đđđžđœđ! đà§ 18 she/her ghostâs little princess, königâs liebling, worldâs biggest ŃĐŸĐŒĐ°Đœ Ń ĐŸŃŃ fan.
blog contains nsfw and sometimes extreme content, minors please dni.
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@luhhleche
đđđžđœđ! đà§ 18 she/her ghostâs little princess, königâs liebling, worldâs biggest ŃĐŸĐŒĐ°Đœ Ń ĐŸŃŃ fan.
blog contains nsfw and sometimes extreme content, minors please dni.
ALWAYS TAKING ASKS !!
about me masterlist rules

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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leche i love you and i love your work i wish i could kiss your brain
likewise my sweet little anonymous
iâm not a cheating enthusiast, i donât know why so many of my fics have to do with cheating, i PROMISE
MAKING OUT WITH SIMON WITH A ZYN IN HIS MOUTH. SEND POST.
ghost fic coming soon teehee :P been wanting to utilize my writing instead of writing straight goon material with no plot

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god i need a therapist
kerosene
ghost x f!reader. 17k words. cw: noncon. kidnapping. gun violence. free use. smut. mentions of involuntary groinal responses lol. simon is a smug asshole and reader is into it you get robbed at gun point while working the lone register at a nowhere petrol station. the money in the till is not the only thing he takes with him. or [read on ao3]
Idle hands are the devilâs workshop, so they say.Â
in heaven reading this
Hey honeyđ
Soo I heard that your ask is opennnn, So hear me out okay.
My thoughts are a two man with Jonny and Simon, you have been screwing them both, without them knowing and you guys are on a mission together and land in a motel room after âonly one bed tropâ but there is three of you. Yoi decides that the problem can wait and you guys need to get drunk so you go to a bar. While youâre up dancing the guys are talking and suddenly finding out about your little secret. So they decide to head home with you and when they are back you get a rough night.
(Please nothing lovers, everybody knows that you guys are just friends with a little twist and please đ đ đ make it long and detailedđđ)
Anyway thatâs it for nowđ©·đ©·
posted here!! very nasty but i hope you enjoy. thanks for the ask babe. <3
VACANCY â ghost + reader + soap
synopsis: while tipsy, the two men find out youâre screwing them both, and come up with a way to solve the one bed situation.
cw: 18+, intoxication, threesome, oral sex, unprotected p in v, double penetration, anal sex f!receiving, creampies, slight cum eating, friends with benefits
the motel was dark and dingy, almost like a cliché. smelling like old carpet and dust. the dim lights buzzed loudly, occasionally flickering, causing moths to swarm under the warm, almost orange luminance. your nose scrunched up at the stomach turning aroma that filled the place, earning a laugh from johnny.
âdonât be picky, birdie, itâs all we gotâ heâd said with a pat on your shoulder. it did nothing to ease your slight anxiety. the itch at the back of your mind that told you you were never safe on these missions â the atmosphere only solidifying the thought.
simon stood a few feet away, talking with the woman at the desk. middle aged, sporting red lipstick, a name tag reading âdarlaâ, and a hungry gaze as she ogled him. his shoulders tensed, suddenly shooting daggers at soap who eagerly volunteered him to ask for a room.
it was getting late, pushing nine pm by the time you three arrived in the outskirts of the city. thankful that price was generous enough to drop you off somewhere discreet rather than leaving it up to you like last time. you sat sandwiched between the two knuckleheads the entire hours drive, thigh to thigh. the only thing keeping you from going crazy was simonâs ghost of a touch against your knuckles, barely hidden by the gear piled onto your laps. his silent way of showing he noticed.
a soft contrast to johnny. the man you knew to grab you and take a kiss in broad daylight, not caring who saw. but funnily enough, with his outrageous personality and tendency for pda, nobody knew you were fucking. not even the rest of the task force, though they knew you were close friends.
and as it stands, they donât know youâre fucking their big bad ghost either.
simonâs voice grew more brash than it already was, a clear sign of frustration. probably with a combination of the womanâs clear flirting and the fact that no room had three beds. it didnât matter here, you were in no situation to be picky.
âwe can do two twins with a pull out couch, hun. thatâs the best i can offer.â she said, smacking loudly on her bubblegum. without another word, simon coughed up the cash, his head already pounding from a lack of rest and hydration.
âlooks like someone has to take the pull out, nâ it ainât gonna be meâ he rasps, walking past you both briskly with the key in hand.
you look back at johnny over your shoulder with a small smile, one he grew to admire. ânot gonna be me either.â
so of course, it comes to your surprise that the door opens to reveal one bed.
simon enters first, boots thumping across the floor so heavily that you can hear the disappointment in them. he scans the room once, twice, three times before shaking his head âtheyâre takinâ the piss.â
you walk around yourself, checking every nook and cranny for the so called âpull out couchâ she mentioned. there wasnât a single cushion in sight, just a bed, two nightstands, a small dresser with a tv, and the bathroom. and that god awful carpet smell that seemed to linger. âwhat now? we wonât all fitâ you sighed.
and with no further ado, johnny was making his way back to the front desk. heâd be damned if he sacrificed another night of sleep before what could very well be his last mission. if he were to sleep at all, itâd be comfortably.
âreal sorry, dears,â she said, thought she didnât sound sorry at all. she was one of those women who held a deadpan expression and spoke in a long, drawn out tone that was almost synonymous to her look. âsystem mustâve glitched. only got the one single left. queen bed.â
soap leaned on the counter, his usual grin strained with fatigue. âone? itâs not what we booked, lass. youâre having a laugh.â
âno laugh, handsome. just the one.â
a low, rumbling sound emanated from simonâs chest, a noise youâd come to recognize as pure, unadulterated annoyance. his large frame seemed to take up all the remaining air in the cramped space. âunacceptable.â
âitâs that or the parking lot,â darla shrugged, already looking past you three and to a small tv playing a static-filled game show.
the argument that followed was a quiet, tense thing, born from days of little sleep and the gritty residue of a successful but messy extraction. soap advocated for you all to squish. simon flatly stated he was not sharing.
his glare could have frozen hell. "you snore like a chainsaw in a tin shed, mactavish. i'd rather sleep on the pavement." you pointed out, with dwindling patience, that the floor was arguably filthier than the questionable bedspread. the men didnât seem to mind the griminess if either, as long as it was a place to splay their long limbs.
