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Beatles Resources Masterpost
I've never seen anyone collect different Beatles resources all in one place, so I thought it would be nice to create a masterpost for newer or less research savvy Beatles fans looking for where to find them and learn more
Included below are Beatles movies, autobiographies, biographies, magazines, miscellaneous files, archive sites, and much more
This is by no means a comprehensive list of Beatles resources, as there is an often overwhelming amount of sources relating to and informative about the Beatles; this is simply a post to gather more important, prominent, and larger Beatle related texts and media together, as I would love for the online Beatles fan community to be more organized in its research and archive efforts
This is an extremely long post, enjoy!
*PLEASE READ DISCLAIMERS*
This post does not include links to Beatles music videos or where to listen to their music; however, I highly recommend listening to the updated remasters of The Beatles' albums done by Giles Martin, George Martin's son (the remasters done AFTER 2009) instead of the 2009 remasters when possible
There is a plethora of misinformation online about The Beatles so PLEASE do your own research, using reliable sources
Some sources have disclaimers attached, in case I believe they may to any degree be misleading or require additional context
All sources have been listed within sections chronologically, not in order of importance
If at any point any of the hyperlinks are broken or are not working, let me know and I’ll try my best to fix or update them
Some of the literary sources here are no longer being published, which is why I’m happy to supply the links here to read them online. However, if they are still in print and you’re able, please go borrow them from your local public library! Some of the movies and documentaries linked below can also be found on streaming or bought online; they are linked below for those unable to easily access them or for whatever other reason
There are some other important sources I could not find reuploads or scans of, but are still listed below in case someone is looking for more important sources
If I come across links to said sources I will edit this post and add them as hyperlinks. Additionally, if someone finds a working, safe link for anything listed without a link or for something they believe should be listed, they can message me and I'd be happy to add it
Movies Starring The Beatles as a Group
A Hard Day's Night (1964) dir. Richard Lester
Help! (1965) dir. Richard Lester
Magical Mystery Tour (1967) dir. The Beatles, Bernard Knowles
Yellow Submarine (1968) dir. George Dunning (The Beatles themselves do not voice their cartoon selves in this film)
Fictional/Partially Fictional Movies made by and/or Starring Beatles (A short selection of the films most often mentioned by Beatles fans)
How I Won the War (1967) dir. Richard Lester
Two Virgins (1968) dir. John Lennon, Yoko Ono
Candy (1968) dir. Christian Marquand
The Magic Christian (1969) dir. Joseph McGrath
Imagine (1972) dir. John Lennon, Yoko Ono, Steve Gebhardt (Some of the aspects in this film are fictional, and some are akin to a documentary)
Give My Regards to Broad Street (1984) dir. Peter Webb
Documentaries/Docuseries
Bed Peace (1969) dir. John Lennon, Yoko Ono (Yoko Ono has since said in 2020 she and John were naïve to think that doing the Bed-Ins would change the world)
Let It Be (1970 Original) dir. Michael Lindsay-Hogg
Let It Be (2024 Remaster) dir. Michael Lindsay-Hogg
The Concert for Bangladesh (1972) dir. Saul Swimmer
Imagine: John Lennon (1988) dir. Andrew Solt
The Beatles Anthology (1995) dir. Geoff Wonfor, Kevin Godley, Bob Smeaton (Focuses mainly on pre-1966 Beatles history and does not cover post-breakup events)
ep. 1 ep.2 George Harrison: Living in the Material World (2011) dir. Martin Scorsese
The True History of the Traveling Wilburys (2007) dir. Willy Smax
ep.1 ep.2 ep.3 Get Back (2021) dir. Peter Jackson
Yoko's Films (including films that list John Lennon as a co-director)
Rape (1969) dir. Yoko Ono, John Lennon
Fly (1970) dir. Yoko Ono, John Lennon
Up Your Legs Forever (1971) dir. Yoko Ono, John Lennon
Movies Made about The Beatles
The Rutles: All You Need Is Cash (1978) dir. Eric Idle, Gary Weis (Beatles parody)
I Wanna Hold Your Hand (1978) dir. Robert Zemeckis
The Hours and Times (1991) dir. Christopher Munch (This film is speculative)
Two of Us (2000) dir. Michael Lindsay-Hogg (This film is speculative)
The Rutles 2: Can't Buy Me Lunch (2003) dir. Eric Idle (Beatles parody)
Books Written by The Beatles
In His Own Write (1964) by John Lennon
A Spainard in the Works (1965) by John Lennon
I Me Mine (1980) by George Harrison
Skywriting by Word of Mouth (posthumous, 1986) by John Lennon (Partially autobiographical and partially fictional)
The Beatles Anthology (2000) by The Beatles (Book version of the docuseries)
Postcards from the Boys (2004) by Ringo Starr
The Lyrics: 1956 to the Present (2021) by Paul McCartney
Books Written about The Beatles
A Cellarful of Noise (1964) by Brian Epstein
Yellow Submarine Comic (1968) by Paul S. Newman
The Beatles Illustrated Lyrics (1969) ed. Alan Aldridge
The Beatles Illustrated Lyrics 2 (1971) ed. Alan Aldridge
A Twist of Lennon (1978) by Cynthia Lennon
Loving John (1983) by May Pang
Rock 'N' Roll Times: The Style and Spirit of the Early Beatles and Their First Fans (1983) by Jürgen Vollmer
John (2005) by Cynthia Lennon
Wonderful Today (2007) by Pattie Boyd with Penny Junor
Miss O'Dell: my hard days and long nights with the Beatles, the Stones, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, and the women they loved (2009) by Chris O'Dell
George Harrison: Living in the Material World (2011) by Olivia Harrison
George Harrison: Behind the Locked Door (2013) by Graeme Thomson
NOTE: Many beginner Beatles fans tend to read books written by authors Mark Lewisohn and Philip Norman as introductions to the Beatles; however, both of these authors can be incredibly biased for and against certain figures in Beatle history and require often hefty amounts of context to properly analyze them in an accurate manner, Norman in particular.
Magazines
The Beatles Book (Only Original 77 Issues) (1963-1969)
Paul McCartney Playgirl (1982)
Paul McCartney Playgirl (1985)
Archive and Timeline Sites
Meet The Beatles For Real (A site with mostly paparazzi, fan, and personal photos of the Beatles and their associates, along with some transcribed interviews, fan stories, and much more)
Beatles Bible (Primarily useful for basic information surrounding The Beatles' music together and solo can be found here, such as album/single release dates, in addition to pictures, a fan forum, and other basic info; not cumulative)
DM Beatles (Basic outlined timelines for 1963-1970 and album/single releases; not cumulative)
The Beatles On Film (A collection of almost every publicly available filmed video of The Beatles, together and solo, logged for reference purposes)
Beatles Interviews Database (Not cumulative)
Harrison Archive (Actively updating archive of interviews, fan encounters, quotes, and stories from or surrounding George Harrison; fun fact: Olivia Harrison, George's widow, follows the Instagram version of this archive)
The Paul McCartney Project (Archive of Paul McCartney interviews, dates for concerts, and more)
Misc. Documents/Videos
Around the Beatles (1964) dir. Rita Gillespie
The Beatles in Rishikesh Home Videos (1968)
The Beatles in Rishikesh Archival Footage and Home Videos (1968)
The John Lennon and Yoko Ono Playboy Interviews Transcript (1980)
The John Lennon and Yoko Ono Playboy Interviews Audio (1980)
John Lennon FBI Files
The Beatles FBI File
The Beatles Accepting Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction (1988)
The Beatles/Threetles Reunion at Friar Park (1994)
The Beatles/Threetles Studio Footage (1995)
Paul and George Anthology 3 Studio Interviews for VH1 (1997)
Concert for George (2002)
Animatics and Test Footage for Scrapped Motion Capture Yellow Submarine Remake (2009)
Audio Files
Beatles Christmas Records 1963, 1964, 1965, 1966, 1967, 1968, 1969
The Beatles Artifacts (Different takes/demos of songs along with studio chatter; the link supplied simply lines out what is on all of these Artifacts, as many of them are currently unavailable on Internet Archive)
John Lennon Last Interview (1980)
Hey did you know I keep a google drive folder with linguistics and language books that I try to update regularly
Slasher Handler
Description from the discord:
My next (first fanfic) project is going to be an AU for charmed!slasher!Simon where reader knows he's dangerous, finds out he's literally a killer, and decides to provide him with ✨enrichment✨ to help him… I dunno? Control his urges? Channel them into good? Meet the need before the distressing behavior starts? They're way over their head.
Series Content Warnings: DARK FIC, 18+/MDNI, Alternate Universe - Serial Killer 141, Serial Killer Simon "Ghost" Riley x Final Girl Reader, sexual content, dubious consent, under-negotiated kink, mind games
Please review chapter specific content warnings
Read on AO3
Part 1 - Meeting Your New Neighbor (SFW)
Part 2 - Grocery Shopping (SFW)
Part 3 - Meeting Kyle For Coffee (Time skip) (SFW)
Part 4 - Consequences (To Meeting Kyle For Coffee) (NSFW)
Part 5 - Reward (For Being So Considerate) (NSFW)
Part 5.5 - After the Reward (From Simon's POV) (NSFW)
Part 6 - Simon's Been Restless (NSFW)
Part 7 - Date Activities (NSFW)(Not Spicy!)
Part 8 - Romance Isn't Dead (NSFW)(Not Spicy!)
Part 9 - Pneumothorax (NSFW)
Gaz Interlude - A look into the medical side of things (SFW)
Gaz Interlude Part 2 - The other side of the medical side of things (SFW)
Soap Interlude - Guess who's out on good behavior? Part 11 - Slip Lead (NSFW)
Fics and drabbles that lay in the realm of horror whether that be straight spooks or non-con fantasies (basically if it has non-con or allusions to it then it'll be classed under horror over smut)
Fics
No Second Location - mainly serial killer Soap, some serial killer 141 Savage and Sacrosanct and further plot- historical fantasy, Soap and Ghost The Revelation - cult shit with Ghost and Soap The Eyes of God - evil religious Ale and Rudy Devil's Trumpet - Appalachian horror with 141 Cry Baby - Ghost plays with you while Gaz is away Back Chat & Sequel - IT reader getting bullied by Soap Foul Magic - druid Soap Deductive Reasoning - fish folk 141 Make your own way home - Soap possessing you to get to Ghost Mace teaching reader to deepthroat for Ghost Mace raping reader to make her hero worship Ghost
Drabbles
AU Thoughts Wonderland AU thoughts Neverland AU thoughts Westworld AU thoughtsFallout AU thoughts
Expanded with Drabbles Ghost kidnapping a civilian - #mhairidrabblescodkidnappers Graves doll - #mhairidrabblesdoll Good Boy Bad Girl - #mhairi's good boy bad girl
Soap Soap who loves his fleshlight more than you Soap who gets his team to run train on you Trick or Treat with Soap Obsessive Soap Soap’s obsessive girlfriend Soap preying on Catholic virgins Creepypasta Soap Dogfighting but the dog is Soap
Price Tinsel choking with Price Price breeding you Never lets go Price Price’s retirement plan Kidnapper Price Price manipulating his way to a wife Sleazy politician Price Tactical questioning with Price Price intending to steal you and your boyfriend
Gaz Branding with Gaz Gaslighter Gaz “Romantic” Gaz
Ghost Serial killer Simon Ghost who targets vulnerable women Matching scars Ghost
Ghoap Circus!Ghoap thoughts Marriage of convenience with Laird MacTavish Forced marriage with Simon Ghost mad at you for not realising you are Soap’s Soap using Ghost to lube you up Ghost fucking you to punish Soap Loan shark Price sending Ghoap to deal with you
Other Traded to Kortac Temporarily blinded reader Toxic senior officer 141 Astronaut reader Escape room Beta reader forced to be an omega Price and his dogs Price making a doll for Ghost 141 and how they break girls Bellesa sex toy customer service Serial killers Gaz and Ghost Price forced husband historical fantasy Misogynist to transfem 141 Salem witch trial Price and Ghost Honeytrap omega Flight with Price and Ghost Ghost kidnapping a nanny for Soap’s surprise baby Blindfolded reader with someone who is not her boyfriend Soap Soap’s filthy notebook Werewolf Johnny selling you out Ex-husband Simon sending Gaz to break your heart Crow shifter 141 Farmer with a holiday lodge Halloween not real cops Sustainability officer
Girls That Hate Cops and Buy Guns.
tags: fae!Soap x f!reader, gun play, stalking, ghoul brand magical bullshit, threats of violence, cnc kink exploitation, Soap is a rabid dog that should be put down, 2nd pov, reader is mentioned to be US American(sorry), minor mention of reader's eyes, smut baiting... sorry about that.
He knows you're home, can smell you, feel you moving through the apartment. His hands press against the locked door, his breathing deep as he tries to absorb the subtle scent of your home leaking through the cracks of the apartment door. He's been coming back here for days, following you home, biding his time, trying to convince himself not to force his way inside, not to mince the tumblers in your lock. The thought of you makes his teeth itch, makes his mouth water at the sight of your skin, the way you tip your head, the length of you neck. All on display for him as you work behind Price's bar, he just knows it.
It's hunger that gnaws at him, that forces his feet forward, that's stirring in his belly every time you pass him a drink. That tinge of inspiration makes his mouth water. Something in your fae-touched eyes that looks at him and knows exactly what to serve makes him feel like he's starving. He needs a new artist, and you're such a perfect fit. He just needs to get his hooks in you, and you'll fill him up. He won't be hungry anymore with you sitting in his stomach. He knows it. This time it'll be different. He won't pump too much inspiration into you, won't clog your brain too much. He can get it right this time, he won't suffocate you under his need this time.
The lock clicks, his magic invading every crack in the wooden door, filling in gaps that soak into the grooves, that make the screws loosen around the hinges. He feels the ache of the forest, the cries of the lumber now quiet. He's so hungry.
Your flat is dark. The soft light of the streetlamps filtering in through the windows where your blinds haven't been shut tight enough. There's light under your bedroom door, warm and welcoming. He follows it like a moth to a flame, his fingers ache for you, desperate to sink into your flesh, to tear at your heart, to make a home for himself in the recesses of your mind and carve and carve and carve until there's nothing left. Price warned him to stay away from his new bartender, but how could he? It was like dangling a steak in front of a starving wolf and hoping it wouldn't bite.
You ooze inspiration, all you need is a muse.
Something metal presses against the back of his head. Cold steel. It burns through the short hair on his head, dizzying iron and carbon with every intention to kill. Soap's blood burns hot, thrums through his veins with every beat of his heart, his muscles shaking with something closer to desire than fear. He can feel the annoyance radiating off of you, the flaring violence that tugs at your fingers and presses the muzzle of your gun harder against his skull. It's exciting. You might kill him.
"What are you doing in my house?" You ask behind him. There's no fear in your voice, the question flat, the score easily settled. You have the weapon, and he's broken a rule. Trespassing. How rude. It shivers through him, the indifference that carries you, that presses the barrel of a gun against his skin and bubbles iron against his skull.
"Where did you get that?" He asks, cocking his head. It drags the metal over his skin, the burn trailing from one point to the next. The metal digs into the thin skin, painful. No, it's excruciating. He wants more, wants to feel the way your nails would claw at his flesh, feel you drag iron over his broken skin. It shudders down his spine, thinking of all the ways you could hurt him. It makes his mouth water. He wonders if you'll pull the trigger. Heat rolls through his stomach.
