!! suggestive-ish; dirty talking n insinuations; simon n his big body <33
"c'mon, sweetheart," simon murmurs, watching you with narrowed eyes. "won't you tell me why you wanna ride me?"
you puff a trembling breath, gaze turned away from him, before replying, "wanna feel you, s'all." you chew on your words, the rumble of your voice is so soft that simon almost missed it.
almost.
he doesn't bother hiding his smirk.
"is that right?" he sounds breathy even to his own ears. "anythin' else?"
he watches as you shake your head, still looking away from him, all shy and docile in your embarrassment. simon almost heaves a saddened sigh, but he sees the way your eyelashes flutter in nervousness, your bottom lip all bitten and nibbled on, and decides to take it easy.
well.
easy on his terms.
"you wanna take me to the hilt, yeah?" simon begins, his voice genuine even with the faint teasing tone. he adjusts the two of you on the sofa, grunting in satisfaction when your eyes flick up to meet his shyly.
"you wanna take control? wanna set the pace and do all the work?" he massages your hips, working his hands to grab fistfuls of your muscle and fat, groaning at the way your skin dimples.
he pulls you close to him, your chest pressing against his own, and simon tries his best not to flick his eyes down just to see the way your tits are all squished up against him. god, even just feeling the softness of them makes his cock stir underneath his jeans.
simon brushes his lips over the shell of your ears, purposeful in their teasing touch. then, "you wanna know how deep i can go in you, huh? wanna take your sweet time – or not, depends."
he lands a smack on your ass, the slap ringing between you two, and simon chuckles at your bit-off squeak. he watches as you tilt your head up to glare at him but simon just grins, teasing and meanly, before pitching forward to press a soft kiss on your forehead.
"no one's stoppin' you, princess." the words are mumbled into your skin and simon revels in the way you breathe in sharply, fingers trembling from where they are fisting his shirt, before groaning in quiet pleasure when he feels you rutting down onto his chub.
!! suggestive (and mini smut) - minors dni; bimbo (fem)!reader has simon wrapped around her pinky (we luv to see it!); the squad’s here too; hinted age difference (30s v. 20s)
when they ask him where you two met, simon always tries his best to tamp down the smile threatening to grace his lips before clearing his throat and answering, "in the ER."
the questions that follow are always repetitive: 'what, why?', 'what happened?', 'how did things even go from there?' the last one is often paraphrased into some other versions, but the sentiment remains – people always get surprised, reduced into awkward stumbling because how could you even segue into a romantic relationship from having met in the ER?
well, simon thinks, it's actually quite fucking simple.
it was three in the morning and simon was in the lobby, waiting to be called in, when he saw you walk in: you clutched your broken heeled shoes in your hands, your beautiful legs were bearing injuries and cuts, and your hair was a wild mess. then, you ambled towards a baffled triage nurse.
"hi!" simon recalls your melodic voice echo, sounding too hyper even when you looked all banged up. "can i use y'r restroom? we got kicked outta the club."
simon was so focused on you that he didn't even notice the pack of girls following behind you, all of them looking just as haggard and bruised up. one of your friends was actually worryingly injured, so it’s no shock when the nurse rushed towards her, slightly panicked and confused before steering your friend away, leaving you there in the lobby.
then, you turned around, frowning at having been ignored, and it gave simon the best vantage point of finally seeing your face. he swears his heart stuttered in his chest, his lungs constricting, because holy shit, you are beautiful.
"then the rest is history," simon ends, pulling you close to him. any closer and you would have ended on his lap – something he preferred, anyway – but johnny continues to stare at the two of you with a slack jaw, his eyes almost bulging out in confusion so simon tries to keep it civil.
you giggle, and simon watches as the rest of the squad snap their eyes on you, as though expecting you to grace them with a better explanation. but simon knows that you probably don't even know what's going on, having been busy tapping away on your phone, your acrylics making distinct clacks as they hit the screen.
"i love the history channel," you singsong, batting your eyelashes as you give them a dimpled smile. "simmy-" simon almost coos at the nickname you gave him, "and i looove watching the penguins."
simon presses a kiss on the top of your head, ignoring the bewildered looks his squad is shooting him.
"that's the 'animal planet', love. not the history channel," simon corrects gently, rubbing his hand down your side.
