Ryland was very grateful that he was visiting her classroom and that she wasn’t visiting his. Her room was a stark contrast to his. He had planets hanging from the ceiling, his desk was cluttered and trashed, and things fell down regularly. Here, there were paper lanterns hanging down, but that was all. They were evenly spaced and gave the room a cozy feel, not a trapped in low budget space feel. Everything had a place. Her desk was cleared, at least the top was. He had no clue if the drawers were in the same condition. The classroom was organized from the row of backpacks hanging on the wall to the cabinet filled with toys. It was structured, warm. 

However, nice as the classroom was, that was not the best part of this arrangement the two schools set up. Working with Y/n was the highlight of his school year. There was just something about her. Maybe it was the fact that she always had a tupperware filled with baked goods for him when he brought his class to visit. Maybe it was the fact that she always smelled like vanilla and jasmine. And maybe, just maybe, it was the way she taught her students. The way that she could help one student understand a concept using props and hand motions and then turn around and help another by turning it into a game. She had a passion for helping them get from where they were, to where they were going. It was written all over her face. 

This was what Ryland thought about as he walked his eighth grade homeroom over to the elementary school. The morning fog was still thick and a slight breeze sent a chill down his spine. The buzzing chatter of his students was making the grey sky seem a little lighter. He loved that they were just as excited as the kindergarteners were. 

They made it inside the elementary building and the warmth immediately seeped into his bones, welcoming him like the embrace of an old friend. He navigated his class through the now familiar hallways and stopped outside a door that had been decorated with small laminated ducks, each one bearing the name of a kindergartener in the classroom. He turned to his gaggle of students. 

“Remember, go in quietly and sit on the floor near your kid.” He said, making eye contact with the students who loved to go in squealing and hug their kindergarten partner. 

“Yes, Mr. Grace,” the class echoed. 

Ryland knocked on the door. He suddenly felt nervous. This had become the new normal since the first time Y/n opened the door. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat to no avail. He wiped one sweaty palm on his jeans and ran the other one, shakily, through his tousled hair. His stomach knotted, he felt like an idiot. 

The door opened, and there was Y/n. She was wearing dress pants and an oversized sweater. Her hair was falling naturally. The smell of her perfume was wrapping him up like he just stepped inside after being out in the cold too long, which technically he did. His breath hitched quietly and he hoped she didn’t hear it. He felt the small smile creeping onto his face and there was no point in trying to fight it. 

He didn’t get to bask in the feeling as long as he wished to, the overly excited five year olds started babbling behind her. She smiled at him. What kindergarteners? 

“Hey,” she said, her voice low, like she was whispering a secret for his ears only. 

The small smile broke into a full blown grin. “Hey,” he whispered back. Y/n opened the door fully so Ryland and his class could enter. The two teachers stepped aside while the students entered the space and situated themselves. As he entered the room, his eyes settled on her desk, finding a tupperware sitting on it, a pink sticky note on top with his name on it. He could feel the tips of his ears match the color of the sticky note. 

“My kids have been excited all week. We had to make a countdown paper chain on Monday,” She said, beaming up at him. 

Ryland let out a small chuckle. “Mine too. They try to play it off and act cool, but they’ve asked me once a week when we’re coming back.” Y/n laughed and both teachers got back to what they were actually supposed to be doing. 

The schedule was simple enough. First was penmanship. The eighth graders had to help the kinders write a three sentence story. Y/n stood in front of the whiteboard, pink marker in hand. 

“So if Mr. Grace is my partner,” She said, looking at the group of fifty or so kids crammed into the room. “Then he and I are going to come up with the story together! It can be about anything!” She looked over at him. “For example, I might write, ‘Mr. Grace is a good teacher.’” She wrote the sentence on the board. Her lettering was smooth and elegant, only in the way that teachers can have. She glanced over at Ryland expectantly. 

