-dont go to the emergency room with dental problems. go to the dentist
-bagged greens are cheaper than pre-made salads
-taco bell is NOT worth the money anymore. 1/4 cup mayo, 1/4 cup sour cream, 3 tblspoons pickled jalapenos+2tblspoons of the jar liquid, 2 tsp paprika 1 tsp cumin 1 tsp garlic powder 1 tsp onion powder salt+pepper. all in your blender. creamy jalapeno sauce
-dont quit your job unless you have a bunch of job interviews lined up immediately after
-use resources. food bank, unemployment, housing assistance, financial aid, etc. yes there will be paperwork. but Do It
-dont stay awake longer than 20 hours. you Will start to become impulsive and cranky. resting for 20 minutes is better than trying to stay awake
-for every 2 hours you spend looking up close at screens, spend 20 minutes looking at something far away from you. stretch your wrists a lot
-dont do that yoga stretch where you roll your head around your shoulders. youre grinding down the joints in your neck
-be nice to your friends, bullying them as a joke gets old. if you need a ride somewhere at least offer them gas money
-brush your teeth at any time of the day but especially before you sleep. dont snack in bed if you can help it. make your bed the Clean Teeth Zone. keep floss picks by your bed
-dont tell your boss youre adhd/autism/depression/suicidal. dont trust your coworkers with that. you NEVER know how people will take it and its none of their business
-train your pets to go to the front door when they hear a fire alarm
New thought after TADC EP 8. What if they casts' brains get scanned somehow when they put on the headsets. And their real selves are out in the real world doing fine. But the cast is just the code of their real selves brainscans and memories in there. Which would explain how Caine is/was able to alter their sanities and minds, because they're all just code to him.
Ok TADC EP 8, I have a thought and I dont know if I'm right or reaching, but did Jax run Gangle over and thats why he hates her? Because she's a reminder of a horrible mistake?
Because Gangle gets hit by a car here, and then Jax was having a panic attack last episode where it looks like he's driving in a neighborhood, so
I feel like I'm grasping at straws but the straws are in the same packet so
for everyone asking for a part two of the Ghost putting reader in a headlock drabble. Here you go as a little treat for us because we deserve to be put in a headlock and fucked stupid:
He’s behind you, chest to your back, one thick, scar mapped arm looped under your chin and slanted up across your cheek, biceps and forearm flexed to cradle your throat enough to lock you in place, to let you feel every fiber and tendon, the brute heat of him all along your spine.
Ghost hooks you into him like you weigh nothing, spreads his thighs under yours, and sinks another inch just to hear the little noise you make.
You suck air in ragged little pulls, dizzy on the pressure and the way his bare skin slicks against your sweat. God, the size of him. Shoulder like a slab under your ear, bicep swelling against your jaw every time he flexes. His body is massive behind you; he dwarfs you, cages you. Your head is tipped back on his chest, eyes half lidded, lips parted, drool slipping over your tongue, because every time you suck a breath you get him: the underlying musk of man who’s been working, fighting, fucking for hours.
You’d have been happy with just the headlock while you grind yourself happy and stupid on his cock.
But Ghost doesn’t do “just.”
He ruts up into you from below; hips snapping, the thick length of him driving deep at an angle that knocks little ah-ah-ah sounds out of your open mouth. The headlock tightens as his forearm drags you tighter to his chest, forcing your head to the side until your tongue lolls, a slick line of drool sliding over his bicep. He groans when it hits his skin, low and pleased. “That’s it. Make a mess on me.”
Your eyes roll back on a hard thrust. You try to find the rhythm and he steals it, bucking up in short, brutal strokes that make your thighs shake. The hand at the back of your head holds you where he wants you; the heel of his forearm anchors you to his chest so there’s nowhere to go but down on him, again and again, taking every inch.
