to hold me like water or Christ hold me like knife

cod blog | minors dni | icon & header by me | main : high-warlock-of-brooklyn | 26 | poc

[simon-rileys]

Reminder that this is an 18+ mdni blog and I'm gonna be going through my followers list this week to do the ageless/minor/bot blog purge again so if you're not a minor or a bot I suggest please put your age somewhere visible in your blog to not be blocked (also 18+ is not an age approximate, please put something like 20+ 25+ at least)

[high-warlock-of-brooklyn]

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality. Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see……

I absolutely adore Queen, and Bohemian Rhapsody is the one of the few songs I never remember learning the lyrics to but know every words by heart. WITCHCRAFT!!!!!

Do not repost my art or use it for AI of any kind.

[acecroft]

SHAWN HATOSY as Titus Danforth in Ready or Not 2: Here I Come (2026)

[valiants]

hi!!! i’d love to see your depiction of soapghost realizing their feelings/attraction towards one another and how their first kiss unfolded! so in love w ur art :) keep it up ❤️💥

Thanks!! :))) ❤️ Been trying to avoid these because in my head I’ve just been assuming it happens somehow like ALL of the First Time ghoap fics I’ve read like the multiverse…

But if I had to choose it’d probably be something mundane (typical) that gets them to fock, and they won’t even TALK about feelings until it’s been weeks of that…

[valiants]

For my brethren going off in the asks to the effect of “if not here, then WHERE”… that’s MY call of duty:

[valiants]

PART 3

[ladykelsi]

rotten work: part four.

alone together: it's moments like these that make you question everything.

cooling embers: rage is nothing new to you.

by any other name: things you'll never tell Johnny. and the one thing he'll tell you.

point of contact: there's always going to be a tether between you and them.

pinnacle of happiness: you gotten everything you've ever wished for.

→ [part one] → [part two] → [part three] → [part four] → [part five] → [extras]

offer a coin to the picklejar

banners by @/cafekitsune and @/vase-of-lilies

[twolegsandbleeds]

cw:afab!reader, references to depression/medication, soft!simon. 2k words

“can we book in sex on friday evening?” your voice cuts through the silence of your shared lounge - almost hesitant.

not hesitant like you're expecting to be rejected, hesitant in the way someone is when they feel out of practice. when somewhere along the way they lost all their powers of seduction.

simon looks up over the page of the book he's reading - eyebrows furrowed before they relax, like he's trying to make sure you're not asking out of some misplaced sense of obligation.

“friday works.” he confirms, “be back late so you'll… have some time to yourself first. to do your… preparations.”

preparations.

the polite way to say you'll either watch or listen to or read some porn in the bath before he gets home to try and kick start your body and brain into getting onto the same page about wanting to fuck.

you snort softly at the phrasing before nodding, "okay. just let me know when you're on your way home."

quiet settles over the two of you again, peaceful, yours.

then simon clears his throat.

"the new meds seem to be helpin'." he says quietly. "yer smilin' more. s'nice."

you nod, once. "they are." you confirm quietly. there's a beat of silence and then, "… sorry they've broken my fanny."

simon just shakes his head, brown eyes meeting yours. "not broken. an' don't be sorry. rather have you 'appy than horny. only one of those is important to me. an' it's not the availability of yer cunt."

your ears get hot at the bluntness, but your chest tightens with relief at his words. but still. there's a twinge of guilt in your stomach, like you're somehow not keeping up your end of the bargain you made when you decided to be each other's.

"i know. you always say that. but…"

"no buts." he cuts you off firmly, no room for argument. "no ifs. no fuckin' anythin'. i love you. i love yer smile and yer laugh. an' yeah, i love fuckin' you. but i'd rather you were smilin' at my bad fuckin' jokes again than drippin' all over the house."

Si ❤️: 10 mins off

Si ❤️: don't rush. take your time

Si ❤️: gonna shower in the en suite. you'll take one whiff of me and absolutely change your mind

Si ❤️: (which would be fine. no pressure. didn't think before i sent that.)

the messages overlay the porn playing on your phone screen one by one.

you don't pause the video right away - let yourself stay in the little bubble of horny you're trying to build. the bathwater is going lukewarm around you, but your skin feels warmer now from the small spark of anticipation that's beginning to grow in your stomach.

you can't help but feel a small twinge of grief that six months ago this same activity would have had you throwing yourself at simon - that six months ago you didn't even need to prepare to have sex with your husband. that it felt like the most natural thing in the world, not something you had to manufacture.

but then you remember his words "yer smilin' more. s'nice." and the grief fades, replaced with a pang of fondness so strong it almost hurts.

you let your eyes focus on the video again, letting the sounds of soft moans and the wet noise of skin on skin filter through your headphones; try and remember that the joy you see on the amateur couple's can be yours too.

you pause the video, typing back a quick message.

