Divinity Kink In Less Of A "fuck Me In A Nun Habit" Way And More Of A "put Me On My Knees And Rewrite

2nd version of this one

New Experiences

Sodo x female!reader(new Ghoul/replacement for Aether) 

Word count:1.8k

Warnings:Brief mentions of smoking/vaping(be smart kids, don't smoke), kissing, flirting, teasing, in general very fluffy actually 

Summary:The Reader takes the place of Phantom in this, replacing Aether and playing the Rhythm Guitar. She was a working at the ministry before and was always close to the Ghouls, especially Sodo. Now Papa decided, that it was finally her time to shine…

let me know if you wanna be tagged

PartI(you are here),Part II, Part III

Masterlist

To say that you were nervous, was definitely an understatement. Even though, you were supposed to be exited or cheerful, all you could feel was Nervousness. 

Eyeing yourself in the mirror of your dressing room definitely didn't make it any better. When you first went to the fitting for your stage outfit, you were almost going feral, excitement barely containable. 

But now? 

You felt like an imposter. After all, you were just a replacement. At least, that's what you told yourself, being sure that the fans wouldn't like you or boo at you. 

With a sigh, you sat back down and looked at the clock on the wall. It wasn't much time until the concert was about to start. You desperately tried to calm yourself, but it was useless. Being at the verge of tears, your head shot up, when you heard a knock on the door. 

"My love, are you alright?" 

You immediately recognized the voice as Sodo. He sounded softer than usual. And…worried? 

"Come in", you quietly said, taking one last look in the mirror, making sure that you didn't look too much out of place. 

You watched as the door opened and the, still unmasked, Ghoul carefully stepped inside. Only after a few seconds of staring you up and down, he finally spoke again. 

"You look gorgeous!", he breathed out, seemingly in awe of your outfit. 

"Really?", you asked, trying to hide the panic in your voice, "I'm not sure, if the fans will like me." 

"Oh, I'm sure they will", Sodo smiled and stepped towards you. 

He casually pulled you closer by your hips, your hands hitting his chest. As you looked up at him, he gifted you a heartwarming grin. You took the moment to fully gaze at his Ghoul form. His pupils a little blown and the small horns on his forehead, right below his hairline. The tail that you felt wrapping around your leg, while yours did the same. You had always loved his true form more than his human form, that he took in for his stage appearance. Something that you didn't do as often, considering that you didn't have to leave the ministry as often as him. But you had to get used to it. After all, you would be joining them for the entire tour. 

Sodo seemed to notice, that you were beyond nervous, so he softly placed his lips on your forehead, giving you a gentle kiss. Something you weren't used from him. 

"Everything will be okay, my love. The fans will love you", he mumbled and looked you in the eyes, "And if you feel uncomfortable, just come over to me and we'll play together, alright?" 

"Thank you, Sodo", you smiled, his kind words actually helped you to calm down at least a little bit, "I'll hold you up to that!" 

Sodo chuckled softly, before he pulled you in for a passionate kiss. Your heart skipped a beat and within seconds, all your negative thoughts were washed away. All you could think about was Sodo and how close his body was, how his lips were working against yours, slowly pushing you back against your desk… 

A knock on the door startled the both of you. You quickly broke apart and looked over to the door. 

"Yes?!", you asked loudly. 

"Y/N!? Is Sodo with you? We've been looking for you two! Come on it's time to shine!", you heard the voice of Swiss, the multi-Ghoul was exited to finally be on tour again. You barely had time to answer, as you already heard him stomp away again. 

" Here goes nothing ", you breathed, a little bit of the panic coming back to you. 

"You will rock this, I know it", Sodo smiled, kissing you one last time, before grabbing your helmet and giving it to you. 

"Are you ready?!", he smiled. 

You gingerly grabbed the helmet and put it on after changing to your human form:"Ready as I'll ever be!" 

You had to admit, Sodo was totally right about this. Even though, the fans were a little bit sad after hearing that Aether and Sunshine wouldn't be joining the Band on tour, they still cheered loudly as you and Aurora were introduced. The two of you smiled at each other and thanked the fans, before walking to your places. And the concert began. 