Ghost’s other hand is locked around your waist, palm spanning almost the entire plane of your stomach, blunt fingertips digging into the curve of your hip as he pins you back to him, thumb catching your clit. He’s rutting up into you from behind, cock thick and heavy, spearing deep with each brutal roll of his hips. Every thrust rocks your body forward, only for the choke of his arm to anchor you; keep you right where he wants you, strung out on the edge of pain and bliss.
“Look how you take me,” he grits, thrusting up, grinding when he bottoms out just to make sure you feel the whole width of him. “So fucking deep, yeah? Tell me.”
“So- deep,” you hiccup, voice wrecked, drool slicking his arm as your lips part around another helpless sound. “Feels- ngh- better than- than anything- ”
He laughs, quiet, gravelly, smug. “Better than your own fingers?” Up, in, drag- your walls clamp and his thumb circles meaner. “Better than your toys?” Another punch of his hips and you squeal; he covers your mouth with his forearm so the sound goes soft and filthy against his skin. “Thought so.”
You can barely do anything; arms trapped, hips locked, voice gone weak and high and wrecked. Your toes barely touch the floor; your body bows with every stroke, pleasure washing up your spine in wild, helpless bursts. You’re mewling, keening, so far gone that your tongue slips from your mouth, drooling, eyes fluttering back as he rails you, pressure at your throat and in your belly all tangled together.
You’d be happy to stay here forever; just his arm, his cock, the heat of his chest pressed to your sweat slicked skin. But Ghost is relentless. He leans forward, presses his mouth- half masked, his breath hot and damp- just under your ear.
“Look at you” His voice is a gravel scrape, thick and breathless, the growl vibrating through his chest and straight into your bones. “Fuckin’ ruined on my cock.”
You can’t even answer. You only manage a broken moan, saliva glistening on your lower lip, eyes glossy and rolling, body shuddering in the circle of his arms. His bicep bulges against your jaw, hard and impossibly strong. You try to move, try to twist, but he tightens just a little, crooking his elbow up so the world narrows, pleasure sparking white hot in your skull.
He fucks you rougher, rutting up into your cunt with a punishing rhythm that shoves you toward the edge, hips slapping, thighs flexing against your ass. The sound is filthy, echoing, the room stinking of sweat and the sharp, animal edge of his arousal. Your eyes roll back; you can’t help it. More drool slips from your mouth to his arm, and he only growls, pleased, hips snapping faster, chest sticky against your back.
“That’s it. Take it. Take all of it,” he grits out, arm flexing, forearm pressing into your cheek. “God, you look so fuckin’ pretty like this- just drooling, brain gone, tight as a fist around me-”
You feel the orgasm building, bright and wild, helpless. Your body clenches down around him and your vision swims, the pleasure too much to hold. He feels it, thrusts deeper, grinding into you, keeping you held in that perfect, inescapable hold.
You come undone with a scream, body bucking, muscles clamping down so hard he curses, his own release crashing through a moment later; hot and thick, pulse after pulse, hips jerking as he holds you pinned against him, nowhere to go but where he puts you as he empties his heavy balls into your cunt. Your body is limp, boneless, head lolling in the crook of his bicep, mouth open, drool streaked on his skin. You’re utterly, deliciously wrecked.
Only then does he ease the pressure a fraction, palm stroking your jaw where his forearm pinned. “Still with me?”
A dazed smile, a little gasp. “Yeah.”
“Good. Again.” He says, then tightens the headlock, wicked. “Still got more in me.”
This was going to be an ask for @total-killer-brainrot but then the brain worms took over
Horny humiliation you say?? Like being stripped to check for injuries and being so turned on by all the hands on them that the panties come down with a little slick spot clinging to the cotton?
TF!141 x fem!reader, 141!reader, battlefield sex, group sex/gangbang, dubcon (reader is not entirely coherent to consent but is absolutely on board), vague injuries, multiple orgasms, some feels by the end
The explosion could have been much, much worse. Soap disarming the first but realizing only too late that a second was primed and counting down, and the others were shouting into your comms as Soap swung through the doorway, you're right behind him, turn the corner and get out of range-
You're lifted off your feet by a blast that you feel more than hear, like a bully shoving you down a flight of stairs, and Soap catches you as you slam into the floor, ears ringing, all your nerves screaming as they're flipped around and sensation, sight, hearing go topsy-turvy.
