"Oedipal Complex" - Rafe Cameron x Stepmom!Reader
Summary: Rafe's mommy issues get a little too real.
Word Count: 3,000
Rating: 18+, MDNI
TW: afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, stepcest, mommy kink, daddy kink, breeding kink, tiddy succin, gold digging, oral f receiving, face sitting, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cream pie
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Outer Banks characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
When Rose walked out on the Cameron family, Rafe was ecstatic. He never liked his stepmother. In fact, he’d go so far as to say he hated her. Wheezie and Sarah were no fonder of her, so her loss wasn’t exactly felt throughout the house. Rafe was glad that his dad now had to focus on himself and Wheezie. And, he guesses, Sarah.
However, Ward Cameron doesn’t remain a bachelor for long.
When you return to the OBX after graduating from university - attending Duke on a scholarship and getting your degree in economics - you get a temporary job driving golf carts at the Island Club. Rafe remembers you from high school. You were a senior when he was a freshman. Hell, you even babysat him and his sisters a few times. The super hot Pogue girl, the prom queen of your graduating class. Of course he had a crush on you, half the fucking school did.
Seeing you at the Island Club brings all those feelings rushing back, and of course, he flirts with you shamelessly, always requesting that you be the one to drive his cart. Always buttering you up with compliments and hefty tips, teasing you playfully, being his best self around you. And you seem fairly charmed by him. You’ve always been so intimidating, so out of reach. Until now.
But everything crashes and burns when Rafe brings his father along for a game. When Ward sees you, Rafe sees that greedy look in his father’s eyes, looking you up and down in that tight little uniform, offering to sit up front with you, “accidentally” brushing a hand against your thigh. And you? You eat his bullshit right the fuck up.
Within a few months, you’re walking down the aisle in a Vera Wang gown, kissing his father and letting him put a ring on your finger. Rafe fucking hates it. You were supposed to be his. You were fucking flirting back with him. And his dad knew it. His dad knew he’d talked about the Pogue girl who was driving golf carts, the one he pined after his entire freshman year. He fucking hates his father. He hates hearing you whining his name when he fucks you at night, he hates seeing him kiss you, he hates seeing the way he squeezes your plump little ass, acting all lovey dovey.
Rafe is convinced you don’t love his father. How could you? He’s old enough to be your own father. Daddy issues. That’s what it is. Okay, sure Rafe is younger than you, but he’s totally a daddy. At least he thinks he is. Fuck yeah, he is.
He just needs to make you see it too.
-
You and Rafe have the house to yourselves for the weekend. Wheezie is over at a friend’s place, Sarah is out with Topper or John B or whoever the hell she’s hanging out with these days, and his father is out of town on business. When he gets home from the gym, he sees you in that little kimono robe you wear around the house, the one that drags behind you on the floor as you walk making you look like a quintessential trophy wife.
You greet him with a quick nod of your head and a smile as you pour yourself a glass of wine, “Oh, Rafe. Your dad left already. You just missed him.”
“Yeah, I know,” he replies, “Gone for the weekend. The girls too. It’s just gonna be you and me.”
Rafe keeps his gaze trained on you, following after you as you head out to the pool, your glass in hand, “Aren’t you going to the bonfire tonight with your friends?”
“Nah. I’ve got other things on my mind.”
“That’s too bad, you say airily, “I have plans later, so try not to burn the house down, alright?”
He frowns, cutting you off, “Cancel them. I guarantee you’ll enjoy yourself more with me.”
You bring your finger to your chin, pretending to think, “Cancel my dinner plans with my friends… To hang out with my stepson,” you pause for emphasis, “Yeah, I think I’ll pass.”
Rafe grabs you by the waist, pulling you back to him, “C’mon. I’m far better than dinner with your boring ass friends. We’re almost the same age anyway-”
“I’m four years older than you,” you retort, pulling away from him, “And I’m married to your father.”
“You won’t always be,” he gives you a smug smirk, leaning down toward you, his blue eyed gaze boring into your own, voice low and alluring as he runs his fingers along your upper arm, “And I think that when you finally realize who can be a better Daddy to you-”
You scoff, cutting him off, “Hilarious. A teenager as my daddy. That’s cute.”
“I’m nineteen, baby. And I’m sure you’d like me as your daddy.”
You bite your lip, doing your best not to laugh, the sight being all too tempting for poor Rafe as you tease, “Nineteen is still a teenager, Rafe. I was a senior when you were just a widdle baby freshman.”
“And?” He demands, pulling you close, moving his hands to squeeze at your hips, “You’re only twenty-three. And you’re clearly attracted to me.”
His breath catches in his throat as you lean in, almost as if you’re going to kiss him. This is it. This is his moment. He’s about to get everything he ever wanted.
But then? You move to whisper in his ear, lips brushing against his ear as you whisper.
