simon x gn!reader, 1.9k words
summary: simon's got a crush on the sweet little thing down the street.
a/n: I love him. I love kyle gallner. send help.
tw: lots of cussing but it's mostly because I went with simon's pov and ran with it, simon is buzzed, brief mention of sexual content but like nothing other than the idea
Simon was a lot of things.
Angry. Vile. Crude. A badass punk rocker.
But there was something more to him than just that. There was something deep within him that screamed for release, that just wanted to be a part of his world just as much as the rest of him.
And that, which it's far more simple than you might think, was the need to be loved.
His family was shit. That was a given. Never once looked at him like they were proud of him, which for what it was worth, he couldn't give a shit.
His bandmates were fucking righteous, but what the fuck's that got to do with anything? Love from a bandmate? Right. Weird as fuck. This wasn't one of those half-assed teen romcoms where the drummer fell in love with the lead singer. He'd rather vomit in front of an entire set than have his drummer fall in "love" with him.
And then, there was you. That bitch down the block that made him question anything and everything. Just looking at you made him feel things that he wasn't used to, and it infuriated him.
Sure, maybe he wanted to be loved, but by you? Sweet, little Y/n who'd never had a bad thought in your life? For fucks sake, it was as if the universe was laughing at him!
The universe was always laughing at him.
But who cares? He was in a punk ass band, he always stuck it to the Man, and when it mattered most, his bandmates showed up when others didn't.
But you were always on his mind.
Shit.
He was down bad for you. There was no way around it.
Standing outside your doorstep, half-smoked cigarette hanging from his lips, he knocked rather loudly. If you didn't answer, he'd just leave. God, he hoped you didn't answer. The cherry wine coolers he'd had just moments before weren't doing much to settle his nerves.
Why the fuck was he even nervous?
It wasn't like it was the first time he'd been around you. Hell, he'd smoked a cigarette or three on your doorstep, complaining about anything and everything as you drank a soda, a coffee, or one of those cheap wine coolers he brought you.
It wasn't like he didn't know you.
There's a pause as he sucks in a deep breath of smoke, and the door opens to reveal you. In your pajamas like a good little samaritan, ready for bed at 10 in the evening.
Simon silently scolded himself. Of course you were ready for bed. A goody-two-shoes who most definitely wasn't waiting up for some kind of divine inspiration for a new song. Who wasn't waiting up for some kind of alcohol to finally kick in.
You blinked slowly at him. You knew him—not as well as you would like to, but you knew him. You had a history class together back in high school, and while you weren't that teenager from way back when, you still remember the inkling of a crush you had on him. You knew him way better then than you did, now.
Ethics be damned, am I right?
"Simon?"
Your voice was so soft, so sweet. He just wanted to turn around and walk away, to avoid you so he wouldn't taint you like he wanted to.
Dammit.
"Hey, Y/n," he said, dropping his cigarette and crushing it beneath his boots. "You, uh, got a minute?"
You blinked slowly but gave a small nod, stepping out onto the porch. You closed the door behind you to keep the cool air from going in. Your arms crossed over your chest and you watched Simon closely before he spoke. It wasn't the first time you had done this.
You stood barefoot in front of him, the cold concrete a not-so-welcome addition to the conversation.
"Look," he began. "I, uh, just wanted to—well, fuck, I don't know what I wanted to—"
He was a blabbering mess. What the fuck was this? He was confident, but around you, it was as if every little bit of his brazenness melted away.
"You, me, bar tomorrow night, yeah?" he blurted.
Simple. To the point. Far less embarrassing than what happened just moments prior.
Your eyes widened, and he can see the gears turning in your pretty mind. But you didn't seem adverse.
You smiled a bit. "What bar?"
He blinked slowly. "What bar? The fuck—uh," he looked over his shoulder, clearing his throat. "Sure. Why the fuck not? Bar on Main Street."
"Will I meet you there?"
He scrunched his nose. "Yeah. Meet me there."
"Cool. What time?"
He blinked slowly. "Time? Fucks sake, Y/n, you ask a hell of a lot of questions," he said, snorting softly. "Let's, uh, say nine? Or is that too late for you?" He eyed your warm pajamas.
"I'll be there," you said.
He perked up a bit before he looked you up and down one more time. "Fucking right," he said. "Be there." He took a step back, nearly faltering on the first step of your porch, but then he turned away and without another word, left you behind.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He wasn't stupid. He was smart in his own ways, sure, but what the actual fuck was that?
Girls threw themselves at his feet, especially when he was John Q. Guys did too, in their own ways—hell, he had one guy one time tell him he'd give him a blowjob if he looked at him for longer than five seconds.
He almost took him up on the offer. But that was nearly a year ago, and the way you looked at him tonight made his heart melt in the confines of his beaten chest.
Dammit all, what the fuck was he doing?
