between her index and forefinger. “First, one of his men shot through the window and I attacked him with a broken piece of glass…he wasn’t the first man I killed, he was…the first innocent one though.”

Naomi watched Sarai work magic with the scissors in the large vanity in her bedroom. Sarai hadn’t looked up, she was focused on hair and her story; the story of her past that she hadn’t thought of in such a long time.

“Simon was going to kill me and Negan told him no…they saw I was alone and asked me to come along. I’ve been here since the beginning; though, Negan was single for awhile before he got the idea to have a wife and then another and another.”

There was silence, except the snipping of slim shears in Sarai’s hand. Naomi wrote on the board, wanting to know more about Sarai and Negan’s relationship.

Do you love him?

Sarai sighed softly upon seeing the question, “I’m not in love with him, if that’s what you’re wondering. I have love for him, he’s a nice guy under all the malice and the tough guy front he puts up. He’s actually kind at times…I just don’t love him, he doesn’t love any of us. It’s mutual.”

May I ask, are you pregnant? Naomi tugged at her bottom lip, wondering if her question was too personal. She regretted it after the room became tense and quiet.

With another sigh, deeper and longer, Sarai answered, “I am. I haven’t told him. I don’t think he’s gonna like it.”

Naomi cleared the board off, I don’t mean to be nosy

Sarai gave a small giggle, “You aren’t nosy. I would’ve asked too. But…we may become close soon. If Negan doesn’t ask you to be his wife, I’ll be surprised.”

Naomi frowned slightly, cleaning and then writing, snippets of her hair fell over the towel on her shoulders, falling on the board: I don’t think I’m ready for that.

“How come? It is the end of the world,” Sarai teased, her eyes focused on the ends of her hair.

Naomi shrugged, feeling herself become nervous and jittery. She couldn’t find the courage to write what she had been through down. The memories came flooding back to her as her eyes fogged up with tears.

“Are you okay?” Sarai suddenly asked upon seeing tears roll down Naomi’s cheeks in the vanity mirror. “Is something wrong?”

Naomi shook her head, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand quickly. Sarai set down the shears and spun Naomi around to kneel and take a good look at her.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Sarai’s eyes searched Naomi’s, looking for a tell.

Naomi shook her head, looking away, her bottom lip trembling, her eyes brimmed with more and more tears. She suddenly felt weak and vulnerable. All she could think about was her life before Negan, less than a week before, when she was treated like a dog…probably worse than any animal now. How she was nothing but a toy, the dirty things she was told while being shuffled back and forth between the Wolves. Dirty, disgusting, vile things about her body, about marriage, about being good for only one thing.

“Please,” Sarai placed her hands on Naomi’s forearms, “what did I do?”

Naomi began to sign out of habit, Its not you, its me. Not you, me. Her fingers pointed back and forth rapidly, confusing Sarai further.

“Do you want me to get Dr. Carson?”

Naomi swallowed thickly, shaking her head vigorously.

“Do you want me to take you back?” Sarai quickly asked, believing Naomi was now out of her comfort zone.

Naomi again, shook her head, signing quickly, No, no, no.

Sarai watched her fold her knees up and began to cry silently; no sound came forth as Naomi curled up in the chair. Her hair was complete, but Sarai had been taking her time in cutting layers; Naomi looked fine, so Sarai decided then to stop cutting her hair.

“I’ll drawl you a bath, okay? Negan won’t be back for awhile and if we keep it between us, he won’t know I let you use his bath. Okay?” Sarai ran her arms up and down Naomi’s arms, trying to comfort her.

Naomi finally looked up at her, noticing how kind her eyes were, how much her honey brown skin glowed. She wiped the even flow of tears and finally let her trembling legs down; her hands signing, Thank you.

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