synopsis: simon's back from deployment after radio silence for months. he comes to pick you up from a bar that you're wallowing away in. and he's irresistible.
warnings: 18+, smut, p in v sex, oral (f!receiving), angst no comfort (for now), mentions of alcohol, reader is intoxicated for the first half but is 98% sober when they get down and dirty, both parties consent to sex
cross posted on ao3 !
āyā gotta stop cominā to these places alone, love. āspecially at night,ā his words are muffled by the balaclava, but the puffs of breath heat your ear up.
āyou know i carry a knife around, simon.ā
āās not whaā i mean, and yāknow it,ā his sigh is so heavy, the puffs from before become a gust. you brace one hand on the barās edge as you turn to look at him, squinting; thereās two of him. you can barely handle one.
you squint even more, trying to stop the worldās slow tilt to the left, āwhenād you get back?ā
āfew hours ago. tried ringinā ya, yādidnāt pick up.ā
the face of offense you make must be extremely funny to simon, because his eyes crinkle like heās trying to hide the smile thatās evident through his mask, āno you didnāt, i wouldāve-ā
you fumble through your front jean pockets, finding nothing. you finally locate your phone once you reach the back right one; you bring it to your face far too close and the brightness once you click the home button makes you squeeze your eyes shut. why in hellās name was your brightness up so high? you recover slowly and click through to your call log, finding 5 missed calls and, eventually, 4 missed texts from the man whoās inching his way closer into your space bubble.
ātold you.ā
āwhatever, smart-ass,ā he must be made of magma, radiating heat like that is no joke. you feel your body lean closer to him, soaking up the warmth he has; what little heās willing to share. it feels like youāre there for a good half hour, but in reality, itās probably only two minutes. time feels like itās simultaneously egregiously fast and painstakingly slow, all at once. you feel his palm come down on your right shoulder, pushing you closer so that your body falls against his. he bends down to hover his mouth near your ear.
āletās get yāhome, yeah? ānough activity fāone night.ā you want to shake your head no; push him away, yell āfuck offā and cause a scene in front of the 4 people who are still at a bar on a tuesday at 1:30 in the morning. instead, defeatedly, you nod your head, the heaviness in your body makes you slump to the bottom of his ribcage; your eyes close, the weight of alcohol-induced sleepiness catching up to you. maybe you shouldnāt have had that fifth shot.
you reach for your jacket, disjointedly thrusting your arm in search of your wallet when simon grasps your bicep with the gentleness of someone holding a baby animal. he grabs your jacket and hoists you off the stool; you stumble and collide with him while he wraps an arm securely around your shoulders, steadying you.
you look up to protest, āi havenāt paid yet, si-ā
ājusā did, kit. donā worry ābout it,ā you feel goosebumps prickle all the way up your arms to the base of your neck. itās been at least months, if not a year, since he called you that; your brain becomes so engrossed in repeating the way his voice softened when he said it that you donāt think to ask when he paid. he just maneuvers your body out of the bar with the ease of someone who knows you, inside and out.
your brain seems to be catching up with your body. no longer does it feel as though the weight of your head will make you tumble to one side; your feet arenāt feeling around for solid ground. the world is still slow. the dusting of snow that falls feels like a cruel joke. first snow of the season, and youāre being chaperoned home after soothing your emotions with shots and spirits.
simon stands directly to your left, between you and the road; heās forfeited his jacket, the pressure of it now resting on your shoulders. you take a peek at him out of the corner of your eye. heās looking straight forward, focus relaxed but intentional. the silence, an air that's shared between a disappointed parent and a fresh adult. you're two years younger than him, what gives him the right?
you stop where you stand, simon following suit after nearly taking one step past you, "you piss me off."
"i know"
he steps in front of you, standing as still as greek statue. he's got the figure of a titan anyway. your head lolls back to look at his eyes. a 14 year old boys eyes stare back at you. the swirls of brown of someone who told his story through cold sweats and mumblings in the night. the eyes of someone who has so much baggage but won't put it down. the eyes that grew up and grew old, beaten down, hardened, lost his faith in the world, lost his faith in others, mostly lost his faith in you. as you stared at the eyes of this man who you had grown to have all the patience in the world for, something in you broke. maybe it was the spirits, maybe it was the cold.
he grasps your hand, clenching it so hard it feels like heās trying to melt your skin together through your gloves. you heave a barely watery sigh, leaning your head on his broad shoulder.
āi love you.ā
you feel his shoulders sag, dipping as he lays his head on top of yours, āi know.ā
the silence that follows is full of unspoken emotions, the weight of the relationship between you two forced to the front of your mind.
āthank you for helping me,ā the whiskey on your breath is barely noticeable anymore, but you still sway just a bit.
