the-evanescent-library

[the-evanescent-library]

🜼 ⋆ clark kent using his x-ray vision whilst he’s fucking himself deep into you.

you can feel him twitching inside you when he says it—his curls damp against your cheek, breath stuttering while your bodies press tight together in the heavy heat of the bedroom.

he’s deep. deeper than usual. your legs are wrapped around his waist, and his hands are shaking just a little as he presses you down into the mattress, keeping you there while he grinds into you slow.

“baby,” he whispers. “wanna try something.”

that voice. all gravel and apology, like he knows he’s about to ruin you.

you blink up at him, dazed. the room is warm, sticky with sex, your skin sticking to his in every possible place. “you’re already trying something,” you mumble, breath catching when he rolls his hips again.

clark grins, curly hair falling into his eyes, the cocky side of his smile showing through just enough to make your stomach flip. “not that,” he murmurs. “just—lemme see.”

you don’t even get to ask what he means. his eyes flicker for half a second, glowing faintly, and you feel the tension bleed out of his body as he groans low and quiet.

then another thrust—slow, devastating, all the way in. and clark chokes on his own breath.

“sweetheart,” he mutters, looking through you now—inside you, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. his voice goes thin with awe. “you’re taking it—baby, you’re really taking it. all of it. fuuuck.”

your mouth goes dry. you clench around him without meaning to, and he groans like you’ve punched the wind out of him.

“i can see it,” he whispers. “your walls are pulling me in—fuck—you’re so tight, i can barely—”

another thrust. slower this time. deeper. like he’s following something with his eyes.

“clark,” you breathe, already trembling. he’s moving like he’s under a spell. completely absorbed. like what he’s seeing is holy.

“you’re so full,” he murmurs, voice rough now, broken. “baby, i’m all the way in—I’m there—you’re stretched so far I can see the bulge—”

you sob into his shoulder. he kisses you like he’s trying to soothe it, but his cock twitches again and he thrusts just a little harder. he’s watching you take it, his x-ray vision trained on the space between your hips, following how his cock drags through your soaked, aching pussy like he’s mapping you from the inside out.

“gonna memorize this,” he groans. “gonna remember the way your pussy opens up for me forever. the way it sucks me in—fuck, sweetheart, you feel that?”

you do. you feel every vein, every pulse, every slow drag of his thick cock splitting you open. it’s too much. and still, you cling to him like you’ll die if he stops.

he shifts his hips, angling himself just a little different—and when he hits that spot, the one that makes you cry out into his mouth, he moans like he felt it too.

“there. right fucking there—your body shudders every time i hit it. god—i can see your cervix. she’s twitching, baby. she wants it.”

you whimper his name. your legs tighten around him. and clark loses it.

his hands come under your knees, pressing them back toward your chest, folding you open for him like a book. he holds you there, panting, eyes still burning with x-ray light as he pounds into you, each thrust wetter, messier, more frantic than the last.

“you’re gonna come for me like this, sweetheart,” he rasps, “with me balls-deep inside you, watching your body milk my cock—fuck, baby, that’s it—that’s it—”

you unravel with a scream. it’s so deep it feels like it cracks something open inside you. he watches the whole thing. watches your cunt spasm and clench, eyes wide and glowing, mouth slack with awe.

he doesn’t last long after that.

“oh my god, oh my god—fuck, sweetheart, i’m gonna—”

he thrusts hard, hips jerking, and then he stays there—buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to yours, cock throbbing as he fills you to the brim with low, gasping groans.

“look so pretty like this,” he whispers. “so full of me. and then clark speaks again, softer and reverent this time.

“let me stay. just a little longer.”

[the-evanescent-library]

Price is pushing 40, and the idea of having a roommate, sharing his personal space with a stranger, is not an easy pill to swallow.

But his wife got the house in the divorce, the housing market has gone to hell since the last time he purchased a place, and renting a hotel room by the night is really biting into his pay.

So sure, roommate it is. He's survived worse.

Except once he moves in, once it sinks in that he's sharing a place, a home, with you, he's not so sure anymore. Because it's a special kind of hell, being so close to something so sweet and not -- for the moment, anyway -- being able to indulge.

