Felt On Another Level 😌

I don't know which version I like more

If Birdie asked to move seats and does, she just ends up between Price and Gaz. While more considerate to her personal space, they still end up flirting with her and texting the other two. After landing, she suddenly has four escorts to her hotel and for the rest of her trip.

oh price being the bloke to be like "sorry sweet'eart" when reaching across you to toss the trash when the attendant walks by and kyle is def the guy to make witty little quips at the movie that's playing but i'm living at the thought of you getting off the plane and wow, kyle was so nice to get you your carry-on but now you can't shake them loose.

tried to reach for your backpack only to have gaz quickly snatch it out of reach while price is already on the search for your luggage and ghoap is hovering over your shoulders talking about they know a place that's got good grub.

"I cheated on you."

As soon as the words left John's mouth, you paused what you were doing and glanced at him with a frown. He dumped that on you while cooking dinner, and it irritated you to no end, both his confession and the timing of it all. "I'm not surprised." You replied snipply.

John shifted across from the counter, his face sullen and full of regret, but he had to face what he did to you and himself.

Out of the times he's had his life on the line, this is the scariest one of them all. It was obvious you were upset but couldn't say anything.

"Show me." You hummed, looking at him as you resumed stirring the stew. the hot knife coming from your glare, easily slicing through him.

Your husband stiffened. You wanted to see?

Before he had a chance to make sure it was what you wanted, your gaze narrowed, and you nodded your head.

John turned from you and opened the pantry filled with dry goods, then you heard it. It was the plastic box with his favorite cake from the bakery, half-eaten and hidden away in shame.

Sweet and very chocolatey, making your mouth water with delight. It felt like it's been a year since you've had a sweet, but in truth, it's only been two weeks.

"You're cheating on me with a cake...give me a bite, now." You hummed and walked over to him with a pout, watching as he forked a bite, holding it out to you, the richness exploding in your mouth.

John watched as you groaned and looked at him, ready to say something, but he was already leaning in to kiss the frosting off your lips before finishing the cake with you.

Your diet idea won't be happening again

I love this

Mr. President

Method Man as President Damon White

WARNING: SMUT, 18+

Masterlist

You’re a 28 year old White House Press Secretary for US President 44 year old Damon White. He is the first black President of the United States and you couldn’t have been more proud to serve under him. You knew your job wasn’t going to be easy but it’s tough keeping the secret that the president and the first lady are separated and planning on getting a divorce after his term. Before he was announced as president, they were having problems and things ended when Damon found out his wife, Kyra was cheating on him with one of her own former secret service agent. He broke things off 6 months into his term and from then on, they slept in different rooms and only act like a happy couple for appearances.

You were checking yourself into the white house when you got a text from the president’s chief of staff, Scott.

“ Oval office. NOW! “

You hurried and went through the medical detectors and got your things. It’s only 7 AM and problems are already happening. We arrived into the oval office and seen the president sitting behind his desk with a nonchalant look on his face and the first lady standing in front of his desk yelling at him.

“ How could you just throw away our marriage after one mistake?! Me and him meant nothing! “ Kyra says with tears down her face.

“ Kyra stop acting so surprised. We’ve been separated for almost a year now. If i wanted to fight for this marriage i would have but i’m not about to fight for someone who cheated on me. “ He says while fixing his cuff links.

“ It was just one mistake Damon! “

“ Okay how about we take a breather. We don’t want anybody to hear about you and the President’s marriage. We gotta keep it together. Your assistant is outside the office, let’s go get you cleaned up and calm down. “ You say while guiding her to the door.

Kyra ends up leaving with her assistant leaving you, the President, and Scott in the oval office. It’s 8 months now into his term now and he’s set on divorcing her.

“ Wow. “ You say breathing out.

“ Tell me about it. “ Damon says.

“ You and Kyra need to get on the same page or your image is gonna be tarnished. “ You say while sitting on his couch.

“ I’m trying. She won’t listen. I love being president but i’ll be happy when it’s over and i can retire and finally be with the person i want to be with. “ He says sitting back in his chair smiling.

“ You’re seeing someone? Why don’t i know this? “ You say confused.

“ We aren’t together. I haven’t told her yet. You’ll find out soon enough. “

“ Well okay then. I’m about to start this press conference. After i finish, if you need me just call my office. “ You say before waking out.

“ So. When are you going to tell her that you’re in love with her. “ Scott says standing up with his hands in his pockets.

“ You know? “ Damon says looking at him.

“ I noticed every time you look at her or talk to her, your face lights up. Even when i mention her name and you’re upset, you get happy just like that. Plus, i see how you be looking at her when she isn’t looking. “ Scott says chuckling.

“ Wow. She does have the effect on me. She’s just an amazing, intelligent, beautiful woman. “ He says while opening his laptop to watch you on the news press briefing.

“ I can tell. I’ve known you and Kyra for awhile now and i’ve never seen you like this over her. “ Scott says pulling out his phone.

“ I was going to tell her after my term but i can’t hold out any longer. I’ma tell her tonight. “

“ Good luck. “ Scott says walking out.

Throughout the day Damon had meetings, phone calls, and a meeting with the first lady and their media consultant. The media consultant decided they should do a public appearance to keep up their image. The entire meeting was awkward because Damon could care less about it and Kyra was still emotional about what she had done. Damon only thought about you the entire day.

It’s currently 6 PM and it’s almost time for you to go home. You were in your office when you get a call from the President.

“ Hi Mr. President. How can i help you? “ You say while sitting up.

“ Hey Miss Y/L/N. I was wondering if we could go ahead and write my press statement for tomorrow before you go home tonight. “ He says while straightening out his tie.

“ Oh yes sir. I’ll be right down. “

“ Okay see you in a bit. “ He says before hanging up.

You grabbed your iPad and phone and started to make your way to the oval office. The White House was pretty big and wearing heels didn’t make it any better. After 15 minutes you made it to the office and walked in.