âso two on the floor, then,â soap concluded, running a hand through his mohawk. âbut who?â
âalready know you two are gonna offer me upâ your eyes drifted past the grimy window to the neon glow across the street. a sign buzzed âthe last call,â and through the glass, you could see a decent crowd, hear the faint thrum of music. the more you peered through the foggy glass, you could make out the line curling around the building. a desperate idea, born of equal parts exhaustion and mischief, took shape.
âor,â you said, cutting through their brewing debate. âwe check out the bar.â you nodded toward soap, a slow smile spreading on your face as your manicured nail tapped eagerly against the window. âif weâre lucky, our scotsman here will charm some pretty bird and get himself a free bed.â
he wanted to say he had all the bird he needed right in front of him, but now wasnât the time for his crude remarks. soapâs grin returned, full force and wicked as usual. âi like the way you think, lass. i could use a drink.â he paused âand the sight of you in a tight dress, hope ya packed one.â
simonâs skull patterned balaclava did little to hide the sheer disdain in his eyes as they flicked from you to soap. âchildish.â
âcome on, LT,â soap said with his signature grin, already heading for the door. âyou can glower in the corner.â
he looked from your hopeful face to soap's already-winning smile, then back to the depressing lamp that flickered dimly. his jaw worked silently for a moment. finally, he gave a single, curt nod. "one drink. then we draw straws for the floor."
that was as good as a cheer from simon riley. you all left your bags behind the desk, a temporary truce in place, and filed out into the cool night air. not leaving without simon giving a swift pat to your ass, gone unnoticed by johnny. each of you clad in your civilian clothes, leaving your duty behind for a few hours.
the noise from the bar grew louder, a promise of warmth and distraction.
as you pushed the door open, the smell of beer and fried food washed over you, and for the first time that night, the tight knot of travel fatigue began to loosen. you stepped inside, soap already scanning the room with a strategic eye, simon a solid, reluctant shadow at your back, and the unresolved question of the single beds momentarily forgotten in the dim, lively hum of the crowd.
you and soap took to it with gusto, already two rounds of tequila deep and laughing too loud at a joke, lost to the noise. ghost, meanwhile, was a statue in the corner booth, a dark shape nursing a single pint, his balaclava couldnât soften the glare he leveled at the pair of you.
âcâmon, LT!â soap yelled over the music, sloshing his drink. âyouâre babysitting that pint!â
ghost just lifted his cup, took a slow sip, and set it down. his eyes, you noticed, followed you specifically. but then a group of outrageous women spotted you, a whirlwind of laughter and glitter, and swept you towards the dance floor. you shot a grin back at the boysâsoap giving you a thumbs up, ghostâs stare unwaveringâbefore you disappeared into the crowd.
at the booth, the silence between the two men thickened. soap slid in opposite ghost, his boisterous energy dimming to a companionable hum. he nodded towards the dance floor, now a sea of moving bodies where youâd vanished. âsheâs a force of nature, that one.â
ghost grunted, a non-committal sound. his fingers traced the condensation on his glass. he knew it, he thought he knew you better than anyone. a calm, quiet woman on the outside with real fire once you got close. he would know after all the nights heâs spent buried inside you with his fingers in your mouth.
but it was a danger to get too close, a woman like that isnât someone you just kept as a friend, which is why you two maintained casualty â no falling in love.
âno, really,â soap pressed, leaning forward. âbrilliant under pressure, and she can drink price under the table.â
another grunt. but ghostâs eyes flicked from his drink to soapâs face, assessing.
soap sighed, a fond smile playing on his lips. âaye, iâm a bit gone on her, if iâm honest. been taking her to that little italian place off base often. only thing she asks for after a good few rounds if ya know what i mean.â
ghost went very still. the music pulsed around them. when he spoke, his voice was low, gravelly, forced through the fabric of his mask. ârounds?â
they both paused âyou been seeing her, mactavish?â
âyeahâ he swallowed, taken aback by the lieutenantâs sudden firm tone.
âtuesday nights.â
soap blinked. âwhat?â
âsheâs busy tuesday nights,â ghost said, the words clipped. âi should know.â
the pieces hung in the air for a moment. soapâs easy smile faltered. he replayed his own wordsâtuesday nights, he always asked for tuesday, but you said youâre busy then. heâd assumed it was a class, or maybe you just liked a night to yourself.
âsays sheâs got standing plans,â soap repeated slowly. he studied ghost, the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his gaze had dropped back to his pint like it held the answers.
as he looked back up towards the lieutenant, a question poked at the back of his mind. âyouâre her standing plans?â
ghost didnât confirm it. he didnât need to. the tension in his frame was confession enough, and soap worked with the guy enough to tell when he was smirking under his mask.
johnny let out a long, low whistle, sinking back against the vinyl booth. âwell, iâll be damned.â he wasnât angry. he looked⊠perplexed. and oddly amused. âso, what? you two⊠what do you even do? sit in silence and clean your rifles? bet iâm more fun than you.â
a muscle ticked in ghostâs jaw. âwhat dâya think?â he said it like it was an indictment, but there was a softness there, buried deep. âiâd save you the details but it seems like sheâs quite the multitasker.â
soapâs laughter faded into a genuine, warm chuckle. he shook his head, running a hand through his mohawk. âweâre a pair of idiots, arenât we?â
âsheâs not malicious,â ghost said, surprisingly quick to your defense. âjust⊠does what she wants.â
âaye, that she does.â soap sighed again, but it was good-natured. âso what now? we have a showdown? pistols at dawn? very nineteenth century.â
ghostâs glare returned, but it lacked its usual heat. âdonât be dramatic. sheâs a grown woman, fucks who she wants.â
for a long moment, ghost was silent. he watched the dance floor again, though you were still lost in the crowd.
the night air nipped at their skin as you three piled out of the door, the motel's flickering sign casting erratic shadows on the lot. simon wrapped an arm around you, holding your drunk figure steady, his balaclava shadowing his eyes. johnny led you both, laughter bubbling from your chest as you stumble.
room 12 waited at the end of the dim hall.
