CW: filthy smut, PWP, piss, omorashi/bladder control, soft dom Simon, he gets a bit mean lmao but in a cute way. brief CNC/dubcon-ish. freaks in love!!! they're so in love!!!
CoD Masterlist | Main Masterlist
It is not unusual to wake up to Simon kissing your neck.
His hot breath fanning your shoulder is often the first sensation your body picks up as it awakes. The second one is his hand on your hip, then his leg sneaking in between yours under the bedsheets. From here, you can be either scooped up inside his arms and brought over to keep sleeping atop his chest, or you can be fucked stupid as a reward for surviving the week.
It’s usually the latter. Many a time on a Sunday, when the neighbourhood is still quiet, and the birds have only just started chirping.
This morning, at the crack of dawn, you recognise the ritual.
His mouth starts from the curve of your shoulder, landing parched from his slumber and soft from tenderness. The heat of his breathing follows, puffing gently over the wet spots left by his tongue as he rises. Tastes your heartbeat from your jugular, sniffs the smell of sleep still clinging to your skin. Then, a hardness presses to your back, slowly gliding against your nightgown as it rides up, up, up.
And you smile, because it's always so very nice to wake up to him already thinking about you. The concept of being wanted so completely that it wakes him from his slumber, of being loved so entirely that you're the first thought that hungers him in the morning.
You whisper a breathy good morning as you toss your head back, extending your neck so he has more room to work with. Though he's already doting on the curve of your shoulder again, the wings of your back, the space between your shoulder blades.
Sneaky fingers slide down the straps of your garment. The callouses on his palm are coarse against your skin, and even though this has been almost routine for the past couple of years, he still has the clamminess of his palms to show the nervousness of touching someone so fragile compared to him.
But he knows you don't want to be seen as breakable, because you aren't. It's why he flattens his hand against your lower back and steers you forward, until you're lying on your stomach. You're still processing the first sensations of the morning, blinking your eyes open as your cheek meets the pillow.
"Fuck,” he croaks with awe on his tongue, watching you from above. “Just a second, yeah?"
Licks his lips when you curve your back and offer him your ass almost in second nature.
His knees dip into the mattress beside your legs and squeeze your thighs together, digging in on each of your flanks. He'd prep you, normally, but this time he doesn't. Your only hint is the breeze brushing the hot skin of your lower back as he lifts the satin of your nightgown and lets it pool in the dip of your spine.
Then, the thick head of his cock pushes against you. You snap your eyes open.
"Fuck Simon, wait—"
"Just a second, love."
It burns. It's like a whip snaps against your spine, and you take in a mouthful of air when the first inch of him enters.
"Oh my God, holy shit—fuck—"
Pins and needles that wrap around your belly, digging in like a belt of thorns. Hands fisting the sheets, toes curling on the duvet crumpled at the foot of the bed. The pain is so sudden that it shocks you into utter stiffness, with your legs screaming in protest as they’re scrambling to get away.
You don’t really want to.
Though the position doesn’t allow much movement, you still try to take a peek above your shoulder. Your vision is filled by him. The breadth of his shoulders is dark, but his profile is hemmed with sunlight—a cottoned halo all around him, a gift from the window behind his back. His thumbs are fitting in the tiny divots at the base of your spine, big hands holding you steady by your hips. Though it's his face that makes your mouth water.
Simon's eyes are glassy, focused on the stretch of your pussy as it widens to welcome his girth. Scarlet cheeks and silver scars that run across his jaw, where his stubble doesn't grow. And the brutality of the violence he once bore is softened by the simplicity of a quiet, domestic life—the folds of the pillowcase still embedded in his skin, the puffiness of sleep cottoning his eyes, the ruddy blush of lust and love mantling his face.
He slides down his hands and parts your ass as well, digging his thumbs in the plump of your cheeks. He kisses his teeth when he sees your puckered hole clench—hisses when it translates to further tightness around his cock.
There's a twitch in his cheek. The pull of an invisible hook at the corner of his lips that relaxes once he slides another inch in. He releases the clench of his jaw, mouth hanging open once he's all snug inside you.
