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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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macklin celebrini has autism
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@joandarxh
coworker!Soap sending "us ❤️" texts to his coworker and it's a mix of cutesy animal pics and genuinely concerning kidnapping fetish content. HR has spoken to him about it twice but he keeps getting away from it because he's a family friend of the CEO.
*Me sitting down to write smut.*
But first! We must thoroughly understand this man's fractured and devastated sense of self. Only then can we truly appreciate how connected he feels to her while finger-banging the soul from her body.
141 as headlines | 141 headcanons
gaz
ghost
price
soap
not enough people writing about Price having kids and being the world's worst dad
not a chance in hell he's ever remembered a birthday in his life
i don't care what happens anymore. no amount of insanity those moniyawak at Activision throw at me will ever take away from the fact that i'm currently in my mind palace, picturing sitting on merc Price's lap and kissing the thatch of grey on his beard while he smokes a cigar and gives cringe "i used to be a good man (not true), but the bad guys taught me the only way to win is to get on their level (also not true)" monologues and makes you hold his whiskey for him as he sighs forlornly at the loss of the man he was (literally the same, but his kills are unsanctioned and he has a new haircut) and does the "bad" old man thing where he talks about how he should push you away because you're too good for him (true) but won't because this new version of him is selfish and hungry and he needs a little bit of good in his life to remind of him the guy he (still is) was.
KEEPSAKE / MASTERLIST
ghoap/female reader - omegaverse au
One Two Three
i really love the idea of Simon's and Johnny's entire relationship being built on freak finding freak—or two hunters sussing each other out. but being very sly about it.
like Ghost knows Johnny's whole persona is a facade, and that the doe he keeps huffing about, the one that keeps wiggling away from him, isn't actually a deer or an animal, but a person. and when he makes these little remarks about needin' tae tame a doe or get a stronger rope, a bigger cage; or when he tells them that the scratches he has on his arms and neck are from finally bringin' his doe home, he isn't talking about improving his husbandry.
just like Soap is pretty sure that the lil birdie keepin' 'im up all night isn't a pidgeon or a sparrow, but is instead the tourist who went missing a few months ago.
Thinking about Johnny finally dragging himself back from leave, ache of months in the field sitting heavy in his bones, calcified into the meat of his back, his knees, the hinge of his jaw where he's been grinding his teeth in his sleep. Leave is supposed to fix that. Leave never fixes that.
He gets the key in the lock on the second try, the door gives, and... everything in his brain goes quiet in the wrong way, silence in his nervous system that reclassifies his environment from safe to unknown. He stands there, hand on the knob, and lets his eyes sweep before his feet commit to the threshold.
The air is not carrying the usual expectation of dust and closed window staleness. There is something warm in the air. Something organic. Something that has no reason to be here. (The blanket on the sofa is folded with a neatness his own hands have never once produced. There's foot prints embedded on the plush carpet that do not match the size or weight distribution of his feet. The cabinet above the stove is open a crack and he can see the gap where the canned soup used to be.)
His pulse flattens, goes cold. Konni, Shadow Company, the rotating cast of people who'd like to see what his insides look like on the outside, any one of them patient enough to wait for the window when he's off grid, alone, softened by weeks of nothing.
He palms his gun and clears the flat. Living room, nothing. Kitchen, nothing. Bathroom, nothing, but the towel on the rack is damp and he hasn't been here in six weeks.
By the time he reaches the bedroom door, his pulse has climbed into the place behind his ears where he can hear it ticking. He wraps his fingers around the handle, eases the latch, shoulders through the gap with every nerve ending wired to the expectation of violence-
And finds you.
You, whoever you are, curled into the center of his mattress, unconscious with sleep. You, wearing one of his old SAS shirts, swallowed by the size, the collar slipping wide over one shoulder, hem rucked high across bare thighs. You, with his scent on your skin, in your hair, layered into the slow tide of your breathing like you've been steeping in him for days.
His gun lowers slowly.
A squatter. A wee homeless squatter who jimmied his lock on some rain-soaked night and found the canned food and the hot water and the bed and thought, yes, this will do, and just... stayed. Ate his food. Slept in his bed. Wore his clothes because they were soft and clean and nobody was coming back for them probably, hopefully.
He exhales through his nose. Runs his tongue along the back of his teeth. The tension in his shoulder doesn't ease, it changes shape, sharpens into something hotter. Months of brutal ops, months of nothing but his own rough hand and freezing showers and shitty memories, and here you are: a soft, warm little intruder, curled up like a present someone gift wrapped and left right on the center of his bed.
You thought the place was empty. You thought you could slip in, take what you needed, and hide here like a scared little mouse. Poor thing.
Johnny braces one knee on the mattress, the bed dipping under his weight, looms over you, caging you in with his much larger frame, breath hot against your neck as he leans down, voice rough and thick against your ear. "Looks like I've got myself a wee squatter."
His hand slides up your thigh, pushing the shirt higher.
