"si com eget me plsd" and then, instead of a location pin, a screenshot of a map with your street barely visible in the corner, which tells him everything he needs to know about the state you're in. he stares at it for a moment. closes his eyes. gets his keys.
you're outside when he pulls up, leaning against the brick wall with your shoes dangling from one hand and your hair half out of whatever careful style it was when you left, and the moment you see his car your entire face brightens and you push off the wall and stumble toward him like he's the best thing you've seen all night.
"simon!!," you say, drawing his name out like it's something you've been saving.
"yeah," he says. "i'm here. come on."
you stumble and crash directly into his side, both arms winding around his waist, your face pressing into his chest with a contented sound that he feels more than hears. he stands with your shoes dangling against his back and your hair tickling his chin and after a moment of trying to help you to walk, he ends up picking you up bridal style and carrying you.
"you're so strong si" you mumble dreamily, staring at him in absolute awe. when he places you into the car and buckles your seatbelt for you, "you're responsible too"
you manage the passenger seat for almost a full minute before you migrate.
he's not entirely sure of the mechanics — one moment you're buckled in beside him, the next you're somehow mostly across the centre console, sideways, your chin on his shoulder and your hand warm and certain on his thigh before he's even made it out of the car park. he pulls over at the first opportunity and sorts your seatbelt properly, reaching across you, and you look up at him while he does it with an expression that has no business being that specific given the circumstances.
"you're so good to me," you tell him, with complete sincerity.
"sit still," he says, and pulls back onto the road.
you sit still for thirty seconds. maybe thirty five.
then your hand starts moving on his upper thigh. slow, idle, the kind of absent touch that might be accidental on anyone else but on you, right now, tilted toward him with your eyes tracking his profile you're gazing at him with pure lust.
he watches the road. says nothing. when your hand shifts onto his bulge he picks it up and deposits it back in your own lap without comment.
you put it straight back.
he lets it stay, this time, because clearly moving it isn't working and he's a practical man.
this turns out to be a mistake, because you start rubbing there too. he tries to stare straight forward and focus on the road, but his pants are undeniably getting tighter.
"simon," you say, in a voice that is different from your usual voice — lower, a little slow, the careful diction of someone choosing words through a pleasant haze.
"mm."
"you're so pretty" you say, very seriously.
"not the word most people would use," he says.
"well you are pretty. so pretty si." in some form of cuteness aggression, you lean over the console and softly bite his neck. then you decide its not enough and give sloppy kisses down his neck.
"lovie sit back."
"i am sitting back. i wanna sit on your face though siiii." you mumble against his neck and your nails drag lightly against his bulge. his jaw tightens incrementally. "simon."
"ten minutes," he says. "we're ten minutes away."
"i just want—"
"i know what you want."
"and?"
"and ten minutes."
you consider this for a moment, apparently decide ten minutes is a negotiating position rather than a statement of fact, and say something directly against his ear — low and unhurried and specific enough that every muscle in his body contracts simultaneously. the car remains in its lane. it takes more effort than he would like to admit.
"christ," he says, very quietly, to the windscreen.
"is that a yes," you say, settling back with the satisfaction of someone who knows exactly what they've done.
"it's a keep your hands where they are and let me drive," he says.
you keep your hands where they are. you also keep talking — which, as it turns out, is considerably worse than the hands. a steady, uninhibited stream of observations and suggestions delivered in the candid cheerful tone of someone who has temporarily misplaced their filter, all of it aimed at him, all of it landing exactly where you intend it to. simon drives. he keeps his eyes on the road. he responds to none of it, which he's aware is not the same as not hearing it, and the ten minutes stretch out into something that feels significantly longer than ten minutes.
he gets you inside.
the lift is its own specific trial. you're facing him with your back against the panel, arms loose around his neck, looking up at him with those eyes that have always been a problem. you're talking again, softer now, something about his hands and something else about what you'd like and he reaches past you and hits the button for your floor and keeps his eyes forward and breathes steadily and thinks about absolutely nothing at all.
"you're ignoring me," you say.