just getting out. haven't changed my mind. x

you dry off quickly, clean your teeth, slip into one of simon's old t-shirts; the black colour long faded to grey, band logo once printed on it lost to the passage of time. there's a hole in the hem and it's stretched out around the collar.

but it makes you feel safe, and that's what you need right now. not lace bodysuits and stockings. by the time you've padded into the bedroom you can hear the shower running - see that today's clothes didn't even make it to the washing basket in the bedroom, instead left in the one downstairs.

you wrinkle your nose - you know that means you're probably going to need to get the stain remover out later. but you appreciate that simon hasn't brought the smell of whatever it is up into your room. you light a few candles as you hear the shower switch off, pull the curtains and turn off the big light; leaving the room in a soft glow of the candles and bedside lamp.

little things you've learned make you feel more relaxed.

you're just settling on the edge of the bed as the en suite door opens - knees tucked up under your chin, heart beating a little faster than normal. simon appears, towel slung low on his hips, water still dripping down from his blonde hair and onto the scarred plain of his chest. his eyes find yours immediately, soft in the way they only ever are when he's looking at you.

"hi." you say softly, lips pricking up at the corners as you look at him.

fuck. it really does help the situation that he looks like that.

he crosses the room in two strides, one hand reaching to cup the back of your head as he leans down to kiss you - soft, slow; the kind of kiss that's a hello and isn't an expectation. his hand strokes up your bare thigh slowly; fingers pausing at the hem of your - his - t-shirt, stopping short of pushing it any higher. "hey dove," he replies softly. "missed this smile."

your smile. that's what he missed about this situation. that specific, soft, wanting smile that you only ever give him when you're about to get him in bed.

and it's that that has you pulling him down on top of you.

your t-shirt gets pulled off with careful hands; his towel lost somewhere to the floor. he ends up hovering over you, pressing kisses down your jaw, your throat, takes his time. his thumbs stroke an almost soothing pattern across your ribs as his lips trail lower - but when he reaches your stomach he pauses.

"tell me somethin'." he murmurs, "what were you watchin' in the bath?"

your face heats immediately, throat drying out as you stare down at him with an expression of absolute horror.

he just hooks your legs over his shoulders, presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, looks up at you expectantly.

"just… soft stuff." you manage to murmur back. "couple in their bed. they… they looked like they were enjoying it. not… faking it."

he presses a kiss higher up your thigh, then another, before his breath is ghosting over your core. his tongue traces a slow line from slit to clit; gentle, soft, curling through soft heat like he's not in any kind of rush.

your hips twitch.

simon hums against you, an almost approving noise; like he's proud you actually answered. "yeah? what were they doin'?" he flicks his tongue against you again - more targeted this time. you gasp slightly as he settles in, one arm slung across your hips, fingers tracing over skin. every motion he makes is purposeful - circling your clit, dropping down down to dip inside you, tracing every inch of you with his tongue in lazy strokes.

your fingers thread through his still damp hair, nails scratching over his scalp in the way you know he likes. "they were taking it slow." you breathe. "she was on her back like this. he kept… talking to her. telling her how good she felt."

"slow." simon repeats, "like this?" his lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently before soothing it with broader strokes. your fingers tighten in his hair enough that he groans - all enjoyment and no pain. "you liked hearin' how much he wanted 'er?"

"yes-" the word breaks into a low moan as he slides two fingers inside of you, curling them perfectly against the spot he knows so well; mouth still focussed on your clit. "fuck, si…"

he doesn't speed up. just keeps a steady, slow rhythm - eyes flicking up to watch your face. he pulls away enough to murmur gently, "i want you dove - all the fuckin' time. everything you do is so fuckin' sexy i feel like i'm goin' insane." a soft kiss to your clit, "'m sorry if i stopped tellin' you." another kiss, "jus'… don't want you to ever feel like you 'ave to jus' cause i'd live inside you if i could."

your eyes burn, hands dropping to brush your thumbs over his cheekbones. "i know si. i promise."

he nods once, satisfied that you're not lying to make him feel better by the wet shine in your eyes. he drags the flat of his tongue over your clit again. "was she makin' the same little sounds you make? the ones that make me fuckin' melt?"

you nod, hips rolling under his mouth; the combination of his mouth and hands and the gentle questioning pulling you under. the porn in the bath feels distant now - a distant second to the real thing: simon riley between your legs, focused solely on you, coaxing your body to the edge with nothing but patience.

when you come its with a soft, shuddering cry - the same noise he loves so much - pleasure rolling through you in warm waves as simon works you through it. he waits until your fingers are limp in his hair before pulling back entirely, then kisses his way beck up your body until he's braced over you again, propped on one elbow so he doesn't squish you under his bulk.

"still good?" he murmurs. his cock is hot and hard against your thigh; twitching against you as he presses a kiss against your neck - but he doesn't push forward, doesn't press. just rests his forehead against yours.

