vaya-writes

[vaya-writes]

So I started watching dungeon meshi...

[vaya-writes]

dragons enslaving humans

[vaya-writes]

reuploaded the red dragon I drew last year and added my second attempt at the ice dragon from a few months ago.

[vaya-writes]

nothing but respect for our troops (smut writers) but listen. i dont want to be the person to tell you this, but not every character is going to be a dom or a sub. some people. and i know this is hard to hear. but some people do have vanilla sex. and some of those people might even be The Character.

[vaya-writes]

I’ll sneak onto Miara’s island and leave little treats for the angels when no one’s looking. They’ll never find me

They will find you and you will get pestered for more, in a gentle way.

Their focus will be on getting you the resources you'll need to make treats- And if you didn't make them, too bad, you'll learn to now.

The angels that have mouths and enjoy food will bother you from time to time now.

[vaya-writes]

might we get a wee bit of period comfort with the demon girlfriends? my period is like actually stabbing me rn and i think girl cuddle pile fixes everything. if writing all of them is too much i think cuddling with lucidia and lemoana would be so comfy <3

Primin has, surprisingly, been the one to orchestrate the whole day ever since the girls realized you were cramping extra hard.

She seems to have a needlessly intricate routine planned out, down to what types of foods you can eat. Something tells you she also has nasty periods.

Currently, you're in bed, draped on Lucidia like a blanket that the sloth eagerly holds. She's rumbling in a soothing way and her heat keeps you mellowed out enough to almost nap. Primin is beside you two, taking advantage of your mushy state to fix your nails.

You can hear Lemoana and Nicele outside, the two having been banished by the imp for getting too loud when you're trying to rest.

" I'm just saying, orgasms help with my period, so why wouldn't she want one? "

" Moana, I'm fucking certain she doesn't want you anywhere near her pussy right now. She needs pressure! We gotta lie on her- "

" And crush her?! Right, sure, makes sense! "

You stir, irritated by the yapping. Luci makes a resounding snarl that is guttural enough to silence the entire house. And finally, finally, you can actually sleep decently for a while.

[vaya-writes]

Pinnie, I have Livius brain rot soo baadddd. The angst for this man is through the roof but also him acting like a goober (I know it’s one of his masks) I’d fold so fast :(((.

So what would he do if that masks falls for a spilt second and his queen kinda just, blinks at him in disbelief. (Lets say she came willingly to hell cause his facade was really good and she thought is was of her own volition ) Does he try to quickly cover it up with mimicking her or does he allow her confusion (and proabbly fear) to fester? I can only think of this happening cause he got jealous somehow or her attention wasn’t on him for whatever reason.

Anyhoo, thank you for the unstable taffy and your wonderful ability to pull monster yanderes outta thin air. I hope you have a good rest of your night/day!

[Yer welcum! :7 Likewise.]

Oh, make no mistake, there are plenty of moments where you can visibly see Livius shift gear into a new face abruptly, or stop to think about what he'll become next.

The mask will fall in many moments.

When he gets a very unexpected reaction; When he feels like he's made a grave mistake in his mimicry; When it's no longer entertaining him, and when something or someone is being more interesting at the moment (this does not mean he intends to pursue the person, merely that he wants to poke them mentally); When he's particularly upset or destabilized by something (like you said).

Unfortunately, when Livius' predetermined mask slips, you (usually) don't get enough time to see what lies beneath -Not that there's much too see to begin with- Because he's quick on his feet to pick up something else.

Livius is not too concerned by you seeing his vacant state. In fact, deep down, even if that's an uncomfortable state to be in around others, he still wonders how you feel about it. At the same time that Livius knows this unsettles you, he can't explain it very well to you and prefers if you don't dwell on it too hard.

Few things are genuine about Livius, he'll be the first one to admit this to you- But his love of you is constant through every mask.

[vaya-writes]

Lust queen: Vesper, would you love me if I was a worm?

Vesper: HeLL No!

*Later*

For the rest of the day the queen hidden herself away from Vesper while wearing as much clothes as possible due to being angry with Vesper and not speaking to him.

The King's massive, voluptuous figure crouches next to the royal bed chambers' doors, tail and head tendril swaying impatiently. Realistically, he could bulldoze inside, but Vesper isn't fond of upsetting you further right now.

" Really, sweetness? A worm? What am I to do with a worm? No concubus can bed a worm, it's about as ridiculous as asking you to love me as a vase... "

There's no response.

Vesper tip taps his claws against the length of one door.

" Now, if you meant one of those tentacle nests- Sure, you'd be a plant, but I would at least hail you as my favorite toy! That's more... " He sighs. " Workable. "

Still no reaction.

" Sucklecunt, is this about your body changing? You know you'll always be irresistible to me, right? As your form takes on new pigments and shapes, I will learn to lust for you in new delectable ways- "

The other door starts parting, making the Icon's tail wag with excitement as more and more of you becomes visible

" Come, we can forget about this silly misunderstanding and enjoy the rest of our day, you know I love y- ACK, drop that fucking sweater! "

[vaya-writes]

hhhh was rereading the servant trivia about how nena and rieba have a good relationship and oh my god i need to rieba to eat me out sloppy style while nena whips my back and demeans me for being a whore for any pretty demon lady. women 🏳️‍🌈

[Wäman. 👯‍♀️]

Rieba honestly felt bad for how hard she was on you. You're just a servitor, a stewardess at The Hollow Seat.