“In your dreams, sweetie.” He watches you dumbfounded as you saunter off, the natural sway of your hips almost entrancing, “I’m going to the pool. Don’t bother me unless something’s on fire.”
Ignoring your instructions, he follows you, almost like a lost puppy, lips pressed together as he questions, crossing his arms, “You gonna be out here all day?”
“For a while,” you reply, “Working on my tan.”
Rafe’s jaw drops as he watches you remove your robe, revealing one bare shoulder, the fabric falling away to reveal your tiny hot pink bikini. It stands out against your skin so perfectly, making you look like an actual goddess as you untie your hair, shaking it out, the sun shining down on you.
“Damn,” Rafe whispers under his breath, watching as you start massaging suntan lotion on your arms, then onto your calves and thighs, so slowly and sensually, your hands caressing your skin in the way he longs to, sending his mind into overdrive, “Do you need my help with that?”
You ignore his lingering gaze, humming out, “Nope.”
“Are you sure?” Rafe questions, taking a step toward you, watching you intently as you massage the lotion into your skin, the urge to touch your soft skin nearly overwhelming him, “I’d be happy to help.”
You pause before tossing the bottle toward him, shrugging, “Fine. You can do my back.”
Rafe catches the bottle with ease and grins, moving to sit behind you, “With pleasure.”
You arch a brow when he removes his shirt, squeezing some of the lotion out onto his hand, “Why do you need to take off your shirt, Rafe?”
“It’s hot today,” he replies, pressing his palms against the smooth, warm skin of your back.
He can feel his cock straining against his pants as he massages you, making sure the lotion takes. You’re so soft underneath his hands, warm against his palms.
You let out a sigh, glancing at him over your shoulder, “Okay, just make sure you get all of my back. Undo the bikini top so there aren’t any weird tan lines.”
Rafe gulps, “You sure?”
“You’re not going to see anything. Just do it.”
“Oh, I’ll see something,” he mumbles, tugging at the string tying your bikini top together, slowly opening it, blinking rapidly as he admires your bare back.
His fingers knead against your back, easing the tension you feel, moving up to your shoulder blades, prompting you to compliment him, “You’re not half bad at this, you know.”
Rafe chuckles, leaning in to whisper into your ear, fingers still tracing the contours of your body, caressing you, feeling you like he’s wanted to for so long, “I aim to please.”
“Oh, honey, I’m not impressed,” you smirk, redoing the tie on your bikini, ignoring the frown on his face, “It was just an observation. You can go back inside now. It’s me time.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he replies, annoyed, grabbing your chin and turning you to face him, his thumb tracing your lower lip, “‘Me time’? Are you fucking serious? You think you can just send me away after getting me all riled up like that?”
You scoff, meeting his gaze, giving him a scathing look, “Don’t be such a virgin, Rafe. Go inside and rub one out. You’ll survive.”
He narrows his eyes, leaning in closer, gaze flickering to your lips before meeting your own again, his voice a low growl, “You can’t just do this to me.”
“What did I do, exactly?”
“You know exactly what you did!” Rafe’s blood is boiling with both anger and desire as he continues his tirade, “Why did you put on this skimpy ass bikini and ask me to rub you down if you didn’t want me?”
“I’m literally married to your father.”
“I don’t give a shit!” He snaps, his nose brushing against yours as he leans in even closer, “You think that means anything to me? I could steal you right from under his nose. Satisfy you so much better than he could.”
“I dunno,” you taunt, eyes twinkling with mischief, “Older men like your dad? They have experience that boys like you just… Don’t.”
“Older men get worn out. They get morning,” his voice darkens, jaw tensing, “I know how to make a woman feel good.”
“Do you? That’s adorable.”
“More than you can imagine,” he whispers hoarsely, hand moving down to caress your throat, watching as your lashes flutter at his touch, “I could show you just how much. You don’t have to stay with that crusty old fuck-”
“Your dad.”
He shrugs, “I don’t care. You’d be better with an attractive, young guy like me. Someone more skilled. Virile,” Rafe says, his voice a low, husky timbre that he hopes you like. Judging by the slight shiver you give, you do, “Not a fuckin’ geriatric. I mean, what happens when one day the two of you are fucking and he just pops his hip or has a heart attack?”
He watches your lower lip tremble before you burst into laughter, the sound of which makes him crack a smile as you reply, “That was so mean.”
“I’m just tryna sweep you off your feet here, princess.”
“I like the security of being with your dad,” you shrug, “I’m practically an overpaid sugar baby.”
“You could be my overpaid sugar baby-”
“I’m older than you,” you tease, giving him a little wink, “Can’t be your sugar baby, sweetie.”
“Age is just a number. You know you want me. Not some old man who’s gonna croak soon and is all out of swimmers.”