"back to square one," johnny said, grabbing waters from the fridge. he perched beside you, handing one over, his hand lingering on your knee. simon locked the door, leaning against it, arms crossed.
you took a sip, grinning up at them. "you two are the best escorts. wasnât that a good idea?"
johnny's eyes met simon's, a shared glint there. he set his water down, voice dropping to that teasing lilt. "aye, about that. we had a chat at the bar, after you ditched us, one lad ainât enough for you?"
your brows lifted, a flush creeping up, but you played it cool, swirling your bottle. "thatâs.. interesting"
simon pushed off the wall, voice rough, edged with mock sternness. "and it's a bit cheeky, innit? playin' both sides, casual as you like. thought you were smarter than that, love. stringin' us along without a word."
johnny nodded, leaning closer, his tone scolding but with a smirk tugging. "greedy lass, aren't you? takin' what you want from me one night, then slippin' off to him the next. what, think we wouldn't notice? or care? we're not toys for your whims."
you sat up, eyes wide, a giggle escaping despite the heat in your cheeks. "well- i didnât think of it that way, itâs just a bit of fun."
simon stepped forward, towering a bit, but his gaze held that reluctant warmth. "fun? that's what you're callin' it? breaking our hearts, birdie. you're out here bein' a tease."
johnny chuckled low, the scold softening. "proper naughty. youâre lucky we like ya" he glanced at simon, who huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching under the mask.
simon shook his head, a rare laugh rumbling out, deep and gravelly. "fuck it. she's got us both hooked anyway. no point fightin' over scraps."
johnny burst out laughing, clapping simon's shoulder. "greedy or not, lass, youâve got impeccable taste. since we're sharing this bed... why not share properly?."
your tension melted into a relieved grin, the alcohol fueling your boldness. "you two are ridiculous. though iâm not opposed."
that sparked it. johnny moved in first, cupping your face and kissing you deep, tongue sliding in with easy hunger. you responded eagerly, hands fisting his shirt, pulling him closer. simon circled the bed, sitting behind you, his large hands settling on your hips, tugging you back against his chest.
"easy, love," simon murmured into your ear, nipping the lobe. "we'll make it worth the trouble you've caused. no more playin' games. you're takin' us both tonight."
johnny broke the kiss, breathless, yanking your dress up and off, bra vanishing next. your breasts spilled free, nipples hardening in the cool air. "perfect things," he groaned, palming one, thumb circling the peak before leaning down to suck it into his mouth, tongue lashing firm.
you arched, a moan slipping out, your head lolling back on simon's shoulder. his hands roamed lower, legs parting instinctively as his fingers brushed your inner thighs.
"already soaked," simon noted, voice thick, one finger tracing your panty covered slit, gathering the wetness that seeped through. he pushed them to the side, slow curl to stroke your walls. "this from dancin' or thinkin' about us?"
"both," you gasped, hips bucking. johnny switched to your other nipple, biting lightly, his free hand joining simon's between your legs, rubbing your clit in tight circles.
two mouths, two sets of fingersâ it overwhelmed you quick, pleasure coiling tight. simon's digit pumped steady, johnny's presses adding friction. their hands brushed together, almost competing for who could make you cum first, the brutes.
simon leaned down to lick from your collarbone to your ear, gently biting down on a chunk of your neck. you trembled, crying out as orgasm hit, clenching around simon's finger, juices coating them both
"that's one," johnny teased, licking up the other side of your neck.
you fumbled with johnny's belt first, freeing his cockâthick, curving up, tip glistening. he went commando tonight, unsurprising for his usual risky endeavors. your hand wrapped around it, stroking base to head, earning a hiss from him. simon helped, shedding his own gear slower, his length heavier by a bit, groomed, veined and long, springing free when wet, grey boxers dropped.
"fuck," you whispered, eyes darting between them, reaching for simon too, pumping both now, alternating squeezes.
simon groaned, guiding your hand firmer. "suck him. get him ready while i stretch you."
johnny lay back, pulling you over him on hands and knees. you bent, lips parting to take his cock in, tongue swirling the head before sucking down, cheeks hollowing. he bucked lightly, hand in your hair. "aye, like that. deep, love."
behind you, simon knelt, spreading your cheeks with his large hands that dwarfed them, breath hot on your pussy. his tongue licked broad from clit to entrance, lapping your release, then delved inside, fucking you with it like he loves to do. you moaned around johnny's shaft, vibrations making him curse as saliva drips around it.
simon's hands gripped your hips, pulling you back onto his face impatiently, nose bumping your clit. he added fingersâone to your pussy, two soon, scissoringâwhile his other hand teased your ass, circling the tight ring with his slick thumb.
"relax here," he said, popping off to slick his thumb with more of your wetness, pressing in gentle. the dual intrusionâmouth on you, fingers everywhereâhad you shaking, sucking johnny sloppy now, drool trailing.
he panted, watching. "she's lovin' it. look at her."
you pulled off johnny with a gasp. "câmon- câmon, canât wait"
they chuckled. "told ya she gets impatient," simon said, withdrawing to position. johnny shifted under you, aligning his cock with your pussy. you sank down, inch by inch, groaning at the stretch, full already, mouth agape.