“ Good Afternoon Mr. President. “ You say while walking in and closing the door.

“ Afternoon Y/N. Want a drink before we get started? “ He says while pouring himself a scotch.

“ No i’m alright. How has your day been? “ You say while sitting on the couch and unlocking your iPad.

“ It’s been busy. A lot of meeting, phone calls, and a quick meeting with our media consultant. “ He says sitting beside you.

“ Another appearance with the first lady? “

“ Yeah. Which i don’t wanna do. I rather just tell the world we’re getting a divorce but i can’t. “ He says sitting his glass down.

“ Yeah we gotta keep the image up. Ready to get started? “

“ Yes. “

You both spent an hour writing down his statement for tomorrow briefing on the shootings and riots that’s happening around the world. While working on the statement, he was thinking about how life would be with you. After his term he would retire, officially divorce Kyra, and hopefully you both would move in together in a house he’s going to have built.

“ Alright. Looks like we’re all done. “ You say standing up and smoothing your dress down.

While sitting down still, the president reaches up and grabs your hand making you look at him.

“ I really appreciate you Y/N. “ He says while holding your hand and looking into your eyes.

“ Thank you Mr. President. “ You say smiling.

You both locked your eyes on each other and you looked down at your hand as he started to rub it with his thumb while still holding it.

“ Mr. Pres- “

Before you could even finish your sentence, Damon pulls you down onto his lap and gives you kiss that literally took your breath away. You kissed back with your arms around his neck and runs his hands up your thighs and to your ass. As this kiss started to get heated, you snapped back into reality and pulled away.

“ Wait no. We shouldn’t be doing this. “ You say about to get up but he holds onto your waist.

“ Wait wait. I know this is risky but i’m in love with you Y/N. Me and Kyra aren’t together anymore that’s done. That’s finished. I was going to tell you how i felt after my term but i couldn’t wait any longer. I wanna be with you. “ He says while looking into your eyes.

“ If we do this we will have to be very careful. Nobody can know. If this comes out, your presidency is ruined. “ You say while looking at him.

“ You’re worth the risk. “

He says before kissing you again. You reached down and started to undo his belt buckle while kissing him and all of the sudden his desk phone started to ring making him groan. You chuckled and got off his lap and he got up and answered the phone.

“ Hello… Right now?… Okay i’ll be down. Tell them to give me 10 minutes. “ He says before hanging up.

“ Everything okay? “

“ I’ve got a emergency meeting with the russian president in 10 mins via zoom call. While i’m doing that, i want you to go to my master suite, take off your clothes, and wait for me in bed. “ He says while pulling you up and tongue kissing you.

You moaned while kissing back and pulled away. “ Yes sir Mr. President. “ You say while smirking and walking out.

You snuck up to his room and closed the door before stripping out of your clothes. You laid on your stomach across the bed on your phone waiting for him. After 20 mins he walks in and sees you still laying in that position and smirks. You turned around and smirked at him.

“ It’s about time. Everything okay? “

“ Everything is perfect. “ He says while kicking off his shoes and jacket.

He starts walking up behind you and you put yourself on all fours and brushed your ass against his bulge as he stood behind you while you were on the bed. He takes off his tie and smacks your ass making you moan. He puts his hand on your back and pushes your upper half down into the bed leaving your ass in the air. As you bent over, your pussy came into full view and his mouth watered at the sight of your glistening pussy.

“ So wet for me already.. “

He says before sticking 2 fingers inside you and fingering you slowly and deep. You moaned biting your lip as he massaged your walls with his fingers. He pulls his fingers out and sucks the juices off his fingers.

“ You taste so sweet baby.. “

You started to giggle but started to gasp as you felt him stick one finger in your ass.

“ Anyone been in here? “ He asks as he fingered you slowly.

“ Mm mm. “ You moaned.

“ I’ll save that for another day. “

He says before removing his fingers and leaning down to eat your pussy. He held onto your thighs as he started to suck on your lips and flick his tongue over your clit making you moan and reach under you to grab at your breast. He spreads your lips apart and spits on your pussy before sticking his tongue in your hole making you get louder and shake a little. He starts to tongue fuck you while massaging your hips.

“ Oh fuck.. just like that.. “ You moaned with your eyes closed.

He started to moan while sent shivers up your spine and made you get even wetter against his tongue. He pulls his tongue out and starts to suck on your clit making you lose your arch and moan loudly while trying to crawl forward. He chuckled while still sucking and moving his head side to side and holding you by your thighs so you wouldn’t move.

“ Ooo oh my god! I can’t i can’t .. “

Before you knew it, you started to gush against his beard while using the pillow to scream into. He releases your clit and stands up while smacking your ass.

“ Good girl.. Ima give you a second. “ He says while taking off the rest of his clothes.

You chuckled trying to get your body to stop shaking and you turned on your back and seen Damon standing there fully naked while stroking his hard dick. You slid off the bed and got on your knees while in front of him. You opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue while looking up at him and he starts slapping the tip of his dick against it. You wrapped your lips around his tip and begin to bob your head back and forth while holding onto his thighs.

“ Mmm… good fucking girl. Keep sucking me just like that. “ Damon says while looking down at you swallow his dick over and over.

You kept going until you stopped and pushed your head all the way down until his tip hit the back of your throat. You held yourself there and begin to massage his balls making him groan loudly and hold onto the bed post.

“ Damn girl.. “

You removed him from your mouth to breathe and begin to stroke him with both hands.

“ Don’t cum just yet. “ You say while looking up at him smirking.

“ Then stop sucking me so good. Lay your ass on the bed. “

He says while pulling you up and pushing you on the bed making you giggle. You flipped back against the bed on your back and he gets between your legs and tongue kisses you. You kissed back and he sits up and pulls you closer to him by your thighs. He pushes your legs back so your knees are under your arms and you held them there with your hands on your calves. He rubbed his dick up and down your slit before inserting himself inside you slowly. You both looked into each other’s eyes and moaned out as you both connected to each other. When he was fully inside you, he begins to stroke into you while pinning your legs down with his hands on the back of your knees. He starts speeding up his thrusts making the bed rock.