“And I might want her to write, ‘Miss Y/n is a great teacher.’” He hoped that it wasn’t obvious that he was trying to elevate her. The smile and roll of her eyes told him he was unsuccessful. She wrote it anyway. He moved to stand next to her. 

“After that, we might say, ‘They make a great team.’” She said, and the smile she gave him went right to his stomach. He had to snap his eyes anywhere else or he feared he would forget himself and make a really dumb move in front of the students. He felt his neck heat up and he was sure he was beet red. Y/n noticed. Her gaze drifted back to the students. “Are there any questions?” She asked. 

A hand shot up instantly. Y/n nodded for the student to ask his question. “But, Miss Y/n! Our papers have a big square on top of our writing lines!” Y/n smiled at the urgency of the question. 

“They do! Good job, Jeffrey, I almost forgot! At the top of your paper you have a blank space. You and your buddy are going to color a picture that goes with your story.” 

Another hand went up. “Miss Y/n, you didn’t draw a picture.” 

The middle schoolers chuckled, noticing the way their teacher was avoiding looking at Miss Y/n. One of them raised their hand. “Yeah, Mr. Grace, you have to help Miss Y/n color a picture of the two of you!” 

He wanted to die. He hated how bad he was at being subtle. He was rescued when Y/n let out a laugh. “You guys are right. Tell you what, while you guys write, Mr. Grace and I will draw a picture on the board.” 

The students got to work as Ryland uncapped a black marker. He started drawing a stick figure. It was lopsided, and the eyes weren’t evenly spaced out, but Y/n assumed it was his best efforts based on the way his brows knit together and his tongue poked out slightly from between his lips. 

He looked over to where Y/n was finishing her drawing. It was very obviously him. From the glasses to the cardigan he was wearing, the dry erase drawing was very evidently Ryland. He was even giving a thumbs up. He glanced back at his drawing. Not terrible. Not great. He picked up the pink marker she had been using earlier. He drew a flower in the stick woman’s hand. He took a step back and admired his work. Y/n did the same. 

“We really do make a great team,” she said, turning to look up at him. 

His brain short circuited. She didn’t even compliment him. Why was his brain offline? Think of something! Say something! Say anything! She’s looking right at you! Say something! Say something now!

“Like ribosomes and protein synthesis.” Not that! Idiot. 

But the panic subsided as Y/n let out a huff of laughter and her body involuntarily leaned into his. It was brief, a slight graze of her shoulder against his. Yet it was all he could focus on. He stilled as it happened, trying to memorize the feeling instantly. He spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out if his arm tingled from the force of impact or if his brain was experiencing a minor chemical imbalance. His internal debate subsided as Y/n instructed the students to turn in their work. 

The rest of the morning passed by in a flurry of raised hands and tiny confused sighs as math worksheets were handed out and completed. There was a breath of relief when Y/n announced it was time for recess. He shrugged his cardigan off and onto the chair as he pulled his blazer back on. Y/n led the group down the hall and outside as Ryland manned the end of the line, ensuring no wandering or straggling. 

This time, the fresh air felt less inviting, like it was stripping the atmosphere of all the warmth and depth that Y/n’s classroom supplied. It smelled Earthy and sharp. Normally it would be one of his favorite things in the world. In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to be inhaling her scent. Her classroom scent, that is, or so he told himself. His inner lament was silenced when a soccer ball went flying into his left foot. 

“Mr. Grace!” A chorus of students yelled his name and ran over to him. A tiny boy with a mop of dark curly hair peered up at him through thick eyelashes. His hands were clasped near his chest as he started to speak. “Mr. Grace, will you play with us?” 

Ryland felt something profound tug at his heart strings as the boy looked up at him expectantly. 

“Sure, but only if we beat these middle schoolers, deal?” He stuck out his hand, the soccer ball now pinned under his foot. 

The boy, Miles, shook his hand and giggled out, ‘deal’. 