“yeah,” you whisper, reaching between you to stroke him gently. “i want you, si. want this.”

he kisses you again, tasting like you, and lines himself up. he presses in -slow, perfect - eyes locked on yours the whole time. your fingers trace the scars on his jaw, eyes widening as he bottoms out; filling you in a way that's so achingly familiar now. he pulls back, pushes in again; soft, shallow rolls of his hips.

you brush your nose against his. "you don't have to be so careful with me, si."

"i want to." he replies simply. "been thinkin' about this since you brought it up. about makin' you feel good."

you, not him.

you thighs slide to wrap around his waist on the next thrust, taking hip deeper just by the nature of the position and he groans - a wrecked noise that carves itself into your memory.

"this alrigh'?" he murmurs against your neck, hips snapping just a little harder; thumb sliding into the space between your bodies to rub gentle patterns against your clit.

you nod, jaw going slack as you feel heat flood your stomach again. "yeah. s'perfect." you manage to murmur back.

he presses a kiss against the corner of your mouth, keeping up that same steady rhythm. "i love you. i love you when you're happy, an' i love you when you're sad. i love you when you're horny and climbin' me like a tree an' when all you want t' do is watch greys anatomy on repeat an' eat little moons. nothin', fuckin nothin', matters to me as much as you do."

you bury your face in his neck, cheeks hot, eyes burning, "i love you too."

your second orgasm is like sinking into warm water; nerves lighting up hot one by one, teeth sinking into the curve of his his shoulder with a whimper of his name. he follows immediately after, the pulse of your cunt around him dragging him over the edge, face buried in your hair as he breathes you in.

he doesn't pull out right away - just holds you, fingers stroking over sweat damp skin, pressing lazy kisses to your temple.

"still smilin' down there?" he murmurs softly.

you huff out a soft laugh, body and brain soft with satisfaction. "yeah, si. still smilin'."

"good." he kisses the top of your head. "that's all i need, dove."

[twolegsandbleeds]

cw: afab+f!reader, virginity loss (a/n virginity is a social construct). 4k words.

simon knows you haven't had sex before.

it wasn't a big secret. you'd told him early on in your relationship, when things got a little too heated on the couch and you'd panicked when his hand slid under your shirt and his fingertips grazed your bare stomach.

you'd sat there and twisted the hem of your shirt between your fingers, eyes firmly on the hardwood floor of simon's flat, quietly telling him that it wasn't because you didn't want to, you just hadn't found anyone that you trusted not to make it a… thing. a conquest. an oh look i fucked a virgin story that gets told to mates at the pub. that the older you got the harder it was to find someone who… understood. and the longer you left it? well. the more the anxiety about it built, until the idea of sex became an almost impossible landscape to traverse.

he'd watched the way you fidgeted. listened as you spoke but wouldn't meet his eye.

then shrugged.

"love, i like spendin' time with you. i like kissin' you like we're fuckin' teenagers. not gonna stop seein' you just cause you 'aven't got laid before." he'd paused, considered his words, "ball's in yer court now sweetheart. you want t' fuck? tell me. an' i'll do what i can to make it right for you."

and the ball… stayed in your court. for months. no pressure. no wandering hands where you didn't want them. just dates and kisses and the one time you were ovulating and overwhelmingly horny and asked him to go down on you on the sofa. and even then, with your thighs trembling around his head and your fingers tight in his hair and the taste of you on his tongue he hadn't pushed, just pulled you into his lap after you'd come down and held you like he realised just how overwhelming it was for you to be close to someone in that way.

he was… surprisingly sweet about it all for a man who looked like he might kill someone for breathing wrong in his company.

sweet enough that the idea of having sex with him stopped feeling like something insurmountable and started feeling more like excitement curling through your veins instead of terror.

so you told him. over dinner one evening. all casual.

he'd looked up from his pasta, nodded. "want me to… book a hotel? or a cabin? you wanted to go away for the weekend, anyway." a pause and then, "or is that too much pressure?"

you'd blinked. once. twice. like the idea of making an occasion of it hadn't even crossed your mind. you'd swallowed softly and then nodded. "yeah. that would be… nice actually." but then you'd pulled a face - eyebrows knitted together, lips pursed. "…what if i bleed on their sheets?" like the idea of inconveniencing hotel or air b&b staff was more concerning to you than the fact you might bleed at all.

then it was simon's turn to blink. "… i'll bring some blankets. if yer that worried love." he'd offered back - not mocking. just cataloguing all the things he can do to make this less stressful for you. there's a pause, "might not bleed. not everyone does."

you'd stared at him.

he'd shrugged.

"been doin' some… recon. about how to make it easier for you." he'd admitted quietly. "not… done this with someone who ain't before. don't want to… traumatise you or some shite. want you to enjoy it. not suffer though it."

your heart had flared warm in your chest.

you'd smiled softly down into your pasta.

"cabin would be nice."

the drive was quiet, just the low sound of what you teasingly called simon's dad rock coming from the car speakers. his right hand was on the wheel; left resting on your thigh whenever he didn't need to change gears, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb on the side of your knee.