It's not your fault you have to deal with both the Icons and the head imps as you zoom from room to room. Granted, you're not the only one there, but you're just shy and meek enough that she felt safe snapping at you from time to time- A dreadful habit she's picking up from King Cero.

Nena knew better. She's always known beneath Rieba's temper was purely a well of loneliness, a desire for intimacy she seldom allows others to perceive.

There's better ways to pick on her, the succubus had commented one day, sharp eyes taunting behind deceiving lenses.

Nena was quick to fill the gluttoness' mind with the little signs of attraction you kept trying to hide around them. The way you'd sweat in place listening to Rieba's angry ranting, how you'd avoid eye contact with either of them and stumble through words more often, even going as far as to subconsciously squeeze your thighs together when Nena got too close...

You can chew her out, but I think she'd like it more if you ate her out.

Leave it to Nena to say something that will alter Rieba's brain chemistry in a second.

For as good as Rieba is with nagging, she's rusty enough at flirting that Nena understood she'd have to carry the conversation.

And, to be fair, Rieba believes you prefer her mouth sealed to your cunt rather than trying to flirt, if your whining gasps are any indication.

She's ravenous -Oh, the perks of being a stress eater- as her tongue darts across every inch of you it can sample, soaking her chin when she presses on little bundles of nerves before slipping out to mouth and suck at an already engorged clit.

Ass in the air, your legs tremble like jelly against her, whether from pleasure or the sting of Nena's favorite flogger is unclear- Rieba just likes to feel you tighten and gush on her tongue after every crack rattles your body.

" I can't believe I get to play with the cutest slut here! " The succubus swoons sweetly, as if she isn't the cause of the long welts forming on your back.

You can only sniffle and bite your lip when the imp tilts your chin up, panting, an orgasm approaching by the time Rieba claws the meat of your ass closer to her face.

" You're so thirsty for demon pussy it's actually pathetic. " Nena giggles as your face contorts, a moan from the gluttoness signaling you've just fallen over the edge.

The hand that hasn't been flogging you this whole time strokes your hair the same condescending way one might pet a silly dog.

" But aren't you lucky we think it's sooo adorable? "

Rieba has not stopped slurping at you.

[vaya-writes]

I'd let jayde jerk it in my presence if he pays my student loans

You don't know how much money he spent just to have a day with you.

You don't know how much money he spent in presents when he showed up at your door almost flooded in fancy shopping bags. But you do know exactly every dollar he dumped into your student loans- Right in front of you.

Jayde is a blessing in your life.

Even if he's creepy and nosy and more than a little possessive, the imp is still the only reason you can comfortably subsist in this economy.

You don't mind giving him little rewards for his efforts, for all the dedication he pours into you. You know these gestures are different for greed demons, they don't see sugaring the same way humans do- This is how they court each other, with mostly material offerings. You know Jayde has hopes of being more than a glucose provider, and you've been kind of toeing that line as carefully as possible.

Having your student loans completely taken care of definitely warrants a proper reward. You want Jayde to feel how much you appreciate such a gesture, how relieved you feel.

Which is why, when he pushes for a little more affection today, you let him have it. Hold his hand, let him arrange your hair and kiss your cheeks, dress the way he likes. The imp has been glowing the whole time, as if these simple gestures are more than equivalent to the stacks he just incinerated for your education. You're sure he wouldn't be able to name what you're even pursuing if you asked him to.

An opulent day ends with a night to his liking.

Usually, Jayde does this with you via call.

You don't necessarily see what he's doing to himself, you just hear the frantic, muffled slaps of skin on skin and spot the little contortion of pleasure on his expression as he either watches you or pays attention to the sweet nothings you whisper.

Today, he's doing it right in front of you.

You're happy he didn't push for sex. Jayde has never been too pushy, even though he tests the waters in some settings. He seems to want to make your first real day together as comfortable for you as possible.

So, the two of you have settled for something less intense but still meaningful to the imp.

Jayde stands above you, shirt unbuttoned and pants around his ankles, a flushed cock probably only a few centimeters from your face as you kneel before him in a priceless set of lingerie he insisted you take home.

" A- Are you okay with this, bijou? "

He huffs, steadily working at himself, the pleasure alone making him hunch.

" I'm fine, don't worry about it. " Your reassuring words are somewhat contrasted by the flush on your skin, the way your gaze darts everywhere so you aren't either ogling his dick or stuck in intense eye contact.

" I want... I want you to be happy all the time. You deserve everything... Hhnff- "

When the imp lowers his free hand to your chin, you can't help but tense a little, visibly gulping as he tilts your face up. His cock throbs. His labored breaths and parted mouth do something to your body that is damn near unholy.

" I am- I'm happy. " You stutter, not sure what to say to help the monster along.

It's easier to do this in a call. When he's not in the room with you, slapping his tail around like the effort to not pounce on you is all-encompassing.

" So glad- So glad, so pretty... " Jayde squeezes himself, possibly to stop an early climax. " Fffuck, bijou baby, can you do me a favor? "

" D-Depends. " A mild sweat breaks out across your skin.

Mostly because you don't know if you'd have the fortitude to deny much of anything with him looking at you like that.

His motions stop.

" Put me in your mouth. "

Oh that's...

" J-Jayde I- I don't- "

" I know you're shy- I know- I just want to feel your tongue so bad, bijou please... "

Well... He can feel your tongue without you having to blow him. As if that's any more dignified. Yet another boundary you'll toe the line of.

