Simon likes what you likes
Tomorrow I promise to get some requests in my inbox done đ¤
Whenever Simon was asked what his favorite color was, or favorite movie, favorite song, favorite anything, really he always had the same answer.
âDonât have one.â
Johnny would roll his eyes. Kyle would snort and call him a grump. Price wouldnât bother asking. But Simon never thought too hard about it. He didnât see the point. Liking thingsâreally liking themâmeant caring. And caring opened doors to places he preferred staying locked.
That was before you.
Before you, with your endless lists of favorites. Your hobbies, your collections, the way you lit up when talking about a movie you loved or a book you couldnât put down. You could talk for hours. And you often didâ sometimes with him half-listening, half-lost in the rhythm of your voice more than the actual words.
And somehow, over time, your favorites became his.
That one film you swore he had to watch? He rolled his eyes, grumbled through the first halfâ then watched it again when you werenât home. It was the way you recited your favorite scenes by heart that eventually made it his favorite, too.
The book you kept on your nightstand? He picked it up one lazy afternoon, expecting to read a few pages just to pass the time. He finished it in a day.
Still, every time you asked him about his own favorites, heâd just shrug.
âI like what you like.â
Youâd frown. Just a little. A soft downturn of your lips that made something in his chest ache.
So one day, he sat down and thought about it. Really thought.
What did he like? What was his thing?
Guns. Killing. Tracking a moving target from a hundred yards out and watching it drop.
Right. Cool.
So he took you to a shooting range. Taught you how to hold the weapon properly. How to breathe through the shot. How to steady your hands and trust your instincts. He mightâve gotten a little carried away with the detailsâ describing things in a way that probably sounded more violent than romantic. But you liked it. You smiled through the recoil.
You liked doing what you thought he liked.
But the truth?
He wouldâve rather been at one of your pottery classes. Covered in clay, watching you laugh when he ruined another mug. Heâd rather be curled up on the couch, rewatching your favorite film for the third time. Heâd rather do anything, everything, if it meant doing it with you.
Because Simon didnât care about the things.
He cared about you.
He liked your smile. The way you dressed. The way you smelledâ so much that he started using your body wash without even thinking about it.
âWhy do ya smell like cupcakes, Lt?â Johnny had asked once, squinting at him, nose wrinkled.
Simon didnât even blink.
âYour bloody nose probably doesnât work properly after all the times youâve been punched in the face.â
He never told him the real reason. Didnât have to.
Heâd already made up his mind.
It was never about the movie, the book, or the smell of your shampoo clinging to his skin. It was about you. About keeping a piece of you close, even in the smallest, stupidest ways. Simon didnât need a list of favorites.
He had one. Just one. And it was you. Always you.
Philip Reinagle â Scientist of the Day
Philip Reinagle, an English landscape painter, died Nov. 27, 1833, at age 84; his date of birth is not known.
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Genre of character: submissive like a guard dog is submissive
fanfiction isnât enough, I need to chew on him
Dragon Sylus. I need him so bad
are sylus girlies okay?
âDonât aim for perfection. Evolution, and life, only happen through mistakes.â
â Matt Haig, The Humans
19 > 40/40 40 > 19/19
ăďź
Valdaro Lovers
ę§ here's where the story ends ę§
The Lovers of Valdaro at the National Archaeological Museum of Mantua, Italy
NSFW
Just some thoughts of you and Toji sharing a hotel room with Shiu when you go on a trip. There are two beds, you and Toji share one, and Shiu gets the other one to his mopey self, because his wife won't be there until the next day. He gets to warm the bed up on his own and he hates every minute of it, because one: he's third wheeling you and Toji, and two: you and Toji act as if he's not there when it's time to go to sleep.
"Why aren't you sleeping, pretty girl? Do I need to go down there and put you to sleep or what?" Toji murmurs.
You giggle, quietly. "Maybe. I do get pretty tired after you make me cum."
"Yeah, you do," he says, proudly. "You wet, right now, mama?" Toji asks, already unknotting the drawstrings of your shorts.
"Why don't you see for yourself?" You say, your voice too soft for what you're inviting him to do. Still, Toji bites and leans in to kiss you as his hand slides down the front of your shorts and beneath your panties. His hand meets your pelvis and continues its downward path, until his fingertips reach the messiness of your slick-ridden cunt. He teases you with barely there flicks of his fingers to your clit.
Shiu's eyes widen the slightest bit, before his eyebrows furrow. He swears he just heard a moan coming from the bundle of blankets on the right side of the room.
"Stop touching each other," he says, irritation heavy in his tone. "Jesus," he grumbles. The one time he didn't bring his headphones, the one time his wife isn't there to let him do the same things to her, that Toji is doing to you. And you both just continue to ignore him.
Your hand comes down to palm at the prominent bulge in Toji's boxers. You can feel his clothed cock twitching in your hand after every gentle squeeze you offer to the thick length.
"Fuck, don't tease me like that, doll. Touch it." His body jerks slightly when you slide your hand down his boxers and wrap it around his sticky length. "Shit, your hands are freezing," he whispers, hissing at the coldness that meets his warm skin.
"You want me to keep going or not?" You ask, teasingly, not stopping the movement of your hand as you wait for him to respond.
"Nah, nah, you're getting warmer. Keep going."
You both think you're doing so well at muffling each other's sounds of pleasure with deep kisses, but the sounds of heavier breathing and constantly rustling sheets in the otherwise steady room, are a dead giveaway to your indecent acts. Shiu has to choose between suffering by being uncomfortably hot with the blanket bundled around his head to shut out the sounds, or being comfortable and suffering with the clear sounds of your sexual antics.
"Shh," Toji hushes, when you let out a little whimper. "Just keep kissing me."
Despite how intense the sensations are, you both keep going. Toji's fingers don't stop rubbing your clit, and your hand doesn't stop gliding up and down his cock. You're both treating the act of sharing a bed as you usually do when you're alone, despite the poor man trying to sleep one bed over.
It takes hearing an uncontained high pitched gasp for Shiu to kick off his blanket and jump out of bed with a grumble. He grabs his car keys off the table and puts on his slippers, directing himself towards the door. "Going to the store. You two better be done by the time I come back."
The second the heavy door shuts, clothes are being pulled at through impatient, all consuming kisses. It gets to the point where you actually have to slow down to get them off, because you aren't making any progress, but once it's all discarded of, absolutely no time is wasted. Your legs find refuge hooked over Toji's shoulders, and his hands home to your hips and your waist. You both freely make as much noise as you want as you indulge in each other like you really are home alone. Minutes unknowingly turned into an hour and after four intense orgasms, you've tired each other out. Toji gets out of bed to grab a towel to clean you and himself up, and once the cleanup process is done, both of you fall asleep, soundly.
Shiu comes back half an hour after you both fell asleep. He's empty handed, looking a little more disheveled than when he left the room, because "going to the store" was code for sitting in his car and having phone sex with his wife. He tip toes further into the room to see if you and Toji are sleeping, and when he sees the way Toji is spooning you with his face pressed to the nape of your neck, and the way your hand rests on the arm he has slinged around your waist, he shakes his head and lets out a small chuckle.
"Rabbits."