“Kinder versus middle school!” was all Ryland shouted before kicking the ball towards a five year old and running towards the goal, guarded by one of his own students. 

Y/n watched from the sidelines as Ryland weaved, not so elegantly, between the students. He was constantly stumbling over his own feet, and his glasses kept sliding down his face. However, Y/n also saw the way he passed the ball to her students every time. The way he  would steal the ball from an eighth grader, pass it to a little kid, only to have the ball stolen by a middle schooler again. She noticed the way he fell backwards and landed on his back in order to avoid lightly bumping one of her students. She watched him pause the game to help a girl tie her shoe. He had never looked so attractive. He was squatting down, her yellow shoe resting atop his knee. His glasses hung around his chin and his hair was tousled and sweaty from running. The way he smiled, watching as the girl ran back to the game once her shoe was properly tied again. She noticed the way that the water ran down his hair to his cheek to his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. Wait, water?

Y/n’s train of thought was cut off by a splash of rain hitting her forehead. Oh great. Before she knew it, five year olds all around her were losing their minds. She pulled her sweater tighter around herself as the rain picked up. Ryland was by her side in an instant, shrugging his blazer off and, awkwardly, draping it over Y/n’s head, an attempt to shield her from the rain. Y/n smiled despite herself as she watched him concentrate. A whistle blew and all the kids quickly got in line as Y/n led them towards the classroom. Ryland, soaked to the bone, stood at the end of the line, waiting for one kindergartener to catch up after he ran back into the playground for his water bottle. 

The group was buzzing as they re-entered the classroom. Y/n gave instructions for the kids to hang up their coats and find a seat on the rug. Ryland stood next to Y/n, who was finally pulling the blazer from her head. “You didn’t have to do that,” She whispered, a faint smile tugging at her lips. 

“Yes I did,” he breathed out. Y/n tried to hand him the blazer, but it was quickly draped around her again, this time, over her shoulders. She smiled as he rubbed the fabric up and down her arms. There was a faint smell of clean linen and stale coffee. It was uniquely Ryland, like the scent only existed for him. She had been mostly protected from the rain, and she didn’t really need dried off, but she let him do it.

His glasses had little drops of water on them, sliding down the lens and onto the floor. His hair was completely soaked, dripping down his face steadily onto his clothes, which had been thoroughly drenched. Yet here he was, drying her off. The whole world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them as Ryland pulled the blazer off of her and wrapped his knit sweater around her. The sleeves were too long for her, but she pushed them back slightly, freeing her hands. The soft fabric brushed his arm as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, Y/n waited with baited breath. 

“Miss Y/n?” A tiny hand pulled on the sweater and Y/n reluctantly pulled her eyes away from Ryland’s. 

Ryland felt his mouth shut quickly, suddenly very aware of where he was. He looked over at his students, who were smirking and looking away. Because that's what he needed, a class of middle schoolers noticing his awkward crush on the nicest woman in the world. 

He tried looking anywhere else. The pattern of the floors was suddenly riveting. His gaze snapped back to Y/n as she turned on a movie and told the class to watch quietly and eat their lunches. He turned the lights off and made his way to the back of the classroom, sitting on a tiny table. Y/n sat next to him, tupperware in hand, pink sticky note still on top. She handed it to him wordlessly, the air around them full and comforting. He opened the container as Y/n started eating her lunch next to him. 

“Banana bread?” He whispered excitedly. “You didn’t!” 

Y/n smiled, and she was overjoyed that the lights were off and he wouldn’t be able to see the way that her cheeks flushed. “Of course I did. You said it was your favorite.” Ryland leaned back in the chair slightly and started eating quietly, eyes trained on the students in front of him. 

He let his hand settle on the table beneath him, slowly letting it drift closer to Y/n’s until his hand was ghosting hers. Y/n didn’t look away from the kids as she carefully shifted so her hand was pressed against his, trying to get him to just take a hint already. 

