People are so stupid about snakes. If there's a little black racer chilling outside just leave it alone, you don't have to kill it, it's probably dealing with all your pests for you, jesus christ
glimpse into my beautiful imaginary world where arthropods are really big and we domesticated them
edit: people are starting to say some "my worst nightmare" or "eeeww no that one is yucky and scary" comments on this like they do on any bug post and id like to say. it's fine if you don't like bugs it's fine if you're scared of bugs but don't put that on MY post clearly talking about how much i like them and how cute i think they are. you can make your own damn post about how much you hate wasps or spiders or whatever. i'm blocking people who make these kinds of comments.
Reader getting the worst callsign on base despite the fact you're not even a soldier.
No one knows your name, but everyone knows you're "ghost whisperer" which, in your opinion, is a shit nickname.
Why that name? Because you're the only one ghost listens to.
If anyone needs anything from ghost, reports, papers, signatures or anything else, they go through you. Because through you it actually gets done instead of brushed off or on rare occasions spitefully burned.
The current rumor is that, being prices kid, you're protected by the captain and ghost has to listen to you.
Other rumors include you and ghost having a...different kind of relationship.
The truth?
Nearly every Saturday you and ghost meet up late into the night at one of the gyms your friend owns, and you beat the shit out of him. As it happens, the way to earn ghosts respect is to accidentally send him to medical at least once every few months.
You still tell people he's sleeping with you, but that's mostly to piss off your dad.
I feel like ghost is the type of guy you need to sneak supplements into his food to get him to take them. Kinda like disguising meds as a treat for dogs.
Quite literally the only thing keeping ghost out of medical were the sandwiches you'd make him Tuesday and Thursday.
An Italian sub, loaded with freshly toasted cheese and meats. In between the lettuce, little vitamins and supplements. Without fail, ghost is too busy scarfing down his food without much chewing to notice the pills you added.
Until he starts leaving bits on the plate, telling you he already ate earlier. For once, you're glad that ghost is actually listening to his body instead of forcing himself to overeat.
Every single day, ghost brings a little beetle terrarium onto base. He carries it instead of a coffee like price, and keeps it on his desk while he does paperwork. It houses a single scarab that he talks to constantly, mumbling on and on with it and pausing like it can talk.
Soap genuinely petitions for a psyche eval after ghost claims "that's my promised, johnny. Don't touch 'em."
For a solid few months people believe ghost is honest to god in a relationship with his beetle. Technically, he is, he just never tells anyone that you're a beetle shifter until he brings you to prices place for team dinner.
Thing about ghost is he's the biggest gossip, but no one knows.
He has no interest in bonding with anyone on base, so he mostly keeps to himself. That, paired with the fact he's naturally stealthy, means people don't pay attention to him before spilling their secrets all over the floor.
Ghost has been witness to many phonecalls, arguments, shared rumors. He keeps every bit og information tucked into his front pocket.
Until he meets you, price's kid. In some bar you doesn't frequent, dragged out for your father's bi-yearly socialization so he can still convince himself he's a good dad.
A good dad who is currently on the other side of the bar from you, chatting up some woman who could be your older sister. You sneer at the display, lean closer to ghost to whisper "you know he's been divorced five times?"
To your shock, ghost happily adds "you know two of those were secretaries he met on base? One of them 'cause he got her pregnant."
"No!" You gasp, turn fully to ghost almost too gleefully. No one ever wants to shit-talk your dad. "Seriously? Is that the one who tried to kill him?"
"Mhmmm," ghost nods along. He takes one of the greasy chips from your plate but you don't mind because he points to garrick whom you've met twice before "last one caught him an' garrick snoggin in her own bed."
"Seriously!?" You whisper-shout, too damn happy.
You, the kid who stubbornly says no more than a single word when talking to any of prices friends, can't seem to shut up that night. You and ghost bond for hours exchanging gossip and bitching about others. He learns all about your professors and you learn about government secrets only to gossip about the people involved.
Your dad ends up taking that pretty lady home and forgetting about you, so you and ghost go back to his place to watch movies and pass out.
He's the closest thing you've had to a friend in years, which would be pathetic if it weren't for how nice it feels.
Now imagine sand tiger shark!reader who's always been afraid to smile around people, right?
Multiple rows of sharp, pointy teeth fill your mouth. The kind that has people grimacing and taking a step back. Usually you wear a mask in public, no one really questions it, but now you're with the 141 and they insist on group meals.
You try to keep to yourself, head ducked down and taking tiny bites of steak to avoid anyone noticing.