“ F-fuck.. you’re so big.. “ You moaned out while watching him thrust in and out of you.

“ And you look so beautiful taking me.. you don’t know how long i’ve been wanting you. “

He says moving his and your hands off your legs and leaning down to kiss you with your legs hanging on his shoulders. As you both made out, he begins to grind into you deeply while moving his hips in a circle. You moaned into his mouth and your legs started to shake a little from his tip brushing against your spot. He could tell he was near so he planted himself on his feet and sat on the back of your thighs and begins to slam down into you balls deep hitting directly against your spot.

“ Oh my god! … What are you doing to me.. “ You moaned out making him chuckle.

You’ve never felt this type of pleasure before. It was so euphoric and he was so deep that you started to feel him in your stomach which made you get louder. You were so loud he had to cover your mouth with his hand but he kept going the same pace.

“ Shhh baby.. you can take it. “ He says as he watches as your eyes go to the back of your head.

You gripped his arm and as he continued slamming down you started to squirt around his dick while you groaned against his hand. He pulled out and started to rub his tip against your clit making you whimper and jerk from being so sensitive. He wraps his arm around you and flips you both over so you’re on top and you sat back on his dick. You got yourself on your feet and begin to bounce on him while he massaged your plumped breast.

“ Just like that baby.. fuck i love this tight pussy.. “ He says while moaning and watching your juices wet up his pelvis.

You threw your head back and he puts his hands on your hips and bounces you up and down harder making you moan out and the headboard hit against the wall.

“ You feel so good inside me Mr. President.. “ You moaned before biting your lip.

“ Bring your sexy ass down here. “

He says before pulling you down by your neck and tongue kissing you. He puts his hands on your ass cheeks to spread them apart and starts to pound up into you making you grip the sheets above his head and moan into his mouth.

“ Fuck.. i’m cumming.. i’m cumming.. “

He says while breaking the kiss. After a few more pumps, he starts cumming deep inside you while you both moan out. As he pulled himself out slowly he continued to cum while stroking himself making his nut shoot out onto your pussy. After he finishes, you laid beside him and you both laid there trying to catch your breath.

“ That was amazing. “ You say making him laugh and hover over you while sitting up on his forearm.

“ There’s plenty more where that came from. “ He says kissing you.

“ As much as i would love to, i have to freshen up and get out of here before someone catches us in here. “ You say after kissing back and getting up going to the bathroom.

“ You’re right. “ He says laying back with his arms folded behind his head.

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GUESS WHO JUST GOT OUT OF PRISON!

GYM CRUSH SIMON

sfw + nsfw. unsafe sex. womb fucking. no condom.

you never planned on becoming a late-night gym rat. it just …happened. like most things in your life, it started with good intentions and spiraled into something you weren’t entirely in control of.

you’d made a new year’s resolution to get in shape— because health, discipline, all that crap— and, in a moment of overzealous optimism, you splurged on a gym membership. a pricey one, to add. the kind that made your bank account cry, which meant quitting wasn’t an option.

there was only one problem. you were busy. between classes, assignments, and the absolute joke that was your sleep schedule, the only time you could consistently work out was well past normal human hours.

at first, the idea of hitting the gym at midnight felt… weird. like stepping into a parallel universe where only insomniacs and questionable life choices existed. but then you considered the alternative— going during peak hours and getting judged for your piss-poor form, or worse, waiting in line for machines behind a dude who was live-streaming his workout.

midnight schedule it was.

it grew on you eventually. the routine became second nature. drag yourself in after class, half-asleep, toss your bag into a locker, and start on the treadmill to wake yourself up. a slow warm-up, music blasting through your headphones, then a mostly half-hearted attempt at strength training.

the people who showed up at this hour were predictable. a few other students— dead-eyed, running on caffeine fumes. a handful of older folks, the dedicated ones who treated the gym like a sacred temple.

and then there was him.

tall. broad. built like something out of a military recruitment ad.

the first time you noticed him, you’d nearly tripped on the treadmill. one second, you were zoning out, staring at the clock, and the next— there he was. buzz cut barely visible beneath the hood of his sweatshirt, arms thick with muscle, veins running down his forearms in stark lines. tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, black ink tracing the ridges of his skin.

(the combat boots were what threw you off. who the hell wore combat boots to the gym?)

he moved through his workout with terrifying

efficiency. no wasted movements, no unnecessary pauses. heavyweights. circuits. the kind of training that looked more like preparation for war than casual fitness. he never looked winded either. no gasping for breath, no pausing to rest, just relentless, controlled effort.

you developed a— not a crush— an appreciation for him. admiration. respect. that was it. not the way his hoodie stretched across his shoulders when he adjusted his grip on the barbell. not the way his jaw clenched in concentration. not the way his fingers wrapped around the weights with an ease that made you feel woefully inadequate.

“it’s a crush,” your friend announced one evening, stabbing a straw into his juice box.

you scoffed, flipping through your notes. “it’s not.”

“it is. i’m fit too, but i don’t see you staring at me like you wanna lick salt off my abs.”

you made a disgusted noise. “jesus, shut up.”

he grinned, tipping his juice box back dramatically. “i’m just saying. the fact that you haven’t even talked to him and yet know his entire workout routine is very-"

“i do not know his entire workout routine.”

your friend raised a brow.

you sighed. “…he does back and legs on tuesdays.”

his brow lifted higher.

“…and arms on thursdays.”

silence.

“right.”

“shut up.”

you’d considered talking to him. maybe asking for tips or making some awkward joke about his frankly ridiculous choice of gym footwear. but he didn’t exactly radiate approachable.

the man looked like he’d rather be waterboarded than engage in small talk.

and you? you weren’t some plucky rom-com protagonist who could charm the brooding loner into friendship with a dazzling smile and sheer force of personality. so, you kept your distance. which was fine. totally fine.