"oh!" you say, unbothered by your mistake. "okay!"
and that was that.
"what the fuck," simon hears johnny wheeze out only to up making choking noises when kyle elbows him. simon ignores them, choosing to watch as you turn back to your phone, mass-retweeting a series of post made by the magazine catalogue that you've been following.
cute.
---------
"fuck," simon hisses, feeling the sharp edge of the kitchen knife slicing through the first layer of his skin. he watches the blood bead, trickling down his finger, and simon wipes it before it can stain the pristine green – "sage!" you tutted to him once – countertops.
"si?" you ask, padding towards the kitchen at the clamour. he feels you press yourself to his side, your perky tits nuzzling his robust muscles. "what's goin- y'r bleeding!"
he grunts, frowning at himself for having made you worry. he moves to reassure you that he's okay, but you're already tugging him out of the kitchen, your smaller hand wrapped around his thicker wrist.
god, he loves seeing the size difference.
you're wearing his military shirt, the material sliding down your body beautifully, before pooling just above your perky ass. simon unabashedly stares at the way your ass jiggles – hidden underneath the tiniest booty shorts he knows you own – his throat bone dry and his sweats filling up all of a sudden.
he barely realizes that you two are in the bathroom until you're steering him towards the edge of the bathtub before twisting to fish the emergency kit from the floor cabinets. simon almost groans at the perfect shape that your ass makes when you bend over, feeling himself throb with raging desire.
you pull out a pink emergency kit and skitter towards him again, slotting yourself between his spread legs. simon raises his hand – the uninjured one – to grasp at your waist, sliding it down to your hips, before giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"it's nothin' fatal, sweet'art," simon mumbles, thumbing your hipbone as he tries to comfort you.
you're still pouting at him when you say, "sure, i guess. but lemme help you?"
and who is simon to say no to that?
"of course, love."
he lets out a quiet chuckle when you press your glossed lips on his forehead, unbothered even when your lips leave a sticky stamp on his skin.
he watches you disinfect his wound with a strawberry-scented sanitizer before wrapping a pink adhesive bandage around it. his worries about having his open wound disinfected by a glittery sanitizer fade away when you picked his hand up to place a kiss on his now-bandaged finger.
glitter-induced infections no longer matter. not when simon's getting nursed to full health by such a pretty girl.
he licks the back of his teeth, clenching his jaw, and thinks, you deserve a reward, don't you, sweetness?
---------
johnny blanches when he sees the bandage around simon's finger. "LT, what in fuck's name is that?"
his loud voice snags the attention of garrick and their captain who ambled their way towards him upon hearing the commotion. garrick chokes on nothing when he sees the pink bandage that simon's sporting.
"bandage," simon replies, pride heavy in his voice. "from my girl."
johnny whirls and shoots a pointed look towards kyle and john. kyle is the one who breaks the silence.
"…are they safe for use?"
"what's the cat even bandaging?" johnny adds.
simon huffs, flicking his finger up to give the squad a better view. "firstly, this is 'hello kitty'. secondly, you questionin' my girl’s ability to care for me?"
john coughs, looking away, kyle arches a brow at him like the answer should be obvious, and johnny gulps loudly, before mumbling, "...yes."
simon sniffs, unable to blame them. "yeah, well, don't."
the squad is still quiet. waiting.
simon finally gives in and replies, "i checked. they're safe for use."
he rolls his eyes at their dramatic sigh.
"that's good to hear," john says before clapping his hands together once, urging them to disperse.
simon grumbles all the way back to his room.
---------
simon loves his pretty, dumb girlfriend to death.
he loves seeing you dolled up – skimpy dresses made of silk material paired with heels that could honestly stab someone to death. he also loves seeing you in nothing but his ratty jumpers – loose black sweaters stopping just after your crotch and the sleeves falling past your fingers.
but nothing tops seeing you naked and crying for him.
nothing could ever top this – your legs folded close to your chest, your ankles hooked on his shoulders, your pretty make up running as tears trickle from the corners of your eyes and flood your cheeks.
he thrusts his fingers in your cunt again, breathless when it punches out another slick gush of your squirt, drenching you two even more. you squeal, body locking, your hips lifting from the bed. simon has to press down on your belly to keep you stable.
"siii!" you cry out, thrashing on his hold, but simon just kisses your leg as he continues to fuck his fingers in you.
