biting my fist chewing on a rock etc etc thinking about watching dbf!simon pick up his clothes the morning after the two of you spent a night in a nearby hotel. he drove all the way to your university, texting you about how he's missed you and all, and asked if you wanted to meet up with him, and you were so sure that this meant that he must love you back. but he's detached the morning after, quiet as he dresses up.
you don't know what to say, feeling the taste of alcohol on the back of your teeth. everything feels wrong, like the minutes that he could afford to spend with you have finally run out. the feeling stays even as simon dips low to press a kiss on your forehead, breathing in the faint vanilla smell of the hotel body wash that is stuck on you, before pulling himself back up.
you try to say goodbye, hoping to ask when would he be free next. only—
"i don't think s'a good idea to keep seein' each other, doll," he says, shrugging like he did not just lay waste on you. he smiles, a little jolt of his lips, at whatever expression he saw on your face. "you'll forget me too, kid."
there's a wedding invitation in your father's office, and simon's number can no longer be reached.
I just think olderboyfriend!simon would claim to hate TikTok and how you scroll before bed, but somehow he’s got you nestled into his chest giving him a clear view of your for you page, and he’s just commenting on each video things like
‘don’t think that’s a true story but I guess I’ll allow it’
‘wonder where he gets his gear from, been lookin’ for more bike gear’
‘who would want obsessed girl whispering, just get a girlfriend’
and when you attempt to scroll through a video he was enjoying he actively boos you and pouts until you go back and let him finish.
“Si, you’re becoming an iPad baby” you retort when he pouts about not having enough screen time before bed, and he scoffs at you with a playful spank to your ass.
on your knees in front of dbf!simon with his cock stuffed in your throat, not daring to make any noise while he talks to your father on the phone.
touching and squeezing dbf!simons fat bulge under the table while he tries to eat, but he only lets out disgusting, low groans!!!!!!
sitting on the couch with dbf!simon while he paws at your body, squeezing and pinching your nipples while you sit and take it, you can’t say no to him! :(
dbf!simon who has to sleep in your bed, only to rub his cock up against your ass. a pervert. :(
how you come to him the moment you finally fucked your boyfriend. you’re all giggly as you hop in his car, your cheeks all fever-warm.
simon hums, eyeing you with a quirked brow. “what’s got you all giddy?”
his hand drops to your thigh, clamping down until your skin’s all dimpled underneath his touch. he goes back to the road, his car revving amidst the silence, and you almost want to lie and hide what happened but his grip is already tightening up and you huff, concealing the way you feel so pleased with being read so easily by him.
“kenny’s roommates were away so we finally got to fuck,” you reply, chirping, eyes trained to the blurring road to avoid simon’s reaction.
there was nothing from the older man, his silence stretching on, and you feel the beginnings of a pout forming on your lips because you were so sure he’d break. but simon just drives on, exiting out of the highway and into the familiar roads leading to your place.
you bite the inside of your lips, eyes furrowing in your frustration because fuck simon—
then the car jolts, sending you careening to the window. you yelp, scrambling, trying to catch where simon is going, and your confusion only grows when you see that he’s suddenly pulled into an empty parking lot.
“si—”
there’s a flurry of action—the engine dying, the car stilling, and simon pulling you towards him using your shirt before hot lips latch on yours. the kiss is messy, all nipping teeth and snarled grunts, and you giggle, heady, melting into him.
it drags on; lips smacking together, moans filtering out. it is desperate, and not one he’s ever done before. it’s addicting—this simon that is spurred by his jealousy—and god you want more.
he pulls away with a growl. simon’s still dragging his lips along your jaw when he murmurs, “who’s a better fuck, love? me or your new toy?”
you roll your eyes, pushing him back. god, he’s so predictable—he pulls away every time your dad’s back home from a business trip like by doing so, simon’s absolved; and then running back to you the moment you show interest in someone else.
still, the predictability is what’s fun.
“i don’t even remember yours anymore, mr. riley,” you reply, humming.
it’s a deliberate taunt, you know, but one that simon easily folds into—his eyes go dark, domineering, before reaching forward to cup your jaw. his thumb presses flat on your lips.
“then, won’t you let me remind you?”
your eyes narrow, victory singing in your blood. you give him a shy nod.