What the hell would you even say? “hey, nice pecs, can I bury my face between them?” he’d call the police on you.

so, you stayed quiet..

until the night you made the monumentally stupid decision to start lifting weights.

in your defense, it wasn’t entirely your idea. you were perfectly content with your usual treadmill-and-machines routine. but then your friend had to go and mock you.

“you’re paying for a full gym membership,” he said, flicking a fry at your forehead, “and you’re not even using the weight room?”

“i use it,” you protested.

“you walk through it.”

okay, fine. he had a point. which was how you ended up here, standing in front of a barbell, mentally preparing yourself to lift it like you were about to perform brain surgery.

you’d done your research— watched some youtube tutorials, read some articles. you knew the basics. foot placement. core engagement. not arching your back like a possessed demon.

you took a deep breath, squared your stance, wrapped your hands around the bar, and— nothing.

the bar didn’t budge.

you frowned, adjusted your grip. another deep breath. still nothing.

okay. you could do this. just, more force. maybe a little momentum. you planted your feet, sucked in a breath, and heaved—

"y’need a spotter?"

you startle so hard you nearly fall backward, breath catching as you whip around. close— he’s close, and jesus, he’s even bigger up close. broad shoulders, thick arms crossed over his chest, pale eyes flicking between you and the barbell like he’s already making peace with witnessing an injury. his hoodie is pulled up like always, shadows cutting sharp over the edges of his jaw, but there’s something vaguely unimpressed about his expression. braced for disaster.

you swallow. "uh."

his brow lifts, expectant, as if this is some kind of trick question. "that a yes or a no?"

"i-" your brain short-circuits. every ounce of confidence you had a second ago shrivels up and dies. "i totally got this."

he exhales sharply, something between a scoff and a sigh. he shifts his weight, one foot bracing slightly forward. "sure you do.

your face heats. you turn back to the barbell, fingers tightening around the metal, and pull. it lifts— barely. your arms burn, hands already sweating, but you’re stubborn. you have it. almost.

"you’re about to smash your fucking face in," he mutters.

you falter— just for a second— but that’s all it takes. your grip slips, the weight tilting. shit, shit, shit!

he moves fast. faster than you expect. before you can even panic properly, his hands brace yours, steadying the bar with zero effort. he’s strong, fingers wrapping over yours for a brief moment before smoothly guiding the weight back onto the rack like it weighs nothing. you stumble back, arms trembling from the strain, but he doesn’t step away yet, just watches you catch your breath.

"right," he says after a beat, stepping back. "now that you’ve definitely got it, mind if i give you some actual pointers?"

you blink up at him, still processing the fact that you almost died, and this guy just saved your life like it was nothing. "you train people?"

"no. just rather not watch someone crush their skull in." which is… fair, you suppose.

you wipe your sweaty palms on your leggings, trying not to look as embarrassed as you feel. "okay. please. teach me."

you and simon— you learn his name by the third day!— slowly fall into a routine, much to his chagrin. he hadn’t expected offering to help you not splatter brain matter across the gym floor would lead to... this. a persistent presence. a shadow in his periphery.

he doesn’t know how it happened, how you managed to wedge yourself into the one place he thought was untouchable, but somehow, you did. and now, you’re there. always. not in an overbearing way. you don’t talk his ear off or force yourself on him. if anything, you’re surprisingly easy to be around. and worse— comfortable. which is fucking dangerous.

a routine starts forming. he hadn’t expected that offering to help you not crush your own skull under a barbell would lead to… this. hadn’t expected that you’d still be here, three days later, four, a week, waving at him when he walks in, bright-eyed and warm despite the ungodly hour. he tries to keep you at arm’s length, really, he does.

but you’re not loud. you don’t force yourself on him. you don’t pry or try to push past his walls— you just exist, alongside him, like it’s a natural thing in the world. you ask him questions, ease him into conversations so seamlessly that sometimes he doesn’t even notice he’s talking until he’s already halfway into answering.

"you ever listen to anything in those headphones?"

he glances at you, then down at his battered over-ear set, blinking like he’d forgotten they were even on. "sometimes."

you hum, stepping up to adjust your weights. "what kinda music?

he hesitates. "depends."

"on?"

"the day."

you narrow your eyes. "that’s not an answer."

"sure it is."

you mutter something under your breath about how “everyone in this gym is allergic to giving a straight answer,” but drop it— he notices that about you. you ask, but you never push. never press. you’re content with whatever he gives, and somehow that makes him want to give you more.

it’s little things at first. small details. he learns that you hate most protein juices but drink it anyway, that you run cold so you always wear a hoodie even when you’re sweating through it, that you hate country music and give him a long, horrified look when you learn that he doesn’t. ("not all of it," he defends, rolling his eyes. "some of it’s alright." you just shake your head at him like he’s beyond saving.)

you learn things too. that his tattoos are actually a full sleeve ("when’d you get these?" "over time." "wow, thanks, that clears so much up."), that he has an endless supply of grey hoodies and sweatpants that he refuses to explain.

"you ever heard of color?" you ask, plucking at his sleeve, and he swats your hand away. "practical," he grunts. "s’not a fuckin’ fashion show."

and then— of course— you fixate on the boots. the combat boots. “okay, but why?” you prod, nudging the toe of his boot with yours. “you know you can wear actual gym shoes, right?”

he gives you a flat look, expression unreadable under the shadow of his hood. “they’re my only pair.”

you freeze. your face twists, and there’s this flicker of genuine horror in your eyes that throws him completely off guard. “simon... are you... homeless?” your voice drops to a whisper, hesitant, like you’re afraid to even ask. his brain short-circuits. he smacks you lightly over the head, more shocked than anything.

"what the fuck- no, i'm not homeless, jesus."

you rub the spot with a pout, still eyeing him like you're not completely convinced. “well, i don’t know,” you mumble.

“you wear the same thing every day, never see you with a bag or a wallet or-”

“drop it.”