"Brought it from home," There's a smile in your voice, barely there but enough to make his cock twitch. The cock of the hammer sends his blood rushing south, the venom in your smile as you press the barrel a little harder against him. "Worse monsters than you in the states, but I figure the method of disposal is the same."
"Ya think a bullet'll take me oot?"
"I'm willing to try it." You hum. He wants to hurt you back, wants to feel your blood squelch under his teeth, feel your skin warm under his hand, poke at the bruises he leaves... He wants to make you feel- feel anything really. He wants your attention, however he gets it. "Why are you here?" You question, finally hitting on the curiosity he's felt burning at the edge of your words.
"I want you," He says plainly. There's no way to convey the ache in his blood, the song of pain you're inspiring, in just three words, so he doesn't try. He turns his head, lets the muzzle drag over his skin, burning a path through his hair, through the thin muscle over his skull. You won't shoot him, he doesn't think, or you would have already. He manages to get all the way around, his body following the path of least resistance to face you.
Your brows twitch, your lips set in a grimace, watching the burn of his skin around the steel of your gun. You try to move it away and he catches your hand, pressing his harder against his forehead. He hadn't realized he was panting, that seeing the white, full moon, of your eyes would make his cock hurt. He grips your other hand when you try to push him away, pressing it hard against his aching cock. You flinch, your hips jumping, your fingers curling. The feeling of him...
Didn't you know? He's enjoying this.
"You've been following me," You try a different route, his eyes fluttering as he ruts against your hand. You swallow, you don't think the gun still burning the skin on his forehead is the threat you'd hoped it would be.
"Want ta lick your pretty cunt," He growls, his teeth bared, he yanks your hand keeping you in place when you cringe away from his voice, "Wanna fuck ya 'til you're bleedin', beggin' me ta stop." You can feel the twitch of his cock through his pants. He feels big. Heat tingles between your legs, your underwear suddenly pressed too close, the seam of your shorts catching against your clit as you shift on your feet. You feel like all your senses have been forced to high alert with just a few words.
"Someone should put you down," You glare.
"Ah wish you fuckin' would." He groans, his eyes electric even in the dark, "Wish you'd pull that fuckin' trigger, give me a reason to rip those little shorts off ya." You look away from him, your cheeks are burning. The threat makes you want to squirm as much as it chills you. "Knew ya'd like that, dirty birdie."
"I'm calling Price," You tell him after a deep breath. Soap blinks, something in his eyes sliding a little off kilter.
"Don't." He warns. You stick your tongue out at him, almost as quickly as he lets go of your hand to try and grab between your legs. You see his victorious smile, his fingers brushing over the wet spot on your shorts, at the same time you say his boss's full name.
You smell cigar smoke as soon as the last syllable leaves your lips, see a big hand grab the back of Soap's neck to pull him away from you. The air is seething with anger.
"Tryin' to have a nice night with the Missus," Price growls, "and you're causin' trouble."
"Ahm naw-"
"Save it," Price barks, he tips his head your way, a silent acknowledgement, before his anger is turned on Soap again, "Told ya to keep away from my staff, mutt."
Soap casts a pleading look your way before both of them disappear. Smoke settles heavy on the floor where the fae once stood. You finally let yourself lower your weapon, letting the shivering in your muscles overtake you as you try to find your way back to lock your door.
scrap metal muzzle part i
this started off being based on a nightmare i had and spun entirely out of control and become... this fucking thing. enjoy my ghoap x fat reader scrapyard fic.
this is just part 1 of 2, because holy hell did this get long (11k words in this part alone). part 2 is darker, so be aware.
cw: vague references to a past abusive relationship, manipulation, oral sex, threesome (kinda), voyeurism/enthusiastic cuckholding (sort of? idk how to even categorize it), possessiveness, un-negotiated kink, pet play, 24/7 kink lifestyle, praise, verbal degradation (towards soap only), only lightly edited bc i'm tired
in hindsight, you probably should have spent more time planning your escape. should've had a mechanic look over the car you purchased for cash off craigslist, should've planned your route more thoroughly, should've taken food with you. ah well. it's too late to go back, by now phil will have come home and noticed that you're gone. he's probably making the rounds to all of your friend's houses, banging on their doors and demanding to be let in. at least you'd had the foresight to warn them, you suppose. didn't tell any of them where you were going or what was happening, obviously, just told them you were finally leaving phil and he might come around looking. the repeated choruses of 'oh thank god' had spurred you on, stoking the fire within you that made your quick exit from that relationship feel like a life or death situation. hell, for all you know about phil's temper, it very well might've been.
the first few hours on the road went just fine as you broke every speed limit you came across, careening towards the sunset as you made your slapdash escape. the van was in your possession less than twenty minutes before you sent the mass text to your friends and family, letting them know you were on your way out. in less than sixty minutes everything you'd owned in phil's apartment made it's way into the back of the van, some of it boxed but most of it rolling loose. all your clothes are in garbage bags, your jewelry in ziplocks. out of spite you took all the silverware and remotes, all of them shoved in a grocery bag along with your toiletries and makeup.
by the time the sun had fully set, rain started pouring down. it was already difficult to see with the yellow, clouded headlights, but this unexpected monsoon just made it worse. it was already hard to navigate the winding country roads this way, but the deluge of rain made the line on the road look blurrier, and you couldn't help but worry about potentially crossing over the white line on accident and winding up in a ditch. you'd probably be safer on a bigger road with rumble strips, but you had figured risking it out here was still a far side safer than taking to the major highways where phil might have his cop buddies be on the lookout for you.
the rattletrap van gives up the ghost when you stop by the side of the road to pee, squatting so only your ass hung out the door and got rained on. you grumble as you pull your underwear over cold, wet skin, and cursed when you turned the key and realized the engine was outright refusing to turn over again. fuck, shit, motherfucker. you slam your hands against the steering wheel as you curse out god, phil, and nissan while the rain continues to slam against your windshield in a deafening cacophony. you turn your headlights off to look for light pollution against the cloudy skies, something to indicate which direction you should start walking in so you can find some help. hope rises in your chest when you see not just light pollution, but a small, glowing yellow square off in the not too far distance. it's got to be a building of some kind, clearly occupied. perfect. hopefully whoever's inside is feeling charitable.
after digging through black garbage bag after black garbage bag, you finally find your best coat and get to walking. the rain is freezing cold, and the northern wind, that bastard, is whipping it right in your face, shoving your hood back off your head and soaking your hair. you can only cling to your hood for so long until the biting rain makes your hands go numb, forcing you to shove them into your pockets as you trudge forward. why don't raincoat hoods have a drawstring like hoodies do? this is fucking bullshit. ugh, fuck, you're going to look like an absolute mess when you arrive, but hopefully that helps earn you some sympathy when you ask for help.
it feels like ages until you come up on the building with the lit window, but when you do, it's clear it's not a house, but a business. that... might be better, actually. it feels less intrusive to go to a business for help instead of a private residence. nobody's gonna answer the door with a shotgun if you walk up to a business. probably. right?
the sign above the door says s&j scrapyard, and with the light that spills out of the lit window, you can see the high fences that run around the building, large jagged shadows of scrap towering behind them. with a hard swallow, you rap on the door. shave and a haircut, just to let whoever's inside know that you're there and you're friendly. it feels like ages that you stand there, back towards the wind, waiting for someone to come, but when the door finally swings violently open you find yourself wishing you'd never come at all.
a huge man stands in the doorway, his big body nearly blocking out all the sickly yellow light that tries to pour out from his dry office and out into the night. he's so broad you wonder idly if he has to enter and exit doorways at a slight angle just to fit. he's covered from head to toe, with big boots, skeleton patterned gloves, and a balaclava, leaving only his dark eyes and the bridge of his nose exposed. he's so tall you find your head tilting back a bit just to look him in the eye. he makes for a very intimidating figure, and you can't be sure if it's the cold and wet that has you shaking or his domineering presence.
"wot you want?" he barks out, chuckling when you flinch. "s'after hours and i don't got copper f'ya anyways. beat it."
"i- no, my- my car broke down just up the road. i was just wondering if you knew of a mechanic's shop that might still be op-open." you stammer out through chattering teeth. from inside the building you hear a high pitched, animalistic whine and the sound of metal clattering on concrete.
"oi! settle!" the man in the mask barks over his shoulder before turning back to you. "ain't nothin' open this time of night."
"oh." shit, ok, now what? do you trudge back to the van on your sore feet only to come back in the morning and ask for a phone? do you curl up under the small awning and sleep here, hoping this man doesn't mind? do you-
"tell you wot- i'll come tow ya, and you can sleep in the parkin' lot. we can call a mechanic in the mornin'." the man says, gruffness in his tone easing up just slightly. "i'd invite you in, but the mutt- 'e gets too excited about new people. especially pretty girls. might bite on accident."
being called a pretty girl is a surprise, especially since you're pretty sure you look like a drowned rat, and you can feel your eyebrows rocket to your hairline at the praise. of all the things you'd expected a 6'5" scrapyard worker with a thick manc accent to call your fat ass, 'pretty' didn't make the list. still, it's nice, even if it does have you a little flustered.
"oh, uh, sure, yeah, thank you so much, i really appreciate your help." the relief is palpable, you can feel the tenseness in your shoulders melt away. finally, one thing has gone your way. you're determined to cling to your silver linings. thank god you've got a big van full of bags of clothes that you can sleep on top of and not, like, a vw rabbit full of pots and pans.
in no time at all the two of you are in the cab of a tow truck, rolling down the road to your broken down ride. the man tells you his name is simon, he's been picking up broken down cars and selling them for scrap for a few years since leaving the military. it's just him and the mutt out there, the mechanic he'll call is in next closest town, which is about a thirty minutes drive out. you tell him a little bit about yourself, explaining vaguely that you've just left a volatile situation back home and are looking for a fresh start. simon doesn't say anything to that, doesn't ask prodding questions, just hums thoughtfully as he pulls up to your shitty van before hopping out, hooking it up, and towing it back to the front of the shop.
"i'll take a peek under the 'ood myself tomorrow, but dunno 'ow much 'elp i'm gonna be. my business is takin' things apart, not really one for puttin' 'em back together." simon tells you before he leaves you for the night, cursing at his yowling dog when he steps back into the yellow light of his office.
sleep comes easier than you thought it would, the high adrenaline from making your daring escape suddenly coming to a screeching halt and bringing you crashing down while you rest on your nest of clothes and blankets. you don't even have time to kick your shoes off before you're drooling on the bag under your cheek, letting your guard entirely down as you take solace in the pitter patter of rain on the windshield of your locked van. phil could drive by this place, see the van, and never even know you're inside. that comforting knowledge is what propels you into a deep, dreamless sleep that's only disturbed by three sharp knocks to the door sometime in the midmorning.
"got breakfast, if y'like." a gruff voice calls through the door as you stretch out the aches in your bones. fuck, your hair probably is a mess, but it's hard to give a shit when a meal is being offered. after a quick change of clothes and fussing with your hair in the rearview mirror a bit, you clamber out into the bright morning sun, beelining for the front door and letting yourself in. the office isn't too big, just a small space for customers to stand at a big, long counter. there's also a kennel set up there- empty save for the fluffy pillow and chew toys left behind. there's a few doors lined up along the back wall, and you assume one leads out to the scrapyard, the other to simon's personal quarters. you're not sure about the third. janitor's closet maybe?
"oi." simon appears out of the far left door, jerking his head, beckoning you to come around the counter. you cautiously step through the door into the kitchenette of what looks like a small studio apartment. it's a real bachelor pad if you've ever seen one. there's a messy bed shoved into the corner, and the walls are completely sparse save for a large television that's hung just a little bit crooked. there's some dirty clothes on the floor, more chewed up rubber dog toys, and several empty beer cans lined up on the windowsill behind the bed. simon pulls out a chair for you at the little kitchen table, metal legs groaning against the linoleum.
"thank you so much, for everything. i don't know how i'm going to be able to repay you." you admit as he places a hot bowl of oatmeal in front of you. to say that your finances are limited is an understatement. phil hadn't allowed you to work for years, so half of your savings were used up on that rattletrap parked out front.
"mm. expect you don't 'ave much in the way of cash, then?" he asks, settling into the seat across the table from you. it's hard not to notice that he isn't eating. probably doesn't want to take off his mask in front of a stranger, you rationalize, trying not to think too hard about why he's wearing one in the first place. maybe he's scarred up, burnt, or otherwise disfigured. not your place to ask, really, not when he's been so helpful. he's allowed his own secrets, just like you're allowed yours.
"no, sorry. i, uh, i mean. you could put me to work, i guess?" you say before shoveling a hot spoonful of breakfast into your mouth. mm, peach instant oatmeal. that's the good stuff. simon leans back in his chair, crossing his massive arms over his equally massive chest, the corners of his eyes creased in what you hope is a smile.
"and the mechanic? gonna go work for 'im, too?" he asks, tone teasing.
"whatever it takes, i guess." you say with a shrug as you slowly finish your breakfast, savoring every bite. simon watches you eat in silence, dark eyes trained on your every move. it's unnerving, but you imagine that way out here, he probably doesn't have guests very often. hell, it's incredible he has two chairs for his kitchen instead of just one. it's likely you're eating out of the only bowl in the whole place.
"tell you wot. i'll show ya 'round the junkyard, introduce you to the mutt. 'e's been needin' a playmate, and i' 'aven't 'ad the time t'give 'im the attention 'e needs. you play with 'im and keep 'im occupied for a few days, and i'll make sure your van's taken care of." simon tells you, and you keep waiting for the catch.
"so... if i play with your dog for a few days you'll cover the mechanic's fees and call us even?" you ask, unsure if you're misunderstanding. he huffs out a laugh and nods. "... didn't you say he bites?"
"does sometimes, when 'e's oll riled up. olready muzzled 'im up f'ya, if that 'elps." he cocks his head, eyes still trained on you. "wot you say?"
"you don't even know what the cost of the repairs is going to be." you point out. "i doubt playing fetch and keeping fido out from under your feet is going to be worth whatever it costs to fix my shitty van."
"mm, maybe. still might be a right side cheaper than drivin' 'im oll the way to the city, boardin' 'im in a kennel for a few weeks. knowin' 'im, i'd probably 'ave t'pay extra, considerin' what a bloody 'andful 'e is." simon grabs your empty bowl. "tell ya wot, you 'andle 'im today and we'll consider the tow service covered. i'll call the mechanic, get an estimate, and we can take it from there. olright?"
"yeah, ok. thanks." you tell him, throwing him a small, grateful smile as he stands to clean your dishes. "i, uh, i really appreciate this. i won't let you down."
simon looks you over as he rinses off your bowl in the sink, chuckling to himself as if what you've just said is funny. ok. weird. but it could be worse, you suppose.
when he finishes, simon takes you on a tour of the scrapyard, showing you the piles of crushed cars, broken home appliances, and seemingly endless bins and barrels of various parts. it's a labyrinth of scrap, irregular alleys and lanes zig zagging all over the place. you're gonna get lost in here, you can just feel it in your bones. in the back is the car crusher, a barbaric looking piece of machinery that simon seems especially proud to own and operate. judging by how full this yard is, you'd guess he gets plenty of use out of it. the heat from the rising sun seems magnified in here, possibly intensified by the piles of scrap metal all around you, piled much higher than you are tall. simon walks alongside you, peering around each corner as if he's looking for something.