You blink, and it's Soap carrying you over his shoulders; you blink, and you're laid flat, Soap kneeling over your head as he unbuckles your vest, Gaz and Ghost on either side, Price working with them to remove your gear in double time, and they're touching you.
Your skin burns. Every unintentional stroke of fingers goes straight through you like good liquor, making you gasp, squirming. Gaz puts his hands on your shoulders, holding you still, saying something you can't hear over the ringing in your ears, and you moan. It's too good. Ghost is lifting your shirt, sweeping gloved hands up and down, checking for injuries, and your belly flexes as he presses down.
He gropes your tits, full palming the flesh, and your nipples are so hard they ache, needing more than a cursory scrape of tac gloves over them, wanting to be flicked and tugged. One of his thumbs lingers, finds a small scratch that made it through your layers, and when he presses on it your bones all melt, thighs spreading, hips rolling up.
Price pauses where he's got his hands on your belt, open and ready to pull your pants down. He's staring down into your lap, at the vee of your open legs, and when he finally pulls the fabric away- belts and holsters all together, rubbing down your skin so deliciously- the cotton of your panties comes off your pussy with a little slick splotch on the center, a tiny string connecting to your entrance before it breaks.
You shudder, mortification and lust and adrenaline pumping through your veins. You feel high. You feel like the lowest scum, wriggling in the dirt while your friends were terrified for your life. Your pants are tangled at your knees, shirt lifted up, and your heart pounds in double time as Price says- something- it's muffled like you're underwater. You blink at him, and he says something else, sharper, before shaking his head and gesturing-
Ghost grips your nipple in his fingers and pinches, hard, and you slam back into your body with a shriek. The pain doesn't stop, growing as he twists, mean, not letting up until you shudder.
"...hear me? Come on, soldier," Price is coaxing, and when Gaz pinches your other nipple, digging in with his nails, the sound that comes out of you is some abomination of a moan and a sob. You want to flee and you still crave more, hips lifting, trying to turn your head between Soap's thighs. He halts you, the thick muscle squeezing, and your pussy clenches when both Soap's hands circle your throat, thumbs under your jaw.
"Easy love," he soothes, as you whine, staring up at him, "don't want to risk a spine injury," and his hands squeeze, just a little, just enough that your eyes roll.
Ghost and Gaz are still groping your chest and abdomen, moving your arms to stab rough fingers into your armpits, making you gasp. Gaz gets your tit in his hand, bouncing it, and your nipple throbs as he tugs and pinches it, flicking at the very tip.
Ghost is moving down your arm, pressing his fingers into the curve of your muscle, finding your palm and stripping away your gloves. You can't see what he's doing- your gaze is stuck on Johnny as he holds your head and neck- but the wavering cry that rolls out of you when a hot mouth sucks two of your fingers inside it is pure humiliation, a fresh gush of slick wetting your pussy, Price putting his weight on your open thighs as Soap clenches around your head, keeping you still.
Ghost licks and sucks with abandon, spit trailing down your wrist, the tip of his tongue flicking at the web between your fingers in a way that makes your clit throb. Your little finger aches, bruised, and he kisses the pad of it so gently you want to cry, before his teeth sink into your wrist, snapping on the thin, delicate veins.
You wail, chest heaving, still only hearing bits and pieces, their voices going in and out. Gaz sucks your nipple, smacking your other breast, and there's a hot, hard curve against your head that you know is Soap, you know it, you need him, so bad, moaning in the dirt like a whore. You hips jerk, and when Price gets a hand on your pussy, holding you open, clit framed between his fingers and begging for a suck, you kick wildly, the tangle of pants and belts all rattling together.