"Fuckin' hell, look at thatâ" only for ghost to grab your face across the table and tilt it up. Face completely expressionless while he shoves a thumb under your lips to expose your teeth "freaky shit, innit. Garrick, lookâ"
"Woah. Man." Kyle leans over ghosts shoulder and makes no move to save you from the humiliation. "That's fucking hot."
What.
You've never heard your teeth of all things described in any way as attractive.
"Mh, sharp, too." Ghost adds, other hand coming up to pry your mouth open fully. He tilts your head this way and that, manhandling. "Bet it feels damn good on skin."
Gaz snorts, reaches forward over ghost to prod at your teeth too "yeah, maybe to you, freak. Bet you'd love a blowie from that."
"You'd pay to see it." Ghost shoots back. You have no idea if that's a good or bad thing. Ghost looks you in the eye for a moment "think you could handle tha' without taking my dick off?"
Mostly it's impossible to think about anything besides your burning face and the fingers still in your mouth. Fuck, you've always enjoyed some manhandling, but the whole talking over you is really doing it. You can't help but imagine yourself between them, doing exactly what they want, maybe even biting if ghost asksâ
"Bloody hell, can you two be normal for once? Leave the kid alone." Price grunts from down the table.
Oh shit. Yeah. Public space, middle of lunch.
Kyle sits back in his own chair with a grumble, and ghost takes his hand out of your mouth only to lick the gathered saliva offâ
"Simon. I mean it."
"Sir." Ghost nods, smug as hell. He returns to his meal and leaves your face flushed down to your chest.
Seems like he's decided what he wants for dinner tonight.
cathollic!soap and reader who has a bad history with the church.
Johnny's not really religious, but he isn't not religious either. It's always been a part of his life, he was baptized as a tot and kept going to mass with his mother until he aged out of frequent service and the daycare system the church provided. He has a rosary he keeps in his locker with his civvies and goes to church with his mum on leave, and doesn't think much of it.
He thinks much of you, which is its own separate thing. Flighty little bird, you are, shy and timid and soft. Nothing like him, not anymore. Sure, he's the brightest of his lads, but war has chiseled him into something rough, something that jumps at every sound in the middle of the night. He admits, it's nice having something to roll around in his palms, something that squishes under his hand, something that flutters when he calls it angel.
He doesn't know why you like that nickname so much, but you do. And it fits you, saccharine and sugary, the taste of you makes him suck his teeth and brings an ache to his jaw.
When he brings you home for the first time, you're elated. You put on your lightest dress, do your hair up in clips that jingle when you tilt your head, flounce your hair until it frames your face just so. He warns you about the coldness of the coast but you don't care, you lean into his side for warmth anyways. His little bird, his angel, burrowing into him.
You still when you see the crosses in his childhood home.
You actually freeze, all rigid as his mum pulls you against her chest, wide eyes trained on the wooden carving hung on the wall. You barely remember to avert your eyes from it as she speaks to you, your face tight and ashen as you nod and smile.
He's never seen his angel like that.
You're worse as the week drags on. You're quiet in his childhood home, he can barely get a word out of you. You don't eat, you don't sleep, he can feel something consuming you as the hours drag on. He watches his angel get more and more skittish, watches you dig your nails into your arm under the kitchen, over the faint and fine scars he never wanted to ask about.
When his father comes home from his hunting trip, it's when it takes a turn for the worse.
When his dad looks at you and asks, all smooth and well-meaning, "You a God-fearing lass, hen?"
You shake beside him, your hands so tightly wound that Johnny can't take one of them in his own, cemented together.
"I am, Mister MacTavish."
He smiles. "Good."
Johnny feels something tighten in his stomach, watching his angel decay in front of him.
(: Simon is a shitty boyfriend and John is a little too morally corrupt
18+ MDNI
TW: mentions of micro-cheating, cruel Price amid sex
Masterlist
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Simon is such an emotionally unavailable arsehole that after many years of trying to make a relationship work on false promises you both know he canât keep due to much unresolved trauma, you finally decide to put yourself first. You love Simon, and you know somewhere deep down in his cold, dark, dead heart he loves you too. Just not enough to stop fucking disrespecting every boundary you put in place. It comes to a head when he is again caught texting another female from the SAS. They have never been in the same division, not even close, and you know sheâs had eyes on YOUR boyfriend for months. They donât work anywhere in proximity, so why does he need to speak to her?!