Your eyes widen at his words. How could he possibly know about his dad’s problems with getting you pregnant? Holy shit, has he been spying on you all this time? Well, you shouldn’t be surprised, you guess. You’ve seen him watching you with his father a few times. You don’t mind, really. In fact, you don’t think you ever came harder than you did while watching him stroke himself to completion while his father pounded into you over and over.
“He’s 40, Rafe. He’s not out of swimmers and he’s not gonna croak.”
“Then, with how often the old fuck cums inside you, how come you’re not knocked up yet?” He arches a brow, brushing his nose against your cheek, inhaling your scent, “I bet I could fill you up so good, fuck a baby into you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being a Mommy?” Rafe pulls you onto his lap, his hands moving along your body, your stomach, your chest, up to your throat, “I’d treat you so much better than he does. Fuck you so much better.”
You smirk at him, watching the way his pupils dilate as you wrap your arms around his neck, straddling his waist, “Yeah? I dunno. The feeling of his beard between my thighs when he’s eating my pussy is kinda hot.”
Rafe glares at you, moving a hand into your hair, tugging at it harshly, the slight sting on your scalp making you moan, biting back a smile as he hisses, “I could eat that sweet little pussy far better than he could and not give you beard burn.”
“I’m a one man kinda girl, Rafe,” you coo, resting a hand against his bare chest, rolling your hips against his, grinding yourself against the bulge that strains against his pants, watching him shiver, “But if you show me you can take care of me better than Ward does, satisfy me better, maybe that man can be you.”
Rafe’s heart skips a beat when you press your lips to his. He loves that you’ve taken the initiative, that you’re kissing him, rubbing up on him, making him feel so fucking wanted. You thread your hands in his hair, tugging at it much as he did to your own, the blond strands soft between your fingertips.
“Are you gonna be a good boy for Mommy, Rafe?” You whisper, biting down gently on his earlobe, giggling when he just moans in response, “Use your words, baby. Are you gonna be a good boy?”
He nods eagerly, watching as you undo the tie on your bikini once again, baring your gorgeous tits to him, his mouth watering at the sight, a soft whine escaping his lips, “Yes, Mommy.”
You take Rafe’s hands, bringing them to your breasts, allowing him to caress the soft flesh with his large palms, feeling him pinching at your nipples before you purr, “Why don’t you suck on my tits, baby? Hm?”
Rafe doesn’t need to be told twice, licking his lips before wrapping them around one of your pert buds, his tongue swirling around it as he moans against your skin. He continues palming at your other breast all the while before turning his attention to it, suckling at it. Rafe feels your hands moving to his cock, palming at it over his shorts before undoing the zip and giving it a few slow, languid strokes, your thumb spreading the precum that’s collected at the tip. He watches as you bring the digit to your lips and lick it clean, gaze darkening as you tug at his hair, bringing his face to yours to kiss you again.
“Lay back,” you demand, “And show me what that smart little mouth of yours can do.”
Rafe reclines the beach chair, grinning at you as you move to straddle his face. He moves your bikini to the side, admiring the sight of your cunt before grasping at your ass and pulling you closer, burying his tongue inside you. You moan, one hand wrapped in his hair while you rub at your clit with the other, grinding yourself against him. Rafe squeezes at the plump flesh of your ass, your thighs, moving his face from side to side as he devours you eagerly. Every time he moans against you, the coil in your stomach tightens. You roll your hips against his eager mouth, feeling his tongue delving into your slick folds, lapping at you with a ferocity that has your head spinning.
He was right. He’s definitely better at this than his father.
You spill yourself, your orgasm hitting you harder than usual, eyes rolling back as white hot pleasure shoots up and down your body. When you move off of his face, sliding back down to his waist, you can see his lips glistening with the evidence of your arousal, your belly tightening as he licks them clean with a low moan.
Rafe watches as you give his cock a few quick strokes before sinking down onto him, his long thick cock filling you up perfectly. He’s bigger than Ward, thicker, stretching you out with a delicious mix of the slightest bit of pain combined with overwhelming pleasure. You begin bouncing up and down on his cock, squeezing around him tight, smirking at the way his eyes close and he grabs your hips, eagerly bucking his own up against you, chasing his high.
“Such a good boy for Mommy,” you coo, “Gonna fill me up, baby? Like you said?”
“Yes,” Rafe whimpers, “Yes, Mommy, wanna fill you up.”
“Want you to cum inside me, baby,” you say, leaning in to kiss his neck, loving the way he reacts to your touch, “And we’ll say it’s your dad’s. But it’s gonna be our baby, yeah?”
Rafe nods, fucking into you eagerly, gaze hypnotized by the way your tits bounce and jiggle with every roll of your hips, “W-We can get rid of him. His life insurance payout. It can be you, me, Wheezie, and the baby.”
“Aw, look at my smart boy, planning ahead,” you smirk as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, “Yes, baby, you know I’m all yours after this. You’re making Mommy feel so good. And I’ll make you a Daddy soon.”