Though the bliss he feels couldn't be more different from the searing pain ripping you in half. The whine on the tip of your tongue is swallowed and truncated, turned into a breathless gasp yielded in the soft pillow tucked under your chin.
"S-slower," you whimper.
"Aye," he croaks. "Slow an' easy. Promise."
And he delivers.
In fact, it takes him a moment more than usual to fully sheath himself inside you. Your knuckles click with how furiously you're gripping the bedsheets—a way to find release as the pressure of being filled so entirely strangles you all the way to your windpipe.
You babble something with your lips, trying to form sentences you don't know how to utter. Eyes rolled back, unfocused and wet at the rim.
"Ah fuck yer tight, love—" he grunts. "Need help ta open up, don't ya?"
You nod vigorously against the pillow, because words aren't exactly your forte right now. Nor are thoughts, to be frank, because all you can feel is the burn on the lower half of your body and the contrasting pleasure that stems from it.
"Poor thing," he taunts. "Ruined ya already, mh?"
Somehow, you manage to summon enough strength to blindly swat your hand where his thigh should be. That bit of defiance still left in you that you know he appreciates, though you're aware he's just about to fuck it out of you.
You hit something hard and hairy with your palm and decide that it landed correctly. It must have, because you hear him chortle, deep and ragged.
"Now don't get all fussy on me."
He hums. Collects spit in his mouth and lets it fall in a string until it lands around the base of his cock, where you’re painfully stretched around it. His hand smears it along the skin there, around your hole and down to your clit, lightly tracing the slit of your pussy. And you're burning so hot that his spit feels like being rubbed with freezing water. It's oddly refreshing, and it helps your muscles relax.
Simon must feel it, because his chest purrs with an appraising hum.
"Better?" He asks, as his hand surreptitiously slips around your waist.
Your cheek is smushed to the pillow, linen soaking up tears and drool. "Yeah."
The thick scars on his forearm tickle your side and then your stomach, preceding the blooming pleasure that stems from his fingertips when he skims them over your clit.
"Better?" He murmurs again, though now his breath feels closer, puffing warmly on the skin of your shoulder.
Your body melts on the bedsheets, knots unravelling under the touch of his hand and the heat of his chest. He hovers above you, just a breath away from your back.
Your voice is nothing but a murmur, “Yes.”
"Tha’s right. My girl. Good—" He rumbles, though whatever he was about to add afterwards dies on his tongue when he pulls back, and then slides inside you again.
Your eyes roll back.
"Fuck—fuckin' hell. Good girl. Like tha'—"
The searing belt wrapped around your stomach unwinds, slowly giving in and finally—finally—allowing you to breathe just right once again. You blink the tears collecting in the corners of your eyes, lick your lips and feel how parched they really are.
Your body comes back to you, awakened and aware, not wrapped in thorns and needles anymore. There's the rawness of his touch, long fingers gliding smoothly on your clit. The bristle of his chest, all hair and scars, though still soft above his heart, on his stomach, as it perfectly clicks into place in the curve of your spine.
"Could do this all day. Feel like fuckin’ heaven, you do—" His throat works. "—C'mere."
He watches your fists relax, your jaw unclench. He sees your grimace when cold air brushes your clit as he leaves it unattended. And only then does he unleash his hunger, picking up the pace with his hips. Grabs your jaw and bends you backwards until his mouth hovers above yours and clashes against it.
The strain in your spine is forgotten with the same rapidity with which it came. The headboard bangs mercilessly against the wall, accompanying his grunts and your moans. The creak of the springs, the rustle of sheets as you clutch them again—fingers curled around the pillow. Not out of pain anymore; the opposite, at last.
Though unfortunately, there's another pressure building around his cock, as he pistons inside you. One that you hadn't noticed at all, too focused on accommodating your body to the size of him.
You gasp. "Simon—"
But he kisses you again, harder this time. Sloppy tongue and spit smearing down your chin.
“Oh fuck—Simon, baby—”
“There—” He grunts. “Say my name like tha’ again an’ I’ll cum too fuckin’ soon.”
As much as you’d love to hear his dark voice crumble into moans, there are more pressing matters to attend.