Simon is both naive to her advances (you genuinely believe he isnât trying to fuck her) and stubborn against what he dubs your âcontrolâ and keeps talking to her after he promises you heâs unadded her number and wonât speak to her again. In his eyes, he is just being polite to a coworker, and you have to learn to deal with that. You know that sheâs got nefarious intentions, and honestly, if Simon wants to ignore one of the only hard boundaries youâve ever put in place, he can get screwed and fuck up someone elseâs mental health. If she wants him, she can have him.
Enter Price, who sweeps you off your feet. Literally. Heâs been waiting for Simon to cock this up for a long time and he wines and dines you at the immediate ample opportunity.
The motherfucker even grins at you, when heâs his entire length stuffed into your pussy and he starts talking about Simon.
âDonât worry, dovie. Iâll never hurt you like that.â
The thought of Simonâs deceptions and lies hits your chest like a wrecking ball, and despite the fact John is dragging his cock through your cunt like he was made for it, you feel the first hot sting of tears. Your heart is still very much cracked in your chest.
John leans down and you feel the almost bristled surface of his hairy chest meet your soft breasts. Heâs dirty, licking the first tear that falls so he can savour it. Heâs going to be the reason no more of these are shed for Lieutenant Riley ever again.
âDonât cry, angel, canât you feel how hard you make me? Iâve waited and waited for Simon to fuck things up with you to the point where you come to my bed instead.â
The next tear falls, and the next, and youâre gripping the sheets more so to stop yourself from full on sobbing as Price fucks you through your torment. He likes seeing you like this. He knows itâs wrong. Maybe he should stop and make sure youâre alright. But youâre shattered and clearly hung up on Simonâs betrayal. Just not enough to stop his Captain from rutting his cock in and out of you.
âBet he never made you feel this good, eh?â John coos into your ear, gently tucking your hair behind cartilage and running a big hand down the column of your throat. âYou feel that? The way your pulse is singing for me while your heart and mind latch onto him?â
The sad thing is that you can feel it. Itâs definitely all for John - the way your hips twitch and grind upwards to meet his. Youâre breathless but not from the tears of your heartache. Johnâs cock is different to Simonâs. Itâs not as long but itâs definitely a fuck lot thicker. It makes the way he grinds against the spongey bulge of your g-spot euphoric. Your back arches up into him.
âThere she is.â
John could get used to this. He doesnât mind the fact that youâre devastated over Simon. He actually loves the fact you are choosing him amidst your grief. Big ego and grey morals and all that.
âSing for me birdie. Sing and I will set you free.â He grunts, working his way deeper into you, harder, faster.
Youâre sobbing silently as Price fucks you. Your mind is full of Simon, the fact he is probably already screwing that other girl (he is), while youâre here in his superiors bed doing the same. Every now and then, Price manages to hit that spot deep in your cunt again that does have you crying out in pleasure and at that, a wolfish grin appears beneath his facial hair. Cry for Simon and moan for him. He can deal with your mind being preoccupies for now.
John doesnât care about the split in your heart between the two. He wipes your tears with every intention of fucking Simonâs face out of your mind before dawn.
Themes: Fluff (kinda-ish not rly), creep!Simon, some darker themes if you squint
A/N: First post and first time writing in like 6 years (am nervous to post this!). I finally got the writerâs itch after so long so of course I had to use Simon to write about. Iâm not sorry (:
Word Count: 2200~
Masterlist
~^*^~
Simon had always promised himself that should he make it to retirement, he would reward himself with a house. Weird, he knows. A single veteran man in his late 30s would usually have bigger dreams. Price had already gotten his lifetime supply of cigars. Gaz was happily playing house with a pretty civilian he had met just after everything went down with Makarov. Johnny had always talked about buying a boat. Of course, that had never come to fruition.
So, here Simon was, in Greater Manchesterâs suburbs, nursing a Madri in his very own garden.
England had been on one for weeks. Since the middle of May, if he recalled correctly. For the first time in a long time, summer had been not just warm, but hot. Blisteringly so. Rainfall had been sparse and the dreary, grey summers of the past had not chosen to rear yet another ugly head this year. In fact, the hosepipe ban had already been called down south and officials were nearing to declaring the weather as a national drought. Yes, the rain had certainly chosen to depart for its own summer holiday and leave Britain a scathing hotpot of molten pathways and wilting flowers.
Today, Simon had been to Argos to pick up yet another fan to strategically place in his house, and then he had come home to watch the telly to recover from having to deal with the general public in such undesired temperatures and finally spend his evening parked up in the garden.