To say, that it was the best thing you had ever done in your life, didn't even come close to describing what you felt. There was a lot of bickering with Rain and Sodo, of course. The two Ghouls teasing you all the time and you couldn't, but tease them back just as merciless. 

Right now, you were just feeling the music and showing off your skills on the Rhythm Guitar. You were nervous about what you wanted to do next, but the adrenaline in your body finally allowed you to do it. 

As Papa was singing his lyrics, while standing at the front of the stage, you quickly jumped in front of him, strumming your guitar with all you had, leaning your body back and completely blocking Papa from the crowd.

And you heard them cheer and laugh for you, as Papa finally realized, that you were standing in front of him. He only shook his head, a small smile on his face and walked towards the other side of the stage. You chuckled quietly and continued playing, making your way over to Rain and Sodo. 

You gifted the two Ghouls a smile, as they finally noticed you. Sodo immediately walked over to you, while Rain just giggled at how Sodo acted like a lost puppy around you. 

You blew Sodo a quick kiss, earning cheers and screams from the crowd. You placed your foot on one of the small podest's, continuing to play your guitar. Sodo quietly sneaked closer and as he finally reached you, he carefully laid his head on your shoulder, since your were taller than him withy your leg propped up. 

The crowd practically erupted and it only got worst, as you leaned your head on top of Sodo's, inching closer to his body. 

From the corner of your eye, you watched as Rain stepped closer now too. The song just ended and he handed you something. You were surprised at first, but then noticed, that it was vape. You grinned at Rain, as he walked away. 

You nudged Sodo's shoulder, so that he looked up at you. You showed him the vape and he nodded. You carefully brought it to his lips and he took a deep breath in. He held it for a few seconds, only staring you down, before blowing the entire smoke into your face. You tried not to react and stay still, but you struggled a bit not to cough. 

Meanwhile the fans seemed to go feral about your little interaction with the fire Ghoul. But at this moment, you didn't really care, you only had eyes for Sodo. 

As the smoke had vanished, you handed Sodo the vape and he grinned, knowing what you wanted. And just as you did it before, he lifted the vape to your lips and you took a deep breath in, also trying to hold it for a few seconds. But as you were about to blow it out, Sodo moved his face closer to yours, lips almost touching. 

At this point, you couldn't hold it in any longer, you breathed out and while some smoke just dissolved into the air, a part of it was taken up by Sodo, who only breathed it out towards you again. You chuckled at this, knowing that he used to do this with Aether before. 

As all the smoke had vanished again and you where about to play the next song, Sodo pulled you closer one more time, giving you a strong hug, both his arms engulfing you entirely. You couldn't contain your laughter and hugged him back just as tight, before you had to part again in order to play the next song. 

After many more songs and many more interactions, not only with the Ghouls but also with your fellow Ghoulettes, it was time to say goodbye to the crowd. 

You and the other's were walking around, throwing your picks into the crowd. You were currently at the front of the stage, also cheering and thanking all the people that had come today. You even kneeled down and shook some hands, as one of the fans in the front rows handed you a black rose. You looked at It perplexed and pointed a finger at yourself, as if to ask if it was really for you. The person nodded strongly and showed a heart with their fingers. You were close to tears at this point, feeling so much appreciation for the people that had come today. You wanted to show a heart sign too, but had the rose still in hand, so without thinking, you slipped it into you mouth to repeat the fan's action.

 Loud cheers erupted and at first you were confused and then you noticed that it was because of the rose between your lips. You laughed and quickly took it out again, mimicking being pierced by armors arrow in the heart because of how sweet the fans were. 

After your little interaction with the crowd, you walked back to the others and you all said your goodbyes, bowing together, before finally getting off stage. 

Being finally able to take the helmet off, was definitely a relief. What you didn't expect, was Sodo running towards you and engulfing you in his arms, lifting you into the air and spinning you around. 

"You were awesome, my love!!", he smiled, before letting you back down. 

