cw: poorly described virginity, simon likes staning pure things, kidnapping.
outlaw!simon riley meeting you as nothing but a pretty waitress at a saloon, standing out among the dimly lit vast room in that you did not look like anyone from the crowd, only an indiscriminate mess of men around you, drunken workers, alcoholics, loudly screaming lovers of starting a conflict, and just someone hiding with a cheap prostitute, cheating on his wife behind the walls of home abode.
simon sees it's like some cruel joke alive, you look like you've just just run away from your daddy's cozy, rich home, or from the convent boarding house like a typical good girl, too bloody clean for this place, and maybe that's why he's enveloped in incomprehensible emotions, clouding his mind with thick wisps of smoke as he moves through the roaring crowd to the farthest table, hiding not only behind the scarlet mask on his face, but also in the murkiness of an unlit corner.
you're not walking around the room, you're sliding, a long dress fluttering at your ankles, open by light shoes with a small heel tapping on the parquet, to the beat of softly played music on the piano nearby, allowing you to occasionally wag your rounded hips under the many skirts of your dress, not paying much attention to the visitors' gliding glances at your bouncing cleavage, but you feel a burning gaze on the back of your neck, until you free your hands from the freshly placed orders, and finally notice a new visitor.
simon catches your gaze on him, his pale eyelashes barely visible in the darkness that envelops him as if in a kinship embrace, so you don't see how his oppressive gaze focuses on the curves of your body, dark irises dilate to swallow the perilous blackness of his lazily hooded eyes, swirling deep with something unsettling, yet you are too pure to notice the clinging, engrained filth on his hands and the meaningfulness of his gaze, smiling greetably like a ray of morning sunshine, closing the distance between you and his table to take an order.
he orders a whiskey, cocks his head aside to lick his eyes up from your toes to your head, and you just pull on a bigger smile and nod obediently, not a word about his rough tone of voice, about the absence of a nice plea for you to bring him some, you go to the counter with your toes turned around and take one of the many brown bottles to fill a nice, clean faceted glass, pouring three fingers of alcohol that smells clearly of vanilla and spice, melting onto the leather and tobacco that penetrates simon's nose as soon as you come back and put the glass next to his gloved hand with a thud.
you peer cautiously through your wispy eyelashes when he hoists the black fabric with skull jaw up, bunching it beneath the edge of the crimson, as well skull shaped mask to take a sip from the glass, and you look at his thin chapped lips that he moistens with tart alcohol, the opened curve of his neck where the mask no longer touches the high collar of his dark shirt, adorned with a gold trinket engraved with a scorpion, and when his lips suddenly stretch in a toothy grin, creasing his eyes that now gleam with amber glows, you almost shriek and turn around, feeling your cheeks warm up.
and simon is not a good man at all, maybe as good as an outlaw can be, but it's nothing compared to your pureness, an innocent glint in your shyly running eyes, clean hands that easily wipe the dirt picked up from visitors on a small, light apron on your waist, and more than once he spoiled things that seemed beautiful to someone, just as he has long lost all shame and sympathy for such things, besides, looking at your reaction, he is quite sure that you yourself would not refuse to end dirtied up, by him.
with your curious glances, the fiddle of your fingers that tremble at contact with his own, not like with everyone else, as he brushes his whole palm against your hand on purpose while crooning about how unsuitable you look around there, and he can't blame himself for the longing want of bending you right here when you giggle, a little ringing sound that provokes him to squeeze his knees under the table because his empty glass is in your hand, and his suddenly aching cock makes his trousers too tight.
it's night behind the wide glass windows at the entrance when people begin to disperse, and the saloon seems to shrink when it's just the two of you, he's still at the rounded, wooden table, and you're knocking empty bottles behind the counter, putting them in a wooden box to return to the storage room, noticing simon's figure behind you not immediately, only when he runs his hand along the curve of your waist and to the dip of your hip, snuggling almost close to your ass, and you shudder barely perceptibly when he hoarsely offers to help.
you don't act surprised or either hard to get when he slaps the wooden door of storage room behind you two, twisting the key and sprawling two heavy hands at your hips, hurriedly turning you to face him before his lips descend against yours, lips open wide in knocked, whiny gasp, when he shoves his tongue in a wet, sloppy kiss between your slack lips, tugging you against him by snaking his hand behind you, pressing onto the small of your back, as he walks you towards the wall.
simon sees how you give him the reins, clumsily following the movement of his tongue in your mouth as he runs it over your teeth and curls the muscle around your own, ripping at his leather gloves that fly off towards the closer of the shelf, getting lost there when his bare, scarred arms bunch your skirts up and he hoists your body, making your legs loope around his waist, heels slipping off with a thud against the wooden floor, and when his touch rubs up your knees and swipes to your thighs, he almost howls at finding the pantaloons that are so uncomfortable to take off.
it's a loud rip of fabric that makes you gasp, sound swallowed by his hungry mouth, as his thick fingers find your puffy folds that drip off with saccharine wetness, making his digits tacky as he spreads your folds and toys at your peaking, neglected clit, as you kick your feet, head tilting back against the wall, making you retreat from the kiss with a shy, whiny moan, and simon smugly sure you have an virgin little hole that drips just for him, wetting the short curls of your pubic hair.
you sweat when he unzips his trousers and let's his fat cock bob out, the veiny girth of him, twitching with oozing, pearly precum that dribbles down his uncut, rudy length makes you throb, and he feels it, fingers already buried in your stretching cunny that is gooey with your glossy juices, coating his digits in glistening sheen as he thrusts them in you, fisting along his leaky dick with other hand, lining up with your pulsing entrance just as he starts to slip his fingers out.