Your words send a shiver of pleasure up and down his spine as he feels your cunt squeezing him tight, reaching your peak, his own following soon after, feeling you milk his cock, thick hot ropes of his spend filling you.
You move off of him, resting your head on his chest as the two of you watch the sun set.
“I loved you first, you know,” Rafe blurts out, playing with your hair, “You were supposed to be mine.”
“All’s well that ends well, baby,” you peck his lips, “Don’t you worry. Mommy’s all yours now.”
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Double Date - Double Down
NSFW | MDNI
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!plus size!reader
Word count: 4.9k
Summary: When you get a call in the middle of the afternoon from your friend begging you to fill an empty spot on a double date your initial instinct is a hard no. After all, no one wants to go on a blind double date and be surprised by the fat friend. It doesn’t help that this Simon guy is stupid fucking hot and obviously doesn’t like you - if his lack of talking is anything to go by.
A/N: Just a fun little oneshot I used as a warmup between working on chapters of future multi chapter projects.
“I said *no*.” You snap, angrily folding the washcloth in your hands.
Your friend splutters from the other side of the phone, the desperation in her voice only growing now that she’s on her fourth ask. “*Pleeeaase*! Steph backed out last minute and no one else is free-“
“How do you know I’m free?”
“You just said you were!”
You huff. She’s got you there. When she first called, you admitted you didn’t have anything going on but that was *before* she told you the plan for the night. Before she mentioned that her very, very conventionally hot military boyfriend wanted to do a little double date with his friend and one of hers. Plus, you take a least a little offense to being second choice. Really, last choice, it seems.
“Cass, you can’t just set up a blind date and take your fat friend. That’s not-“
“You’re not fat, love. You’re beautiful.” Her words drip with turned honey. You make a gagging face to yourself in the mirror. “You just need more confidence!”
You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could try, for the millionth time, to explain to her the nuanced ins and outs of dating as a fat woman. The rules and stats that could rival even the most complex rpg… or you could be petty. It takes less time to be petty. “If I go, you’re paying for my drinks.”
“Johnny’s friend will probably-“
“Yeah, and when he leaves you’re paying for my tab.”
“He won’t-“
“We got a deal?”
She clicks her tongue. “*Fiiiine*.”
At least you can get wasted for free either way. A small consolation. She texts you the time and location, barely leaving you with enough time to shower and turn yourself into something presentable. Not that you really care. It’s going to be shit either way, most likely. Staring yourself down in the mirror, you suppose you could at least try to look somewhat attractive. If you’re about to get rejected (or possibly shouted at, you’ll never forget *that* horrendous interaction) you might as well feel your best.
The pub is small as you push through the front door. Casual. A couple pool tables, some darts, a large bar and few booths with stools on the outer side. You scan the room, searching for Cass’s familiar face.
“Over here!” Cass waves with a wide arc at you, a grin plastered from ear to ear. At least she’s having fun.
You take a long breath, bracing yourself for whatever is about to happen. Cass introduces you to her boyfriend - who is somehow even hotter in person. You can see why she’s so smitten with him. Johnny looks you up and down as he shakes your hand. He doesn’t comment, or make a face, or really react in any particular way, but you can feel a shift. Something in his eyes…
Maybe it’s just your imagination. You’ve always been a little over sensitive.
“Si will be back in a sec. Stepped over tae get a drink.” He flashes a grin.
You hum, quietly folding your hand as Cass pushes a cocktail for you that she preemptively ordered. Criticize her as much as you like, she knows her mixes.
“There he is.” Johnny grins, turning slightly.
You follow his gaze, heart sinking as your eyes settle on the man approaching your table. He’s massive. Tall and wide. Total brick shithouse. His face is mostly covered by a black surgical mask. A few years ago you might have questioned it but at this point you couldn’t care less, especially when his dark eyes meet yours, small flecks of gold honey catching the low bar lights. Barely styled tufts of blonde hair stick up from his head. They look like they might curl if he let it grow a little longer.
All in all, wayyyy out of your league.
He settles into his seat with all the confidence of any military man - back ramrod straight. He extends a large hand. “Simon Riley.”
You murmur your name, somewhat enthralled by the half lidded, almost bored look in his eyes. Now that he’s closer you notice a large scar splitting his left eyebrow and light, newly forming crows feet in the corners of his eyes.
“S-so you’re military, too?” You stutter, eyes trained on his the massive hand holding his glass. It’s nicely vascular, his nails are well groomed but it also looks like he could snap you in half with it.
Not that that’s entirely a bad thing - whatever that may or may not say about you.
He nods. “I’m a Lieutenant.”
“Oh! Officer position. So you’re smart, then?” You try to be charming, to give him a sweet smile and keep your body language open.
“Enough.” He deadpans. It takes a few beats for you to realize he’s not going to say anything else.