"'ang on, lemme call soap." simon tells you mere seconds before letting out an earsplitting whistle. "soap! come!"
there's an instant commotion up and around a blind corner, the sound of a big body hoisting itself off the ground and running towards you as fast as it can while you and simon saunter in the general direction of the noise. when you finally see soap, you stop dead in your tracks, jaw dropping so hard you're afraid it'll scuff your already dirty shoes.
this whole time, you'd been expecting some sort of half-pitbull junkyard dog, a canine with a skull that's roughly the size of a watermelon with badly cropped ears and a tail that won't stop wagging. what's bounding up towards you on all fours isn't even remotely close to what you'd seen in your minds eye. soap is, in fact, a fully grown man wearing shoes and gloves shaped like paws, with kneepads and the tiniest black speedo you've ever seen. there's a pert little rubber tail sticking out of a hole in the back, wagging as he wiggles his hips in obvious excitement. a shaggy looking mohawk is crushed under the strap of a black and brown leather mask that's made to look like a rottweiler's snout with floppy ears attached at the top. he looks at you expectantly with the bluest eyes you've ever seen, whining a little bit through what sounds like a gag of some sort.
simon's behind you, his big broad body blocking your retreat when you instinctually try to take a step backwards and away from the petplay enthusiast that's come to a skidding halt and kneeling at your feet. it's hard not to stare with wide eyes at the man in front of you. you're not anti-kink by any means, but, christ, some warning would've been nice, or at the very least a fucking consent check. still, you're not really in a position to argue. you can't afford to pay whatever simon's towing fee would be, seeing as you barely have enough for gas and food. too late to back out now, you suppose.
"you're right. your kennel fees would be enormous." you deadpan, and simon laughs behind you with a deep heh heh heh. a gloved hand presents a well-chewed rubber ball from over your shoulder.
"muzzle will stay on, but 'e can still fetch. it's 'is favorite game, so it should keep 'im occupied for a while. i'll bring lunch f'ya both 'round one." he says as you take the ball, noting the deep toothmarks that are suddenly very obviously human. "be good, soap. remember- no 'umpin' or nothin'. i'll let 'er 'ose you down with cold water if you can't behave."
it's wild how much his threat to soap makes you relax. ok, so this isn't a sex thing, really. he just wants someone to treat his boyfriend (you assume) like a dog while he gets some work done. outsourcing what seems to be a 24/7 lifestyle thing to a desperate traveler. it's still jarring, this nearly naked man in fetish gear loudly panting through a leather mask at your feet, but, hey. you've been to pride before, it's nothing you haven't seen. it's nothing you've ever participated in, either, but you suppose new beginnings will bring about new experiences. you'll just treat this man exactly like a dog for a while and maybe you'll be able to get back on the road soon.
"i'm sure i won't need to do that, he looks like a very good boy." you coo down at soap, who wiggles his hips so hard it makes the rubber tail go whap whap whap against his asscheeks. you really, really don't want to think too hard about how that tail's connected. simon chuckles and pats you on the shoulder.
"that's the spirit. i'll be in the office, let me know if 'e acts up or if you need anythin'." he says before stalking off back through the maze of rust, leaving you alone with soap.
"so." you start awkwardly, and soap huffs out a laugh from behind his leather snout. "hey! just gimme a second, ok? i was expecting a mean pitbull or something, not-" you pause. best to just keep treating him like a dog. "-such a handsome, nice boy. so sue me for being startled."
soap's eyes crease in the corner, an obvious smile, and when you absentmindedly toss the ball a little and catch it his attention snaps to the chewed-upon red rubber.
"can you show me somewhere that i can throw this? this, uh, lane isn't long enough for me to really chuck this, i don't think." genuinely it's amazing this man's impeccably bronzed skin isn't cut to shit, what with all the jagged metal sticking out of columns of ruined cars and appliances. soap's scrambling back to where he came from like a bat out of hell, and you find yourself jogging a little to try to keep up and not lose him.
he leads you to the fenceline, a long open lane that leads right up to the building, with a lawn chair propped up next to a very large dog house in the shade.
"think simon'll be mad if i borrow his chair?" you ask the gagged man that's hopping up on his knees trying to get the ball from your hand.
"mmrf mmmrf!" he 'barks', and you laugh.
"that a no?" you tease, eyebrow cocked as you hold the ball above your head.
"mmrf!" ah. one for yes, and two for no. or it might be the other way around. hm. ah, well, you figure a loyal dog will let you know if you've crossed a line sitting in his owner's spot. you chuck the ball towards the house as you wander towards the shade, laughing as soap scrambles to try to catch the ball, watching him scoop it up with his paws and open the 'jaw' of his leather mask, placing the ball snugly inside before trotting up to you, head held up with pride. the second you try to take the ball, he dodges, clearly in a playful mood as he rests on his forearms and wags his ass in the air.
"oh, you little shit." you laugh as you try to catch the wiley motherfucker to pry the ball out of his muzzle. soap seems thrilled that you're playing along, trying to duck and weave out of your arms reach while you urge him to 'drop it, soap! drop iiiiit!'. when you finally grab the ball and chuck it again, he shoots off after it, moving much faster than someone on their hands and knees should be able to. you post up in the lawn chair, happily accepting the ball that he thankfully chooses to deposit in your lap. your hand hovers over his head as you debate giving him pets. is that crossing a line? you should probably ask him first, right?
"you want head scritches? is it ok to pet?" you ask in a sing-songy voice you reserve for animals and babies too small to make words yet. soap's eyes go wide a minute before you get an affirmative and enthusiastic 'mrrrf'. you slide your fingers under the strap, massaging at the scalp there while you watch his eyes slide closed out of bliss. you wouldn't know for sure, but you'll bet it feels every bit as good as when you get a backrub underneath your bra strap. you can't help but laugh as soap's leg kicks out just like a dog's, thudding against the ground and kicking up dust.
it's funny, really. sitting here in this scrapyard with a half naked man who's pretending to be a dog while enjoying the shade on a warm and sunny day is the nicest time you've had in a good, long while. it sure beats the shit out of any day spent under phil's roof, that's for damn sure. you throw the ball a few more times, and eventually soap seems to get tired from all the fetch and flops down at your feet, sighing contentedly. you hover your hand over his chest, raising your brow in a silent question- is this ok? am i taking it too far if i pet your chest like a dog?
soap, bless him, seems thrilled at how much you're playing along, barking once as he rolls onto his back with his elbows, wrists, and knees bent, kicking his leg out again as you pet at his thick, dark chest hair, making sure to keep your touches all above the sternum. if soap gets hard, the head of his cock peeking out of his tiny little shorts while you gently card your nails through the dense patch of body hair, you politely ignore it, chalking it up to involuntary bodily reactions.
"y'gonna spoil 'im if you keep carryin' on like that." simon's voice comes from seemingly out of nowhere, and, shit, is it one already? you retract your hand like soap's scalded you, immediately standing to get out of simon's seat. soap whines a little in disappointment at the lack of your touch, rolling back onto hands and knees to nuzzle against simon's muscular thigh.
"sorry, i-" a single gloved hand in the air stops your hurried apologies as he hands you a brown paper bag.
"don't fuss, you're olright. johnny bein' good?" johnny? oh. yeah. of course this grown man crawling at your feet doesn't have 'soap' written on his birth certificate. you open the offered bag and find a sandwich- turkey on rye- and a cold can of coke. hell yeah, that sounds perfect.
"yeah, he's a good boy. and, uh, thanks." you raise the lunchbag slightly, and simon grunts in acknowledgement, leaning down to pet soap behind his leather ears. "i can see what you meant, he's got a lot of energy. you might as well build him a giant hamster wheel to run on, just watching him go after that ball makes me tired."
simon huffs out a laugh. "well, thanks t'you i've gotten more work done than i 'ave in a good long while. 'preciate it. i'll call the mechanic after lunch and make an appointment for 'im to come take a look at that van of yours."
"sounds good." you sit tentatively back in the lawn chair, putting your soda in the faded plastic cupholder built into the arm and cracking it open.
"think you can 'andle a few more days of keepin' my boy busy? not sure when price will be able to come by. only mechanic f'miles, 'e's got a full calendar, even with 'is employees 'elp." simon says, unbuckling something on soap's mask. it's not until he pulls it free that you can recognize it for what it is- a bone-shaped rubber gag, covered in drool. you have to blink twice to stop from staring at how chewed up it is.
"yeah, i think so. i think we've had a pretty nice morning together, huh boy?" you ask, and soap just wiggles his ass in an approximation of a wag, audibly panting through his mask.
"you like your new friend? yeah? olright, c'mon. gotta feed the both of us. you stay out 'ere and knock on the window if ya need anythin'." simon instructs while he and soap head back towards the door. it takes a few moments alone and a bite of your sandwich before you piece together that neither of them can eat in a mask, and that you're probably not allowed to see either of them without one. maybe the mask is a kink thing for simon too? ok, sure, that's the most reasonable explanation. they're also probably gonna fuck about this, but that's definitely not your business.
your sandwich and soda are long gone by the time soap trots back to you alone, flopping into the dirt by your side and clearly angling for more chest rubs. you hesitate for a moment, wondering to yourself if you're willing to give him another boner, but you figure simon's probably taken care of him during their lunch, that you don't have anything to worry about. the rest of the afternoon is spent alternating between gently petting at him above the waist, throwing the damn ball, wrestling the damn ball back from him, and idly telling him stories about back when you were allowed to have a job. he seems to enjoy the tales of crazy customers, funny things children would blurt out at you, and small acts of kindness you'd witnessed. when the sun starts to set, soap bumps his head against your knee, an obvious 'get up, go on' if you've ever seen one.
"didn't realize you were a herding breed." you mock-grouse, earning you a huff of laugher from inside a hollow leather snout. he leads you through the maze of twisted steel to the back door, pawing at the dense wood and obviously waiting for you to let him inside.
"hang on, hang on," you tell him as you poke your head in. "uh, simon? soap wants let in, is that okay?"
the groan of a chair sliding on linolieum is your response, and in a few beats simon's masked face greets you.
"impatient mutt. gonna eat in the kennel, then? is that wot you want?" simon chides, and you can't help but feel like you're the one that fucked up somehow. "go on, then. get going."
soap scrambles in past his legs towards the front of the shop, out to where you'd seen his metal crate. you're left standing awkwardly at the door, feeling bashful for having apparently broken a rule you didn't know about. simon notices the way your shoulders are raised, the way you're caving in on yourself, just the same way you did when phil would scream and throw things. unlike phil, he seems to grin at you under his mask, apparently pleased.
"oh, sweet girl, you duckin' your 'ead because you think you're in trouble, too?" simon coos at you, reaching out and rubbing his thumb against your round cheek. "you're a right side more obedient than my johnny, i think. you'd make a proper puppy, wouldn't you?"
"not my scene." you say quietly, and he exhales a small laugh.
"pity, that." he says softly, stroking your face and staring into your eyes for a beat before continuing. "come on, lets get you both fed."
he turns on his heel and steps inside, leaving you stunned and bewildered at the doorway for a moment before you cautiuously venture back in. there's a mostly-finished plate of meat and veggies at the table, and you can hear simon talking to soap through the door, chiding him for being a 'greedy pup' over the sounds of silverware scraping off food from a plate. you just stand in the kitchen awkwardly, waiting to be told what to do in this man's home. you're still a stranger to him, really, and you don't want to overstep while in his space.
when simon returns, he chuckles to see you waiting with your hands held behind your back, patiently waiting for his instructions. he nods to the empty spot at the kitchen table.
"sit."
your obedience is practically instant. you settle into the chair and watch as simon plates your own serving of chicken and steamed veggies, the smell of which makes you hungry. the chicken looks under seasoned as fuck, but, hey, free food is free food, and you're not about to say or do anything to fall out of the good graces of someone who's willing to pay your mechanic's bill in exchange for you throwing a rubber ball for his boyfriend.
"called price, the mechanic. 'e's booked up for a while but should be 'ere by the end of next week. went ahead and moved your van to the back, keep it from gettin' broken into at night." simon informs you as he sets down your plate and silverware with a small clatter on the table. that's a much larger timetable than you'd wanted, but you suppose it can't be helped.
"thank you. for everything." you tell him for the second time today, and those dark eyes smile at you from across the table.
"obedient and grateful. sure you don't want to be a pet, pet? i'd treat ya real nice, just ask soap. lad's got no complaints." dark eyes look you up and down as he sets down a glass of water for you, pausing briefly on your soft tits before his gaze meets your again.
"that might just be the gag." you tease, and you jump a little when simon suddenly lets out a laugh.
"that thing don't stop 'im none. should've 'eard all the bitchin' and moanin' i got this mornin' after breakfast when i told 'im not to 'ump your leg. you'dve thought i'd told 'im that 'e was gettin' fixed." simon teases, and you feel your face heat with embarrassment as you eat your bland chicken, keeping your gaze down at your plate. you eat in silence, simon watching you like a hawk the entire time, like he's studying the way you sit, the way you eat, the way you conduct yourself. he takes your plate away along with his own when you finish, placing them in the sink.
"you'll stay in 'ere with me from now on. need some proper rest on a proper bed if you're goin' t'keep up with soap all week. " he tells you, tone brooking no argument, and you glance nervously at the bed in the corner. it looks like a king size mattress, so it's probably big enough for your wide hips and his broad shoulders... but what about soap?
"does soap normally sleep out there, or am i gonna be taking up his spot?" you ask quietly, nodding towards the door that leads to the lobby.
"normally 'is crate's in 'ere, but 'e'd been actin' up lately and needed punishment." simon replies while rinsing the dishes, tilting his head to look over at you. "you said 'e was good today, right? think 'e should come back in 'ere tonight?"
"he was good, but. well. that's your call, not mine." you say diplomatically, doing your best to be as unobtrusive and unassuming as possible. after years with phil, you've perfected it like an artform.
simon hums, sounding very pleased. "too right, it is. still, if the pup's been good, may as well reward 'im."
he shakes his hands dry over the sink, and saunters over to the door, calling out to soap.
"oi. bird says you were a good pup today. you think you've earned sleepin' in 'ere with us people?" a single, clear bark rings out from the next room. "olright. finish up and bring it in, then."
the door swings closed of it's own accord when he steps away and back towards you, leaning in close enough for you to finally notice how blonde his eyelashes are. huh. maybe he's a ginger under that mask.
"now, as much as we'd both like, s'not safe to 'ave 'im masked and gagged oll the time. you just keep treatin' 'im the way you 'ave been, and no starin', yeah?" simon instructs, voice lowered as if the man that's noisily dragging a metal cage across a concrete floor in the next room could possibly overhear him.
"your house, your rules." you reply quietly, earning you another deep, pleased hum.
"you sure you don't want to be my pup? wouldn't even make ya stay in a kennel at night. bet i wouldn't need t'punish ya at oll. think you like bein' good. y'wanna be good f'me?" he rests his forehead against yours, his cotton-covered nose bumping against the side of yours.