"F-fuck, I need—" Your hands try to reach backwards for his shoulders, but you lose your balance and fall forward, face-first into the pillow.
"Shit—" You hiss, propping yourself on shaky elbows. "I need to pee!"
"Can feel it—" He states. "Yer gettin' tight again."
"Let me—"
"Keep it in." He growls, quickening his pace. Your head bobs uselessly for each merciless hit. "Fuckin' keep it in, don't spill a drop—"
"Don’t know if I can—"
His hand finds the curve of your neck, fingers exercising pressure just there on the sides, putting sweet, dark spots in your vision.
"Don't spill a fuckin' drop until I say so."
There's nothing you can do against his command. Your stomach coils as soon as he barks it in your ear, responding to the order before your brain has absorbed it entirely. Each thrust of his translates into tiny shockwaves that run from your belly to the tips of your toes—and Simon isn't gentle with it either.
In fact, as he rams inside you with a pace able to knock the air out of your lungs, you can merely nod your head. Your chin knocks against his palm.
"Don't like it when yer quiet," he chastises. "Say it."
Perhaps understanding the clog he's causing in your windpipe, Simon unravels the hold around your neck—gently so. Loosens his fingers first, supporting your throat with his palm before sliding upwards, where he ends up cradling your jaw. The release is a blessing and a curse.
The mere air filling your lungs is a pleasure in and of itself, and it causes your muscles to unwind. Luckily, you manage to catch yourself and clench your entire body again, though with the added fury of Simon's hips, it's hard to keep the promise he wants you to make.
But you swear it anyway.
"Yes," you croak. "Yes, yes—okay."
Pleased by your answer, Simon rewards you. Slams his pelvis flush to your ass, sheathing himself fully inside you. Nestled deep in the tightness of your stomach, you feel every inch of him as his hips start moving with a slow roll.
Similarly, your eyes find the back of your head.
"Oh my God—"
The bastard dares to chuckle. "Oh, ye like it, uh?"
You refuse to let him know that you do. Teeth sink into your cheek until iron stings down your throat. And it works, for the most part. There's an annoying tingle in your eyes that wishes to be soothed, though you know that if you dare to blink, he'll see the tears he's causing. The bliss they'd paint down your cheek.
But Simon always has an ace up his sleeve.
The hand that once held your throat now snakes forwards again, nestles in the softness of your stomach. Your eyes widen.
"Bit quiet t'day, are ya?" He smirks. "You in a mood, or what?"
"Stop being a cunt, Simon—"
"Ah—" He interjects. "Manners, love."
And then, the heel of his palm presses down, just above your pussy. Your body seizes in reply, struggling to maintain the promise you made. It gets even worse, then, when he skims his fingers over your clit again, pairing it with the languid roll of his hips.
Hurriedly, you reach down with your hands to stop him, but Simon's quicker. His whole body falls on top of you, leaving you pressed between his bulk and the mattress.
"Shit—"
"Keep it in, aye?" He rumbles in your ear, assertive but oddly not unkind. Encouraging, even. "Know you can do it, pet."
The feeling is overwhelming and beautiful.
You feel like you can't breathe, but you don't really want to. Purposefully, you keep it in—hold your breath for a moment longer than needed, until you're filled everywhere. Of him: inside you, on top of you. His hand sandwiched underneath, his chest like an anvil. Breath ripe of morning, of breakfasts waiting to be had. Tickles down your spine, ripples from his tongue against your pulse point.
Pressure builds and builds, strains your body as it ripens, swells, sweetens. A peach hanging low from a branch, ready to be picked. You know he's ready to bite, because you're ready to be consumed.
And all you can do is heave and gasp. Reach behind you to find his hair and pull, scrape his scalp with your fingers as he works with his own to make you feel good, better, wonderful.
"Fuck, look at you—" He murmurs against the shell of your ear. "Gonna cum on me, pet?"
The tautness of your belly won't hold for much longer, not if he keeps touching you this way.
"Won't—" You gasp. "Won't last long—please."
His kiss should be teasing; instead, it's an apologetic one. Left on your temple, where the sweat makes your hair stick and swirl against your skin.