You only giggled and softly kissed his cheek:"So were you, dear." 

"I told you, it would be alright", he smiled proudly, while his Ghoul form slowly returned. You could already see the horns on his forehead, starting to grow again. 

"Thank you for everything", you mumbled, leaning into his side, as you made your way to the dressing rooms, ready to shower and change into something comfortable for the night. 

"Of course", Sodo uttered, "And by the way, I think the Fans absolutely loved you!" 

You could only smile, looking at the rose still resting in your hand:"I loved them too, to be honest. They were very supportive." 

"I think this tour will be the best one yet", Sodo stated, opening the door of your dressing room for you, as you finally reached it. 

"Why? Because you can even tease me on stage now?", you asked jokingly. 

"That, and because I get to play with my favorite person in the world now!",he grinned. You blushed a bit, but nodded and before he could say something more, you grabbed the black tie, that was loosely hanging around his neck and pulled him into the dressing room, the door slamming shut behind you. 

You hoped, that no one would be interrupting you this time. 

On my fucking knees 🧎‍♀️

Joseph Tomanek (1889–1974) American

Three Bathers

STRANGER THINGS - PORN LINKS (twitter)

Warning: 18+!!!, pornlinks

links for Steve, Nancy, Eddie and Robin, because why not

Steve Harrington

— Teasing Steve after a fight

— Fucking after he climbs through your window

— Steve can’t stop fingering you

— Him fucking you passionatly in the shower

— Steve breeding you all night long

— Making you ride him but he can’t resist fucking you

Nancy Wheeler

— Nancy comforting you after a stressful day

— “studying” with Nancy

— Playing with Nancy and a strap-on

— Rubbing your pussies

Eddie Munson

— Rough fuck with Eddie

— Eddie loves seeing your face when he fucks you hard

— Eating your pussy like his last meal

— Playing with his hole while fucks you

— Eddie loves choking you

Robin Buckley

— Robin fucks you with a strap-on

— Robin fingering you

— Playing with Robin in the backroom when you visit her at work

— Robin got you a toy

give peace a chance

I missed you, you want to say, but you know it’ll do nothing to change this routine. You settle on a question he’ll have a response to, for all it can do to uncover thoughts he’d want to bury deep.

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 3.4k summary: you’re always there, waiting on him warnings: size kink, blowjobs, facefucking, thigh riding, masturbation, squirting, angst, brief mentions of death, canon typical violence, mild mild gore, fluff notes: had 'Yes to Heaven' by lana del rey on loop while writing this one. out of body experience fr. anyway, i finally gave in and wrote for the boogey man. he's been occupying too much headspace for me to not.

You don’t hear him come in. 

Crisp, white sheets gather in a knot at your midsection – previously pristine, wrinkles pull at its surface now. You can’t sleep, but that’s most nights.

Your curtains dance with an incoming drift, lazy gauze, sheer in the cresting moonlight. If you weren’t so absorbed in the white noise of your whirring fan, you could catch the quiet click of your backdoor. You always leave it open, just in case; people know not to dare take advantage of the liberties you exhibit. There’s the invisible threat, protection, of a shadowed mercenary over your toytown home. 

His missions are incalculable. That’s the one thing he cannot promise you. Come back soon, you beg, but he leaves you with a silent kiss and nothing else. 

There were once days where you’d tag along. Your chest twinges at the uncomfortable reminder. Cracked bone, spilt ichor; the bullet had barely missed your heart, lodged between the throbbing organ and a major vessel. He’d raged to get you decommissioned, incensed demands – they’d never seen him as angry. 

Carpet flattens under your bare feet as you crawl out of bed, soft, like all things here. You hadn’t the luxury of comfort before, when Simon was Ghost and you were a rookie under him, but he’d granted you a life you sought only in your dreams. The first few days in paradise, you were torn over appreciation and resentment at the act, bandages wrapped around your chest – but you’d healed and found the irreversible damage etched into the hard plate of your clavicle – a rounded, discoloured scar. 

You’re glad you’d left that life behind. 