“good,” simon rasps out, already pleased. “let’s move you to the backseat, yeah?”
sun, i am on my knees begging while typing rn. PLEASEEEEEE HURT DBF!SIMON BACK. he has hurt reader and gotten away with it tooooo many times
im kinda zooted rn but
beg more, sweet thing.
okok but im feeling mean rn and i do want simon to start regretting. i wonder if it’ll take seeing john price treating his girl right for him to snap out of it. imagine if he got blindsided. if simon assumed that you would never look for affection somewhere else, not because you’re unlovable—dear gods, you are the perfect girl—but because what you needed was someone like simon. someone older, someone who provides for you, who spoils you. but simon got complacent. he thought that sprinkles of affection are enough.
but they aren’t, are they? yes, the thrill had been addicting but you’ve gotten too soft. too in love. you’ve forgotten that this should have been temporary, forgotten that simon isn’t one for commitment. you thought you would continue to be trapped in that endless cycle of eating the scraps of simon’s affection; living off of a passion that gets easily snuffed out.
then, john came along. beautiful and rugged and ‘old man’ john. john whose eyes are a storm as they gazed at you; whose hands have never strayed closer, only swiping your hair away or drying the tears staining your cheeks; whose words are short and curt but gentle and soft, and you realized that the timbre of his voice fills you up with want.
john who strapped his helmet on yours and plopped you on the back of his harley before dropping you off at your dorm. john who didn’t ask for anything—not your number, not a chance to climb up with you to your room. he did not even ask if you were going to be alright—john knew you wouldn’t be, and he rather stay silent than ask you to lie to him.
you felt so out of your element as you stood there, trembling, looking at him.
“i-…thank you,” you said.
john said don’t worry about it. said don’t forget to drink lots of water because crying can cause dehydration, and don’t forget to grab a chew because he heard your stomach grumble on the ride home. you don’t tell him that you are starved for something else so you nod and climb upstairs to your room, thinking that was the last you would see john.
but john isn’t the type to let what he loves slip from his grasp so he began to fill your days. he’s always there when simon can’t—doesn’t—come, filling up the hole in your heart one fragment at a time. always there to distract you from the yawning in your chest. always there to listen to you, to watch you, to spoil you.
he smells of ozone and burnt rubber and petrol. he has weary lines on his face and unimaginable exhaustion buried within his irises. he has scars on his palms and his forearms and on his knees. and yet, he is gorgeous to you. so gorgeous.
john’s the one who tells you he loves you first. you don’t say it back. not yet. he understands.
then, simon confronts him. asks what he’s doing with you; why is he driving you around in his harley; why is he picking you up from uni.
why is he putting a wedge between you and simon?
john downs his bourbon and rumbles, “cause i love her.”
going feral for toxic!biker!simon or dbf!biker!simon grrrgrrrawrarrara
hhhhhehehe im going feral too omggg!!! and im sorry for how late i replied to this 😭 i was spiralling when i saw it and i couldn’t contain the desire i have for this man ahhhhhh
this got too long (and dark) and i made simon an ass so im sorry! i was hit with a writing bug and i never looked back
!! brief smut - minors dni; age gap (40s vs 20s); dad’s best friend!simon; power imbalance; toxic relationship // biker!simon mlist
the attraction had been one-sided, you know that, so you wonder why simon's come to reciprocating your affections like this – spoiling you in front of his friends, the ones that you know he kept separate from his and your dad’s usual circle, and lovingly calling you his.
-
simon sent you the message at three in the morning, when you were still asleep, and it read: I’m picking you up tonight. Dress cutely, you’re meeting friends.
you replied back, asking him what he meant or even where you two were going, but simon had gone back to giving you radio silence, pretending that your messages aren’t coming in. your heart broke but it wasn't like it was anything new – simon offered pieces of himself to you, sometimes as a reward and sometimes as an apology, and you always foolishly thanked him.
then when you ask for more, he pulls away, giving you silence and letting you stew in his sudden detachment. so really, it shouldn't have been a surprise to you anymore. still, you laid on your bed, blinking up at the ceiling as you tried not to drown in the weight of your sorrow.
which is why this is new. unusual, even for simon.