"ride him," simon ordered, kneeling behind. you did, rolling hips, johnny thrusting up to meet, hands on your breasts, pinching your nipples like he couldnât stay away from them.
simon worked your ass open more, just one finger. "gonna fit me too. want two men, youâre gonna take two men."
the burn built sweet, your body yielding. once ready, simon pressed his cockhead to your ass, pushing slow. you stilled on johnny, breathing deep, then relaxed as he breached, sliding deep.
"oh shit," you whimpered, filled impossibly, every movement sparking nerves. they started tentative, johnny shallow thrusts into your pussy, simon matching from behind, alternating so you stayed packed. the stretch of one thick cock was enough, but two canât help but rub against each other through the thin border between holes.
"fuck, so tight," johnny grunted, kissing your bouncing breasts. simon leaned over, chest to your back, one hand snaking to rub your clit. the man in front of you smirked slightly âyâknow, LT, didnât take you as the type to rub cocks.â
âfuck off, mactavishâ he growled, face buried in your neck as drool spilled from his slack mouth.
you babbled, lost. "f-fuck, so good" the rhythm building, skin slapping, sweat beading. the fullness pushed you over again, walls fluttering around both cocks, milking them.
johnny came first, spilling hot into your pussy with a roar, hips snapping. simon followed, grinding deep into your ass, cum flooding as he bit your shoulder lightly.
panting, they eased out, you collapsing onto johnny's chest, simon's arm around you both. cum leaked from you, messy and warm.
"greedy pays off i guess," johnny murmured, kissing your forehead.
you laughed weakly. "barely survived. we should do it again sometime."
simon chuckled, rolling you onto your back. "insatiable. clean her up."
johnny grinned, sliding down, tongue lapping your pussy, finding mixed releases. he sucked your folds, tongue probing deep, then focused on your clit, flicking relentless.
you squirmed, hands in his mohawk. "too much... i canât."
simon straddled your chest, cock hardening again, tapping your lips. "open. suck while he eats you."
you did, mouth welcoming him, tongue tracing veins as you bobbed. johnny added fingers, curling into your g-spot, the combo shattering you. you came hard, squirting onto his face, which he smirked at eagerly.
"pretty thing, soakinâ my face.â he praised.
simon pulled back, watching. he flipped you to all fours, sliding into your pussy, still slick, an easy glide. he fucked steady, deep, hands on your hips.
he sped up, flipping you flat, legs over his shoulders for deeper angle. "gonna fill you again." he did, groaning long as he emptied into your pussy.
exhausted, you tangled on the bed, you in the middle, bodies limp and sated. lazy kisses exchanged, hands tracing idly.
"admit it," simon said softly, nuzzling your neck. "best scoldin' ever."
you giggled, snuggling closer. "worth every word. you two... perfect."
johnny yawned, arm draping over. "aye. sleep now, lass. mission tomorrow. duty first."
the one bed cradled you close, the night fading into contented quiet, not exactly what the captain would consider team bonding.
run until you feel your lungs bleeding (ghost x reader)
summary: You're on the run after finally escaping from your abusive husband's clutches, hitchhiking south along California highways. A strange man in a black mask picks you up, and it doesn't take you long to realize that not every hand offered should be taken.
word count: 6.5k
cw: dark fic!, noncon somnophilia, referenced abuse from a past partner, ghost does not care about reader's feelings, mentioned drinking while driving but no intoxication
read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

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animal, sick as they come
summary: Ghost has been starving his whole life. Never enough food to fill his stomach, never enough blood to cover his hands, always leaving him hungry and ready to snap. Youâre the supposed solution to his problem, willing or not. (or: the kidnapped home chef au)
wc: 14.2k
cw: graphic nonconsensual sex, kidnapping but youâre lowkey chill about it, rough sex, pain play, dirty talk & light degradation, non-consensual spanking, rough/painful anal sex, gratuitous description of cooking/food written by someone who once lit a pot of boiling water on fire and is really just trying her best
read on ao3 - see the pinterest board
iâm obsessed.
DANCINâ DOLL â simon riley
synopsis: simon grows curious about the utterly exhausted girl he meets in a diner.
cw: 18+, stripper!reader, implied age gap, slight depressing themes, club atmosphere, soft smut, fingering, unprotected p in v
5.1k words !!
your heels clicked obnoxiously against the pavement as you stumbled forward, the sound far too loud in the empty street. cars passed by occasionally. no doubt, normal people starting their day as youâre just ending yours.
every few steps you caught the toe of your heel on a crack, scraping the blasted things against gritty concrete. the air was cold in that particular way that seeps into bone, and it offered no relief to the fresh blisters on your feet. instead it stung, biting at the raw, open skin with each step. you groaned, eyes fixed on the dim glow of the diner sign down the block.
you carried nothing but a tiny purse, its strap biting into your shoulder, stuffed to the brim with wads of cash. it felt heavier than it should have, not because of the weight, but the burden. most people called it dirty money, courtesy of hands you couldnât dodge.
it wasnât the best job, but it was something. something that paid rent. something that kept the lights on.
the familiar jingle rang throughout the small room as you pushed the door open, the warmth hitting you all at once. grease, coffee and old vinyl booths. your eyes felt heavy, rimmed with fatigue, but you couldnât just ignore the hunger.
