shots and a masked stranger 🍒 (toxic!simon x CHERRY!READER) part two ♡
you always had a thing for authority. as much as you love to break the rules and just be the rebel that you are, you also find cops and military men absolutely appetizing, and the masked man sitting at the bar is nothing short of mouthwatering.
you send a shot his way, smiling at him when he turns to look at you. he's seen you. you caught his attention immediately, how could you not?. but he's been playing coy, waiting for you to get the courage to approach him.
'for me?' he asks
you nod, biting your freshly done acrylic, your cheeks flushing with the drunk and the visuals flooding your mind of all the things you want to do him.
'well, thank you.' he downs some of it. tugs you closer by your belt loop. 'open up that mouth,' he growls, hand grabbing your jaw. you open your mouth and he pours the rest of the shot in.
you giggle, wiping some that spilled off your chin. 'come with me to the bathroom,' you offer, hand reaching out to touch his chest.
'you're not even gonna ask my name?'
you shake your head no, pressing your chest out for him, giving him a faux-damsel look.
he growls.
it's a whirlwind.
in seconds he's got you on your knees in the bathroom, your hair wrapped around his fist as you devour him, tears flooding your face.
he's merciless, thrusting at your throat, and you're merciless back, ready to make a mess of him.
you wrap a hand around his thick, long length, stroking him. 'cum all over my face,' you beg, eyes sparkling with desire.
he looks down at the pretty sight before him - your barely there top, your flirty gaze, the way your manicured, soft hand looks and feels wrapped around his throbbing length.
it's too much.
his eyes flutter closed, and he's coming for you as you stroke him, painting you in his scent, soft groans leaving his throat as your tongue and mouth run gently across his balls. 'bloody hell,' he croaks.
you smile, grazing them and his shaft with your teeth before standing up to look at him, cocking your head playfully, licking some cum off your finger. 'you didn't seem like the type to cum in less than two minutes,’ you smirk at the stunned man before walking out.
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they had their first kid at 20, and they actually just got eloped in their backyard at like 24 because cherry was like “it’s time for a ring already”
so their first kid is named blaire. she’s the perfect mix of her parents, she’s adventurous and loves a good time, but she’s less impulsive. she’s a really good kid though. she tutors little kids in math on the island, but on the weekends she’s out partying. she’s pretty responsible, she helps cherry with dinner and all that stuff.
their second kid was a boy and he’s jesse james junior obvi. he actually doesn’t go by jj though he just goes by jesse. he’s in the band with john bs son and he’s basically every 80s movies rebel. he smokes weed and parties and steals his dads motorcycle to take girls on dates. he’s jesse james junior in every way.
their third kid is named asher and he’s actually dating rafes daughter cassie. he’s quiet and reserved, and like his brother also a stoner. his personality actually compliments cassie’s really well. jj hates that he’s dating cassie but cherry is actually excited because it means she can rekindle her friendship with raspberry. jj and cherry wonder if he’s even theirs sometimes since he’s so quiet.
their youngest kid is gianna and she’s the craziest. shes also in andrew and jesse’s band and she is wild! she loves to party, she regularly skips school and has probably been in the principals office more than she’s been in class. she helps jj on cars and his motorcycle a lot though and she’s a very skilled mechanic. she’s always at parties with blaire.
the kids are all pretty close in age, 1-2 years apart because jj has a breeding kink and so does cherry…
Synopsis: In which Pope and Cherry have sex freshly after a kill
cw: Mention of murder and cousin incest if you don’t like it leave now because idc
based on this ask!
a/n: Proofread by the sexy @starfxkrinc
Divider by @starfxkrinc <3
The body is still warm in the prep room. The scent of iron lingers in the air, heavy and holy, like incense in a cursed chapel.
Cherry’s barefoot again.
She’s always barefoot after a kill. Something about it makes her feel… unburdened. Clean. Holy. Even though her palms are still damp with blood, and the skin under her nails is raw from clawing at the man’s face before Pope slit his throat.
She stands outside the prep room door, dazed. Staring.
Her pretty white nightgown soaked in blood along the hem clings to her thighs, her nipples poking through the thin cotton like she’s braless. Because she is. She never wears one around Pope. She doesn’t have to.
Inside, Pope wipes the knife clean. His gloves squeak faintly, stretched tight around hands that killed for her. With her. The man’s corpse lies perfectly still on the table, mouth agape, neck open like a red blossom.
He doesn’t hear her come in. But he feels her.
She presses her body against his back. Slippery skin against his shirt, her breath hot on his neck. Her hand slides down his chest, no hesitation. No words. Just instinct.