"my knees hurt just watching soap run around all day. i don't think i'm cut out for it." you say as lightly as possible, shoving your hands under your thighs to try to hide the way they're trembling under simon's attention. "besides, you have him, you don't need me-"
"sure i do, love. need ya t'keep soap actin' right, don't i? s'pose you've got a point, though. you're a nice, obedient bird, but i can't 'ave puppies lookin' after puppies, can i?" a loud crash and yelp from the next room elicits a sigh and an eyeroll from simon before he stands back up to his full height, finally giving you some breathing room. fuck, you can feel your heartbeat in your throat. jesus christ, was he hitting on you? while his boyfriend loses a fight with a metal cage in the next room? what's even harder to reconcile is that you liked it, the way this man praises you and pays attention to you. continuing to stay here is probably a bad idea... but, shit, it's not like you have other options. on weak knees you follow simon to the lobby, where soap's crouching down, trying to push a turned-over pet cage with his shoulder.
"can i help?" you ask from behind simon, who turns to wrap his arm around your shoulders. you freeze, uncertain, but when you look to soap, he seems thrilled that his boyfriend (or whatever the fuck they are to each other) is holding you close.
it's almost jarring, seeing soap without his dog mask. he's a handsome guy, with a slightly grown out mohawk and stubble. his strong jaw is marked with a scar that looks like lightning arcing across his chin, and when he turns his head you can see another mark that had been hidden by his mask, a giant star made of scar tissue by his temple. it's huge and ugly, and whatever left it must've been horrifying. you school your face into a less pitying expression, opting to focus instead on how pretty the rest of him is.
"wot a lovely new friend you've got, johnny. offerin' to 'elp you out when she's olready looked after you oll day. a right angel, this one. wot do you say to the pretty girl?" simon's praise washes over you like a warm bath, making you feel golden and glowing underneath your ribs. he doesn't strike you as a particularly easy man to please, if the way he speaks to and about soap is any indication.
"thank ye, pretty girl." soap says, his first human words made even lovelier by his scottish accent.
"of course. this isn't a job for puppies, is it? can't move it with your puppy paws, huh? i'll grab the cage and you be a good boy and just show me where to put it." you coo down at him, and when he smiles at you it's like all of him lights up like a firework as he nods feverishly. the cage isn't heavy, just big and awkward, but you manage to get it tucked into the corner soap points at with his nose with minimal cursing and grunting while simon supervises the both of you from his spot leaning against the door frame.
"there we go, right where it belongs. what a good helper! suchagoodpuppy!" you praise soap, ruffling his mohawk in an approximation of a pat to the head. he looks so pleased to be spoken to this way, treated like the puppy he wants to be. honestly, you're starting to understand the appeal from simon's end of it. puppy play might not be your kink, but seeing this beautiful man smile at you like you're personally responsible for hanging the stars in the sky might be.
simon's arm wraps around you again, this time slung low across your lower back, his hand resting on your big hip. he's getting bolder now, unless you say or do something, you imagine things will only escalate... but you're not sure if you mind. sure, this maybe isn't normally your scene, but these guys have been nothing but kind to you, taking care of you when you needed it most. would it be so horrible to let yourself enjoy them like that? to let them enjoy you?
"startin' to get offended, johnny. you behave for 'er much more than you do f'me." simon teases, eyes smiling.
"she's so good t'me, sir. plays with me as long as i want. talks sweet to me and pets me nice." soap smiles warmly up at you from his spot on the floor, and you can't help but smile softly back.
"yeah? she pet your belly 'ow you like?" simon asks, fingers kneading at the plushness of your hip almost absentmindedly, thumb strumming along your waistband.
"no. doesnae touch me below the ribs." soap looks and sounds a little pouty about it, and you don't know why but it makes you feel embarrassed to have them talk about how you touch soap as if you're not even here.
"because she knows you belong to me." simon's free hand reaches over and tilts your head up to look at him. "isn't that right? you don't play with other people's toys without permission, because you're a polite bird."
"i try to be." your voice sounds so small, and simon rumbles a low, pleased sounding laugh at you before gently chucking your chin and patting your ass.
"come on, you two. on the bed. got a movie for us before we sleep." simon instructs before nodding to you. "go get your sleep clothes and toothbrush out of the van while we set up 'ere."
a motion detecting floodlight illuminates the scrapyard when you wander back out, throwing long, dark shadows behind the piles of rusting metal as you make your way to where simon had towed your shitbox nissan just a few yards from the door. it takes a little digging before you find your sleep shorts, tank top, and toothbrush, and you change quickly in the van before coming back in to see the small pile of pillows on the bed rearranged and that soap's changed, too. gone are the paw gloves, kneepads, speedo and tail, and it strikes you as almost weird how normal he looks in just paw print boxers.
"go brush your teeth and we'll get started." simon's voice comes from behind you, startling you briefly. your hand flies to your chest as you gasp and wheel around, and you can't help but laugh at how silly your response is. it's just simon, nothing bad or scary. not like phil. he's in grey sweats, a plain shirt, and his balaclava, thus solidifying your 'his mask is a kink' theory in your mind. why the fuck else would he wear it to bed, right?
"for a big guy, you sure move quiet." you chuckle as you pass him to head to the small bathroom just off the kitchen. it's hard to say why, but the heh heh heh of his low laughter behind you makes your hair stand on end. when you come back from brushing your teeth, simon is sitting on the bed with soap tucked into his side. they look so cozy together, you feel a little awkward intruding. soap perks back up at the sight of you, not unlike a terrier, and pats the empty space on the mattress next to him.
"c'mere, hen. give us a cuddle." he looks so excited to be snuggled between you and simon, who are you to say no? as soon as you're sat down soap squirms to reposition himself so his head is against your shoulder and his leg is thrown over simon's, somehow leaning against both of you at the same time. you and simon make amused eye contact over his head, and you can't help but relish in the pleased sounding hum you earn as you gently scritch at soap's scalp. it's been so long since a man's been pleased with you, let alone two. you'd forgotten how heady it is, being liked and appreciated.
the movie starts, and it's one of the old godzilla flicks from the fifties. it's pretty enjoyable, and it reminds you of how much you prefer practical effects over cgi. every now and again soap readjusts himself, slowly sliding further and further down until his face is pressed against your chest. he's not sly, it was obvious from the get-go that this is where this was headed, and you can't help but roll your eyes in good humor as he nuzzles against you slightly.
"soap. be good." simon warns sternly, the tone of his voice making the smaller man freeze and glance up at you apologetically.
"sorry, bonnie. yer just so soft, ye ken? feels nice to snuggle up on." he rolls a little more towards you, rubbing his hand across your wide, soft stomach in gentle circles as a man in a rubber lizard suit smashes cardboard tokyo on the screen.
"i'm ok with it if simon is. it feels nice." you say softly, deferring to the obvious shot-caller. you're not lying, it really does feel nice to be wanted like this and not scrutinized and picked apart the way phil did. he only ever touched you to either hurt you, fuck you so hard it hurt, or to point out shit to hurt your feelings. being touched because you're being actively enjoyed as you are, big soft belly, stretchmarked tits and all? that's a novel thing for you. it's been a while since anyone's touched you like this, and you can't help but hope simon lets you keep this for just a bit longer.
soap's head whips around comically fast, his doglike pleading whine making you laugh. simon nods his head in chuckling approval once, and soap's face is shoved right against your tits with a pleased sigh, the impact of his face slamming back into you making you sway with a surprised laugh.
the movie continues, and by the end you and soap are turned towards each other, the side of his face pressed against your chest while you stroke your fingers through his chest hair, still not daring to go any lower than that. it's not like you'd need to, you can see the obvious tent in soap's boxers. simon grabs the remote and turns off the tv before curling himself around soap's back, hooking his masked chin on his pup's shoulder, rubbing his big hand on a hairy lower belly.
"isn't she nice, johnny? think we got lucky, 'avin' a sweet bird like 'er land in our laps." simon murmurs right into his ear, his dark eyes fixed on you in a way that makes you want to squirm.
"real sweet, sir, and a bonnie lass, too. soft as a lamb." soap nuzzles against you, eyes closed and losing himself in the sensation of trying to bury his face in your tits again.
"we like t'reward sweet 'round 'ere, don't we?" simon coos, and suddenly the room is much, much warmer. your face heats as you try to ignore the needy feeling between your legs.
"aye. can i do it, sir? cannae stand it anymore, need to taste her." soap whines against your skin, speaking about you like you're not even there. for some reason that you don't care to think too hard about, it makes you shudder, breath stuttering out as you clench your thighs.
"wot you say, sweet'eart? you want soap to give you your reward f'bein' so good?" simon's hand moves from soap's belly to your hip, grazing over the tender skin right above your shorts.
you shouldn't. everything in your logical brain screams you shouldn't. it's a bad, bad, bad idea, taking up with two of the strangest strangers you've ever met, especially right when you've just escaped a heinously controlling relationship. however, logic is the last thing you're concerned about, what with these two broad-shouldered men chomping at the bit to 'reward' you while they touch you gently and tell you how good and sweet and bonnie you are.
"please?" you whisper, and no sooner is the word out of your mouth than simon is scruffing soap by the hair on the back of his head, yanking him back away from you.
"you behave yourself, pup. she's not one of your chewtoys. if i see ya gettin' rough with the pretty bird, i'll throw ya in the kennel for the night. got it?" he growls in soap's face, angling the other man's head back at a deeply uncomfortable looking angle.
"aye, aye, i'll be good, sir. promise." soap says eagerly, his wrists still bent as if he's got little paws instead of hands. simon stares down at him silently for a moment before he lets go, sitting up on the bed.
"come 'ere." simon instructs, patting the space between his legs and pulling your shoulders until your back is flush with his chest. "take those shorts off for johnny, and let 'im make up for being such a right pain in the arse oll day."
"you weren't a pain." you reassure soap, lifting your hips to slide your shorts and panties off in one go, running your fingers through the thick mohawk as he settles between your thighs. it feels like there's hands everywhere, caressing your thighs and hips on soap's end while simon reaches over to push your tank top down and play with your tits, murmuring low in your ear.
"you just keep your eyes on soap, no lookin' back at me." he tells you mere moments before you hear a swish of fabric and feel a nibble on your ear. the way soap's smile is directed over your shoulder, you have no doubt simon took his mask off behind you... so, not a kink thing? it's confusing. "get to work, pup. need 'er relaxed f'me."
soap wastes no time diving into your pussy like a starving man, licking long, broad stripes across your core and shoving two crooked fingers into your cunt, gently massaging you from the inside as he moans against you. you're soaked already, although it's hard to tell how much of it's your own creeping arousal from during the span of the evening, and how much is just soap's slobber. he's so thorough, making sure every inch of your pussy is laved with the attention of his talented tongue. you can feel electric heat between your legs grow and grow, travelling up your spine and spreading through your body. your toes start to twitch and your hips start to buck, and every roll of your nipples between rough fingers makes your back arch.
the wet sounds of soap licking and slurping against your cunt echo off the sparse bedroom walls, making the entire experience feel that much more lewd as simon sucks hickies onto your neck and shoulders, urging soap on while he pinches at your nipples.
"'ow's she taste?" simon asks, and soap pulls off your cunt with a loud, sucking pop that makes your hips jerk and eyes roll back.
"like heaven, sir. sweetest little cunt i've ever had." soap reports back, adding a third finger with a suddenness that makes you yelp and press back against simon.
"yeah? think maybe next time i'll lie you on your back and fuck 'er cunt right over your face, let you lick us both at once. you can clean 'er out afterwards." simon tells him, laughing when both you and soap moan at the thought of it. "you like that, bird? like that mutt's mouth on ya?"
"it's so- ah!- so good." you say breathlessly, which earns you a kiss to your temple. soap gets to work lavishing your clit with attention, sucking and licking at it like making you cum on his face is his life's entire purpose, making your hips buck against his mouth as your fingers dig in to the thick thighs bracketing you from behind.
"lookit you. bet your tits bounce real nice when you're gettin' properly fucked, eh? can't wait to see that." simon whispers into your ear before sucking on your earlobe, his hot breath against your face making you shudder even more. you're so close, so fucking close, all of the nerves in your body are buzzing under your skin and you can feel your muscles twitch even more. all of you is primed and ready for release, just a little more, a little further-
a large hand slides up to your throat, not squeezing but just holding, keeping you pinned against simon's chest as you start to buck and shake and pant while soap works his hips against the mattress, chasing his own release while working hard to give you yours.
"gonna cum, love? go on, softie. cum on 'is face, make a right mess of my boy." simon growls, rocking his hips so you feel his hard cock pressing against your back, and it's enough to push you over the edge. your legs shake as your eyes roll back, nails digging into simon's thighs, and it feels like fireworks are going off inside of you, bursting into color and sound while you whine and shake in simon's arms. the sound of your own blood pumping in your ears nearly drowns out the pleased little laugh coming from over your shoulder, and the hand around your throat moves across your body to hold you in a backwards hug as you come down.
soap, however, doesn't stop his ministrations between your legs even for a moment, and it's quickly too much too much too much. you try to pull back away from his face, gently pushing at his forehead to get him off of you while your brain still comes back online, but he's not having it. when you pull on his hair, he growls against your cunt, lashing out suddenly and biting at the inside of your thigh with bruising force. the pain and surprise makes you jerk back, holler, and slap at him, but before your palm can make contact with the side of his head, ghost's big hand is wrapped around the back of soap's neck, yanking him sideways until he falls off the bed entirely.
simon shoves at you hard to get out from behind you, and is on top of soap in a flash, yanking him by the hair and shoving him into the wire crate, locking him inside. the second you realize you're seeing the back of his head, blonde hair cropped uneavenly, you close your eyes tight, knowing simon doesn't want you to see him without his mask. if he's going to defend you from soap's teeth, the least you can do is respect his rules.
"fuckin' mutt. can't 'ave nice things with you around, can i?" simon growls with what sounds like a sharp kick to his cage and a whimper from soap.
"'m sorry, sir, i didnae mean it. didnae mean t'hurt our pretty bird-"
"our bird? no, johnny. you're all muddled up. she's not our bird, she's my bird, and i gave you the chance to be sweet to 'er and you fucked it right up, didn't you? like the dumb mutt you are. can't even apologize properly, can ya? tell my bird you're sorry." simon grits out through clenched teeth, and you blanche at his words. his bird? you've only been here a day, only let soap eat you out, and he's already staked a claim on you? an alarm goes off in your head so loud that you barely register soap's groveling apologies.
"i'm sorry, lass, ye just taste so good, didnae want tae stop, ye ken? donnae ken what got into me." soap pleads, and you feel the mattress dip down next to you.
"lookit 'er, soap. even when she's scared and 'urt she's a good girl, know's 'er rules and 'er place, don't she? only been 'ere a day and 'as it down better than you." simon praises, his voice much closer. you startle a little when you feel the press of thin lips against yours, but a warm, solid hand on the back of your neck soothes you instantly, making you feel grounded and safe. maybe it's ok, maybe simon didn't mean to be so instantly possessive. the way he's kissing you feels softer and sweeter than you'dve expected from him, maybe he's all bark and no bite when it comes to you. the kiss doesn't last long, and you feel a large body lean over your lap for a moment.
"can open your eyes now. you olright, love? let me see." simon says softly, kneeling on the mattress, mask back on his face as he gently touches your knee to urge your legs apart so he can get a better look at the throbbing bite. "skin's not broken, but it'll likely bruise."
