#loser!simon

cw: pervy behavior from simon !!!

you don’t even know what you did to him, that first day.

standing there, soft and sweet and smiling like you were made just for him.

and now —

now you’re his.

you curl up against him at night without a second thought, nose tucked under his jaw, breathing slow and even.

trusting him with your whole little heart like he’s not a filthy old man who fists his cock over you every time you leave the room.

trusting him like he’s good.

like he’s safe.

simon brushes a hand down your back, heavy and shaking, breathing you in.

you smell like strawberries. like laundry soap. like home.

he presses his nose into your hair and groans low, desperate, quiet enough not to wake you.

grinds his hips against the mattress, slow and pathetic, just enough to take the edge off.

you make a soft sound in your sleep. a whimper.

he freezes.

"shh, baby," he rasps, kissing your forehead, voice thick and ruined from holding it back.

"s’alright. just me. go back to sleep, love."

like he’s not rutting against the bed like a desperate fucking dog with your body curled against him.

like he’s not thinking about rolling you onto your back, splitting you open on his cock, stuffing you full until you’re crying with it.

he won't.

he never would.

you’re too sweet. too soft.

he’s ruined enough just loving you.

he won't drag you down into the filth with him.

still.

he bites his lip hard enough to taste blood, humping the mattress in short, frantic little jerks, his whole body going tight, trying to finish quick so he doesn’t wake you.

he cums like a fucking animal, teeth gritted, hips stuttering, cock throbbing in his boxers while he chokes on your name.

he tucks you closer after.

pretends he’s a good man.

pretends he’s not leaving a sticky patch on the sheets where he held you too tight.

pretends he deserves you.

and you — sweet thing you are — you just sigh in your sleep and nuzzle closer.

like you know.

like you want him anyway.

you try to get him up one day by yanking at his hair and he just grunts n tilts his face up which you KNOW is covered in slick and he's licking it off his chin and panting like a dog in heat and shit and when he realizes you have nothing more to say he just goes right back to it

You have work tomorrow, you wanna mentally prepare yourself, and maybe, just MAYBE, have a nice night of R&R and self care, but Simon kept fucking texting you to come over so he can eat your pussy and make you feel good. What the fuck would a sheet mask do that he couldn’t?

Not annoy you for starters, motherfucker.

Anyway, you came over to get your rocks off and it turned into this sexathon that pretty much guarantees that you’ll stay the night and be late for work tomorrow knowing how Simon gets down in the morning. Goddamnit.

You called yourself trying to assert your dominance or whatever by yanking him up by his hair, and… holy shit, the bastard’s gone. Just… ruined and, and god, it’s so disgusting, so bloody arousing, just…

Simon’s pupils are blown, stubble glistening with your cum, eyes focused and unfocused on you just the same. Pure greed, instinct, satiation, and lust all rolled up into one tattooed, chain smoking asshole, and it’s so fucking nasty you’re practically salivating. He licks his lips, tasting your cunt, and lets out a ragged breath. Jesus, he couldn’t even give himself room to breathe?

Simon quirks an eyebrow as if to say, “Fuck you made me stop for?” You don’t answer. Real Horny Clown Shit. You do loosen your grip on his hair, though, and that’s all the greedy bastard needs to go back to devouring your cunt like it’s dinner time.

only to stare, gobsmacked 15 minutes later as they watch a very shocked, wide eyed Simon be dragged out of the booth, looking back at them with awe in his eyes as you lead him towards the exit

Either I would jerk him off or I would make him jerk himself off until he’s shooting blanks before I’d finally sink myself down on him. I wanna see tears by the end of the night.

You're in a bitchy mood, the shitty reality TV ain't hitting at the moment, and as usual, Simon's a greedy fuck. Okay, then.

It's you slumped on the couch, and you have Simon on his knees, on his floor, in his apartment right between your spread legs, eyeing your pretty cunt, wanting some fine dining because he's tired of fuckin' TV dinners and cheap booze. Too bad you're being a right bastard by denying him, and he has the gall to look affronted as only a pathetic loser like him can. You look down at him with mock pity, if only to hone in on the fact that someone like him shouldn't be so fuckin' desperate, but cunt has made fools of stronger men, so... whatever.