Pope turns, slowly. Looks down at her.
“Cherry.”
Her pupils are blown wide, cheeks flushed, lips parted in a dazed kind of hunger. Her hands shake. But her thighs are slick. Wet. Desperate.
He cups her cheek, smearing blood along the edge of her jaw, and she leans into it like a kitten. Nuzzling his palm. Moaning barely audible. Just the faintest exhale.
“You liked that?” he asks, voice low, hoarse. “Watching him die?”
She doesn’t nod. Doesn’t blink. She just looks up at him with those wet, unreadable eyes.
Then slowly she sinks to her knees.
“Oh, baby…” Pope breathes, already hard under his slacks. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”
She doesn’t even undo his pants. Just nuzzles her face against the bulge, licking through the fabric, breathing him in. Pope watches her, eyes dark, hands still gloved.
“You want it in your mouth?” he asks, and she presses her tongue against the head of his cock through his slacks, moaning. Her eyes roll back slightly. Her thighs rub together, soaking the insides of her legs.
He unzips slowly. Her hands tremble in her lap, obedient, submissive. He knows she wants it rough. She wants it filthy.
He fists her hair, tugs her mouth to his cock, and she opens willingly eager and wet and warm. No sound. Just soft sucking, spit trailing down her chin, tongue flicking over the head like she’s starving.
Her moans vibrate around him. Her eyes never leave his. She’s crying again silent tears, overwhelmed by the taste of him, by the weight of him on her tongue. Her fingers dig into his thighs, nails sharp.
Pope grips the edge of the prep table behind him and cums down her throat with a ragged groan, head thrown back. She swallows like it’s holy wine, then rests her cheek against his hipbone, eyes fluttering shut.
But she’s still shaking.
Still soaked.
Pope cups her chin, lifts her to her feet. Her nightgown is sheer now, practically useless bloodstained, soaked through at the cunt.
“You need more,” he murmurs, dragging her toward the embalming table. “I know. You always do.”
He lifts her onto the cold metal, laying her back like a body waiting to be preserved. Her legs fall open. No panties. Nothing but soaked skin, dripping need.
Pope climbs between her thighs, one gloved hand wrapped around her throat, the other sliding down to her slick little slit.
He dips two fingers in slowly, watching her face.
“Goddamn. You’re dripping, Cherry. Soaked for me. From watching me cut him open?”
She moans. Writhes. Fingers twitching near her lips three taps to her mouth, then her heart.
“You want me inside you.”
She blinks once. A tear slides down her cheek.
Pope unbuttons his shirt with blood stained fingers, lets it fall to the floor. His belt clinks. She’s panting now eyes begging.
He doesn’t wait.
One thrust deep. Brutal. And she screams, silently, mouth wide. Her back arches off the table. Her fingers curl against the metal. He fucks her like she’s not real like she’s some fever dream spirit that crawled out of the woods and promised her body to him forever.
Their bodies slap loud and wet, echoing off tile.
He grabs her legs, folds them up, presses her knees to her chest and drives into her. Each thrust knocks the breath from her lungs. She’s drooling. Crying. Gagging on her own moans.
She doesn’t make a sound, but her pussy screams.
Pope leans down, his mouth right at her ear.
“I’m gonna fill you up,” he whispers. “And you’re gonna lie on this table with my cum leaking out of you while I clean up the fucking body.”
She sobs, nodding. Body spasming. Her cunt grips him like a vice, milking him, and when she cums silent, violent, back arched and limbs twitching it’s so hard she damn near blacks out.
Pope keeps going.
He fucks her through it, deeper, meaner, choking her lightly with his gloved hand. Until finally finally he spills inside her. Long, thick ropes. He stays buried, panting against her neck, his whole body trembling.
Afterward, she lies limp on the table, cum pooling between her thighs, blood staining her cheeks. Her lips curl up in the faintest, filthiest smile.
Pope brushes the hair from her face and kisses her forehead.
“You’re mine, Cherry,” he murmurs, breathless. “No one sees this side of you but me. No one ever will.”