He let his fingers delicately trace over her knuckles before hooking his pinky under her hand and flipping it gently so it rested in his. It was slow, and a little clumsy, but it was also warm. Solid. 

Ryland could feel the quickening thump of his heart against his chest. His throat was dry and he was suddenly very nervous that his hand was going to start sweating. 

The thoughts were subdued when Y/n brushed her thumb over his knuckles, trying to memorize every ridge, every valley. He looked down where they were joined together. A small smile graced his features and he went back to watching the kids. 

Lunch was over too soon in his humble opinion. In reality, they had actually gone fifteen minutes over because Y/n didn’t want to let go of Ryland’s hand. Only two more hours before he had to leave, and he tried to push the thought away, like not thinking about it delayed the inevitable. He took his place at the front of the room as Y/n settled her students into their seats. 

“Alright you guys! Who’s excited to learn about space?” Every little hand shot into the air. 

He uncapped an expo marker and started asking questions. “Who knows what is in the middle of the solar system?” A middle schooler started whispering into her kindergartener’s ear. The five year old jumped up frantically, waving her hand in the air. 

“I know! I know!” 

“Tell me, Amaya!” 

“The sun!” 

“Good job! Yes! The Sun is in the middle of our solar system! Everything goes in circles around it.” He drew a sun on the whiteboard. “Alright, Amaya, I need your help now.” 

Amaya looked over at Y/n for reassurance. After receiving a nod of approval, Amaya walked to the tall teacher. 

“Okay. Amaya, you are the sun. You’re gonna stand right here.” He gave her a high five as she stood where she was told to. 

“Who knows what planet is closest to the Sun?” 

There was more whispering. Then more voices shouting out ‘I know’ and ‘Me! Me!’. 

“What is it, Jack?” 

“Mercury!” 

“Good job! Come on up!” Ryland added another circle to the board. “Okay, Jack. You're gonna go in a circle around Amaya, and you’re the fastest planet in the solar system! So go! Faster! Faster!” The class erupted into giggles. 

“What comes after Mercury?” He didn’t have to wait this time. “Which planet is it, Claire?” 

“Uh, Venus?” 

“Venus is right!” Claire didn’t wait for permission before walking to the front. “Okay Claire, you have to walk in a circle too, but you’re very slow,” He said, dragging out the last part of the sentence. Claire started marching in slow motion around Jack. Laughter again. 

He continued on until he had an entire solar system of kindergarteners running around the space. Y/n watched as he laughed with the kids and inevitably started to ramble about how technically Max, the Earth stand-in, was moving slightly too fast for this example to be realistic. She didn’t realize she was smiling until Ryland glanced over and shot her a grin. 

He finally settles them down and returns everyone to their seats. Y/n watched him for a moment longer before remembering the coloring sheets in her hand. 

They sat together at her desk once the kids started coloring together. “I don’t think they’ve ever had that much fun during science,” Y/n said, her voice sincere, with a hint of something more. God, Ryland hoped he wasn’t imagining it. 

“I don’t know about that,” He said, his gaze flicking quickly to her lips and back up to her eyes. Y/n noticed. Her cheeks heated up and her eyes shifted to the ground, remembering quickly that they were still working. 

Ryland wanted to die. He looked up at the ceiling and wished that it would fall on him. He was saved from the awkwardness when a voice called his name. 

“Mr. Grace,” A teary eyed Amaya approached him with her coloring page in her grasp. He was moving before he realized it, crouching down so he was eye level with her. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He held his palm out and let her grab it with her small hand. She sniffled and Y/n felt her breath get caught in her throat at the interaction. The way his eyes scanned Amaya for something wrong. The way he subconsciously made her feel seen. The way he knew to hold out his calloused hand. It all caused something to bubble under the surface. 

“I messed up my drawing,” she mumbled, showing him the paper. Ryland looked at the page and then back at the small girl. 

“Messed up? I don’t see anything wrong!” He said, embellishing his confusion slightly. 