"Time to start paying rent, bonnie."
reader: woe is me maybe I should throw myself on the these train tracks
Simon: Or you could let me fuck you nasty in this disgusting subway bathroom instead.
mundane things I think about John Price doing that get me unspeakably wet
undoing his belt
shifting his hips in his chair
rolling his sleeves up
shaving in the bathroom mirror with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist
adjusting his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose
taking a quick whiff of his scotch before he drinks it
putting his arm across the back of the passenger seat when he reverses his car
wiping his hands with a rag after doing household maintenance or working on his car
manspreading in his chair
vacation!john price makes the most of his time off by folding you–the pretty thing he caught staring at his rental boat–in half so he can come inside you nearly every night. he's bending your legs in ways you didn't know possible, pushing your thighs to your chest so he can see the mess you're leaking around him. sometimes, if he's lucky, the light will catch you just right, the man to grunting and cooing at the shining ring of cream at the base of his cock.
"f-fuck, you're deep... feels... feels good." your praise comes out as a stuttering, slurred mess. "really fuckin'–oh, god–s'good."
"christ... s'too bad holiday's almost done, dove." john groans out the reminder, a touch of sad slipping in just under the puffs of pleased breaths. you whine at the hand he presses onto your belly, the sound and sight distracting john, who just tilts his head with pride in his grin. "oh, fuckin' looook a'that, huh. think i might have'ta take ya back home with me... would be a shame ta let a face 'n hole as pretty as yours get away too easy, wouldn't it?"
all you can do is gush and slosh around john as he keeps stuffing himself inside you. holding your knees and puckering your lips every few thrusts so he'll rub his hairy front against your chest and belly every time he bends to kiss you.
© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚
is it ok to get "white girl wasted" if you arent white?
yes
no
why am i being ratioed here...no's come to my defense
is it ok to get "white girl wasted" if you arent a girl?
yes
no
this is the discourse im here for
prev tags
Older wolf!hybrid roomate that lets you stay rent free as long as he can grope and fondle your tits every once in a while uninterrupted.
He’s gotten to the age where he’s not really interested in going out to meet new people. He’s content getting to take one of your nipples into into his mouth and jerk off while you scroll on your phone.
If you let him fuck your tits he’ll even pay for your nails and groceries for the month. Licking the tip or letting him cum on your face means he’ll treat you to a trip out of town.
You’ve let him fuck your doughy thighs once and he made a mess all over them almost immediately…
He wouldn’t call himself your sugar daddy. He’s not exactly rich and doesn’t pamper you like he wants to, but you’re taken care of and he’s grown quite fond of you.
He’s been saving up so he can knot that pretty, fat cunt of yours at some point… he just doesn’t know you’d let him do it for free if he just asked.
I identify the most with the woman who has a green velvet ribbon around her neck and keeps being like "DONT untie my neck ribbon or something really bad will happen" and then her husband unties the ribbon and her head falls off. this is extremely real to me. spent my whole life like "please don't do this thing to me or really bad stuff will happen" and everyone around me being like "that sounds fake" and doing it anyway. and then my head fell off!
You know technology literacy is dying because I saw this meme with 76k likes
F11 the full screen button? You’re scared of the full screen button? F10?? It opens the menu bar???
Computers are so scary what if I accidentally hit F12 in a steam game and it takes a screenshot. What if I press shift + F12 while in word and accidentally save my document 😖
If you had to learn what the F keys on your computer do through me reblogging this post, then I'm glad you did. Computer literacy is not a skill that gets taught anymore, and it is absolutely one that needs to be taught in order to be learned. Don't ever feel bad for not knowing something, but ☝️ don't ever stop learning learning about your environment, the tools you use, and especially the people around you
Never stop learning+ Never stop sharing what you learned
John “Breeding Kink” Price who finds out you don’t use condoms and has the one single goal of knocking you up and leaving you with the baby. He goes hard, deep, unrelenting, every position, every surface, multiple times a day. It’s about impregnation. About ownership. About planting something so deep inside you that you can never shake him. Not even if you tried.
He watches your body like a hawk. Tracks your cycle. Fucks you stupid the week you’re ovulating, dripping possessiveness every time he spills cum deep inside you. Doesn’t stop even when you’re shaking, overstimulated, dazed and bruised from the intensity of it all.
And every time your period comes on time, like clockwork, his eyes get darker. His thrusts rougher. His grip bruising. He mutters curses under his breath, things like “Useless little cunt,” and “You better hold onto it this time,” while forcing his cock as deep as he can go, grinding slow just to flood you with another load. When he pulls out and watches it leak, he shoves it back in with his fingers, murmuring things like “not wasting a drop, sweetheart” or “c’mon, take it all.”
He starts keeping you in bed longer. Legs up, hips tilted, cock still twitching inside you even after he’s emptied everything he’s got. All in a desperate, obsessive attempt to make it take.
Vs.
You, who saw through his game from the very beginning. You, who never told him your tubes were tied years ago, because honestly? The dick is spectacular and watching him lose his mind trying to breed a body that can’t be bred is just icing on the cake.