"i'm listening to every word," he says, which is true and is the problem.
you stop twice on the way to your door. once to tell him something about his shoulders that he files away against his better judgement, and once to make a suggestion so detailed and vulgur that he stops walking entirely for a moment, stands in the middle of the hallway, and takes a slow breath before continuing. you look pleased with yourself.
he gets you through the door. gets you to the bedroom. you sit on the edge of the bed and reach for him with both hands, expression open and warm and wanting, and he catches your hands gently and holds them.
"lie down," he says.
"come with me," you say.
"in a minute. i'm getting you water."
you lie back against the pillow with a small sound that does nothing helpful for the ache in his pants, and he turns and goes to the kitchen.
when he gets back he sees you face down on the pillow, one arm thrown wide, your shoes finally abandoned somewhere between the door and the bed. there you were, fast asleep in your dream world, a small pool of drool already forming at the corner of your mouth, breathing slow and even and completely, utterly unconscious.
and there simon stood, water glass in hand, watching you, while he was sporting a throbbing hard-on and nothing he could do about it.
“you couldn’t make this movie today” not because of cancel culture but because big studios aren’t willing to take risks on cool fun new ideas instead of adaptation number 7,000
or: Simon Riley picks you up after a break up and decides he’ll keep you.
cw: 5.6k words (jeez), mdni 18+, plot with smut, postbreakup!reader, avoidant!reader, harddom!simon/meanie!simon, possessive!simon, dub con, no use of y/n, situationship, p in v, creampie, cowgirl, spanking, dumbification, daddy kink, manhandling, age gap (mid 20s reader, early-mid 30s Simon), reader aesthetic.
a/n: obvious influenced by Amy Winehouse’s song, did a drabble about it but expanded it further. love u, bye.
One thing you knew for certain is that no one stays forever. No one does. Be it friends, co workers, family, relationships— everyone leaves. Whether from death knocking or not.
So why did you have to wait idly by for anyone when you could go off yourself? Spectate the grounds when you were ready and the smoke cleared?
And that’s how you lived. Coming and going, disappearing from the face of the earth and then reappearing like nothing happened. Like some stray. Was is good habit? Of course not. But you’d been tired of disappointment.
Tonight was no different from any other though— that ugly, disgusting, irritable feeling of heartbreak. Disappointment pimp slapping you once again.
Was it even a breakup if it didn’t even start? It was stupid for you to be hung up on a married man. Every single thing about it was stupid but it’s not like you knew he was married. You’d only known for three hours. Mark was his name and he was— he was kind— atleast to you that is. Sometimes.
Okay, out of 100 he was kind 76% of the time. But he bought you clothes, shoes, jewelry, paid for trips, he’d pay your rent— you were a kept woman. Nothing wrong with that.
He’d call? You’d come. Somewhere in the middle, you’d thought Mark would fall in love with you though. That you weren’t just a pretty face, or a good fuck— you could do the emotional, the romance of it all. Not run. All Mark did he’d laugh at you.
“You’re not being reasonable, baby,” he chuckled snidely as he went around the large hotel room, picking up the littered clothing he’d left on the floor.
Reasonable? What was reasonable? Asking for a relationship was unreasonable? That doesn’t even sound right. Your face scrunches up.
Mark feigns a pout, cupping your face after adjusting his tie, “Don’t give me that face baby. You’re too pretty for it.”
“Then I’m just nothing to you Mark?” Your voice didn’t even sound like your own, tight and sharp. But it felt so much smaller.
He scuffs then sighs, gently kissing your lips, “You know you’re not nothing to me baby. You’re- you’re pretty, sweetheart. So gorgeous. You’ve— helped me… so much doll. Been so good to me this entire time. Don’t ruin this for me, please?”
Ah.
Don’t ruin it [+].
Just keep smiling, keep looking pretty, keep wearing that pretty dress and that pretty necklace he got you. Laugh at his jokes, get your own rocks off. But the thought of it just being a pretty and sitting object kept festering in the back of your mind. You wanted more, more, more. You deserved more. You should be able to ask for the whole damned world if you wanted to and receive it on a silver platter with the finest wine and a vanilla ice cream drizzled with chocolate with the cherry on fucking top.
You wouldn’t get that from Mark— you hit a dead end.
It was when you went to go get your friend a gift, you’d entered the revolving door mindlessly, then you heard the family crowd in on the other side. Two kids giggling, a pretty blonde wife smiling and then, fresh and neatly styled brunette hair, hazel brown eyes, dressy attire and a grey trench coat— Mark. The same loving smile he gave you on his face as he planted a kiss at her temple.