“-you don’t even buy pre-workout, simon, who does that-”

“drop it.”

some days, he comes into the gym in a mood. the kind where his head is full of static, his skin prickling with the restless need to exhaust himself into oblivion. those are the days he doesn’t want to talk. doesn’t want to be seen. and you— you notice. you don’t come up to him, don’t pester him or try to joke around like normal. instead, you just stand off to the side, watching him with this soft, wide-eyed expression like some kind of kicked puppy.

it’s unbearable.

like an itch under his skin that won’t go away. it eats at him, gnaws at the edges of his concentration, and before he can help it, he’s groaning and gesturing you over with a sharp flick of his fingers. “for fuck’s sake, just get over here already.”

you grin like you’ve won something, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you jog over, and he regrets it immediately.

you bring him coffee sometimes. at first, he doesn’t know how to react. he just stares at it when you shove the cup into his hands, blinking down at the little scribbled name on the side like it’s some kind of foreign object. he doesn’t even like sugary coffee, but he drinks it anyway.

the next day, guilt eats at him, so he shoves a protein shake into your hands, unwilling to meet your eyes. "s’only fair."

you squint at it, shake the bottle, listening to the liquid inside slosh around. “what’s in it?”

he scoffs. "fuckin’ cyanide."

you take an exaggerated sniff before grinning. “smells like peanut butter.”

his eye twitches. “just drink it.”

and then, somehow, that becomes a thing, too. a habit. every other day, one of you brings the other something— coffee, protein shakes, the occasional energy drink when you can tell he’s running on fumes.

one night, the gym is nearly empty. just the hum of air conditioning, the occasional clink of metal, the low buzz of some forgotten playlist over the speakers. the late hour has driven most people out, leaving only you and simon.

you’re exhausted, arms shaking, muscles burning with that deep, satisfying ache, but you’re pushing for one more rep. just one.

simon stands behind you, watching through the mirror. arms crossed, weight shifted slightly forward. tracking every movement, every shift in your stance, the way your hands tighten around the bar.

"you're on fumes," he mutters, but steps closer anyway, close enough that the heat of him presses against your back.

you roll your shoulders, shake out your wrists. “i got it.”

he exhales sharp through his nose, scoff and sigh rolled into one, but he doesn’t argue. just moves in, bracketing your sides, his presence steadying.

"alright," he murmurs, watching as you adjust your grip.

you brace yourself, pull, and the weight barely moves. your arms burn immediately, tendons screaming under the strain. your grip shifts, fingers trembling, slipping—

his hands are there. firm and certain, sliding just beneath yours, adjusting your hold without taking over. his chest nearly against your back, his breath warm against the top of your head.

"fix that grip, sweetheart."

you do, fingers locking down harder, shoulders bracing. he doesn’t let go, not fully, his palms ghosting over your forearms, steadying you just enough.

"lock it out," he says, quiet but insistent. his hands shift, one flattening against your stomach, the other hovering at your ribs, like he can feel where the tension is pulling wrong, where you need to engage. "push through. i’ve got you."

your breath stutters, something curling low in your stomach, and you force everything into that last pull, dragging the bar up, arms shaking, until you finally lock it out.

his fingers press in, just briefly, a quick squeeze at your ribs. "good."

you hold it for a second before guiding the weight back down, slow and controlled. the second it racks, your body gives, arms dead, shoulders screaming.

you stumble, just a little, and his hands are already there, catching at your waist. warm. solid. fingers pressing in just enough to steady you. they linger, just a second too long.

and then— "good girl."

barely above a murmur, just breath and heat against your skin, but it slams through you all the same.

your stomach tightens. your pulse jumps. you freeze.

you turn, still breathless, muscles trembling from exertion.

and he’s right there. solid. massive. crowding you. broad chest rising and falling, sweat clinging to the fabric stretched over muscle. too close, heat rolling off him, sinking into your skin, and making your stomach twist. up close, he’s all sharp lines and thick muscle, biceps flexing slightly as he rolls his shoulders back, tilting his head down to look at you.

"don’t-" your voice breaks. you swallow hard. "don’t do that."

simon’s brow lifts, lazy. "don’t do what, sweetheart?"

your fingers twitch at your sides. you gesture vaguely, heat curling up your spine. "that. the- the praise."

his mouth quirks, amusement flickering at the edges. "what, telling you you’re doing good?"

"yes."

he makes a sound low in his throat. "why? thought you liked it."

you try to start a defense, but he steps closer, and fuck, there’s nowhere to go.

"you did so good," he murmurs. his hand lifts, brushing over the curve of your waist. "pushed yourself real hard. took every single rep like a good girl."

your breath catches and oh, does he catch on to that.

"you like hearing that, don’t you?" his fingers curl, pressing into your hip. "knowing i’m right there, watching you, making sure you finish strong."

low, warm, approving—

"bet that’s why you pushed so hard," he continues, like he’s musing to himself. "just to hear me say it. just to make me proud."

simon’s eyes flicker to the vein in your neck. his other hand lifts, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, slow, almost tender.

"say it, sweetheart," he murmurs. "let me take care of you.”

“please.”

the rest of the gym is a blur. you don’t even register leaving, don’t remember how you end up outside, only that simon’s hand is wrapped tight around your wrist, dragging you through the parking lot with a single-minded purpose. the concrete expanse is empty except for simon’s truck parked just underneath a street lamp.

simon hauls you into the backseat, the door slamming shut behind him. the truck rocks with the force of it, windows already fogging, the stale scent of leather and the last remnants of his cologne in the air. the streetlights outside cast a dim glow that cuts through the darkness in thin streaks, glinting off the sweat at his temples.

his hands are on you before you can think. rough, impatient. he grabs your hips, yanks you into his lap, drags you down until you crash against him. the heat of him burns through every layer between you.

his hips roll up.

you jolt, hands flying to his shoulders, gripping tight as the thick shape of him grinds against your clit. even through the fabric, you feel everything— the ridges, the weight, the solid pressure slotting perfectly against you.

he does it again.

your breath catches, legs tensing where they straddle his thighs. you try to move, to adjust, but his hands flex, fingers digging in, keeping you pinned where he wants you.