he picked you up from your dorms just like he said, although you were surprised to see him roll in on his bike. he never let you on his bike, always choosing his car when picking you up. you fooled yourself into thinking it was for your safety, that it was for your own good, but you've seen simon bring dates on his bike.
you've seen how he's always brought extra helmets for the pretty dolls he proudly flaunted around whenever your parents invited friends for parties and dinners, possessive arm curled around their waist like he wants to brand his claim on them. or how he's always ignored you when they're around, his attention so sinfully glued to his dates like a man starved of affection. or how he'll sit back and watch as they pat your head and pinch your cheeks because, “well, aren't you a sweetheart?”
simon's bikes are reserved for the people he brings home. people he fucks. so it was never extended towards you. never something you had the privilege to, until tonight apparently.
“simon?” you asked, hesitating to climb up behind him.
simon grunted, twisting until he could see you and you watch yourself from the visor – wide eyes and tensed shoulders – as simon tipped his head down just enough to study the way your pretty dress fluttered as the wind blew. you did not hear it but you've seen the way his chest moved as he sighed. instantly, you felt like a bother, and you curled further into yourself as though it could hide you from his knowing eyes.
he lifted himself from his bike before turning to walk towards you. you averted your eyes from him even though his visor was still up – yet another wall that kept you away from him – before seeing scuffed boots stop just in front of you.
“look up f'r me, kid.”
you did as he told, your eyes flicking up and peering through your lashes. simon's still helmeted, still distancing himself from you, and you wondered what sick power play was he trying to accomplish.
you twisted your fingers together, waiting, obedient – just like how he wants them – even when you simmered in the heavy silence, until simon began to strip his jacket off.
you felt lightheaded, your throat parched with a sudden thirst at seeing the inked arms you have been shamefully daydreaming about. he has a new tattoo, you realized as you trailed curious glances over the fresh ink but not able to properly see it for what it was.
simon huffed a laugh and you startled, blinking up at him again only to realize that he's moved so close – closer than what he's ever allowed before. you stammered on your words, glossy lips parting in surprise, but simon remained unmoved by your clear interest and began to tie his jacket around your waist in silence, tucking your skirt underneath and securing the sleeves tightly.
“there,” he said, his voice a muffled rumble. “now y'r ready for the ride.”
you trembled at the sinking reality; that what had been daydreams and wishful thinking were now laid before you. you bit your lip to stop a sniffle because there simon was, holding your hand throughout as he hefted you on his bike. you felt overwhelmed with the intensity of your affections, trailing your eyes away from him again when he fixed a spare helmet on your head. you jolt when he snapped the visor down, and simon laughed, a pretty muffled sound.
you watched as he climbed in front of you, shaking hands unsure as they held onto his hips. simon, of course, noticed.
“y've gotta hold on tighter, sweet girl,” he said before tugging at your hands and wrapping them around himself. you bit down a broken squeal, feeling jumpy now that you're actually touching him. the purr of his engine blanketed your spiralling thoughts and you held him tighter when he drove off.
-
“why, aren't you a bonnie lass?” johnny, the one who had been too excited at meeting you, says before snorting when it makes simon wrap his arm around you tighter, pulling you ever so closer to him. “and big man's too possessive, isn't he?”
simon grunts from beside you, taking over when you continued to blink at him in shocked silence. “well, y'said it already, johnny.” you freeze when you feel his lips press on the top of your head. “my girl's too pretty, it's making me greedy.”
your breath hitches, your fingers twitching in phantom desire to fist at your dress if only to ground yourself. my girl, simon said, the lies slipping past his lips easily. my girl, he told his friends as though it is the truth. as though you could ever be.
simon’s hand glides down to your hips, squeezing the flesh, and it makes you squeak. both him and johnny croon, flashing matching grins at each other like you’re not there, while simon’s other friends – kyle, the youngest, and john, the one with a storm hidden in his eyes – snicker to each other.
“little mousy, isn’t she?” john asks, the rumble of his voice stark even amidst the booming music filling up the packed space of the bar.
simon hums, still caressing your hip, his hand occasionally dipping towards the side of your thigh, teasing the hems of your dress, before tugging upwards again.