He didn’t even notice you.
Your feet stumbled, entering the building, dizzy. Heart trailing out of you and along with the bastard and his fucking generic tv looking family. You followed, back through the revolving door to try to get a glimpse of him.
One more time, one more fucking time— a bad habit. A bad decision. You’d let the man walk away with whatever you gave him today.
It was your fault for letting it get this far to begin with, getting so attached to such a guy who gave you almost everything you’d wanted. Everything but love.
You let out a ragged breath, your lip trembling as you stare at his back. Him trailing away on such joyace footing right along with the setting sun along with his family. Taking the day with him. While you’re stuck to face the music.
Be a big girl, [+]. You’re a big girl. That’s what you’ve always been.
You turn on your heels, no gift in hand, in the opposite direction. The dark blue overtaking the sky, click, click, click of your heels hitting the pavement with every step. Vision getting blurry the further you walk. You don’t even know where you’re going, just letting the tears fall, the pit in your stomach turn into a labyrinth. You could handle it. Just a big, silly, knee scraping fuck up.
Shit, you needed a drink.
It started with a one night stand, doesn’t it always? He’d been away for so long, too long, and just needed to get his mind back into civilization. No other way to do than to get his dick a little wet? And you were available. He’d seen you once before, on some social media. Your posts would attract anyone who saw them. An alluring little thing in that grimy filter, so pretty, had all your curls tossed to one side, smiling with your pretty brown eyes, lifting your shirt just a bit so you could see the black thong you were wearing— a little teaser.
It was an absolute miracle he found you sitting across him in that empty bar, you lifted your head from the counter, long lashes clumped together, mascara slightly smugged, adding to temptation. Ghost bet you’d look even prettier crying on his dick and not over whatever had you in tears that was so minuscule :(.
You were in a tight, cropped, long sleeve turtle neck, dark low rise jeans that oh-so-perfectly hugged your curves and a 90s layered haircut that went down your back. You pulled out your compact mirror, the tears dried up by themselves, you lightly patted your face with fingers. Your eyes wandered around you, then finally to Ghost. You studied him in curiosity, eyes flicking from his brown eyes to his skull faced balaclava. What the fuck was he wearing? You looked around the empty bar only to gain a smirk from him that was unbeknownst to you. He beckoned you over with two fingers.
You were admittedly a little tipsy, talking to someone, even to a masked muscular man would be better than mumbling into the bar tender who very visibly didn’t want to be working their shift. So you dragged yourself over. Ghost watched your hips swish with every motion, even with a couple shots in you, and your eyes a glossy, you were walking as if you hadn’t been through the ringer. Poised.
Ghost listened to your dumb sob story like the many women your age. Some guy fucking you over, but you liked him still. Wanted to be with him and for him to choose you. But he wasn’t going to choose you. Same script different character. Ghost would be kind to you though, at least for the moment—
“Should I help ease your mind then?” His voice raucous, almost obnoxiously deep, sent your brain swooning.
You wave him off, sniffling, “I don’t think I’ll forget this one. I think it was more of a wake up call.”
“Didn’t say I could make your forget,” and his hand reaches yours, pulling you just enough so you’re facing him but still sat in the bar stool. He rubbed your hand gently, “Asked you should I help ease your mind.”
Your heart goes haywire, you lick your lips, eyes flicking from his all black attire to his brown eyes that swam in your own.
“Trynna kill me?”
“Don’t think murderers admit that to their victims, do they?”
The ends of your lips curved up, giggling smacking your forehead and leaning on the bar, insanely gorgeous, “right of course.”
He got you there.
You looked between the brute and the rest of the dingy bar, lights flickering above you— you’d play your hand with the devil tonight.
“Then please do.”
Was it strange for you to follow a man with a mask out of a bar and to his place? Of course. Not an ounce of urgency or concern, he teased you about it with his thick fingers were two knuckles deep inside you as soon as he got you in his house about a 30 minute drive from the bar. “Brainless little thing aren’t ya?”
He tsked, his fingers curling, grazing your g-spot and getting a yelp from you. “Thinkin with your cunt, we’ll have to fix tha’.”