“Saturn isn’t supposed to be pink,” She sniffled again and let out a small, sad sigh that made Ryland want to tear up a little. 

“Well you know what?” He asked, looking at the girl holding his hand. 

“What?” 

“I think pink is the best color anyway. I think that Saturn looks better in pink than any other color.” 

Amaya cracked a small smile. “Pink is your favorite color?” 

Ryland beamed back. “Well, I don’t know, orange is pretty cool, but pink is too.” 

Amaya giggled and let go of Ryland’s hand, bouncing back to her seat. He stayed crouched on the ground, watching her go back to her seat for a while longer. 

It was at this moment that Y/n subconsciously noticed how strong his shoulders looked through his still damp shirt, which clung to his muscles in all the right places. She shook her head as he stood up, like it would remove the thought from her brain. 

“You’re really good with them, you know.” Her voice was quieter. It sent a warm tingle down Ryland’s spine. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly. 

Y/n giggled and looked back at the students. He opened his mouth to try again. 

“Well, statistically speaking, it’s easier to induce dopamine at that developmental stage.” He noticed the way her lips curved into a smirk and her eyes slightly narrowed in confusion. “Their baseline for excitement is much lower than in adults, so small achievements tend to produce disproportionally strong reactions. So like,” He took a breath, realizing he was still staring at her lips, and moved his eyes to meet hers. “High return on minimal input situation.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and laughed, lightly shoving his shoulder. “That was a lot of words to say that I was right.” He smiled and pressed his shoulder into hers. 

They sat together until Y/n went up to give the next instructions. Her eyes kept wandering over to his frame, sitting in a tiny, blue chair meant for a five year old. The older kids helped their kindergarten partners put their things away and start their reading work. 

Y/n started picking up markers that had fallen on the floor. Ryland followed suit. He stopped at Amaya’s seat, noticing how Saturn was bright pink with orange rings around it. He smiled softly and went to pick up the orange marker at the same time that Y/n did. Their fingers brushed, and at first Ryland pulled back, startled by her presence, letting out a quiet gasp. 

Y/n let out a small giggle, and quickly clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. He rolled his eyes at her laughter, but smiled despite himself. They cleaned up quietly, enjoying the last moments together. 

“Alright, kinders! Let’s say bye to our middle schoolers!” Y/n said as the eighth graders lined up with their bags. 

“Bye!” The class shouted. The middle schoolers waved and filed out of the room, Ryland hesitated outside the door. Y/n stood in the doorway, wanting to see him as long as she could before closing the door. 

He turned from Y/n to his class. “Start walking to the bus, I’ll meet you there. Gotta ask Miss Y/n what grade you guys should get.” The class groaned but started walking anyway. 

He turned back to Y/n. “I uh,” what was he doing? This was a terrible idea. “I, well, you,”

Y/n smiled and he completely forgot whatever it was he was trying to spit out. In a moment of foolish bravery, his mouth moved faster than his brain. 

“Would you want to go out with me?” He breathed out. 

Y/n smiled, looking at the ground, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. She looked back up at him, cheeks flushed. “I’d love to.” 

He let out a sigh of relief. There was something about the way she looked at him. The way her eyes flitted down to his lips and then back to his eyes. He forgot himself for a moment. His lips went crashing into hers. It was a little clumsy, and a little rushed, but his lips were soft, and molded nicely with hers. 

He pulled away, breathless, eyes a little wild. Y/n leaned against the door, not registering the students behind her talking and coloring. 

“I‘ll see you later,” he mumbled as he walked backwards, eyes still trained on Y/n. He stumbled only twice before he turned around and walked towards the school bus waiting for him in the rain. 

He was startled as he climbed on board and was greeted with applause. 

“Yeah! Get it Mr. Grace!” 

“Finally did it!”

“You wanted her so bad!” 

“It was like an awkward nerdy soap opera!”