āalways.ā
you turn back to him and stumble towards him, looking up, "are you crashing here tonight?" he's already removed his balaclava; in your house, he doesn't feel the need to hide who he is. he's already bared himself entirely to you, physically and emotionally. there'd be no point.
he reaches to close the distance between you. he holds your neck, thumbs brushing across your cheeks so gently it feels almost cruel. his eyes say so many things that his lungs wonāt let loose. as he leans down, his lips brush yours lightly. they burn as he kisses you, and the inside of your mouth suddenly feels metallic, bitter.
but, you donāt push him away. instead, you throw your arms around his shoulders, your hands meeting between his shoulder blades. his own move down to your waist, gripping harsh as if your soul is already leaving to go to the next world, and if he holds on tight enough, he can bring you back to the physical realm. the kiss deepens, his head tilting and pushing harder against your mouth; it feels like heās trying to absorb your life force. you think youāre ok with that.
his hands, god his hands are burning. youāre surprised they arenāt wet with sweat, or maybe they are, as he moves them down to grip your hips, barely grazing your ass. youāre pushed so close against his body, as if heās trying to fuse you together; youāre finally able to wrench your mouth off of his, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek and trailing down, down on his neck. the gentleness turns to something aggressive, you bite down on the exposed column where his neck meets his shoulder, then leave more bites up along him, towards the base of his ear. you feel rather than hear his soft moan. your ministrations continue.
quickly, he reaches down and hoists you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. balancing you as you continue to kiss up his neck reverently, he walks both of you to your bedroom, laying you on the top of your mattress. leaning over you with one hand, he uses his other to fiddle with the zipper and button of your jeans. he slides your pants down and off your legs, along with your underwear and shoes.
you sit up, pushing your hands up his stomach, grazing your fingertips across his hardened abdomen; he stiffens but let's you run his shirt up and over his head before he falls to his knees in front of you. he spreads your thighs apart, kissing up from your ankle to your inner thighs; each kiss feels like a shock of static electricity. you whimper, willing him to continue. thankfully, he goes right where you need him, connecting his mouth to your clit, pressing a kiss there before licking a long stripe from your entrance back up to your clit. you quiver, and he continues, pushing his head as far as it can go into your cunt, sucking and lapping like he's been deprived of a sugary soda that he's been craving. he pulls back briefly to look up and push his middle and ring finger into your mouth. you whine as he presses down on your tongue; once he's satisfied that your saliva has slicked up his fingers enough, he takes them out and presses at your entrance, slipping them inside.
the moan that you release is guttural, the combination of his fingers and mouth are enough to cause your building orgasm to draw within arms reach. he takes breaks from your pussy to suck love bites into your thighs. can you even call them love bites? hickeys. he sucks hickeys into your thighs.
"si'... ngh, 'm gonna-"
"cum for me, darlin'". that tips you over, your body locking up as you cry out, reaching and grasping for anything. simon looks up and sees your hand searching, so he lifts his own up to firmly hold on.
the shockwaves run through you as he continues to prod his tongue into your hole until you're twitching. he takes this as his cue to back up; he stands, still clutching your hand as he gives it a squeeze. once your body stops it's jolting, simon releases your hand and begins to undo his pants, dropping his boxes with them, letting his cock swing up to his stomach. his gives it a few pumps before coming to lay over you again. he runs the tip across your hole, gathering slick to help ease his insertion. he lines up to your entrance and slowly pushes through. both of you tense before he starts making small thrusts to push himself in all the way.
finally, you two sigh when he bottoms out, relishing in the connection. you're not sure what simon is thinking, but he looks somewhat at peace, at least as much as he can be with a brain as loud as his. he begins to move in and out, pushing his head into the crook of your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist.
his shallow thrusts create a delicious friction inside, his thumb brushing over your clit side to side. it's so much, so overwhelming. he's huge, not just physically but his presence mentally takes up a lot of space; it's hard to catch your breath as he rocks into you slowly but deeply.
"you're so beautiful." those words shatter something in you; you shiver and your body seizes of it's own accord. your thighs shake as he continues to thrust deeper into you, brushing that spot inside that sends shockwaves up your spine. it's hard to concentrate on anything other than trying to force your soul back into your body. you feel simon seize up as a deep groan leaves him, spilling his release into you. passively, in the back of your mind, you're happy that you still take birth control. finally, it seems that your consciousness is coming back to the center of your brain when you feel simon drape his entire body over you, still inside. it's hard to breathe, not just because of the weight but you can barely breathe out of your nose. your breathes are small, shuddery and it's only then that you realize you're sobbing.
this seems to startle simon as well, as he freezes then lifts himself up to stare down at you. he frowns and it's the farthest his face has contorted into an emotion tonight; it makes you cry harder. he gently lifts his hand and wipes the tears on your left cheek with his knuckles. you turn away from him, trying to shift so that you're on your side. the process allows him to slip out as he hovers over you, unsure of how to fix what's wrong. you curl up even further, gasping for breath as the sobs wreak through you quietly.
he reaches for you again, "kit, what can-"
"go."