Coming into the kitchen in the morning, still a little foggy from sleep as he grabs his mug, it's a struggle to remember that he's not allowed to give your hips a little squeeze as he passes behind you. When you cook dinner and tell him that you made too much so you went ahead and made him a plate too, when he sees you in the hallway with your hair still wet from the shower, the scent of your shampoo still heavy in the air, when he sees you curled up on the couch, watching TV, and the vacant place right by your side seems so inviting...

But you're not his. He gets to see you in this private little moments, but he can't touch. He comes to know you in a way you only get to know a person by living with them, but as for what really makes you tick?

He has no idea.

So he has two choices, he figures.

One, give up on the nice retirement he's wanted to build back towards after the divorce and buy a new place.

Or two ... start getting a little handsy.

(shh here's more)

[the-evanescent-library]

Oops it's more of Roommate Price.

You wanted to have a good reason for picking John to be your roommate.

And sometimes, you could convince yourself that you'd had the purest of intentions when you told him he could rent your spare room. He's a bit older, more stable, handy to have around, gone for long stretches of time for work.

Any of these things could have made a good reason for choosing him.

But in your heart of hearts, you knew that his employment history had nothing to do with why you'd let him sign the lease.

It was the way the width of his shoulders barely fit through your doors when you showed him around. As he walked through your home, his steps steady and sure, a masculine, heady scent swirled around him, seeping into everything -- into you, it seemed. You could distantly hear yourself telling him details about the neighborhood and the yard and the utilities, but your mind wasn't there. How could it be, with the way he gave you that warm, kind little smile, blue eyes twinkling like he was actually interested in your spiel?

It was that part specifically, you knew looking back, that made you offer him the room -- the way he listened. The weight of his attention was heavy, but in a way that braced you rather than suffocated you. It felt nice. And it had been a while since something felt nice like that.

So some mornings you might slip into the kitchen and forget to put on a robe on for modesty. Or sometimes, when you know he's close enough, you might just call out to him when you're in the bath, just to ask for a fresh towel from the laundry.

At that point, you know him well enough to know he won't peek. But if he did ... well, that wouldn't be so bad, would it?

[the-evanescent-library]

You hadn’t expected to spend your night crying to your captain, but here you were.

You’d called him while outside a bar.

“Cap,” you slurred. “Hey, how you’re feeling? Good?”

Your words were choppy and uncoordinated. He’d only heard you like this when you’d been given a bunch of pain meds after a bad injury.

“Hey, you alright?” John’s voice was calm and collected like always.

“Captain, John,” you murmured. “Can you drive?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I can. You need a ride?”

You slumped onto the concrete outside the bar. “Uhhhh,” you hummed. “Sure. Can you come toooooooo-“

Your voice tapered off.

“I’m on my way,” he said. “Stay where you are, ok?”

You did stay there, smoking a cigarette when John pulled up.

“Alright, c’mon, pet,” he grunted as he hoisted you up. “Just gotta get in the car.”

Once you were in the car, after much difficulty mind you, John got in the driver’s seat.

The next time you were fully conscious, you were laying on John’s couch sobbing.

“I’m just so tired all the time,” you hiccuped.

John ran his fingers through your hair. “Mhm,” he hummed.

“And sometimes- I’m just- I’m just like-“ you kept crying, now unintelligible.

“Hush, dove,” he cooed. “John’s here, take a breath.”

You managed to sit up a bit, and curl yourself up on his lap. He didn’t push you away, instead holding you close to him and kissing your head.

“You can sleep, baby,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You woke up the next morning with a killer headache, wrapped up tightly in John’s arms.