âthey give you the late shift again?â the waitress asked as you slid onto a stool. she was a pretty, young girl with red hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, freckles scattered across her nose. probably freshly graduated. she still had that softness about her, that unguarded kindness that hadnât been worn down yet. she was always sweet.
you gave her a polite smile, shrugging. âyou could say that.â of course, a job like yours wasnât organized by shifts at all. it was first come, first serve. the experienced girls got first pick, and the younger ones like you were left with the scraps. nights that dragged on until 4 am, until your legs trembled and your smile felt glued on.
the waitress didnât comment further. she just took down your order with gentle hands, careful not to pry, her pen moving quietly across the pad. it was admirable, really, especially compared to most people.
you watched her go, shoulders sagging as you finally let yourself breathe, the exhaustion settling in now that you were somewhere safe enough to feel it. you stared at the tabletop as you waited for your order. blueberry waffles and iced water. simple. something to quiet the hollow ache in your stomach rather than fill it completely. the surface was worn smooth from years of elbows and spilled coffee, faint scratches catching the overhead light. you traced one absentmindedly with your finger, mind drifting.
eventually you slipped your shoes off, easing your sore feet beneath your thighs as you folded yourself into the booth, sitting criss crossed. the vinyl was cool against your skin, comforting in an oddly nostalgic way. yearning for feeling. you let your shoulders relax, just a little.
it didnât go unnoticed, the way you tried to present yourself as grounded, as someone self contained and unbothered by the world. you wore it well enough on the surface. but he could tell by your habits alone that you were nothing of the sort. he watched from across the room, his coffee untouched, eyes lifting only when he knew you wouldnât notice.
it was the third week of the same quiet routine. he came in at 4 am every day, like clockwork, the kind of punctuality that came from discipline rather than habit. you came in every monday, wednesday, and saturday. always alone. always tired. your order changed each time, maybe just trying to see what fit. maybe the fear of being stagnant.
he noticed things most people wouldnât, and he supposed that was part of his training. reading people had become second nature to him. the way you never quite met the serverâs eyes, not out of rudeness but caution. how you chose the corner booth every time, back to the wall, feet tucked up beneath you. the dainty little clothes you wore that werenât meant for the cold, they werenât your work clothes, though. probably a stylistic choice.
the more he watched you, the more compelled he became. he wanted to know who you were and how you ended up here. you looked too young and too soft to be out this late.. or early, depending how one saw it, but he could tell you hadnât just woken up. the exhaustion on your face wasnât from a bad nightâs sleep. it was the kind that came from staying alert for too long, from being on your feet all night, from having no real break until now.
once he paid attention, the pattern was obvious. you always paid in cash, the staff in the back called you by a different name. he didnât know everything, but enough to understand the type of work you did, or at least the kind of nights you had.
he had met plenty of women like you before. but you werenât like them: hardened, distant, already resigned to what their lives had become.
that difference was what pushed him out of his seat. simon stood and crossed the room, then sat in the booth across from you without asking, ignoring the sinking feeling. whatever it was that made him doubt or hesitate.
you looked up immediately, startled. âcan i help you?â you asked, your voice tight and cautious. it wasnât friendly, but it wasnât rude either. similar to how an animal bared itâs teeth.
you couldnât intimidate a man like him.
his dark eyes lingered for a moment longer than polite. not in a way that felt hungry or intrusive, but observant. he took in the slightly smeared eyeliner, the pink of your lips, the heaviness in your eyes that no amount of makeup could hide. eerie in a hauntingly beautiful way.
you stared back at him without flinching. he was a wall of a man, dressed entirely in black, a balaclava covering everything but his eyes. it was strange, sure, especially in a diner with chipped mugs and laminated menus, but no one else seemed bothered. this place saw plenty of odd figures at odd hours. he wasnât even close to the strangest.
âyou ever consider the fact that itâs dangerous?â he asked. his accent was thick, unfamiliar, the words rounded in a way that caught your attention despite yourself.
he tilted his head slightly. âwalking alone in the dark.â
outside, the diner sign flickered, its low hum bleeding through the glass. red and blue light washed over the booth in uneven pulses. the door let in a draft every time it opened, raising goosebumps along your arms. you glanced down at your plate, poking at the waffles more out of habit than appetite. âserial killers say similar things in horror movies,â you said lightly, not looking away for long. you scooped up a bit of whipped cream and licked it from your finger, eyes lifting back to his.
ânever killed for my pleasure,â he replied, completely straight. at least, that was what his eyes suggested. it was hard to tell what expression he wore under the fabric.
you huffed a quiet laugh, though your shoulders stayed tense. âfunny joke. and before you get any ideas, i donât sell myself. donât waste your time.â the words came out practiced, your guard snapping back into place like muscle memory.
he didnât react with offense or irritation. if anything, he seemed to expect it. he couldnât blame you for the assumption.
ânot intending to buy,â he said bluntly.
a silence settled between you. neither of you seemed eager to rush into the wrong words. you studied each other in the quiet, two weary people trying to figure out the intent before vulnerability.
âthen why are you here?â you asked.
he shrugged. âfeeling social.â
that earned him a look. it was awkward, because neither of you were social, not really. he seemed aware of that too, shifting slightly before adding, âiâve seen you come in and out of this place. not hard to get curious.â
your eyes locked onto his and didnât let go. the intensity of your stare was deliberate. it put people off sometimes. it made them nervous. but he noticed it, it didnât scare him. he liked a bit of odd sometimes.
âcuriosity killed the cat,â you said. you took a sip of your water, then wiped the condensation from your fingers onto your skirt. âwhat are you curious about, hm?â
you already knew where this usually went. strangers asking about your job with twisted expressions, ready to decide who you were before hearing a word of why. it was always the same.
he didnât ask the obvious question. instead, he leaned back slightly, large arms crossed over his chest. âhow someone who looks like sheâs barely started her life ends up working nights like that,â he said evenly. his gaze stayed on yours. âprobably heard it all before.â
you rolled your eyes sarcastically, chuckling dryly. you guessed as much, but he didnât seem like he was ready to judge like the others were, coming with a preconceived idea. he looked like quite a specimen himself. his hands were scarred and his tired eyes indicated something unusual.
he waited. didnât push.