It was when he felt you drenching around his aching red tip with precum, Simon almost lost his mind. Maybe you were the one trying to kill him. Had to get more in you. Arched your back further, slowly stretching your sloppy cunt inch by fucking inch.
“Oh- oh my go- Ghost!” your breath hitched, toes curling, you lift your head just enough to look back at him with those big doe eyes, Christ, you were going to kill him. “Y-you said just the tip.”
He’s just barely acknowledging you, too consumed (literally) by how tight you were choking him length, he grunted, “Heh, Not when she’s begging for me to be inside ‘er. You crazy? Fuckin greedy little cunny you’ve got, as if the tip would be enough.”
And you were whining so beautifully as you clenched around him, clinging at the sheets because the bastard was so thick, so biiiig (just like you moaned), and he pulled you right back down on his length because you could take it. Had to.
He couldn’t even fit all of him inside you.
That’s when he knew he had to keep you on a leash. Not a tight one, loose enough to let you wander, let you think you could continue on like you’ve always been. Hopping around from man to man, unknowingly letting yourself be some bitch. No, no, no that wouldn’t fucking work, not anymore. Not for Ghost. Perfect kitty, soon enough he’d tighten it, just when the time was right, enough that he wouldn’t loose track of you, keep you in check.
Make you his.
You’d assumed Ghost was in the bathroom when you scrambled out his bed and out of his house. The man was a monster, in the best way imaginable, but one night is one night. You’d keep your end of the deal. A taxi was on the way because he truly did live in the middle of no where, no uber or lyft— it was £70 taxi well spent.
“You’re gone?” Ghost asks, wiping his hands with the towel that was in his back pocket. You didn’t know what time it was but the man already had a little smudge on his and face, unshaven stubble, sweat already bleeding through his shirt— he looked too handsome to be true. You’d already felt butterflies fluttering around in your stomach.
“Uh- yeah. I- ehem- it’s been fun.” You nod, curtly.
He hummed, “Sure.”
There’s an awkward silence only filled with the rock music coming from inside the garage. You check your phone, 10:45 am, new message; taxi service: I’ve arrived.
You look up from your phone but there’s absolutely no taxi.
Ghost sees the look of confusion on your face, he’s already moving to one of the cars parked in front of the garage, “Does it look like that taxis coming out here? We’re in the middle of the woods.”
“Oh…” you scatch the back of your neck, and sigh, “well I’ll just walk to meet him then.”
Ghost looked at you, raising an eyebrow, a silly little thing, “So you can miss the taxi and be stranded there for the next forty minutes? Don’t be dumb, baby. Just get in the car!” He barks out his orders, getting in his black truck and slamming it shut.
It’s a simple three minutes, down the long path of his drive way, through the paved brush in the woods to his mailbox. Exactly where the yellow taxi cab sat parked. The truck stilled, Ghost unmoving while you gathered your purse, double checking to make sure everything was there. Your glance at him once more, scars crawling up his neck to the mask, blonde hair, pretty long lashes, brown eyes—
Ghosts voice filled the silent car, just as you opened the passenger door. “You come back when you want.”
It was a simple sentence. A direction.
He was taunting you, had to be. You’d thought about his words for the entire car ride back to your flat. Then day or so, and if you didn’t get a sign from god, you’d move on with your life as if that never happened.
But while rummaging through your purse, on the inside pocket while looking for your wallet, there was a crumbled up piece of paper. Ghosts address and number on the back.
You found yourself back there a week later, after contemplating up and down the small walls of your apartment. you drove yourself this time, cursing to yourself that this was stupid and he wouldn’t want to see you again. But you knocked anyway…
Silence.
You knocked again, rocking on your heels and taking a step back to take a look at the fairly large house. Probably a five or six bedroom, it was old, but fixed up properly. A garage connecting to it, two different trucks outside of it.
Simon opened the door, shirtless, stomach with a little pudge over his untoned abs, tattoos on full display and biceps flexing— he should’ve been on the cover of Mens Health Magazine. A damn model. The blonde nodded towards something in the front garden.
“The keys under the flowerpot over there.”
Without another word, he stepped to the side, letting you into the house. A German shepherd came walking down the hall, immediately coming to sniff you out like you were a bad guy. You immediately went to pet him, your hands finding his collar, a bin shaped tag in the middle of his neck that read, ‘Slugger.’