Padding out to the kitchen, you pour yourself a drink. The cupboard underneath your sink contains only bourbon – blended, straight, kentucky – so you fish out juice from your fridge. It’s sickly sweet, all natural sugars, your ass. 

“Shouldn’t drink that stuff.” A voice cuts the tranquillity, rugged and choppy on harsh consonants – a cockney accent. You soothe the alarmed surprise racing in your gut, a gentle smile turning your cheeks. 

His eyes pierce back at you, a smudge of white against an otherwise charcoal canvas. He’s sitting at the dining table, just across your kitchen island, his massive form illuminated by the warm light you’d turned on. You don’t know how you missed him, but then again, the man lives up to his name. Ghost; creeping up like the dead. 

“We’re all out of milk.” You respond, your tease lilting to an affectionate whisper when it hits your tongue. Simon scoffs. “Not like whiskey’s any better.” 

You pour him a glass regardless. 

He’s still equipped in his tactical gear, his gun set on the chair next to him. It adds unnecessary bulk, layers on layers of insulation, conservation – impossibly, he looks bigger like this. Larger than life. Your hands run along the coarse material of his bullet proof vest; you think you can feel his muscles tense, despite the surfaces separating you. But he takes the bourbon with little fuss, wrapping a strong arm around your legs so your knees knock the side of his thigh. 

“Hi,” You giggle, beaming down at him. 

“Hey.” He mocks, setting the drink down. 

His hard-shell mask conceals any tells you may glean. In just the balaclava, you can catch the shape of his lips, the curve of his nose, when he smiles – the painted fabric pulls taut over his features. But a skull stares back at you, and all you have are his eyes, framed with ashen lashes. They’re only enough to tell you one thing; he’s happy to be home. 

You love the way they catch the light, a subtle glimmer in them. 

For a while, the two of you just stand there, revelling in the weighted company of one another. His gloved hand presses circles into your flesh, just under the hem of your sleeping shorts, while yours find every bit of exposed skin you can. There’s not much – just the small stretch of neck you can reach, tucked behind his collar before the rest of him disappears. But you find it with reverence, smoothing over it, his heated body slowly easing by the minute under your ministrations. Some part of you realises the desperation you observe him with, the hurried glances at his back, his stomach, his legs. You look for darkened, sticky fabric. You look for blood. 

You don’t have the courage to speak your fears into fruition. 

Simon slowly begins to pull the heavier parts of his armour off. The night vision goggles on his head, the packets of ammo stuffed into available pockets. You move to help him, humming, shifting as you unbuckle the back of his plate carrier. His groans are wicked, deep waves of relief stemming from somewhere in his chest, and you hide the blush that arises at the sound, throwing the layer into an unknown corner. You remember the soreness, the knotted shoulders from days in the same kit, your spine in aching need of a good long stretch. You make a mental note to rub his back later.

You take off his gloves. There’s little give – they’re crusted in dried gore and gunpowder, the bones on their front almost entirely camouflaged. A sharp tug is what it takes to peel them off his hands. But then his skin is bared to you. You survey the grit that dusts the contours of his veins. Dirt has sunk through the fibres. 

When he’s left in just his mask and underclothes, he finally slumps, posture altering from that of a soldier’s to one of a tired man. His legs spread, thick thighs filling his pants, and he reaches for his drink again, lifting the bottom of his mask and balaclava to take a large gulp. His newly revealed Adam's apple bobs with the motion.

I missed you, you want to say, but you know it’ll do nothing to change this routine. You settle on a question he’ll have a response to, for all it can do to uncover thoughts he’d want to bury deep. 

“How many men?” You speak into the space. He pauses, his pink lips pursing at the brim of his glass. You have half a mind to regret asking, but you do this for your own solace. 

“Jus’ three.” Just. To anyone else, he may sound indifferent, his tone etched in that low timbre, unwavering with the grief over lost comrades. To you, you know that his pain is cavernous, a bottomless chasm he’ll undoubtedly return to. Indicatively, he pulls his mask back down over his face. It isn’t just three men. It’s three too many – but it’s on the lower end of the casualties the 141 usually faces. 