Gone was the scorching sun, leaving only warm air and a gentle breeze in its wake. The sky had dulled slightly, an eggshell blue stretching overhead with licks of thinned clouds. There were a few chemtrails scarring the airspace above, diagonal left to right and beyond. With no sun to burn his retinas up, Simon could tip his head back and watch the slow roll of the clouds as the wind blew them by. They were only very light, and even the breeze was slowly separating them further into little streams of white that tapered off into nothing.
Then, Simonâs eyes moved back down towards his own land. The patio needed a little TLC; the few weeds that had withstood the heat and humidity would not last against his weedkiller (or so the bloke at B&Q had promised - Simon had no ample opportunity to test this new brand out as of yet). His eyes narrowed at what seemed to be a particularly stubborn one, weaving through the cracks in the grout.
And the grass⊠oh his poor grass.
What had once been a gorgeous mix of fern and Amazon greens was now yellowed and riddled with bald spots of dirt. Despite the sprinklers being used most evenings to combat the dry weather the grass simply could not survive the heat. There was a small patch of clovers in the far corner that was shaded by Pampas grass that had been carefully planted in the corner since before he owned the property. The honey and bumble bees were fond of the little clover flowers that had bloomed under the influence of the sun, and Simon ensured to keep that spot hydrated. But for the most part, his grass most certainly was not doing so well.
The scent of wet dirt drifted into Simonâs nostrils and he inhaled deeply. He missed the scent of jasmine from his tree that Gaz and his missus had gifted Simon when he completed on the purchase, he had to admit that, but the smell of the wet dirt and grass was euphoric. Warm, earthy, delightful. It permeated though Simonâs brain and he couldnât stop the twitch at the very far corner of his mouth. It was nice after all this time to be able to just appreciate the little things.
A small plane hummed up above as it passed by. It was mostly quiet now. The Friday night rush hour traffic had long gone and people were either basking in the freedom of the weekend or out drinking away a weekâs worth of work-related stress. A few houses away, there was small chatter from what sounded to be a gathering. There was laughter, a few children giggling here and there, and just the overall sound of human socialisation.
At the back end of the garden, where the fence connected to the property at the back, Simonâs eyes wandered to the next row of semi-detached homes where he suspected the chatter was coming from. Warm red bricks, with the upstairs windows glinting ever so slightly with the last ebbs of sunlight. Two pigeons were back and forthing on the apex of the roofs, between the chimney tops and the satellite aerials.
And, oh.
He shifted ever so slightly in his seat, hips rolling as he shifted upwards to crane his neck just a little higher.
The chatter that had been barely audible already melted into nothing. The planeâs hum dissipated into silence.
Another warm breeze came by, and along with it came another hit of grass and dirt, but this time Simon did not so much as inhale for any longer than necessary.
His entire being was laser focused on something else.
On you.
Your bedroom window faced you back garden, which ran opposite to Simonâs neighbourâs garden. Which meant that any time you were in that bedroom of yours, Simon needed only to come to the back of his own home, and heâd have a front row seat.
Tonight, your windows were open, navy curtains flapping in the breeze. Music was drifting outwards. It was something bassy and quick. By no means was it Simonâs preferred genre, but it wasnât a bother by a long shot.
Over time, Simon had deduced that there was an ottoman or perhaps even a small seat under your window, as you would often times end up kneeling in front of the glass to open them or fetch something off the sill. It meant that every time, he got his own private outfit check and not once had you failed to impress him. Least of all today. You were still in your office attire - a simple blouse and skirt combo that accentuated your figure and was hopefully versatile enough for the suffocating heat outdoors and chills from an office air-con.
You had never noticed Simon. Or, at least, you had yet to notice the way he noticed you.
Tonight, you were grabbing at the makeup bag that usually sat on the middle of your windowsill. As soon as it was in hand, you slipped backwards into the centre of your room and disappeared from Simonâs line of sight. He took the opportunity to take a slug of his Madri. Cold, bitter, refreshing. The music continued to pump quietly from your property, and five minutes after your appearance in your bedroom, the bathroom window cracked open. Another five minutes and steam billowed out from the crack, the frosted glass thickening even more so.
And finally, you appeared once more in your bedroom.
By this time, the warm breeze had turned to a chill that aroused goose skin on Simonâs arms. He paid it no mind. Heâd been in much colder climates than this. Besides, going to grab a jacket would take away from the sight of you, in nothing but a white fluffy towel, a toothbrush hanging from the corner of your mouth.
Yeah, like he was going anywhere right now.
