svsss au where Xiang Fei and Shen Yuan were childhood friends and played make believe— (don’t call it that!) ahem roleplayed (that’s even worse!) using the names Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu. Shen Yuan, the little bitchy kid that he was, always got cast as the villain, while Xiang Fei was always a spy (“why am i never some sort of hero?” “because you’re too much of a coward, duh.”)
Eventually the two of them got separated, probably because of the huge gap in economic class. They both thought they’d never see each other again.
Fast forward to present day. Shen Yuan discovers this webnovel named Proud Immortal Demon Way and decides to read it because, well, why not? It starts out nice and tragic, with Luo Binghe losing his mother and heading to Cang Qiong Mountain and being taken as a disciple by— SHEN QINGQIU???
No, he thinks, surely it must be a coincidence. Surely Shen Qingqiu the Scum Villain and Shang Qinghua the Spy are happy accidents. He reads on. Shang Qinghua dies. He tells himself this surely means the author can’t be Xiang Fei, because he wasn’t suicidal (ha.) Then Shen Qingqiu gets imprisoned, and then he gets sticked, and Luo Binghe is still not happy.
Part 2- Johnny can’t make you cum. (18+ nsfw, smut, simon riley x reader)
Part 1- not a necessary read but if you want a bit of a backstory.
johnny is sleeping when simon absolutely bashes the door open, the ferocity in his movements sending the wood slamming against the wall.
the sergeant jerks, fumbles beneath his pillow for a gun that isn’t there.
you feel kind of sorry for him, especially when he furrows his brows in utter confusion at your frame swallowed behind simon’s.
he grabbed your hand just before you walked in, soothed vibrating insides by a consistent brushing of your knuckles with his thumb. when you realized what he was planning to do, the anxiety grew faster than you could beg him to stop, and you ended up afraid of facing both him and johnny. there was no good way out, you were trapped.
but he helps, he soothes. in a way the handsome scot just was never able to do.
“steamin’ jesus L.t., go on and help yerself why don’t ya,”
simon huffs, unamused. “gladly.”
all it results in is the flailing of johnny flopping back down onto his back, hand scrubbing dejectedly down his face. “bloody hell, what do ye want?”
“i want you to stand up,”
this results in overly boisterous laughter from johnny as he looks back at simon, eyes piercing through the mass of man to look at you.
you can’t really make it out, but it sets unease throughout your bones, quickly followed by regret.
“simon this-it’s fine. please can we just-” you’ve got your grip on his bicep, rippled shreds of pure muscle thrumming beneath your fingertips. he’s so big. so so big. every piece of argument you had queued up dies immediately and is all replaced with saliva, drool ready to fall down your lips.
simon scoffs. “look at tha’, you see tha’ johnny. got ‘er so worked up she can’t even talk.”
his words bring you back, make your entire body go hot. this is embarrassing, really really embarrassing.
“oh, i’m-i’m fine i-simon can we please-”
he spins around, the simple narrowing of his eyes making you go compliant and utterly quiet. “y’r gonna hush y’r mouth and let me ‘andle this. yes sir?”
only your breath is heard, the rapid rising and falling of your chest making your throat tighten, eyes lighting up and fizzing out all at once. he notices, pries your hand off of him and puts it at your side, tucking two knuckles beneath your chin. “hm?”
you swallow, thickly, finding softness in his features, in the way he caresses your cheek. you nod, licking your lips. “yes sir.”
“good. now,” he turns, facing the sergeant, tone changing into this commanding force you know as your lieutenant. it’s the one nobody challenges, the one that means one wrong move and there is punishment ahead. “johnny. get. up.”
he doesn’t, he just waits. his eyes have questions, thousands of them, confusion swirling in a baby blue sea. you think he might be hurt. guilt slams into your chest, makes you lose all air. you cant help but put a hand on your sternum, heel of your palm trying to draw you back.
this is wrong. this is bad this is wrong. fix it fix it fi-
“why should i listen to a thing ye have to say?”
he’s standing toe to toe yet they’re ten feet apart.