"he scared me." you blurt out, voice a little watery from high emotions. you feel better seeing soap in the cage, but you're still on-edge. it's jarring to see a man as big as him cower and whimper like that, keeping his head low and shoulders tensed behind criss-crossed metal bars. clearly these boys play rough when it's just them, and you're not sure you want in the middle of all that. plus you're still not exactly sure how you feel about simon calling you 'his' so quickly. you want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but you're not sure he's earned that yet.
"of course 'e did, you're just a soft little dove that got caught in a fuckin' mongrel's teeth. 'ang on." simon gathers the three pillows on the bed, positioning them under you and gently pressing your shoulders to urge you to lie back on them. "there you go. i'm gonna make you feel oll better now, olright?"
he shoves down his sweatpants, pulling out a fat cock that looks roughly the circumference of a red bull. it's half-hard already, twitching in his hand in a valiant effort to defy gravity and it's own considerable weight.
"that- that's not gonna fit." you tell him, eyes wide and staring at the absolute weapon hanging between his legs.
"it'll fit, just might need some 'elp is oll." he reaches down over the far edge of the bed and brings up a half-empty bottle of lube, slicking himself up thoroughly as the smell of silicone starts to fill the room. soap whines from his kennel, and from your periphery you can see him humping at the pillow that's been laid in his cage.
"quiet, you, or i'll throw a sheet over your kennel and you'll only be able to listen." simon snarls at him, and soap pipes down immediately, still rutting away without a pause in his pace. when simon's attention returns to you, you feel pinned in place, like there's a giant spotlight on you. he cocks his head to the side, his hand still working over his thick shaft as his eyes rake over your body.
"i- i have an iud, and i don't have anything. you know. if you want to, uh." you stammer out, unsure what to say. simon chuckles, a deep rumbling sound that reminds you of thunder. the warning of an oncoming storm.
"good. me n' the pup 'ave a clean bill of 'ealth, that makes things simpler, don't it?" simon tells you as he knee walks between your thighs, notching the head of his cock against your entrance. "deep breath, love. let it out slow."
it's not hard to follow his instructions when the push of his cock into your body feels like it's pressing the air right out of your lungs like the plunger of a needle. as big as he looked, he feels even bigger. the stretch of your already sensitive pussy tap-dances on the line between 'delicious' and 'too much', making you moan as your eyes roll back.
"oh ho ho, sweet'eart, you've got a nice tight cunt 'ere. gonna be 'ard t'stay offa you, innit?" simon chuckles a little breathlessly when he bottoms out, and looks back over his shoulder at soap, who's whimpering like a dog in his kennel. "which one of us you wishin' you were right now, eh? me or 'er?"
"both." soap whines, and simon laughs as he rocks his hips at an even pace that's already making you dig your fingers into the sheets. thank fuck for lube, the drag of his fat cock in your cunt would be a lot less pleasurable without it, you're pretty sure.
"of course, greedy pup. olways wantin' everythin'." simon turns his attention back to you, speeding up his rhythm, making all of you juggle with the impact of his body against yours. "'e can't 'ave this perfect pussy, though. that's mine. mutt like 'im would just ruin it. fuck, love, you look so good wrigglin' on my cock."
he leans forward, one hand planted on the mattress, and gives you a dirty grind of his hips against your clit that has you gasping and groaning. fuck, it's been a hot minute since sex has felt good and not something to be put up with, like a way for someone to work out their anger against you. it's nice to be wanted, to be coveted like this. you roll your hips up to meet simon's, and he groans a little at your enthusiasm.
"enjoyin' yourself, bird?" he asks, and you can only nod your head as you pant and grind your clit against him when he bottoms out. "tell soap 'ow much you like it. go on, don't be shy. 'e wants t'know."
you feel your face heat up, sudden embarrassment catching up to you, and suddenly putting together words and sentences is the hardest it's ever been in your life.
"it- he's so big, soap. he's so fuck- ah!- fucking thick, i've never- i've never- ah, fuck! simon!" you whine as he rubs a large thumb over your clit. it's overwhelming, somehow even more so than when soap ate you out. simon's just so big, so imposing, and all you can do is wiggle your hips and take what he gives you as that warm thrum under your skin winds up again, making your brain slow and your tongue clumsy.
"go on, keep goin'. you've never what? tell us." simon taunts as his free hand runs up and down your body, squeezing at your tits, hip, and belly while he stares down at you, panting through his mask.
"i've never been fucked so well!" you blurt out. "please, simon, please make me cum on your cock! i wan- ah!- i want to so bad!" you blurt out, hiccupping and squirming while your brain melts out of your ears and onto the pile of pillows underneath you. there's something so deliciously dirty about it, about hearing soap whine and pant from his cage on the ground, being made to confess how much you like taking his boyfriend's cock while he only has a pillow to hump. guilt doesn't have the chance to set in before soap pipes up.
"oh, bonnie lass, ye just keep taking him so nice and i ken simon'll give ye everything ye want. pretty girl, love watching ye bounce while ye get fucked by his big fuckin' cock. wanna see him fuck ye from behind and make that big arse jiggle." soap babbles, and the sounds of his cage rocking and rattling gets louder as he speaks, clearly picking up the pace as he fucks his own bedding.
simon only responds by dropping his weight to his forearms, bracketing your head and trapping you underneath him as he really starts putting his back into it. there's something extra thrilling about the way he stares at you from behind his mask, his face forbidden from your eyes. beads of sweat roll down his arms and drip from his shoulders onto your skin, and somewhere in the back of your cock-addled brain, the desire to lick them up is only barely restrained from becoming action.
your orgasm slams into you, harder and more acute than you've ever experienced before. all of the tension in your body is flung out of you with a velocity that makes you sincerely doubt it'll ever come back. it hardly registers that the yell echoing through the studio apartment is yours, or the loud grunt from soap's kennel, or that simon's sitting back up on his knees and digging his fingers into your big soft hips, leaving divots in the fat as he slams into you hard as he chases his own orgasm.
"gonna fill you up." is all the warning you get before simon groans above you, his hold on you tightening to a bruising pressure before he pulls out with a grunt and flops onto the bed next to you, yanking a pillow out from under your head to take for himself. he rolls his mask up to his nose, and you only get a glimpse of a scarred jaw and thin lips before you instinctually dart your eyes away.
"holy shit." you breathe, staring at the ceiling and trying to get your bearings back after cumming the hardest you ever have in your life. thank god you don't have anywhere to be, walking is going to be impossible for the next fifteen minutes, minimum. simon just huffs out an amused laugh as he reaches over and cracks a window, fishing a cigarette out of a jacket that's crumpled on the floor and lighting up.
"you learn your lesson, mutt? if you behave next time, you'll get to play with 'er some more. no more bitin' the big soft bird, you 'ear? not your place to mark 'er up." simon says after a long exhale of smoke, ashing his cigarette in a mug propped on the windowsill behind him.
"yessir. sorry, bonnie." soap says, flipping his cum-covered pillow over so he can sleep, settling into his cage for the night.
"i forgive you, soap. i should know better than to bother hungry puppies when they're eating." you tease, and your heart flutters in delight when both men laugh softly in the dark.
"keep tellin' ya, you're gonna spoil 'im rotten." simon mutters, not unkindly, before you hear another sizzle of a drag on his cigarette.
"i'll make it up to you." you tell him, scooting away a bit to give him a little more room to lie down. it'd be rude to try to cuddle him, right? someone like him probably doesn't want that, not from a random hookup slash vagabond he's taken pity on. you curl up on the far end of the bed so as to give simon as much space as he wants before the sudden sound of his voice breaks the silence.
"wot you doin' oll the way over there? get over 'ere." a big hand pulls at your shoulder, not letting go until you're pressed up against his side. his arm curls around your shoulder possessively, holding you tight. "stick close, don't want you runnin' off before you make it up to me."
"m'not going anywhere." you say sleepily, your eyelids getting heavier as you feel yourself sink into the mattress. you hadn't even realized how tired you are until just now, and it feels like sinking deeper and deeper into dark and murky water, overwhelming your body as you slowly lose consciousness. your ears hear but your mind does not retain the words that simon says to you while you drift off with your head against his shoulder and his arm keeping you in place.
"too right, you aren't."
On The Run Part 1
The Barn
mdni
cw: violent behavior, suggestive themes, i will get better at this i swear
It’s a downpour tonight. The roof overhead rattles with the force of the winds outside, keeping you awake. Your eyes drift towards the window periodically, watching the lightening illuminate the night sky, thunder rolling closer and closer as the wind hails. Your four loyal, massive Tibetan Mastiffs lay around your bed, dead to the storm raging outside. You’d normally have them out in the barn, but with how terrible it’s coming down you would have felt terrible.
But now you lie awake, worry in the pit of your stomach. Some of the goats had just given birth, and with this storm you knew the kids had to be distressed, and their bleats often agitated the horses.
You absentmindedly reach down to run a hand through Dixon’s fur, who lets out a pleased huff, nuzzling your palm. You try to let the beat of rain lure you to sleep, eyes finally feeling heavy as your breathing evens out.
But then you hear it, over the raging of the storm you can still hear your stallion, Sebastian, neighing, and then the pound of his hoofs against his stalls, and you're flying out of your bed.
Nothing spooks your stallion, absolutely nothing.
You race down the stairs in just your nightgown, rushing to pull on your boots, no socks, as Dixon, Grimes, Judy and Maggie come bounding after you. You throw open the door, the screen slamming against the house from the wind but you pay no mind, running towards the barn, barely catching yourself from slipping in the mud.
The closer you get, the louder you can hear all your herd. Your hearts pounding harder than the rain when you reach the barn doors, and you can hear the dogs barking behind you as you reach to yank open the double doors
Locked.
Your barn is never locked.
From the inside.
“Hello?!” You yell, slamming your palms against the wood, guilt wracking your body when you hear something scurry away on the other side.
“What are you doing in there?” You scream, shaking the handles with all your might, but they hold strong, and after a harsh yank, your hand slips, sending you flying into the mud.
You can hear what can only be described as chaos in the barn, and tears prick your eyes as you crawl forward, banging your fists against the doors.
“PLEASE! Please don’t hurt my animals! They’re already scared! Please- AH!” You scream as the door flies open, sending you face first into the barn floor.
You barely register the blood dripping from your hands as you scramble to stand up, taking in the scene.
The mares were going wild, bucking and kicking the doors of their stalls while Sebastian raged, having busted his door down, prancing infront of his ladies protectively.
Your goats were huddled in a group on the corner, the kids tucked between their bodies and the sheep standing in front of them, shaking so badly their wool was trembling. The rest of the stock is scattered, hiding in various corners of the barn.
You whistle, which immediately catches Sebastian’s attention, huffing and puffing.
“I’m here! It’s okay, ma is here!” You hush them, slowly walking towards the stallion with your hand out, palm up.
He neighs, tossing his head, leaning down to sniff your hand, when he stops, and suddenly a new sound reaches your ears.
Dixon and Grimes are growling out a warning.
Before you can even blink, there’s a hand over your mouth. Your gasp is muffled at the pressure of cold steel at your neck, an arm wrapping around your chest pulling you into a firm, solid figure.
“Not. A. Sound.” A gruff voice barks in your ear, and your blood runs cold.
“Lock the doors back.” The man orders, and a sinking feeling overcomes you when you hear a new set of footsteps. You stumble as you’re jerked back, Dixon barking as you start to thrash, kicking your feet, but the grip around you tightens.
“Fuckin- Knock it off!” He growls, pressing what you can only guess is your carving knife painfully against your throat and Grimes lets out a guttural sounding bark before lunging, only to yelp when a foot shoves him back, and you thrash harder, attempting to nip at this man’s hand.
“Stop you little fuckin-SHIT!” He bellows as your teeth sink into his palm, not releasing until you taste his blood splash over your teeth, and then you’re on the ground.
“Little bitch!”
“Don’t touch my fucking animals.” You spit, turning to stare up at the intruder, just to be met with a ski mask and cold eyes. You can’t help but freeze, the carving knife glinting in the low light of the barn.
He’s quick, and you try to stumble to your feet, but you're once more in his grasp. You go for a punch, but he catches your wrist easily, pinning your arm behind your back with one hand and yanking your forward with the other, pinning you against him, and the knife is at your throat again.
“Let’s try this again.” He says between clenched teeth, tightening his grip till you whimper.
“Ghost. Lighten up.” A voice pipes up, raspy and stern with a commanding tone. The masked man, Ghost, rolls his eyes, but loosens the hold he has on your wrist.
“Who else lives here?” He questions, and it feels as though a bucket of cold water has been dumped over you.
“No one…” You whisper, squeezing your eyes shut when his grip tightens once more. “Don’t bullshit us. Who else lives on this land with you?!” He’s in your face, making you open your eyes, tears blurring your vision.
“It’s just me I swear!” You sob, feeling the tip of the knife digging into your skin. “I swear to god it’s just me, you can go check the house-“
The pressure of the knife is gone, and the shock of your bare knees hitting the barn floors barely phases you as Dixon and Grimes dart to your side, whining softly as they nudge your hands with their heads.
“Think she’s telling the truth?” A new voice speaks up, a thick Scottish accent ringing in your ears as you try to put distance between you and the four, you are finally able to count, men standing in the middle of your barn.
“Explains the massive mutts.” Ghost grunts, glancing at the four mastiffs, who you push behind you, shielding them, trying not to let your fear show more than it already has.
“They aren’t mutts.” You hiss, Judy nuzzling her giant head into your back as you shuffle them back, away from these men.
You hold your head high, but your lip can’t help but tremble when all their eyes turn to you.
“You sure there’s no one else in that great big house?” The older man with scruffy facial hair asks with a tilt of his head, and a spark of agitation flares in your chest. Why did they want to know so badly? if they were going to…
If they were going to kill you, surely they would have done it by now, right?
“I swear on my life.” You plead, voice cracking. You’re horrified when you realize your nightgown has been soaked through this whole time, noticing the way the one with the mohawk, the Scot, keeps eyeing your bosom. You look away, cheeks burning as fresh tears prick your eyes.
“Soap, Gaz. You two go check the house. Report back to me, I want a moment with her.” The unnamed man ordered.
Mohawk and a dark skinned man nodded, heading out of the barn. Ghost passes one of them the carving knife, and your fist curl in your lap.
“What do I do Price?” Ghost asks, and the man, Price, waves a hand, eyes trained on you. “Search the surrounding area, look for anyone hiding on the property.”
“Understood.”
And then you were alone. The barn has settled, most of your animals having made their way to the farthest wall behind you. He approaches you slowly, cautiously eyeing Dixon who raises up, baring his teeth, but you click your tongue, and he steps back immediately, sitting at your side like a statue as the others guard the flock.
You feel a puff of air breath against your head, and you can’t help the wet laugh that bubbles out when you realize Sebastian is standing guard over you.
“Seems you’ve got yourself quite the protection.”
He muses, eyes bouncing between the animals.
“They were abandoned when I found this place.” You confess, a slight tremble to your voice as you watch Price crouch in front of you. He’s quiet for a moment, eyes flickering over your form and you wrap your arms around your middle.
“If my men are walking into a trap, whoever is there will be killed.” He says simply, tone almost bored and you feel your face pale.
“They’re not! This is my land! Mine!” You insist, frustrated tears falling freely as you flex your fingers, muscles tense.
“Tiny little bird like you, all by herself?” Ghost scoffs as he returns, and you feel your ears burn.