You wait for him to say the words you’re looking for. 

“They’re alright.” 

You nod. Al Bravo team was not amongst the fatalities. Gaz. Price. Soap. You cling onto the reassurance of your friends’ continued survival, a buoy until the next raging storm. 

Simon’s hand returns to its place on your leg, tracing long lines along the back of it. You shiver, suppressing the heat that spreads up your tummy like wildfire. His steel gaze is indecipherable as he looks up at you; your emotions flit across your face erratically. You wish he’d take the mask off, get on even footing with you, but it takes a while for him to come down from his missions. For as long as he’s racked with enduring adrenaline, he’ll keep his guard up. 

He’s surrounded by the safe walls of your – his – home, but he’s in over his head. 

You bow down, placing a gentle kiss on the curve of his jaw. The arm wrapped around you draws you closer. 

He smells like saltpetre, guncotton, hints of kerosene floating in the air between you. You push your face nearer to his, and you’re able to catch a faint whiff of his aftershave, traces of the cleanliness and cologne he leaves behind here, with you. You open your mouth to comment on it; he beats you to your cause: 

“Lovely girl.” He squeezes the flesh on your upper thigh – not quite your ass, but almost. 

“Mmm, Simon.” You start, capturing his eyes. They bear down on you with an intensity that makes your core ache. “Y’Can’t keep doing this to me.”

You imagine he’s smirking when he retaliates. “Can say the same for you, expectin’ me to focus out there when you look this good.” Like a giddy schoolgirl, you bite your lip at his compliment. 

Stirring to kiss his jaw again, you slowly start to unzip his windbreaker. Your fingers span the front of the black hoodie underneath, tracing the hard plane of his chest, feeling it rumble with a noiseless groan. His legs spread wider. You catch a telling bulge in your peripheral. 

“Need help?” You murmur, purring when he slips underneath your shorts to give your rear a feel. His callouses dig into you.

“Need you.” He says. 

The hand that was on his chest inches downward now, your nails raking along. You give a half-suppressed laugh as his abdomen tightens, bracing against your ticklish assault. You want to feel it bare – to extricate the exhaustion from an uncovered torso and watch as his muscles roll, solid brawn unravelling with the slightest touch. But you’ll settle on this, you know he needs it. His mask does unspeakable things to you, anyway. 

“Relax.” You encourage with a breath. Simon doesn’t listen; he still kneads your flesh with an unforgiving grip. His thumb brushes close to the soaked patch on your panties – with the appreciative grunt he gives, you know he senses the arousal emanating from you. 

His cock strains his pants, taking up all the space it can. You coo, poor thing, as you cup the underside of it. He gives you a reproaching spank, and your hips buck in tandem to his. As you do, you realise now how uncomfortable of a position you’re in – your neck cramps in this angle. Really, it’s a silly thing to be hung up about, but Simon must read the subtle cringe you give, for he urges you to kneel, guiding you by your head to crawl in between his open legs. 

You’re halfway under the table when you look up at him again, cheek pressed adoringly against his knee. He’s seemingly content like this, petting round your forehead to the ridge of your chin. His palm is large, dry, warm. You quickly lose trajectory as he caresses you, all droopy eyes and small smiles. 

He catches when you rub your legs together, chasing a friction that will never amount to him. You can never escape his scrutiny; Simon captures everything. 

He pats your cheek and pinches it before his touch leaves you. Newly awake, you perk up, perching on your haunches to lean further into him. You’re always eager, but his chuckle at your barely concealed anticipation beckons a stone to lodge itself in your throat. It’s a ball of desire, denser than most things, snowballing with every passing moment in his presence. You’re tuned in on him, rapt to every subtle thing – the deep exhales, the anchoring of his boots to hardwood floors. It’s take, take, take, an absorption of anything he’s willing to give. It tends to be like this after he comes back –  was like this back on the base, when you’d known nothing but his moniker and callsign. 

You recall rubbing one out to the staticky crackle of his voice over the channel, your headset pressed tight to your ears. You’d never told him that; you figure now’s a good time as any. 