“ye come barreling in my room, have my girl on yer arm, telling me i dinnae know how to please a woman.” he sits up, spinning around in his bed so that big, bare feet slam frustrated on the ground. “tell me why not even an hour ago i had the lass crying in my bed,” he runs a hand through an unruly mohawk, and its only then you notice the flush to his cheeks. he’s flustered. “don’t tell me i don’t know how to fuck sir, because every woman that comes through this building has a different say so.”
simon’s back goes tight, taut, and you can see the way his shoulders rise and fall with each calculated breath. he’s not hiding his anger, but he’s not making a show of it either, he’s just listening.
“she’s not every woman.”
you’re still rubbing your chest, hiding away and trying to breathe. there’s too much tension in the air, enough to make your skin uncomfortably hot, and usually johnny’s room is like a tundra.
this is your fault. they’re going to fight and hate each other and you’ll be in the middle of it, all because you couldn’t get over cumming, or rather the lack of.
how childish are you? how stupid?
you hear your name and it feels like a smack to the side of your head. it’s disorienting, and it makes everything ache when it comes from the lips it does. “tell him bonnie, get whatever fantasy is in his head out of it so i can get my arse in bed.”
you can’t read him again. can’t tell if he’s being true or if it’s begging you see in his eyes. don’t embarrass him, don’t make him feel like a fool.
he huffs, scratches his neck, yawns. his mannerisms are too calm, and you realize it wasn’t begging but frustration. he thinks he’s right.
you can feel tears, and the emptiness between your thighs throbs.
simon looks at you, softly, expectantly, and all you can do is flicker between the two faces. two familiar yet strange features. do you tell the truth? fix it?
or let it go? you’ve always been decent at taking care of yourself, why make this bigger than it is?
just fix it. fix it fix it fi-
the words come before you can stop them. “it’s not, i’m not trying to be um, to be mean, but i-” the thing that stops you is the way johnny pauses, for a mere second you see a teenage boy in him. soemthing yearning to pleasure, to please. something new and confused. he just needs guidance, to be taught. to learn and figure it out on his own.
yet you’re calling him out, plastering his name on flyers and forcing peoples heads where the pages are stapled onto a tree.
look at this man. he doesn’t know, he’s stupid. look at him. laugh.
simon analyzes, ushers you forward with a flicker of his fingers. “c’mon,”
you have no confidence, nothing to make you continue, but he’ll force it out of you.
and you want to cum. you really really do.
“i-”
johnny looks up, and you think you see the moment his stomach drops. it makes the tears noticeable on your face, makes you pick at your nails, rub your chest, mess with your hair, anything to keep from hurting him, anything to-
“everytime we’ve um, that we’ve done this, i can’t-i’ve never finished.”
“what?”
“but it’s not, it’s not just with you! i mean every guy i’ve been with i’ve had this problem so it’s probably me so don’t feel um weird or bad or, like, anything.”
you try to smile, to make him feel like less of the problem, but he’s got his mouth open, teeth poking out, tongue dry.
your belly hurts again, and you look at simon, sniffling, trying not to absolutely lose it.
he just shakes his head, wipes away all tears with his thumb. “we don’t make excuses for the foolish baby, isn’t that right mactavish?”
when simon moves out of your eyesight to look at his sergeant, you notice johnny is on his feet, pants on, eyes stone cold and unreadable. like a soldier.
he’s following his orders.
it makes you sick, makes your insides twist, but simon only hums, the sound reaching nerves you didn’t know you had and lighting them on fire. he’s satisfied, happy even. “good boy johnny,”
he nods, eyes looking right at you and yet he’s nowhere to be found in them. it’s like simon flipped a switch in johnny’s head, turned off the lights and lost him somewhere in the dark.
“simon-”
“let’s go, my room ‘s warmer.” he puts a large hand on your hip, forces your body to turn and applies pressure to make you move forward.
like a horse with a bit in its mouth, thick thighs guiding you each and every way you need to go.
simon’s room is down the hall on the right, numbers pried off and leaving behind a lighter and more faded section of the wood. your heart thunders like hooves on asphalt when he reaches around you to grab the door handle.
his neck is directly under your chin, breath hot on your jawline. the mask is still lifted, revealing wet, pink lips. they kiss your skin softly as he opens the door, whispering encouragement like a prayer to make your body cooperate.
“first lesson johnny, you ‘ave to make ‘em want.” his voice is in your ear, making you shiver. “shut the door,”
you hear a click, some shuffling of feet, and simon is in front of you, hand cupping your cheek. lips press underneath your ear, kissing a slow trail down your neck and to your chest, then back up to the other side.
