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he can barely bite back a groan at the sight of you. he can't help but run his thumb over your slit. that earns him a soft whine from your sleep. he softly grins at your reaction and decides to tease you. gently, he parts your folds and eases in two fingers. tight but easy enough because of your wetness. at first, you let out a small noise, but when he slowly pumps his fingers, your body shifts ever so slightly. your face twists as you emit a small moan. 

the sight of you being finger fucked asleep by him was enough to make his pants tighter than usual. he quickens his pace, making you moan louder. he curls his fingers, and that's when your eyes open. softly, your lashes flutter, you look around confused but in pleasure. you look back and see him. "m-mmh babe..?" you ask yet does nothing to stop him. he, however, continues moving his fingers. he then presses a kiss to your exposed neck, murmuring in response; "mhm. I'm home, baby." your eyes shut again as you whine. it isn't long until you got wetter, your legs slightly parting—as if asking for more. 

he smiles subtly at your unraveling. but suddenly, he pulls his fingers out. this makes you whine and look back at him. he chuckles and gets on the bed, between your legs. he unbuckles his belt, throws it to the floor where it can be forgotten, undoes his pants and pulls out his cock. leaking and eager. 

you whine again, peaking from your pillow. "i'm too tired to do anything..." you admit. he chuckles and rubs the back of your thigh. "i know, baby. I'll take care of you." he can see the soft blush on your cheeks but his attention snaps back to your cunt. he positions himself over you, pulling you up by the hips a bit. he nudges the tip in, letting you ease into it before pushing more in. you immediately whimper and clutch the pillow harder. he can feel your body trembling, not from pain, but for more.

he whispers sweet praises to your ear as he pushes more. one of his hands covers yours as the other grips your hip. he kisses your temple and nape when he finally bottoms out. after letting you get used to his size, he pulls out midway and thrusts back in. upon doing so, you clutch the pillow tighter, muffling your moans into it. his hand moves back to your hips as he starts moving. 

"aah... simon!" you whimper. your mouth is open, a string of lewd noises escaping you. you buck your hip, earning a groan out of him from the sudden movement. "you feel sooo good.. so good!" you slur, both from pleasure and your previous slumber.

he pulls out suddenly, then gently flipping you onto your back before pushing back in. you moan incoherent noises at this point, that only get amplified when he bends your legs to your chest. his hands grip the back of your thighs firmly, his cock still moving at its fast pace. your face contorts in ecstasy and your toes curl. this new position making his cock reach even deeper places.

at a particular angle, you cry out. stars flash behind your eyes as he kisses your sweet spot with his tip. he immediately picks up on that and angles his thrusts to hit it repeatedly. you shout his name, your back arches off the bed. "fuck- baby baby- please! oh god!" you sob. he groans as he feels your walls tighten. he folds you further in, fucking you senseless in an attempt to chase your climax.

your noises get louder, loud enough to expect a complaint from their neighbor tomorrow morning. "right there! don't stop- don't fucking stop!" you beg, clawing at his back desperately. he leans down to add to your pleasure, licking on your breast and sucking eagerly. he feels his impending release as well, thrusting roughly a few more times before trying to pull out. but not before you lock your legs around him, keeping him in. "no- no cum in me, give me your baby..!" you whine desperately. that plea alone almost turns him feral. he thrusts into your cunt deep and hard before burying himself deep into you, spilling his seed and painting your insides white with cum. the sensation of getting filled up was too much for you, and just at the same time, a deep and pitched moan signals your release.

he eventually pulls out, peppering kisses all over your face and uttering the softest praise 

You don't even know the weight of your words.

He scoffs derisively, a near-laugh, almost amused by your quip despite himself. Guilelessly, your heart flutters triumphantly at the idea of amusing him somehow, for the modicum of approval, before Simon leans in to sneer in your ear, lips set in a straight line, “Shut it.”