"-said hold still!" Price snaps, and his hands snakes over to smack the inside of your thigh. You moan and gush. "Going to be the fucking death of....high up ...brace," and you whine, confused and horny, as something is looped around your throat, thick and stiff, and you realize it's their belts- broad bands of leather layered over each other in an improvised neck brace- you can smell them, sweat and gunpowder and, oh, their cocks, heavy and warm and intoxicating, and you drool, your view rocking as the buckles are tightened, your chin forced up.
Johnny smiles at you, stroking your cheek, and you swear you hit the stratosphere when his cock is pulled out and dropped on your face, balls dragging across your forehead. Your tongue stretches out, needing a taste, and you awkwardly lick at Soap, trying to kiss and suck at his cock as he rubs it over you, skin silky-soft over the thick hard flesh of it.
Your pussy is leaking constantly now, a rhythmic clench and squeeze to match your racing heartbeat, as Ghost leaves your throbbing wrist alone and joins Gaz over your breasts again, their mouths alternating between sucking your nipples and kissing each other. Price's fingers are back around your clit, prodding and poking, teasing the little nerves and then pressing hard into the tendons around your thighs, making you shake from the dual stimulation. It's too much, and it's not enough, not for you, so slick and desperate just from being groped and stripped. Ready to burst because your squad was checking for injuries and then decided to have a little fun while you were helpless.
Soap's thighs flex around your head as he kneels up, and you feel his moan when his balls sink down over your mouth, full and fat, his pants scraping at your nose. You try to suck at them, the sac bouncing as he jerks his cock, gasping when he kneels up briefly and then sits back down again, the ache in your lungs adding to the heat in your belly.
Your hands flex, reaching, and find Ghost's cock still in his pants, thick curve down his thigh, cupping it awkwardly. Gaz's is out, blood hot, and he fits your hand around it and uses you to stroke off, keeping your hand in place with an iron grip. Moans and soft sighs waver in and out of your ears, your own muffled begging increasing as Price keeps teasing around your clit, not ever touching it, fingers wet with the slick you're pumping out. You feel the belts around your throat with every gasp, your nipples ache, you are so ready to come, but you can't get it, not yet.
You think he might give it to you, let you have it, the orgasm hovering just on the horizon, when he forces your clit to pop out, distended between the V of his middle and first fingers, and the other fingertip traces so gently over it, the little round head straining from the hood, oh fuck please- please can I come- Soap's balls and cock so heavy on your lips and Ghost's cock out and leaking, Gaz still fucking your fist-
You can't hear beyond Soap's thighs, and sob when the teasing touches vanish- all of them- no more fat cocks to stroke or heavy balls to suck or delicious, torturing fingers on your clit. Soap lifts off and away, and your belly twists as the world spins, horizon muddled, the ringing back in your ears as you're lifted and shaken about, a rat in a terrier's jaws, limp and unable to fight.
Your chest presses to the ground, arms pinned under you, and your eyes roll and you come with a shout as a cock shoves into your pussy, someone's hips slapping hard to your ass, neck held stiff with the belts and thighs shaking as you're pounded, pussy gushing, the fireworks behind your eyes bursting apart.
You don't know who is fucking you and you don't care, only greedy for cock, pussy squeezing and milking it eagerly. Hands roam over your back, pressing at other little scrapes and bruises, smacking your ass hard enough you wail into the dirt and dust. Your pussy is drooling, creamy and thick, as it's used to slake their adrenaline high, pumping relief and worry into your body.
The first cock comes fast, wet heat spilling into you, a new liquid warmth you can feel inside. Maybe it was Soap, already more worked up from humping your face, his balls damp with your spit. When it pulls away, you moan and wriggle, needing more; when the second cock slams inside, meaner, you wail for Ghost, thighs shaking as he grips your ponytail and hauls back on your head.
Your neck can't bend far inside the brace, and instead your shoulders are lifted up, hands scrambling to get under you and take some of the weight and pressure. It's a lost cause though, each snap and roll of his hips making you weak, drool slicking the corner of your mouth, babbling as your clit smacks against his balls, your breasts bounce.