âi have,â you said at last. âitâs a long story.â
âgot time,â he said again, just as steady.
the conversation felt oddly natural, like it wasnât being dragged along by necessity or politeness. it was genuine. your chest tightened unexpectedly, biting back the familiar sting creeping into your nose. you looked away, pretending to focus on your plate while you pulled yourself together.
âshitty job market,â you said. ânot much else to do in this god awful town.â
he nodded. it made sense. small town. long roads. barely any buildings, let alone opportunity. especially not if you were young, broke, and trying to stay afloat.
âwhat do you do, exactly?â he asked in a way that was direct rather than crude.
your jaw tightened. âi dance.â
he tilted his head curiously.
ânot something you say out loud to strangers.â he could hear the hesitation in your soft voice.
âfair. do you like it?â
that caught you off guard. you laughed quietly, almost incredulous. âlike it?â you shook your head. âno. nobody likes it. at least not most of us.â
he watched you carefully. âbut you donât hate it enough to leave.â
you hesitated, then sighed. âpays my bills.â you pause âyou know, itâs not what people picture,â you said reluctantly. âitâs not some dingy hole in the wall.â you glanced at him to make sure he was listening. he was. âthe clubâs⊠nicer. they pretend itâs sophisticated. they respect the dancers. at least a little. they call it a gentlemanâs club.â
âa little,â he echoed.
âthe girls donât mind muchâ
he nodded slowly, absorbing it. âand you?â
âwhat about me?â
âdo you feel respected?â
you frowned, considering. âdepends whoâs paying.â
âever thought of enlisting?â he asked.
you snapped your gaze back to him, glare sharp. âtrying to recruit me? is that what this is?â
âmerely a suggestion,â he said, a quiet chuckle slipping through.
you exhaled, tension easing just enough. âthought about it,â you admitted. âdonât have the discipline. definitely not the physical ability.â your voice dropped slightly. âi wouldnât be doing what i do if i had any other options.â
the conversation drifts after that, no more sharpness around the edges. it softens into something companionable. you talk about inconsequential things at first. the diner food. the weather. the way this town seems frozen in time. conspiracies about whether or not dinosaurs are real. youâre an intelligent girl, he notices, but one with a mind that couldnât be put into a box.
somewhere along the way, he lets something slip. with a quiet resignation, he admits he works in the military. not a soldier in the simple sense. he does not elaborate, and you do not press, assuming it must be some kind of special operation.
the diner staff notices. they always do. the waitress glances over more than once, smiling to herself as she refills coffee and pretends not to listen. one of the cooks leans out, raises his brows in silent commentary. it is rare to see you talking this long with anyone, let alone laughing.
outside, the sky begins to change. black softens into deep blue, then a pale gray. when he offers you a ride home, it feels inevitable.
âiâll bite, but you kidnap me and youâll be dead before the sun risesâ you remark. that same quirkiness he picked up on.
he smirks at that, amused in a way that tells you he understands threats and humor often share the same language, at least in your book.
the truck is old but well kept, parked just outside the diner. you climb in without ceremony. the town rolls past slowly as he drives. empty streets. closed shops. the soft glow of morning touching rooftops and telephone wires. you lay across the cab without thinking, feet resting in his lap, heels kicked off, head leaning out the open window. cool air rushes over your face, tangling your hair, carrying the smell of dew and asphalt.
he doesnât comment. just rests one hand steady on the wheel, the other absentmindedly lingering on your ankle like it was meant to be there. rough, calloused fingers tapping along to the music on the radio.
when he pulls up in front of your place, the sun is fully awake. for a moment, neither of you moves. the truck idles. birds start their morning arguments in the trees. then you sit up, smile faint and tired, and step out into the morning, carrying something lighter with you than when the night began.
you almost dreaded it, unsure if youâd see him again. that sinking feeling that this was all temporary, ephemeral. a connection that wasnât meant to be explored.
you stopped halfway down the driveway, hesitating, then turned back. âhey,â you called softly. his eyes lifted.
âyou arenât gonna stick around here long, are you?â
he paused, letting the soft chorus of morning birds fill the space between words. âmaybe, maybe not,â he said. he rarely spoke plainly about himself, careful with his answers. he tended to dance around the questions.
âwell, if you doâŠâ you fumbled in your purse, pulling out a single dollar bill and a brown lip liner pencil. quickly, almost carelessly, you scribbled your number across the edge of the bill, then handed it to him. âsee you around, maybe.â
he took it, thumb brushing against yours, and didnât speak. instead, he watched you walk away, the image of your denim mini skirt and frilly little top engraved in his mind. the way you carried yourself, bubbly and sweet with a bite, it burned itself into the quiet of his thoughts. he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.
it had been weeks since then. you thought about him often, usually when your mind finally had time to be empty. he never called, never texted. heâs probably skipped town anyway. moved on to whatever mysterious mission he had to do next.
it didnât bother you really, things happen. people donât stick. what can you do?
you clocked into work on a saturday night, lucky enough that one of the girls called out and you were put on schedule for nine. everyone in the club was already tipsy, looking to spend, looking to be watched. it was the optimal time, but you were never lucky enough to claim the floor besides tonight, the older and faster girls knew the game too well.
the changing rooms were a war zone. every dancerâs heels clicked around the room as they rushed to get out and preform. they pushed, shoved, sprayed hairspray so thick that it could choke someone if not careful.
you found yourself still thinking about him, but the tension of tonight forced him out. he didnât fit in a place like this. there was no room.
and as you added the finishing touches to your makeup, you remembered: one of the girls, barbie, asked to borrow your heels for her set, and hadnât returned them yet. your red pair, clad with dainty bows. panic surged through you as you checked the clock. ten minutes until you were on stage, every second was precious.
you looked around frantically, spotting her platinum blonde hair in the sea of sequins and puffs of smoke.