"shh," simon hushes, arm against your skin, grip tightening as he forces you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you. "let me feel you."

his hips drag against you and you react before your brain can catch up, instinct driving you forward, grinding down, chasing the pressure.

his breath stutters, shoulders tensing as he watches you move. the friction grows slicker, hotter, the damp fabric sticking between you.

you glance down— and then you see it. his sweats, darkened, soaked where you grind against him, your arousal leaking through, making a mess of him.

"fuck-"

he exhales sharply, hands shifting, one palm smoothing down your thigh before gripping, pulling you into him.

"that’s it." he’s almost slurring his words now, his hips rolling up to meet yours. "so fuckin’ wet..."

your nails bite into his arms, your body working without thought, hips rolling, pressing down harder. the truck shifts with every movement, the worn leather seat creaking beneath you.

"fuck, baby." his lips brush your jaw. "so messy. feel that?"

you nod frantically and his cock jumps at your eagerness.

his patience snaps.

one moment you’re grinding down against him, chasing the delicious friction, and the next you're scrambling for purchase as he lifts you.

simon shoves his sweats down, and his cock springs free, slapping up against his stomach. it's thick. throbbing. the flushed tip leaking pre, smearing along the ridges of his abs, catching in the dim of the streetlights.

he’s big. not just in length— though fuck, he’s long enough to make your stomach clench— but thick, too. veins run along the shaft, disappearing beneath the flushed, ruddy skin. the head is a deep, aching red, fat and swollen, leaking so much it dribbles down, streaking along his cock, mixing with the slick mess you’ve already made on him.

the weight of him makes his cock hang low even as it twitches, pulsing with the rush of blood. it looks almost angry, the veins along the base throbbing, his whole cock flexing with each slow pump of his fist as he strokes himself, spreading the mess of precum along his length.

simon watches your expression shift, pleased. "knew you’d like that.”

he's teasing but you barely hear it. your eyes stay locked on him, pulse hammering as you take in the sheer size, the stretch you’re about to take—

he shifts his grip, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other around his cock. your hips twitch, instinct making you reach for him, trying to press forward, but he holds you back, squeezes to get your attention.

"look at that..” simon presses the head of his cock against your stomach, dragging it up, smearing wet along your skin. "gonna take all this, yeah? let me stretch that little cunt open?"

"yes- yes, please-"

"fuck." his breath shudders, his hold on you tightening. "greedy thing."

he yanks you forward, spreads your legs wider, fits himself between your thighs, grinds his cock through your slit.

the first press makes you jolt, your whole body twitching, a choked sound slipping from your throat. he groans, gripping your waist, shoving you down, rubbing your swollen clit against the head, dragging himself through your slick over and over again.

"desperate," he muses, almost cruel. "thought you could take me just like that?"

you try to answer, try to say something, but your brain doesn't work, body too busy chasing relief, hips jerking, cunt aching, a mess of whimpers spilling from your lips.

his cock is heavy against your stomach, his tip leaving a damp streak along your skin as he drags it upward. the grip he has on your waist is firm, fingers pressing deep into your flesh, keeping you still, making sure you see exactly how much of him is about to disappear inside you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, lilted by something dark and pleased. “gonna fit all this inside, yeah? stretch that little cunt open real nice for me?”

your breath shudders in your throat. the weight of him, the sheer size, sends a pulse of heat through you, thighs trembling where he holds them apart. he presses his cock higher, smearing himself over your navel, dragging slow just to watch the way your stomach flexes beneath him.

simon's fingers tighten at your hips, anchoring you in place. his eyes flick up, locking onto yours. “still want it?”

you can’t nod fast enough, hands fisting in the hard muscle of his shoulders, your pulse drumming against your ribs. “yes-”

he huffs a quiet laugh before shaking his head. then he moves, his hands shifting to your waistband. simon doesn’t take his time, doesn’t tease— just yanks your shorts down in one rough motion, shoving them past your thighs, tossing them aside like they’re nothing.

your panties are soaked through, the thin fabric clinging to your skin, darker where arousal has seeped into it. his gaze drops, and he groans, fingers flexing against your thighs.

his eyes practically shine as he reaches down, hooking two fingers into the waistband, pulling the fabric to the side instead of taking it off completely. “how long have you been sittin’ here all wet for me, huh?”

then, without warning, he lifts his cock and slaps it against your cunt. the obscene sound echoes between you.

you jolt, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. the weight of him presses down, drags over your swollen folds, smearing your slick along the length of him, leaving him just as messy as you.

simon's breath hitches, jaw going tight for a moment before he grins. “feel that?” he rocks his hips, slow and deliberate, the ridge of his head catching against your clit with every motion. “soaked for me. filthy girl.”

he keeps at it, rutting through your folds, dragging his cock against you in long, teasing glides. every lazy roll of his hips spreads more wetness between you, slick growing messier, needier, your arousal coating every inch of him.

his voice drops lower, almost awed. “you always this wet?”

you shake your head. you're not even sure why you're this wet. it’s obscene, every slow slide of him making a sticky, wet sound, the kind that makes your face burn with embarrassment.

his grip on your thighs tightens. he presses against you harder, lets his cock drag through the mess, smearing it everywhere, making it worse.

“just for me then?” he asks, watching the way his cock glistens, slick with everything you’ve given him. “i kind of like that.”

he lines himself up, pressing the thick, leaking tip against your aching entrance. he lets it catch there for a second, teasing, before dragging it up one last time, rubbing against your clit, watching you twitch beneath him.

then he settles back down, pressing again, the heavy weight of him poised to sink inside.

his eyes flick back to yours. “gonna let me in now, yeah?”

the first push is a mistake. he realizes it the second you tense up, sucking in a sharp breath, thighs trembling where they’re spread over his lap. his cock barely breaches you— just the tip, barely an inch— and your body locks up, refusing to take more.

simon grits his teeth, hands firm on your waist, trying to ease you down, but you’re too tight, squeezing around him like you’re trying to push him out. the head of his cock throbs where it’s barely inside you, thick and unyielding, stretching you too much, too fast.

he exhales through his nose, slow and measured, and tries again. rocks his hips, nudging deeper, letting you feel the weight of him pressing in. but you whimper, body trembling, nails biting into his skin. your walls clench down hard, resisting, and—

he stops. groans, and drops his head back against the seat.