“there are a lot ‘a women that might like to jump in with both feet sergeant, but some of ‘em like you to take your time. you ‘ave to learn to read ‘em.”
you think you feel him smile, and suddenly your hands are on his chest, fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer until his body is as close as your skin can be in this position.
“i um-i like the build up,” the words feel sinful. you’re not supposed to give suggestions, you just shut up and take what you’re given. but simon likes this, in fact, you feel teeth graze across your jaw.
“i know ya do baby, but johnny ‘s used to the ones who open their legs for a bit of fun yeah, but you, you like the way it feels. don’t ya?” you’re looking up at the ceiling, breath caught in your throat. every touch of his hands, of his skin, sends liquid lava through your veins. it’s an odd feeling.
there’s warmth in your belly akin to butterflies, and there’s an aching coming from your cunt. it screams at you, begging to be filled.
he grabs your face, forces it back down from where it was focused on the ceiling. his pupils are blown wide, tongue peeking between his teeth.
you hesitantly grab at his cheeks, slipping fingers beneath the mask to feel his features. he’s sturdy there too, stubble poking at your skin and tickling the creases beneath your knuckles.
“you gotta kiss ‘er, make ‘er feel wanted.” he does so. soft at first, like he’s asking for something. you give it to him by having your knees buckle, his strong arms squeezing the plushness of your thighs and lifting you around him. “there’s a time and a place t’ feel like a toy, but when you’re tryin’ to please ‘er, you gotta let that fantasy go johnny.”
he lays you back softly, says every word against your lips so he’s never apart from you. the tension in your shoulders eases for some reason, even when he tugs off your shirt, undoes your bra.
normally you’re afraid, goosebumps littering your skin, but it’s so warm in here. not the prickly kind, but the kind that makes you sigh, makes your eyes flutter shut with content.
he kisses down to your chest, and you arch your back in a way that’s never happened before when he starts sucking on your tits. he’s experienced, in his own simon riley way. the tongue does a lot of the work, teeth stimulating your nipple when he grazes oh so slightly before moving to the other.
you can feel little mewls coming from your lips, sounds you’ve never considered making before.
there was always too much to think about, too much to dwell on. now your brain is shut down, you move in tandem with him, body following his instructions like it’s the most natural thing in the world. an instinct to let him lead.
his hands begin to wander as he kisses your neck, dipping in your waistline and coming back out to rub your sides.
it’s sensual, you guess is the word.
a feeling you can’t place but recognize so well.
you turn your head so he can kiss your neck, but when blurry eyes flutter open, something happens inside your chest.
johnny looks sad.
he’s posted up in a chair, stiff and lonely. you feel the guilt again, and suddenly there’s no excitement anymore, no pleasure. just pain.
“simon st-” you find yourself cut off by the barbed wire around your vocal cords. the tears come fast. the frustration comes faster.
he obeys, immediately, backs off a little bit to look at your face. you think you see johnny lean forward, like he wants to do something, anything.
“‘ey it’s olright, you’re olright.”
you’re hiccuping, choking on emotions and feelings that haven’t come to the surface in a long time. it’s overwhelming.
your face is wet, eyes bloodshot, and simon is trying. he’s gently kissing your cheeks, pushing baby hairs behind your ears and away from your forehead.
“everything is fine, i promise. johnny,” you choke on a sob, clenching your eyes shut.
you’re afraid to hear his voice, to hear the disappointment and betrayal that’ll come with it. you’re not dating, there’s been no commitment or conversation of such, but you’re nothing if not a loyal woman and this feels wrong.
you feel dirty. bad. even as your cunt turns its back on you, as it clenches from each and every touch of simon’s fingers.
“listen t’ me, breathe yeah? shh, just- ‘ey, look at me for a moment.” he kisses your lips, big palms running down each cheek to rid the remnants of tears. you open your eyes, blink some more away to clear your blurry gaze. he’s looking at you softly, maybe even sadly. you think it might be pity? empathy? he gets it, and that’s enough to have you sniffling, swallowing away the thick lump in your throat.
“‘m sorry,” the apology makes you cry again.