“she is and it’s endearin’,” simon replies, still continuing the facade. because what else could it be?
simon had given you bits of his attention, entertaining you just enough that you keep running after him and chasing the softness you know he has, but he’s never given more. not an honest touch nor a whisper of affection.
so this – whatever this is – makes you tremble. it makes you ache.
you cross your legs together, squeezing just enough to put pressure in your throbbing core. the action was smooth, almost unnoticeable, and it should’ve been, but simon’s trained eyes catch the movement anyway.
he lets out a quiet groan, the sound bundled around a tinge of pleasure as he presses his lips on the top of your head again. you gasp at having been caught, bright eyes flicking up to see if his friends had noticed but johnny’s body is already turned towards a pretty brunette and kyle is tapping on his phone and-
oh.
john’s eyes are on you.
there is a moment when you are reduced to cold dread and static, lost in the smoke hidden within john’s eyes and simon’s possessive touch, before the band snaps and by then, you are on your feet. the action causes the empty beer bottles to clatter against the table which snag the attention of johnny and kyle, but you ignore them all as you sidle away from simon’s side, batting away his outstretched hand, before bolting towards the washroom.
you feel like a fool. like a doll made to entertain their sick and twisted games because that is what it is, isn’t it? simon got too bored with his dates and decided to string you along – someone easy. someone desperate for all he can give.
your eyes blur as tears pool and you barely make it to the bathroom when a hand curls around your wrist, yanking you away from the door.
“kid, stop-”
“no!” you scream, whirling around to look at simon. big and beautiful and not-yours simon. “i’m tired of playing your sick games, si. get away from me!” you try to shake him off even though you know it is futile.
simon continues to stare down at you, his lips pinched in disappointment – a look you are too familiar with.
and it’s that which makes you cry, a broken sob ripping from your throat and into the space between you two. you had hoped at least that the loud bass booming across the bar could drown it out, but you hear your whimper ring amidst the noise. jesus.
simon continues staring. continues to be silent. you don’t know how much more of this you can take.
(more. gods, you can take more as long as he allows you. as long as he is in your life. you know whatever this is between you and simon have long sizzled into something toxic. something codependent. but you need him, no matter how twisted he’s become because simon indulges you, anyway.
you remember the quickies in the bathrooms. the rumble of, “y’r doin’ so good f’r me, sweet girl,” whispered on the top of your head as he fucks his fingers into you. the marking, the nipping. the praises. the growled, “y’r only mine, aren’t you, pretty?” when he licks along your slit.
simon gives in a way that teases the yawning in your soul. in a way that carves more of himself into your very being. so how could you let go? how could you move on?)
simon tugs you towards him and you follow on unsteady feet. he wraps you in his arms, his lips falling onto your forehead. he breathes you in and you crumble, nuzzling your face into his scent – leather and ozone and forest.
“let’s get you home, yeah?” he asks.
you sniffle. “can i come home with you today?”
and simon stays silent, backing away just enough to tug you out of the bar and towards his bike. your lips wobble but you do not ask again, not when you know you can’t come back with him to his place.
the cold wind isn’t all that makes you tremble.
RUNNING AWAY WHOOP WHOOP!! update: it’s now edited <33 yippeee
you stare at your phone, lips pursed, as it continued to sputter, simon’s contact photo staring back at you with his little pinched smile. it flickers. the incoming call ends. your phone turns off. then, another one.
you groan as you swipe to receive the call, pressing your phone to your ear as you look back up at the television, not really watching but using it to distract you from the throbbing of your heart.
“still sulkin’, huh?” is what greets you, his voice a steady vibrato.
your hands twitch, the hold you have on your phone getting stronger. you don’t even even get to have the chance to respond when he adds, “c’mon, love.”
“shut up,” you murmur, controlling the anger before it can leak further in your voice. “just. what do you want?”
you hear him sigh from the other end. christ, he’s just becoming more crude, isn’t he?
“i missed y-”
“don’t. simon, just don’t.” you swallow the lump in your throat, feeling the back of your eyes burning. “just tell me what you’re calling for.”
“is it too much to believe that i’m calling you because i missed you?”
you roll your eyes. “yes.”
there is a pause on simon’s end like he is waiting for you to say more, but you wouldn’t. you don’t think there’s anything more to say after–
“i didn’t mean it,” he murmurs, almost indecipherable amidst the static.
you scoff, your hand reaching for the remote control to turn off the television. you sit in silence, ears ringing at the weight of your loneliness. of your hurting.