âPretty little birdie.â He thought, taking another swig of his Madri as you paced back and forth, grabbing this and that from each ends of your room.
Then, you disappeared. Long enough for him to finish the final dregs and get to the bitter right at the bottom of the bottle. Simon grimaced ever so slightly. When the sound of a door slamming shut came from your direction (likely the bathroom), he knew that he had time to push himself up against his aching joints and saunter inside to throw the empty bottle into the recycling.
His house was a sauna. Even with all the fucking fans, sticky heat welcomed him between the four walls of brick and mandatory insulation. Britain had never been built for this heat. Every Briton in the world had been saying it for weeks, and yet those from hotter climates still had the nerve to declare the British public as ostentations when it came to heatwaves. Alex and Farah had received a fair amount of abuse from Johnny at one point for even hinting at the idea that the Brits were just sensitive to warmer temperatures.
Simonâs eyes landed on his fridge. A long pause where his brown eyes just stared like he was trying to memorise what was inside. The fridge hummed expectantly at him. He definitely didnât need another drink.
So, his hulking form left his kitchen once again and he stepped back onto his patio where cool air and the scent of the evening greeted him once more. His seat on his faux wicker garden furniture was still a little warm from where he had left it, and he settled back into the thin cushion with ease.
You were already back in your bedroom by the time Simon had gotten comfortable once more, leaning over the ottoman to grab at the hairbrush also on your windowsill. Your left hand was clutching the top line of the towel, your bust threatening to spill out of the material. As you extended your right arm further for the brush, the towel began to slip and your head whipped down to watch in horror. Down, down, down towards where a nip-slip was just about to happen. Simonâs eyes were burning holes through the glass of your window now, he was certain. Had he blinked in the last 10 seconds? He didnât know. Just as you adjusted your grip on the fabric, your right hand made contact with the brush and you quickly dipped backwards away from the window. Close call.
A moment later and the curtains were zipped shut.
Simon cleared his throat and let his head tip back once more to focus on the darkening sky above. In the far distance, the purr of an engine echoed outwards, the whine pitching higher and higher, then lower as it was shifted a gear. And again, and again, the sound growing steadily louder. More clouds were accumulating - still soft and barely opaque - as they rolled with the breeze.
Summer evenings always had such a tranquility to them. Like every single atom was finally revelling in a break from the heat and humidity. It always felt like everything had finally come to a rest and existing was no longer a chore but a privilege as the earth turned on is axis and the stars began to twinkle ahead.
Simon was pulled back from his thoughts when the thump of your music cut halfway through the crescendo of a song. His eyes moved first, darting towards the structure of your house, before his head tipped forwards once more. He exhaled slowly from his nose. Then, your curtains drew backwards.
He could have groaned right then and there had he been a lesser man without the military-installed self-control he did have. What a sight for sore eyes you were, all prettied up in a skintight white dress that was adorned from the scooping neckline (that gave the most mouthwatering view of your chest), all the way down to the hem in holographic sequins. And the cut of the hem left nothing to the imagination in terms of your silky legs.
Your makeup was minimal, just a dab of highlighter, some false lashes and eyeliner and youâd applied a lipstick close enough to your natural colour that it just highlighted their shape and made them pop a little. Your hair, as always, was sleek and shiny, framing your face and only accentuating your features further.
Where were you off to looking like that?
Definitely not a pub, Simon decided to himself. Perhaps a bar, or a nightclub? Were you headed into Manchester? Or maybe Stockport? Nah, definitely Manchester since it had a wider variety of nightlife. Were you going out with some friends? Work colleagues? A date?
Simon chose to ignore the way the pit of his stomach knotted ever so slightly at that final thought. If someone as gorgeous as you greeted any bloke in the entire United Kingdom wearing that dress on a date, well⊠it was guaranteed theyâd be planning any way to get you out of it by the end of the night.
As you pushed open the curtains fully, you leaned forwards a little more, hands bracing on the silk, sequins glinting in the twilight as you nosied up and down the gardens. The way your arms were outstretched pushed your breasts together in such a way that forced Simon to look away for a brief second. Fucking hell.
When he looked back, you were finally retreating from the window. Simon watched as you disappeared one last time into the darkness of your bedroom. He swallowed thickly.