“no, this isn’t you. it’s never been you. we should’ve-listen-i should’ve talked to you some more. johnny should’ve told you it’s olright.” he’s nodding, caressing your sides. “isn’t that right? she’s okay, yeah?”
there’s silence, eerily so. you feel pain trickle in, emotions kickstarting all over again. you look at simon, bottom lip beginning to tremble, when johnny finally speaks, voice stern. “yer fine pretty girl,”
it doesn’t feel fine, none of this feels fine.
the way he says it isn’t soothing you, isn’t making you feel better. no, his eyes still seem distant, and you immediately slam your own shut.
you don’t think you can do this, you’re undeserving, a burden, bad, bad, ba-
“sometimes johnny,” simon’s voice is muffled by something, and you think you feel lips working down your stomach. “sometimes pretty little ladies get in their ‘eads, start questionin’ things.” lips above your waistline, leaving featherlight kisses. you feel your breath hitch, legs squirming all on their own in anxious anticipation. “you gotta turn that off, make it oll go quiet.”
it’s a tongue now, running up your side. thick, calloused fingers dipping in the hem of your pants and tugging them down. he does it slowly, a bit of permission being asked in the way they hesitantly slide down your hips.
you don’t fight it, just nod, lifting up your ass so he can finish tugging the leggings down.
your brain still whirs, images of the man just feet from your naked body passing through in clips, making you inhale sharply through your nose, fighting off more tears.
“hush it now,” you startle, eyes flying open to find simon right above you. one hand is on your cheek, thumb ghosting over your jawline. it draws your attention, makes you look at him and him only. “good.” that other hand wanders. it runs over the cotton of your panties, feels the way they’re a bit wet with slick.
“better, but if they’re not soakin’, well then, you’re just not doin’ it right.” he dips his thumb in the crease of your folds, over the fabric, running it up and finding an oddly perky clit. “mm, gettin’ somewhere.” you watch him smile, watch a scar twitch in satisfaction. his cheekbone seems to flutter too. you focus on that for a moment, focus on the way it ticks.
he’s fascinating, oddly enough. he’s complex and emotional, but there’s a wall, a mask if you will. something in his eyes, crowded by thread. it says this is him tearing it apart for you, says that he’s trying.
a moan breaks out before you can stop it when he pushes aside the crotch of your panties, testing the waters with a finger in your cunt and a thumb on your clit.
it shuts your brain off completely, makes your hands fly to his shoulders. “you ‘ear that? means she’s feelin’ better.” he smiles, all teeth and gums, before moving down your body yet again, taking your underwear with it and tossing them to johnny when they’re off.
they hit him on the neck, making you slap a hand over your lips before they let out a ferocious giggle. simon likes it though, he’s loosening up each limb little by little, making you human again. “smell that, feel ‘em. let it be your souvenir from tonight’s lesson. cause once i bury my face in this pussy, it’s mine.” he bites the inside of your thigh for emphasis, making you yelp, fingertips curling in unruly sheets.
“now, tell me one thing sweet’art, can you do that for me?” he’s placing open mouth kisses against the top of your pelvis, circling your cunt, making you clench with want.
“wh-what?”
“what’s so wrong about the way johnny boy over ‘ere eats y’r pussy, and be honest, we don’t mind, do we?” you look over, try to ignore the lips on the crease where your thigh meets your pussy, but fail with a mewl, even as johnny nods yes.
“i dunno it’s just,” there’s a warmth gliding up your slit now, making you still. “um, he just, he’s really rough, and he-fuck,” simon moves up, circles your clit with a flattened tongue. “he never does that.”
when he perks his head up, his eyebrows are raised beneath the balaclava, your arousal glistening on his chin and the black fabric. you think it might turn you on a bit.
“you mean he’s never touched y’r clit.”
you feel bashful again, meekly shaking your head as warmth floods your cheeks.
“ohhhhhh johnny, fuckin’ rule number one mate. that’s where a lot of it comes from yeah, the way ya feel?” it’s rhetorical, he knows. of course he does.
he looks at johnny though with a down right death stare, adjusting his grip on your thighs so his forearms are over the tops of them, shoulders keeping them pushed forward while his hands massage your tummy. every touch of his fingers keeps you here, present. it’s a bit harder to float away with the feeling of hands on your tits.