His mouth on yours and his hands roaming your body, touching your bare skin, feels electric.  You’ve wanted Simon for so long– too long.

He pulls away, his lips are swollen, and he’s looking down at you with soft eyes. “Need to tell you somethin’ lovie.”

You sit up, shifting slightly when you see the nervousness written all over his face. “What’s wrong, Si?”

“It’s… not exactly average, down there.” His face is flushed as he’s looking anywhere but you.

Your hand reaches up to gently caress his face, thumb brushing over the scar on his cheek. “Si, baby, that’s okay. Size doesn’t matter.” He laughs, and you tilt your head, pout on your face. “I’m trying to comfort you, asshole!”

He softly smiles down at you, hands rubbing up and down your sides. “Sorry, lovie, that’s jus’ not what I meant. I’m… big.”

“Oh yeah?” You give him a wolfish grin as you squeeze his bicep.

He shakes his head at your antics. “No, lovie, I mean big. Too big. Probably can’t fuck you proper tonight. We’ll ‘ave to prep and stretch you for me slowly.”

You look at him wide-eyed, lips parted. “Wait. So, how big is it then?”

“Could show you if you promise t’ behave.”

You’re lying down, propped on your elbows, watching as he lines up right where your entrance is. He doesn’t press against it or push into you– instead, he lifts and rests his heavy cock on top of your cunt. The tip of it, red and leaking, sits just under your belly button.

“Holy shit, Simon, that’s like, nine inches?”

The tips of his ears burn red, and he buries his head in your neck. “Stop it, lovie, ‘s embarrassin’, hate that I can’t fuck you proper,” he whines, his lips tickling your skin.

You rub your hand down his spine and feel his cock twitch against you. “Can’t fuck me yet, just gotta get me used to taking it right?”

Your eyes glance over to your bedside drawer, and his own follow. He reaches over you to open it, and all your brain can focus on is his thick bicep in front of your face.  

“Dove, ‘ave you actually used this?” He looks at you holding the largest dildo you own. It’s bigger than your usual ones, about 7.5 inches. While it’s not as long– or nearly as thick– as Simon is, it'll be perfect to help open you up.

You cover your face with your hands and can hear slick noises as he covers the toy in lube. “Not yet, but now’s the perfect time, right?” you shyly ask.

He chuckles at you and pushes your arms back down to your sides. He teasingly rubs the silicone tip up and down your slick folds before just barely pressing it against your interest.

His large hand grabs your hips, forcing you to stay still. “Si,” you whine.

He grabs your hand in his, wrapping your fingers around the base of the silicone cock. “You wanted my cock so bad, lovie, y’gotta prep yourself. Need you to prove t’me you can take it.”

You swallow eyes trailing down to where his own hand is fisting himself right above your body– a needy moan falling from your lips at the sight.

You slowly reach down, rubbing the toy back and forth against your dripping cunt. You bite your lip as you slowly push the dildo inside you, stopping with a heavy breath just as the tip makes it inside you.

“What's wrong? Is my little dove nervous, needs ‘er Daddy's help?” He coos at you, his hand still jerking up and down his cock.

You shiver, nodding at him with a quiet whimper. “Supposed to do it yourself, you’re a big girl, dove,” he scolds you, glancing down at your teary eyes. He frowns, thumb brushing your cheek. “Think the lads are right, spoil you too much.”

His hand grabs you by the back of your neck, lifting your head to meet him in a soft kiss. You’re so caught up in the feeling of his mouth on yours, you don’t even notice he’s shifted himself until his knee is pressed against the flared base.

He presses his lips harder against yours, swallowing your tiny noises. One hand grips your hip as he slowly pushes the silicone cock into you. It’s only a few more inches, but it’s thick enough for you to start feeling a stretch.

He pulls away from you with swollen lips. “You okay, lovie?”

“Mhm, it feels good, just not used to it. Y’can keep going.”