[the-evanescent-library]

dad!Simon Riley who is 100% a girl dad. He thinks he has a curse once you get pregnant with your third and are told by the doctor that it is, in fact, another girl.

dad!Simon Riley who absolutely spoils his girls any time he gets the chance

dad!Simon Riley who scares away his daughters first boyfriend with a singular look when he comes over to meet you and Simon for the first time

dad!Simon Riley who reads every book he can find on pregnancy, birth and baby care the moment you announce you’re pregnant with your first.

dad!Simon Riley who cuts, sands, routers, paints and builds the first crib completely by hand after seeing you get pissy while trying to build a standard ikea crib. He kisses you on the cheek and tells you to go rest and puts the cheap pieces in the shed. By month six of your pregnancy he takes you into the garage with his hands over your eyes. He was not prepared for the hormonal crying you expressed for a solid 2 hours after he showed you his creation.

dad!Simon Riley who falls asleep in the rocking chair in the nursery with his infant daughter held against his chest almost every night for the first month of her life during late night feedings.

dad!Simon Riley who will let his daughters paint his nails glittery pinks and purples without a single complaint

dad!Simon Riley who leaves little notes in his daughter’s lunches like “Dad loves you”, “My little soldier” or “Always proud of you.” He’s determined for his daughters to never feel anything close to how Simon felt about his father growing up.

dad!Simon Riley after being raised by an abusive father refuses to ever show any sort of aggression in front of his daughters; won’t even raise his voice in their presence.

dad!Simon Riley who supports his daughter completely after her first breakup. He doesn’t threaten to kill the poor boy, at least not to his daughter, instead he simply tells her “You’re not broken, you’re just hurt, and I’ve been hurt too. you’ll be okay kid.”

dad!Simon Riley who after finding out his daughter is being bullied, shows up to the school and very calmly, very firmly, terrifies the entire administrative staff with his overtly polite request for his daughter to change classes due to bullying from another student.

dad!Simon Riley who teaches his daughters self defense from a very young age. not to scare them, but to encourage a capable mindset. Crouches down to his knees and kisses his daughters tiny forehead while telling her, “You won’t ever need to fight, baby girl, not as long as i’m around. But i’ll show you how just in case i can’t get there fast enough one day.”

dad!Simon Riley who cries the first time his infant daughter says “daddy” or “dada”.

dad!Simon Riley who will silently go and lay down in bed with one of his girls if he wakes up from a nightmare in the middle of the night.

dad!Simon Riley who wouldn’t just kill for his daughters, but most importantly, he would live for them.

[the-evanescent-library]

Nasty dog!Johnny, who, when he unfortunately leaves on deployment, will casually send you pictures and videos of him getting off, just a little treat for you.

He’s stuck on some shitty base in a cramped little office, sitting in his chair, having to fill out reports for 141. And of course, with his luck, the heating broke on base and he’s freezing his balls off, dreaming about being back home with his pretty, soft bonnie girl. That sends him down a rabbit hole, thinkin’ about your sweet cunt and how he longs to push his thick fingers into your wet hole. To hear you squeal when he rubs that gooey bundle of nerves deep inside you.

But he’s not there, he’s here. Unfortunately :(

Johnny can’t take it anymore, snapping up his phone to text you a picture of his aching, throbbing cock! The man can feel the fullness and ache in his heavy balls, his long, thick cock throbbing, the fat tip drooling precum onto the floor of his office when he tugs it out of his pants. He’s fisting his cock in one hand and texting you in the other, begging for something to get him off. Maybe a picture of your tits, or possibly that sweet little cunt of yours.

The man nearly passes out from all the blood rushing south when he sees the thumbnail of the video you’ve sent him. Now he understands why men used to go to war for the sake of women. You’re lying back on your bed, legs spread wide, while your fingers play with the sticky mess of your cunt, rubbing your swollen clit in tight little circles.

He gives his cock a harsh squeeze, trying to hold off from blowing his load before the video even starts, but you just looked so tempting- his pretty girl. His tip is leaking down over his knuckles watching your little hole clench and unclench around nothing, right where his fat cock should be, stretching you out until you squeal.

When you finally eased two fingers into yourself, pushing your slick out from being stuffed so full, Johnny is panting with need. The poor man can only take so much as he blows his load all over his stomach and hand, thick ropes of cum coating his hairy tummy. He’s greedy to cum so early, you haven’t even gotten to the best part yet, as you begin finger-fucking yourself stupid, the dual stimulation from your hard little clit and sloppy pussy causing your hips to jerk off your bed, chasing ecstasy, soft little whine and whimpers slipping past your lips.