“Uh…” You squirm awkwardly under his gaze. It’s intense - his dark eyes nearly black in the low light of the bar. “I do hair.”
Conversation is slow, to say the least. The longest answer he gives you is maybe five words. He only flips up the mask long enough to take a sip of his drink every so often. You start to talk less, opting toward a group conversation in which Johnny takes the lead, which he is obviously very good at. He regales you and Cass with a few stories of his and Simon’s adventures. Some funny, some brave, some worrying. He’s setting the man up to be a god, nearly, but Simon himself just shakes his head and insists Johnny is exaggerating.
You wonder what he sees in Simon. Alternatively, you wonder what *you’re* supposed to see in Simon. Besides his good looks, of course. He’s… bland. Obviously bored if his constant glances toward the exits and rhythmic, occasional tapping on the corner of the table are anything to go by.
“Want tae go dance, lovie?” You overhear Johnny as he leans in toward Cass.
She glances at you, then Simon, then back to you before nodding enthusiastically. “We’ll give you two some time *alone*.”
In any other situation, you’d probably beg her to stay in desperation for a conversation buffer. Here and now, though, you’re grateful. You can finally let this poor guy off the hook. You wait until they’re gone; fully out of earshot before turning to the man in front of you.
“I…uh… look…” You chew your lip, glancing between him and your folded hands on the table. “Sorry… I know I’m probably not what, uh, what you expected… I get it if you want to leave. It’s - you don’t have to stay, or whatever. Don’t have to be polite…”
He cocks an eyebrow, eyes boring through your skull. “Why would I want to leave?”
“I know what I look like. You don’t have to be nice.”
His raised brow turns into a slight frown. “I think you’re quite pretty.”
You scoff - blushing despite yourself. “Again, you don’t have to be nice.”
“Do I seem like the type to just be nice?”
You continue to gnaw at your lip. He’s got you there. Simon definietly doesn’t come off as the type to bow to polite society. “You’ve barely talked to me.”
He stares for a moment. It’s his turn to avert his eyes, swirling around the whiskey in his glass awkwardly. Almost bashfully. “It’s not you. I’m… not great in public… especially in crowds…”
Oh.
*Oh*.
You’ve completely misjudged him, haven’t you? Shit. He’s just a big awkward lug isn’t he?You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Oh God, *I’m* the asshole, aren’t I?”
He chuckles, “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I’m sorry it’s just…” you scrub a hand over your face. “Most men don’t really want to be surprised with a fat girl on a blind date. Guess I assumed the worst.”
Simon hums. A low vibration that settles into your bones. He gets up, sliding into the booth side of the table beside you - his massive frame pushing into your space. He smells like spices. Cinnamon and pepper. A little hint of leather and tobacco underneath. It’s heady, and some primal part of your mind wishes you could roll around in it like a dog.
“Some men might like a waifish little thing, that’s their business, but personally…” He leans in, a large hand resting on your wide thigh. “Yeah. I like somethin’ I can get a proper handful of.”
“*Oh*.” You squeak, back stiff. Was that what you saw in Johnny’s face before? Approval?
“‘Ere’s a thought - we go back to mine. S’quiet. Can talk more freely. See where the night goes, hm?”
You smile hesitantly, finally looking up to meet his gaze. It’s honest. Kind. Dark pools of sincerity. It’s against your better judgement. Impractical. Out of character. Even so, you allow yourself to surrender with a warmth in your cheeks and a small nod.
“I’ll get an Uber.” He pulls out his phone, tapping away. “Five minutes out.”
“Want to wait outside?” You offer, nodding toward the front entrance. Simon just nods, following you out close behind. Neither of you say much of anything while you wait, but you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He taps on his leg a few times in much the same way as he did on the table.
He dutifully opens the car door for you, letting you slide in before climbing in beside you, long legs slightly cramped in the small sedan.
“You don’t live on base?” You ask as the Uber drives away from the infamous military housing. You’d been there once or twice - a while ago when you were younger and messier.
“S’too loud.” He shrugs. “Too crowded.”
“Well, at least you’re consistent.” You smile.
Simon hums, resting his hand on your thigh once again. It’s casual, not too high up or too much pressure. Not presumptuous.
“How’d Johnny get you out there in the first place? If you’re so *averse*.” You tilt your head.
He shrugs, “Was supposed to be another Sergeant we work with but I guess he cancelled. No one else was free.”
“Ah, so we’re both last choices, then.”
“Yeah?”
“Made Cass promise me free drinks if I came.”
“Smart girl.” He chuckles, holding out a hand to help you up out of the car upon your arrival. His hand is warm when you take it, and a small part of you feels disappointed when he lets go.
The building is small. Old. All red brick with a thirty year old intercom and an elevator that you’re pretty sure hasn’t been inspected since the place was built. About halfway down the hall, you start to second guess yourself. You don’t know a thing about this guy - you don’t know what’s going to happen as soon as you get on the other side of his door. His weird, bright red door. Wait - why is this whole floor covered in red doors?