“looks like i’ve got some makin’ up to do then. right on, let’s get to it.”
then it begins, like a man starved of his meal. you feel simon open his mouth against your cunt, tongue seeking its way through your entrance before pulling out again. it’s all warm and wet, a tingly feeling shooting up your spine each time he moves up, lips wrapping around that little bud and sucking with the lightest of motions.
that has you singing a bit, hand now tugging the sheets up. “fuck, oh my go- simon,”
you think he chuckles, not because you hear it but because you feel it. it sends fire through your cunt and pooling in your stomach, tightening this odd coil resting in your gut.
he tilts his head, tries to find an angle to go in deeper, you don’t think that’s even possible. the man isn’t breathing, isn’t asking to stop, he’s fully willing to drown in your pussy. and for once you don’t think there’s enough coherent thoughts in your mind to care.
you think his mouth is making noises now, light sounds from how sloppily he’s going down. he’s taking his time, unlike johnny, building up this delicious flame that, once completely ignited, will set your whole body alight.
you arch when he takes your clit again, and there’s an unfamiliar sound coming from your lips when he decides he can add his fingers as well.
“oh simon, right the-” he found your sweet spot within seconds. you wait for him to lose it, even grind your hips down to beg him to continue, but it was unnecessary, because he’s hitting it over and over and over again.
somehow, on instinct, your free hand flies to the back of his head, pushing him down further into your cunt. you need more. more, more, more.
he reads it and begins to move in tandem. his mouth solely focuses on your clit while his fingers work your insides. it’s takes two more strokes of his fingertips and you’re a goner, that coil he’d been winding snapping full-force.
you call out his name, moan it breathlessly. you whimper and writhe, feeling arousal literally leaking onto your thighs.
it’s messy and hot, and simon takes in every last drop.
he works you, slows down his pace to very carefully take you down from your high. it’s only when you start spasming does he stop, fingers pulling out and going in his mouth.
“taste like honey sweet’art, just like i knew y’ would.” he crawls back over your body, places lips wet with cum over your closed eyelids in gentle kisses. “might just ‘ave to bottle y’ up, put it in my tea.” he grins against your jaw, laughs when you giggle. “what do ya think a’ tha’?”
“that’s,” you’re heaving in deep breaths, struggling to crawl out of the syrupy sweetness coating your mind. “that’s yucky simon,”
his chest shakes, belly vibrating against yours, and suddenly you hear a sound like thunder right up against your ear as he collapses onto you, squeezing your hip with ferocity as he fights off laughter. “i wouldn’t-fuck-i wouldn’t call it, in y’r own words, yucky baby. might just be the best sweetener a man could ‘ave. a delicacy.”
“no.”
he’s still laughing, now combining it with kisses on your cheek. “oh yeah, could sell it to the boys. make a fortune. bet they’d like tha’.”
you swat at his chest, but it doesn’t beat the smile you manage when you finally open your eyes to see his own staring back at you in something that could be described as nothing other than awe.
they swirl like a storm, heading straight toward you. ready to rip apart your life and set it anew onto its own path. destruction with willpower. and you accept it. even as a foot taps, even as you remember there’s another man watching, analyzing.
because he’s never looked at you like this before. and now that you’re really paying attention, you think simon always has. just a duller version in the past.
either way, this isn’t something you want to let go of. ever.
simon comes back when you kiss him, slowly, reverently. “right, well,” his tongue searches for answers among your teeth, finding his answer and coming back with a sigh. “let’s finish this lesson up, send mactavish ‘ere on ‘is way. and then we’ll ’ave a bit of fun. hm?”
sounds like pure bliss.
“i accept your offer.”
he kisses you, as loosely as he’s made your limbs. this is what it should be like. you should feel this comfortable, this at home.
maybe you never had before because johnny was just a vacation.
“now, sergeant, when ya fuck a woman. ‘old on, ‘ere baby, lemme-there we go,” he grunts, adjusting himself properly between your thighs. he’d put his hands under your knees and pushed them against your stomach as far as they’d go, splitting your pussy open for him. leaving it warm, leaking, and inviting. “where was i? yeah, when ya fuck a lady, sure y’ might like it tight, and it might be, but if she’s not drippin’, not a fuckin’ fountain for ya dick, y’ might ‘ave an unhappy woman. and well, that just won’t do will it?”
simon shakes his head no for emphasis, and you follow, like an obedient little puppy. a kitten who whines when he runs the tip of his dick up and down, gathering your slick.