But Johnny could never be satisfied coming just once, no, no, no, he’s already stroking himself again, fucking himself into overstimulation, hearing your moans reach a higher pitch by the second, babbling out how much you need him before it hits you hard. And Johnny’s got the most beautiful view of your sweet little hole creaming around your fingers while you breathlessly moan out for him.

It’s too much for him, watching his sweet girl fuck herself stupid, he’s fisting his cock until he spills his load over the phone screen where your creamy cunt is.

His phone chimes again, a follow-up text from you. “Stay safe for me, Johnny :)”

Oh, he was gonna get his hands on you as soon as he comes back.

[the-evanescent-library]

You couldn't really help yourself but sprawl yourself across the leather sofa in Price’s office while the sun was slowly going down, showing you how long you've been in his office. He hunched himself over paperwork from his last mission, pen in one hand, the other curling around a chipped 'sexiest husband' mug that’s more whiskey than coffee by now. He told you not to barge in here while he was working, but you know he doesn’t mean it. Not when his gaze keeps sliding over to you every few seconds, and his jaw tensing very tightly beneath that scruffy, salt n pepper beard every time a soldier speaks to you.

You don’t even bother knocking on his door anymore—well not ever since you married him. Not caring about his stares, you always wandered him around in little silk camisoles that barely covered the clear and defined curve of your tits. Stretching, just to be bratty, you make a sweet little sound as you cross the room and drop yourself into his lap. Price grunts, but his hand is already splayed wide over your hip, giving you a non-verbal ‘not to today’ look.

He tries to keep writing, but you’re not having it. Your thighs bracket his, giggling as you shift, turning innocently in his lap so you’re facing him, breast pushed up right beneath his nose. Price narrows his eyes, always pretending to be cross, but he never tells you to get off.

“Thought I told you to let me work, love,” he murmurs, tart and sweet in the same breath. You rake your fingers through his thick hair, feigning innocence, “You work too much. Need a break, Captain.”

He scoffs, tries (and fails) to look unaffected when you shift your hips just enough, pressing down on his thigh, the muscle flexing beneath you. But the corner of his mouth quirks; that cocky little smirk that makes your stomach knot up.

“Married a greedy girl, didn’t I?” he drawls, voice filled with pride and amusement, sliding his hand up your back until his thumb skims the side of your breast, not-so-accidentally. “Always wantin’ my attention.”

You whine, dramatically, letting your full weight drag delicious friction as you rock on the thick muscle of his thigh. Price’s eyes go dark—that look, the one that says you’ve got him.

“Keep makin’ a mess like that and I’ll have to put you over my knee,” he rumbles, but his own thigh tenses beneath you, nudging you for more; his hand guiding your hips in tiny circles.

Yet he never stops you—not when the papers crumple beneath your hands, your voice breaks as you whisper his name, or even when you accidentally smear slick across his camo pants and he growls out, “That’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me.”

You grin in response, because you know he’ll take care of everything—the mess, the paperwork, and you, most of all.

[the-evanescent-library]

MDNI 18+

— clark kent talking you through it

cw: vaginal sex, size difference, soft dom clark

“i know baby, i know,” his words soft has his large hands gripped onto your waist, gently squeezing the soft flesh as tears welled up in your eyes. “but you’re doing so well,” he cooed, “making me so proud.”

your sniffles filled the room paired with a small pathetic whine that left your lips when you sank an inch deeper, your small cunt barely accomodating his size. “just one more yeah? biiig stretch.”

it’s been a good few minutes of this, clark whispering words of reassurance whilst wiping the tears from your eyes.

once you finally settled down his full length, a groan escaped his mouth. “feel so damn good,” his head tilting against the headboard. “clark,” you whined as you adjusted slightly, your warm gummy walls clenching around his cock.

arousal dribbled down your inner thigh, making it glisten ever so slightly. “move,” your voice soft as you held onto his shoulders, your hands looking comically small in comparison to his large fame.

clark gently bounced you, his hands dropped down to your waist as he caressed the skin there. “you look so pretty baby,” he sighed as he tried his best to not blow it, but the idea of filling you up was too good to not.

your moans filled the room as your body trembled, his thrusts making you bounce harshly as you gripped him tightly, tears streaming down your face as you started to feel a little light headed from the pleasure.

gently, his big palm came in contact with your cheek, giving you a small tap. “hey,” his eyes staring at yours, “come back to me pretty thing, i need you here.”