"Don't touch me, touch yourself. And don't stop until I say so." Look at you, joining the circus yet again. 🤡

But Simon's a good soldier where it counts. Takes out his hard cock and gets to work like the bestest boi he is, all while eyeing your pussy, so close and yet so far. It's as if he has tunnel vision; you scrunch your nose in disgust.

An intake of breath; it's shaky, Simon is shaky—"Fuck."—and the telly is background noise compared to the slickslickslick of that big hand of his stroking his cock, and it's only then that you realize that he's testing the waters and inching closer and—

"Nope." You capture his head between your thighs, as a deterrent or to be a fuckin' tease, you're not sure, but you hold him there. You get off on his shaky grunts (he's so fuckin' close), and his warm breath on your skin gives you goosebumps. It's only when you hear Simon grunt and feel him tremble that you realize the desperate fuck came all over his pants, his hands, and on his floor. Ugh.

Simon's pupils are blown, and he's yet to stop looking at your cunt. You tell him to look at you and you wish you hadn't.

"I didn't tell you to stop."

And like the good overstimulated dog soldier that he is, he strokes himself again, a bit jerkier this time.

His eyes never leave yours, and it makes your face hot.

Lieutenant in the streets, freaky ass loser in the sheets.

And it's almost laughable how down bad Simon is for you. He's so down bad that it's absolutely pathetic, especially so because all you have to do is practically sit there and exist, and he's all over you like the cunt-struck loser that he is.

You gotta wonder how the fuck he even manages to function in his day-to-day (much less the military) when he's not around you, but time and observation has shown you that he's good for practically little else outside of being an asshole and intimidating people, pissing you off through texts, being a walking chimney what with the way he smokes so fucking much, barking out orders when he can actually be arsed enough to speak because it's a miracle you'd even get a grunt out of him any other time, and... sex. And Simon Riley is fuckin' pathetic when it comes to sex with you. Needs it (and your cunt) like he needs his ciggies.

If the sex wasn't so good, you're certain you'd have dropped his ass long ago. Probably. You think. The attention is good enough, you suppose, and by attention, you mean the fact that he never takes his eyes off you, but you never know if he's trying to devour your soul with his stare or if he's saying "Give me your cunt," in nonverbal Ghost. Whatever.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer," you once said in half-hearted annoyance. No response. He did fuck you until you were too tired to be irritated, though. And then he took a picture. Fucking loser.

But you can't complain. Not too much. Not when he's eating your cunt like a man starved as if he didn't practically beg (as much as he does in Ghost which... fuck if you know) for you to come over, you're pretending you didn't just have a shitty fucking week, and the snacks you're eating hit better than they normally do. Okay then.

He still a fuckin' asshole loser, though, but shit, you figure you're a whole ass clown for entertaining his ass.

So eepy and his bed hair is on 1000. He's actually... adorable. Too bad you can't get him to move for shit and if you even so much as shift, he shifts right along with you. Huge fucker, Simon is, and you can't deny it, he's cuddly and comfortable... when it's cold outside.

One time, you actually managed to shift around so that you were free from under him. You were Simon-free on your side of the bed until you woke up the next morning, and he was asleep on top of you. Again. Like another, thicker blanket on top of the already thick comforter he has. Fuck.

He gets it on a whim—it's your fault, really. You put the idea in his mind because why not complete the bad boy trifecta? Dark ink, dark lungs, and a dark piercing. It's a shiny black stud, sitting right there on that fat tongue of his, and you're intrigued. For once.

Mm. Look at your loser going outside his comfort zone. Or some shit like that.

Such a nuisance.

A warm, cuddly nuisance…

Prick.

Because it is. Because he has absolutely NO reason to be there except you called him because you didn’t want to be alone and you didn’t feel like going over to his place so he needs to bring his ass to you.

And you get pissy because you’ll have to wash the sheets AGAIN because the smoke just oozes from his pores and he’s hairy as fuck so your sheets smell like sweaty balls, smoke, and sex, and Jesus Christ, has the fucker ever heard of scent boosters before? Ugh.

And hell, even at your place, he makes you the little spoon. All up on you like another comforter and snoring so goddamn loud, he’s waking the dead. You’d be doubly annoyed if you weren’t so blissfully fucked out and his body heat felt good.

But then the smell of the sheets pissed you off again when y’all woke up, you cussed Simon out even though you wanted him to come, and you swore up and down that he would never sleep in your bed. EVER.