His free hand cups your ass, and you clench down tight when he hits you- this is nothing so playful as a spank- pain flowing in a wave through your pussy and clit. Another hit, more back and forth until your ass is burning, each smack of his gloved palm and fingers winding you back up, until he bends to cover your body, tac vest digging into your skin, and hisses through the ringing in your ears, your pounding heartbeat, that this is what you get for scaring the fucking shit out of him, he thought you were dead, and you come when Ghost does, his teeth biting hard into your ear, blood spilling, your moans strangled and choked as he hauls on your hair and uses your slutty slick hole to punish you.
You sag limply down when he releases you, neck aching and pussy throbbing, and whimper when Gaz slips in, pussy still weakly clenching with the orgasm Ghost gave you. He's as tender as Ghost wasn't, his cock thick and heavy, filling you gently. He spends a few minutes just holding you, cradling you back to chest, before the world spins again and you're brought up kneeling, thighs open over his lap, and Gaz can fuck up into your sloppy wet hole with both hands free to play with your tits.
He croons half-heard nonsense into your ear as he palms your breasts, feeling them, learning the weight and shape. One nipple is flicked over with his thumb, unstopping, as you squirm and whine; the other is carefully pinched and pulled, only a little.
It's a different sort of torture, this easy teasing, your clit begging to be touched as well. This position means Gaz is just fucking your hole, no pressure on your clit, and you whine and try to bounce back down on him, getting a sharp twist to both nipples in admonishment. You yelp, chastised, and let him take his time. Your breasts are squeezed, cupped together in his palms to force cleavage up, nipples tugged and rolled, here and there a little pinch to make you clench up on him. By the time Gaz comes, your nipples are sore, breasts feeling full and hot and heavy from being played with, and you beg incoherently as he spills his come inside, so much already in you that it's all being fucked out, dripping down his cock and onto his balls; Gaz scoops up a little of the slick mess and rubs your clit, hard little circles, a teasing tug just like he did to your nipples, and you come with a syrupy wave of pleasure, soft and heavy and making your thighs shake, your mouth opening on a moan.
Hands gently lay you down, on your back again, and now Price is finally kneeling over you, thighs open for him, pussy so wet with slick and come it's obscene. He's looking down at you with a complex twist to his face, something like a father and something like a commander and something else like just a man, worried and needy and wanting the base animal instinct of rutting into another warm and living body.
His cock slams into you and you sob, tears rolling down your cheeks, reaching up with wobbly arms to cling to Price's shoulders. His moans filter into your ears, strong body bending to cover you, the tangled mess of your pants clattering as your legs are shifted up, letting him pull you close, nuzzle at your face until he can lick into your open mouth.
"Sorry, sorry," you blurt, the words forced out at each pound of his cock, "I'll be- better- faster- next time- oh, ah fuck, please, oh fuck it's so good-!" Your eyes roll, overstimulated and overcome, heart pounding. There's an ache in your lower back and down your legs, nipples still hard and sensitive, and your clit throbs as it's ground against Price on each slap of his hips. "Price- captain- gonna come again!"
He bites your lips, and you come with another shout and a shake, too much and too fast, hearing only your pounding heartbeat and the words he whispers to you, so scared we lost you, saw you fall, can't lose you, sweetheart, my sweetheart, so good, so strong- one more, take one more from me, so full and wet now- and Price comes with a groan, grinding his cock so deep you can feel it in your throat, panting and holding your gaze, forcing you to see all the emotion in his eyes while his cock spurts and throbs, a last load of come to fill your pussy.
You pant and whimper, still crying, clinging to Price, the others all pressed close around, soothing him as much as you. Your pussy aches deep inside, four cocks taken so fast, and you know you'll carry that ache with you for days.