“I’ve got some things to take care of. You do what you want.”
And with that, Ghost was down the hall. Leaving you in the foyer with his dog. And you’re in disbelief because wasn’t this supposed to be— well— a hookup? A quick, ‘hey, I’m signaling you to bone me.’ You grumble, “that ass,” slipping off your shoes and stepping further into the house.
“As if I’d sit around ‘nd wait, ‘m not some pet.”
Let’s not calling waiting then, you wasted time. Ghost's house was a shell of what once was. The leather couch’s and the tv were new. The end tables, coffee table and mirror that hung on the walls were testaments of time though. Old antiques that had to be from the 70s or 60s, a record player placed in the hallway towards the kitchen, still used, rock records spanning the last five decades sat in crates on the floor. Under the tv was a plethora of movies, vhs to dvd, old classics to new action movies.
There were no pictures though. No photo albums to show that a family once lived here in this old house, none on the walls either. Just old paintings of sceneries, a few wilting plants in the corners of the room. But you could tell, the old bannister that led upstairs, the way the house just barely creaked with you and Slugger’s movements, the pencil marks of growing heights on the wall. A family was here once, but it was long gone.
Being here was like intaking the last lifeless breaths of something, utterly still- stuck.
The couch sunk once you plopped down on it. You sighed, Slugger happily panting with his tongue out at you. Graciously waiting for head pats. You chuckled giving him a little ruffle at his cheeks, “Guess we’re both waitin for the same thing, huh?”
“Still busy?” Your voice was naturally sultry, alluring, popping your head into the room where you heard the keyboard being tapped. This room, Ghosts office, completely different from what surrounded it. New, fresh, sleek, renovated.
Ghost hadn’t intended to be stuck at his desk for the last hour, paper work irritated the blonde to no end. He’d rather hand it off to Price. But you’d shown up on your own accord. Didn’t fight when he told you he had something to do, sceptical but still wanting to see whatever he had out for you— patient, just like he wanted. Good kitty.
“No,” a little white lie, he patted his leg, “come on.”
You shift on your feet, footsteps on the smooth hardwood gliding you behind his desk and onto his leg. “I didn’t take you for a business man Ghost.”
“A nickname like mine and you thought business?” His eyebrow raises, amused.
“Related to it! It’s related, no?”
“The military. Lieutenant.” You giggle, shoving his shoulder, “Then I was half right! Not bad, if I do say so myself.” You go on talking, treading lightly on the tightrope, your heart rate picking up while his thumb brushing over your plump lips, lost at the sight of you, gorgeous.
You chuckle, eyes finding his, “You’re not even listenin to a word—“
“—You talk too much.” He murmurs, planting his lips on his. It’s quick. Too quick for your own liking, your grip his hair and put his lips back on yours. They part just enough for his tongue to slip through. It’s wet, it’s sloppy, it’s desperate. Ghost throws your shirt and bra on the cluttered desk, skirt hiked up above your hips, underwear hanging off your foot. It’s already feeling humid, his large hands groping the two large globes of your ass, gripping harshly as you slid his large pink tip between your folds.
“ ‘S not gonna fit-“ you babble, moaning at the simple feel of his dick on you. One of his hands move up your back, “It’ll fit, just like it did last time, don’t think about it so much.”
“B-but-“ Ghosts hand reaches the back of your neck, gripping, “-[+], I’m not askin you. I’m telling you. Put. It. In.” You snuck down on his cock, painfully slow. Eyes squeezing shut with a shaky breath as you tried to take Simon. You remembered the limit, dreamt about it in your sleep and woke up with soiled panties. But you wanted to try fitting more, more—
“Oi, don’t get fuckin greedy. You know what to take,” Simon grunted, giving your clit a nice flick.
“ mMmm’ I’m sorry, sorry.” You mewled. You felt your brain was already shot, eyes turning into your skull as you bounced up and down. Ghosts head coming down perfect to bite and suck on your hardened nipples. You were hiccuping and crying, feeling that vein while his dick scraped your soaking walls.