She taps twice against his chest. Then once on her heart.
the bartender has been staring at you since walked in. it's like the entire place went quiet for a moment upon your dazzling arrival and jax gets off on knowing you're here with him, the star of the world all his.
you tug the cigarette out of his mouth, putting it between your lips. with a beer bottle in his hand, he smirks at you, thumb caressing the top of his eyebrow. he's been quite moody ever since the phone call, and you're tired of it.
you blow the smoke at him gently, taking a kiss.
he shoots the bartender a look, though. his jaw all tense as you down the next shot of bourbon he just handed you. you throw your arms up, giggling, the alcohol going right to your mind, making you feel all fuzzy and warm.
crawling onto the bar, you dance and writhe your body, shaking your chest and taking the cowboy hat off the bartender's head and putting it on your own.
men gather around you, cheering you on. one of them pours some beer down your chest.
that's when jax wraps an arm around you and takes you down. you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him. 'just want to have fun with you,' you tell him.
he lets his guard down for one moment. lost in your strawberry scent. your seductive nature. he leans his forehead so gently against yours, looking at your pretty lips.
he should've known better. and maybe he did. a bunch of men burst into the bar, screaming for him, guns ablaze.
they shoot at strangers, at you, at him, their aim rather terrible as the bullets burst the bottles behind the bar. screams erupt, and you're frozen as your boyfriend fires his gun at them, blood bursting out from their limbs and throats.
you squeeze your eyes shut. thinking of your sister. your parents who warned you. your body trembling as you've never been this close to death before.
jax guards your body with his as he shoves you into the bathroom and escapes with you through the small window.
on the back of his bike yet again, the blood pouring out from somewhere on his body and leaving a trail on the road, you wonder if this is enough to shatter your midnight dreams.
round two. 🍒 (toxic!simon x CHERRY!READER) ♡ part one
it's been nearly a month since he had you on your knees in the bar bathroom.
who do you think you are? treating him like that? mocking him? using your teeth on him? you fucking destroyed him, and he's the destroyer.
he's sipping his beer, eyes always flicking to the bar door, anticipating your arrival. it's his new fucking routine.
you don't seem to be coming back, though, and it's making him feel like a huge empty weight has landed inside of him.
he's dreamt of you for weeks. your floral scent, your power, your tiny little outfits, it threatens to bring him to his knees. he’s always felt like a weak man and you’re glaring proof of its validity. it fucking triggers him.
when there's a sudden burst of chatter, he turns his head, pupils dilating with the knowing it must be you. and here you are, all bubbles and serotonin.
men tip their hats to you, kiss your hands, tug you onto their lap to husk sweet nothings against your ear, praising you like the bubble-gum princess you are. a fucking star, really. and he's jealous, watching you eat it up and lust for more.
straddling a familiar stranger's leg, you smirk at his wrinkled skin and tired blue eyes. 'buy me a whiskey,' you tell him. he’s smiling, getting up to fetch it.
you haven't made eye contact with simon, but you see him. you feel him. you know he's there. just like you were hoping he'd be. you got him right where you want him.
prancing along to the juke box in your favorite cowgirl boots, you're flipping through the options, not satisfied with what you're seeing. simon's eyes are boring into your skin and you giggle, turning to look at him over your shoulder, making sure he can see the way your tits are pouring out from your front tie belly shirt.
he's blushing. his entire body is hotter than the day its been today. and it's been feeling like 100 degrees.
cold glass pressed to your warm, sun-soaked skin, you turn to take your whiskey from the man. 'thank you!' you’re sipping it, spinning around, looking at him. 'well, are you gonna play me my song or what?' you steal his cowboy hat and wear it, dancing around.
simon scoffs from his seat at the bar, finding your behavior repulsive, yet he has to shift in his seat and distract himself from the feeling of your teeth grazing him and those perfect hands gripping him. such sinful memories. the desire he has for you is like an invisible rope lassoed around his neck, pulling him to you.
his hand tightens around his glass.
having fun with your men, they’re getting too grabby, pulling at your little skirt and shoving their face in your cleavage. telling you how you’re a centerfold girl in real life. you’re giggling, walking over to simon.
‘you never did tell me your name,’ you offer, leaning on the bar beside him.
he looks to you. ‘simon.’ his voice is so much more broken than he wants it to be.
‘simon,’ you smile.
he orders you another whisky and you down it. ‘come with me, simon. got something to show you.’ he’s putting money on the bar and following you. you’re giving him a twirl. making sure your skirt is high up so he can see your ass. he’s growling. all he wants to do is grab it.
tugging him into your worn-red truck and climbing on top of him, you tell him to open his mouth.
he tugs his mask up and opens it. you’re grabbing his jaw softly and dropping some saliva onto his tongue. licking his mouth. he moans, grabbing your ass, holding your hips, pulling you down harder against him so he can grind softly at you. you’re giggling, reaching back to take off your top and bra. ‘you missed me, didn’t you?’
he nods pathetically. ‘y-yes…’
you hum softly, slipping your thong off. stuffing it into his mouth. you’re undoing his jeans and gliding your cunt against him, wet from the foreplay with the other men. he whines. soft and needy. thighs trembling gently. and you lean back, gripping them, sinking down onto him.
he’s putty. his gaze half-lidded. your pussy feels like home, the way you’re fitting him as if you two have done this a million times. he can’t help but drool, hands on your hips, eyes rolling behind his head.
he’s so close already. the taste of you so bright on his tongue only adding to the pleasure he’s dizzy with.
you moan and giggle, grabbing his jaw. ‘you’re a mess, simon. look what i do to you,’ you muse.