Days of feeling them inside you, carrying that dizzying memory inside your body until the scrapes heal and the muscles ease, until you're properly back on your feet and running with your squad, their hands and eyes on you, ready for your chance to pull them back from danger.
Sometimes I think the only way I'll be enough is if I'm dead, but there's too much I want to do before I die so I guess I'm just stuck constantly disappointing people I wish I didn't care about so much.
He stops with a sharp breath, his hands locking around your hips, fingers digging in hard. He’s close—too close—and you can feel it in the way his thighs tense under you, in the way his chest rises unevenly.
"Wait," Simon rasps as his one hand leaves your hip and finds your face, pulling you down until your mouth is on his.
It’s that lazy kind of kiss—lazy and wet, all tongue, just the way you love it. His lips are warm, soft, and parting with a hum when your teeth scrape just a little. He kisses you like he’s trying to catch his breath through you, like if he slows it down, he might not cum right then and there.
Your body doesn’t get the memo.
You're already soaking, but that kind of kiss? That slow, wet drag of his tongue against yours? It makes you clamp down around him so tight he chokes on a moan.
“Fuckin’—love,” he grits out against your mouth, voice rough and cracking. “Stop squeezin’ me—I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.”
You smile into the kiss, smug and breathless. “Then stop kissing me like that.”
He stares at you for a split second—just one—and then drags you back down, kissing you deeper, messier, like he’s punishing you for talking back.
You keep squeezing.
He bucks once, twice, hips jerking under you like he’s losing the fight. "You fuckin'—ngh—"
You feel it when he gives in.
His head drops back, jaw slack, hands gripping your ass like he’s trying to anchor himself. You ride it out slow, lips still brushing his, feeling him pulse inside you while you grin like a little menace.
“You’re evil,” he mutters, breathless, his eyes half-lidded.
“i can’t say it, i’m shy,” reader x “need you to use your pretty words,” simon riley
—ㅤ ꒰ྀིㅤ simon riley x reader ಿৎ
mentions of: vaginal sex, slight degradation, soft dom simon until the last comment at the end teehee, age gap briefly mentioned
“‘m shy si,” you mumbled softly, your voice barely audible as you avoided eye contact, your cheeks heating up as simon had you pinned down naked, your legs wrapped around his waist as your ankles dug into his lower back.
he tutted, “need you to use your words alright luvie? yer not gonna come by staying silent.” simon knew just how shy you were, the way you followed him around like a lost puppy, your big eyes staring at him before understanding what you want and taking you to bed. but no, this time he wanted you to say it. “yer older man is asking you and yer gonna say no?”
you looked away from him, your teeth sinking down to your bottom lip as the blush spreads down to your chest. “need you to make me come si,” you muttered out quickly, too soft and fast for him to understand. a low chuckle left simon’s mouth. “come on luvie, we can do better than that.”
though his thrusts didn’t stop, his cock abusing your small leaking cunt as the bed frame creaked,“give it another go luvie, good girls use their voice yeah?” his eyes glued to the way your tits bounced, your eyes rolling back as he continued to edge you for what felt like forever.
slowly your chest started to rise and fall heavily, your breaths coming out as pants as simon continued to fuck you like his own personal flesh light. “come on baby, breathe,” he reminded you as you started to get a little hazy, your eyes dilated and unfocused.
“i know it’s a lot yeah luvie? must feel good too, but need you to try again.”
“i wanna come si,” you moaned desperately, your perfectly manicured nails creating crescent indents on his muscular shoulders. “there we go, wasn’t that hard was it baby?” he cooed. “want me to fuck yer sweet lil cunt till your drippin’?”
“who knew a sweet soft girl like you was a slut begging to be filled hm?”
ghost's cock can be classified as a weapon, because it ticks every single box: it's long, it's thick and is very fucking heavy. like have you seen the way this man walks? yeah, he has to carry that fucking thing between his legs, because he's a shower. he has that kind of dick that flares a bit around the middle - delicious if you ask me -. and breeder balls that hang low to to go with it.
i feel like ghost doesn't really care when it comes to hair, he tends to have a full bush, letting it grow as it wishes. but when he's feeling a bit cheeky, he may trim it a bit. and with said breeder balls, he cums a decent amount - more than average -, thick and gooey, definitely a pearly white. his cock is as pale as he is, but when he gets hard it turns a dark shade of red. also, he's uncut.