“What did you find?” Price asks him over his shoulders.
“Can hardly see shit in this rain but I found no one. There’s a truck around back but the engine seems shot.” He shrugs, eyes peering at you through that ski mask and you avert your gaze.
The doors open against, the other two rushing in, soaked to the bone.
“The house is clear sir. Only one room looks lived in, two guest rooms down the hall on the upper level and a small library on the ground level. Gaz found a shotgun by the front door.” The Scot, Soap, you gather, reports back to Price.
“I told you. It’s just me out here.” You mutter, and this time Ghost is crouching in front of you, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him.
“You hiding from something little bird?” He asks, cocking his head to the side
“You’re the ones breaking into my barn and scaring my animals!” You snap, trying to get out of his grip, but he only holds tighter.
“You’re a little fighter aren’t you?” You see his eyes crinkle, and you're shocked this man even knows how to smile under that mask.
He releases you, standing up and stepping back to stand with the other three men, who still loom over you. You feel like a lamb being sent to the slaughter house, and you bury one of your hands in Dixon’s thick fur to ground yourself.
“Please-“ You start, voice shaking, and you feel a tear slip down your cheek.
“I don’t have much, there’s maybe three thousand dollars in the safe in my closet. I’ll give you the code just…” Your voice trails off, a sob slipping past your lips and Dixon whines, low and sad as he places his giant head in your lap.
“Please don’t hurt us. D-don’t hurt my animals- I won’t even call the cops, it would take the nearest deputy three hours to even reach my house.” You beg, exhaustion and nerves taking over as your shoulders slump, trembling with your quiet sobs.
You see Price’s boots approach you, and he tilts your chin up, and you flinch when he brushes a tear away with his thumb.
“Stop all these tears pretty. We don’t want to hurt you or your little farm.” He coos down at you. Confusion swirls in your head, making you dizzy as another sob can’t help but slip out, Price cupping your cheeks, shushing you softly as he wipes your cheeks.
“I don’t understand…” You whisper, searching this strange, terrifying man’s face for any sign of deceit, but he just grins at you.
“You told us the truth. Very good.” It sounds almost like praise the way he whispers it to you, and you whimper, shame filling your stomach. You look away from him, taking a shuddering breath as you struggle to compose yourself.
“Let’s get you back inside hm? Can’t have you catching a cold.” He tsks, and before you can argue, you’re being lifted into his arms, tucked against his chest. You try to struggle, but the adrenaline has worn off, confusion left in its wake as these strange men usher the herd into their correct pens, Soap barley escaping one of the Roosters pecking at him in defiance, before pausing.
“I don’t think I want to mess with this guy.” Gaz mutters, the three of them staring at Sebastian, who stares back, as though daring them to try and corral him.
“He.. He’ll go back in his stall once it’s quiet… You scared them…” You mutter, tired as you give in, resting your head against the strong chest you’re pressed against, and you feel Price’s grip tighten.
“You’re freezing sweetheart, let’s get you out of these wet clothes.” He murmers, and your heart skips.
“I can do that myself.” You hiss, staring up at him with narrowed eyes, despite the fact you can feel your cheeks burning.
He just laughs.
Leftovers [1/3]
Simon Riley x fem!Reader | a non-canon addition to my mafia!141 series |
part 2 | part 3
warnings: unhealthy thrupple relationship, hurt/some comfort, slight dub-con, possessive Simon, smut, (f!recieving oral, fingering, p in v) 6.5k wc
Mr. and Mrs. Price don't know how to take care of you properly. Simon is hellbent on saving you, no matter the means.
![Leftovers [1/3]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2b6c4ee8fe3b0112e8475c42c3837588/ba858eb9288b58e0-03/s500x750/e76c35b23afbc4010187535d801b33a6c1af30aa.jpg)
The first and only rule that came with living with the Prices was that no matter how much you thought otherwise, they didn’t really love you.
It didn’t matter how sweetly Mrs. Price kissed your forehead, her lips would never grace yours, and despite how deliciously Mr. Price would pump his fingers into your cunt he would never bless you with the opportunity to take his cock. Above all else, they first belonged to one another before ever belonging to you. All you were good for was being their sweet little pet, nothing but a catalyst for their pleasure; their favorite aphrodisiac.
There were worse things in the world to be, and being a pet wasn’t all that bad. The Prices kept a roof over your head and gave you meals at least three times a day, if not more. Every now and then while Mr. Price was away at work, you and Mrs. Price would fall asleep on the couch together. Hours later you would wake up with your head on her chest, but you wouldn’t dare to stir her awake because the sound of her heart beating was more captivating than anything that droned on the television.
But she would always wake up when Mr. Price came home, and she’d drag you off to the bedroom where they’d strip you bare like some spectacle. Mrs. Price’s lips would devour every inch of your skin, kissing your neck, chest, and breasts; kissing everything except for you. Meanwhile, Mr. Price would fuck his fingers into you and growl every time his wife giggled at your moans. His cock would harden in his pants, a sight that you would never be able to see, and just as you came undone on his fingers his lips would always find their way to her instead of you.
They would laugh and giggle as you squirmed underneath them and coo about how adorable you were. How soft and pliant you were for them, such a good and well behaved pet. They would kiss your body a few more times before tucking you in for the night and leaving you alone to do their own lovemaking elsewhere. That’s how it always ended. Always the lover, never the loved, but that was okay. At least you weren’t alone.
Things started changing when Mr. Riley showed up.
He showed up at the house one day by invitation from Mr. Price and nearly scared you half to death. Like a ghost, he seemingly appeared in the living room one evening and took up all the space on the loveseat. Perhaps that’s what had intimidated you at first, just the sheer size of him. He stood taller than Mr. Price did, and the bulging muscles of his body was proof he could rip you in half if he so pleased. Then there were the faded scars on his face, the ruggedness of his features and the piercing expression in his dark brown eyes. He looked at you like you were a meal ready to be eaten. Or, maybe you just wished that he would.
Mr. Riley was a quiet man, you learned. He hardly spoke throughout dinner and when he did he was rather short and blunt with his responses. Though he was a man of few words, everything he said seemed to have some sort of meaning. There was something about his voice that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end and you nearly choked on your food at the sensation. It wasn’t at all unpleasant, and if anything the deep timbre of his voice was rather soothing, and you liked the teasing nature of his banter with Mr. Price. Perhaps you enjoyed it too much.
There must have been something about the way you looked at Mr. Riley that caught attention. Truly, you meant no harm by it. Art littered his arms in the form of dark tattoos that you couldn't pull your eyes from because you had never seen ink cover the skin of someone so beautifully before. Never seen anyone quite capture the well formed muscle and veins like had been done on Mr. Riley’s arms. And really, the scars on his face and his crooked nose intrigued you. There were stories waiting to be uncovered, literature that hid behind the depths of his eyes. You just wanted to read it. That was all it was, you swore it.
After plates had been cleaned and the table was cleared away, you learned you were not as subtle as you thought you were with your minor infatuation with your guest. Not even your intense stare at the TV screen as you pretended to pay attention to the movie Mrs. Price had picked out was able to throw suspicion off of you. Just as you had gotten settled on the sectional next to Mr. Price, you felt a hand rest on your shoulder, quickly followed by a hot breath on your ear.
“Pet,” Mr. Price whispered, “my friend looks lonely over there. Why don’t you keep him company?”
His proposition made you tense against his side and he chuckled at your failed attempt at keeping cool. Keep Mr. Riley company? Once more your eyes found their way to him and you felt your throat tighten at the thought. Were you supposed to sit by him? Entertain him? No, that felt wrong. You belonged to the Prices, not their friend. Then again, you were instructed to keep the man company, and good pets do as they’re told.
Without so much as a word you rose from your spot on the sectional and quickly made your way to the loveseat Mr. Riley had settled himself on. It was difficult not to fall into the gravity of him when you sat next to him as his weight shifted the cushions, giving you no choice but to all but lean into him. You heard his quiet hum in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected you to just so blatantly sit next to him. You caught him look at you for a short moment, but you kept your eyes glued to the TV as if he was never there to begin with, and eventually he looked away.
Embarrassment. It was the only word you could think of to describe how you felt sitting next to that man. Conversing with others wasn’t exactly your forte, it’s why you agreed to throw your old life away when Mrs. Price invited you into a relationship with her and her husband. They would take care of you, and you wouldn’t have to be perceived and go out and about in the world. They knew full well of that; perhaps that was their way of having some fun with you.
Things were fine until halfway through the movie when Mr. Riley put his arm around you. There was nothing you could do but fall against his side as his firm hand settled against your waist. He held you close to him as if he had no intention of letting you go, and yet acted as if he had never done so in the first place as his attention stayed fully trained on whatever boring movie droned in the background. Blood gushed in your ears and panic settled into your chest. Surely that had broken some sort of rule, and yet when you glanced over to the Price’s with wide eyes, you realized that they couldn’t even care less.
So you took a deep breath in some attempt to calm yourself, and once the blood settled in your veins, you realized that you could hear Mr. Riley’s heart. Each beat was strong and steady as if it had never wavered throughout its entire existence, and its reverberations were so strong you could feel it pulse throughout your own body. You took another deep breath, this time more content, and realized you rather liked the smell of him too. Some sort of dark, soft aroma mixed with the faint scent of cigarettes. It was comforting, perhaps the most calm you had felt in a long while.
“Cute, isn’t she?”
It wasn’t until Mrs. Price spoke that you realized you had fallen asleep like that, tucked into the side of a man you hardly knew. Cold hands pulled you away from the warmth that was Mr. Riley, and half awake you were brought to your room without the chance to glance at him from over your shoulder. Despite it all, Mrs. Price cooed at you while she laid you down in your bed and tugged the blankets over your body with a simple kiss to your forehead.
“Goodnight, pet,” she cooed before closing the door behind her.
That night you fell asleep alone in your cold bed while dreaming about the warmth Mr. Riley had given you. It was something you could only ever pray for when craving something from the Prices, and yet he had given it to you so willingly, as if you didn’t deserve anything less. Maybe it was unfair of you to compare the people who had given you so much to a man who you hardly knew. Friendly. That’s all he was. But it didn’t end there. Every time Mr. Price invited him over, he always directed you to Mr. Riley’s side eventually, talking about how lonely he looked, or that you should be a good host to him.
Soon enough it got to the point where you didn’t even need prompting; you already knew your place was next to Mr. Riley. Curled against his side, hanging off his arm, even sitting on his lap, in one instance. Each touch that he gave you seared across your skin, but it was always respectful, nearly too respectful. Fingertips always gliding along your waist but never dipping low enough to caress your hips or grope your ass, nor high enough to brush against the underside of your breasts. His touch always left you craving more, and yet that was something he didn’t seem to intend on giving you.
He did, however, give you a new name. Sweetheart, he called you. It was something he whispered to you at first from the safety of the confines of his arms, as if he worried Mr. Price would overhear him and reprimand him for it. Then he became a bit more brave. He called you sweetheart when he asked you to pass him the salt at dinner, and then again when you eventually fell asleep on the couch and he offered to carry you to your room. Some strange part of you wished he stayed with you that night, but you knew that thought alone made you a bad pet, wanting anyone other than the people you belonged to.
But the thing was, the more warmth Mr. Riley showed you, the colder the Price's home felt, because even after all that time, it wasn’t really your home.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Loud music and even louder people caged you into that VIP room, suffocating you to the point you nearly passed out. It didn’t help that Mrs. Price had dressed you up like her personal doll, slathering makeup on your face and throwing you in a skimpy dress, you hardly recognized yourself in the mirror. And still, despite it, Mr. Riley had found you and settled on the spot next to you in the conversation pit.
“Mr. Riley,” you greeted as you uncomfortably pulled at the skirt of your dress.
“Mrs. Price dress you up in that?” he asked.
You half expected him to wrap his arm around you like he did every other time the two of you were close to one another, but he didn’t. Perhaps there were too many prying eyes nearby and he didn’t want to spark any rumors. Either way, his presence alone was comforting enough. You always hated going to Mr. Price’s club, and that night was no exception. Too loud, too many eyes, you were always out of place.
“Was it that obvious?” you asked with a half-hearted chuckle.
“Just doesn’t seem like you,” he responded gruffly.
Of course not. Extravagant things weren’t meant for a pet. “Yeah. Probably not.”
Even from a distance you could still make out the faint scent of him. That warm musk mixed with tobacco had started to smell like home. And it was wrong, you were sure of it by that point. At what point did Mr. Riley become more comforting than the man and woman you lived with? But at that moment, with so many people crowding you, you didn’t care. Closing your eyes, you blocked out everything else around you except for him. There was no music, no mingling guests, no rancid scent of alcohol; it was just you and him.
Until the sudden sound of clapping brought you back to reality, anyway. Your eyes shot open and you were met with the same view as before, just more still. A quick glance around revealed everyone staring at Mr. and Mrs. Price, who stood at the front of the room, all cooing and cheering and clapping for them. They held one another as a few people rushed up to talk to them, where you heard squealing and several pats on the back. Confused, you turned to Simon with your head tilted to the side like a curious dog.
“What happened?” you asked.
With a simple nod of his head, Mr. Riley gestured up to the couple at the front of the room. “They just announced Mrs. Price’s pregnancy,” he said.
Those words left his mouth so simply. So nonchalantly. As if you should have known.
You should have known. But you didn’t. Because no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, they didn’t really love you.
You’d forgotten the first and only rule.
You didn’t know how you ended up on the terrace, you just stopped running when the cold night air hit your skin. Despite the way your tears muddled your vision, everything became painfully clear. This was their plan all along. To get pregnant, to start their life and continue it without you. It’s why they never kissed you, only ever played with you, refused to fuck each other in your presence; you were always meant to be disposable. Why continue to take care of a pet with a child on the way?
And it hurt because you knew you’d never have that. Never obtain that unconditional love, a kiss on the lips, a cock in your cunt, a child in your arms, because you had been the Price’s plaything. Their pet who never dared to bare her teeth. You’d never be the sweet little wife, only some poor, skittish animal that only knew how to play. But you craved it so bad you swore you’d die. You wanted to be someone’s wife, someone’s lover, to be loved, to have kids and a home that wasn’t cold as ice.
That life just wasn’t for you.
“You alright, sweetheart?”
Somehow, Mr. Riley always seemed to find you. It was as if some invisible string had been tied between the two of you, and no matter how knotted it got he would always make his way back to you. Unsure if you should welcome his presence or not, you kept your hands firmly on the terrace railing and your red eyes focused out on the city in front of you. Your tears blurred the sparkling lights so much that you could nearly confuse them with stars if you squinted hard enough, yet that realization did nothing to quell the anxiety and terror that ate away at your stomach.
“I’m alright,” you pitifully assured, although you weren’t too convincing.
Mr. Riley’s hand touched the exposed skin of your back where his thumb started to rub small circles into your flesh. You nearly crumbled at the contact as you were drowned in the overwhelming urge to throw yourself at him, to beg to be loved even if only for a short while. Instead, your grip on the railing only tightened as you focused all your energy into not letting another tear fall.
“John told me to watch you for the night. Take you back to my place,” he said softly.
His words weren’t surprising. Sending you off to spend the night with him was just the next step to getting rid of you. Why would they want you in the home when they’d have someone new to prepare for? You were certain your room would be turned into a nursery before long. After a moment, you turned to face him and you did your best to muster your strongest of smiles as you ignored the stinging behind your eyes. He looked at you with such pity that you nearly broke into tears once more.