He continues to sink the toy into your cunt inch by inch until the flared base and his knee are flushed against it. Your hands grip his shoulder, a pleased groan leaving his lips when your nails dig deep into the skin.

You wiggle your hips in an attempt to get some kind of friction– only slightly wincing at the stinging feeling of being stretched.

Simon shakes his head at you, letting your head softly fall back against the pillows. “Not gonna fuck you with it– gotta wait for that. This is about makin’ sure you’re comfortable.”

Tears fill your eyes, and a choked sob threatens to crawl out of your throat. “But I wanna cum, please daddy, need to!” you shout despite not meaning to.

“My poor little dove, did y’ think I wasn’t gonna let you feel good?” he coos at you. His hand slowly trails down your body until his thumb hovers over your puffy clit. You whine, hips jerking up instinctively.

Your eyes screw shut, your mouth falling open in a silent plea as he starts to trace shapes against your bud. You can hear the sound of him stroking himself again, and you feel yourself clench around the fake cock inside you.

“Is this what she needed, lovie? She just needed ‘er daddy to touch ‘er?” he glances down, watching you clench around the toy as he talks about your cunt.

You pant, soft cries leaving your mouth every time you feel the rough pad of his thumb press down harder against you. “Mmm, yes, needed– shit– needed daddy to make her feel good.”

You finally open your eyes, mesmerized as the hand around his cock speeds up. “Fuck, dove, not gonna last,” he mumbles before leaning down to suck at your chest.

It’s too much, everywhere. His hand on your clit, tongue circling your nipple, the feeling of being stretched like you’ve never been– and god, the wet sound of him jerking himself off.

“Daddy, ‘m cumming, gonna, gonna-” You can’t finish your sentence, cutting yourself off with a sob as the knot in your stomach finally loosens. Your cum drips down the toy and onto the bedsheets, and the sight is all he needs to do the same.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he groans, giving his cock one final tug before he’s spilling all over your stomach. The white splashes against your skin– sticky and hot.

You both stop for a moment, heavy panting filling the room, before Simon crawls off of you. You lie back, eyes fluttering shut as your body aches.  

He comes back with a wet rag and an old shirt of his that's soft and well-worn. You tense as he gently pulls the dildo out of you, tearing up a little at the sudden and overwhelming feeling of emptiness. “I know, ‘m sorry, you did so perfect for me. ‘M so proud of you, took it so well, lovie, ' he whispers, pressing a kiss to your hip before softly wiping you down.

He throws on his boxers and crawls into bed next to you, pulling the t-shirt over your body. “Does that mean next time you’ll move it?”

A groan rumbles out from his chest, vibrating through your body, as his cock slides impossibly deep inside of your pussy. He knocks against your cervix, resting there to give you time to adjust, but he notices you not making even a single sound, not even moving a little bit and you usually are trying to squirm away from him right about now.

He tilts his head to the side in confusion, sliding his cock back out, and thrusting back in once more just to make sure his eyes and ears aren’t deceiving him. It knocks the air out of your lungs, it makes you want to run from his fat cock, but the alcohol sitting low in your belly gives you enough bratty will to keep up the act.

“What kind of game you playin’ at lovie,” he coos, rubbing one rough, calloused hand down the length of your back.

Simon rolls his hips against yours, his balls smacking against your clit ever so slightly, his cock stretching you out while your walls mold to his length. His hands spread your cheeks, watching the way your pussy swallows him with ease, watching the way slick leaks from your entrance and wets his skin.

“Gotta fuck the brat outta ya or what?”

Simon isn’t a man with much patience, although he has a lot more when it comes to you, but you are really pushing his buttons. When all you do is shove your face further into the pillow as he grinds his tip against your cervix, he knows what he has to do.

He grabs both your wrists, pulling your arms back towards him, forcing your face to lift from the pillows and he slams into you with one deep, rough thrust. Your mouth falls open instantly, a moan ripping free from your throat, and tears well up in your eyes from the force of his cock bullying your insides.