Love. What the hell would love give him that he couldn't get from some random fucker down the street?
What in the ever-loving hell was he doing?
Nine o'clock on the dot, he was there at the bar on Main.
Down bad. He knew it, too. Even canceled his band practice just to come and see you. His drummer had nearly cussed him out, but Simon didn't give a shit.
He went straight to the bar and ordered a beer, downing half of it in the first few seconds of having it.
When he felt a hand on his arm, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked down, seeing you standing there. You actually came. You weren't pulling his dick, you actually showed up.
His heart pounded nervously in his chest. Shit. When was the last time he was actually this nervous?
"Y/n," he said.
You smiled up at him. Did anyone ever tell you how pretty your smile was?
What. The. Fuck.
"You said nine, right?" you asked. "I'm avoiding my pajamas just for you."
Just for him. Fuuuck.
You were cute.
He shoots a cheeky grin, leaning against the bar counter. He could be suave. He could be confident and not seem as needy as he felt. The pyro was more than capable.
But for some reason, he didn't feel like lying to you. He didn't feel like joking around, or trying to show you something that simply wasn't true.
He'd loved you since that stupid class back in high school—the one with Mr. Fuck-face and that terrible toupee. You had been so nice to him, while everyone else had treated him like a parasite. Not that he blamed them. He knew what he was.
He cleared his throat and looked around the bar. Maybe it hadn't been the best place to ask you to, but the alcohol definitely would help at some point.
"Yeah. I said nine," he said.
You ordered a drink. He doesn't listen to what you say to the bartender. He's staring you down, eyeing you like a fine choice of meat. Fuck, you were, though. Every inch of you was like heaven to him.
Maybe it wasn't love he wanted. Maybe it was just lust that kept him in a chokehold.
Besides, he hardly knew you. Knew you briefly in high school, but the fuck's that matter? How long has it been since the two of you graduated?
Long enough.
Long enough for everything to change, except for him, apparently.
"How've you been?"
Your voice drew him out of his thoughts. He looked at you, blinking slowly, before he shrugged.
"Busy," he said.
"You still playing?"
He blinked slowly. "Huh?"
"In high school. You had a band. You still playing?"
You remembered that? Shit.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm still playing. We play a couple gigs here and there."
Your eyes widened. "Really? Where do you play?"
"Wherever we can get a spot. You, uh, should totally come out to hear it some time."
You smiled immediately. "I would love to," you said.
He stared you down. Either you were lying or you were one of the fuckers who he knew he'd never get enough of. It's looking like it would be the latter.
He looked away from you, taking a swig of his beer.
"You think that—"
He interrupted you, slamming his beer onto the counter. "Look," he said rather quickly. "I don't know what it is, but I need you to take me seriously for a second."
You blinked slowly. "Yeah. What's up?"
He clenched his jaw as he looked at you. He wasn't angry with you—nah, he was angry with himself. Not talking to you sooner, not kissing your pretty mouth, not—
"I think you're fucking tits," he said, taking hold of you by your shoulders. "I'm not about to sit here and tell you I love you, because I don't, but for fuck's sake, I want you more than I've wanted anything in my entire life."
Okay. Lie number one. Starting off strong. But how could you love someone if you didn't truly know who they were? Guess it wasn't really a lie. It just... was a half truth, if that.
Your eyes are wide as you stared up at him. "What?"
"I want—" he began, letting out a labored breath. "I want you. Okay? There. Fuck. I said it."
"You... you want me? How?"
He snorted softly at your question. "I want you in every fuckin' way imaginable, Y/n."
He said nothing more, leaving it up for your interpretation, but clearly, by the way he was looking at you, it was obvious.
"Simon—"
"Nah, don't," he said. "If you're gonna protest, I don't want to hear it."
"I'm not gonna protest—"
"—I've had enough people tell me they don't want me, and it pisses me off."
"But I—"
"—I'm serious, Y/n."
"Simon. I'm not protesting," you said defensively. "I—I feel the same way."
He blinked slowly at you, like he didn't just hear you correctly.
"What?" he asked.
"I like you," you said. "Have for a while now."
"You..."
"Yeah. I do," you said.
"Well shit," he breathed out, looking down at you. "Well that was easier than I thought it would be."
He pulled on a cheeky grin, and those pretty eyes of his bored into yours.
"You should kiss me," you said, smiling up at him.
"The fuck?" he let out a curt laugh, but he took you up on the offer. A hand moved to the back of your neck, and his lips pressed to yours almost instantaneously.
Fuuck, he'd wanted to do this shit for ages. Why the hell didn't he ask you sooner?
thinking about smoking with simon while u ride him ᜊ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᜊ
♱⋰ ⋱✮ he’s convinced he’s corrupted you, turned you into some ‘cockdrunk stoner’, shaking his head at your insistent whines in his annoyingly clothed lap.