"jesus christ." his palm drags over his face. "knew you were tight, but- fuck. you’re not gonna take me like this."

your face burns. your throat aches. frustration coils hot in your chest. "i’m sorry-"

"oh, sweetheart." simon's hands slide up your back, rough palms smoothing over your skin before he leans back, head tilting, eyes flicking over you. half amused, half exasperated. "you apologizing for having a cunt this tight?"

you sniffle, shifting in his lap, arousal sticky between your thighs. "but i wanted to-"

"you will." his voice is steady, calm, but his grip on your hips tightens. "just gotta take my time, yeah? don’t want you cryin’ when i finally get this cock in you."

you sniff again, blinking up at him, vision blurred, lips parted. "too late."

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "fuckin’ hell."

then his hands are moving again, trailing lower, fingers slipping between your slick folds, pressing in slow.

you jolt at the touch, a sharp, wrecked little sound catching in your throat. simon groans, watching the way you twitch in his lap.

"fuck, baby. so sensitive. all worked up and nowhere to put it, huh?"

you nod, heat crawling up your neck, hips jerking as he rubs slow, lazy circles over your clit. his fingers are thick, rough, dragging through the mess between your thighs, teasing, pressing just enough to make your breath stutter.

"s’not fair," you mumble.

"life’s not fair, sweetheart." his fingers press in again, pushing deeper. one first, stretching you open, curling inside. then another. then a third. his other hand stays on your thigh, keeping you spread, holding you open so he can watch the way you take him.

"gotta get you nice and open." his voice low and warm. "don’t want you breakin’ on me just yet."

you whimper, rocking into his hand, clenching down around his fingers. your clit throbs under his thumb, swollen and aching, every slow grind of his palm sending another shudder through you.

"shh. just let me do this for you, yeah?"

you do. trembling, gasping, grinding down, taking everything he gives until you’re loose, slick, ready.

when he pulls his fingers out, you whine, walls fluttering around nothing.

then his cock is back, pressing against your entrance, thick and hot, teasing for only a moment before he pushes in—

you take him.

the stretch is unbearable. every inch forces you open, slow and deliberate, the thick drag of him pressing deeper than anything ever has. your breath stutters, body shaking, thighs trembling where they rest over his.

"fuck, sweetheart," he groans, voice tight, hands gripping your hips, keeping you still, keeping you from pulling away. "you feel that? squeezing me so fuckin’ tight."

you do. every ridge, every vein, the slow, impossible push of him splitting you open, inch by inch, pressing deep— then he stops.

breath stuttering, you blink at him, dazed, confused, still so empty. "w-why-"

"baby," his voice is almost pained. "m’pressing right up against your cervix. can’t go any deeper."

but it’s not enough. you whimper, hips twitching, shifting to take more, to sink lower. "but i still feel empty, si.."

his jaw clenches, fingers digging into your thighs, trying to keep you still, stopping you from punching a fucking hole through your guts. "jesus, sweetheart. you don’t know what you’re askin."

"please," you breathe, eyes glassy, desperate. "si, please, want all of you-"

he groans, head dropping back against the seat, restraint hanging by a thread. "fuck."

then his grip tightens, and before you can say another word, he forces you down the rest of the way.

"oh-oh my god-" your whole body shakes, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as the thick head of his cock breaches your cervix, slipping into your womb, stuffing you full.

simon grunts, the squeeze of you making his vision blur for a second. "jesus fuckin’ christ."

the moment he bottoms out, your walls clamp down, fluttering, pulsing around him— the pleasure snaps without warning, white-hot, rolling through you all at once.

"fuck- fuck, baby." he curses, the squeeze of your cunt almost painful. his half-lidded eyes are trained on where the two of you connect, the way you gush around him, soaking his cock. "just from takin’ me all the way? filthy fuckin’ thing-"

he huffs a rough laugh, fingers flexing against your hips, appreciating the extra slick easing the way. "makes it easier, at least," he mutters, then starts to move.

it’s slow at first— just enough to let you feel it, to make you ache through the thick drag of him pulling back, just enough to let you whimper at the sheer pressure of his cock pressing against every swollen, overstimulated inch of your cunt.

but you’re already gone.

your lashes flutter, your lips part around soft, wrecked little sounds, your hips twitching even though he’s holding you down, even though you’re already stuffed so fucking full.

"look at you," he murmurs, dragging a palm up your belly, pressing down right where he’s so deep, groaning when he feels the outline of himself inside you. "fuckin’ cock-drunk already, sweetheart?"

you sob, thighs squeezing around his waist, hands grasping at him, trying to find something to hold onto as your hips jerk, rolling forward mindlessly, instinct driving you to take more, take everything.

he groans, gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so he can see all of it.

"can’t even talk, can you? too fuckin’ dumb to think straight."

"s-simon-"

"what, love? too far gone already?"

his smirk is wicked, his grip tight as he presses his hips up, spearing you open all over again.

you scream, body jerking, back arching, thighs trembling around him. "ohh- oh fuck-"

"there we go." his voice is full of praise, full of something dark and indulgent. "there’s my good girl."

he sets a slow rhythm, dragging his cock out until only the thick head is inside you before slamming all the way back in, spearing you open, making sure you feel it, making sure you take every inch.

"bloody hell," he mutterd, feeling the way your walls squeeze him, the way you shudder, the way you drip around him, slick gushing, soaking his cock, ruining his seats.