"shh," simon murmurs, feeling so choked up at the sight you make. "one more for me, yeah?"
you moan out a reply, a garbled mixture of 'yes' and his name, before wrapping your hands around his arms, your acrylics digging into his skin. simon doesn't even register the pain, still too caught up at fingering you to feel the way you're clawing him.
still too caught up at how perfect you are for him.
(later, when he checks the mirror and sees the angry red welts, simon purrs at the sight of them. because simon loves being marked by you, doesn't matter how, as long as he has bearings of your pleasure. pleasure he gave you.)
---------
simon receives a video message from you. it’s nothing long or conspicuous, but simon still chokes when he finally gets to watch it.
because in the video, you’re wearing simon’s old varsity shirt on top of your university cheer uniform.
“look!” you chirp, twirling for him. “found this in the closet!”
simon slams his captain’s door open and demands a vacation leave.
---------
the lieutenant has a new tattoo and johnny doesn't know what the actual shit it's supposed to be.
it looks like a wriggly blob of a... cloud? a cotton ball? candy floss?
it was still a somewhat fresh tattoo so simon never truly shows it off – johnny doesn't even know if it's worthy of being shown off – until one night at a bar, simon rolls up the sleeves of his jumper and leans to the squad to point at the blob.
"lookit," he slurs, tipsy and just a touch giddy.
finally, johnny cheers to himself before reaching forward to poke just beside the scribble.
"what's it?"
"mittens," their lieutenant croons, smiling down at his skin like a weirdo.
johnny has seen enough mittens to know that whatever that fucking squiggle is isn't mittens.
"uhm," kyle says, thankfully thinking along the same lines as johnny. "is it?"
"yeah," simon says wistfully, drunken in a lovesick way. "s'my girl's cat. she drew it f'r me."
oh. well, fuck. now that's just too cute.
wait.
"that's a drawing of a cat?" johnny rasps out, choking on his spit before turning to study the tattoo again.
!! smut - minors dni; slight dumbification and daddy kink
simon realizes that he’s finally hit that threshold that renders you incoherent – too blissed out to respond beyond half-formed moans and stuttered gasps; too dizzy from pleasure that your eyes stopped seeing.
shit, you’re always so cute like this.
his hips don’t pause but he does slow down the tempo, choosing to rut deeply and slowly instead as he savours the way your body is getting jostled on the bed as if it stood no chance against his. and it truly doesn’t, a fact that makes him tremble.
you’re so soft and malleable under him, all doe-eyed and soft edges, kiss-swollen lips mouthing his name – “si! daddy, so good!”
simon humps his cock into your pussy, grunting at the feeling of your walls spasming around his size, swallowing him in so greedily. he closes his eyes with a hiss, going blind at the tight squeeze of your heat.
christ, love. how do you expect him to hold back when you feel so delicious around him?
“y’r takin’ me so fuckin’ well again, baby,” he murmurs, pressing his lips on your damp cheek, grinning when all he gets is a breathy moan in reply.
“i’m fuckin’ you good?” simon asks, thrusting in again, meshing together his hips onto your pelvis. the wetness of your cunt makes a wanton sound at the press, and you let out a squeal at another deep slide, your pretty eyes screwing shut at the overwhelming pleasure.
“fuck,” he gasps out. “yeah i am, aren’t i? look at you tremblin’.”
quiet and elated chuckles slip from his lips, and simon croons when all you can do again is cry out his name.
he’ll never tire of hearing you gasp out for him.
he nuzzles his nose along your cheek, the action so soft like he isn’t making a mess out of your cunt, and ghosts a kiss on the bridge of your nose.
“my sweet girl,” he breathes out. “my perfect girl – all mine. is that right, baby?”
“yes,” you finally manage to grit out, your voice all hoarse and broken. “all yours, si.”
simon shivers at your words; at how wrecked you sound, his heart swelling at the knowledge that he’s made you like this. that only he can pull you apart until you are bare and trembling for him.
“s’right, baby, y’r all mine.” he pulls up just enough to catch your little smile, your bleary eyes finally zoned back in as you gaze up at him in bashfulness. simon presses a quick kiss on your lips.
> a bunch of snapshots of simon and his pretty little sweetheart’s adventures.