"love, i want t' talk before we get there."

you spine stiffens automatically at the words, eyes flaring wide as your head snaps around to look at him.

the corners of his lips twitch.

"not like that love. you don't need t' act like i'm sendin' you to the headteachers office."

you can't help but laugh - a soft little huff of air as your shoulder relax.

"sorry, habit." you murmur back, slumping back into the seat. "so, if i'm not in trouble, what do you want to talk about, si?"

he rolls his eyes. "in trouble? when th' fuck 'ave you ever been in trouble with me love?" he grumbles back, but the crinkles in the corners of his eyes give away that he's nowhere near mad. there's a moment of silence - not heavy, but there - before he continues carefully, "i just want to talk about… expectations. or a lack of 'em really."

you open your mouth to interject. he squeezes your knee to stop you.

"jus' let me talk a minute love." he says softly, glancing across at you for just a split second. "i jus' want to be clear with you. we're goin' away for the weekend. that's all. i know we've said we'd… y'know. but if you don't want to? if you change yer mind? at any time? that's fine love. i just want t' 'ave a nice weekend with you. that's all."

you're quiet for a moment, warmth flaring in your chest. that feeling that's so close to love you can almost reach out and grab it. for a moment you don't know what to say, how to shape a sentence that conveys how much you appreciate that - or how sure you actually are about this weekend. and when you open your mouth? nothing eloquent comes out.

"i bought fancy knickers."

simon's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, but he doesn't take his eyes off the road. he clears his throat slightly, absolutely shoving the image of you in whatever you mean by fancy knickers somewhere deep in the back of his brain so he doesn't drive you both into a ditch.

you bite your lip, suppress a laugh that threatens to bubble out of your throat. "i just mean… i went out and bought special pants for the occasion. i've been uh, looking forward to it. but… thank you. for being so sweet about it."

he glances sidelong at you, eyebrows pinched into a frown "it's not sweet. it's basic consent, love." he says quietly, squeezing your knee again and for a moment you think he's got more serious talk to get out of his system before you get to your destination; but then his mouth twitches in the corners, "but i am lookin' forward to seein' these fancy knickers, in that case."

simon has outdone himself with his choice of weekend getaway destination.

a cabin nestled in the clearing of a forest. log burner. claw foot bathtub on the deck.

no neighbours for miles; unless you count the owls currently hooting from the trees.

it's perfect.

he presses a kiss to the side of your head, "go unpack. i'll put th' kettle on."

forty minutes later you're curled into simon's side on the back deck, mug clutched in both hands, both just staring at the night sky with quiet awe; the stars visible here in a way they aren't back home.

your new fancy knickers and matching bra have already been slipped on under your sweatpants and hoodie. simon looks down at you, at how soft and open your face looks; the way your jaw hangs slightly loose with amazement as you look up at the sky. his chest flares warm, unable to stop the way his entire expression softens.

"i've been under a lot of nice skies, all over the world." he says quietly. "but this one might be my favourite."

he doesn't need to say it's because you're there. you can tell from the way his arm tightens around your shoulders, the way he leans his weight into you slightly.

you melt inside. like butter left on the counter on a hot day. that same warm feeling from the car flaring in your chest as you tilt your face to his.

then you're kissing him. mug discarded on the deck. half crawled into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist to steady you.

for the first time in the months you've been together you're not holding anything back. you're not trying to leash yourself to stop this going further than you're ready for. you're all in.

simon can feel the difference. the way you're letting the energy you usually keep simmering under your skin out into the air around you; the way you kiss him deeper, let your hands wander over his chest and biceps.

he's instantly, painfully hard in his sweatpants.

and acutely aware of the fact that you can tell. that the fabric of his sweats does nothing to hide the way he's hardened underneath you, that he's thick and heavy against your inner thigh where you're now practically straddling him. he tenses slightly underneath you; not able to control his reaction but hesitant to be the one to take the next step.

but then you groan into his mouth.

the sound goes straight to his core.

"christ, love. those really are fancy knickers."

he scoops you up in his arms without hesitation, carrying you through the cabin and kicking the bedroom door shut behind him.

you don't think you've ever seen an expression on simon's face quite like the one he wearing now, staring down at you sprawled out beneath him, clothes removed with enough care it made your heart ache.

reverent. that's the only word for it.

"yer really… jesus. yer fuckin' beautiful dove, you know that, right?"

your cheeks heat automatically at the compliment, "it's the underwear. it's doing a lot of the heavy lifting." you reply, mock serious - deflecting.

simon rolls his eyes. "shut up. daft bint. s'all you."

before you can retort he pulls his sweatshirt off over his head, and the only word you're left capable of is "fuck."

you reach out; trace your fingers over the scars that criss cross his torso like a roadmap of everything he's survived. the muscle of his chest and stomach is solid; but there's a soft layer of fat over his abdomen that he gets between deployments - the layer that makes him feel warm and soft and human; not just the soldier everyone else sees.

simon's breath hitches when your nails graze lower, but he catches your wrist, bringing your open palm to his lips to press a kiss against the centre of it.

