Scaredy Cat

Simon Riley pretends to be grossed out by you. Not like dramatically, but makes it obvious.

But he's actually in love with you.

You lick your lips and smirk up at him. "You look delicious today, handsome~"

He side eyes you. Wide eyed. "Fuckin' mental." But he's smirking behind his mask. And when you looked away he's looking you up and down to think of something nice to say back. He never did, because he didn't know how.

One time you came up behind him and hugged him tightly. You rubbed your face into his back and grumbled about college being the worst. And he's eyeing your arms, basking in the feeling of you against him.

He's not used to any physical affection, that's the whole reason. He wasn't shown much love when he was younger so of course it followed him into his adult age.

And he never tried. The women before you only used him and he did the same. It was something he was used to. And affection wasn't something he tried to do.

So maybe he started trying with you. And you don't notice it. (He thinks you don't, but you absolutely do and you're careful about it. Like carefully feeding a deer.) He starts to reach for you. Sitting on the couch, he's got his finger curled in your shirt. Driving, he would playfully slap your thigh, then sooth it like he was sorry, then leave his hand there.

You let him at his own pace. But you found that it you're talking and you reach for him, like his hand, he lets you take it and caress his knuckles.

He recognized that you were careful with him. You considered how he felt a lot of the times, and he saw that. Maybe that was why he fell harder for you than you realized.

Soon, he's pulling you into his lap so he could look up at you. He's pulling you in for long hugs. He's tugging your hands and putting them on his neck (you'd better scratch at his neck and back because he will never ask you to but he loves loves loves the feeling.) You've accepted that the man is kind of touch starved and will never voice it to you.

But he never stopped acting like a bully.

"Simon, you're so fuckin hot. I'd pay you to do filthy things to me." You stated so calmly that it made his eye twitch when he realized what just came out your mouth.

"Don't worry love, we'll find you that therapist soon." He shook his head with a sigh. And his heart leapt in his chest at hearing your laughter.

pov: you just looked up from flirting with sgt. mactavish for the past half hour in the rec room wyd

Love, Death & Robots - Zima Blue 2019 - directed by Robert Valley

mdni 18+

it was a one time thing during sex—something that you did on pure impulse without a coherent thought left in you (i mean, you were all silly, dumbed down from his cock being stuffed nice & snug into you, after all) .

that something being sinking all of your teeth into the flesh of his bicep. it didn’t necessarily hurt him—more like a quick sting as if piercing your ears. it brought him more pleasure than anything, causing him to charge into you harder. you were left bruised.

simon liked that even days later, he could still see where you bit him & wanted more of those pretty little tooth marks, all over his body. he knew that the mark would soon fade away, not even a scar left to remember it. so, simon acted on impulse as well.

simon was proud as he showed off his new tat. now you were met with your own teeth looking back at you every time his arm came into view. only this time, it was inked.

➽───────❥ masterlist . . . navi

Simon tries something new

Little drabble to get me out of the block.

Word count: 630

18+

CW: smut, simon spits in your mouth :)

Simon's homecoming sex is always slow.

Too much adrenaline to digest, too many memories to bury so they can never be dug out again.

It's kisses on your neck until your skin melts under his tongue. Lean fingers working you open until his palm is soaked and your breathing uneven.

Soft legs around his waist, your arms holding his head to your face, kissing the aches of his mind away.

It's rare for him to change from his usual unhurried pace, to break through that comforting tempo he's so used to—like the rhythm of a tune that calls him back home. Like a siren, coaxing his soul away from the bloodshed and back into his body—and his body back to you.

A big hand leaves its gentle grip on your waist, curling firmly at the base of your jaw to hold your head steady against the plush pillow.

He collects a glob of spit in his mouth. It falls into a string, slowly, until it sits at the slit of your lips.

It startles you, at first—brows fluttering to your forehead. But even in the haze of sex you manage to recollect yourself just in time.

A shaky exhale from your nose, and then you lick your lips deliberately, slow as anything, gauging a reaction from his eyes.

He watches how your throat bobs when you swallow it down.

He watches when you open your mouth again, pink tongue hanging out. Inviting, warm.

He cums right afterwards with a muted curse.

Doesn't care if he's sensitive as can be when he fucks you through his orgasm, then through yours, until your legs are trembling so fiercely that he thinks he's shattered you like the finest porcelain.

A stolen kiss, sloppy and wet. One where his lips taste yours fully, where your teeth clack as they're in the way.

Simon doesn't pull out. Waits a tick instead, hiding in the curve of your shoulder, long enough for his blood to return to where he needs it, still inside of you—so tight in the afterglow of your orgasm that he thinks he might cum again if he's not careful.

He fucks you a second time, ensuring your lips never part from his.

When he rolls onto his back, taking you with him, he lets you take the lead. Impaled right on his lap, hips dancing like waves on the shore, mouth parted to breathe softly and slow.

It's your turn now, he guesses, because suddenly lithe fingers are wrapped around his chin. Your thumb tugs at his lower lip as your hips slow to a more controlled pace.

"Open," you whisper.

Simon can only oblige. One look into your eyes is all it takes, his mouth already open before you even ask.

Your spit lands slowly on the flat of his tongue. He tastes it like you're dripping honey in his mouth, like that's his favorite thing to savor after weeks away from everything good.

His hand comes to cradle the back of your head only to pull you down, where he kisses you until his head spins because he doesn't care to breathe—doesn't think it matters.

"Like it when you tell me wha' to do," he says to your lips. "S' a nice change of pace."

You can hear the smile in his voice.

So, you smile too.

"Yeah?" You reply, panting softly against his mouth. "Then be a good one and fuck me like you haven't seen me in weeks, eh?"

Not the hardest order he's ever had to follow, he reckons, since it's the truth.

He breathes a chuckle, but otherwise agrees, stealing yet another kiss from you. Arms fully wrapped around your waist, feet planted on the bed, Simon fucks you like he hasn't seen you in weeks. 

"Yes ma'am."