When you open your mouth wide, his eyes damn near sparkle with excitement, angling himself down.

Instead of wrapping your lips around the monster's engorged cock, you simply swipe at his tip, a kitten lick from the frenulum to the flat of his head.

Jayde appears to damn near fume like a kettle at the sight. The previously firm grip on his dick vanishes entirely, and it's very clear he's giving you access to his entire cock so you can drool across it like a lollipop.

You do just that, waiting for the imp's dick to stop bobbing from anticipation to lick a stripe across his whole length, your hands anchoring on flexed thighs- Really, every muscle in his body looks tense right now.

The demon has a wobbly grin as he watches you, smearing your cheek with precum when he angles his hips to get more, shaky hands on your hair. He doesn't pull, occasionally fisting handfuls of it to keep balance.

" Fucking lords- You're so hot. Keep going, ohh fuck you drive me insane. "

The next drag of your tongue goes from the crease where his slit meets the base of his cock, up the underside of his length. Jayde chokes something incomprehensible when you let him rest on your face, nose nudging him slightly.

" I'm gonna lose sleep over this bijou, you little cocktease. "

That gets you to giggle. " Losing sleep? In Sloth? "

" It's what you do to me. "

Another long lap is delivered to the side of his girth before the genuinity in his murmured comment sucks the bravado out of you.

Thankfully, Jayde is content to pick the pace back up on his own, movement now a lot more fluid with your saliva coating him. The monster's head tilts back and he groans openly, feeding his own hips into the motion.

Between the heat he exudes, the sounds and his flexing cock, you know Jayde is moments away from orgasm.

The sudden feel of claws sinking into the skin of your chin startles you, but the imp says nothing as he keeps furiously pumping himself, forcing you still. It takes only moments for you to realize what's following, and at the first strained grunt from above, something warm hits your face.

There's barely enough time for you to close your eye when more paints your face, hot and thick and sending shivers down your spine as it begins to drip to your neck. He was pent up, you can feel it, mildly perplexed when more of it just keeps coming.

" Beautiful ffucking gorgeous hrn- Ahahn I made such a mess of my baby jewel. "

For a few moments, the two of you just stand still. Jayde huffs and puffs in the wake of his orgasm, and you watch the sloppy string of cum still connecting him to your face, unsure what to do with yourself. It figures the greed demon would be the one to give you a money shot.

It takes a second before he sobers up, kicking his bottoms away. " Stay- Stay right there, I'll clean you up. "

All you can really do is awkwardly try to catch what drips with open palms, the warmth on your face amplified by a furious flush.

Jayde takes one last look at you before entering the bathroom.

" So pretty. "

You catch him murmur.

[vaya-writes]

Ink & Needle // Chapter Eighteen

Tattoo Artist Simon “Ghost” Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: tattoo shop au, oral sex, unprotected piv, cowgirl position, sex over a motorcycle, creampie, brief angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.5k

You and Simon enjoy your time alone in Scotland. A week after returning, Simon receives a cryptic text from Johnny.

Chapter Seventeen // Chapter Nineteen

ao3 // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Dreamless.

How long has it been? How long since Simon can recall a night where his dreams were not dark figments?

Years, maybe.

But that is his first thought upon waking. His sleep is a blank, endless nothing. A far cry from the violence Simon often has to sit with in his head. He blinks slowly, the edges of his vision still laced with a sleepiness that clings to him like honey. In his chest is a calmness that is foreign to him.

It is unknown. And it is strange.

The fire in the hearth is out, leaving behind the faintest scent of burnt wood. From the window next to the bed, morning light filters in through the flimsy curtain. It’s not enough to brighten the room but it does dig into Simon’s senses, drawing him further away from rest.

Simon blinks again. Yawns. Turns his head.

His chin brushes against hair, and you stir in his arms, tucking closer against him. Your hand rests on his chest, and your head uses his shoulder as a pillow. Every breath you take is slow and deep.

Reaching out, Simon brushes your hair out of your face. The small touch makes your nose twitch but you do not stir. His arm that rests against your back rises, and Simon places his hand against your bare hip.

There is no reason to wake you even though his dick is aching something fierce. The fucker can wait until you’re awake and ready for him. There are so many positions Simon wants to put you in, and the bed is just the start. There’s the couch, the dining table, the shower—fuck. Simon will even take you on the floor.

It’s three years of smothered desire all coming up at once.

Simon stares at the ceiling. He breathes in and exhales slowly, attempting to think of nothing with the hope that he might drift off again. But try as he might, there are deeper things lurking in the recesses of his mind. That shadow of a man—the familiar shape that Simon spent years stalking—still sits unsteady. Trying to shut it out is impossible. It keeps creeping back.

And it hardly scratches the surface.

British Intelligence might come knocking, and Price went out of his fucking way not once but twice just to talk to Simon about Kit Walsh’s reemergence. Simon shouldn’t worry about any of it. He’s not in the field anymore. He has his shop now. He’s retired.

Sighing, Simon closes his eyes, breathing deep again in an attempt to silent those anxieties from slipping in where they aren’t wanted. Repeating the process, Simon falls back into calm. He thinks of you during his meditation, and that does it, shifting him into a safer space.

Your hand on his chest twitches, fingers curling slightly before relaxing. It pulls Simon back to the cottage, his eyelids opening, the ceiling greeting him in his return. He reaches for your hand, clasping it in his own. Turning your wrist, he gazes on your palm, admiring the lines. Even here you are beautiful.