“Yer gonna wake your parents, y'want that?” His fingers braid through your hair, gathering the strands at the base of your skull in a tight fist and dictating where your head stays. (A piteous 'Ow!' is consequently muffled into the bedding.) He pulls out halfway before sawing back inside, watching your puffy cunt spread wide to swallow his thick shaft, a bead of drool pooling at the corner of your mouth. “Won't be able to fuck this sweet lil' cunt anymore if they take you away from me. We don't want that, do we, pet?”

“N-No—”

“Good.” He rewards your compliance by plunging into your heat with a thrust that makes the bedframe creak under his weight in protest, smushing your cheek in the mattress with the hand on your head. You scrunch your eyes shut to brace yourself for the onslaught Simon pours over you, jerking in time with his unforgiving ministrations. The frilly throw pillow wedged between the bedframe and the wall trembles with each pass, soaking up the noise while it takes the brunt of your activities.

The stickiness of your arousal streaks his shaft—glistening webs stretching out between you and his sack, drenching him anew as he withdraws then rams back in. His blunt fingers trace your mouth where choked moans emit from presently, inspecting the cushion of your lips in a sort of appreciation for your good, silent behavior. They slip past the rim of your warm mouth, forcing your lips to gape around the intrusion as they hook on; feeling your wet tongue under the pads of his fingers. Feeling you salivate as he grazes your tender g-spot. With all his years of experience and your lack of it, you're so easy to figure out.

He observes your voice inadvertently grow in volume as you struggle around the intrusion in your mouth, wringing out staccato whines from your throat as his cock pistons inside you. Your brows knit together helplessly, slurping, drooling, and whimpering around his digits all at once while you try to swallow your voice, and Simon aids you by relieving your jaw and letting you suckle on his fingers instead. Your soft lips seal around his middle and ring finger all too readily, puckered and suckling.

Simon can't help but coo at the sight in his low baritone, tutting quietly, “Just like that. Real quiet now, aintcha?” Your spit bubbles around his knuckles as he pushes deeper, enough to make you gag, but Simon makes it clear he doesn't mind the mess with the evidence of his desire throbbing inside your cunt meanly.

“Just need a firm hand to reel you in every now and again, hm? Is thaʼ what you need, luv?” The warmth of his breath brushes against the shell of your ear, his sweaty chest against your back, your eyelids blowing wide as you peek at his shadowy silhouette out of the corner of your eye. He can feel your tongue flounder against his fingers, a muffled noise behind his knuckles.

By way of the obstruction in your mouth, you don't bother with an answer—rather, your mind is someplace entirely—eyelids blissfully sliding shut as his girth, curved just right, plunges in and out of you, your walls squeezing around him welcomingly.

“Is it?”

Nodding your head in haste, your eyes water as his cockhead slams against what you're pretty sure is your cervix. You gasp for air as though trying to make room for him in your ribs, and Simon can feel every spasm of your aching pussy around him, painting your insides with pre.

The syllables of sorry and yes are mouthed around his thick digits, and a secret part of Simon relishes this, all of it: you, unadulterated and unfiltered. Still new, still unpolished. Simon, a grounding force. Someone to teach you to handle all that buzzing energy.

Simon's burly form is like a blanket on top of you, his angular nose nuzzling the nape of your sweat-damp neck. In the dark of your room, everything sounds awfully... wet—from the suckling sounds from your mouth, to the wet slide of his cock inside your dripping hole.

His eyes slide from the crown of your head to the strip of light under your bedroom door, which has remained undisturbed—until now. Simon’s heavy-lidded gaze lingers on the shadowy movement beyond it, the drone of his shallow pants filling your ears as you're immobilized under him, his broad frame blocking out the rest of the world.

It's only when his fingers pop past your lips and clamp tight over your mouth that you're alerted to the distinct noise of your father's yawning outside, floorboards creaking below his lumbering feet nearly lost under your own rapid heartbeat in your ears. “Quiet,” Simon mutters in your ear brusquely, straight teeth nipping at your earlobe.

“Honʼ? You awake?”