"what?"
"i said GO, simon." he looks down at you, pleadingly, not wanting to leave you alone but in the back of his mind, knowing it's because of him that you're reacting this way.
"just go. please." you whisper and he hesitates, but not for long. he gets up, slowly grabbing his clothes and slipping them back on. he turns back, balancing a hand on the bed before leaning down and pressing the softest kiss on your cheek that he can. in his hand, your t-shirt, and he tenderly cleans up the mess the two of you made between your legs. he's already pretty disgusted with himself, he doesn't want to make you feel worse by not cleaning you up a bit.
"... will ring ya tomorrow."
and with that, he leaves your room. you hear his footsteps stop in the kitchen and then come back. simon sets a glass of water on your bedside table and leaves for a final time. shortly, your front door clicks.
and you're left quietly sobbing on your bed. naked, alone and a fool.
a/n: hello! it's been a long time since i've posted but i wanna get back into writing more this year. i don't know if I really liked how this turned out but y'all can let me know. this was also my first time trying to write smut, hope it turned out ok, thanks for reading!
everyone in the notes we are all holding hands. everyone who hasnt worked on a wip in weeks or months or years, its okay. we are going slow but we are going
no dude it's so cool how attached you are to that character who is singled out and ostracized due to the external monstrousness that clashes with their internal spark of humanity. and i love how drawn you are to themes of horror and love, nature versus nurture, otherness, isolation, and the abject. i bet you have normal feelings about your own personhood
SORRY BUT YOUR PASSWORD MUST CONTAIN ONE NUMBER, ONE CAPITAL LETTER, THE COW AS WHITE AS MILK, THE CAPE AS RED AS BLOOD, THE HAIR AS YELLOW AS CORN, AND THE SLIPPER AS PURE AS GOLD
i think that simon riley is afraid to get to close to people, not just because heās scared to lose them, but because once they get past the hard shell to that soft squishy soul of his, they have the ability to rip whatās left of his humanity away from him. if he lets anyone in to see the man who does care for others but doesnāt know how to show it, the one who wants validation for doing things because he didnāt get it enough in the REAL way he needed it, if that person whoās been let in decides that they canāt/donāt/wonāt SEE him, then he may as well be the walking corpse he is on the field. thats why i think if you were to get through all the rough exterior, everything that he uses as a shield to save himself from the torment, he wonāt know what to do if you decide to leave. you sink your claws in the essence of his very being and he feels as though would die without the love and care and patience you show him; that his already mostly empty shell would then become a husk. he is desperately desperately broken but patience and consistent care and validation, proof that you love him and that you donāt ever intend to hurt him, then heāll really shine
simon being absolutely GRILLED by a blunt psychologist readerā¦
warnings: like the tiniest bit of sexual implication and simon pops a boner at directness
a/n: i didnāt take my meds today and i was listening to your blood by aurora and this came of it, pls be nice iām not used to writing and i feel like this is ass anyway love yāall :)
him sitting in your office because price sent him to you as a punishment for not taking the āsuggestedā leave he refused.
now he slouches across from you as you sit, neatly put together, formal attire fitting you snugly. he admits that he finds you attractive. you have an air of professionalism and cool confidence in your abilities that almost makes simonās dick hard. almost.
āmr. riley, you mean to tell me that you donāt engage with others outside of necessity when youāre on leave?ā
ā ās not that necessarily.ā
āwhen was the last time you had a conversation with someone where you felt vulnerable?ā
he shuts up very quickly. it irks him how he feels less and less intimidating and more intimidated the longer he sits in this suffocating room.
you close your eyes, rubbing between them, āmr. riley, i realize you probably havenāt been in many sessions like this, but i am not here to make this a difficult process for you. youāve been ordered to twenty five sessions of counseling and i know that you know your captain is hoping for improvement.ā
he nods his head curtly. the next time he sees price, heās going to punch him.
you sigh as you stand, stepping towards the bookshelf next to your seat. simon feels only a little guilt as his eyes roam over your figure, appreciating the way your slacks curve around your ass.
you sit down again, sliding a notebook across the coffee table towards him, āiād like you to start journaling. daily. at least once.ā
simon can feel his eye twitch as he watches you rip a piece of paper from your notepad and scribble something on it, āiām also giving you the name of a grief counselor. iām encouraging you to reach out to him; heās highly sought after and iāll put in a word to have you be seen as soon as possible.ā
he takes the notebook, tucking the paper into his pocket as he stands. you stand as well, escorting him to the door.
āweāll discuss what you journal about in our next session on friday.ā he turns and silently stares at you.
āwhaā if i donā write anythinā?ā
you shrug, āthen i guess these sessions will be filled with silence. have a good day, mr. riley.ā you shut the door and heās left staring at the plaque with your name on the door.
he already feels exhausted thinking about the next time heāll be in your office, and the tent in his pants isnāt helping.
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