!! suggestive - minors dni; canon divergence; no chronological order (basically a bunch of loosely-tied worldbuilding); subtle and hinted age difference; reader gets princess treatment because she deserves it so!!
: im the one who’s the most confused as to how my obsession with biker!simon started but im stringing u along anyway so pls have fun!! my inbox is open for brainworms <33
for all posts, pls click on biker!simon tag <33
part 01 - intro post; headcanons
part 02 - simon can’t wait to come home to you
part 03 - getting over your fear of riding a bike
part 04 - lap sitting (a visual); ask
part 05 - simon and your first meeting; ask // extra 01
part 06 - little donuts at the park <;33
part 07 - simon’s instagram account (includes visuals); ask
part 08 - teasin’ each other on their way home; ask; suggestive
part 09 - body worship (a visual); ask; suggestive
part 10 - getting over your fear of riding a bike sequel! (a visual); ask
currently obsessed with biker!simon!!!! how do you think he and reader met? i think, whatever the situation was, he was the one that couldn't get his eyes off her and started to bluntly stare??? maybe soap was with him and laughed bc he had never saw him get this serious about any girl he had laid his eyes on 😫😫😫😫
BAE I WENT FERAL WHEN I READ THIS BECAUSE YEAH!!! YEAH
ok so this is gonna be ridiculous but bear with me because im actually so obsessed with biker!simon im unwell
simon prefers using his bike whenever he’s out with his friends. there’s no use taking his car, anyway. not with kyle hitching a ride with john, and johnny taking his own car on the few occasions that he does bring someone home with him.
simon’s never had to take those things into account because he preferred a quiet end to his nights, anyway. just a shot of bourbon and a short dinner with his friends, and then he’s back on the road and on his way home.
so he’s never had regrets with taking his bike. until today, of course.
he’s noticed you since you walked into the bar with your friends, your arm hooked around one of them and your head tilted to hear them better. the others who are not engaged in a discussion with you whipped their heads around to find an empty booth and simon almost crushed his glass at the way his heart leapt when he realized that the closest empty booth in the place was the one directly beside his group’s.
simon watched as your group moved closer, the chatter finally piercing his ears and, unconsciously, his body turned to hear you better. from in front of him, johnny’s pinched lips finally wobbled as he wheezed out a laugh, breaking simon’s focus.
“what?” simon barked out, feeling warmth creep up from his neck to his ears, half of his mind focused on the group settling behind him.
“holy shit,” johnny said mid-laughter. “you don’t know anythin’ about subtlety.”
simon grumbled then, in denial, but now he just fully stopped caring.
somehow, as the night progressed, simon gravitated towards the seat facing yours, a spot where he had a clear vantage view of you. he’s taken advantage of the change in seating, devouring the sight you make as you giggled with your friends. devouring the change in atmosphere, now that you’ve begun to return his heated looks.
it started with curious looks, born from your friend whispering to you how simon was staring; how, throughout the night, he did not entertain all those who went up beside him and focused only on you. then your gaze shifted into something scalding. something that sent liquid fire warming simon from the pit of his stomach to the back of his spine.
mactavish sighs beside him. “just buy the lass a drink already.”
simon peels his eyes away from you to look at johnny, mulling over the suggestion before grunting out a thanks. he stands up and walks to the bar, calling out to get the bartender’s attention.
remembering the bellini that you’ve been nursing since you got here, simon asks for another flute of the cocktail and requests that it be served to you. he turns when he says this, hoping to give the bartender a clear view of who the bellini is for only to blink in surprise when he sees you standing just a few feet away from him.
“sir?” the man behind the counter asks.
“sorry. just serve it here,” simon replies, his eyes still on you. there is shuffling behind him, the bartender probably leaving to whip up his order, but simon honestly doesn’t care anymore.
not when you finally shuffle close, a shy smile dancing on your lips.
“hello,” you greet, voice a hesitant whisper, and simon feels like he’s been gutted.
you’re so goddamn beautiful, it’s catastrophic.
simon thinks of how short you are, something he’s first noticed the moment you walked into the bar. it’s not like he’s surprised by the realization given that he tends to tower over anyone ever since he hit his growth spurt, but there is something unfurling in the pit of his stomach as he realizes how perfectly you fit in his arms. how easy it would be to just tuck you underneath his chin and slot himself around you.