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soap 🧼
first things first, soap is a grower, not a shower. but his cock is on the longer side and a bit skinier. the stretch is still incredible and the way he sometimes isn't able to fit the whole thing inside of some poor things hole. his balls hang quite high up.
this man has a jungle down there. i don't think he has trimmed, much less shaved in ages. thick coarse slighly curly hair covering his balls and the base of his cock, it's dark colour contrasting againts his skin. definitely uncut. his bulboust tip a bright shade of pink when he gets hard. and he leaks, like a lot, the second he starts getting hard he always makes messes with his precum. he has runny cum, but it's lovely for the dirty shit he loves to do.
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gaz 🧢
i love the little consensus we all have that gaz's cock is pretty. because he does. a little darker than his skin with some protruding veins running along it - the kind that you just want to lick -. i would say that he has a quite average cock in lenght and girth, but it ain't about the weapon, it's about who handles it and how. and let's say he's a fucking expert at it ;)
i'm sorry to be that bitch but he's cut. but he has suck a big tip, the kind that stretches you out with just the first inch. unlike his fellow teammates, i feel like he full on shaves it. my biggest headcanon about gaz is that he cums a lot, thick pearly white seed that pools at his balls and covers his fist when he jerks off or loads someone's hole up when he fully fills them up.
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price 🚬
price may not have the length, but he does have the girth. this man has such a thick cock, and quite heavy at that. he's fully unable to hide his dick, even when soft it still quite bulges and strains against his pants. he's another one with some fucking full breeder balls, always ready to get some pretty thing leaking with his cum. of course, he's uncut, like yes king let that foresking show.
his top turns a pretty light shade of pink when he's aroused. he definitely has one hell of a bush,- fully unkempt, he doesn't even trim it. he used to keep up with it every time he shaved his beard, but he doesn't see a reason why he should keep doing it - and god bless him for it -. also, just the same way his hair and beard are greying, so are his pubes ;)
simon who sleeps wrong without a good fuck. cw. somnophilia, dubcon.
he’s incorrigible when he comes home.
silk nightgown replaced by charred, pruning palms. breath hot on the shell of your ear. you croon with disapproval before he places his thumb on your tongue to snuff it out.
been working you slowly against his knee, given the cool slick that kisses your inner leg. bleary eyes register the clock first. an hour that wasn’t made by god reads on numbers that feel strangely foreign. the world is molasses. it boils where you’re forced to ride his thigh.
remembering is just as leisured. sleeping without him and waking cuffed in his embrace. the 2 month stretch with out him. the distinct smell of gunmetal you associate with his return burning below your nose.
“si…”
he grunts and slips his fingers in your cunt. you turn your head to the pillow, but he grabs your chin before you can muster a groan.
“don’t turn tha’ away from me. been without your voice for months. not wastin’ it in a pillow.”
you moan where his digits collect on your teeth. the stretch of three fingers beckons another. louder. he’s grinding against your ass.
despite it all, his heart murmurs without vigor. calm pulse while he raises yours. just as quiet when he’s crouched behind a sniper. taking aim.
taking what he wants.
you give it up quick with your orgasm. brings you to the shore of your own consciousness, enough you register his cock pushing into the sleeve of your cunt with little warning, and the burn that follows.
it lasts until you’re legs are stiff and spread against the sheets, hole filled with his spend and ribs collapsing with uneven breaths. he folds on top of you, snoring like a bear.
loves that your cunt can put him to sleep. likes to wake up to it, too.
John Price sleeps naked, and I will not have anyone tell me otherwise.