"lay back for me, love." he murmurs, "i'm takin' care of you first."

you nod, heart slamming in your chest so hard you're sure he can hear it.

your bra comes off first; carefully unhooked and pulled away from your body, placed carefully on the side next to you.

your underwear comes next, the soft black lace you knew was perfect the moment you picked it out in the store. cool air hits your skin as he tugs them down your calves and you fight the instinct to close your legs.

simon looks down at you from below his lashes. "yeah. it's not the fancy knickers love. yer just fuckin' beautiful."

simon settles between your legs, lips pressing a trail down your stomach to where your thighs part; and for a moment he hovers above your bare cunt, nose flaring as the warm scent of you hits him.

he groans.

your ears go hot.

he looks up at you, "gonna go down on you now love, alright?"

you manage a short jerk of your head, pupils blown wide as you stare back down at him.

then his mouth is on you.

the last time he did this - that one night on the couch - is burned into simon’s memory. and he remembers, in beautiful high definition, what each little gasp and groan you made sounded like, and what he did to drag them out of you.

the first slow lick from your slit to your clit pulls a shaky sound from your throat, fingers tightening in the sheets next to you.

he doesn’t rush.

has no intention of skipping steps.

he’s treating this like the main event. like if he could just stay between your spread thighs for the rest of the weekend and the two of you didn’t go any further than that he’d be fine with it, happy about it even.

he explores every inch of you with his tongue; licking broad stripes across your entire cunt, before flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit - little patterns that make your thighs tremble.

“si…” you breathe, feeling yourself relax into the mattress with every touch.

simon pulls away to press a kiss against your inner thigh, “okay up there, sweetheart?”

you nod.

vigorously.

then reach to tangle your fingers in his short hair and tug his mouth back towards you with a desperation that surprises even yourself, like now he’s started you really, really don’t want him to stop.

his lips twitch in the corners, his shoulders relaxing a fraction, like you’ve just convinced him you really are okay.

he seals his lips around your clit and hums softly; the vibration shooting straight up your spine and sparking white behind your eyes. you hips jerk, hard; immediately one of his hands comes to rest on your lower belly, pressing down gently - reassuring rather than controlling - whilst he continues to work you with his mouth. he sucks softly, then harder, alternating rhythms until your fingers are twisted tightly in his hair and your breathing comes in short, ragged gasps.

it’s messy.

the wet sounds of his mouth fill the quiet of the room - slick, obscene noises that you think should mortify you but actually only turn you on more. he pulls back just to groan softly, eyes flicking up to yours. “yer fuckin’ perfect love. can i open you up proper?”

one finger circles your entrance, spreading slickness - but he waits until he sees your chin jerk in confirmation before pushing in achingly slow. it’s an unfamiliar stretch; his finger thicker than your own, but it’s not unwelcome, not unpleasant. he sinks that first finger to the knuckle before curling it upwards, searching for the soft, spongy part inside you that makes your back arch sharply off the mattress.

“there you are.” he murmurs, a soft kind of satisfaction threaded through his voice.

he doesn’t stop, just keeps working you in a steady rhythm while his mouth finds your clit again.

your eyes flutter shut. body slowly melting into something that feels like syrup and not flesh against the sheets as pleasure crawls through you.

after a few minutes he carefully adds a second finger - immediately slowing when he sees you wince at the slight burn low down in your pelvis, only continuing when he feels your body go soft again. “easy sweetheart.” he murmurs against your folds, the slight pain mixing with pleasure as as he works his fingers in and out, scissoring gently to open you up. your thighs tremble around his ears; you’re gripping his hair too tight, probably hurting him, but he doesn’t complain - if anything he groans against you at the sensation.

you’re right on the edge. stomach tensing, muscles tightening when he pulls back. his mouth and jaw are slick and shiny with you and his eyes are so, so soft when he gazes up at you.

“not yet.” he murmurs, moving so his body covers yours, wiping his face with the back of his hand, leaning down to kiss you. “want t’ see if i can get you there with me inside ya.”

he shifts, stands, tugs his sweatpants and boxers off in one motion.

you swallow. hard. watching his cock spring free - thick, heavy. flushed dark at the tip and already leaking.

you have no idea how the fuck he’s meant to fit inside you.

he sees your pinched expression, the nervous flicker in your eyes, and he leans down, crawling back over you, resting his forehead against yours. “we go as slow as you need. you say stop, we stop. you say you need a break, we take a break.” he promises, voice thick with want but edged with control.

he reaches across into the bedside drawer, grabs a bottle of lube he’d clearly tucked away there earlier.

he really did do his research.

your pupils blow wide as he squeezes a generous dollop onto his cock. he wraps a calloused hand around his length and strokes it slowly, spreading the slick shine from base to tip, lower lip sucked between your teeth as he starts to guide himself to your entrance.

the blunt head nudges against you, slipping a little because everything is so wet.

he pushes forwards.

the first inch stings. sharply. you hiss through your teeth, nails digging into his shoulders.

simon freezes immediately. “too much?” he asks, voice strained.

