Call Me Easily Amused But I Still Think It's So Funny To Go "who Said That" After Saying Something Wildly

simon’s never been one for naps. never seen the point in them really, he’s spent too many years on high alert and ready to move at a moments notice to indulge in them. scoffs when johnny jokes about him not needing sleep. there’s a million other things i could be doing in that time, he grumbles.

but when he meets you, simon starts to see the allure.

he finds you curled up on the couch in the rec room one day tucked into your blanket and just stares for a moment. there’s a look of serenity on your face that he’s both captured by and in awe of. in fact, he’s a little bit jealous. he’s not sure what he looks like sleeping, but definitely not as a peaceful as you.

(johnny says he scowls in his sleep sometimes. even curses at him every now and then.)

when you and simon first get together he comes to find that one of your favorite pastimes is tucking yourself away in bed for a good nap. no harm in it, you shrug.

those words rattle around in his head the first time you ask if he’d like to join you. he blinks and scratches the back of his neck, asking if you’re sure about that because he’s ‘not exactly cuddly’ and probably won’t fall asleep.

“it’s alright. i just want you next to me.” simon bites back the urge to brand your name into his heart.

one hour is all it takes to change his perspective. suddenly, crawling into bed with you for a quick snooze becomes the most indulgent activity he could think of. simon’s quick to mold himself against your body, breathing in the tranquility of the moment. your breaths turned shallow not too long before and he’s shocked to find himself following you down the rabbit hole into a dreamless sleep.

it’s the vulnerability that gets to him. to lay in each others arms and slip away from the world together - it’s a level of intimacy he’s never experienced before and it intoxicates him. soon enough, he’s pulling you to the side during end of the day trainings, staring down at you with molten brown eyes. “i want to lay down with you after this.”

insists you’ve spoiled him, although you’re not sure how him finally getting enough sleep is a bad thing. but when he starts whining (if you could call it whining in that voice) that you should be laying in bed with him instead of doing whatever you’re doing, you start to think he might be right.

---

so idk where i got this idea but mercenary!ghost x fem!reader because he's scary and mean and dangerous but then he sees some girl's ass in light blue denim.

notes about reader: as always, i tend to write readers described as curvy because im curvy and we deserve attention from 6'4 beefcakes who are soft only for us. reader is a civilian.

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, mentions of ghost's past canon trauma (domestic abuse + violence), mw3 spoilers, violence and gore + mentions of murder and extortion, mentions of reader + domestic abuse, protective!simon, size kink (reader is described as much smaller than simon, easily manhandled by him), pet names (luv, bunny + rabbit, puppy, angel face), reader learns she has a dark side and she likes it, nsfw thoughts about reader, suggestive touching (fem!receiving)

the sound of the burner phone pings on the desk in front of him. when he picks it up, he narrows his eyes as he reads the message displayed across the screen.

DEPOSITED.

when he opens his laptop, his eyes scan over the balance on an offshore account, and he relaxes when he sees the hefty balance climb just a little higher. he closes the device once he's satisfied with what he sees; and like always, he tastes the warmth of that satisfaction. it's a nice high, but it won't last, and then he'll need to feed the gaping hole that lives in him.

it remains hungry. he has never been able to close it--it has only ever gotten wider, ripped at the seams and torn at the edges every time another body close to him drops.

the high is poison. but even if it kills him, no one will miss him. so he picks up the handgun that lays haphazard on the bed, and he tucks it into the back of his jeans.

he passes by the mirror as he fits a dark denim jacket over his shoulders. he stares back at himself, a recognizable beast of a man staring right back. he pulls his hoodie up over him, and in the shadow of it, all he can see are his dark eyes, pale skin peeking through the eyeblack that has lightened up with the wear of it throughout the day.

he craves something strong and warm tonight. he itches for something soft, too, something that makes him forget the red on his ledger, even if for only a few hours.

there is nothing quite strong enough to wipe that kind of stain away. he is nothing if not a reaper, and he buries bodies with the same tenacity that he had when he wore his country's flag on his chest. this time, however, he does not take orders--he names his price.