“i think that that makes it worse, simon,” you say after a while, your voice trembling as tremors racked your body. “it doesn’t even excuse what you said. god simon, you-!” a sob punches itself out from your throat and you jolt, startling as tears begin to pour out.
“i’m sorry.”
is he? is he sorry for making a fool out of you? in front of her, nonetheless. is he sorry for making a fool out of your love, your relationship, because he’s been lying to you all this time?
“you couldn’t even call us for what we were—what i thought we were.”
“…i know.”
you hum, wiping at your cheeks. “of course you do. you let her whisk you away the whole night, after all.” you take in a shaky breath. “don’t even call me anymore.”
“love?”
“goodbye simon.”
you crumple into yourself, your breaths stuttering as tears continue to pour down, staining your cheeks. your lungs feel weak as you battle to breathe in air amidst the cries, but you feel so weak — stripped into nothing but your pain.
betrayal sings at your nerves, almost burning you from the inside.
it hurts. everything hurts.
he’s just one of your many heartbreaks, you know, but this one hurts more. this one hurts differently. your heart caves in, and you feel so hollow even with all the pain that smothers you.
sped through this for no reason other than to hurt myself <3
!! smut - minors dni; this is what 'illicit affairs' could've been (toxic relationships); posted bc of this ask; angst ^v^
simon holds you close, his touch so gentle it leaves you breathless. he presses kisses along your shoulder blades, his words muffled on your dewy skin, and you whimper, hoping he'd sound them out louder.
simon never really does, still lost in his own mapping – his hands, his lips, the slide of his chest along your back. you mewl, chest heaving at the euphoric feeling of being the centre of his blazing attention.
the first slide of his cock in your heat is given to you with the same softness. it was so tender that you almost thought of this as simon making love to you. as simon spilling the unsaid affections he carry for you in this moment.
you feel suspended in the air, floaty with the yawning of your desire.
you reach back, hoping to grasp his hands, and your breath hitches when simon willingly returns the gesture. he lets go of your hip, snaking his arms until one of his hands lays atop of yours, the other rubbing at your pebbled nipples.
you moan, a whispery thing, your head thrown back to his shoulder. simon noses your temple, kissing your cheek, and even amidst the silence – the room full of nothing but quiet rasps of air – you feel his reverence.
"so good, baby," he grunts in your ear, the gentle slaps of his thighs meeting the back of yours acting like a muted background noise. "so good to me. so beautiful."
you clench around his length, overwhelmed by the praises rolling off of his tongue. tears trickle from the corners of your eyes, the mewl lodged in the back of your throat transforming into a warbled sob.
"si-"
the whispered drawl of his name is smothered by simon's own call.
a call that isn't your name.
"erin- fuck-" simon rasps out, voice petering into a blissed out hiss. "so tight 'round me, sweetheart. missed this. missed you."
the fiery passion inside you was snuffed out instantly, leaving nothing but cold and stuttering silence to fill you up.
"simon," you say, no tremors and no languid whispers. "stop."
simon does, pulling out without question. you get off the bed, snagging the discarded pieces of your clothes from the floor and rushing to the bathroom without looking back at him.
you hear him ask you what's wrong. you hear him call out your name – something he apparently remembers, anyway – in worry but you ignore him, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you wipe yourself clean and pull your clothes back on.
he's standing by the bed, dressed in only his boxers, when you leave the bathroom. you grab your bag from the loveseat and make your way to the door, ignoring the way he follows you.
"where are y'goin, kid?"
oh. so it's 'kid' this time, huh?
"what's goin' on?" he asks again when you continue to give him silence. "at least jus' tell me if y'r alright."
you slide into your shoes and slip your coat on, feeling winded, your chest heaving as you try your best not to cry, but it is futile. simon curls his hand around your wrist, gentle and tentative, as though showing you that you still have an out.
you breathe in deeply before finally looking back at him, and you don't know what simon sees in your eyes but it makes him straighten up, worry buzzing tenfold.
"i'm not erin, si."
your voice was barely louder than a whisper, still, simon lets you go quickly as though he's been burned.
you leave him then, your nose flaring as the tears prickle the back of your eyes, wanting to be let out.
it is only when you're in the hotel elevator that you finally allow yourself to cry.
