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Simon opening the door to his flat, and Johnny stops talking mid-sentence because there's a woman in the kitchen singing Kesha and cooking dinner. She's wearing an old army shirt that says RILEY across the shoulders and long socks.
When she catches sight of them, she grins. "Hey, babe. Who's this?
Johnny says, "Didn't know you had a bird, LT." He's about to step forward and offer his hand, but Simon stops him. When he looks up, Simon's paler than usual.
"You can see 'er?"
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Ghost fucks you from behind, grabs a handful of hair as a handle, and yoinks off your wig. He's not flabbergasted - he knows what a wig is. He's just... a bit startled. Needs a second to recalibrate. Resumes fucking you when you start cussing him out.
Something something going over to the huge guy who keeps to himself at the back of the bar. Offering to buy his drink if he lets you talk at him for a while, just long enough for the obnoxious guy who's been harassing you to leave you alone. Not knowing what to talk about, so you just recount the plot of the last romance novel you read (you barely remember it beyond the parts you didn't like). Big guy ("'m Simon.") insists that you finish telling the story, even though whatshisfuck has left the bar by now.
When you finally finish telling him about the lighthouse, he smiles down at you. "tha's minging. Tell me another."
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Omegaverse
Simon’s back shivers and twitches, but he holds position, ass up, thighs wide. His knot is half blown already, the slightest drip coming from his slit just above. He smells like the forest, like rain, like fertile earth, and the thought makes your heat-addled mind purr.
“You’re so pretty,” you mutter, dragging your lips over his lower back.
He grunts. “Don’t tease, Fire.”
You bite back a laugh and shuffle closer. “Not teasing, just going slow. I’ve never done this with an alpha before.”
Simon’s cunt is tight, even with how small your cock is, nothing like fucking another omega. Unlike Jack, who’s body is ready for something much bigger than you can give him, Simon’s body doesn’t make room for you. You’re the first to ever fuck him here, he told you himself, but the reality of it is blinding. There’s nothing you can even think to do but blow your knot. And when he locks around you and your vision goes white, you bite into his back as much as you can.
Something something being the teller at a local convenience store near a military base and falling a little bit in love with the big Scot who is polite with everyone and doesn't respond to your seventeen year old coworker's flirting. In fact, your coworker starts hating him a little bit because he barks at other soldiers for asking for her number. But he always gives her a roguish smile and tells her she can do better than the kind of roaster who sniffs around younger girls because women their age won't give them the time of day. When he winks, she giggles, because she's seventeen and easy. At 32, you don't have the same excuse.
One of my kinktober stories that I'm struggling to write boils down to Simon from Transferrable Skills having a kink he's embarrassed to share with Bambi and her not being into it until she sees how into it he is. The problem is that 1) the kink can actually be an amalgamation of kinks and 2) I have to be in a very specific headspace to be into that kink, so I'm having a hard time getting past the talking stage of it all, and 3) ...how did that conversation even start???