he thinks something is wrong with him. some used to say that it was his courage that brought him back from the dead--that his heart is too strong, his will to live too much, and that is how he continues to open his eyes and live another day. but he doesn't agree with this thought, because he doesn't really think he feels anything at all.

he doesn't feel human. he doesn't feel alive. the only thing that makes him feel any sort of vulnerability is how red his own blood is when he bleeds. when his scars heal jagged and crooked, it is because there is something underneath the skin. but he feels nothing inside--no remorse, no guilt, he is not sorry.

he does not check to see if those men are innocent. he does not care about the names that end up on his list. he doesn't ask questions. and he thinks something is wrong with him because he sleeps at night just fine now; the nightmares have gone. he is alone, and it is peaceful.

there are no voices. there is only silence. and there is something wrong with him.

the pub is quiet. it is a weekday, and the only patrons are here after a long day's work, and they all look into the depths of their half-empty glasses hoping to find relief there. there is none, but they will finish their glasses hoping it might be dissolved in the alcohol.

he asks for two fingers of bourbon. it stings when it goes down, but then it settles warm. he is poured another two fingers of it, but before he can pick it up, someone else grips the glass and tips it back to swallow it down.

the glass hits the wood of the counter with an echoing thud, and you cough out a fuck as you settle into the seat beside him. you run a trembling hand over your face, and he notices immediately the red of your knuckles and the splitting of the skin there. they are fresh; the bruising is still new, and the blood is just barely beginning run down the back of your hand.

he leans over the bar, swiping the whole bottle of bourbon, and he silently pours more into the glass, hitting it towards you before picking up a new glass and filling it generously.

"who's the lucky bastard?" he asks, and your eyes flick to the cuts on the back of your hand before going back to the dark swirling colors of the drink.

"i'm sure he'll be coming in here any second to introduce himself."

the pub doors slam open, and there is a man coming in, chest heaving, dark hair falling over his forehead in sweaty curls that do nothing to hide the clear bruise on his face the split of his lip. his eyes move over the room before they settle on you, and his boots fall heavy as he makes his way over.

ghost sees his intentions clear immediately. the way his hand twitches at his side, the angry glare, the uncontrollable urge to hurt and to take and to control coming off of him like steam.

he has seen this kind of man before. this man was the one that kept him up at night as a child. this man was the one that scared his mum, that drove his brother to chase vices, that tore apart a house that should've been filled with something warm and sticky and kind into one marred with teeth, rotten and putrid and forgotten.

his hand goes for the back of your neck, and you close your eyes and tense in the anticipation, but it never comes. a strong hand grips his outstretched one, and the man cries out as ghost twists it behind his back and uses his other hand to slam his face into the wood of the bar, trapping him there.

the bartender does not even flinch, just continues to wipe down glasses. the patrons continue to stare into the abyss of their sorrow.

you jump a little, your head snapping to the side where the man squirms and sputters, his face going pale from the paw of a hand gripping him by the back of the neck and shoving his face into the counter. if he pushes any harder, you wonder if it'd splinter and fray, dig into the bones of his bruised cheek.

"this man botherin' ya, yeah?"

your eyes finally flick up. you do not know what you expect, but it isn't this. you can only see his eyes; they scare you. you do not lie because you aren't entirely sure how far his kindness will go.

"yes," you whisper, and when the man tries to spit at you, a rough gloved hand grips his curls and positions his head against the edge of the counter, forcing his mouth open until the top row of his teeth bite the wood.

"y'keep talkin' to her, n'it'll be the last time you talk, hear that, mate? y'talk to me, n'me only."

you swallow hard, and the man trembles. a strong boot hits the back of his knees, and then he's crumbling to the ground, his jaw straining as the counter is still forced against his mouth. hot, pained tears come down his face, and then he addresses you.

"what did he do?"

"bad first date," is all you can manage to sputter. he grips the man by the scruff of his neck before pulling him off to speak, tilting his head to the side as he observes the begging man on his knees.

"y'try to put your hands on'er?"

"i-it wasn't...like that! i-it was just a mis...a misunderstanding, please! please--please tell him--!"