As your stomach drops fearfully, so too do your thighs clamp together when Simon bucks his hips against you.

“Hah, wait, Si—”

“Shut up nʼ take it.”

You're drowning in the sheets, really, getting fucked into the mattress by the man on top of you while your father's voice floats into the room. He never pulls out fully, just saws in like he's intent on making you feel every inch of his veiny girth and breaking you down here and now. Simon’s achingly close, and he's hardly eager to put this on hold for later—especially when your spasming cunt seems to be milking him for all he's worth. So he doesn't.

You don't respond to your father, hoping to feign sleep—and he tries again, God bless his soul. The bedding smothers your head, your stifled breaths echoed back to you making his voice almost inaudible.

“Could've sworn...”

The muttering trails off, and his footsteps lazily recede down the hall into a soft pitter-patter. You hold your breath, waiting to hear the click of his bedroom door, only it never comes. Is it anxiety or butterflies twisting in your belly? You can't tell.

Simon knows you're trapped like this, smothered and stuffed full with his cock, and he likes that. You have half the mind to keep your mouth shut as he unloads his spend in you with choked grunts, the only half-hearted sign of disapproval your kicking legs.

You finish in the same breath that the heavy footfalls close in on your door, leaving a creamy ring around the base of Simon's shaft as he fucks his cum into you with wet squelches.

“It's 3 AM, go to bed!”

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๋      ׅ authorʼs note — idk about you, but my parents still get mad at me for staying up late at my grownass age. this one is rushed & full of bad run-on sentences. enjoy my word vomit its so bad lool.

© LACKADAISIES ‘25. | all rights reserved. copying, translation, or ai training not authorized; ask for direct permission before you take inspiration from my posts. iʼll cry if you copy my hard work, please be considerate.

They resume chowing on toasted sʼmores undisturbed like a herd of gazelles at a watering hole.

His emptied drink joins the rainbow of soda-lime bottles on the grass, the back of his arm dragged carelessly across his mouth.

Simon makes quick work of retracing your path through the woods with the efficiency of a seasoned hunter—or perhaps a SAS operator. The white flash emanating from your smartphone dapples through the foliage, the device, your sole source of illumination, perched precariously on a nearby boulder. He watches you stiffen, then slowly turn, at the crunch of leaves under Simon's boots, a brow ticking upward as he takes in your prim little set-up with a roll of toilet paper and one of those gimmicky-looking portable bidets you bought online. You're delightfully far from the rag tag life Simon himself has grown accustomed to. Simon doesn't blame you; his bestfriend raised you well.

“Simon,” you call his name incredulously, half-relief, half-exasperation as you clutch your racing heart over your clothes. “It's just you. Gosh, I thought a grizzly was coming to get me.”

“Just me,” he responds dryly, his gaze stuttering down your form as you drop the hem of your sundress back down. His clothes rustle as he folds his arms across his chest, leaning one shoulder against a tree trunk.

“Do you mind?” You raise your brows at the man expectantly, gesturing for him to look away with a flourish of your index finger. “I need to pee.”

The toes of Simon's boots bump against your feet as he covers the distance between you with three strides flat, the flashlight near you lighting the planes of his face from below, giving them a ghostly cast. “Go 'head, then. Who's stopping you?” His hands, large and heavy next to your shorter limbs, toy with the edge of your dress, bundling it upwards while goosebumps rise along your thighs.

“Quite literally you,” you retort, one hand on his chest as you back up against the tree bark—and hope for dignity's sake that he doesn't notice how your knees rub together, the pressure in your lower belly growing more potent.

“Just need a little taste,” he groans against the delicate shell of your ear, his lips roaming over your cheek until they successfully land on your warm mouth. You meep against his mouth before finally squeezing your eyelids shut in concession, humming sweetly for the few seconds of heaven you afford the Brit before pulling away, your lips disconnecting with a wet smack.