“Used to fantasise about you, y’know.” You sigh, ironing over his calves. You move your brushes to his hulking thighs when he begins to undo his pants, wetting your lips. 

His next exhale is torn, steadiness ripped to shreds by your less-than seductive words. “Oh yeah?” He remarks, scooping into his boxers to pull his heavy cock out. “What about?” 

It springs free just then, angry head flushed a deep red, blood supplied by pulsing veins that branch to the top. You keen at the precum that beads at the top, rushing to catch it with your index to slip it onto your tongue. He says nothing, merely contemplating as you wriggle with the heady taste of him. 

“This,” You add after a long moment, before licking a long, wet stripe up the base of his dick. His whole body jerks unexpectedly, and he grabs onto your head to steady your impatient efforts. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” 

“Gone soft on me? I see.” Chortling, you play with his tip, batting it back and forth to tap your lips. He is anything but soft – regrettably, though, the rise you get from teasing him is too great to pass up. 

“Shut it, pet, before I turn your insides over.” He urges you forward once he’s settled. You don’t tell him how much you’d really like him to. In due time. 

Your lips wrap around the bulbous head, sides stretching to accommodate his girth. You’re familiar with the drill by now; hollow your cheeks, keep your jaw nice and loose. Use some teeth, he chokes at the pain. 

His skin moves with you as you sink down , rolling your tongue over the ridges that cross your path. Your breath is hot, your mouth even hotter – sweltering, you suck him in and coat his rock-hard with a film of saliva, which aids you when you bob back up. You can’t reach the root of him, not yet – he’s way too big – so your hand wraps around the length not in your mouth. 

“That’s it.” Simon rasps, now pushing you down in support. Your hum is lost in the lewd slurps, but he twitches with the vibrations it produces. A glob of drool leaks from you, seeping down to gather in his scruffy curls – you use it as slick to twist your wrist around his base. 

He’s ripe with the salty taste of sweat and precum, a dizzying combination – you hope you’re subtle as you slip your free hand down your pants, pressing up into the plush of your cunt. You find where you’re most sensitive, a tight bundle of nerves, and touch yourself, all the while savouring the masculinity that engulfs you – his muscled thighs by your ears, his giant hands pressing down on your head. 

A particularly loud groan sounds from above. You triple your efforts, delighted at your part in helping him unwind. At one point, his added pressure pushes you down all the way. You gag, blubbering with choked gasps, but your lips stay sealed around him, an unforgiving vacuum. His happy trail scratches your nose,

“Gonna cum, you lovely thing. Righ’ down your throat. Take it all, understand?” He asks. You’re able to discern the wobble in his abrasive voice – his balls spasm at your lips, ready to erupt at any moment. You nod, gaping at him earnestly, with wide, watery eyes. His own soften, downturning at the corners. “‘Atta girl.”

With the hazy memory of his face before he’d left, you can draw an abstraction of what he might look like right now. You trick yourself into thinking he’s smiling down at you. Gentle, caring. 

You don’t have to try as hard to believe it. 

Your fingers work fervently over your sopping cunt, slipping between velvet folds. Your exertion, combined with his pure fucking magnetism, is almost enough to tip you over the edge. A cluster in your gut stiffens, grows, upends. You stroke yourself impossibly faster. 

Simon curls inward, his mask now directly above you. A bit of his cock drags from your mouth – your bottom teeth scrape a vein in consequence. He jolts. Then, rich, long ropes of cum shoot into your awaiting mouth, painting you with musky white. You keep jerking him as he does, urging more, more, more, milking him to spill his all into you. 

A tap of your shoulder is all the evidence you need to pull off him with a pop. You didn’t cum, it doesn’t matter, you hardly feel the mounting desperation amidst the grand scheme of things. Simon’s back hits the chair, his head tilting as he takes you in. 

“C’mere,” He grunts, pushing backwards to allow you space to stand. You oblige, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand – it only serves to smear the mess across your cheek. Your back brushes the table – he beckons you closer – until your bruised knees hit the edge of the chair. 