“Alright?” He grunts, back turned to you as he wrestles with the lock.
“Uh - why is your floor color themed?”
Simon laughs, wide shoulders shaking with the movement. It’s a low sound, something that vibrates in his chest. Makes you want to press your ear to it, see how it feels. If it will reverberate into your bones as well. “The old lady that owns the building is a bit… unique. Likes to talk about colors and karma and destiny stuff.”
“Ah.” You nod, as if that makes any sense at all. “So you’re red?”
“Apparently.”
His apartment is actually quite homey, as you step into it. From a stiff military man like him you expected something akin to an ikea floor model. Instead it’s furnished with a well worn, green couch. A large TV with an extremely up-to date surround sound system and an entertainment center filled to the brim with CDs sits against the wall. A few movie posters fill the walls. All horror classics - you count three of the scream movies. The first two final destination. There are condensation rings on the coffee table.
Behind you, you hear the door lock and unlock three times, but you don’t pay it much mind.
“Want a drink?” Simon asks, already popping open a decanter full of something gold on a small drink cart beside the kitchen island.
“Sure.” The agreement is automatic - blurted out before you can second guess taking a drink from a total stranger.
You watch a little too closely as he takes off his light jacket, exposing his strong arms and a half sleeve tattoo. It’s a bit tacky, all skulls and military symbols. The black ink has been sun worn over time. The motif of a young getting his first tattoo after enlisting. He settles down on the couch with the decanter and two glasses, patting the spot beside him. You plop down. It’s pretty comfortable, honestly.
His fingers loop into the mask’s straps. You find yourself watching with wide eyes and bated breath as he removes it. His nose is crooked - broken more than a couple times, you think. There’s a scar running from his nose to upper lip that could only come from a cleft palette. It’s charming, in a way. When he turns toward you, you notice a patch on the side of his face that looks like a rather large burn all the way down to his sharp jaw. The roughness of him works, somehow. The scars and tattoos and choppy hair all coming together to create the visage of a life hard lived.
“You’re really pretty…” the words slip from your tongue before you can stop them.
Simon splutters out a laugh, the slightest hint of color appearing across his cheeks. “Didn’t take you for a flatterer.”
“I’m not.” You huff before nodding toward the posters. “Horror fan?”
He hums, passing you a glass. “Are you a fan? Of horror, I mean.”
“Found footage!” You grin a little too excited. “It’s the best genre.”
“Terrible taste.” He scoffs.
“Wrong! Found footage can be anything you want it to be - slasher, thriller, mystery, mocumentary. Anything.”
“Which makes them messy.” He argues. “Anyone can make one.”
“Yeah! Theres so many hidden gems out there.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Oh, I’ll put you on them. We just need to get you a good one.”
“Askin’ me on a second date already, love?”
“Oh, fuck off.” You shove at his shoulder. He was right, it is so much easier to talk freely out of the bar. Away from everyone and everything. His posture is far more relaxed, laid back into the couch with his hips canted forward rather than stiff as a board.
“We could watch one now?” He offers. If you were more sober, you might have heard the twinge of pleading in his voice. As it stands you’ve already drained the glass he gave you and are perfectly buzzed enough to be ignorant to the subtler parts of communication.
How convenient.
“Okay.” You whisper.
After a bit of debating back and forth you settle on Hell House. After all, it’s been your tried and true method for getting anyone and everyone into the genre. You don’t notice it, at first, but you slowly begin to scoot closer to him as you fold your knees up on the couch. Eventually, tucking yourself under his arm sling across the back cushions. Between him and the drinks - which you’re pretty sure is a rather fancy bourbon - you feel what could only be described as snuggly. Limbs loose and pliant, smile easy and words flowing as you cheer and jeer at the characters together.
At some point, Simon’s dark eyes meet between yours. You lean in, so does he. Inch by inch until your lips meet. It’s tentative, at first. Testing the waters. His lips are soft and move expertly against yours. You part for him has his tongue darts across your lower lip.
It’s easier than it usually is for you. Easy to let him pull you over his lap. To rest your hands on his broad shoulders as you take each other in. Normally, you’re not a person for one night stands. A commitment kind of gal. You can’t exactly say no, though, when you have a beautiful man’s hands traveling over your body like it’s the only thing in the world worth paying attention to right now.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to grunt, “Bedroom?”
“*Yes*.” You gasp between kisses.
Suddenly those large hands grasp under your ass as you’re hauled up. You grapple to hold onto the back of his neck, keeping your weight forward.
“Simon!”
“Yes, love?” He asks as if he didn’t just life you like a sack of potatoes.
“A-aren't I heavy?” You question as he makes his way through the apartment, peppering kisses over your neck and jaw.
“No.” He replies bluntly. Like what you asked was stupid.