“hey,” he finally replies, his eyes roving along your features, trying to memorize the shimmer of your lips. the long wisps of your lashes. “‘m simon.”
you giggle, introducing yourself shyly, and the sound of your laughter tickles his ears, making him weak to his knees. he mouths your name, testing it out for himself and preening when it rolls off his tongue with ease. like your name is something simon is supposed to always call.
his new favourite word.
“sorry,” you say, lifting your hand like you want to reach out and touch him, only for you to snuff out the action in your anxiousness. “i don’t, uh, come up to people i find attractive so this is really making me nervous.”
simon is aware of how good he looks – he’s proud of it even – but there is something about a pretty darling like you admitting how his looks make you nervous that sparks the desire in him to transform into something more carnal.
something more visceral.
he reaches his hand out toward you, inviting you to finally close the remaining distance between you two, and smiles when you take the offer, placing your hand on top of his palm, sending goosebumps to rise across his skin. you step into his space and simon has to stop himself from breathing you in, afraid how he’ll end up reacting when he’s taken a whiff of your intoxicating scent.
“i’ve ordered you a drink,” simon whispers, his voice a hoarse croak.
“oh,” you mumble. “thank you...”
he notes the hesitation in your words, the bubble in his chest popping as his worry extinguishes his burning desire. “you don’t have to drink it.”
“no!”
he startles at your reaction, his wide eyes staring back at your equally shocked ones.
it takes a heartbeat before the two of you are breaking off into choked laughter, your body angled to muffle your giggles on the sleeves of his sweater. simon’s heart clenches at the cute display and he curls his arms around you, pulling you close until your head is pressed on his chest.
he wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating.
it takes a while for the laughter to fizzle out, leaving you putty in his arms, your chin digging into his chest as you gaze up at him. simon eagerly returns your stare, his lips stretched into the softest of smiles now that he has you in his arms. he brushes your hair away from your face, warmth exploding in his chest at your happy little sigh.
“wanna leave this place with you,” you tell him and simon trembles with need.
because he wants you to come home with him too. wants to show you how a sweetheart like you deserves to be treated. how you deserve to be cherished and pampered and revered.
then, he remembers his goddamn harley.
fuck.
wait. now that he thinks about it-
“is there something wrong?” you ask, face creasing in worry at seeing his frown.
“don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” simon replies, his mind already mapping out the roads to his place. “lemme just grab my keys while you drink up, yeah?”
you nod softly, eyes fluttering close when simon leans forward to press his lips on the top of your head, before stepping away from your warmth. he watches the way you ambled towards the bar counter, carefully picking up your new flute of bellini before turning to show him that adorable little smile that simon’s starting to be addicted to and taking a small sip of your cocktail.
the wrap of your pretty lips around the straw shouldn’t stir something so carnal in him but it does and simon gulps, well aware of the sudden thirst that sucked the moisture from his throat, before turning to march towards his table.
johnny whistles out loud when simon reaches them, tipping his new glass of beer and whooping even when kyle growls how he’s being too loud. simon would’ve sided with garrick, but his patience is running thin and the need that is raging within him is gaining strength so he ignores them both to stand beside johnny.
“keys.”
“what?”
“mactavish, give me your keys.”
“...why?”
simon holds in a sigh as he watches kyle reach over to smack johnny on the back of his head. “what the hell do you think?”
john continues to ignore the group, his eyes trained somewhere on the dance floor. traitor, simon thinks.
“oh,” johnny whispers. “oh!”
he tries not to tap his foot as johnny grapples with his trousers, hitting his elbows on the edge of the table and angrily cursing in scottish, before finally fishing them out of the depths of his pockets and presenting them to simon. simon takes them with urgency, almost ripping them from johnny’s fingers, before throwing the keys of his harley to johnny and barking out his thanks.
“use protection!” johnny screams because of course he would. he’s a fucking bastard.
simon flips him off as he marches back towards you.
you look up at hearing him call your name, your beautiful face glowing as you smile at him again.
god, he’ll never tire of seeing your pretty smile.
“ready?” he asks, masking the excitable tremble of his voice with a quick cough.