When he’s satisfied, his hands run up your sides, starting at your arms, then downward, so they can hook into the waistband of your shorts. You lock onto his all-consuming stare, dark with an unspoken question, his pupils blown wide with lingering lust. 

“Go ahead.” You coax. 

He nods and pulls your shorts off with one, swift movement. 

Cold air meets soaked cotton – you tremble, whether with goosebumps or the weight of his study, you don’t know. You’re the farthest thing from a blushing virgin, but Simon manages to propel you back into that bashful headspace. Every time with him is ruthless – stifling broken sobs while adjusting to his width, utter pleasure and the smallest bit of pain. 

Perhaps you’ll forgo that this time around. He’s quickly softening against his pelvis. You understand – stamina tends to dissipate after holding out for so long. Though he’s anything but a selfish lover.

He guides you to straddle his thigh. 

You squirm, hip flexors burning with the strain of splitting over the breadth of him. He keeps you steady with his hands on your waist – you clutch onto his wrists. His sleeves have rucked up to reveal his tattooed forearm. You trace the ink, reverent, requiring as much skin-to-skin as possible. It flees the fastest, that sensation, running up behind him when he exits the door. The bruises, the bites, the cramp from hitting your cervix one too many times, on the other hand – they all endure, keeping you sated long enough so that you aren’t compelled to rejoin him. He might do that on purpose, in fact. 

Your clit folds as it meets his leg – a new surge of slick spills from you. 

“A-Ah! Simon, y–” 

“I know, pet. Jus’ ride me, yeah, like that.” 

Your bottom half ruts into him, finding purchase on the solid surface of his thigh. Your panties slide, preventing the potential for divine friction, so you push them to the side, wedging it in the crevice of a lip and your pubic bone. You stutter apologies to Simon for the mess – your natural lubricant smears onto his cargo pants, sullying the fabric. He assures that he’ll wear it proudly. You’re a prouder medal than blood. 

You’re whimpering now, wailing about everything and nothing all at once with your face tucked into his neck. He embraces you – sturdiness forcing you to stunt your movements to short, hurried grinds – and says nothing. 

Something terrifying begins to burn in you; promising a cataclysm. It’s him. His scent, his strength, his size, his presence. I missed you. I missed you. Your impending orgasm crawls up the tendons in your pelvis, seeping into bone and flooding like a high tide. Your pants grow shallower. Your lungs feel cramped. Something about this, here, with him, lights every synapse in you, flashing bright with colours and promises and safety. I miss you. 

“I miss you,” You finally gasp, broken as you peer up at him. He stills – you keep your pace. Sweat beads at your temple. 

He slowly removes the mask. 

The balaclava follows soon after. 

Simon then bows down, pressing his lips to your furrowed brow. 

And then, everything in you compresses, fierce and tight. You wind your fingers into his hair, pulling his head back to bite the column of his neck. You do it to muffle the sob that bubbles when you erupt in searing agony atop him, back arching, toes curling. Your body goes completely rigid. 

He groans with the cut of your teeth, and your cunt pulsates again, spilling down on him, your fluids draining to double your mark on the man. 

“Missed you too.” Simon rustles in response. You seize his mouth with yours, uncaring for how messy it is. It’s what you need; to feel your teeth knock, to bind yourself to him. 

You kiss in him the intent to never let you go. You know it won’t last, but for now, it’s enough.

permanent taglist: @saintbedelia @tusk89 @cactuswaterscactusfields @lexloon

since i've only written for star wars previously, if you're on this list and want to be moved to a character specific one instead, i've added the option on my form!

join my taglist!

yet another reminder about this tour moment

nobody tweets like hozier...I love him so much

Hey everyone, please consider buying the 2024 itch.io Palestinian Relief Bundle- it's 373 games, game-making assets, tabletop roleplaying games, zines, and comics for a minimum of just 8 USD! They have a goal of 100,000 USD, and as of the time I'm writing this post, they have 8 more days to reach it.

Link will be in the reblog!