You’re placed on a bed with all the gentleness of a rare china plate- one hand cradling your upper back and the other tucked under your thighs. There isn’t any time to take in the room before Simon is kissing you again but you do count approximately five pillows and zero navy sheets.
That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.
Simon leans in close, nose ever so slightly bumping yours. “Before we keep going, I want to establish a rule. Red light means stop. At any time, for any reason.”
You can’t help but smile. “Okay.”
“Say it back, doll.”
“Red light means stop.” You reach up and cup his face. So handsome. So warm.
“Good girl.” He murmurs. “Let’s get these off, hm?” Simon pulls your clothes off deftly - dragging those rough palms over your skin as he moves and kneading at the plushness of your hips appreciatively.
You reach up to tug at his shirt. “S’not fair if I’m the only one naked.”
Simon chuckles and hastily sits back to yank the shirt over his head, giving a lovely show in the process. You think this what people mean when they talk about an Adonis. There’s a comfortable soft layer of his strong abdomen. Something you want to sink your teeth into. Your fingers trace each dip and curve of his muscles, the lovely shape of his pectorals, the raised scars littering his body. Floral shapes from bullets along with slashes and smaller jabs. A particularly nasty one runs down his side, coving his ribs. A burn, you think.
“You’re beautiful.” You murmur. Definitely out of your fucking league. You move to sit up, reaching for his waistband.
His hand pushes your shoulder back on the bed. “Let me take care of you tonight, bird.”
Your face warms. Simon kisses your cheek, continuing down to your chest and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Gently sucking and nipping at it while flicking the other with his hand. A shameful whimper escapes your throat.
Simon leans up to murmur in your ear, “What do you want, sweet girl?”
“Want you to fuck me…” You murmur, embarrassment making you want to close your legs. His solid hips block you.
“Oh, I will, but first I want those beautiful thighs wrapped around my head.” Simon continues to place kisses down your body, over your stomach, stopping right at your panty line and tracing along it with rough fingers. His arms circle your thighs and in one swift motion your hips teeter on the edge of the bed, Simon kneeling between them. His fingers hook in the waistband of your underwear.
“W-wait…” You sit up on your elbows.
He freezes, looking up at you.
“I, uh, I haven’t exactly *landscaped* in a while… wasn’t really planning-“
Simon huffs out a laugh. “I’m a grown man, love. You think a little bush is gonna scare me off?”
All thoughts related to anything within the proximity of embarrassment come to an instant halt as Simon’s lips wrap around your clit- sucking and nipping and lapping like a man starved. Like he’d die without it. A low groan rumbles through his throat.
“F-fuck!” You gasp, whimpers and moans interrupting any chance you may have at putting words together.
“Taste so fucking good, princess.” He mumbles against you. A shaky moan rattles through you as he pushes a thick finger in, working it gently. His other than grips your hip tightly, pinning you in place. The pet-name sends a shiver down your spine - leaving you rolling your hips and clenching on the finger inside you.
“Fuck, Si…” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair.
“I can tell your close, baby.” Simon groans. “Cum for me. Come on, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking tongue.”
The bastard knows the power he has in that voice. He *has* to. That baritone gravel sinks in your veins and all you can do is whimper. Panting pathetically the closer you get. His fingers curl up and your back arches harshly as your climax washes over you. Your legs tremble as he works you through it; stopping just shy of pushing you too far.
“Hey!” You gasp indignantly as a jolt shoots up your spine as he settles a final, harsh suck on your clit.
Simon taps your hip, climbing back over you as you scoot up on the bed. He carelessly kicks off his pants as he goes, toeing them off before settling between your legs. Those dark eyes rake over you leisurely - taking in every inch. Every curve and dip and flaw categorically. He sucks in a breath and sighs. “Bloody ‘ell, look at you… so fuckin’ pretty.”
Your face heats and you look away. “Who’s the flatterer now?”
“Not me. Just bein’ honest.” He places a quick kiss to your soft jawline before reaching over to dig through his nightstand drawer. You don’t miss the gold foil of the condom wrapper.
You can’t stop yourself from licking your lips as he pulls off his boxer briefs. Simon is uncut, already ruddy and leaking and just begging for your mouth. Maybe next time, though. He’s already slipped on the condom, carefully hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and the other around his hip. The man has a laser-focus to him, you’ll give him that.
“Still want t’ keep goin’?” He mumbles, eyes locked on his cock as is drags between your folds.
“*Please*.” You whine pathetically. Simon’s chuckle turns into a gasp as he presses in. It’s achingly slow and you roll your hips in demand for more.