âbarb, my heels?â you asked, trying your best to sound polite, though calmness was far from you.
she looked at you with a guilt ridden expression, eyes shooting downward. âabout that..â the pretty red heels sat cracked on her feet. they werenât holding themselves together anymore, and would be impossible to dance in.
you slapped a hand over your mouth, holding back your insides from spilling. âyeah.. you know what, thatâs okay.â you walk away quickly. now wasnât the time to argue or push.
you did have a spare outfit, as every dancer usually does, but it was one you avoided wearing. a beaded corset with tights thatâin your best friendâs wordsââcould make a mattress actress look like a saint.â
but with seven minutes left until showtime, your conscience didnât matter. the corset went on and you were on the floor. no matter what.
you sighed and scrambled to join the other women on set, slipping into place just as the music swelled. the corset dug into your waist in a way that was almost comforting, the kind of sharp pressure that reminded you you were still real, still present in your body. it grounded you, even as your nerves buzzed under your skin.
when you stepped out, the lights caught immediately. they bounced off the beads sewn into the corset, scattering reflections across the stage and crowd. your sheer tights glowed with a soft iridescence, legs washed in color and heat. for a brief second, it was beautiful enough to make you forget where you were.
and as he sat in the crowd, he understood it then. why people came here after dark. why money left their hands so easily. you looked adorable, almost disarmingly so, even with so little fabric between you and the world. everything fit you just right, like it had been made with you in mind. it was no easy task to hold the attention of someone like him, someone who rarely stayed still for long, but you managed it effortlessly. his eyes never left you.
you performed, and to your relief, the night paid off. cash came fast, hands reaching out as you knelt and leaned, greeting men and women alike as they pressed bills into whatever space they could find. your heartbeat thundered in your ears, loud enough to drown out your thoughts. the rush helped quiet the itching anxiety at the back of your skull, the fear of being reduced to nothing but something to look at.
as you moved down the stage, weaving through grabbing hands and loose bundles of cash, your eyes caught on a familiar figure in the front. your breath hitched. your stomach twisted as you recognized him. instinctively, you looked away, anything to avoid the heat of shame or guilt or whatever nameless feeling surged up your spine.
he noticed immediately. the way your bright, social energy faltered. how your smile dimmed the second your eyes met his. he lifted a hand and waved you over. normally, you would never approach without payment, but your feet moved before you could stop them.
you leaned down, mouth close to his ear so you could be heard over the speakers. âwhat are you doing here?â
his smile showed only through his eyes. he reached into his pocket. âcame to be entertained,â he said calmly. âcanât say iâm disappointed.â
âyou havenât reached out to me,â you shot back, half shouting over the music, âand you think you deserve to watch me dance?â
âmore deserving than these blokes,â he replied, that familiar cocky look settling into his gaze. he slipped folded cash into your corset with practiced ease. âwhat time do you finish?â
âtwo,â you said, eyeing him carefully. âwhy?â
âtake you for some waffles,â he offered. âwould treat you to something better, but youâre a bit of a night owl.â
you laughed softly despite yourself, the tension easing just a little. âdeal,â you said. âi missed you a bit.â
he was true to his word, waiting outside the club to take you back to the very first place you met. you ordered chocolate chip waffles, earning a giggle from him. you never got the same thing. sort of made him wonder why.
the truck's engine rumbles to a quiet stop outside your house, the clock on the dash glowing 3:30 am in soft red digits. the night air is thick with the chill of late hours, streetlights casting long shadows over the cracked driveway. simon's hands linger on the wheel for a moment, his broad frame filling the cab, making the space feel even smaller. you've been stealing glances at him the whole drive back from the diner, his eyes dark and steady like he's been piecing you together all night. the way his black tee barely contains the broadness of his shoulders and chest eats at you.
he turns off the ignition, the sudden silence wrapping around you both like a blanket. âyou alright, dove?â he asks, voice low and rough. his gaze flicks to your face, lingering on the way your lipstick has smudged just a bit from the milkshake you shared earlier.
you nod, but your heart's pounding, the mutual pull between you humming like static. âyeah. thanks for the ride again.â
simon shifts, unbuckling your seatbelt with a click. âno trouble. get some rest.â but neither of you moves to open the door.
you lean in before you can think, your hand finding his jaw, rough with slight stubble. his lips meet yours halfway, firm and warm, tasting faintly of the maraschino cherries you two ordered extra of. the kiss starts soft, exploratory, his mouth moving against yours with a tenderness that belies his size. he's so much bigger than you, his shoulders broad under that tee, making you feel enveloped as you press closer.
he groans against your lips, one hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. the kiss deepens, tongues brushing tentatively, then with more hunger. you shift in your seat, the leather creaking under you, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes hooded. âyou sure about this?â
your breath hitches, but you nod, climbing over the console without a word. his hands catch your waist, steadying you as you straddle his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips. the truck's cab is cramped, your knees digging into the seats on either side. he's solid beneath you, muscles tense under his shirt, and you can feel the heat of him through your thin skirt.
simon groans softly as you settle, his hands roaming up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. âbeautiful, you know that? wish i could take you away and keep it all to myself.â there's a protective edge to his words, like he's already decided to shield you from the world's sharp edges. he might be too late, but it doesnât mean he wonât try.
you rock against him instinctively, feeling the hard line of his cock straining through his jeans. your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him back for another kiss. this one is messier, teeth grazing lips, breaths mingling hot and fast. his rough fingers dig into your hips, guiding your movements as you grind down, the friction of cotton panties against jeans sending sparks up your spine.
he breaks away to nip at your jaw, then your neck. âeasy, love. we've got time.â but his hands betray him, one sliding under your skirt to cup your ass, squeezing the soft flesh. you whimper, arching into his touch, and he chuckles low, the sound vibrating against your skin. âthat's it. just like that.â
the windows start to fog, the outside world blurring into obscurity. your fingers work at his shirt, pulling it up to reveal the expanse of his chest, scarred and taut. you trace the lines with your nails, earning a hiss from him. his large hands spanning your waist easily, making you feel cherished.
your eyes close savoring the way his tongue strokes yours. âtell me what you want,â he whispers between kisses, his thumb circling your nipple through your top, hardening it to a peak. the sensation shoots straight to your core, and you moan into his mouth.