[the-evanescent-library]

when you ask your dear friend kyle to help you with your pregnancy, you expect him to donate some sperm, drive you to your ivf appointments, etc etc.

what you don't expect is him to press your knees to your chest one evening, slamming his cock so deep inside of you that you swear you can feel it entering your womb.

"s'fuckin' good for me," he groans, applying more pressure to the back of your thighs, "takin' my cock like a champ, baby," somehow he manages to thrust deeper, a soft whine leaving your lips.

he doesn't stop praising you throughout the whole ordeal, admiration entering one ear then shooting down into your body, pussy squeezing after every phrase.

such a sweet girl. absolutely perfect. gonna be such a good mama.

the way you tighten up at that last bit has kyle gritting his teeth, eyes clenched up before opening to reveal fully dilated pupils, "yeah? you like when i call you that? mama?" the word gets the same physical reaction from you, and kyle grins.

he adjusts himself, chest nearly touching yours as he raises his hips till only the tips insde. then, he slams home.

"can't wait to make you a mama. gonna ruin this cunt every day till it takes. yeah? you want that?" the drag of his cock inside of you is so distracting, addicting. you almost don't answer his question, but the high-pitched mewl he punches out of you is answer enough.

he keeps talking to you, how excited he is to watch your soft belly expand, to see your tits swell up, have your stretchmarks extend.

you hear him say something along the lines of i'll be such a good daddy, mama, jus' you wait, but you blame the cotton in your ears. after all, the only thing you can focus on is the warm feeling of his cum coating your insides and making good on his previous promises.

[the-evanescent-library]

wolf summer: meeting tags: fluff, 0.3k words

Simon knows that you come from a large family. He doesn’t know exactly how large until he meets them one summer during leave.

Nine pairs of eyes blink up at him curiously while you rattle off the kids' names. They’re all big eyes, perked ears, and wagging tails, and none of them look afraid to see him.

"—and this is Simon.”

He gives an awkward wave. "Alright?"

They seem to take that as permission to start climbing all over him.

“You smell like gunpowder—neat!”

“How’d you get this scar, Mr. Simon?”

“How many fights’ve you won?”

Simon winds up sitting on the couch with two in his arms, one on each knee, and the remaining five clustered around his shins.

He tips his head back, closing his eyes and trying to steady his breathing. He hasn't held a child since his nephew died. The clamor presses at the edges of his control; too big, too bright, too loud.

Then the littlest one shimmies her way up his chest to tuck her head under his chin. A small fist curls into the collar of his shirt as her tiny heart beats against his.

You watch from the hall, arms crossed and leaning on the wall. Your own tail fans the air gently behind you. “Looks good on you.” You smile softly. "Could get used to seeing it."

Well. He adjusts the girl with one broad palm on her back so that she's more securely cradled against him. She turns her face into his neck so that he can feel her snuffling little breaths.

Perhaps he can endure it for a little longer.

( wolf summer )

[the-evanescent-library]

Just imagine Simon Riley! serving you sass like the British diva he secretly is, only for you to fire back with sugary condescension, calling him princess and the poor man is left gobsmacked, redder than a cherry and dumber than a goldfish on holiday. HOW. DARE. YOU. He is, at minimum, a refined, distinguished gentleman, not some… mouthy, bratty princess. Don’t you EVER call him that again—unless you want the full weight of his passive-aggressive silence. And no, he’s not hard, thank you very much—that’s clearly just a… strategically inconvenient hate boner. Now pipe down and stop staring while he sips imported tea from a delicate little teacup belonging to the fine porcelain set he spent an unholy fortune on, purely because it’s “classy.” (And yes, he does lift his pinky. Don’t mention it ૮₍ ˶•⤙•˶ ₎ა)

[the-evanescent-library]

Flower Dividers ♡

Please reblog if you use | masterlist | coffee? ☕️

[the-evanescent-library]

Coming Home

Simon "Ghost" RIley x You (Fem reader)

(SFW)

Trigger Warnings: Light angst, vaguely implied captivity and torture

The man who became your boyfriend after you asked him to be, and he stared at you as if you suddenly grew another head, but gave you a little nod with the softest “yes” you’ve ever heard the man utter. Usually, he was gruff and blunt with his words. Either barking at Johnny and Kyle to stop with their antics, or he’ll deal with them both personally, to having a serious conversation or debate with Price over drinks. But with you, he was the quietest, yet most gentle man you’ve ever met.

