Lads takes up so much space it's genius that they put in a period tracker but we have to combine more apps. Let me check my email. Sylus is now my secretary. My alarms? Zayne wakes me up now. Food? Xavier burnt the apartment down so now he orders doordash for you and keeps track of your favorite things. Bored? Rafayel has Netflix on his phone now.
Still brain rotting over Soap being into Simonâs selectively mute (edit; I originally labeled reader as non-verbal, but I was made aware mutism more accurately describes this!) gf.
cw: exhibitionism/vouyerism
Things really quietly escalate during movie nights. Youâre usually in Simonâs lap, under a blanket. And Simon starts touching you. Johnny notices, his eyes keep flicking to Simonâs arm over your front and wrist leading down beneath the quilt. The first couple of times this happens, heâs able to tear his eyes away and keep his eyes on the tv, and doesnât mention a thing.
Until he canât keep it going anymore. Youâre watching some shitty sword-and-sorcery movie. A barbarian and a royal knight who have to put aside their differences and join forces to save the princess and the rest of the realm. He doesnât give a fuckâ he was really only keeping his eyes on the screen hoping the princessâs pretty tits would distract him. They donât.
This time heâs fully staring. The gentle rock of Simonâs wrist. If Soap focuses, he can hear the sound of his fingers in your wet little cunt. You keep your eyes on the movie, while Simon lets his head loll and faces Johnny, lazy smirk creeping into his face.
âShe know I can see what yer doinâ to âer, LT? Fuck, I can hear itâ smell it, even. She ok with that?â
âWas her idea to start with, Johnny.â Soap sucks in a breath and starts palming himselfâ rock hard in his pants.
âThat true, hen? You wanted me to see you gettinâ fucked on Siâs fingers?â
You look to him and nod.
âYou mind if I take my cock out, then? A little cruel to show me my best mate knuckle deep in a beautiful girl and expect me târesist.â You lean back and whisper into Ghostâs ear a bit.
âSays she wants tâsee it, sergeant. Wants you to stroke yourself off for us.â The jingling of a belt buckle is immediate and itâs timed perfectlyâ the barbarian breaking through his chains on screen, able to catch the princess from a fall in the nick of time. Johnny bites his lip hard as he spits and wraps a fist around his cock.
âFuckâ mark mâwords, baby, once I hear you say you want me, itâs over for you, bonnie.â
simon and reader who is in an "open" relationship.
the night your boyfriend brought up the idea of an open relationship your heart crumbled, but you agreed due to being too afraid of losing him. his idea of open was bringing people over an fucking them in your shared bed while your hid your teary face the next morning.
that was until you met simon at a bar, it was a night out with your friends, drinking to forget the person your "boyfriend" brought home last night.
his big figure sat at the corner of the bar, ordering shot after shot of whiskey, his accent thick as he talked to you and heard you rant and complain about your boyfriend.
"wanna give him a lil pay back?" he asks, glass against his lips and a cocky smile, you feel your cheeks heat up.
"what do you mean?"
"i think you know what i mean sweetheart."
simon walked home with you as you were too scared to get on his bike, his big frame making you feel minuscule as he walks a few steps behind you. you talk all the way back, a bit nervous as you see the lights on your apartment on.
once the both of you walk in he gets cocky, looking at your flustered face as you grab his hand and lead him to the couch.
"wanna drink?"
"i think we had enough lovie, just enjoy the moment." his hands went to your hips, pulling you to him, making you fall on his lap. his kisses were suprisingly soft, his calloused hands rubbing your body in all the right places.
he stood up, your legs wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him, between kisses you lead him to the guest room. he gently placed you on the bed.
he took of his hoodie, you bite your lip as you see his tattoos, his big muscles and the veins that run all over his arms.
simon smirked as he crawled in bed, on top of you.
that night, he made sure that you were loud, hitting all the spots your boyfriend could never, touching and squeezing your body like no one, spanking and kissing at just the right time.
the next morning, when simon was sipping on a cup of coffee, only a towel around his waist, he smiled brightly at your "boyfriend".
"mornin', rough night?"
lets just say that your "boyfriend" wasnt happy about it, and you broke up with him.
something something Simon coming back with his scars for the first time, face hidden by his new balaclava as he sits on your couch, still as a statue as he glares holes into the carpet.
âSimon we donât have to do this.â You whisper, and he barks out a humourless laugh. âDonât want face it?â He snarks, but shrinks back at the noise of hurt you make, straightening your posture. âYou could never scare me, you know that.â You sigh, taking his hand in yours and running your finger over his veins. âNot like itâs gonna be that much different. Itâs still your ugly mug after all.â
âOh alright stop takinâ the piss.â He snorts, rolling his shoulders and you finally smile, nudging his arm. âCâmon, after that little bitch fit now you really have to-â Your words are cut off when he yanks the mask over his head, clutching it in his hands, staring at a loose thread, grimacing at the sound of your sharp intake of breath.
Simon struggles not to cover his mouth, to not just flee your apartment entirely, when your hand it gripping his chin, forcing him to face you, and your eyes shine with unshed tears as you turn his head this way and that, touch feather light as you trace the jagged scar that runs down the right side of his face. âWell?â His voice is tight, harsh. Youâve never judged him a day in his life and he doesnât know what heâd do if-
âIâm so happy youâre home.â You force out between hiccups, lip trembling as you throw your arms around his shoulders, and itâs easy, melting into you, letting all these new worries and responsibilities melt off his shoulders as your nails scrape against his scalp.
this blog is my diary itâs my sketchbook itâs stuff on my bedroom wall itâs a pdf itâs an unpublished novel itâs a collage. itâs all of these things
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