he reinvents you for himself, stretching your thin, silken walls around the meaty girt of his cock, letting you feel every inch that pistons slowly in and out of you, careful, not nearly enough so you won't feel the sting, yet you still moan prettily, each wet glide making you tighten with rapid pulse of your tight walls, snug around every vein that rubs against your gooey insides, the hold of his fingers are bruising at your thighs, staining them with your slick that were clinging to his fingertips, as you moan with strained, whiny mewls.
simon fills you up when you get too tight, starting to arch off the approaching feeling, making his hands glide from your thighs towards your round, plush hips, gripping onto them to grind his cock inside of you, thick cockhead slamming against your spongy little spot with small, deep circles, his eyes boring into the sight of your eyes rolling back, sparks erupting behind your eyelids with each canting movement of his hips, and you wail when his cock jerks and spills ropes of cum against your cervix.
your whole body spasms, the thin walls of your pussy that milk his cock, your legs that tighten around his waist, the painfully arched spine, as your head tilts aside, eyes glassy with eyelids growing heavy, simon's hands moving to support you behind your back, cradling your slowly limping body against his sturdy, clothed chest, as the other finds purchase at the back of your head, pressing your face into his shoulder, letting you breathe into lulling scent of smoke and leather that clings to him like from a bottle of whiskey.
simon's cock still carved in you, your pussy spasming, dripping his milky cum down onto the wooden floor, and there's a satisfied growl rumbling in his chest, the one that makes you nuzzle closer, huffing at his scent and curling your body, and he's never been one to believe in the rules of being obligated to marry a girl with which you've been fornicate, but there's no way in the whole west that he's gonna leave you in this saloon for anyone to have, after being marked by his seed.
not that you have anywhere to run when you wake up at the dawn of a new day, uncomfortably wet between your legs, rocked up and down, fluttering your eyes only to be meet with silent, empty outskirts of the wild west, while cradled against simon's chest, one of his hands holding the horse's rains, making the animal ride slowly, as he holds you close with the other, feeling easily the way you shift, his gaze snapping down at you with a leery twinkle, a crooning purr of “good morning, darlin'„ slipping from under his mask.
part three outlaw!simon x f!reader who was supposed to marry johnny 🥲
simon is about to cause a scandal and get you kicked out of this town on account of adultery.
you told him he could visit you on your saloon shift, see what the town’s like. what you did not tell him is that everyone thinks you have a fine upstanding citizen for a husband, not an outlaw covered in black head-to-toe. he’s been nursing a whiskey for the past hour, haunting the last barstool in a corner, angled perfectly with his back to the wall.
he touches you everytime you pass him. a guiding hand on your waist when you saunter by with a tray of drinks. tucking your hair back into your updo as you become increasingly frazzled with a busy saturday night. even tightening the ties of your apron one time while you were talking to a customer, their eyes bugging out at the sight.
it would be fine if the public knew he was your husband - but johnny’s ring lays tucked into your nightstand and on account of simon’s gloves, you look like a cheater. an adulteress, committing sin in an already sinful establishment. you can see the church ladies signing the cross, see your neighbors muttering under their breath. it all comes to a head when the town rake decides to engage this shadowy figure of confusion that everyone is wondering about.
“does doin’ all that finally mean she’s out from her husband?” he introduced himself to simon, some forgettable name, and simon’s already wishing for the solitude of the mountains and grassy plains again. “wot?” the stranger’s so close simon can smell the liquor on his breath, can see the unsteadiness of his stature. he nods to you, taking orders in the corner of the saloon. “she’s not wearin’ her ring and your hands are on her, so that mean she’s outta that marriage? never even saw the man, guessed ‘e stepped out on ‘er.” simon couldn’t explain the situation to him, the stranger’s brain so stupidly drunk he couldn’t comprehend. so, the course of action was exactly that; action.
you were turning around, ready to holler at the singular cook in the saloon’s kitchen, when two meaty paws yanked into a body. you immediately resisted, too used to fighting the world at every turn, before you heard his voice. “just me, darlin’. settle down.” you hated how you immediately relaxed, shoulders drooping. simon yanked you into his side, eyes not on you but some man at the bar. “simon, you’re makin’ a scene.” he looked down at you, raising an eyebrow while the rest of his face moved under his bandana. “you’d rather a scandal?” so he did understand what was going on. you shook your head vehemently, intrigued at his next move. he unfurled one of your hands on his chest, the left one, turning it so the saloon could see your bare ring finger. the crowd suddenly silenced, understanding something important was happening.
simon’s gloved hand slipped into his pocket, drawing out a cloth bag. from it he brought out a ring, something with a pretty diamond and a vintage look. you gasped at the sight, of the thought he was giving you a ring with history, not just one from the jeweler’s. gold was well known in the west, the lifeblood of new towns, but the design showed elegance and class, not just new money. he slipped it on your bare finger, pulling you in for a light kiss over his bandana. you couldn’t even reciprocate, too stunned at the publicity of his claim. you heard someone whoop and that was it, your crowd turning back to a better piece of gossip now that this was solved. “y’r not gettin’ pushed out of town on my account, love.” you nodded wordlessly, eyes darting to the heavy weight on your hand. “go’on and get me another whiskey, hm?” he sent you to the bar-top with a pat on the ass, and that was that.
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a little fluff for yall
this is my outlaw simon in a song.
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