“just… a lot.” you manage, trying to breathe through the burn. “give me a minute.”

he stays perfectly still, barely inside you, dropping soft kisses on your face - your eyelids, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. he reaches between you, pad of his thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, soothing circles until the edge of pain dulls into an aching fullness. you nod, shaky, but firm.

he sinks in another inch. the stretch is intense - you feel every ridge, every vein as he works himself in deeper; your walls slowly opening up and moulding around him.

then he slips. just a little.

simon is tall - broad and long limbed - and the angle he’s curved himself into is awkward. shoulders hunched, one arm braced at an odd angle so he doesn’t crush you.

his cock slips out completely on the next shallow rock of his hips.

“fuck.” he mutters - frustrated with himself. “sorry love. ‘ang on.”

he tucks a hand under your knee, lifting your leg higher and hooking it over his hip.

the new position makes it easier; opens you up more. so this time when he pushes back in, he slides a little deeper in one smooth glide.

you both groan.

the fullness is overwhelming, foreign, bordering on too much.

but it also feels right in a way that makes your chest ache.

simon’s breathing is ragged against your neck. sweat already coating his skin under your palms. “christ, you feel like fuckin’ heaven. you alright?”

you nod, nails digging into his skin. “move… please.”

he starts rocking into you - slow, shallow thrusts at first. the wet, obscene sound of him moving inside you fills the quiet cabin.

it’s messier than you expected. all of this is.

your bodies don’t slot together like puzzle pieces; there’s sweat, the awkward shift of limbs, your leg keeps slipping off his hip until he grabs it again.

every thrust drags against that perfect spot inside you, but there’s still a sharp little spark of pain when he finally bottoms out completely. you whimper. simon freezes again. “talk to me dove.”

“it hurts. a bit.” you admit, voice small. “but… don’t stop. please.”

he curses softly and adjusts again, reaching for a pillow and sliding it under the small of your back.

the new angle… changes things. the next thrust makes your toes curl for a reason that isn’t pain. pleasure starts overtaking discomfort -and on the next snap of his hips you rock up to meet him, chasing the sensation. his fingers press firmer against the sensitive little bundle of nerves just above where he's buried inside you.

you feel your cunt flutter around him.

he lets out a completely wrecked sound.

"that's it." simon hisses through his teeth. "yer doin' so fuckin' well love."

the praise goes straight to your head, to your core, setting alight nerves you didn't know could be affected by words.

both your movements grow less coordinated, more desperate. sweat gathers in the space between your bodies. his hips snap a little harder, still careful but less restrained; the slap of skin on skin louder now. his hand that's not still slowly stroking your clit between your bodies finds yours, lacing your fingers together beside your head.

the tenderness of the movement makes your eyes sting.

you come suddenly - a sharp, peak that makes you clamp down around him. it's an unfamiliar wave of pleasure, coming with him inside you like that, and you let out a long, low moan that he feels in his bones, that he feels burning its way into his brain as a new core memory.

simon groans, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it. the overstimulation makes you whine, but you can tell from the way he's tensing that he’s close too.

“gonna come inside you.” he bites out, voice wrecked. “that okay?”

you nod frantically, legs tightening around him. a few more deep, messy thrusts and he buries himself inside you with a broken groan, hips jerking as his own orgasm hits. thick pulses of heat flood you, his cock twitching, face dropped into the curve of your shoulder as he presses his mouth against where your pulse is hammering in your throat.

neither of you move. you just stay wrapped in a little bubble of oh fuck that just happened. simon's collapsed half on top of you, propped up on one elbow so he doesn't smother you completely with his body. his breath is warm on your neck, heart slamming in his chest against your arm.

“you okay love?”

simon's voice is gentler than you've ever heard it, cautious in a way that you know he only ever is with you.

“yeah.” you breathe back. “i’m good.” you shift slightly underneath him, wincing as you unhook your legs from his waist.

he notices. immediately shifts so you can untangle yourselves properly, sliding out of you with a soft, slick noise.

you wince again, glance down, see a faint smear on your thigh; cum, slick - both tinged faintly with pink - and stare down in fascination at the physical evidence of what you've both done lingering on your skin like a brand.

he follows your gaze, jaw tensing when he sees the faint pink mixed into your shared fluids. “you sure you're okay?”

you pull him down next to you, curl into his chest, tucking your face into the curve of his neck. “i'm good. i promise. i’m… i’m happy, si.” there's a brief pause and then you add, almost awkwardly, “...was that okay for you?”

simon leans down and kisses you slowly, before pulling back just far enough to rest his forehead on yours. “you were perfect.” he murmurs. “that was perfect.”

you laugh weakly. “that was not perfect. we were like… tangled giraffes at one point.”

he huffs a quiet laugh against your mouth. “yeah, well. still got there in th’ end. still perfect.” he drags his knuckles down your cheekbone, eyes soft in the low lamplight. “no regrets?”

you watch him pad naked across the room - huge, scarred, relaxed in a way you rarely ever see him - and feel a rush of affection so strong it almost hurts.