He could spend hours listening to you drone on and on about anything. Listen to the way your breath hitches when you remember a key point to the story you’re telling, the way your laughter fills his soul as he watches the way your eyes crinkle in pure joy, and how your brows furrow as you pick the right words to stitch the path from point A to point B in the current chapter you’re telling of. For him, your voice is the lullaby that brings him peace and lets him rest.

So you're taken aback when the first thing he does when he comes home from deployment is to drop to his knees and wrap his arms around your waist tightly, burying his face into your stomach as he takes in your smell that reminds him of home. Feels the gentle and light touch of your hands as you caress the back of his head and shoulders, as you softly tell him, "Welcome home."

His arms tighten around you even more as it finally starts to settle in that he's really made it home. This isn't a dream, a falsehood of a paradise he's created in his mind to save his sanity, so he can still come home as the man you fell in love with. The man you include whenever you spoke of the future, a house with lots of land, animals, babies, and sunrises and sunsets together for an eternity. His body quivers as he clutches onto you, quiet sobs wracking his body as the injuries that were burning prior ever since he made it back from his mission, now become numb underneath your touch. He feels you freeze and tense as you must've noticed there were bandages, many of them, underneath his shirt before you smooth your hand over his back again.

You knew his job is risky. It was obvious there was danger involved and one day, you might not see Simon walk through your front door ever again. You asked once why does he still continue with this career even when he knows there's so much at stake? His simple answer told you more than enough. He shrugged. "It's all I know."

From then on, you squared your shoulders and did everything you could to help him understand and realize that he would always have a home with you, no matter what, and no matter where he went. He could always come to you, and you'd welcome him with open arms.

Even after you finally received word from his Captain, Price, after months of zero contact from Simon about his sudden reappearance at base and is currently getting checked up in the medical ward. You wasted no time to drive to see him, but instead of him pulling you into his embrace as you held your arms open to hold him, he recoils and pushes you away, growling, "Don't touch me!"

You freeze, your eyes going wide as you slowly take a step back. He never spoke to you like that before. He's never looked like this before. Guarded, feral, like he's expecting someone to leap from the shadows with a knife. Very slowly, you raised your hands in front of you as you spoke softly, "Simon. Look at me."

And he does, his breaths shallow as he meets your gaze, and it sends a shiver down your spine. It also brought tears to your eyes because whatever he was put through, it's reduced him to a cornered animal ready to lunge at the earliest possible threat. Right at this moment, he wasn't your Simon, but he was there. Behind the fear and pain, he was there.

He recoils back when you slowly try again to touch his shoulder before he breaks away from your gaze, shame taking place there now in his eyes. "Don't. Never wanted you to see me like this."

And that breaks your heart and opens the dam as your tears spill down your cheeks. "Simon... Please," you softly beg him, your arms still outstretched to him.

He never wanted to see you cry, let alone be the cause of it. So he caves and pulls you close, slowly by your hand, before he eventually wraps his arms around you, pressing you close once he's felt your warmth and your sweet scent fills the surrounding room. It's at that moment he finally realizes he made it home. He's home. And he cries into your shoulder as you hold him.

"I'm sorry, love," he whispers against you.

You shook your head. "Don't apologize. Just come back to me. That's all I'll ever ask of you," you reply as you tighten your arms more around him.

The others had vacated the room at some point to leave the two of you alone. Just a wounded and hardened soldier with his soft and gentle missus. The lady who manages to soothe the beast to remind him he's still a man, and he would always be hers, no matter his form.