“i know ya think this is all about the way ya feel johnny, and it is sometimes, but if you’re feelin’ good when y’r missus isn’t and ya just keep goin’ to get a decent wank, then you can fuck right off. not under my roof, not under my rank. is that understood?”
johnny is silent and simon is beginning to press inside you, sending a stinging stretch that makes your nails dig into his biceps.
“yes sir, johnny?”
a little more and he pulls back out, making you whimper before pushing back in again, further.
“yes sir.”
simon kisses your neck, whispers in your ear. “doin’ good for me. i know it stings a bit but just give it a moment and it’ll feel better.”
you nod, trying to focus on the way his tongue feels in your mouth instead of the intrusion in your pussy.
johnny isn’t small, not by any means, but it’s never really gone that far if you’re being honest, and you’re not sure right now if it’d matter anyway because well, simon is very true to his size.
you agree a bit loudly, trying to convince yourself. “okay okay,”
he tries to go further but it almost feels like you’ve hit a wall. he widens your thighs, makes them burn, and keeps inching in, trying to coerce your body into loosening for him.
it makes you hiss. makes him pause. “it’ll stop, just relax for me.”
“promise?” you whisper this one, focus your eyes on his own when they come up to look at you.
he doesn’t hesitate to show you the intensity in them, doesn’t hesitate to guide you to safety.
“if it doesn’t, you just tell me and we’ll quit. not doin’ nothin’ you don’t wanna do.”
you nod, choke back some tears, and squeeze his biceps to let him know he can just do it.
“want a countdown?”
“no.”
before you know it his hips are flush with yours and you’re muffling a whimper in his neck, feeling his hand massage the back of your thigh. “easy,” he waits, lets you breathe, and then his thumb finds your clit again.
at first it doesn’t do anything, because there’s a stretch, a big ass fucking stretch. but then something hits the ends of your nerves, makes your eyebrows furrow in a different way.
now there’s a pressure but it’s nice, and you wiggle, testing the waters.
“move, please,”
you don’t have to ask twice.
he’s starting off slow, panting a bit, trying to speak but failing to find words.
“ya start off at an even pace, somethin’ she can count on.”
you find your ankles locking around the base of his spine, and now your neck feels less tense, there’s jelly in your bones.
“the main thing you’ve got ta-mmph-fuck,” he hangs his head, stifles a grown in your neck. “oh you’re killin’ me, feel so warm so-ah-tight.”
his reactions cause reactions of your own and you moan alongside him, letting your body guide you.
“every wo-woman ‘as got a sweet spot.” he grabs your hips, quickens his pace to a speed where you can feel every curve and vein that makes up his dick, where it slides deliciously in and out, where it builds up a tightness again, sitting low in your belly.
“you might ‘ave to try a few different angles, but you’ll know by the sounds she makes whenever you’ve found it.”
he adjusts so he’s hitting one side more than the other, it doesn’t do much, feels good but not life-changing.
“hm, not that one,”
your sounds are too breathy, weak.
he moves to the middle, pulls one thigh down and pushes it to the side. that feels better, really good actually. you moan a little louder, arch further into his chest. “almost got it, but not quite. you want ‘er singin’.”
again, he moves, angles his dick once more and slides out. “right,” it’s a skull-splitting movement when he slides back in and holy fuck what the-
“oh my god oh my god,”
“there. right there. that’s it. yeahhhhh,”
you let out a noise that never happens to you, something that would normally have you crawling with embarrassment, but simon just keeps hittting that spot, and hitting it, and hitting it.
“don’t stop fuck, simon please, please,” you’re begging him, tears in your eyes, praying he’ll just keep going.
you’re close, soemthing strong and yet so weightless beginning to take hold.
“shh baby, ‘m not, i got ya. you just let go, let me teach.”
you nod, frantically, let him set the tone. all you know is his tip is hitting a place that sets your nerve endings on fire, that makes your toes curl and fingers tingle, makes something in your brain begin to sparkle and tickle.