“Si… f-fuck- ‘s too m-much,” you whine, squirming your hips against him, trying to pull your arms from his grasp because you know he’s about to fuck you as punishment.

“There ya are. You can take it, can’t you lovie?”

And just as you thought, his pace becomes impossibly fast, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy with little effort from how wet you are. Moans and whimpers fall free from your lips, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps as every thrust knocks the air out of you, and you can’t help but arch your back and silently beg for more.

“Feels good, don’t it? Thought you could get away with that when you’re this wet and tight around me,” he says, voice low and rough, his thrusts only picking up speed the more sounds pour into his ears from you.

The veins and ridges of his cock slide through your walls, filling you up to the brim, leaving no parts inside of you empty for too long. He pulls out and your pussy tries to drag him back in, he pushes all the way in and your pussy clamps down on his as if it never wants him to leave. He laughs quietly, watching your resolve crumble under a few hard thrusts, and he angles his hips with precision to hit every last spot you have.

“So g-good,” you manage to mumble out, your words cut off by an obscene moan.

He fixes his grip on your wrists when your skin grows warm and sweaty, keeping you in the perfect position with your ass arched and mouth uncovered. His balls slap against your clit, your body jerks from the sensation, and you feel the heat pooling in your lower belly faster than usual.

“Yeah? What about here,” he coos just before angling his cock right up against your sweet spot.

Stars burst behind your eyelids, and your climax immediately crashes over you. Cum gushes from your entrance, leaking out around his cock, dripping down his skin and onto the soft sheets below. Your pussy pulses around his length rhythmically, clenching down tight over and over again until your body begins to jerk with overstimulation as he rides out your high for as long as possible.

“Si… can’t t-take it,” you stutter, trying to catch your breath, but his pace never once let up on your poor pussy.

“Oh c’mon. Give me one more.”

He drops your wrists, watching as your fingers curl into the fabric below you, and his arm slides around your waist. He presses against your lower belly, groaning from the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you so deep before two fingers find your clit and begin to rub fast, tight circles onto the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your face is smooshed against the pillow once more, but this time, moans and whines fall from you. Your eyes are shut tight, tears stain your cheeks, and your mouth hangs open ever so slightly as drool drips from your chin while Simon fucks you dumb. All the sensations bring you close to the edge again for a second time: his fingers against your clit, his cock rubbing your walls raw.

“Go ahead. Cum on my dick again, yeah? Be a good girl for me,” he coos, pounding into you faster, harder, deeper, anything to make you feel good.

His voice rumbles through you, landing right in the heat pooling in your lower belly the same as before, and you cum all over his cock for the second time tonight. Cream coats the base of him, each thrust spreading it further along his length, and he begins to drive himself towards his own release.

“So good fa me… gonna make me cum so deep in my lady.”

“Please, Si. Cum in m-me,” you beg, looking back over your shoulder, watching him fuck you relentlessly.

Spreading your cheeks apart, he watches your wet pussy suck him in, and with a guttural groan and a few more thrusts, he’s spilling his seed so deep inside of you. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, spurting out against your cervix with every twitch of his cock, filling you to the brim and leaking out when there’s no room left for anymore. It drips down your thighs, pooling with your own on the sheets below, and when his movements come to a stop he collapses on top of you.

He kisses the soft skin of your shoulder as he catches his breath, his warm, slick skin against your own, his hands roaming up and down your sides while his thumb draws slow, comforting circles. You melt into the bed, feeling satisfied, and sleepy with his weight on you.

Simon stands and walks to the bathroom, running a rag under warm water before bringing it to you and wiping up the mess he left. Tossing it into the laundry basket, he slides into bed beside you and pulls you into his chest where you instantly fall asleep and the bratty attitude is gone just like that.

│Masterlist│

Tags: @fysalia, @scarhein, @bl-nk-bla-k