“mhmm!” you reply, putting down your half-empty cocktail and clambering beside simon’s side. he presses another kiss on the top of your head, this time no longer holding back as he breathes you in, and leads you out towards johnny’s car.
next time, he’ll take you out for a bike ride.
because simon promises that there will be a next time.
starting to think if i might need a masterlist for biker!simon atp // edit: mlist!
not even lying but i couldn’t stop thinking about biker!simon ever since 😭
just imagine biker!simon at the bar with his friends, lounging, waiting for the time to run because after this little after-work drinks, he’s going to drive home to your place. his attention is split between his phone and the chatter of his friends, laughing in bursts at whatever embarrassing thing mactavish is recounting, before turning back to reading the message you sent.
> wearin ur shirt tonight <33
his lips curl in a smile and his heart flutters at how cute you truly are. he types out a response, licking the back of his teeth at the thought of coming home to see you in his shirt, when the chatter dies down in the group.
he catalogues the change, swiftly shutting his phone off before tipping his head up to assess what caused the shift in the mood, only for his eyes to land on a small group of women hovering by their table.
“uh, how can we help you lasses?” johnny, ever the gentleman, asks.
while one of them does respond to johnny, another slides into the empty space beside simon with a giggle.
“hey,” she trills, batting her lashes at him.
simon’s hand tightens around his bourbon, the quiet satisfaction that filled him up throughout the night dissipating. he nods in acknowledgment before turning back to his phone, seeing that there was no immediate danger for him to focus on.
ignoring his obvious lack of interest, she wraps her hand around his wrist and tugs hard enough that simon has to turn his attention back to her. he does so with a sigh.
“it’s so stuffy here,” she says, fanning herself, her eyes drawn onto the helmet he stupidly brought with him inside the bar. she presses close, rubbing her tits along his inked arm. “wanna take me out for a ride?”
simon snatches his arm from her hold, his face pinching in irate. “no, not interested.”
she pouts, cheeks flushing and simon wonders how much of it was because of the alcohol and how much of it was because of shame. he flicks his eyes up to the rest of the group, narrowing his eyes at the unabashed glee in johnny’s face at seeing simon be cornered by someone who can’t take a fucking clue, before shooting a betrayed glare at price and garrick who are choosing to ignore him.
the girl’s friends are now left sitting awkwardly, watching as their friend flounders for simon’s attention – something he’d never give, anyway.
“c’mon, big boy,” said friend croons, twirling her hair. “don’t wanna take a sweetheart for a drive?”
simon sighs, done for the night. “again, not interested," he replies. "'sides, i’ve got the sweetest darling waiting for me at home. i don’t want you, miss.”
and with that, he stands up, snatching his helmet from the table and nodding his goodbyes to his friends. he doesn’t stay long enough to hear her sputter or watch her storm off because simon’s already out the door and walking to the parking lot.
he wears his helmet and slides his gloves on, before fishing for his phone to finally send you that text that he had been wanting to send.
See you soon, sweetheart. <
pocketing his phone, simon finally hefts himself up onto his bike and kickstarts the engine, the machine purring underneath him. he adjusts his helmet, zips up his jacket, before caressing the embroidered letters on his gloves. he traces the initials of your name, feeling his heart fluttering, and brings his gloved knuckles to brush his lips against them.
snapping the visor down, simon revs up the engine and drives off, his thoughts full of nothing but you.
the first time that biker!simon suggested that he drives you around on his bike, you were terrified to the point of declining his offer.
“i can’t,” you mumbled, fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater, your lips downturned in genuine disappointment. “‘m sorry.”
you couldn’t meet his eyes, nervous that perhaps you’ve made him upset, but simon just took your hands on his – your small palms fitting snuggly against his gloved ones – and squeezed gently.
“you don’t have to apologize for anything, sweetheart,” simon replied, pulling you close until you were forced to tilt your head up to finally meet his gaze. you rove your eyes over his features, taking in the dimple of his cheeks as he gave you a smile, all boyish and breathtaking.
“don’t worry about it, yeah?” he asked before wrapping you in an embrace after seeing your hesitant nod.
he’s right, you know that. you shouldn’t have worried about it at all, but simon had always loved his bike. had always loved the thrill of the ride; the way the wind whipped against his skin or how the sounds of the road are intensified even with his helmet. you knew it was an irreplaceable experience so of course you truly couldn’t let go of his request.
it sat there on your mind every time he picked you up in his car, his harley tucked in the garage for the day. it curled around the crevices of your heart whenever simon kissed your temple before going out for a night ride with the boys.