Simon brings your palm to his lips. The kiss is gentle. A whisper. It’s not much of anything, but you make a noise anyway. Shifting in his arms, you start to awaken, yawning widely before your eyelids blink slowly.

He turns his head, and his gaze falls on your smile.

“Morning,” you murmur.

Simon brings your hand back to his chest but he does not let go. “Morning, love.”

You snuggle against his side, face turned into his ribs. You place a couple of kisses there, and Simon resists the urge to laugh. Apparently, he’s fucking ticklish there.

“Sleep okay?” you ask, resting your chin on his pectoral.

“I did. You?”

You hum in agreement, eyelids closing as Simon’s thumb strokes over the back of your hand. “What’s the plan for today?”

Simon grins. “Thought we talked about this last night?”

“That’s right. How could I forget,” you reply, eyelids still shut, warding off wakefulness. “Your plan is to fuck me senseless.”

“You’re not senseless,” muses Simon.

“No. I am not.”

Simon slides up your arm and grasps your bicep, drawing you on top of him. You giggle, and playfully slap at him. Simon wraps his arms around your back and traps you there.

“Kiss me,” he says.

You’re still smiling, still a bit giggly when you quickly peck him on the mouth.

“More,” he coos.

“Simon.”

“More,” he demands.

Simon needs you like tree roots need the earth. You ground him somehow, and though he does not entirely understand, it’s the only thing bringing him peace.

Your smile shifts from a playful tease to one of sultry softness. Leaning forward, you place both hands firmly on Simon’s chest. Closing the distance is agony. Simon wants your mouth on his now, but you’re fine with taking your time. With teasing.

When your lips finally touch his, it is gentle. Not a peck or a brush of the lips, but a lovely little kiss that is full of warmth and sends Simon’s heart hammering. His arms ease from around your back and slide downward to grasp your ass before settling on your hips.

You push up so that you’re over him, and then the kisses come like a waterfall. The two of you push and pull, drawing close until one of you needs air. It is a dance. A tangle. Simon’s hands are everywhere. He cannot settle.

He is desperate. Hungry.

Simon is so focused on your mouth that he doesn’t notice your hand until your fingers wrap around him. You squeeze lightly, the tips of your fingernails scratching against the base.

Simon groans against your mouth. Breaking the kiss, he grabs your throat, halting any forward movement on your end.

“Don’t like it when I touch you?” you tease.

“I like it,” he rasps, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“Then let me touch you,” you sigh, eyelids a bit heavy, gaze focused on his mouth.

Simon’s need for control is like breathing to him. From his military career to how he runs his shop, Simon is deliberate with his choices. But this is not the battlefield. You are not a customer.

You are so much more.

You are everything.

And fuck it—this trip is about the two of you. Simon can relax. He can hand you control for a minute.

Slowly, Simon releases your throat and crosses his arms behind his head.

“Touch me,” he says, settling into the bed.

Simon might appear calm on the outside but his stomach is a knot. Tension sits tight in his abdomen. Anticipation is like a hot knife scorching his skin.

Your hand around his cock strokes up, and then you descend, leaving a trail of soft kisses behind. You’re gentle with him, and it only reminds Simon of how soft he is with you.

It is surprising. Breath-stealing.

You squeeze his muscled thigh, trace the v of his pelvis of your tongue, and lazily pump his cock like you have all the time in the world. Simon’s fingers itch. He wants to touch you back and tangle his fingers in your hair.

Further you descend, and then your tongue is on him. Just the tip across the head. Over the slit. Swiping up the precum that blooms there. The muscles in Simon’s stomach clench and release. You do it again, and they spasm.

Simon swallows down the groan forming in his throat.

If you’re going to tease him like this, Simon won’t be able to control himself. He’ll slip, and you’ll end up on your back with your legs spread.

You settle between his legs, one hand wrapped around the base and the other resting on the top of his thigh. You pump him a few times before leaning in to kiss the tip. A spasm blooms in Simon’s back, everything tightening with the anticipation.

A pearly bead of precum blooms in the slit, followed by another. You eagerly lick it up with the tip of your tongue, and then swirl around the head before licking his entire length from base to tip.

Simon hisses, hands clenching into fists. Fuck, he wants to touch you. He also wants to draw you back up his body and kiss you until you’re breathless.

And you’re teasing him, working between soft, open-mouthed kisses and slow licks of your tongue. Simon is trying hard not to fidget and squirm, but it’s difficult, especially with his arms crossed behind his head.

When you finally take him into your mouth, Simon’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. You hold him there, the saliva collecting, some of it even passes from your lips. Simon inhales, and you swallow him down, your lips touching your hand.

Simon is fucking gone. Done. He planned on finishing inside of your perfect fucking pussy every time during this trip but he might blow right here and now if you keep this up.

Hollowing your cheeks, you slide back up, and then repeat the process, bringing in your hand to pump him in time with your upward passes.

Simon can hardly focus. You are messy. Eager. Enthusiastic. He groans loudly, nearly choking on the end of it when you completely throat him. Every instinct is telling him to tangle his fingers in your hair, to seize control and make you squirm.

You suck hard, and Simon’s hips jerk without warning.

No. He’s still going to finish in your pussy. Fuck it.