“johnny, we’re not sloppy when we’re pleasin’. if y’r tryin’ to get yourself off, sure, but women’s bodies are-fuck-” he lets out a deep whimper you think, folds into you a bit. all you did was clench down, pussy trying to suck him in and keep him forever.
“‘m sorry,” you think tears are pouring, but there’s too many feelings all at once that you can’t tell anything other than if he touches your clit you’re an absolute goner.
“don’t-baby, fuck you gotta-shit-don’t apologize.”
you hear how close he is in the way his voice pitches up. how his hands start caressing again, trying to ground himself.
“johnny, this’ll ’ave to wait i’ve got-fuck-i’ve got other matters of business.”
you don’t know what happens, but an explosion goes off inside your head. you throw it back, feel liquid lava creep throughout your veins.
and simon keeps going. again and again and again. he pushes your knees back, elbows holding him up, and something in him snaps because there’s a pace now so fast and so perfect that it has the feeling you thought was over building up in delicious overstimulation.
it crawls up your neck and wraps tendrils around your brain, squeezing until there’s no air in your lungs because you’re moaning it all out in the form of his name.
your arms were lazily thrown over his neck but now they’re on the bed, weak fingers trying to find solace in the blankets beneath you.
but you’re in space, floating, pleasure in every crevice of your body.
“baby fuck, you’re perfect. just-i’m so close, i’m almost finished fuck i know you can give me another. gonna give me another?” you don’t know if he hears you but you’re screaming yes inside, it only comes out as his name though just like everything else.
“yeah simon’s ‘ere, i’ve gotcha. just let it go, cmon, you can do it.”
he merely grazes your clit and you’re swallowed by a black hole, a place deep and dark that’s dragging you down into something disorienting.
warmth spills into you, tugs you further back into this vastness.
then there’s weight on you, muffled voices speaking and trying to yank on your tether.
you think you beg it to stop, to leave you alone and let you float away. but it doesn’t listen, it just keeps calling you back, tugging and pulling and now there’s light peeking through.
your rocket ship is landing. which is highly unfortunate because there is no way in hell you can step out of it without falling on your face.
you open your eyes, just mere slits, but simon is over you, saying your name, running a hand over your warm face.
“-ee’art? you okay?”
you think you nod, but by the way his voice keeps carrying you don’t know if that’s true.
“‘m fine.”
it’s slurred and weak, but he smiles, kisses your nose softly. “welcome back baby, thought we’d lost ya.”
“no,” you want to say more. to tell him about all the planets you visited on your trip around the universe. but there’s something throbbing inside of you, and you squirm, whimpering.
“yeah yeah, just breathe.” when the feeling inside of you begins to pull out, you hiss, trying to stop him as harshly as you can. it suddenly has reality flowing back through your veins.
“ow ow, fuck what did you do to me?”
he winces for you, hesitantly pulling out the rest of the way and kissing you when you cry out. “a bit sensitive are we?”
“yeah i-i dunno i feel like i blacked out or something,” you laugh but it hurts, so you settle for a smile, trying to coerce your legs into being less tense.
“somethin’ like that. feel good though?” he slides an arm behind your back, lifts you up so you’re closer. it gives you a touch of vertigo, makes you lean your head into his chest.
“don’t know if i’ll have better.”
you feel his laugh before you hear it and he kisses the top of your head. “think i can top it.”
“cocky much?”
“mm, just know what i’m capable of.”
you sigh, snuggling into him as exhaustion creeps in. you feel so empty yet so full. everything aches, there’s guilt in your chest, but he’s so warm. and can’t that be enough?
unfortunately he has to ruin it by being good.
“let’s get you cleaned up now. johnny, get out.” he keeps you calm with a warm palm on your back.
you hear footsteps, and he says nothing. all you know is there’s a small pause between when his feet stop and when the door opens.
you’ve hurt him. wounded his pride and his trust.
but he wounded yours first. badly.
and since when did anyone in this place not give a fuck about good ole revenge?
you hear him walk out, feel saliva pool on your throat along with a feeling very close to nausea. how do you patch this one up? and can you?
“you need ta take a piss love, then we’ll get ya in the bath, some warm clothes, maybe a bite.”
you whine, forget for a moment, and try to scooch further into him. “can’t i just take a nap?”