“you can’t get what you want all the fuckin’ time.” he griped, stilling your hips that seemed to have a mind of their own. of course he was a hypocrite, still-lit blunt gripped between his fingers pressing into your sides.
“why not?” you pouted, using the hands planted on his chest to lift yourself up and back down again, intent on torturing him just as much as he was you. he could be mean — deny you completely just so you’d really beg him for it, even make you get yourself off on his thigh without any help while he watches, but he couldn’t deny the effect you had on him; currently prevalent in his tightening jeans. he took another drag before grabbing your jaw, exhaling warm smoke into your mouth as your eyes closed.
soon enough you’re grinding on his dick — just lazily rocking your hips while he watches you. you take the blunt from his hand before he gets ash all over the couch, turning it towards him after tapping it against the glass tray on the table next to you, holding it for him so he can keep his hands gripped tight on your waist. your pace only gets more lax as you get higher, a loud smack to your ass reopening your eyes for you.
18+ mdni - tw: light impact play, some bdsm themes, degradation?, ass play
"you asked for this" simon whispered into your ear in his gravelly voice. it was like melted butter and rusted nails. smooth and prickly at the same time. the kind of voice that could get you to do anything. but he had you bent over the work bench of the shop his band was playing at by his look alone.
—————
simon stared at you all night. even through the small holes of the ski mask you could tell. you felt it. “what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a shithole like this” he thought to himself, yelling into the mic. you didn’t necessarily look the type to frequent shows like this. “fuck, maybe psyops was getting too popular.” but he wasn’t about to stop performing. when simon had something to say it was going to be heard. he was a feral animal. he’d take up so much space you could feel his aura crashing into you. sweat dripping down his shoulders & back. chest heaving. he saw you looking. it fired him up, your unbreakable trance. he got off on it, going harder with his movements. belting out verses with more grit. you looked precious, delicious even. simon was thinking maybe you could afford a couple rips in those tights you were wearing.
you were thinking the same thing.
—————
you let out a giggle. simon grabbed your face to turn and look at him. his weight against your back and his cock pressed against your ass. "whats so fucking funny, huh?" you smiled at him. "god, you're fucking bad, huh?" he teased before kissing you roughly. you whimpered into each assault he made on your bottom lip. a yummy cycle of biting, sucking, and wrestling your tongue with his. you wanted to match him, but you also needed every inch of him to overwhelm you.
simon had you on your tippie toes. it was taking everything in him not to ruin you completely. he wanted to savor you as much as he could. you weren't just another one of the poser groupie sluts that go to all their shows. the ones that drink too much and wanna hear themselves talk. your eyes read "good girl", but they also screamed "violate me". there was something different about you. "who is she?"
simon pushed your skirt up your hips feverously. laying a solid smack down on your ass with his hot hand. "fuck, i'm gonna have some fun with you". your pussy pulsed in response. he had you wet the second he started singing, so needless to say you were sopping by the time he pushed his fingers against your clothed cunt. he groans at the feeling of you before leaning over again to whisper. "i think someone liked the show". you couldn't help but push back onto simon's hand. "it was...alright" you moaned through a cheeky smile. "oh, yeah?" simon teased back before laying another cruel smack on your ass. finally tearing a hole into your sheer tights. "well, lets see if this is more to your liking then, miss" simon sticks two fingers into you and you gasp. his fingers are dexterous, like any good musician, moving slow at first, but then he angles his hand so his thumb gently rubs at your ass and his fingers curl inside you. "fuckkkk you're clamping down on me so good" he continues pumping his fingers into you, spanking you every so often to keep a nice pinkish-red print in your skin. "mm!" you moaned, writhing beneath him, indulging in every slip of his fingers into your achy cunt.
"let's try a little something" simon says sliding his fingers out. he turns you around to face him, picks you up, and props you on the edge of the filthy work bench. the metal cold beneath your slightly bare ass. simon's body nestled between your legs and his cock is there again, hard as ever, begging to be released from the confines of his black jeans. "open" he commands. you obey and shortly after parting your lips his wet fingers slide into your mouth. he nods, relishing in the way your swollen lips wrap around him. "fuck yes, do you like how you taste?" you continue to suck on simon's fingers and look up at him and smile. you bite his fingers briefly. "fuckkk" he groans and then shakes his head at you. "who is she?"
"i think i'm gonna like how you taste too" simon says with a devilish grin, kneeling in front of you. he lifts each of your ankles slowly onto his shoulders. but doesn't dive in between your thighs. he's lost in thought. he never let go of one of your ankles. he looks at you and looks back at the scuffed up burgundy boots you're wearing. yellow laces. worn at the toe. his eyes grow big and he can't look away from you. "who is she?"
simon scoffs, annoyed by his own bewilderment. "fuck, i thought i knew you from somewhere..."