You hadn’t even realized how dumb you looked, head resting on his shoulder, your arms hooked up under his while Simon took hold of your hips, guiding you up and down, back and forth, on his cock, drool continuously forming that you had to suck back up and slurring out daddy, daddy, daddy.
There’s a snap in your face, a deep chuckle you feel that comes from the bottom of his stomach, “God, is that brain even on? Too fucked out to hear me?”
You keen, “feels- ooough! Feelsh so g-good daddy.”
“I knooow. Poor baby,” Simon fake coos, pulling you away so he could really get a look at that adorably stupid look on your face. Simon couldn’t wait to see more of it. “Can’t even think properly, huh? Don’t worry, Daddy’ll do the thinking for now on. You’d like that, hm? Need someone to guide your little head.”
You moan and bite your lip, looking at him with those pretty brown eyes while rutting your hips so desperately— “Need you, need you so- hicc— soooo-“ Your own gasp cuts you off, eyes widening and shutting and you fell into the crash of a orgasm.
So sweet, so good, a orgasm that got you so high, it would land you right back down into Ghost's arms.
The relationship was— well the situationship— it wasn’t a bad arrangement.
You found stability within Ghost. Shocker? To you, yes.
There were no set rules to him, you could come and go as you pleased— the key under the green flowerpot in the front yard were yours— and if Ghost was there, he’d fuck you just as you needed. Rough and deep, pulling at the blonde strands of his hair whilst he ate your swollen pussy after wearing you thin, crying and thrashing. And when you woke up Ghost was either gone, in the living room watching some 80s flick rerun or in the garage.
“Leaving?”
“Yeah, see you later.”
“Mm.”
He didn’t press, he didn’t pull. He was constant. Ghosts house become your little safe haven. Anytime you felt like running off, being alone yet not alone, you were back there, blast music whenever you wanted, dance around without your neighbors banging on the wall and you’d have a cute little dog to pet everytime you gad the chance, Even when he’d gone on a mission, he’d leave you a note, ‘replace what you eat’ or ‘take care of the house’ because he’d known you’d be there. That was the very least you could do, right?
Take Slugger on a walk or two, fill the fridge before ransacking it, leave a couple clothes in the bedroom because you always forgot something at your place. Buy the fashion magazines you’d been dying to read and set them right under the stack Ghost had left there.
It felt so nice to be in Ghosts big arms, you didn’t have to have that hard shell you worked so hard to create, let his calloused hands explore you. Gently from your stomach to your chin, caressing ever so softly, you couldn’t help but lean into it. Lashes fluttering, sitting idly in one of his shirts that went mid thigh or maybe in the little black and blue tank top and underwear set he bought you.The one with lace at the hem that showed off your plump ass and hard nipples— you waited patiently for whenever he came home. Be it 7 pm or 1 am.
Let him ruffle your hair before you could swat him away, let him get a long and good look at you after his long day. Bring your ankle to his lips on the other end of the couch you two were both slouched on, movie playing in the background, before playfully biting.
Simon would ask, “What’d you do all day, hm?”
“Work, bullshit, more work.” You’d scuff, playing your nails but you weren’t focused on them. Not at all, more focused on Ghosts reaction, none of course, “let’s hear the bullshit then.”
You couldn’t help but want to be there. Because Simon wanted to hear you, his sweet girl, go on and on till you got tired, all curled up in his lap. Dozed off and nuzzling into the man’s every touch. Simon adored that about you.
You hadn’t even realized how kept you were until he handed that card, telling you, “you should get your own dresser instead of hogging mine. And get Slugger that collar you wanted for him.” As if you’d forgotten.
Did you run because you could see a storm brewing a mile away? Felt yourself reverting to the girl you once were with Mark. Being left to your own devices then meant to be the stress reliever. Kept. That’s what Ghost had to see you as right? Nothing more than pretty object. Right?
No, this was your greed festering again. Something you should’ve shoved downs flight of stairs just when you got that little nibble of proper attention you wanted. Ever wanting, ever needing— More, more, more. Fuck the world, you wanted the galaxy— the universe. You’d dreamed of it one night, living peacefully in this house, warmth filling it, laid out in his truck, watching the stars pressed into the blondes side. But Ghost couldn’t give you the universe. You were stupidly sure of that— convinced every molecule to refute the idea of it. No man could. You’d accepted that.