“Lead the way.”
It had been so long since you had visited someone that you forgot what it was like to walk into a room and not have every inch of it memorized. Mr. Riley’s apartment was something you didn’t recognize, yet it wasn’t completely unfamiliar. In a vague sort of way, it smelled like him, and that was enough to calm your nerves and silence the pain that festered in your stomach. It was rather plain as far as decorations went, but it was cozy and warmer than anyplace else you had been for quite some time, and that was more than enough for you.
First order of business was getting you a glass of water, something Mr. Riley took care of right away. Such a small gesture, and yet it had your heart swelling in an odd and unfamiliar way. Still, you were thankful for something to soothe your sore throat, and the two of you sat in silence on the couch as he ensured that you drank every last drop.
“Do you wanna change into somethin’ more comfortable?” he questioned when you handed him your empty glass.
“I don’t… have a change of clothes,” you said meekly.
“You can wear some of mine,” he insisted.
Something within you wanted to decline. Wearing his clothes certainly broke some sort of rule, and you doubted that the Prices would be happy with you for it. But then there was a pang of sorrow that echoed throughout your chest, a painful reminder that you no longer belonged to them, and probably hadn’t for quite some time.
Like a lost dog, you followed behind Mr. Riley until you reached his bedroom. His bed was bigger than you had anticipated it to be, significantly bigger than yours, and it was well made. A dark duvet covered the expanse of the mattress, and when you sat on the edge of it you sunk into it as if it welcomed you home. Maybe if you laid back on it you could fall asleep and never have to face the painful truth of the reality you found yourself trapped in.
It didn’t take him long to fish out a simple shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts for you to change into, but when Mr. Riley turned to face you, it was as if he had turned to stone. Maybe it was the tear-smudged makeup stains on your face, or the fact that he hadn’t seen you look so content until you sat there on his bed, but he looked at you with such intense pity your chest ached. Eventually he got his body to listen to him and he carefully approached you and set the clothes on the mattress next to you.
“I’m sorry,” he said unprompted.
“For what?” you asked, eyebrows drawing together.
“That they abandoned you.”
Hearing it outloud was more excruciating than the initial realization. Abandoned. Tossed aside. Just a spare. Your chest ached so fiercely it felt as if your body split in two, and there was nothing you could do to stop the tears and sobs from flowing forth. It was pitiful and pathetic, and you hated how terribly small you felt. There were so many tears inside of you that you could wipe the earth clean with them, yet as you cried you didn’t feel any less dirty or used.
Then the bed sunk down next to you, and instead of sitting on the mattress you had been scooped up into Mr. Riley’s arms and into his lap. His arms were the only thing that held you together in that moment, and he carefully tucked you underneath his chin and squeezed all the sorrow from your body. A cautious kiss pressed into the top of your head, slow and wary as if the very act itself was forbidden. When you didn’t protest, he kissed again, and then again, as if he couldn’t get enough. It was the closest thing to being loved you ever felt, and that realization only broke you further.
“I just… I just wanted what they have,” you admitted once your sobs had dwindled to small hiccups. “I always thought that they’d let me be a part of it eventually. But I’ve been waiting so long and then… then they get pregnant without telling me and I realized I’ll never be good enough. Never enough to be kissed, or held, or loved. That’s all I wanted.”
After placing one final kiss against the top of your head, Mr. Riley carefully moved your face away from his chest to tilt your head up to force you to look at him. Irritated from crying, your eyes were a bright pink shade, and so terribly swollen you had difficulty opening them fully. Still, his thumb smoothed over your mascara-stained cheek and you felt his grip grow tighter around you.
“You deserve so much more than what they did to you,” he whispered, his whisky scented breath fanned across your face. “They were selfish, yeah? Dunno how they could be. First time I laid eyes on you I wanted you. Wanted to love you, to prove that you’re worthy of it.”
A few more fat tears rolled down your cheeks at his words just for him to quickly wipe them away. You had never received such kind and comforting words from anyone before, least of all the Prices. But his words held meaning, you knew they did. How could he look at you so softly and lie? No, it was impossible. His words were true and you could feel your want grow in the dark cavern of your stomach.
“Mr. Riley…” you said at a loss for anything to say.
“Simon,” he corrected. “Say my name and I’m all yours, sweetheart. I’ll give you that love, that life, you deserve.”
Maybe it was wrong to want him as badly as you did. Something dark and primal inside of you craved him and every inch of his tattooed skin, and yet you felt shame for feeling so. But why? You had been abandoned. A bit of comfort was the least bit you deserved.
“Simon,” you whispered.
His lips crashed into yours not even a second later, and the feeling nearly had you sobbing into his mouth. It felt so pure, so overwhelming. Finally, you could taste someone. Taste the spice of whiskey and the smoke of cigarettes rather than just the salt from your tears. By instinct your arms wrapped around his neck and you pulled yourself closer to him as if you wouldn’t be satisfied until you were nestled in the warmth of his chest inside of his ribcage.
Eventually, your bodies collided with the mattress and you found yourself caged in by Simon’s arms as he hovered over you. His tongue slipped into your mouth and you felt him groan into you like he had never had such a tasty meal. Then his lips began to wander, and he kissed along your jawline, neck, and further down to your stomach. It was the first time someone kissed your body and it felt like you were being given something rather than having something taken away.
“So gorgeous,” he whispered against your stomach. His hands dipped underneath the short skirt of your dress and pushed it up over your hips, exposing your panties. You let out a shaky breath as he kissed your clit through your underwear, and you realized you had never had someone’s mouth on you like that before. “Wanna taste you, sweetheart. Tell me I can.”
It was strange to have someone ask permission before doing something with you, and you felt your throat grow dry at the thought. Strange emotions swirled like a storm in your head where sorrow mixed with desire among other terrible conflicting emotions, and all you could muster was a simple nod. You just wanted it all to stop, for him to take away the pain no matter the cost.
“Need you to use your words,” Simon mumbled against your heat.
“Yes!” you spoke. The word erupted out of you with little regard for any of those confusing feelings muddling your mind. “Please…”
With a swift yank Simon pulled your panties past the swell of your hips and you raised your legs into the air to let him pull them fully off of you. After tossing them somewhere behind him, he lowered himself onto the mattress and kissed your cunt once more, this time fully bare, which sent a jolt throughout your body. He hardly gave himself the time to admire your body before his tongue began to greedily swipe along your clit. It felt so foreign and unfamiliar yet so intense you found your legs instinctively squeezing shut. Simon only chuckled against you as he pressed his hands on the inside of your thighs to keep himself from suffocating too soon.
There was nothing you could do to stop the way your back arched off the bed in pure bliss. Already he had given you more pleasure in a few moments than you had received in your entire relationship with the Prices, and you bit into your lip as you mumbled out sweet nothings into the heavy air above you. Once you had grown wet enough with his spit and your own arousal, Simon carefully slipped a finger into your heat and you gasped at the sensation. You had never felt so full before and your muscles pulsed around him in greedy response. Despite all the pain and heartache you experienced that night, nothing could drown out the overwhelming mantra of more that reverberated throughout your entire body.
When Simon pulled away from you, your first instinct was to sit up and pull him back to you, but you paused when you saw the way he looked at you. Dark, heavy eyes pierced through you, and you watched in awe as he sat back and slid his shirt off his body in one swift motion. He was so big. Hardened muscle covered with a thick layer of skin and healthy layer of fat, he collapsed on top of you where his lips were on yours once more. His taste was different this time. It wasn’t just whiskey and cigarettes. There was this earthy sapor mixed with it, and it took you a moment to realize that you tasted yourself on his lips.
Then something ripped. Threads of cloth tore a part, and you realized you could no longer feel the dress around your body anymore. Whatever clothing you had worn had been replaced by Simon’s chest pressing against yours, and the skin to skin contact made your head spin.
“Don’t need that anymore,” Simon mumbled against your lips. “Don’t need anythin’ of theirs anymore, yeah?”
You nodded in agreement until you remembered what he said earlier about using your words. “Yeah,” you breathed.
His lips descended down to the soft tissue of your neck while he started to grind his hips against yours. The rough fabric of his jeans were all too stimulating against your needy and swollen clit, and you whined into Simon’s neck as you writhed underneath him.
“Do you want more?” he asked as he continued to grind his hardening bulge against your sex. “I’ll give you anythin’. Just gotta ask for it.”
“You,” you blurted out without so much as a second thought. “Please Simon, I need you.”
There was no more time to waste. With one hand, Simon reached down and unzipped his pants where he released his painfully hardened cock. You felt as he teasingly ran his leaky tip along your slit, smearing precum against you until he carefully dipped down into your hole. Hardly even an inch inside of you and you realized he was significantly girthier than his fingers were, and you found your head falling back against the mattress with a moan at the stretch of him.
“So goddamn perfect,” Simon grunted as he continued to push deeper and deeper into you. “Gonna give you the whole world. Anythin’ you want. Deserve so much more than them, fuckin’ christ, sweetheart.”
More tears poured down your face by the time he bottomed out. It was all just too much, so much anguish and love melding into one confusing feeling in your mind. Yet Simon kissed away every single tear as he began to carefully thrust into you. Each time he moved in you an all consuming wave of pleasure rippled through your body, forcing moans to mix in with your cries in some sort of lamentable symphony.
“I know, I know,” Simon cooed as he placed a fat kiss against your cheek. “You’re mine now, yeah? My girl. Gonna treat you properly. I’ve got you, love.”
Through it all, he was so soft with you, so warm, and you felt that heat begin to pool in your stomach. Every thrust into you marked you, it scratched away the essence of everything the Prices had done to you, what they didn’t do to you. Every empty space that had collected dust inside of you was filled by Simon and the searing passion he pumped into you. That was all you had ever wanted. To be seen, to be touched, to be loved. You had finally found it.
When you came, you did so with a sob. Muscles seized and you wrapped your arms so tightly around Simon’s neck he had no choice but to collapse against your chest as he continued to thrust into you. Your tears soaked into his hair as you sloppily kissed the top of his head, body still craving more of him despite the endorphins that ravaged your body.
“There she is,” Simon sighed, his voice a low rumble. “Doin’ alright, sweetheart?”
“Please,” you begged. “I need it. Need you to come, please Simon.”
Your plea sent him toppling over the edge and he slammed his hips against you one final time before he held himself there with a thick and strained groan. His cock twitching inside you was an unfamiliar feeling and yet you relished the way he filled you, warm cum soothing an ache only he could tame. Your grip around his neck loosened as you felt yourself melt into the duvet. All that pleasure, that love, finally got your mind to fall quiet.
Once Simon managed to catch his breath, he gently pulled out of you before falling next to you. Strong arms maneuvered you onto your side where he pulled you against his chest where he held you firmly against him. As usual, his heart pounded strong and steady in his chest, and the longer the two of you laid there the more calm it grew. Whatever tears you needed to cry had all fallen, and there was nothing but pure bliss that settled over you as you nuzzled against his body.
“I love you,” Simon said. He said it softly, as if it was a secret. Something special that only you could know.
You couldn’t remember the last time someone whispered that phrase to you.
“I love you, too.”
That night was the first night in years that you didn’t fall asleep alone, and when you woke up you realized it wasn’t a dream. His arms stayed wrapped tightly around you throughout the night, and you woke to the scent of his musk and you couldn’t help but smile. Really smile. It was real and you were there and you were loved. You buried your face further into his chest and he reacted in kind by pulling you closer.
“Mornin’ sweetheart,” he hummed.
Humming back, you stretched your limbs with a groan that left him chuckling and he placed a quick kiss on your forehead. He sat up in bed and pulled away from you, which left you whining, until he reached down towards the foot of the bed to grab the clothes you weren’t able to change into the previous night.
“What do you want for breakfast?” he questioned as he handed you his shirt.
Such a simple question, really, and yet it felt so much more important than that. This was the conversation lovers had in the morning. Contemplating, you took the clothes from him and set them beside you as you tilted your head and shrugged. “Whatever you feel like making.”
A small smile pulled at his lips, crooked and scarred, as he glanced toward the bedroom door for a short moment before his attention returned to you. “Alright, I’ll go get started. Take your time, yeah?”
Simon Riley made you feel like a princess and you held nothing in your heart for him but adoration as you watched him slip out of the room, still half naked. Just like he had said, you took your time getting ready, and even then it still wasn’t all that long. You fixed up your appearance as best as you could without a mirror before slipping his shirt over your head. It was long enough that it fell down to your mid thighs, and because of that you didn’t bother with the shorts, or your still slightly damp underwear from the night before, either.
Sizzling bacon and freshly warmed toast greeted you by the time you meandered into the living room, and you smiled to yourself at the sight of Simon cooking in the kitchen. You drooled at the way the sinewy muscles in his back flexed as he worked, and you couldn’t fight away that odd arousal that bloomed between your legs. Deciding that it was a good idea to get some food in your system before attempting to initiate anything physically demanding, you instead sat yourself on the couch.
Your phone sat face down on the coffee table in front of you, and your stomach dropped at the sight of it. Something twisted in your gut at the thought of unlocking it and seeing no messages, at realizing just how little the Prices surely missed you. Yet, you needed to bite the bullet. How were you supposed to start your new life with Simon if you were still holding onto the ghosts of your past?
With a shaky hand, you reached for the item and quickly turned it on. You prepared yourself for its mocking screen, for the heartbreak you knew you would be able to mend later, and yet it still wasn’t enough. Nothing could have readied you for the twenty missed phone calls and the countless texts from both Mr. and Mrs. Price. Begging to know where you were at. Asking if you were safe. Pleading with you to come home. Saying that if you hadn’t responded by noon they would call the cops in fear that the worst had happened to you.
Your throat dried out and you couldn’t stop your lips from trembling. Why did they do that? Was it supposed to be some sort of sick joke? Proof that no matter how far away from them you got you could never escape the hold they had on you? No, you listened to the voicemails. Listened to the way Mrs. Price’s voice quivered when asking if you were alright, when she begged you to come home, and you nearly sobbed.
Something was wrong.
“Simon?” you asked as you snuck into the kitchen behind him.
“Yeah?” he asked as he turned around to face you.
He froze the moment he saw your face. He could read the trepidation on your face as if it were the morning paper, and he quickly placed down his cooking utensils. You hated the way he looked at you with such care and yet with some sort of knowledge, as if he already predicted what you were about to ask him.
“Did you lie to me last night? About Mr. Price asking you to take me home with you?” you asked.
“Yes.”
His response came quick and without hesitation and that almost made things worse. You wished he had paused for a moment to think about the way that word would shatter you, and yet he didn’t. Tears pooled in the corner of your eyes and you found your face falling into your hands in disbelief. He lied to you. He fucking lied.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asked as his hands brushed against your shoulders.
“They’re going to be so mad at me,” you cried as you pressed your palms into your eyes. It had to be a cruel joke. You wished it was. They hadn’t given you up at all, and you were going to have to pay the price for betraying their trust.
“Hey… hey, look at me,” Simon ordered as he pulled your hands from your face. The way his hands engulfed your wrists was almost laughable, and you didn’t bother to fight against him. “I thought we agreed that you’re mine now. You’re mine, and I’m yours, yeah?”
“But you lied,” you retorted.