“i wish but, ya need to pee. just trust me.”
you grumble, groan, but he lifts you off the bed and to his chest so you guess it’s worth something.
simon sits you down on the toilet with the light off, kisses your head and claims he’ll be back when you’re finished. you think it’s all okay, that your sleepy daze will last. wrong, very fucking wrong.
this piss is like a second orgasm and you cling to the sink in horror when your body shudders, legs shaking, pussy absolutely pulsing with each moment that passes by.
it’s weird and uncomfortable yet oddly pleasuring at the same time. it sends anxiety through your chest, makes your brain ask for relief.
“simon,” you don’t know why you call his name, why moisture is pricking at your waterline, but he comes, clothes in hand.
he crouches down so he’s eye level, and suddenly this is all too intimate, too overwhelming. you’re still pissing, still trembling, and simon is rubbing your thigh, hushing your noises.
“‘m sorry this is weird i know it’s weird i-”
he shakes his head, runs his hands down to your calves to massage the tense muscles. “not weird baby, normal.”
you think you’re done, but there’s a sensation sitting in your vagina saying you’re not. and for some reason there’s no connection between the two of you to say you trust her at all. or really that she trusts you.
“i didn’t kn-know this was a thing.”
he’s working out a knot in your left leg, barely even looking up, like this is a casual tuesday.
“mmhm, learned it a while back. funny story really.”
round two comes fast and hard and you clench your eyes shut, waiting for the sting to pass and relief to flood.
“easy there, let it ‘appen.” and it does, faster than before, and finally your body is connecting its circuits back together again, making you feel like a whole instead of fragments of parts.
“done?”
you nod, eyes still closed, body lurched forward and dripping down further with exhaustion. “no, shower first, sleep later.”
you groan, obnoxiously, but he just flushes the toilet, turns on the shower and grabs your hands. “up and at em baby let’s go.”
“bossy.”
“mm, it’s my job.”
that makes you roll your eyes but you laugh nonetheless, liking the way he smiles. liking the way his nose crink-
his nose.
you can see the way his nose connects to his eyes. how it all wrinkles and crests and fuck he’s beautiful.
you stand there in something of amazement, because he took off his mask. for you.
your breath catches, eyes finding each freckle, every scar, and memorizing it, mapping out his skin. he’s perfect.
“in the shower, now.”
you grumble, stepping under the hot water and moaning. “thank you, thank you, thank you,”
he steps in behind you, hands sliding over your hips.
the silence that falls after is the most soothing part of the night. it’s two bodies moving like they’ve known each other for decades, reading cues and seeing signs that should take forever to learn, but they know.
they know when to step and when to turn, when to touch and when to back away. they sway and dance like strands of kelp side by side in ocean waves.
eternity together really.
simon has to drag you out, dries you off, puts the shirt on. he makes you sit on the counter while he takes care of himself. watches in amusement when your head tilts forward as your sleepy eyes close.
eventually you lay your forehead on his shoulder, waiting for him to stop brushing his teeth.
he carries you back, lays you down softly on what you’re recognizing as fresh sheets. ever the gentleman.
it’s cozy, a cocoon of safety.
you think you could fall asleep now, curled into his chest like this, but your eye catches the indent in his armchair, and suddenly it’s wide awake.
“y’r thinkin’, what about?”
you huff out a humorless laugh, tucking the thick comforter further beneath your chin. “how’d you even know?”
“felt the change in y’r breathin’, figured it was somethin’. but, ya know, just a hunch.”
he kisses the back of your head, follows your gaze to the place where it seems a little too stuck on.
“ah,” he knows. “ don’t worry about oll that tonight baby, we’ll ‘andle it tomorrow.”
you shake your head. and whose surprise when you’re crying again? “how do i even approach him simon? i mean i just-fuck-i was a horrible friend.”
“no, you made no commitments, there was no strings.”
“yes but,”
“no. don’t want to ‘ear it.”
you try to spin around to face him but he pins you still, kisses your neck with dry lips. “it’s time for bed. tomorrow.”
he leaves no room for argument.
“fine,”
“good, now sleep.”
you do, for a while. and sure, there’s nothing to worry about tonight. no responsibilities, no worries.
but tomorrow has them, in tenfold really. it has an agenda, and you think it’s going to be a bad one.
I hope this was worth the wait. turns out i had it in me the whole time i was just procrastinating!!