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summer breeze. (jax teller x CHERRY!READER) part two ♡
you're behind him, arms secured around his waist, his helmet on your head, warm wind cascading around your body.
the fight lingers in your mind - your parents screaming at you to not leave with him. that if you go out that door, you will be cut off financially. a warning that you are throwing your life away. to please do the right thing and choose them over him. but it's like the faster he drives, the less it matters.
the adrenaline making you smile, you hold him tighter, pressing your cheek against his strong back.
you don't want to be anywhere else. you'd choose your boyfriend over anyone, any day. all the warnings just make him more desirable and the whole town turning him into a villain makes you want to prove to them he's your savior.
you're tired of being controlled by them anyway. tired of the church guys they keep trying to set you up with. tired of being told your skirt is too short and your heels are too high. tired of being second-best to your already perfect sister. they have their golden child, so why do they need two?
in the delirium and glow post orgasm, you dumbly reach down to tug your phone out of the pocket of your shorts. it's full of messages from your sister, mother, friends, and one from your father - warnings and concern. it all sounds like a threat to you rather than love and care. even your friends aren't having your back right now, and it makes a huge lump of guilt settle in your gut. you're furious at them all. how could they be so judgmental when none of them are holy angels themselves?
the only person who always has your back is your little sister. the daughter your parents prayed for to be perfect because they knew you would never be. all the deputante schools in the world couldn't help your ever-defiant soul. but they got their wish; she came out the womb everything you'll never be. and they made you a permanent best friend.
you look across from you to see jax is still outside the room - pacing, chain-smoking, angrily spitting words at people in a hushed tone. his hand keeps subconsciously moving to his gun.
for a moment you consider calling your sister to come pick you up, a flashing sign going off in your gut that maybe the fun is over.
stubborn, you toss your phone aside and open up the door, wearing your boots and his vest.
he turns to you, the person on the line hanging up. 'maybe we should go out,' you offer.
'yeah,' he agrees, softening up. 'let's go to the bar.'
after getting your room key, you squeal and wrap your arms around your boyfriend's neck, kissing him, leading him down the hall to your room. he tastes like man and musk, and your nipples are hardening beneath your little halter top. gods, you are so happy you fucked his brains out in the bar the first night you met him.
he pops a bubble with your gum that's now in his mouth, and you smile and giggle
you're even happier he's been texting you ever since.
bursting into the motel room, the air is stale with something like the aroma of cigarettes, sex, and the mild scent of worn cotton sheets. 'cozy!' you beam, plopping down on the bed, resting on your elbows, spreading your thighs a little as you eye him.
he hums a soft growl, smirking at you as he walks over. you’re one the of the sexiest girls he’s ever been with. he must be doing something right to have attracted you into his shitty life.
remembering the door is open, he turns around to close it. 'don't! leave it! want everyone to know who i belong to.'
he scoffs, turning to look at you. you're topless, smiling at him. swinging your little top around.
he shakes his head. 'you really are something,' he drawls.
you giggle, waving him over with the flick of a french-tipped finger, and he's there, slipping off your shorts and your boots. you wrap your legs around him, kissing him, fumbling with his belt, annoyed that you can't figure it out. a whine escaping you.
you slide your hands up his shirt instead just to feel his abs, and he moans, kissing you, undoing his belt in a millisecond.
you tug your thong aside, slipping your fingers over your drenched bare pussy, the little heart tattoo on your hip on full display. he licks it. presses a kiss to your mound. another one lower.
you suck on your fingers as you keep your thong pushed aside, gently thrusting your hips to get his mouth where you desperately need him. he grabs your thighs, eating your sweet pussy, tongue running up and down your slit, making your head fall back with a moan. 'jax,' you sob, fingers moving to his hair.
he smirks. tugging your thong off and wrapping a hand around your throat as he fucks into you. lustful eyes like a vulture's on your pleasure-torn face. 'taste sweet as pie,' he husks.
if your eyes weren't rolling so hard behind your head, you'd probably cum just from how he's looking at you.