"Just a second, love."
But you don't have it. You don't have one second. You don't have a moment, a breath, the time for a thought. You can feel yourself grow tight and stiff, fighting against the invisible ticking clock inside your stomach.
"Please, Simon—" You squirm. Your body does, your mind too foggy to concoct the movement itself. "Please. Please, baby."
"One second," he murmurs sweetly, greedily lapping down your neck.
"One—"
Thrust.
"More—"
Thrust.
"Second."
Hazily, you think it's mere stubbornness that forces you to keep your promise. You're not ready to admit that he's trained you to respond to him the way he likes. Taught your body to act a certain way when he's speaking. Taught it to bring you to bliss and then him, and nothing else—not when you're under the sheets.
Indoctrinated every single cell inside you, simply, to obey.
But he's merciful. Perhaps hears the clock inside your body ticking menacingly, threatening to misbehave.
Or maybe he's attuned with you. Understands. Feels how you're begging not only with your lips but with your touch, the way your breath comes, the heat of your own skin.
His fingers tune with the roll of his hips, then. Draw slow circles that glide on smoothly, sticky and wet and steady.
He kisses the curve of your shoulder, then the hinge of your jaw.
"Now," he says.
Frankly, you don't know if you're coming.
The current perception you have of yourself is hazy—your whole being reduced to a single entity, compressed between his body and the bed, touched in every single place that you call your own, and that is undeniably also his.
You only know that the release is wonderful.
It's blinding white and liquor thick. It spreads throughout your whole body in waves of shivers and gooseflesh. It shatters you into fragments, spread evenly underneath his weight. Escaping from your mouth in a groan that is nowhere near human—a guttural thing, feral and beastly. Freeing and beautiful.
You're only vaguely aware of the mess you're making as the hot stream he's pushed out of you splashes down your thighs and onto the bed, where its sound transforms into something muted and dull.
"Oh fuck," you heave. "Oh God, oh God, shit—"
"Ah fuck, just like tha'," he says, contrastingly calm as he keeps fucking you, hastily picking up the pace. "Fuckin' hell yer wet. Keep going."
You do. You keep going, unashamed and loud, riding his cock even in this uncomfortable position. Pushing back with your ass to have more, more, more. Greedy and insatiable. Trying to go over the edge and up on the clouds—fucking scour the sky and all of which is above, knowing he can give it. Grab it and hand it to you.
You come once, then. Groaning into the pillow and pulling at his hair. Twice. Thrice. You don’t know. You don’t think you can keep count. You don’t think at all.
Until there isn't a drop left inside you. No more sheets to clutch, no more linen to soak—not on the pillow, not underneath you. You twitch each time he moves, turning mellow and pliable as he ruts a few more times before pulling out.
Freezing air sinks its talons down your back, where his chest was welded before he moved away. You shiver but don’t complain. Can’t.
Simon comes with a muted groan, clipped to match the rapid strokes of his hand. It trickles down the swell of your ass and pools at your tailbone. Then, his softening cock lands sticky and hot against your skin. Perhaps to feed that primordial beast inside him, he pushes it with his thumb between the globes of your ass. Watches it slide up and down, lubed up with his own cum.
He hisses at the overstimulation but keeps that languid pace. “Fuckin’ hell yer perfect.”
You're too spent to move, only opening your eyes when you feel the mattress groan under Simon's weight as he shifts around. Though your consciousness is coming back to you, and your senses are suddenly flooded by the reality that surrounds you.
The smell of sex, of him and you. Of sweet kisses down your shoulder, of cloying lust and pungent orgasms. The wetness down your thighs, cold sheets sticking to your skin as it burns in the afterglow. The ringing in your ears, loud at first, then softening into a dull and distant sound.
While he's moved slightly, Simon still hovers above you, keeping your legs trapped between his massive thighs. His mouth tickles down the line of your shoulder. Calloused hands gently scratch down your arms.
“You always have to take it up a notch.”
You can feel Simon’s smile by the smoothness of his teeth brushing your skin. “That a complaint?”
You avoid that question.
"I wanted to sleep in," you mumble dumbly with your cheek buried in the pillow. "S'Sunday. I deserved it."