“take care, okay?” you would say.
“always,” he would reply, kissing you on the lips again as though sealing his promise before pulling his helmet on and hopping onto his bike. he’d kiss the edges of his gloved knuckles where your initials lay then drive off.
it sat there in the pit of your stomach until one friday afternoon, you tugged onto his sleeve and whispered, “can i hitch a ride?”
the smile on simon’s lips was blinding and you couldn’t help the swoop of giddiness that filled you up when he snatched you from you stood, lifting you up before twirling you around the room.
“you sure you want this?” he asks now, blinking down at you as you fiddle with the zippers of your leather jacket. you look at simon, watching as he twirls your helmet in his hands, and even through his balaclava you can see how his face is pinched in doubt.
(you still can’t believe how simon had stowed away your very own helmet, murmuring how he got it as a valentines gift but decided to hide it when he saw just how hesitant you were when he made the offer.
“i was scared that if you saw i got you y’r own helmet, you would’ve felt pressured to agree to ride with me,” simon whispered, rubbing a thumb at the visor before shooting you a small smile. “stop pouting, love. i know you well, after all.”)
“never surer,” you say with a giggle before showing yourself off to him.
simon hums appreciatively, beautiful eyes narrowing in muted desire. “should see you in leather more, sweet girl. look how beautiful you are.”
you playfully swat at his arm in your embarrassment before standing still when simon lifts the helmet in his hands with a quiet beckoning. you let him fit it on you, your hair gathered in one of his hands and the other gently sliding the helmet on your head. all throughout, you watch the way his eyes crinkle in delight, his touch so reverent, and it makes you choke on the intensity of your love for this beautiful man.
he taps at the top of your visor when he is done, then he is stepping away to prep himself for the ride.
“c’mere, sweetheart,” he says when he is done. “y’got nothin’ to worry about, not w’me here.”
his words burn you, filling you up with encompassing warmth that tickles your cheeks and dips into your neck. you giggle as you shake off the last of your nerves before stepping close, hovering beside his harley, waiting for his instructions.
it wasn’t long or complicated by any chance, but you can see simon’s cautiousness shining through and that eases up your own worries.
there are things for you to remember, he says, things that would ensure your safety and his. and you take him seriously, nodding when he points at his bike and tells you where to prop your feet up, where to sit, where to hold. then, he holds your hands and says that you call all the shots; that if you want to stop, to squeeze his shoulder three times and he’s pulling over.
“this is all about you havin’ fun so don’t push y’rself, alright baby?” simon murmurs, ending his tirade.
then, he takes you for that promised ride.
you two planned to go to the park, just somewhere that’s far enough from your place but still within the expansive stretch of the city road’s smooth asphalt. he asked if you would’ve preferred the beach, but that was a two hour ride and you truly couldn’t handle anything that long. when you told him so, he laughed and kissed the top of your head and said, “then i’ve got the perfect place for you.”
the purr of the machine between your legs is unusual, if not a little bit weird. your grip on simon’s waist must be painful but you don’t have it in you to loosen up, especially not when the speed kicks up to match the traffic. you bite down a squeal when he makes a turn towards the highway, your stomach flipping when you physically feel the bike leaning to your side, almost like it’d fall anytime soon.
of course it doesn’t because simon’s a damn good driver but the adrenaline is coursing through you in waves, surprisingly dousing the fires of your anxiety and replacing it instead with a pooling elation because this feels so fucking good.
you don’t even realize that your hands have loosened their hold onto simon, gripping just enough not to fall. you lift your head from where it’s pressed on his back, tilting just enough to see past his bulk and to take in the dizzying colours of the trickling dawn. the wind is cool even with your jacket, and even though your helmet and visor is obscuring your nose, you take a deep inhale.
fuck. you might just get addicted to this.
the next time that simon swerves to exit the highway, you no longer bite down your squeal, letting it instead rumble from your throat and into the air. simon’s shoulders shake and you realize that he’s laughing, high from your reaction. you couldn’t help it but giggles flutter from your lips, full of the thrill of this experience.
the park comes to view soon and you pout, wanting to keep the drive going. but simon pulls over, parks, and only when the engine stops do you feel the numbness spreading through your legs.