You’d rather be alone than to be let down.
And maybe it’s on Simon for not tightening the leash when he had the chance. He shouldn’t have let you perch in his lap and rub into him without telling you that there was no backing out of— well— this. Another problem. He should’ve told you that you’d be his, no more of the back and forth. Settle you properly. You hadn't even known you’d slithered around a snake tamers neck.
You were so blatantly ignoring him. Ignoring his calls, his texts. And it’s not like he was harassing you, he’d call or text once a week. See if you’d bite, but he’d get nothing. But you were still going place to place (he had your location on), showing off all sexy and high tailed with your friends. Eating, clubbing, working, showing your pretty face to the camera. Like nothing out of the ordinary was going on.
It irritated Simon. To the point, the men working under him were even more terrified and exhausted of him after training. Soap had to remind him to ease up on them, “They’re wee babies aren’t they?”
No, they were annoying little brats, who should understand without being told. Just like you.
Simon realized his fault. He just needed to train you right. Strays are all the same. You could keep them around for so long, let them bite and scratch even as you pet them, they leave, maybe get roughed up a bit then— they’d be right back when they needed or wanted. Looking for comfort, to find out if anything had changed— safety. You’d known where you were supposed to be eventually.
He heard the front door open, gently shutting it closed and the zipper of your boots coming off.
“Where’ve you been?” Simon thundered. He was sat on the couches closer to the window, man spreading, brown eyes piercing you.
You glance off, voice just above a whisper, “Around.”
Around? Right. Just paying the person you gave your attention to, no mind. Not an answer that would fly, not in Simons book.
“I just came to get a jacket.”
But you don’t move, the tension is too thick. Almost suffocating. You didn’t know why you were back honestly. You wanted to see him, just for a bit. Even if it was to grab one of his old shirts. Say hi to Slugger. The jacket was an excuse.
“What’d’you want [+]?”
What do you want? You blinked. Once. Twice. To go home. A new thought because you so badly wanted to be here no matter what you did, your mind would trail back to being here, face pressed in Simons thigh, almost purring the way he rubbed the back of your nape, Slugger on his doggy bed sleeping, Simon telling you to hush because you were talking over the horror movie you were scared of— that’s what you wanted.
But is that what you deserved? Is that what Simon wanted? Simon was looking right through you, eyes deep and searching for any waver yet understanding. Oh, it wasn’t just a simple question. It was, ‘What do you want so I can make you stay?’ Fickle were the worries that crossed your mind to Simon. He saw the way you kept shifting foot to foot, eyes in a panic, playing with your nails and the rings on your finger—you were scared. He was driving you into a corner on purpose.
Run. Just like you always do. It’s better this way.
“I-I want my jacket.” You stammered out, swallowing the spit in your mouth, “I need to get it, then I’ll get out of your hair.”
Your reply was like a rejection, a smack in empty forrest. You move finally, up the stairs, and you hear it. It’s like a rare bell that chimes when you finally come to a realization— Simons chuckle. It’s short but deep, drenched in sarcasm.
Faster.
Ghost was on you before you could get down the hallway, throwing you over his shoulder— tightening.
It was wrangling a feral cat. This entire beginning to now, letting you come and go when you wanted, feeding you, cuddling you, gifting you— it was house training a stray. And now that you’d bit his hand, and I mean really bit it, he’d force you into a house cat—
Help your stupid little brain remember where you belonged.
Right up under Simons large build, your hands pinned together at your stomach in one of his hands, shoving your face down into the mattress of his bed with the other, dropping every fucking inch of his girth into your tight pussy. Squirming too much, mewling, “ ‘s too much- agh- daddy too much!”
And there’s a large hand that comes down on your ass, fixing your lower back to arch so you weren’t in fetal position, “Shut up ‘nd take it, take it, fucking take it.”
You’d never in your life felt so full, so stretched, so out of your mind. Your lucky Simon was giving you the opportunity to take those shaky breaths, try to get used to the size, but it didn’t make a difference. Your snug cunt was gripping him like a vice, he wanted to memorize every single bit of it.
He breaths through his nose, shuddering before snapping his hips into yours, “Fuckin hell, baby, all this f’me. Always been for me.” His thrusts are slow and mean, dragging himself out so his tip is right at the entrance of your hole then plowing back into you.