His mouth travels upwards, finding your neck, then your cheek. "Can still do it."
You frown. “You know very well that I can’t.”
He shrugs. “Smell ain’t tha’ bad.”
You only offer a withering sidelong glance.
His kisses crack into a broken chuckle. "Right. Noted."
You close your eyes and laugh with him. "I mean, this was nice and all—"
"Nice," he scoffs. “T'was nice."
"Lovely way to wake up—"
"Alrigh’, pack it in.”
"—But we could've pushed it back a little. Like in the afternoon."
"Should I book an appointment," he deadpans.
"Yeah," you yawn. "Call my PA."
This time, his laughter comes from somewhere deeper. You feel it rumble in his chest first, then brush your cheek, exploding from his kiss.
“Yeah?” He huffs. “You got a free spot?”
“Around four PM.”
"Right. Wetting the bed at four PM, then."
You weakly slap his arm. "I hate you."
"Mhmh," Simon hums, finally finding your lips.
He kisses you sweetly, like those times at the very beginning in which you were too shy to open up entirely—physically, emotionally, all of it. A slow dance that is fleeting, just a brush of lips that pretend they don't know each other very well.
When he pulls back, you absently follow him to have more, though he's too far to be reached. You blink your eyes open, turning your head uncomfortably to look above your shoulder.
Simon looks down at you with hooded eyes and curved lips. Just a sweet, tiny dent there in the corner. He reaches down with his knuckles to brush your forehead.
"How 'bout a shower," he offers. "I'll change the sheets."
You lean against his hand. Squirm to turn around, finally feeling cold air brush your chest when your back hits the damp mattress. Your eyes focus on him exclusively, trying to set aside the pungent smell and the discomfort of the sheets.
It’s Sunday. It’s criminally early. The birds chirp behind the window, left ajar to let the summer breeze in. Even though the sun is only a shy shaft at the horizon, it still fights against the blinds to make Simon glow. The golden halo travelling along his shape, the lovely pink hue of his cheeks, and the blush of love on his face. On his body. All over him, inside him.
"Yeah, okay. In a second, though," you whisper, reaching up to touch his cheek.
Theo, I really didn't have the words. I probably still don't. This is just gonna be me yapping and praying I get my point across.... yeah.
But this fic has cured something in me? You write smut in a compelling way. Just perks my clit right up (joking but not really) But the way you write intimacy? Holy shit. There really isn't a word for it. I love just how in love Simon is with the reader, same with the reader. Cause I love Simon, but I love your Simon. The way you write him. There just something about how obsessed he is with the reader that it makes me feel good about myself, the same way I feel good about myself when someone real loves me. How is that even possible? How do you write a fictional character so real that I feel real appreciation?
It sounds conceded and maybe a little delusion, but I always look forward to reading your writing because I know if I read Simon x reader, I can picture myself and feel love. Typically I never picture myself as the reader, but hell, when it's your writing I like to! But enough of that.
I also loved the reality of it. The hurt when Simon tries to fuck without lube, or spit. Cause yeah, I don't just wake up wet? And for a long time I never knew that was normal. So when you incorporate that into your writing, the realities of sex and the need for extra help, whether it's spit or lube, I like it.
Ugh, and the banter between them. Chef Kiss! Michelin star, honest. The banter during sex is cute, but the banter after is so much sweeter. Just love love love it. Thank you always for including it. It always brings a laugh out of me.
and hello? I love piss. thank u for da pith (I could also rant about that)
thinking about laying in bed with simon and its just so fucking hot due to all that heatstroke and he doesnt want cuddles because hes feeling as if hes burning alive ;// but he cant say no to his girl now can he
how do couple peoples cope with the heat yall
you can fall asleep with your head on his chest if you oh, so wish, just be aware that you'll wake up sticky and musty and you'll want to move away. unfortunately he's now attuned to your body temperature and feels bloody nice, yes? he's not letting go. good luck surviving those sweaty armpits my friend
He didn't steal 10 million dollars. They made that number up as a loss, they never fucking had it. Rockstar has spent more than a billion fucking dollars on GTA VI and will likely make billions more when it gets released.