“They were neglectin’ you!” he corrected, and his voice boomed with such strength you nearly cowered. “Would you have followed me if I hadn’t said that to you last night? Or would you be stuck in that house with partners who wouldn’t even tell you that they were havin’ a damn kid? No, you’re mine now.”
One of his hands dropped down between your legs, and you gasped as your back came in contact with the counter. He palmed at your naked cunt, felt the way his cum oozed out of you at the gentle pressure of his fingers and the sudden tensing of your muscles.
“Do you really think they love you enough to take you back like this? With my cum inside of you and the taste of you still on my tongue?” he questioned. “I did what I did to save you. I was tired of seein’ them treat you like that. I’m not lettin’ that happen again.”
Words failed you and all you could do was stare up at him and cry. It was all so wrong and yet something in the back of your mind screamed that he was right. He was right because in one night he had given you everything you had all but begged of them to do for you in all the years you had been together. Even if they still wanted you, maybe they really didn’t deserve you. But you would still have to face them eventually. Admit that you were running away, that you didn’t belong to them anymore, and that thought terrified you.
Giving up, you collapsed against him and allowed all your anguish to spew from your eyes. Just like the previous night, his hold on you was strong and caring, and he did so without hesitation. After all, you were his girl. He saved you, and he had no intention of letting you go.
Imo I think we need more poly 141 fics or threesome fics where reader and one of the lads are the subs. Like I’m obsessed with your dom ghost and sun reader and soap!!! I wish there were more fics like that our there!
YEA YEA ABSOLUTELY!! i love love that dynamic; the ghoap x reader one has a special place in my heart because it’s so ‘master and his pet and his pet’s toy’ trope yk??? but yea dude poly!141 (x reader) is just so beautiful, but when theres clear power dynamics going on?? oh yeaa <3
also uh if its any consolation, i have a bunch of lil blurbs of this dynamic :3
his command, 02 (dom price x sub reader x switch ghost)
mommy (sub soap x dom reader; sub gaz x dom reader)
sir n his dolls, 02 (dom price x sub reader x sub gaz)
frenzied addiction (dom ghost x sub reader x sub soap)
little lamb and lying dog (dom price x sub reader x sub ghost)
orgasm denial, 02 (dom price x switch reader x sub ghost)
marionette (dom ghost x sub reader x switch gaz)
….yea! teehee >3<
Big man, Big mouth
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs
The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.
Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.
The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.
You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.
Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)
Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.
Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.
"Ya lost?" he grunts.
There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.
"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"
He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."
You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.
John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.
"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.
John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.
Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."
Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.
"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.
"It's Soap, hen."
“...Right.”
What the hell kind of name is Soap?
A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.
"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.
Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.
Unlikely.
John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—
your shoes?
"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."
Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."
Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.
--
Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.
Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.
Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."
The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."
You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—
The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.
But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.
"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.
"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?
"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.
Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.
"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.
Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.
"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.
"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.
You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"
Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.
"They're red."
You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.
"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."
The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.
"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?
"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.
Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?"
The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn.
You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.
"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"
Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"
Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.
He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.
He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."
No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.
He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.
"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.
"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.
Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."
You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"
His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."
Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.
The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.
"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."
Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.
"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.
What a way to break this year-long dry spell.
He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."
Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.
It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—
And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.
Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.
"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."
Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.
"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-
"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?
For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.
"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.
The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.
The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)
But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.
Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?
And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.
"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.
But then John calls out to you too.
"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”
Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.
Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."
When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.
"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."
Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."
"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.
"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.
"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.
The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.
Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.
Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside.
You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.
"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.
"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here.
It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.
(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)
A Dichotomy of Thought || Masterlist
Ghoap/reader—You move next door to a disabled veteran and his troubled partner. You have troubles of your own.
Part One—Johnny almost dies
Part Two—You give Simon five minutes
Part Three—You light a cigarette
Part Four—Johnny has a seizure
Part Five—Simon makes tea
Part Six—Simon and Johnny argue
Part Seven—Johnny finds a purpose
Part Eight—Poker Night
Part Nine
neocities guide - why you should build your own html website
do you miss the charm of the 90s/00s web where sites had actual personality instead of the same minimalistic theme? are you feeling drained by social media and the constant corporate monopoly of your data and time? do you want to be excited about the internet again? try neocities!!
what is neocities?
neocities is a free hosting website that lets you build your own html website from scratch, with total creative control. in their own words: "we are tired of living in an online world where people are isolated from each other on boring, generic social networks that don't let us truly express ourselves. it's time we took back our personalities from these sterilized, lifeless, monetized, data mined, monitored addiction machines and let our creativity flourish again."
why should I make my own website?
web3 has been overtaken by capitalism & conformity. websites that once were meant to be fun online social spaces now exist solely to steal your data and sell you things. it sucks!! building a personal site is a great way to express yourself and take control of your online experience.
what would I even put on a website?
the best part about making your own site is that you can do literally whatever the hell you want! focus on a specific subject or make it a wild collection of all your interests. share your art! make a shrine for one of your interests! post a picture of every bird you see when you step outside! make a collection of your favorite blinkies! the world is your oyster !! here are some cool example sites to inspire you: recently updated neocities sites | it can be fun to just look through these and browse people's content! space bar | local interstellar dive bar creature feature | halloween & monsters big gulp supreme peanutbuttaz | personal site dragodiluna linwood | personal site patho grove | personal site
getting started: neocities/html guide
sound interesting? here are some guides to help you get started, especially if you aren't familiar with html/css sadgrl.online webmastery | a fantastic resource for getting started with html & web revival. also has a layout builder that you can use to start with in case starting from scratch is too intimidating web design in 4 minutes | good for learning coding basics w3schools | html tutorials templaterr | demo & html for basic web elements eggramen test pages | css page templates to get started with sadgrl background tiles | bg tiles rivendell background tiles | more free bg tiles
fun stuff to add to your site
want your site to be cool? here's some fun stuff that i've found blinkies-cafe | fantastic blinkie maker! (run by @transbro & @graphics-cafe) gificities | internet archive of 90s/00s web gifs internet bumper stickers | web bumper stickers momg | gif gallery 99 gif shop | 3d gifs 123 guestbook | add a guestbook for people to leave messages cbox | add a live chat box moon phases | track the phases of the moon gifypet | a little clickable page pet adopt a shroom | mushroom page pet tamaNOTchi | virtual pet crossword puzzle | daily crossword imood | track your mood neko | cute cat that chases your mouse pollcode | custom poll maker website hit counter | track how many visitors you have
web revival manifestos & communities
also, there's actually a pretty cool community of people out there who want to bring joy back to the web! melonland project | web project/community celebrating individual & joyful online experiences. Also has an online forum melonland intro to web revival | what is web revival? melonking manifesto | status cafe | share your current status nightfall city | online community onio.cafe | leave a message and enjoy the ambiance sadgrl internet manifesto | yesterweb internet manifesto | sadly defunct, still a great resource reclaiming online social spaces | great manifesto on cultivating your online experience
in conclusion
i want everyone to make a neocities site because it's fun af and i love seeing everyone's weird personal sites that they made outside of the control of capitalism :) say hi to me on neocities
I HAVE FINISHED SCANNING 8 BEAT GAG VOLUMES 4-6!!!
They are available to read for free on my google drive!
Link: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1-3mzepVlPwG4rfeR30khWksmvZf3PjT1
I hope you all enjoy and have fun!! i dont mind reposts/downloads, do whatever!! i do ask if you could spread my google drive around if able to so more people can discover the scans!!
ok now that theyve been definitively cut can i just say im really mad that we lost this conversation bc i feel like it was really, really important to understanding the shigeo/mob dichotomy
shigeo, the whole person, is convinced that if he is his “true self”, people will not want to be around him. “mob” exists as the mask he wears around people, the “fake” him, the image he puts on to make other people happy.
“shigeo” exists as true thoughts and feelings and fears and wants he has suppressed for so long to put up this performance to other people. mob wants to go on keeping his “true” self suffocated, because he’s afraid of losing people. shigeo wants to be himself, even if that means pushing people away. but they’re both wrong. people don’t like him because he’s agreeable and opinion-less and doesn’t push back or cause trouble. people like him for him. he’s saying no one will ever come near him again while all his friends and loved ones run to the epicenter of a fucking hurricane to help calm him down.
that’s why reigen’s confession is what finally gets through to him. if reigen, this person he looks up to more than anyone, someone he cares for deeply, can be masking in the same way he is, and if that doesn’t change the fact that he respects and cares for him, then cant people accept shigeo kageyama just as much as they care for mob?
Character/Show information found on Gooseworx's tumblr
I went into Gooseworx's tumblr and made a list of all the info found on there so far.
Caine named himself before deciding that it's an acronym that stands for Creative Artificial Intelligence Networking Entity (he thinks it makes him sound more professional)
Caine does not have an age. He is an AI.
Apparently, Caine is likely to be the best singer out of everyone.
Caine can't grasp the concept of irony
Caine is not affected by "this statement is false."
If Caine could remove his outfit, there'd be nothing underneath
Caine gives nicknames to everyone and everything
Bubble speaks backwards once in episode 3.
Bubble is apparently the biggest slut.
Bubble is a much simpler AI created by Caine
Bubble tastes like soap and feels really good when popped
The Moon and the Sun are AI "like bubble."
The mannequins are NPCs
Pomni's hat is part of her body
Pomni does not like being touched.
Pomni's reaction to herself in the mirror isn't a positive one
Apparently, Pomni's hair is black.
Ragatha would give the best hugs. Zooble would give the worst hugs.
Ragatha has been in the Digital Circus the second longest, after Kinger
Ragatha sometimes says things she doesn't necessarily mean if she thinks it'll ease tensions
There's a particular character who hasn't been revealed yet who's practically a Gooseworx self-insert. (He's the mean one...Jax?)
Nobody likes Jax
Jax does not have a tail
Out of everyone trapped in the Digital Circus, Jax deserves to be there the most
Jax did not react well when he appeared in the Digital Circus
Gangle likes to draw, specifically anime
Gangle's favorite anime is Azumanga Daioh
Gangle had an anime character body pillow before she came to the Digital Circus
Gangle also likes One Piece. Her favourite character is Chopper
Kinger is the oldest and the tallest
There's an episode that heavily involves Kinger
Kinger and Zooble eat like a Chao
Zooble has a Zooble box in their room with other body parts and is constantly trying out new parts
Zooble would not allow someone to hug them
Zooble was the last to arrive in the Digital Circus before Pomni
Zooble is very grouchy and irritable
Zooble is 6 months older than Jax
Zooble would smoke weed if possible
Their ages from oldest to youngest:
Kinger - 48
Ragatha - 30
Gangle - 26
Pomni - 25
Zooble - 22
Jax - 22
There's "technically" a worm in episode 2
There are "many" characters we don't know about yet
Some episodes are a 1 on a horror scale, and there is an episode that's a 6 on the horror scale.
Episodes will typically be 21-25 minutes
The queen chess piece is named Queenie
DDCC is an inside joke between Gooseworx and a few friends, the 'X' was added to make it harder to pronounce
The performers of the Digital Circus can feel pain
Abstraction can not be undone
As of november 6th, Gooseworx says, "The plan is eight episodes total, one season"
Every character has a reason for the way they act
The abstracted all look the same
Note that some of this info may have changed since posting (or may have been revealed in the pilot), some may change during the course of the show, and some may be joke answers. Let me know if there's anything I might've missed!
Specifically @cupcakeslushie @red-rover-au and @trubblegumm your aus have been absolutely delightful
I know I don’t really ever talk here, and I rarely include gender critical posts anywhere in my blog, but I’ve been doing some research and I am very moved to discuss some of the things I’ve found.
I’ve specifically been researching the use of puberty blockers in children with gender dysphoria (children here being defined as youths under 18). The unfortunate reality that I’ve come across is that many studies pertaining to the use of puberty blockers are extremely flawed. Putting under a read more because this is kind of long.
Keep reading
OFFERING REDUCED MUSIC COMMISSIONS!!
$30 for a 0-2 minute song!
$60 for 2-3!
$90 for 3+ minutes!
Hello, I'm Joan! I am a musician with both self training and classical training influences and just about two decades under my belt.
I got my start playing live instruments, many of which I consider myself excellent at now, and made the transition into digital music production about 9 years ago! I still live record as well.
MUSIC I CAN MAKE FOR YOU:
Theme songs for OCs!
Theme songs for DND sessions!
Theme songs for just about any story or idea you have!
Background/AFK/Intro & Outro music for streamers and youtubers!8-16 bit retro sounds for game projects!
Battle songs! Calm lofi! From breakcore and triphop to even classical!
And everything in-between!
Here is my KOFI for any support.
You can message me for any questions!
Anything helps! I am struggling to afford bills and food.
If you support adobe DO NOT under any circumstances fucking click this link and download Adobe Animate CC 2019 . It would be A HUGE financial loss on adobe’s part umu please reblog this and spread it around so people Don’t download and get adobe for free and make them lose a bunch of money
Question about krita? How do you animate on it? I really wanna get into animation but I'm not really sure where to start 😔
I’m not very good at explaining things but the first time I use Krita, I watched this video for guidance(It is pretty good) but if you need more help, there are other tutorials on Youtube that you could watch too.
BE GAY DO CRIMES BLAST UR MUSIC LOUD DYE YOUR HAIR WEIRD COLORS WEAR FUN CLOTHES GET THAT TATTOO EAT A WHOLE CAKE LIVE UR LIFE HOWEVER YOU WANT BECAUSE ONLY YOU CAN DECIDE WHO YOU ARE
AAAA I CAN'T WAIT TO USE THEM <3
POSE REFERENCES
Active manual wheelchair user!
If u use pls show me ur art I love seeing everyone's work!!!!!!
hot artists don't gatekeep
I've been resource gathering for YEARS so now I am going to share my dragons hoard
Floorplanner. Design and furnish a house for you to use for having a consistent background in your comic or anything! Free, you need an account, easy to use, and you can save multiple houses.
Comparing Heights. Input the heights of characters to see what the different is between them. Great for keeping consistency. Free.
Magma. Draw online with friends in real time. Great for practice or hanging out. Free, paid plan available, account preferred.
Smithsonian Open Access. Loads of free images. Free.
SketchDaily. Lots of pose references, massive library, is set on a timer so you can practice quick figure drawing. Free.
SculptGL. A sculpting tool which I am yet to master, but you should be able to make whatever 3d object you like with it. free.
Pexels. Free stock images. And the search engine is actually pretty good at pulling up what you want.
Figurosity. Great pose references, diverse body types, lots of "how to draw" videos directly on the site, the models are 3d and you can rotate the angle, but you can't make custom poses or edit body proportions. Free, account option, paid plans available.
Line of Action. More drawing references, this one also has a focus on expressions, hands/feet, animals, landscapes. Free.
Animal Photo. You pose a 3d skull model and select an animal species, and they give you a bunch of photo references for that animal at that angle. Super handy. Free.
Height Weight Chart. You ever see an OC listed as having a certain weight but then they look Wildly different than the number suggests? Well here's a site to avoid that! It shows real people at different weights and heights to give you a better idea of what these abstract numbers all look like. Free to use.
WELCOME TO THE JAZZPUNK ICEBERG
Sources for things not directly in-game or in files:
Serious game + game concept
Consulate roof
Merch
Jazzpunk: Johnny + parody
VR compatibility
Switched engines
Polyblank's gender
6SN7
6809 processor
Synthesizers
OST