"don't like fuckin' liars either," is the only warning given before his mouth is forced to bite the counter, and then a sharp elbow comes down on his head. you jump in surprise at the suddenness of it all, and you close your eyes when you hear the crunch of teeth being broken. his scream is enough to rattle the pub, but when you look around, it's as if nothing at all has happened. it is quiet, and all the bartender does is shake their head.

when you open your eyes, he's crawling on his hands and knees out of the pub, and what he leaves behind is a mess of blood and teeth and fluid that are splattered against the floor at your feet. you shake as you look up at him, stiff in your seat and soft tears coming down your face.

he towers over you. you have to tilt your head back between your shoulders to look at him face-to-face. you cannot see his face; he hides it behind dark fabric, but his eyes talk loud. they are dark, and they are dull, and you realize as you stare up at him that he is not phased in the slightest by what he had just done. in fact, he steps into your space, and the squelch of blood under his boot doesn't seem to bother him. he wears black, and you wonder, momentarily, if he wears such a color to hide the red hiding between the threads of the fabric. the red he can't wash away.

"let me look at ya, little rabbit."

you flinch when he knocks your knees apart, spreading them to make space for the width of him. he reaches up with one gloved hand and grips your chin, tilting your head to either side to see if you are hurt anywhere but your hand. when he is satisfied with his observations, he cups the expanse of your throat, smoothing those big fingers along the pulsing vein there and feeling the way you swallow.

so alive. so soft. a pretty little bunny, dropped into his waiting hands.

his eyes fall, and he takes you in. wide hips that take up the seat you're sitting in, hugged so nicely by light blue denim jeans. they curve over the swell of your ass, and he wonders how much of it would fit in his palm--he thinks about how it might feel to spread them apart and taste the succulent sweetness that he knows exists between your thighs and how your mouth might look slack jawed and wide open for him.

you look like a good girl, even with bloody knuckles.

then he follows the line of your shirt. it's a simple t-shirt tucked into your jeans, but the neckline gives a nice peek of you and the curve of your tits--they sit so nicely there, all perky, and ghost thinks they look lonely. they would be better off in his mouth or squeezing his cock between them or pebbling between his dirty gloved fingers.

filthy. disgusting. he is scarred all over, and you look so soft and sweet, with those tender puppy eyes and the way your lips tremble, and he bets you kiss all soft and slippery. he bets your cunt is tight and with enough coaxing, he could make you drench his skin with something decadent and slick, with whatever drools into your panties. he imagines it is there now, even as you tremble and shake and plead with your eyes for him to let go of your throat.

but ghost is not a good man. he does not feel; he is not a man at all. he is a beast in the shape of one, disguised, and he brings misery to everything he touches. he knows he will do it to you, too--touching pretty girls, he leaves them with burns. they are not the same after they are with him, and he wants to feel bad about it, he wants to feel something, but he does not. he feels nothing.

"you olright, luv?"

you nod frantically, putting a hand over his wrist that holds you, and he almost laughs. your hand is so much smaller than his own. if he squeezes his hand just a little harder, he figures it would not take much to break what lies beneath it. he leans in, and you gulp when your thighs trap his hips. he is warm, a furnace that burns, but you relax when the side of his mask nuzzles against your face.

he is a dog, and he is fond of you.

you should run. you should hit him like you hit your wretched date, and you should run, far, away from him, swear off men for good and never allow one in your space again lest they be as beastly as this. you should run while you can, but you are a bunny not yet in his trap, and you still have time to escape.

but then both of your eyes open at the same time, and his eyes meet your own, and then--oh.

the cage snaps shut. it rattles around you. it is small and confined, but you don't realize what it is yet because you can still breathe, and it is still warm, and you are still soft and alive and here.

your face softens, and his eyes flicker down to your lips as you lick them. maybe he was right. liars are bad. men like the one you were with before were scum. you had been with men like that before, you had seen the destruction they brought to those they thought they loved. when they wrought fear and made others bleed, they never got in trouble. no one cared to do to them what they deserved because they silenced their lambs and slaughtered the light out of them.

it is biblical--an eye for an eye. if they take from you, why can't you take from them?

it is brutish men like this one that do what others are too timid to. your thighs close around his hips, and you feel something digging into your leg, something metal and heavy tucked into his jeans. a weapon, but you imagine it is a mercy because you have an inkling that what he does with his hands is so much worse. bullets are clean and fast; his hands are not.