“none.” you whisper fiercely - and you mean it. you ache in the best and worst ways, but the warmth in your chest is brighter than any discomfort. “thank you. for not rushing me. for… that.”

simon kisses you again, slower this time, then carefully climbs off the bed. “stay there, dove. i’ll get a cloth and run th’ bath. i reckon that fuckin’ clawfoot thing outside looked big enough for both of us.”

you get that same pang when he wipes down your thighs with a warm, damp cloth and again when he deposits you in the bathtub on the deck, climbing in behind you without a second thought.

simon settles you both into the warm water, your back to his chest, his arms wrapped around you, the night breeze ghosting over both of your skin. one of his hands strokes lazily up and down your arm without thought.

“next time we’ll try you on top,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “see if we can avoid the giraffe shite.”

you laugh, loud and free in the quiet night, and tilt your head back to kiss him again properly.

yeah, you're already looking forward to the next time.

[anneofgreengabagool]

what if simon was nasty and had a job | miniseries

18+. mdni. blue collar simon x gender-neutral reader au

he's dozing on the couch when you come downstairs from your guest room-turned-office. his burly legs are stretched wide out on the coffee table. you're pissed already seeing his nasty work boots still on. how many times do you have to tell him to take his fucking boots off at the door?

his head's tipped back against the couch, arms crossed on his chest like even in sleep, he has things to handle.

an eye slides open slowly as you take the other side of the couch. "alrigh?"

you rest your head on the couch sideways, looking at him. position yourself so your toes are tucked under his thighs, safe, held down by something. with a shrug and scratching at your cheek, "i dunno. typical client stuff. 'hurry up. now wait. now hurry up. wait. why aren't you done yet?' back-to-back meetings. i'm exhausted."

a hand curls around the top of your foot. squeezes a little. the slow blink of his eyes is the warning. "so tired from usin' that brain all day. usin' that mouth." his voice is sandpaper, the rough mockery rubbing your nerves.

"fuck off," you say without heat.

"maybe that mouth just wants to be filled, huh. so exhausted. maybe just let me do all the work like usual." he palms himself under his dirty work pants, slow and deliberate, tugging himself hard when he sees you shift at his words. "tough day. nobody wants to listen to you. c'mere."

the belt unbuckling is a sting of heat through you. the zipper pulling down has you breathless. he lays your head, a big rough hand curled around your cheekbone and ear, fingertips grazing your crown, on his thick thigh, looking at him. he hasn't showered yet, emerging from the bathroom with skin scrubbed clean. you can tell he smoked today, at least more than his daily limit of two. sweat's built up in layers from the early morning to now, settled on his skin, in his hair.

"too tired to take me out?"

he pulls himself out. a little bit of pearling cum at his slit. you bring a hand up and idly remove the long hair of yours you can see that got wrapped loosely around his cock at some point today, probably getting dressed in the early morning. your fingertips glancing off him has him reaching down to grip around his base. his fingers automatically come down to drag a little over his sac, breaking up the tightness held there.

the angle's not good for any real blowjob, but he just wants to play at you. grasping his root, fingers splayed across the shaft, letting the weight of himself fall and slap at your closed lips. he grunts a little when he sees the sheen of his pre-cum smear over you. he rubs himself up and down the seam of your lips, watching the head pearl up some more in anticipation. "c'mon. open up."

your mouth opens, tongue sliding out to lick your lips in preparation. his eyes are heavy-lidded, gone slack with need. "more." when you listen, he angles his hips and then the head of his cock is laying fat in the shallows of your mouth.

he tastes exactly like himself, only sweatier. musky, baked in earth and sweat, trapped in canvas pants. it only makes you hungrier, pushed into your mouth, the flattened look on his face. reduces you under his cock, his need, his hunger to an open mouth. not a person who spent all day trying to mitigate client expectations or a person who will have to stand up soon and think about supper or a person who will have to remember to update your credit card expiry date on all of your auto-billing payments.

"you need it, eh."

you moan around the head of him as he feeds his cock in deeper. he experiments, pulsing himself in in small increments, the spit line on his cock a clear demarcation of how far he's pushed in.