Uncrossing his arms, Simon reaches out and forces your mouth from his cock. It falls from your lips with a wet pop. There is saliva on your lips, and a lusty haze over your eyes.

You’ve touched him, and now Simon wants his control back.

“Staddle me.” Simon almost doesn’t recognize how raspy his voice is. He sounds like a rabid animal. “Fuck yourself on my cock until you come.”

Your answering whimper is sweet, and the way your crawl up his body even sweeter.

With palms flat against his chest, you push back into a seated position. You reach down between your bodies and wrap your fingers around his cock, flexing your hips upward. With just the slightest shift of your hips, the head of Simon’s cock presses to your pussy.

This time Simon touches. His hands dart out to grab hold of your hips. You’re sinking down on him. Parting. Opening. Welcoming him inside. You’re tight and wet and fucking perfect as more of him disappears.

“Fuck,” Simons groans loudly as you push down on his chest to flex your hips up and back down on him.

You lift, roll, go back down. Again. Again. And again, until you’ve taken every fucking inch of him. You’re doing exactly as instructed, fucking yourself on his cock. Watching you is just as wanton.

Simon could get used to this. You in his bed, and greeting the day with you on top of him.

One hand slides up to your waist and then shifts to your stomach, traveling up between your breasts. Simon wraps his hand around your throat, and you instinctually bend into the touch.

“Say my name,” growls Simon, his fingers digging into your flesh. “Say it.”

Your lips part with a shaky breath. “Simon.”

His cock is glossy, disappearing and reappearing with every bounce and roll of your hips. Simon’s gaze locks on to the spot, of your pussy taking him entirely. Fuck, you’re absolute gorgeous.

“Again, love. Say my name again.”

Simon finds your clit, rubbing circles there. Your pussy clenches around him, squeezing so hard that Simon starts silently listing things on 141 Ink’s nightly checklist to keep himself from finishing.

Your head falls back, exposing your neck. “Simon,” you moan.

You shudder, body clenching. Simon watches it all, absorbing all the little details from how your chest heaves and your thighs quiver.

His resolve shatters. Breaks.

Simon sits up and wraps his arms around your waist, rolling you onto your back. He keeps himself inside, and once you’re flat, he starts to thrust with abandon, seeking his own end.

It comes fast. And Simon smothers his groan by claiming your mouth in a fierce kiss. Your arms drape over the back of his neck, and your thighs tighten around his hips. He pumps shallowly, savoring the feel of your cum-filled pussy.

You’re his. Fucking his.

Simon’s hips still, and the kisses slow.

“That’s one way to start the morning,” you murmur against his mouth.

Simon grins and kisses you again. “Could be every morning.”

“Promise,” you reply, nipping at his bottom lip.

Simon groans and draws back, playfully thrusting into you even as his cock softens. You burst out laughing, one hand covering his face as Simon makes smooching noises.

“You’re a menace, Simon,” you giggle, trying to wiggle away from him.

Scooping you up in his arms, Simon brings the two of you to a seated position. “Let’s get you showered and fed.”

You arch an eyebrow, grasping the sides of his face. “Are you joining me?”

Simon does join you, and even in the shower he cannot keep his hands off your body. You are an addiction. A deep craving. A never-ending sweet tooth that cannot be satisfied. The shower is large enough to fit both of you, and Simon takes every advantage, filling the steamy room with your moans.

At breakfast, Simon places a black helmet on the table.

“What’s this?” you ask.

“Yours.”

“Mine?”

Simon nods. “You said you wanted some fresh highland air.”

You pop your spoon into your mouth, and then remove it slowly. “You told me that you’d open a window.”

Simon did say that, but he was also lost in a haze, the lust in his bones animalistic in its need for you. Last night he needed to possess. That’s all.

“I did,” he agrees. “But I also want to show you something. Take the afternoon.”

Your gaze shifts from Simon to the helmet and then back to him. “I should change.”

“You should.”

At the main house, Simon uncovers the sport bike. It’s Johnny’s, the one he purchased before joining the military. It’s old. Dirty. But it’ll do the job. Simon doesn’t want to take the SUV for this. It might be the middle of November, but the weather is decent, if a bit overcast.

You stand off to the side, clutching the helmet in front of you. Even from where Simon examines the bike, he can see how eager you are. You’re nearly on your toes, bouncing with excitement.

It pleases Simon to know he’s about to make you happy in a different way. Sex is nice, but your smile upon seeing the sport bike twists his heart. He wants you to smile like that all time, not just when he has his cock inside you.

Simon kicks the stand up and wheels it out into the open, bringing the stand back down once the bike meets gravel.

“You’ve ever been on one before?”

You shake your head. “No. But I’ve always wanted to.”

A new memory then. Good.

Simon pats the seat. “Need to talk safety.”

You nod and step up to Simon, staring down at the bike.

Simon points with the tip of his shoe. “These are your footpegs.” He catches it, and then pulls it out on one side before reaching over and doing the same for the other. “You’ll rest your feet here when you’re on the back.”

He then points to the exhaust. “Careful your heels don’t touch this. It will melt your fucking shoes.”

Again, you nod, but you don’t interrupt. Simon can’t gauge whether or not you’re picking it all up.

“You’ll sit here.” He pats the passenger seat. “I’ll get on. And then you will.”

Simon steps away from the sport bike and glances down at you. Your gaze lingers on the bike before it shifts to him. “Hold on to me at all times. Around the waist is best.” He points to the gas tank. “Place your hands against that when we’re slowing down or coming to a stop if you think you need it.”