“Okay, enough, big guy.” An exasperated giggle peters past your lips despite yourself as you nudge his solid chest, attempting to fix him with a stern look in your eye and hoping he gets the message. Simon can be surprisingly willful, at times. “I got business to d—”

Cool air brushes your skin as he snags your panties down your hipbones, hooking his thumbs under the waistband. For a frightening moment, you almost fear your underwear dropping will force muscle memory to kick in and you'll lose control of your bladder—but your body doesn't betray you for the time being.

“Iʼm serious,” you mumble against his chest to no avail, thighs clamping around his thick wrist as he lowers his fingers to your bare cunt. “Maybe later.”

“Not later. Now.”

Simon interjects with his fingers breaching your entrance, your knees instantly buckling under you and sending your head towards his chest. The space between the tree trunk and his torso is tight, an arm beside your head barricading you in place as he thumbs your clit, fingers simultaneously curling inside you.

It tickles, almost. Calloused fingertips graze your slippery walls, tingles blooming up your spine like live sparks. Your muscles feel far too weak, too lax to contain your body's baser instincts, but you try, nibbling your lip and keening into his shirt.

“So wet,” Simon coos fondly, his voice drowned by the lewd squelch of his fingers twisting and pumping inside you. The moisture does little to help your urge to pee, and you feel a little put out by yourself for being so distracted by your bladder when you have a tall, rugged man eager to please you. Ah, the consequences of drinking 8 cups of water a day.

A droplet races down the inside of your thigh to your ankle, your walls tightening around his fingers with a pained-sounding grunt as you hop around in surprise, warmth flooding your belly.

The blood drains from your face. For a second, you just hope he doesn't notice and consider pretending nothing happened, but you probably couldn't live that down. Instead, the fabric of his shirt twists in your fists as you tug and push at him with a spillage of apologies. God, Simon is going to hate you forever and never be attracted to you ever again, isn't he?

“Holy crap, holy crap—Simon, wait. I think I just, a little, Iʼm sorry—!”

Simon’s fingers are still inside you nonetheless, your inner thighs rubbing against his wrist as he keeps at it. His lips brush the top of your head when he shushes you. “Baby, baby, baby,” Simon murmurs sedatively, patting your back, but you aren't hearing any of it.

“Wait, wait, wait. I gotta go, Si.” You stomp your foot in all seriousness, but Simon’s attention is caught by your arched spine, the heat in your face as you bend forward, knees pressed together as you tug anxiously at the hem of your dress. “I told you 'later.'”

“And I said we're doing this here and now,” Simon grunts bluntly, cocking his chin up sharply—brooking no room for arguement.

You whine from deep in your chest, letting out an exaggerated sob and throwing your head back in defeat and exasperation altogether. “Easy does it,” the man murmurs, not without a touch of vexation at your perceived insolence, and backs you up against the tree. He turns your back towards him and unceremoniously maneuvers you against the tree trunk with the fabric of your sundress bunched in his fist.

“Youʼre, like, insane. Iʼve never met someone so stubborn,” you whisper-yell incredulously, the petulant pinch of your brows visible over your shoulder.

The insistent throb between your legs sharpens as his fingers return, stretching your achy cunt full again. Simon grunts, satisfied, at the break in your voice. The heel of his palm smacks against your soft flesh with each snap of his wrist, your cunt dripping around his dextrous fingers.

Red-hot shame crawls up the back of your neck and into your ears as your hips buck uselessly against his hand, the pressure in your belly building while your walls spasm and squeeze around his fingers.

“Hold it,” Simon's voice rumbles behind you evenly—which to you is the only option either way. You don't understand his intentions.

“Simon, Iʼm trying,” you answer back, antsy, fingers fidgeting restlessly with your dress. You brace one hand against the tree, folding forward in your attempt to restrain yourself—anchored only by his hand, two fingers knuckle-deep in your cunt. Perhaps if you weren't so panicked, you'd think twice about how ridiculous the situation is.