"jus' close your eyes, lovie."

eyes flutter closed, letting his cock be the only sensory input. a slow drag in, out, grazing your canines, pushing against your tongue. he doesn't want a blowjob. he just wants to fuck this hole. his fingers grip the exposed part of his shaft and shuttle it, the head bouncing on your tongue, and he lets out a soft hiss. won't take him much. he's tired, wants a shower and supper and to sprawl out on the bed with the tv on.

when he starts tensing up, you can't help it and your right arm snakes up to grab onto the meat of his waist, need to feel more of him as he begins to narrow down to his orgasm. you avoid the spot where he's ticklish, and tighten your fingers to avoid the softness that gets him squirming. he jags his cock back and forth into your mouth, his grunts and low long moans scorching you.

his orgasm is silent, words trapped behind his teeth, but his cum flooding your mouth angrily while he tugs fast and short to drain the rest of himself in you says it all. you swallow prettily, dutifully; it's been a few days and it's thick, viscous down your throat.

when your eyes finally open, his are closed. boneless, tension melted off for now. a hand lightly sweeping over your ear and hair.

you decide to order delivery.

[cobaltbeam]

Hm

[valiants]

I’m curious to know how Johnny would behave if Ghost were the one to take the bullet from Makarov then come back Wrong(tm)

You got me, I love an AAU..... alas, I think Soap would be a LOT less subtle about it than Ghost was - because that's his man ALIVE

[rawme-price]

Johnny "I'm not looking for serious" mactavish who conveniently forgets to mention that he just wants a casual relationship until after the fifth date and constant texts. He wants someone to make him feel good on leave, doesn't want to be tied down by you, though. What he really wants is an interesting toy, though he doesn't feel bad about making you think he'd try for more if it keeps you around.

Vs

John "if yer not lookin' for marriage don't date me, love." Price who maybe falls in love too fast, but he always treats you with respect. Makes his intentions known from the start, he's too old to play around and be coy when he could be waking up next to you every morning. A real gentleman, the kind that puts previous boyfriends to shame.

....A fact that you happily rub in Johnny's face whenever you have to visit your fiance at his work.

[future-crab]

The key to writing good fanfiction is to harbor a deeply humiliating desire, and the trick there is that even pretty basic and societally-accepted desires like “being held” and “being wanted” CAN and WILL be humiliating if they’re intense enough. Become so estranged from human connection that the idea of someone playing with your hair fills you with yearning so deep you feel like you’re going to throw up and you will write some banger fanfiction. It might have some other consequences too but idrk about that.

[witherfide]

jumping off the leather daddy nik post. nikghost petplay au… simon in a pup hood…… ough the dynamic between them

i like the idea that simon would need some form of organized play to get comfortable with sexual intimacy again… relying on the structure of each scene and unlearning bad habits under nikolai’s guidance.. perhaps a part of him finds comfort in being in a mask while also getting to drop the “ghost” facade and not think for a while.

i think simon would fall into some form of codependency in the beginning with it being so out of his depth, but nikolai whips him into shape through being just as stubborn as simon is. ensures that simon knows they are on equal footing and that he can voice his opinion at any time, stop a scene at any time, or just outright decline a session for no reason at all. though don’t get him wrong, nik still very much enjoys having such a strong man drop to his knees with as little as a glance when he forgets his place..

friendly reminder to keep heavily explicit comments to yourself! i don’t care if it’s an inherently sexual post. keep it civil.

[hatsbuckets]

Simon learning simple magic tricks as a way to recover after roba, both mentally and with dexterity, getting to use those skills years later on a terrified group of children the 141 rescues.

They're all sat waiting on transport, wide eyed and teary, a couple of them full on shaking, and Simon can't stand watching it, so he crouches down and pulls a coin out. Makes it vanish. A couple of them stop crying long enough to watch. It's a start.

He does the ear trick next, coin appearing behind one of the kid's head, and that gets an actual reaction, this hiccupy little laugh from a little girl. So he keeps going, throws in the handkerchief thing too, the one where the coin somehow passes through, and by now a few of them have gone from crying to just watching him with their mouths open.

When he asks if they want to see it again, they give him so many nods and little disbelieving smiles. His best audience by far—and also his first.

One of the braver ones, an older kid, maybe ten, asks how he did it. Simon doesn't even think about it, just shows her and slows it down so the kid can see how. Then has her try it with her own hand. The kid's fingers keep fumbling it and she drops the coin twice, but she's not crying anymore, tongue stuck out the side of her mouth in concentration.

That gets two more kids crawling over wanting a go, and now Simon Riley, skull mask and all, is sat on the floor of some extraction point teaching a handful of traumatized children how to palm a coin, patient as anything. Gaz watches from a few feet off, smiling softly as the whole room seems to ease at the lifted weight.

[druap]

inspired by this tiktok

[shelbyblueeyes]

[eatthekidsfirst]

I will never understand why people upload cropped, low-res, uncredited art. Here's the full piece, originally created for a collaboration with watchmaker Ulysse Nardin:

Milo Manara, 2019, Ulysse Nardin, 2, mixed technique on paper

[baklavasudarajako]

Bro is a lil shy :3