“Will I fall off if I don’t?”

The question startles him. The very idea of you falling off the bike while he’s driving makes a small part of his brain reconsider even taking this short trip in the first place.

“Not necessarily. Just make sure you’re moving with me.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“If we’re going around a curve, lean into it like I do. Don’t try to remain upright or lean too far. Might throw us off balance.”

“That’s it?”

Simon shrugs. “It’s the basics.”

You straighten your shoulders, determination on your face. “I can handle it.”

Simon cups your cheek and steps into your space. Leaning forward, he places a quick kiss on your forehead.

“You’ll do fine,” he says, pulling away. “Let’s get that helmet on.”

Simon watches as you struggle to put it on. You make a weird face and then it’s sliding into place. The straps dangle and you stand there with arms out like you’re ready to go.

“Good?” you ask, voice a bit muffled.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Simon, reaching for the straps.

With one hand, he flips up the visor, revealing your eyes. Simon secures the snaps into place and then he tugs on them, causing you to stumble into his arms.

“Simon!” you gasp, grabbing onto his forearms to keep yourself from smacking into his chest.

“Can’t even put a helmet on properly,” he tuts. “What am I going to do with you?”

You groan like you’re overly annoyed with him and Simon grins, squeezing your waist before smacking your ass. You swipe out at him but completely miss. With a grin, Simon saunters backward and retrieves his own helmet.

Usually, Simon wears a balaclava underneath, but without one, all he has is a covering for his mouth and nose. He secures it in place before putting on his own helmet.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready!” you exclaim, hands clasped in front of you.

Reaching out, Simon snags your arm and draws you in. He lightly taps the front of his helmet against yours. Your answering giggle and the crinkling in the corner of your eyes pleases him. Simon wants to bottle up your happiness and keep it forever.

He taps the top of your helmet before heading for the bike. Simon kicks up the stand and tosses his leg over the side of the bike. Reaching out, Simon offers you his left hand. You take it and put one foot on the footpeg, pushing yourself up and onto the seat.

Your hands slide over his waist and come to a rest on his stomach. Simon answers by reaching back and squeezing your thigh.

The bike flares to life, the engine roaring before mellowing out. Simon brings his feet up, and then the two of you are off, leaving gravel for paved road. You’re perfection the whole way, leaning with him during turns, and keeping your arms around him.

Driving is calming for Simon. It doesn’t matter if he’s behind the wheel of a car or on a bike. It’s all soothing to him. Ever since his injury and retirement, Simon’s excursions on the back of his sport bike have dwindled. He does own one, but he hasn’t brought the thing out in months.

This is almost cathartic. Completely natural.

As Simon approaches their destination, he turns off onto a gravel path that gives way to dirt. There are no trees this way, and there are no cars. It’s likely illegal to be driving over unpaved road like this, but Simon doesn’t give a fuck about the risk. What he cares about is giving you a view, and making new memories with the woman he cares about most.

Ascending a ridge, Simon comes to a stop, turning the bike and shutting it off.

To the left is the open sea.

There is no one around. No cars or noise. Just the view. And fresh highland air.

Simon twists a bit and offers you his arm Your dismount isn’t graceful but you don’t stumble. Instead, you’re hastily pulling on the straps in your eagerness to remove the helmet. When you have it off, Simon is just getting off the bike.

Your smile is so wide and fierce. He’s never seen you like this. There is a sense of adventure he didn’t realize was there this whole time. Simon removes his helmet and face covering. Holding his helmet in one hand, he walks up behind you, wrapping one arm around your waist to hold you close.

You sink against him, your hand covering his. “Thank you, Simon.”

He can hardly hear you over the crashing waves below, but he does, and his answer is a soft kiss to the top of your head.

The two of you stand there, gazing out at the ocean. Neither of you speaks, and Simon doesn’t mind. It’s peaceful simply existing in your presence. Simon doesn’t need to think about anything. He can hold you close to him, and that’s enough.

You twist in his arm and glance up at him. Your eyes are soft and full of an emotion that Simon first registers as love. Yet that can’t be right. You haven’t said that word to him, but neither as he.

Affection, yes. But love? Not yet.

Not yet.

Simon’s gaze drops to those luscious lips and he cannot resist. He meets them with his own, and you greet him eagerly. It is a slow dance of self-control. Simon wants to consume as much as he wants to savor. But he’s not the one seeking more. You’re ravenous, deepening each kiss until Simon swears he can taste the salt of the sea on his tongue.

Drawing back is torture, but he manages. “What are you doing, love?”

Your lips part. There is an answer forming there, but you aren’t saying anything. Simon wants to coax it from, for you to speak your mind, to say whatever it is you’re struggling to communicate.

But he also can’t force. He can’t take what you do not freely give.

If words cannot be spoken, Simon can give you something else.

“Come here,” he says, turning you around. “Give me your helmet.”

You offer it to him and he takes it. Simon strides over to the bike and hangs a helmet on each of the handlebars. He gestures to you, one hand extended. You come to him immediately, and Simon draws you close, wrapping his arms around your waist.

These kisses are not slow. They are deep. Consuming. Simon’s dick is hardening in his pants with each one. His hands roam over your body, grabbing at whatever they can. You groan into his open mouth, and Simon knows exactly what he wants.

He pulls back and grasps your chin. “Can I fuck you?”