You make a valiant effort—holding your breath, squeezing your legs together—and still, your muscles falter with each prod of his fingertips. Hopping from one foot to the other, you don't even notice the first telltale drops of liquid past his fingers, only that his hand feels treacherously good. It sounds wet and fucking filthy, his fingers sliding into your wetness without a hitch.

A high-pitched, pathetic string of 'ah-ah-ah's fall from your gaping mouth, accompanied by his name on your tongue, always. You don't realize you're tearing up until your vision is blurred, hips rocking back against his coarse hand.

His fingers pull out of you with your juices splattering onto the dry leaves below, your body sent stumbling forward against the trunk with a startled 'Oh!' He lowers his zipper and chucks the denim down his legs, then yanks your panties off your ankles and lines himself up with your entrance. Your panties land in the same pile as his crumpled jeans and boxers.

Your dripping cunt pulses in anticipation as he rubs himself against your seam, leaking down your inner thighs bit by bit. The agonizing stretch makes you preen and clamp your thighs together, your belly taut with his cock pressing against your stomach from the inside.

You feel a warm liquid travel down your thighs every time he bottoms out, the pressure on your bladder too much to bear. “Simon, please, I can't hold it,” you plead tearily. The friction of your body trembling against him as you shift your weight between your feet and cross your legs elicits a groan from low in his chest, his head falling back languidly.

“Shit, baby, let go f'me.” His palm caresses your lower belly before flattening against it, the large expanse of his hand nearly enough to cover your waist.

“What!? No, jus' hurry pull out—oh—stop, wait—”

Your pulse spikes so fast it’s dizzying, his long fingers pressing down below your navel now.

“Ssh, ssh. Youʼll feel better, luv, I promise. Come on, kid, lemme help you,” Simon murmurs, his other hand reaching up to fondle your tits through your sundress.

You feel the tightness in your abdomen, the way the slight curve of his shaft carves into you, warmth coiling inside of you until you're mewling. Your hips stutter before a rush of clear liquid sprays from between your legs, your clit pulsing insistently as your piss gushes around his cock. Simon groans into your neck as his cock continues to pummel your tender insides without abandon, warm liquids streaming down his cock.

“Atta girl. Fuck, that's good. You're so fucking good f'me. That's it, baby.”

You sigh breathlessly in relief as your cunt squeezes around him, almost crying out, a warm sensation blooming between your thighs. It sloshes out of you in a steady stream each time he pulls back, leaving only the tip inside before he plunges balls deep and it splashes against both your thighs.

“So fucking sexy,” Simon groans behind you, calloused palms covering your ass, groping and kneading. “Such a messy lil' girl. I fucking love it. Make a mess all over me.” His voice lowers to a guttural rasp as he gives your ass a squeeze, cupping the underside of your plush ass, thumbs spreading your folds open around his cock to watch your piss leak around him in sheer infatuation despite your shy squirming.

It lasts shamefully long—a slowly unwinding knot inside you as your full belly shrinks, like the longest-lasting climax you've ever had—the sound of the liquid hitting the ground louder than it has any right to be, making your ears burn with embarrassment.

The stream slows to a thin trickle between your legs, your chest heaving as he fucks the last few drops out of you. Your cunt pulses and throbs by the time it ends, your clit slightly swollen. He pulls his hard cock out just to watch the remaining droplets clinging to your folds, hunching over you and slapping the shaft against your glistening ass. You blink slowly in astonishment, both palms braced against the tree trunk as you peer back at him, shame-faced. “...I—I think I just came.”

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ׄ ۪ 𓂃 ੭୧ authors note : 2 FICS IN 3 DAYS FROM DAISY?? who woulda thunk! i think this is my shortest oneshot, which is an accomplishment for a rambler like me! i tried to hurry it up. i’m not a fan of how simplistic my writing is here, but i wrote this after my john fic and didn’t get many notes on that one (where i'd worked rly hard on the writing style), so i wasn’t sure what style y’all preferred back then.

© LACKADAISIES ‘25. | all rights reserved. copying, translation, or ai training not authorized; ask for direct permission before you take inspiration from my posts.