âyou. just... touch me.â your voice is breathy, needy, and he obliges, pushing your top up to expose your breasts. his mouth latches onto one nipple, sucking gently at first, then harder, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. his other hand slips between your legs, fingers pressing against your panties, finding you already soaked.
âfuck, dove, you're wet,â he growls, rubbing slow circles over the fabric. you buck against his hand, the pressure building fast. âsimon, please...â you plead, fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to your chest as he switches to the other nipple, lavishing it with the same attention.
he hooks his fingers in your panties, tugging them aside. two thick fingers slide through your folds, teasing your entrance before pushing in slow. you're tight around him, the stretch burning sweetly, and he watches your face, eyes dark with concern and desire. âbreathe for me.â
you do, inhaling sharply as he curls his fingers. he pumps them steadily, thumb on your clit, building you up with expert patience. âthat's my girl,â he murmurs, kissing your collarbone. âlet it go. i've got you.â
the orgasm crashes over you quick and hard, your walls clenching around his fingers as you cry out, body shaking in his lap. he doesn't stop, working you through it, whispering praises against your skin. âso pretty when you cum. fuck, look at you.â
you slump against him, panting, but he's not done. his fingers keep moving, slower now, drawing out aftershocks. âone more,â he says, voice firm but gentle. âcâmon.â you whine, oversensitive, but the way he holds youâbig hands cradling your backâmakes you melt.
his mouth is back on yours, swallowing your moans. the second climax builds slower, deeper, his free hand stroking your thigh, grounding you. âcome on, love. give it to me.â and you do, shattering again, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity.
simon kisses them away, soft and reverent. he lifts you effortlessly, like you weigh nothing, setting you on the seat before hopping out and coming around to your door. the cool night air hits your flushed skin as he helps you out, arm around your waist, guiding you up the steps.
your house is dim, the living room cluttered with the remnants of a tired lifeâmakeup on the coffee table, a robe slung over the couch. he locks the door behind you, then pulls you close again, kissing you deep as leads you deeper inside. âbedroom?â he asks, voice husky.
âleft,â you manage, and he scoops you up, carrying you like something precious. your legs dangling, his arms unyielding. he lays you on the bed gently, stripping off his shirt, then yours, his eyes raking over you hungrily yet tenderly.
he kneels between your legs, pushing your skirt up and peeling off your panties. he settles his broad shoulders under your thighs. his mouth descends, tongue flat and hot against your pussy, lapping slow from entrance to clit. you keen, hands fisting the sheets, as he sucks your clit into his mouth, fingers joining to fuck into you again.
âsimon. fuck.â you gasp, hips lifting. he pins you down with one arm barring across your hips, the other curling inside, relentless. his tongue swirls, flicks, and you feel the third orgasm coiling tight. ânot yet,â he teases, pulling back just enough to blow cool air over your slick folds, making you shiver. âtell me how it feels.â
âgood... so good. don't stop.â your voice is wrecked, and he grins, that rare softness in his eyes. âwouldn't dream of it.â he dives back in, humming against you, the vibration pushing you over. you come on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head, and he drinks you down, not letting up until you're trembling.
finally, he rises, shedding his jeans and boxers. his cock springs free, thick and long, veins prominent, the head already leaking. you're wide eyed at the sight, and he notices, chuckling.
âyou give so much out there,â he says, voice serious as he pushes in inch by inch, stretching you impossibly. âsuch a good little dancer. someone has to love you proper.â
you wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper, moaning at the fullness. he bottoms out, pausing to let you adjust, forehead pressed to yours. âtight as a vice. feel so good around me.â then he starts moving, slow thrusts that build to a rhythm, his hips snapping gently.
his hand slips between you, rubbing your clit in time with his strokes. âcome for me again, can ya? show me how you cum so pretty fâ meâ he urges, lips on your neck. he fucks you steady, drawing it out with deep rolls of his hips.
only then does he chase his own release, pace quickening, grunts mixing with your whimpers.
after, he doesn't pull away immediately, staying inside as you both catch your breath. his arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest, big and warm. âstay? you can.â you whisper, and he nods, kissing your temple. ânot goin' anywhere, lovey.â the night settles around you, atmospheric quiet broken only by your slowing heartbeat. his dancinâ doll.
face reveal this is who's tweeting all the girly stuff
when he asks me my kinks but i canât say âbeing babied by a big, strong man who i can call daddyâ so i just say choking
now i might be a whore on the internet but this is me when a man actually tries to freak me

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könig smoking a blunt while manspreading. send post.
đ§à§á á ⯠ mommy dearestÊŒs dearest boyfriend.
( MOMS BF!SIMON RILEY ) &&. ( reader ) đŹ
âŹ. summary . simon isn't serious about your mother.
cw . 7.1k wc! nsfw mdni , legal age gap , cheating sorta (simon in an unofficial relationship) , simon is a lil pervy , fingering , squirting :p , piv sex , unsafe sex , groping , finger sucking , mom is named for writing purposes , teen pregnancy in backstory , reader fidgets , outfit descriptions but otherwise nondescript
a/n : idk where this came from don't @ me!!!
â likes &&. reblogs r greatly appreciated ! xx
Simon tugs the pull tab once, twice, thrice before it finally gives. The zipper hisses all the way up with a sharp thwip, and his victory over the stubborn zipper is trumpeted by the sound of soft, feminine laughter from the woman in front of him when he slides the thing to the top of her cheetah print jacket. A pair of glassy eyes blink up at him, an alcohol-induced sheen over them as Simon smooths out the fur of her jacketâhis movements halted by a hand on his chest, followed by a warm mouth on his.
exquisite