Your eyes widen. “Out here?”

“There’s no one around,” he says, stealing another kiss. “And I want you.”

You grin sheepishly, shying away from him slightly. “What did you have in mind?”

Simon has plenty of ideas, but there’s only one he really wants to try. “Do I have your permission?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

With his hands on your hips, Simon guides you over to the sport bike. Sliding inward, Simon goes for the front of your jeans. The button first. Then the zipper. Slipping his hands underneath the band, he shoves your jeans and underwear down to your thighs, revealing your ass to the cool air.

“Bend over the bike.”

“Over the bike?”

“Over the bike,” repeats Simon.

You place both hands on the seat. Glancing over your shoulder, Simon sees the hesitation.

“We can stop,” he says, because he can. This never has to go further unless you want it to.

“That’s not it,” you reply softly.

Simon walks up behind you, brushing some of your hair behind your ear. “Think we’ll get caught?”

You shake your head.

“I won’t let you fall.”

“I know. I trust you, Simon.”

Simon grabs your neck and pulls you in, claiming your mouth. Your lips part and Simon slips his tongue inside.

“Bend over that fucking bike, love. I need to be inside you.”

The heat in your cheeks stirs Simon’s groin to attention. You obediently bend over, presenting your gorgeous ass to him. With your jeans around your thighs, you cannot spread wide. It’ll be a tight fucking fit, but Simon doesn’t care.

What he’d like to do is lick your clit until you’re dripping, but this will have to do.

Simon is quick with the front of his pants. The urge to be inside you burns in his bones, and when his cock is free, Simon feels like he can suddenly breathe. He rubs the head against your pussy, and he’s greeted with your slickness.

“Fucking hell,” he murmurs. You’re ready for him, and he’s hardly touched you.

Simon finds what he’s after, and starts to sink in.

You gasp aloud, the sound of it cut off by a crashing wave. Simon grasps your hips, sinking in further until he’s seated entirely inside.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, composing himself.

The fit is tight, and you’re completely grasping him as if you don’t want him to retreat or move at all. Simon needs to get his shit together fast. He’s been inside of you for only a few seconds and he’s ready to blow.

You have one hand on the gas tank and the other on the footpeg. You’re too far forward to glance back at him. Simon would like to see your face, but this position is fucking sexy. You’re at his mercy, presented to him like an indulgent treat.

With his hands on your waist, Simon rolls his hips, slowly working his cock in and out of your pussy. It’s a slow drag, and Simon feels every single part of you. It’s heaven. Paradise.

Every stroke draws forth a moan from you. Even with the waves crashing against the cliff, Simon can hear each sound you make. Each one drifts up and curl around his head, penetrating his senses.

This is fucking perfect to him.

Your pussy clenches, and Simon’s hips stutter, wobbling the bike.

Fuck.

If Simon is too rough, he might send the two of you toppling over. He needs to be fucking careful. Sure, he wants to fuck you, but this is mostly about you, and making you feel good.

Digging deep, Simon drags up a morsal of control. Finding a better grip on you, he sets a steady, rolling pace.

Simon keeps rhythm until you groan and your pussy clenches hard around him. He’s not far behind, staying in to the hilt as he fills your pussy for the fourth time today.

Every exhalation brings steam, and Simon suddenly realizes how cold its become. Slowly, he slips from your body, cock softening as he stuffs himself back inside his pants.

He helps you unbend, returning you to an upright position. You turn around with a dazed but pleased look on your face. Simon eases your jeans over your ass, closing the zipper and securing the button for you as you fix your hair.

“Want to stick around for a bit?” asks Simon.

“Could we go for a ride instead?”

“Sure, love. Whatever you want.”

After the ride, you and Simon rarely leave the cottage. Simon wants you in every position and on every surface. He got exactly that and so much more. Simon forgets about everything and spends each moment with you present and happy.

Which makes the return that much harder.

It’s a slow tearing of flesh with nothing to staunch the pain. Simon drags his feet returning to London. You’re a dead brick the whole drive, snoozing softly in the passenger seat. Simon doesn’t disturb you. In fact, he drives slower, reaching out to you on occasion just to reassure himself that you’re real and close.

When Simon pulls into Amelia’s drive, he almost backs right out and takes you home with him. Simon sits in the driver seat and stares as your sleeping form.

Reality isn’t always nice. It isn’t always fun.

These last five days have been some of the best of Simon’s life. He doesn’t want to return to anything. He only wants you, and the rest of the world can just fuck off for a while.

He hates what he does next, but he does it.

Simon unloads the car, and carries your bag to the front door. He doesn’t have to knock. Amelia is there to greet him.

“She’s asleep in the car,” says Simon automatically.

Amelia shrugs. “Room is upstairs and to the left.”

Simon silently ascends. The door is open and the light is on. He knocks softly and pushes it open. Evie reclines on the bed with a book in hand. Bravo is on the very edge, facing the door. His head perks up at Simon’s entrance.

His tail smack smack smack’s against the comforter.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, dropping the bag just inside the door. “Come on, Bravo.”

At the car, Simon opens the passenger door. He stares at you a moment before gently shaking you awake. You twist toward him, rubbing at your eyes. When you notice it’s Simon, you smile, and it hurts him somewhere deep.

“We’re here,” he says, almost raspy.

“Already?” you yawn.

He clears his throat. “Afraid so.”