Hopefully it was just you that he would get to see though the glass once you returned home. It would be a great shame for another one of those male suitors of yours to end up ghosting you again.
a humble request for porn simon who's just a fluffer for reader. he's not The Star...yet.
gabagool I love the idea that any porn studio would look at Simon Riley and not try to make him a star, all that muscle and height, the rumbling voice, thick fingers. thicker cock, mmph
but maybe before he bulked up, before he really learned how to use that deep basso chill, before he found his rhythm, maybe thats when he would sit on the bed with a bored looking starlet and make sure she was nice and wet.
and sure, maybe he wasn't sure exactly what method he was supposed to be using (he'd seen other bored fluffers using vibrators, and that seemed easy enough) but he knows what his job is, and he has never sent someone home from his flat unhappy.
so maybe he sits down beside you, and you give him a look like he's the strange one despite how easily you spread your legs for him, and he murmurs that he has to get you prepped, thick fingers sliding over your stomach to tease between your legs, pad of his middle finger stroking your clit in agonizingly slow draws, dipping to just tap at your entrance until your hips are squirming and hitchi g to try and push him inside as he collects some of the slick thats starting to drip from you.
circling your clit again as you bite your lip, raise a hand to cup your breast, which he takes as an invitation to duck his head and swirl his tongue over your unoccupied nipple. making you gasp and arch when he bites, when he follows you back onto the bed and uses the bite of pain to push a thick finger into your waiting cunt, licking the sting as he crooks his finger to press up, up, into your sweet spot before he's back to rubbing your clit.
teasing you, working you up until your shaking and whimpering, hips following the scissoring fingers he thrusts into your glistening pussy, one of his legs hooked over your thigh to keep your legs parted so that when he finally jabs into that sponge soft spot just right you squirt all over the camera that's decided Ghost is doing his job a little too well.
ghost who pulls away from your lax body, still shaking with the aftershocks of his edging and your orgasm, and gives the director a thumbs up to tell him you're ready, as if the studio isn't about to make him a star.
everyone loves a DavidLives!AU (me included) but what about the other boys?
David dies from the antlers piercing his heart and Max explodes. The Emersons think itâs over, leaving to a hotel for the nightâŠ
and then Marko arrives at the house, the stake having only punctured his lung and sent him having to hunt rather than seek revenge
and then Paul climbs out of the tub, burned to high hell with chunks of flesh missing but alive (as much as a vampire can be)
and then Dwayne sits up, electricity still coursing through his veins, burns covering his skin and a hole in his chest from the crossbow bolt but heart undamaged
all so incredibly angry, near consumed by grief for the only family they have ever truly had
and these three vampires, sireless without Max and leaderless without David, have to figure out what to do on their own for the first time in decades
they have to take Davidâs body back to the hotel, to choose between burial and his body rotting away or letting him burn to ashes in the sun while they watch from the shade
do they stay at home in Santa Carla, known territory leaving them at constant risk from the Frogs? or do they leave and find a new home, losing their last remaining link to David in the process?
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Disgustingly loving sex (sorry). Soft dom!Simon Talks You Through Itâąïž Creampie. Brief mention of Readerâs insecurities w sex
Note: Iâm on Instagram now (kinda), come say hi :-)
Word count: 2.1k
It wasnât like you hadnât tried before.
Youâd had your fair share of lovers and experienced more than a good deal of fun. With everyone in the past, climax came the same way, every single time: clitoral stimulation, and clitoral stimulation alone.
By this point in your life, you suspected your g-spot was probably just a figment of your imagination, no more real than Atlantis, Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.
That was, until, you met your boyfriend, Simon.
And things had only been official for a week.
You and him had fooled around a handful of timesâmade love, as he called it, and kissed and cuddled and occasionally dry-humped until the two of you were both panting, groaning messesâbut all of this was new. Simon was still learning you, as you were him.
He finished between your tits. You came on his tongue. He fingered you to the point of tears, and you learned how to touch his sac just right to get him to blow his load in seconds. On this night in particular, you were fucking missionary, and holding hands while you did.
Lovesick puppies, Price would say. Neither one of you seemed able to unglue your lips or unlace your fingers or keep your hips from colliding again and again and again in frantic search of the otherâs furthest depths. You were perfectly wrapped up, with no desire to move
Except, you needed to reach down between your bodies to actually get off. That was a minor detail.
You didnât think the man above you would mind if you moved your touch from his, but then that grip tightened the second you tried pulling away.
âKeep it there, lovie. Like holding you like this,â he said.
You enjoyed it, too. It was intimate, and sweet, and with your hands pinned on either side of you, locked securely in his, you felt safe. You just couldnât finish.
âBut IâŠI need to come,â you whispered against him. You rolled your hips and felt his cock twitch inside you.