When the two of you were dating, he toned it down a little and at least kept his boxers on, but the minute he had a ring securely on your finger and your vows in place, he refused to wear even a single thing to bed.
“Too hot,” he’d complain daily, pulling you into his chest and causing your ass to settle on top of his fast-chubbing cock (unintentionally, of course). “S’not comfy. Besides, can’t feel you as well.”
He’d regularly try to get you to join him, too — and you don’t think you’d ever seen him happier than on the one instance you finally gave in, only because you were ovulating and you wanted him even more than he wanted you, which was impressive considering his… general consistent need.
And even on the cold winter nights when you could quite literally hear him shivering from the frigid air, he’d shrug off the temperature and pull you even closer. “Who needs clothes when I have you, huh? Like my own little hot water bottle, you are. You give good kisses, too.” His praise was never-ending, if only to keep you from playfully scolding him about his preference.
You never really meant it, though. How could you, when your husband was always so clearly hot and needy for you?
John Price who isn’t just older—he’s worn in. A little gross. A little rotten. Manipulative. The kind of man who sees a pretty bird like you—young and sweet, all soft lips and shy eyes—in some dingy pub sipping something pink, and he doesn’t think I want her. No. He thinks mine.
John Price who decides quick. From the first glance, it’s already settled. He’s already imagining you on your knees in his kitchen, wearing nothing but one of his shirts. Already thinking about how tight your cunt will feel wrapped around him. How pretty you’ll look pregnant, tits swollen, begging for him to fuck you slower.
You don’t know it yet, but he’s mapped it all out—where you’ll sleep in his house, how long he’ll let you play independent before he starts cutting off your options. You won’t need your job. Won’t need friends. Won’t need anything but him.
He’s already picked the ring. Already picked the crib. Already thinking about whether he’ll fill you up before or after dinner.
Twisted in the head, that’s true—but it doesn’t matter. He knows what you need before you even open your mouth. Knows how to touch you, how to own you, without ever asking for permission. You’re not equals. Never were.
He’s choosing you. He’s keeping you.
And oh, sweetheart—whether you feel it yet or not, he’ll make damn sure you learn to be grateful.
Grateful to wear his ring.
Grateful to carry his name.
Grateful every time he fills you up, breeds you with his cum until you’re full—so full it leaks out of your swollen, poor cunt—reminding you exactly who you belong to.
Because in his house, in his bed, wrapped around his cock—you’re not just his girl. You’re his wife.
And he’ll fuck the doubt right out of you if he has to.
Simon with an anxious little lovie who needs help calming down sometimes. And he can do it, he can settle your nerves when nothing else can. He can slow your racing thoughts, get you out of your head and back to him, where you belong.
And he's so PROUD of it too. He loves that his rough, calloused hands can soothe you that well. You feel safe enough with him to let him take care of you in the moments where you feel completely out of control, and it means the world to him. It means more than he ever thought anything could.
The feeling of your own hands, reaching up his body, your palms pressed flat against the broad, muscled planes of his chest, is something he'll always treasure. He breathes steady, trying to get you to do the same, and he knows his heartbeat is strong and solid, because it always is with you.
And if giving him a little grope there helps at all? If your worried little hands want to use his pecs like stress balls? Do whatever you need, love. He's a big boy, he can take it.
Being insecure with how your pussy looks, so you made sure to do whatever needed to present yourself nicely before spending the first night with your boyfriend, Johnny.
You spent days taking care of your pussy. putting on oil, moisturizer, essence, and of course.. shaved it clean. Because you heard most men like that..
So imagine the look on your face when his reaction wasn't what you wanted.. but rather- what the mean voices in your head had told you what would happen.
You have done all that effort to make yourself feel pretty.. to mask the nervousness and insecurity.. hoping he would appreciate it but all he said was-
"..Whit way dis she look like that??"
He knew that came out wrong when he saw you tearing up, pouty lip trembling as you held back a sob.
Oh, hen- he didn't mean to insult you, it's just that.. he's upset of her being bald 😔