Uber is a fucking shell game of a company designed to leech investor capital and output bootleg cabs.
Nvidia posted a profit in 2023 of $4.37 billion. This is like someone stealing less than a penny from me.
And they lock this kid in a prison hospital for LIFE?
What with GTA VI going up for pre-order i'd just like to remind everyone that rockstar conspired with the UK government to lock an 18-year-old away for life for hacking them.
simon likes to finish right on your face and uses the head of his cock to smear his cum all over your lips. once done, he slaps it against your mouth. it lands heavy and sticky, the girth of him enough to make your eyes squint each time it hits.
guess what game ive just finished playing here’s some hints
1) mc is so fucking hot what the fuck deep gruff voice fucking pissy cranky prone to let you catch these hands. hes so clever i love a clever man….
2) great plot actually!!! came out in 2014 and i just decided it was time to finally play it
3) mc could ideally go in a rut will this be the time i actually start reading/writing alpha/omega dynamics?????? the whole knotting thing??? GRRRRGRRRRRR RAWRrAwRr
4) do you think his (mc) eyes flash bright yellow when he’s about to c—*gunshot*
5) do you think his (mc) claws come out when he’s well deep into your pu—*gunshot* *gunshot* *gunshot*
6) fucking stupid ass first name. entirely unmoanable. that isn’t a word but it’s exactly how it feels.
7) bad guy turned morally grey solves mysteries next to boss bitch
And you really thought Simon would be a little mean during sex. He had to be a sadist after everything he’s been through.
So, when he’s between your parted thighs, you’re shocked when he speaks to you so softly. Quietly begging in your ear, cock pressed to the hilt, for you to be good for him.
And everytime you let out a whine, fingers tightening at his shoulders because he’s massive and you feel like you’re splitting in two with every thrust; he shushes you. ‘You can take it. Yes—yes you can.’
And when you clench tighter around him because the cadence of his voice licks warmth in your core, he smiles. ‘There you go, baby. Just like that.’
Bound by an ancient prophecy and destined to rule the lost planet of Celestia, you are forced to leave your home world where you serve as its royal princess. You are taking with you the only man you ever truly trusted: your devoted Keeper, Johnny MacTavish. As suitors gather to claim your hand in marriage, the line between duty and desire begins to break. Will you bend to the prophecy's demands, adhering to your mother's royal decree, or will you cut your own path amongst the stars?
By the Eternal Light of the Pale Star, beneath the watch of the Nine Astral Houses, and under the sovereign rule of the Imperial Crown of Alpha Astra, First Planet in the Sacred Solarium and Keeper of the Astral Dominion…
Let it be proclaimed across the void between the Seven Shining Worlds that this Decree is made Law through the seventh turning of the Orbit of Alpha Astra and Celestia, Seventh Planet in the Sacred Solarium, and its people who will forever be held in protection and governance by the Astral Crown.
Alpha Astra gives to Celestia its seventh daughter, the High Septan Princess, to have and to cherish from now until the end of her life, and the promise that when she has crossed the void between these two worlds, she will fall into a realm of her own making, following laws of her own writing, ruling Celestia as long the sacred bond of fealty remains unbroken, and that her position will be forged not through conquest but through a fair, willing marriage to a mate worthy in power and of royal blood.
Upon the completion of this Decree, may these proclamations thus bind the Lords Regent of Celestia and the High Sovereigns of Alpha Astra to immortalize the covenant between their peoples; to affirm the rights, tributes, and obligations of the Astral Crown; and to promise a lasting peace that remains through the life of the Pale Star until it, too, falls into the void – as all things will.
This Decree has been witnessed and signed by the leaders of the Nine Astral Houses, their noble sovereigns; sealed by the Astral Crown Signet; and entered into the Great Archive beneath the Pale Star’s enduring banner.
Long may its fires burn.
This fic is complete. It is a Johnny MacTavish x fem!reader sci-fi AU written by the-californicationist with original art (forthcoming) by @auberghyn / @auberghynart for The Grand Library monthly art collab. It is explicit, and all tags are available on AO3.