Simon grunted, then swallowed. Nodded slowly.
âYeah. Iâll get you there. Feel this?â
He slid deeper for emphasis.
You didnât.
You rarely did, or at least not in the way you figured you were supposed to get when something pressed there.
âI thinkâŠsort of, yeah,â you hedged your answer.
Donât bruise his ego, donât hurt his feelings.
This is all on me, Si, I promise itâs not you.
Cutting in over your thoughts, Simon moved swiftly. Took your hips in his big, strong hands, lifted up, and plunged his cock to the hilt. The girth of him was enough to knock the air out of your lungs, and you felt your walls stretch, sting, and weep sweet liquid warmth around that intrusion. You moaned.
âBetter?â The manâs question was simple.
Before you could answer it, he was sliding a pillow underneath your backside. Sawing his long, thick, leaking cock in and out of you, he reached a new spot.
You made a face, feeling good from that butâŠstrange.
Simon snatched your hands up again and planted them beside your head on the mattress. He thrusted steadily. He peppered kisses all over your face and your neck while the bed frame squeaked in time, and you had to dig your heels into his ass to ground yourself.
âTalk to me, baby. Canât make it better if you donât.â
âIâI know, I just canâtââ
At the same time, Simon tilted your hips slightly once more, and the tip of his cock kissed something soft and wet and dizzyingly pleasurable inside your body. A loud, embarrassing cry slipped out between your lips.
You wanted to clap a hand over your mouth, hating the way youâd just sounded, but your fingers were stuck to his. Simon grinned down at you, toothy and approving.
âCanât do what, now, darlinâ?â
The warm, bulbous head of his cock had found its mark, and he just kept prodding that spot, like it entertained him to do it. The fingers laced between your own constricted their grip even more, and Simon leaned down to kiss you while his cock carved a mind-numbing path. In between kisses, he praised you.
âThatâs my girl. Sheâs likinâ it now, isnât she?â
But still, somehow, it just wasnât quite enough.
Maybe youâd never found that place after all.
This was where most men gave upâafter a few good minutes of fucking when their balls had gotten to be as swollen as stones and their bodies were aching for release, more often than not, theyâd go off chasing their own high. That was when you usually started rubbing your clit, or waited for your partner to finish so they could get you off with their tongue or something.
You hated to feel like a burden, and you really despised the thought of being the reason your sweet Simon couldnât get to orgasm. So you squirmed again.
Straining to reach down, to try and touch yourself, you whimpered, âSi, please, it justâit takes me too longââ
âGood thing weâve got all night,â Simon replied bluntly.
Then, once again, he twisted your bodies like you were as soft and malleable as putty in his hands, and this time, he hitched one of your legs around his hip, high.
With one slow-rolling thrust and an audibly squelching sound, Simonâs cock stretched your hole to maximum capacity, and then a little more. Your juices leaked down his shaft, aiding the slide, and he stabbed in a few shallow strokes. Probing. Testing the waters, as if he were trying to find something hidden inside you.
You sucked in a breath. Simonâs gaze slid to yours.
âLetâs find that precious spot, lovie. Easy, now.â
Gently coaxing your body open, he drove a slow, measured pace. He split your cunt like it was the easiest thing in the world, delving within your wet, velvety heat to tease every contour and crevice of your pussy. His tip leaked precome. His balls glistened in your arousal and landed with the gentlest plap, plap, plaps while he explored your insides with his member.
It really was as simple as that, nothing more and nothing less than poking around. Having patience.
âS-Si,â you stammered, nose wrinkling slightly.
âWhatâsâat, baby? Got something to tell me?â
Like a teacher, almost, he pressed for more.
Like his cock was showing you something new about your body but he needed your help to tell him just how and where to find it, Simon took care to be kind. He smoothed a hand over the crown of your head and then cradled the back of it, one massive set of fingers splayed out against your skull and engulfing it wholly.
He still held onto your other hand tight.
Your cunt pulsed. Ached. Fluttered around him.
Stuffed to the brim, you had only to feel, and murmur:
âHigher.â
âHigher?â
âUm, to theâŠto the left.â
Simon tilted his hips left.
Yes.
That was just it. So close.
AlmostâŠ
Or, maybeâŠ
âMaybe it justâŠisnât there,â you huffed out, deflating. âKnow youâre trying so hard, baby, but I think I canâtââ
Then Simon hit the same spot as before, only higher.
Just like youâd told him: to the left, and thenâŠ
âOh, fuck,â you cursed. âOh, fuckfuckfuck.â
The grin above you stretched even wider.