[the-evanescent-library]

Simon had signed the DNR with the same hand he cleans his knives— steady and devoid of sentiment. Back then, it was a simple truth; when the ticker stopped, so did he. No dramatics, no interventions. No third chances.

The world had already taken everything worth waking up for. What remained was routine: the sound of paperwork, the clanking of rifles, the weight of his own breath and the dull ache of days that bled into each other without consequence. Death wasn't a threat. It was a courtesy.

Then you came. Sweet little thing, all warm hands and soft laughter, with sugar on your lips and honey in your voice, and a smile that could undo him in seconds. (And a craving for dessert that matched his craving for you.)

Simon didn't stand a chance.

You married him like it was the easiest decision you ever made. Loved him like he wasn't stitched together from scraps. Fed him cake and kisses like they were both medicine.

And then somewhere down the road— after the quiet mornings and burnt toast— that DNR wasn't about giving in anymore. It was about respecting the rules of the house. Because if his heart stops and someone brings him back?

You're finishing the job.

("You think you get to scare me like that and live to tell about it?")

He wouldn't have it any other way. He's got something to live for now, and it's got frosting on it. And a temper. Someone who'd decided his continued existence was non-negotiable.

[the-evanescent-library]

NSFW

If there was one thing you never went without, it was Simon’s dog tags. You kept them on you at all times—at the store, under your hoodie; over your dress, even if they don’t technically go together; dangling between your breasts, or wrapped in your hands as you sleep naked.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by you, that Simon appeared to be physically affected by your wearing them. You liked to watch his eyes dip low, then flick back up to yours, watch his head tip when he heard them jingle, watch him clench his hand to keep from reaching out and touching them. Whenever you’d walk around nude, wearing only his tags, you grin to yourself whenever you saw the bulge in his pants, or under the sheets, even if you’d just gone a round.

It’s also not uncommon for him to come back from a mission insanely keyed up by adrenaline. Before you, he said he’d go lift weights after every mission, no matter what time it was, just to get his body to calm down. After you, though, he came home ready to go.

Just like tonight, in the shower, with your head thrown back just out of the stream of water, your cries carrying over the glass with the steam. Simon’s positioned himself between your legs, face buried in your pussy while his tongue laps at your clit. The only thing holding you up is his face, and the hands half on your thighs, half cupping your ass, spreading you apart for him.

You can’t help the way your hips grind against his mouth, riding his face, hands balled tightly in his hair. You’re balancing between the tip toes of each foot, glancing down to meet his honey-warm eyes.

“Simon, please,” You breathe, thighs shaking uncontrollably, “you’ve gotten me to come twice now.”

He hums, and you yelp at the feel of it against your clit, “You can give me more than that, love.”

Your back arches at the sound of his voice, making his dog tags clink together between your breasts. His eyes lock onto them, and you can see them darken as his tongue slows to a heavy, unrelenting circle over your already swollen clit. You whimper, pulling his hair tighter, as he reaches up to roughly fondle your tit, making the tags jingle even more.

“Mm, fuck.” He says low, voice hoarse, “My name looks good between your tits.”

Arousal hits you again, your thighs clenching, “Simon—” You gasp, eyes squeezed shut.

“Sounds good when you’re practically coming on it, too.” He drags his tongue again, the hand not rolling a nipple between its fingers dipping one into your dripping hole.

“Oh my god, Si.” Your hips grind hard against his face, “Gonna come again.”

“Ah, ah.” He tuts, pulling out his finger and ducking out from between your legs, “Thought you didn’t want to come again.”

“Simon!” You groan, watching him rise to his feet with a smirk, wiping his face on the back of his hand, “I was right there.”

He crowds you up against the wall, “Come on, dove, what kind of man do you take me for?”

Before you can even think to respond, he’s kneeing your thighs apart, leaning back and down to level his cock at your pussy. His fingers twist his tags around themselves with one hand, pulling you forward while the other helps stuff himself up into your hole.

You gasp as he slides in deep, clinging to his shoulders as his thrusts go rough right off the bat. Almost immediately, you’re coming on his cock, crying up to the ceiling as he fucks you through it. His eyes watch every face you make, every look he’s able to draw out of you with his cock. He tells you how pretty you look for him, whimpering for his cock, how lovely your tits are, bouncing while he takes you.