“Fuuuu- so full- so much,” you gasp, tears forming in your eyes.
“Holdin out on me, mmph- you were holdin out on me alllll this time. Like I wouldn’t- fuck- be able to fit in your pretty pussy ‘nd then leavin me high and dry,” he grunts, delirious on your gummy walls, thrusts becoming more rapid, his heavy balls hitting your clit with every movement, He snickers, “You lost your brain princess, this is where you should be. Turnin that dumb little brain off and takin my cock.”
Simon presses your hands down on your stomach, exactly here his dick was pressing your cervix, you flinch, sobbing out his name as you cream all over his dick. “Therrrre she goes, gorgeous fuckin slut you are. You've been aching for it haven't you?”
The blonde flips you onto your back, sliding back into your sensitive heat without a second thought. You claw at Ghosts back, eyes rolling into your head like a flimsy doll. Cockdrunk baby, he jaw clenches, that quick wave of jealousy washing over him, but he lets it out out in the way he fucks you. Getting three of his fat fingers and rubbing loud and sopping mess you’ve left around your clit. Getting you through three orgasms just by playing with that bundle of nerves.
He nibbled everywhere, sure to leave hickies around your neck and chest, then bites. literally. “To think, you’d go off without a word to me, like you don’t care. Who told you to run off like that? Huh? Daddy didn’t, did I?” The blonde presses all your weight down on you, swiveling his hips.
“N-no” you hiccup, his hand goes to your throat, giving it a nice squeeze, “No what? Don’t you have any manners doll?”
“No sir,” you yelp, that strawberry pink cockhead hitting your g-spot. The plap, plap, plap, of Ghost bottoming at your then giving your g-spot a knuckle sandwich with his dick.
“Told you, you over think too fuckin much,” Ghosts voice strangled, “Get out of your head, enough of the running.”
“I don’t,” you shake your head but Simon squeezes your cheeks together, throwing your legs over his shoulders, “don’t fuckin lie, [+], don’t feed me bullshit.”
And you feel smaller than you ever had, whimpering, the most vulnerable you've ever been, forcing everything out and handing over the key to Pandora’s box- “You- you can’t let go, okay? You have to- hicc- you have to be with me!”
As if you had to ask.
He just needed to hear it from your plump lips, even if it took you being overstimulated, tears on his shoulder and your mixed cum spilling out of your swollen pussy. He’d tame you over and over and over, just for you to stay with him. Keep you close.
“Open,” Ghosts mezmorized, your mouth falls open and a wad of his spit falls in. He closes your mouth with his thumb, “Swallow” and you did, throat bobbing in his hands. He pressed your forehead together, molding your lips, biting your lips so much you can feel the blood.
You're purring, eyes glazed over and slurring, “Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Daddy?”
“Princess,” he leers but you moan louder at that, arms wrapping around his tattooed broad shoulders.
Call and fucking response, the ends of Ghosts lips curve up. Such a sweetheart, checking to see if he was there, and he would always be right there.
“Sweet baby, learning to be greedy?” He hummed and you’re slowly nodding that clueless little head of yours, your walls clenching a few times, “-hmph want you, want it.”
“Gooood girl, my good girl. Gonna fill your little cunt, yeah? Just how you want, just how you need, right Kitty? Gonna take all of it?”
It doesn’t take much for you to fall off the edge of Simons words, back arching off the bed and Simons holding you tight, still slamming into you while leaving a tender kiss to your forehead. Till you feel those big fat globs of milky cum hitting your cervix.
Simon looks at the state of you, glowing, breathtaking even in your exhausted state, he could’ve moaned at the sight of you, pushing your curls out of your face and licking up the tears that once fell.
Gorgeous kitty, Simon would take care of you now.
a/n: this took forever. I love blackcat!reader the most. Lmk what you think pls
Right now don’t hate me but honesty I feel like Elain would be good fit for Tamlin. I KNOW ITS CRAZY but Elain wants a nice place to garden and bake she’s no interest in war or flighting, now that’s what Tamlin wanted from Feyra but they just didn’t have the same views. BUT in no way do u want them to be together in the next book but I think there more compatible than Elain and Azriel. (I hate Tamlin don’t take this the wrong way let me know what u think)