âThere, lovie?â Simon goaded you on.
âRight there.â You nodded furiously.
A wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, from your core down to the soles of your feet. Your toes curled, and you squeaked, feeling Simonâs cock graze that soft, spongy, sensitive placeâexcept heâd pushed in deeper. The sensation made your eyes roll back.
âLittle dove doesnât mind my pokinâ after all, huh?â Simonâs words were a tease, but you heard a strain in them, too. The second you were caught in the throes of real pleasure, your cunt mustâve clamped like a vice.
âKeepâŠkeep pokinâ, Si,â you choked out. âI like it.â
Your lover kept at itâpoking from the inside.
The routine almost felt like losing your virginity all over again, together. Simon cradled your head, told you how good you were doing, how sweet you were for him, and you whimpered under his hold. Squirmed and clung to him for dear life, then kissed him feverishly.
Simonâs mouth was hard and hungry, his thrusts deep. His cock throbbed within the wet, clenching confines of your pussy, and he seemed to be going wild at the feeling. With the idea that he was driving you wild, too.
You realized as much when he whispered it to you.
âCould lose my bloody mind when youâre like thisââ Another sharp, labored breath. Another shudder passing through his body when your insides squeezed. ââso why didnât you talk? Ask for what you needed?â
Your voice was small. âDidnât wanna be a bother.â
Your eyes were locked with Simonâs, and in his irises, you caught a shade of concern. It flared, hot as anything, then mixed with disbelief. Disappointment.
âDonât be angry, Si, Iââ you started, hurried.
ââMânot.â Simon blinked. But he gritted his teeth, and he withdrew his cock until the head was bumping and teasing between your folds, then he shook his head. âItâs those fuckinâ pricks who should be sorry, yeah?â
The ones that youâd been with before.
You wanted to protest, insist that you were at least partly to blame, but you never got the opportunity.
Simon was back inside you in a blink.
Hitting that same spot again, and again, and again.
He grinned, the tic of a muscle in his jaw telling you that he was less amused this time around, but proud.
Vindicated.
âWell. Itâs not like theyâre ever gettinâ a chance in between these pretty legs again, are they, lovie?â
You nodded in agreement.
You smiled back at him, only to have that gentle curve falter a little when you felt Simonâs thrusts accelerate.
âOnly thing thatâs gonna touch this spot otherân my cock is my seed, splatterinâ all over your walls, right?â
When he gave a playful nip to your lower lip and squeezed your hand tighter, you knew that he meant it. The man had plunged so deep inside you that his pubic bone was now grinding against your skin, and the rest of him was buried. His balls, all full and warm and heavy with his release, rested firmly in your cleft.
And the steady, measured strokes of his cock landed with near-surgical precision on the G-spot youâd convinced yourself up until tonight didnât exist.
Simon beamed. You were overcome with ecstasy.
âThis it, lovie? This spot right âere?â he cooed.
His cock bobbed against that gummy and indescribably dizzying place, causing your last moan to morph into something more akin to a shriek.
You nodded your head: âY-Yes. Yes.â
âFeel good when I hit it?â
âFucking perfect, Si.â
You sighed when the man bottomed out for what felt like the millionth time, and the pleasure never waned. He felt just as good now as he did when he first got in.
âYeah? Gonna come on my cock then, pretty girl?â
âYeah. Iâmâ Iâm so close.â
âGo on then, love.â
And, shortly, you did.
Maybe three, four, five more stabs of his cock to your most precious, intimate place and you were unraveling beneath him, stars bursting in your line of vision. It seemed dramatic to say, but that was really what it came toâyour mouth hanging open, eyes wide, gaze peering into Simonâs while he fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life. You clung to him, and your walls spasmed again and again and again, milking the manâs release in the next few seconds. Simon shuddered and grit his teeth as he unloaded a thick, gooey load inside, dousing that spongy, body-numbing spot and then some. The two of you moaned in unison.
Your body was boneless, your head a hazy mess.
It took several seconds for your conscious mind to come back online fully, and when it did, Simon was leaning in again and planting kisses along your face.
âThatâs my girl,â he murmured, breath fanning hot across your skin. âMy perfect girl. You did so good.â
You smiled and caught his mouth for a proper kiss.
âThank you,â you murmured against him.
Then Simon squeezed your handâthe one heâd been holding this entire time. He lifted it gently, like he was afraid too rough of a movement might split you in two.
He turned your wrist and kissed the back of your hand, eyes locked on yours and expression soft while he did.