"listen to that, sweetheart," he groans, shifting his grip, spreading his knees just a little wider to pin you in place. "fuckin’ mess you’re makin."

he glances down, eyes nearly rolling at the sight— your cunt stretched wide around him, slick dripping down to his balls, pooling beneath you.

"christ, love." he has to gasp for breath. "fuckin’ leaking all over me- ruinin’ my fuckin’ truck-"

"s-simon-" you lose your train of thought, babbling incomprehensible strings of words.

"can't think?" simon's grin sharpens. "good. don’t need you thinkin."

then he fucks you properly.

All your anime boys believe in

No cap <3

You know the woman in line behind you is getting impatient, hearing her not so subtle exasperated sigh as you continue to search through your bag, your cheeks burning a deeper shade of crimson when you catch the barista’s tight lipped smile in your direction, her attempt at reassuring you as part of her job, though you can tell she wishes you’d hurry up as well

As if your debit card declining a mortifying four times hadn’t been enough, but then your attempt at using your credit card was just as unsuccessful, the sound of the failed transaction on a stupid 6£ drink sounding out for everyone in queue to know how broke you really were

Embarrassment coursing through your veins, already thinking about how you’ll never have the guts to come back to this cafe again as you desperately search for enough spare change at the bottom of your purse to cover this morning’s coffee, your scrambling comes to a pause when a large shadow suddenly eclipses the overheard lighting above you

In the midst of your frantic searching, a tall figure has come to stand just next to you, their gloved hand stretching past your figure to tap a card against the machine, the happy beep of the teller confirming the transaction’s been accepted this time

“I’ve got tha’ for ya.” A deep, gravelly Manchester accent mutters low enough for only you to hear, before the figure tries to retreat back into queue unnoticed

You eyebrows shoot up in shock, the barista equally appearing surprised but not displeased as she finally gets to hand you your drink and quickly wish you a good day before she’s already trying to help the woman waiting behind you

You step aside out of the queue, swinging your head around to try and spot your mystery saviour who stepped in and helped you out without even needing so much as a thanks in return apparently

You spot him easily, the absolute size of him easily giving him away. No one else in the small cafe could have created such a large, intimidating shadow, let alone spoken in such a deep voice that sent chills down your spine

He stands a head above anyone else in queue, currently last in the line after he stepped out to pay for you. He’s wearing a simple black medical mask on the lower half of his face, a black hoodie with the hood pulled over his head offers you only a small glimpse of his eyes, which are noticeably pointed at the ground at the moment

You’re walking towards him before you even realize it

“Th- thank you. I don’t-” You’re cut off when those same eyes glance up to meet your own, stealing your breath away. He seems almost as surprised that you’re speaking to him as you were when he stepped in and paid for you, his eyes betraying his shock for only a fraction of a second before he’s steeling himself and his eyes darken. You get the vague impression that he isn’t someone who’s used to being caught off guard

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.” You say to him, wanting to express just how grateful you are to him for his random act of kindness, but he says nothing in return, hardly blinking once as he simply stares back at you

“I can’t understand why my cards weren’t working today. I promise I don’t like- this isn’t a thing I do. Go into coffee shops and pretend I can’t pay, hoping someone else will…” You awkwardly laugh to yourself, beginning to ramble in an effort to fill in the silence

“Anyways I just, really wanted to say thank you. I don’t know how to repay you.” You’re scrambling now, attempting to save face as this man just looks at you, an arm beginning to swing your purse off your shoulder in hopes of maybe finding enough change to appease this guy

“Not necessary.” The deep voice finally says again, his eyes leaving yours to scan you from top to bottom and then back up again, almost examining the sight before him. You almost feel like a deer caught in the headlights for a moment, seeing the mask moving along with the sound of that gravelly voice an enrapturing vision

“Oh- well I- I mean that’s really nice of you, but I swear I can pay you back.” You recognize that feeling beginning to swirl low in your stomach, familiar with the warmth gathering in the apples of your cheeks; your body realizing it a split second before your brain catches up. You’re kind of into this guy. You can’t see much of his face, but the sliver you do see certainly isn’t unattractive, his height and build speaks for itself, with a voice like that and the fact that he’s just saved your butt and expected not even a thanks in return, you’re wondering if he’s too good to be true

“Do you come here often?” You’re asking him before you can stop yourself, watching a single one of his eyebrows arching ever so slightly. “I just mean that- I come here a lot- sometimes. And if you’re here next time I’m here, then maybe I can pay you back, buy you a drink.”

You’re losing confidence the longer he stands there, not answering. What were you thinking? This guy was just trying to be nice, get the annoying girl holding up the line out of the way so that people can order their drinks and go about their day, and here you are holding him up even longer-

“If it’ll make ya happy.” He’s suddenly answering, snapping you out of your downward spiral. If you could see the grin that slowly creeps upon your face, you might be otherwise embarrassed, but right now you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Oh okay, amazing. I mean- yeah that would- that would be cool. Okay.” You reply, glancing at your watch. “I’m not sure for you, but um, I’m almost always here each Sunday. Around this time.”

“I’ll be here next Sunday. Around this time.” He says matter-of-factly.

“Next in line please.” The barista at the corner calls out, interrupting the two of you. You glance back to see that it’s now his turn to order, feeling bad that you’re about to hold up the queue yet again.

“Great. I’ll see you Sunday then. Thank you again, seriously. I really owe you one.” You say, gripping the straps of your bag tighter as you offer him a sheepish smile before ducking out of the busy cafe, a small smile playing across your face.

Ghost watches your figure through the large windows as you walk out of the shop, across the street, disappearing into the crowd of morning goers strolling about. Only once he cannot see you anymore, does he walk up to the counter, slipping a 20£ note to the barista along with a slight nod of acknowledgement, before he himself is turning to walk out of the cafe, empty handed, intent on catching up to you from a distance.

~~~~~~~~~~

AKA Ghost has been stalking you for months and finally comes up with a way to have you approach him

whatever i want????