“you doin’ okay over there, sweetheart?” simon asks, remaining seated, unable to stand with you still holding onto him.
“mhmm!” you reply. “i can’t stand up though.”
he barks out a laugh. “oh yeah. that might take a while.” he reaches behind him to rub at the sides of your thighs, massaging whatever he can reach.
you hum, rubbing your hand on his abdomen. “s’fine. ‘m not rushing.” you nuzzle your helmet on his back, falling into silence as you feel yourself unravel from the short experience. you breathe in deeply, the air fogging your visor, and say, “i loved that, si. thank you so much.”
simon’s hold on your thighs gain strength, squeezing gently. “of course, sweetheart.” you hear the happiness in his voice, breathless from his own rush of dopamine. “thank you for trusting me.”
“always, baby,” you reply, squeezing him again, muffling your giggles when you heard his surprised wheeze at the action. “i’ll always trust you.”
!! suggestive-ish; hinted age difference (20s vs 30s); hinted d/s; minors dni
“why won’t you fuck me?”
your pitiful voice stops simon from moving, his feet stuttering with muted thuds. he breathes in sharply, not having expected the words that slipped from your lips, before he turns and tips his head towards you.
you’re trembling, and simon doesn’t know if it’s because of the cool air or the intensity of your emotions, those that urged you to whine at his pathetic display of restraint, but still he hesitates. afraid that if he comes close, then the remnant of his patience will finally snap.
because it’s not that simon wouldn’t fuck you – god knows there’s nothing more he’d want to do than love you slowly and deeply, caressing you tenderly until you are trembling at the intensity of his passion; until the doubts are finally crushed by the force of his affections – but it’s that he knew you deserve someone better.
someone who wouldn’t leave you for months and years long because of a mission. someone who’d stay by your side each and every hour because he knows you (sometimes he wished he didn’t, if only to make it easier to forget about you), and he knows that you need someone to spoil you. to pamper you.
simon knows you deserve more than the world, knows that he can only give you pieces of it but he’s selfish. he’s a monster wearing a human suit – incapable of surrendering, incapable of giving you up.
because simon knows you deserve better but gods he doesn’t want to let you go.
he moves to speak but you beat him to it, your lips wobbling as tears trickle down the corners of your eyes like molten diamonds. “you parade me around like a trophy wife but you won’t even give me a portion of that attention. you-”
his heart stops at the choked sob that gets stuck in the base of your throat, your face crumpling as you tremble at the intensity of your heartache.
it was instant how he moved to you, his frantic steps echoing against the cobblestone. he takes you in his arms, tucking your head underneath his chin and engulfing you in his embrace, hoping that you’d hear the staccato of his heart and know that it only ever beats for you.
you whine like you couldn’t decide if you want his comfort or not and simon freezes, afraid that he’s just heightened your bleeding heart. he moves to step away, his lips parting for an apology, but you clutch at the ends of his shirt, refusing to let go.
he follows your silent command – simon will follow you no matter where, no matter what – and presses you close again, his warmth mixing with yours and chasing away the goosebumps that littered your skin.
he kisses the top of your head, breathing you in. simon mulls over what to say, his own hesitation bursting at the corners of his mind, but he wants to stop pretending. he wants to stop lying to himself.
you love him and he loves you – sometimes, it could be that easy.
words aren’t his strongest suits but he tries anyway. “i love you,” he begins, the words slipping past his teeth with the simplicity of the truth. “i burn with the desire to be with you, sweet girl. but not this way. not yet.”
you tip your head up just enough to catch his gaze and simon croons at your swollen eyes, pressing gentle kisses on your eyebrows in comfort.
“why not?” you ask, ever so stubborn.
“because there are preparations that need to be done,” he replies, humming when your eyes widen in surprise. “i want to make love with you, sweetheart. not just make it as something fast and temporary.”
he watches you breathe in shakily.
“would you want that?” simon continues amidst your silence, his hand coming up to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.
you bite your bottom lip and nod. he clicks his tongue. “use y’r words. i need to hear it from you.”
“yes please,” you whisper, and simon coos at the broken rumble of your voice, still heavy with doubt. “i- yes. please, simon. i’d love that.”
“me too, sweet girl.” simon kisses your forehead, sealing the promise. “i’d love nothing more.”