johnny would tell him to let you go. he does, over his shoulder, spitting at him to leave, to let you slip through his fingers and find your way out, to open the cage.

the wee lass--look at 'er angel face. let 'er go--not meant for this, LT. she scares. 's in 'er eyes. won't last.

but he does not feel. he is not human. there is something wrong with him, he knows it, but he doesn't care. he will ruin you, and he should feel bad, but he can't, he doesn't. and then there it is--your eyes are flickering low, eyeing the mask, and you are wondering how much effort it would take to push it up and lick into his mouth, taste him, suck the warmth of the bourbon from his mouth and replace it with your own.

he will kill again. the cage is shut, it is locked, and he is watching the bunny in its cage, watching as it becomes aware of its surroundings, takes in what is new. but just like he figures, just like he knows, this little bunny has no idea what this cage is. she has no idea she is even in one.

fuck what johnny says. if johnny was like him, if he was not skin and bone but steel and reptile, he would not have died. he would have come back. he would have moved his head, shaken the blood off, and gotten back up, but he didn't, and he's not here, and he's not real--so fuck what he thinks, fuck what he says, fuck him because he left me, and i'm all alone, and if i don't devour and eat and tear apart, i will wither away because i am not me, i am something else--

he smiles under the mask. you notice it, the slight movement there, and you smile, too, suddenly. his hand falls, and the back of his knuckles graze over the swell of your breast, down your stomach, and then he's gripping your waist. that hand slips behind you, and you brace yourself with both hands on his chest as he cups one side of your ass. possessive and suffocating--you think maybe you should run again, but you don't want to.

you want something more. you want something a little rough, something a little sharp. you want something to tell you that a little blood is good sometimes. that answering blood with a little more blood was exactly how it should be. that we don't have to be docile, to back down. you want to be told that it's okay to bite.

there is something wrong with you.

— aesthetic words to fill up your vocabulary ♡

✦ if you're tired of using the same repetitive words to describe feelings or actions on your writing, here are some aesthetic words that are not frequently used to help you evolve your vocabulary better and also maybe help you with creative titles <3

ABENDROT: the color of the sky while the sun is setting.

ABIENCE: the strong urge to avoid someone or something.

ACHROOUS: colourless.

AEQUOREAL: marine, oceanic.

AESTHETE: someone with deep sensitivity to the beauty of art or nature.

ALIFEROUS: having wings.

AMITY: warmth and heartfelt friendliness in a friendship; mutual understanding and a peaceful relationship.

AMBROSIAL: fragrant, delicious.

ANTHOMANIA: great love for flowers.

AQUAPHILE: someone who is an enthusiast of all things related to the water.

ARENOCOLOUS: living or burrowing in sand.

ASPERSE: change falsely or with malicious intent; attack the good name and reputation of someone.

ASTERISM: agroup of stars; a constellation; a cluster of stars.

ATTAR: essential oil or perfume obtained from flowers.

AUREATE: golden or gilded; brilliant, splendid.

AURICOMUS: with golden or yellow colored foliage.

AVIOTHIC: the strong desire to be up in the air or to fly.

BALTER: to dance artlessly, without particular grace and/or skill but usually with enjoyment.

BATHIC: pertaining to depths, especially of sea.

BELAMOUR: the one who is loved; a beloved person.

BELLICOSTIC: aggressive, belligerent, warlike.

BENEFICENCE: the quality of being kind or helpful or generous.

BERCEUSE: a quiet song intended to lull a child to sleep.

BLÁFAR: indicating the freshness and beauties of youth or health; attractive and possessing charm.

BRONTIDE: the low rumble of a distant thunder.

BURBLE: to speak in an excited manner.

CAELITIS: the divinities who dwell within the celestial planes.

CATHARSIS: the release of emotional tension, especially through kinds of art or music.

CELERITOUS: swift, speedy, fast.

CERAUNOPHILIA: loving thunder and lightning and finding them intensely beautiful.

CHEVELURE: the nebulous tail of a comet.

CINGULOMANIA: a strong desire to hold a person in your arms.