Simon lets out a low groan as his hips meet yours. The stretch is perfect - just enough to feel completely full without pushing you too far. As though your bodies were made to slot together just so. Your head falls back, chest heaving as you beg him to move, to fuck you, just *please* for the love of god-
“Needy little thing.” He gives you a sloppy smile before setting a brutal pace. You find yourself clawing at his back, clinging to him as your back arches and the most obscene sounds are systematically torn from your throat. The angle he has your hips placed causes his cock to bully that sensitive spot inside you - dragging over it with every thrust.
Simon leans toward, bracing himself on his forearms and pinning you under him as he fucks into you. “So fuckin’ good f’me. Knew you would be. So soft and sweet and goddamn *pretty*.”
“*Fuck, Simon*.” You gasp, nose bumping against his as your lips intertwine. Breaths and moans intermingle as you both chase that edge. There’s nothing else, in this moment, just you and Simon and the sounds only he has ever managed to pull from you.
Your orgasm hits you like a train. Out of nowhere and all at once, tensing every muscle into a trembling mess as you clamp down around his cock. Simon sinks his teeth into your neck as his own climax takes him, cradling you close and moaning out your name so muddled you almost miss it.
For a few moments, you stay frozen in place trying to catch your breath as you come down. Your limbs feel like jelly when you finally try to move, body limp and pliable. It almost feels like a loss as he pushes off of you, leaving you open and vulnerable to the cool night air while he ties off the condom.
“Be right back.” He murmurs, slowly climbing off you and heading for an attached bathroom off to the left.
You let your eyes slipped closed only to jump and shoot back open as a dap rag drags between your thighs. A little yelp escapes you as the rough material drags across your oversensitive clit. Simon chuckles at you, tossing the rag back somewhere in the bathroom before crawling into the bed beside you. It’s so easy to curl into his chest and let those strong arms encircle you.
“Have fun, love?” Simon murmurs into your hair.
You just hum happily, smiling against his hard chest.
“Good.”
It’s just as easy as the rest of it to fall asleep like that. To seek out the warmth of his body in your satiated haze and press into him, allowing the night and rhythmic beating of his heart to overtake you. You feel four small taps between your shoulder blades just before tipping over the edge into comfortable nothing.
You wake slowly to an empty bed. The light from the window above you streams in - bathing the room in a light golden tone. It’s cozy. The blankets seem to pull you in, keeping you snugly in place. Distantly, you hear the sound of pots and pans clinking.
Shockingly, you’re not hungover. Well, not much at least. There’s a slight twinge in your head and a not unpleasant soreness in your hips. You dig around, finding your clothes strewn across the room haphazardly. Your underwear are nowhere to be found and you eventually give up with a shrug. They weren’t one of your best pairs anyway.
When you come out of the bedroom, you pause. Simon stands in the kitchen, working on something over the stove wearing only a pair of sweatpants. They hang loosely around his hips, showing off the rises and dips of his strong muscles and well defined waist. This scene somehow feels too intimate despite your activities the night before.
“Perfect timing.” Simon turns, placing a plate down on the kitchen island. The omelette before you looks immaculate, all the way down to a light garnish on top.
Your eyes turn to saucers. “You…you made me breakfast?”
“Course.” He nods sharply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if *not* doing so would be some sort of affront. Either you’re still asleep and this is all a dream or you stumbled upon the perfect man through pure happenstance.
He turns the stove off and on and off twice before standing at the counter across from you while you sit on one of the stools at the island. It’s a comfortable silence as you both eat. Simon keeps glancing up at you as if waiting for your disapproval. Boyish, somehow, despite the size and breadth of him.
It’s perfect. The eggs practically melt in your mouth and the goat cheese and vegetables taste fresh. You can’t help but him happily as you eat.
By the time you’re done, you think you might be a little in love.
Maybe you should text Cass and thank her or something. Maybe a gift basket. “Oh. My phone’s dead.”
“Didn’t charge it before y’left last night?” Simon cocks an eyebrow, chewing on his last bite.
You snort. “It was last minute, remember?”
“What if I’d been some sort of psycho? What was your plan?” He grins as he takes your empty plate. If you were a more impulsive woman you may have gone so far as to lick the damn thing.
“Are you a psycho?”
“Not generally, no.”
“Well then, nothing to worry about.” You grin, watching a little too happily as he rinses down the dishes and loads the dishwasher.
Simon just scoffs at you.
You glance at the time above the stove, disappointment settling deep in your chest. “Shit. I should get going.”
“I’ll get you a cab.” Simon offers automatically, reaching for his phone.
You shift side to side, twiddling your thumbs. “Y’know… we never finished the movie…”
Simon cocks and eyebrow. From the pleased smirk on his face you can tell he knows what you’re implying. He still patiently waits for you to say it out loud.
“Would, uh, would you want to exchange numbers? Maybe… meet up… again…?” Your voice is more timid than you’d like. This fear of rejection is new. Being rejected is nothing new for you, so why does it suddenly feel so high stakes with this one guy you barely know?
You don’t miss the way his eyes light up ever so slightly at the question. “I’d love to.”
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