You slip out of the car and Bravo comes forward, pressing his nose into your head. Simon grabs your other hand and pulls you close. “Let me walk you to the door.”

“I need my bag.”

“Already took it upstairs.”

You squeeze his hand and go up on your toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

Simon steps back and opens the rear passenger door. “Inside, Bravo.”

The German Shepard obediently hops in. Simon shuts the door, still holding your hand, and walks you to the front door. He doesn’t want to let go, but it’s cold out, and you need rest.

“I had fun,” you say.

“Just fun?” teases Simon.

You shake your head. “I liked getting away for a bit.” You reach up and rest your hand against Simon’s cheek. “And being with you.”

Simon turns into the touch and presses his lips to your palm. “When can I see you again?”

Your face falls, and Simon’s heart drops into his stomach. “I don’t know. Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Of course, love.”

You do call him the next day, and Simon can hear the quiet anxiety in your voice. The two of you were gone for almost a week, and anything could have happened during that time. While Simon isn’t particularly happy that he cannot see you, he understands. He also has his own shit to take care of.

Because he rearranged his schedule to take you away for a few days, Simon rebooked appointments almost on top of each other to make it happen. That isn’t ideal either, but he did it for you, and that makes it worth it for him.

It’s an entire week without you, and the days of November are starting to creep towards the cold of December. He hasn’t even asked you about coming with him back to Johnny’s family farm for Christmas. It’ll be expected that he goes, and he’s already blocked off his schedule, but he needs to convince you to come.

After the last client leaves for the evening, Simon closes up shop. It’s routine at this point, and he’s upstairs pouring himself a whiskey in a matter of minutes. Bravo pads over to his bed, turning three times before digging at it and then flopping down with a huff.

“Hard day?” asks Simon and Bravo grumbles at him.

Simon snorts into his whiskey glass. He shoots it back and then reaches for the bottle.

A chime goes off in the kitchen. Simon freezes.

He knows that sound. It’s not his personal phone or one of the many appliances. It’s one that he never wants to hear. Ever.

Simon turns in his chair, staring into the dark kitchen. He waits, thinking that he might not have heard the sound after all.

The chime comes again and Simon shoots up out of his chair. Simon flips on the kitchen light and strides toward the phone. He always keeps it on. Always keeps it plugged in.

Simon had it during his time in the military, and Price told him to keep it in case they ever needed him. It’s encrypted. And its sole purpose is for secure communication.

It hasn’t gone off since his retirement.

Simon snatches up the phone, removing it from its charger. He’s not sure what he’ll find.

Taking a deep breath, Simon logs on, and a message stares back at him.

It’s not Price. Or Gaz. Or even Laswell.

It’s fucking Johnny.

It’s Walsh, Lt.

Of course it fucking is.

Expect me Friday.

[vaya-writes]

Current writing advice I'm seeing on TikTok and Insta is telling authors to stop using em dashes in their work because, "AI uses em dashes so people will think you've used AI."

Y'know, the AI that was trained on the stolen work of real authors?

Anyway, I will not be doing that. What I will be doing, however, is adding a note at the start of all my books that no AI was used in the creation of my work because I, the author, did not go to university for four fucking years to study English literature and linguistics only to be told I can't use proper grammar because someone might think a robot wrote it.

Fucking, insane.

[vaya-writes]

[vaya-writes]

I'm still thinking about the softbox crab hybrid, and how they sometimes end up snatching other crab's mates...

It was an adjustment learning to get used to your new 'husband' and his quirks as a hybrid. The constant was being picked up and moved at his whim or being guided away from areas he deemed scary. Mostly, it was how you had been moved to his little grotto home.

The phone calls you had to awkwardly make and explain what had happened to you were slightly embarrassing, especially from your parents when you had to explain you are technically now married to a large crab hybrid that had picked you up and run off with you.

The real adjustment was when he hung out with his friends and their partners, the humans sitting together and talking about how life had changed so quickly and all the things they had to change now, complaining to each other before you are unceremoniously lifted and carried away, only looking up at the hybrid carrying you do you realise thats not your husband.

One of his friends had scooped you up instead and carried you away from the 'threat', a group of large seagulls, and once he was far enough away, he managed to look down and see that he had grabbed the wrong partner.

Having to be awkwardly carried back to your actual 'husband' and handed over to him, waving at the other human as they are carried away and begin scolding their hybrid partner about grabbing the wrong person when he had run. Laughing to yourself as your new partner sulks and mutters an apology as he returns the two of you to his home, settling into his nest bed with you in his arms before nodding to himself and tugging at your clothes, silently asking you to strip for him.

Quietly muttering about how he knows how to make sure he grabs the right one next time, adjusting his hold on you as he slings your legs open over his thighs and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, quietly asking for you to work yourself open for him so that he can get himself ready, watching and chittering as he strokes his cock, the unique shape catching your eye as you finger yourself open for him.

The tip beads with something small, shiny, orange...

His solution to knowing he always grabbed the right spouse is by making sure you're filled with him and his roe

[vaya-writes]

so anyway, I'm doing conlanging stuff for my insecty-humanoid species, and like any good neuro-weird person I'm getting way too into the research side of it all, and in the massive research book I'm reading I stumble across this diagram

and like

Sir

Sir.

Those are just monster dildos

[vaya-writes]

girlknight slumped over the bar at the local tavern, three pints in, gripping her own scalp, "i have GOT to stop swearing oaths of fealty"

[vaya-writes]