COCCINEOUS: bright red; scarlet.

COCKAIGNE: an imaginary land of luxury and idleness.

CONSTELLATE: to eluster; to compel by stellar influence.

COSMOGYRAL: whirling around the universe.

CORDOLIUM: heartache; heartfelt sorrow.

CORUSCATE: to reflect brillantly, to sparkle.

CRAMOISY: of a crimson color.

CREATURELY: a person who is controlled by others and is used to perform unpleasant or dishonest tasks for someone else.

CRYSTALLOMANIA: an obsession with crystals and other crystalline objects.

CHRYSALISM: the amnotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm.

CLINQUANT: glittering with gold and silver.

CLYSMIC: cleaning, washing.

CUPIDITY: greed for money or possessions.

CYANEOUS: a sky-blue color.

CYNOSURE: guiding star; a object of common interest.

DARKLING: of or related to darkness.

DÉCLASSÉ: having fallen in social status.

DEIFORM: god-like or divine in nature.

DEMERSAL: that lives near the bottom or a body of water.

DESIDERIUM: an ardent longing, as for something lost.

DISPITEOUS: cruel and without mercy.

DOUX: sweet, soft, mild, gentle.

DRACONTINE: belonging to a dragon.

DYSANIA: the state of finding it hard to get out of bed in the morning.

ECCEDENTESIAST: someone who fakes a smile.

EFFLORESCENCE: a period or state of blooming, blossoming.

ELEGY: a poem of serious reflection, typically a lament for the dead.

ELEUTHEROPHILIST: someone who advocates free love.

ELYSIAN: beautiful or creative, divinely inspired; peaceful and perfect.

EMACITY: desire or fondness for buying things.

EMPYREAL: pertaining to the sky; celestial.

EPHIALTES: a nightmare; the demon Incubus that supposedly causes a nightmare.

EPICARICACY: the joy that results from others misfortune.

EREMOPHOBIA: the deep fear of stillness, solitude, or deserted places.

ETHEREAL: extremely delicate, light, not of this world.

EUMOIRIETY: happiness due to state of innocence and purity.

FLORENTIS: abounding in flowers; being in bloom and adorned with plentiful flowers.

FREICEADAN: guard, garrison, watch, sentinal.

FULMINATE: cause to explode violently and with loud noise.

FURCIFEROUS: brat; rascally, scandalous.

GLOAMING: twilight, dusk.

GRAME: anger, wrath, scorn; sorrow, grief, misery.

HALCYON: calm and peaceful; happy, prosperous.

HELLION: a rowdy or mischievous person.

HELIOPHILIA: desire to stay in the sun; love of sunlight.

HEAVENIZE: to render like heaven or fit for heaven, to purify and make a holy place or a person.

HENOTIC: promoting harmony or peace.

HIRAETH: a homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was.

HOLILY: belonging to or derived from or associated with a divine power.

HYPNAGOGIC: the state immediately before falling asleep.

IGNICOLIST: a worshiper of fire.

ILLECEBROUS: attractive and alluring.

IMPLUVIOUS: soaked with rain.

INCANDESCENCE: light produced by high temperatures.

INCALESCENCE: the property of being warming.

INCENDIARY: designed for the purpose of causing a fire, likely to cause anger or violence.

INEFFABLE: too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words.

INSOUCIANT: free from worry, concern or anxiety.

IRENIC: aiming or aimed at peace, promoting peace.

IRIDESCENT: producing a display of rainbow-like colors.

INVIDIARE: to envy.

ISOLOPHILIA: a strong preference and affection for solitude.

KALOPSIA: the delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are.

KALON: beauty that is more than skin deep.

LACONIC: expressing much in a few words.

LACUNA: a blank space; a missing part.

LATIBULE: a hiding place, a place of safety and comfort.

LAMBENT: to glow or flicker softly. Luminous, light or brilliant.

LIMERENCE: the state of being infatuated with another person.

LONGANIMITY: still suffering while planning revenge.

LOUCHE: disreputable; morally dubious.

LUCIFORM: resembling light in appearance; having, in some respects; the nature of qualities of light.

LUMINESCENCE: light produced by chemical, electrical or physiological means.