Sex with Simon is always intense like this after missions, but it’s not always this way. Sometimes it’s incredibly intimate, overwhelming in an emotional way. When he’d fuck you nice and slow, the head of his cock catching on that one spot inside you that drove you nearly mad when he found it.

His lips crush to yours, snapping you out of your little reverie. He groans into your mouth, teeth biting gently at your lips as he thrusts you into the wall. When he pulls away, he keeps hold of your gaze, lips quirking as your feet slip against his ass, your legs trying to keep their grip around his waist.

“Open up.” He says, and you let your jaw fall open as he commands. He stuffs his tags into your mouth, closing it for you, not hard but not gently, and holding it closed with his hand.

He groans when you don’t protest, his cock throbbing as it drags inside you, stretching you open and filling you until your mind was numb to anything but him.

“Taste good?” He asks, knowing damn well they didn’t.

You nod anyway, tears springing to your eyes because the man was hitting you just right, and he knew it if the sudden slow roll of his hips had anything to say about it. You moan against his hand, staring into his fuzzy eyes as he rests his mouth against the back of his hand.

“Drives me fucking crazy, you wearing those.” He breathes, voice strained, quivering the way it does when he’s close, “Every fucking day.”

You moan softly, pussy clenching around his girth.

“But I fucking love it.” He all but growls it, and then slams into you, pounding up into your pussy for a few more harsh thrusts until he stills, panting and grunting into the crook of your neck. You can feel the pulse of his cock as he comes inside you, twitching and jerking with every moan.

Later, when he’s cleaned you up and made sure you’re properly taken care of, you’re held in his arms while his thumbs run over the tags.

“Does it annoy you that I wear them so often?” You ask, tipping your head back to look up at his wide eyes, “I can stop if you want.”

“Now what would go and make you think I wouldn’t want you to wear ‘em?” He kisses the top of your head, “Thought me coming at the sight of you with them on was enough.”

“Just making sure.” You smile at him when he pulls back.

So, you greet him at the door when he comes back from his next mission, wearing his dog tags and only his dog tags.

He doesn’t even get his vest off.

✨⋆｡°✩₊💜₊✩°｡⋆💀⋆｡°✩₊💜₊✩°｡⋆✨

Masterlist

[the-evanescent-library]

Simon had signed the DNR with the same hand he cleans his knives— steady and devoid of sentiment. Back then, it was a simple truth; when the ticker stopped, so did he. No dramatics, no interventions. No third chances.

The world had already taken everything worth waking up for. What remained was routine: the sound of paperwork, the clanking of rifles, the weight of his own breath and the dull ache of days that bled into each other without consequence. Death wasn't a threat. It was a courtesy.

Then you came. Sweet little thing, all warm hands and soft laughter, with sugar on your lips and honey in your voice, and a smile that could undo him in seconds. (And a craving for dessert that matched his craving for you.)

Simon didn't stand a chance.

You married him like it was the easiest decision you ever made. Loved him like he wasn't stitched together from scraps. Fed him cake and kisses like they were both medicine.

And then somewhere down the road— after the quiet mornings and burnt toast— that DNR wasn't about giving in anymore. It was about respecting the rules of the house. Because if his heart stops and someone brings him back?

You're finishing the job.

("You think you get to scare me like that and live to tell about it?")

He wouldn't have it any other way. He's got something to live for now, and it's got frosting on it. And a temper. Someone who'd decided his continued existence was non-negotiable.

[the-evanescent-library]

simon who never had sisters growing up- not like johnny and kyle. simon who grew up with cruelty and hardness. simon who never truly had a stable female figure or influence in his life.

so when he starts dating you, he observes your every move like he's watching a documentary on an endangered species. he's in awe of everything you do. the simple routines that are ingrained into your life. things that most, if not all, women are accustomed to. he's especially mesmerised when he's watching you braid your hair. you must be some kind of sorceress, he thinks. it's some sacred art to him. begs you to teach him so that when- when, not if- you have a daughter he can take care of her hair the same way you can.

simon who just loves women and their little rituals and their softness.