MALTALENT: the negative emotions of wanting injury or harm to befall someone; a hostile behavior or attitude towards someone considered an enemy.

MARMORIS: the shining surface of the ocean.

MAZARINE: a dark blue color; rich blue or reddish-blue color.

MELIORISM: the belief that the world gets better; the belief that humans can improve the world.

MÉLOMANIE: an excessive and abnormal love and deep attraction to music and melody.

MERCURIAL: subject to sudden or unpredictable changes.

MESMERIC: appealing; drawing attention.

MORDACIOUS: biting or given to biting; biting or sharp in manner; caustic; capable of wounding.

MORPHEAN: of or relating to Morpheus, to dreams, or to sleep.

MOXIE: courage, nerve, determination.

NEBULOCHAOTIC: a state of being hazy and confused.

NEFARIOUS: wicked, villainous, despicable.

NEMESISM: frustration, anger or aggression directed inward, toward oneself and one's way of living.

NERITIC: pertaining to shallow coastal waters.

NOETIC: of or associated with or requiring the use of mind.

NOIRCEUR: the state of being pitch black in color; a state of lacking illumination.

NUBIVAGANT: wandering in the air, moving through the air.

NUMINOUS: spiritual or supernatural; surpassing comprehension or understanding; mysterious.

ONEIRODYNIA: restless, disturbed sleep, characterized by nightmares and sleepwalking.

OPHIOMORMOUS: snake-like.

ORPHIC: mysterious and entrancing, beyond ordinary understanding.

PETRICHOR: the scent of rain on dry earth.

POIESIS: creation; creative power or ability.

PORPHYROUS: purple; of purple hue.

PRATE: to talk excessively and pointlessly.

PROCELLOUS: tempestuous, stormy.

QUIDDITY: the essence of something.

QUIXOTIC: extravagantly chivalrous or romantic; visionary, impractical or impracticable.

RANTIPOLE: a wild, reckless young person; to be wild and reckless.

REDAMANCY: the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full.

REDOLENT: having a strong distinctive fragrance; serving to bring to mind.

REMEANT: coming back, returning.

RESPLENDENT: having brilliant or glowing appearance; dazzling and impressive in appearance through being richly colorful or sumptuous.

REVERIE: a state of being pleasantly lost in one's thoughts; a daydream.

RODOMEL: juice of roses mixed with honey.

ROSEATE: rose-like; overly optimistic.

RUTILANT: glowing or glittering with red or gold light.

SANGUINEOUS: accompanied by bloodshed.

SASHAY: to strut or move about in an ostentatious or conspicuous manner.

SCIAMACHY: a battle against imaginary enemies; fighting your shadow.

SEQUACIOUS: lacking independence of originality of thought.

SERAPHIC: beautiful and pure; having a sweet nature befitting an angel or a cherub; of or relating to an angel of the first order.

SERENDIPITY: finding something good without looking for it.

SKINT: having little or no money avaliable.

SOLIVAGANT: someone who wanders or travels the world alone; a solitary adventurer.

SOMNIATE: to dream, to make sleepy.

SORTIGER: delivering prophecies of the future; having the qualities of being oracular.

STELLIFEROUS: having or abonding with stars.

STELLIFY: to transform from an earthly body into a celestial body; to place in the sky as such.

SUCCIDUOUS: ready to fall, falling.

SPUME: a white mass of bubbles or froth on the top of a wave.

SYNODIC: relating to or involving the conjunction of stars, planets or other celestial objects.

TARANTISM: the uncontrollable urge to dance.

TEMENOS: a sacred circle where no one can be oneself without fear.

THANATOPHOBIA: fear of death.

TYYNEYS: the state of peacefulness; absent of worry or fear, being composed and at ease.

ULTRAMARINE: beyond the sea; greenish-blue color.

VELLEITY: a wish or inclination not strong enough to lead to action.

VENERATION: a profound emotion inspired by a deity.

VESPERTINE: in or of the evening; setting at the same time as, or just after, the sun.

VERDANT: with plants and flowers in abundance.

VERMEIL: a liquid composition applied to a gilded surface to give luster to the gold.

VERTICORDIOUS: to turn the heart from evil.

VIOLESCENT: tending toward violet color.

VORFREUDE: the joyful anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures.

WANDERLUST: a strong desire to travel and explore the world.

WHIST: to hush or silence; to still, to become still.

cerezzzita©, 2022 · all rights reserved

your honor who gives a fuck. like for real

simon has a scorpio moon, i know he does, i heard people with scorpio moons means their mother had a hard birth/pregnancy and it makes sense to me. also a libra sun maybe???? he’s a big justice guy i feel

going by his birthday on historicawiki he’s a Scorpio Sun and Cancer Moon (jfc the “emo” jokes were not jokes!!). his chart is ALL water and fire *sweats nervously*

but you’re on to something bc Scorpio and its aspects or House placements can indicate strong ties to death, difficult birth, or rebirth 👀👀👀 Scorpio is INTENSE!!! I just KNOW this man has the most astronomically fucked up Eighth House (death/transformation) 😭 of all time… and Twelfth House (secrets, psychic power) and Fourth House (family, home life) 😭😭😭

other thoughts:

-Sag Venus sextile Scorpio Pluto. you’re never getting out of his bed #rip. combined with his Sun, we can safely assume that sex/intimacy is everything to him. it’s his most natural form of communication. it’s his main drive, he seeks the power from sex that he can easily wield over others

-Sagittarius Venus = when he loves you he wants to crawl inside your brain and live there. combined with all his strong Scorpio placements you are simply Not Allowed to keep anything from this guy lol sorry

-who headcanon-ed the Ghost distribution system?? like he’s a cat? more correct than we could ever know

-plus a Capricorn Mars? square Pluto?

(tolerates it from ONE person and that respect goes to our Libra stellium king John Price 🙂↕️)

-surprisingly level-headed, I’ll be damned

-the stars also agree that he’s a jokester!

-wouldn’t mind being submissive! is a romantic at heart! unfortunately he has too many trust issues to even consider it :(

-now you might THINK his Saturn is wrecking havoc on his chart— and it is, but we’ll get to that later— but for those who persevere through hardship, Saturn rewards you many many many times over

-Chiron (minor asteroid, healing) has gotta be working overtime

-that secret psychic power, btw: Simon has the power of optimism. I shit you not! push him far enough and he will bend and reshape his reality with the power of hope. I CANNOT make this shit up.

---

greeble neeble gomble womp?? e mfucking worgle smeet huga dorble!!!!

😠.

it turned to smut in seconds, i cannot control my own hands, ok. 18+ (implication of breeding kink or something and simon's a jealous boy)

ex-husband simon who signed the divorce papers without a fight. it'd stung, you're not gonna lie, but it needed to be done and the fact that he didn't make a big fuss about it made things easier for you physically. (emotionally you were in shambles because did he not even want to try and fight for you?)

he comes over only on the weekends when he's on leave.

he's a good father to his boys. he takes them to their softball games when he can, buys them the ice cream and takes them toy shopping.

and then there's a sharp knock at your door on a wednesday afternoon.

"simon?"

he walks in like he owns the place, which technically he does- even pays the mortgage because there's no way you would be able to afford living here with your own measly income.

"what's this the boys are tellin' me 'bout a man bein' in here?" his voice is calm, steady. but you know simon better than you know yourself, and he's furious.

"i- i'm not sure-" he swipes his hand in the air and your mouth clicks shut.

"don't lie t'me, poppet, or i'll be findin' him myself an' you really don't want tha'."

what man? there hasn't been any since the divorce! you're digging through your memories, scrambling to find what the hell he's talking about when-

"oh! it's the plumber!" you take steadying breath. "i called a plumber on sunday. i needed the kitchen sink fixed."

his dark eyes are piercing, so sharp they could cut. simon's always been a walking lie detector, and it's unnerving to be on the opposite end of that analyzing stare.

he nods imperceptibly, then flicks his gaze to behind you, over your head. "show me."

you scoff indignantly. "show you what? the bloody sink?"

simon wordlessly heads to the kitchen and his knees pop as he kneels-

he's actually checking the fucking sink.

with a grunt, he leans his head into the cabinet and twist awkwardly which is no doubt causing a familiar pain to flare up in his lower back. you can't help but wince in sympathy.

lo and behold, there's a shiny, white elbow in the middle of the rest of the dirty, scratched pipe.

he hums, and rises to his feet, closing the cabinet with his leg.

simon approaches you slowly, fingertips touching the kitchen island as he rounds it. "palms flat on the counter, sweetheart."

oh. oh you know exactly what that means, and your pussy throbs almost in reflex. months without his touch and your body still responds the same.

your protest already at the tip of your tongue, almost involuntarily because principles, but he sees right through you, as he's always done.

"jus' a reward for all o' your hard work. takin' care o' the boys is a stressful job all on its own." his worn hand cups the underside of your jaw tenderly. "aren't i always good t'ya?"

your exhales are weak, just like your resolve. "okay."

simon's eyes glint with satisfaction as he lifts his hand, index pointing upwards and twirls it in a slow, deliberate motion.

your palms are flat on the counter when he curls his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and knickers, tugging them downward.

they're flat on the counter when he lowers himself to his knees and taps the inside of your foot, indicating you to widen your stance.

they're curled into fists when his breath puffs against your slick cunt and his warm tongue slides through your folds, drawing lazy circles around your bud. a tingle of arousal shoots up your spine, his mouth sparking a fire right under your navel.

they're reaching for simon, nails sinking into the delicate skin of his wrist as your back bows when you come on his tongue, vision spotted with black, blurry dots and white hot ecstasy coursing through your veins.

your hands are now crossed at the base of your spine, your cheek pressing into the cool kitchen counter as he bends you over it.

"15 minutes before the boys are home from school. tha's plenty o'time, yeah?"

a rhetorical, if you've ever heard one.

your knuckles stain white as you clench your fists at the heavy, hot weight of his manhood stretching your walls to take him in, a sweet burn that you've always loved. he's gentle but sure, bottoming out in one smooth stroke that pushes the air out of your lungs. the sibilant hiss simon lets out is never fails to elicit a whimper out of you.

"fuck," he groans. "i could stay inside this pretty pussy forever."

and the dirty talk. how much you've missed it.

"would you like tha', pet? be inside of ya til you don't know where i end and you begin?"

a garbled mhm slips past your lips. your head already empty at just the sensation of being so unbearably full that it feels like you're tearing at the seams.

"another time, then, since the kids'll be home soon."

he begins to move, shallow but firm thrusts that drag his cock along your nerves deliciously- a sure fire way of getting you to climax around him in minutes.

your walls begin to squeeze down as the knot in your stomach tightens, and he lets go of your wrists, looping an arm around your waist and straightens you- his broad chest to your much smaller back.

his clever fingers wind downwards, and rub precise, little circles on your slippery clit, and it's all too much, you're hurtling toward the precipice at neck break speed- "god, simon, please-"

his pace never falters, not his hips nor his fingers as your moans begin to rise in pitch. "i'll get ya there, love."

he does, he gets you to your highest peak- blindingly intense- one that chokes the very breath out of you and slackens your knees. "i've got ya."

there's no strength left in you to brace for the spine-jarring thrusts he gives after, the only thing keeping you from sprawling forward is the arm that's looped around you as he pulls you to him.

"on anything?" he rumbles.

your ears ring at that because he can't possibly- your head shakes unbidden.

"good."

the last four thrusts are heavy, backed by his weight, and he smothers a loud groan into the junction of your shoulder as he finishes inside of you- thick, viscous cum filling you until it begins to drip and fall to the floor with an audible plop.

he presses tender little kisses to your sweaty shoulder and nips the side of your neck. "just in time."

the clock on the stove says 5 minutes before the bus gets there.

he helps you redress, chuckling under his breath when you won't look him in the eye. "i'll get the kids, go get cleaned up."

the knot in your chest loosens when you hear the boys' laughter at seeing their father on the driveway. it loosens when simon picks both of them up, one in each arm, and glances up at you as you look down at them from the window.

heat licks up your cheeks when he gives you a smarmy little grin.

idiot.

EASY, BREEZY, BEAUTIFUL - TASK FORCE 141

+ bonus