i’m a big baby and am emotional writing this but i think it’s time to admit that i have lost all motivation to write here anymore :( i’m incredibly busy right now and honestly i’m trying to work on only doing things that really spark joy for me. to everyone that has shown my writing love, i promise i’ll never forget it. i felt so silly writing for a fandom i’ve only recently joined but i’m so glad i did. to all my mutuals, i love u all to the moon and back! <3 thank u for making my time here so wonderful. i promise im not disappearing forever (i’ll def be dropping in to show ur works some love ☻) so this is just a farewell for now :,(
hi mic my love!!! <33 i hope you’re taking care and everything is going well for you! i miss you so much and always think abt u 🦇🤍 simon is always plopping some phantom kisses onto your cheek as your day goes by :-)
Di!!! my sweet angel love ahhh it’s been way way way too long! :(
so much has happened in my life omg where to begin. well first i finally graduated college hehe!!! and i found an apt (i’m moving next month yay) im taking a big exam tomorrow for my teaching certification and then im going to vegas with my family for a week and going to see adele yasss
also i miss you too so so soooo much! i hate that i haven’t been active here in forever but finishing the semester just really caught up to me and truthfully my cod obsession deserted me for a while 🙊 anyway as a token of my love here are some pics of silly little ramona ❣️
HOW ARE YOU MIC!!!???? I haven’t heard from you in a while baby🥹
tomie my love! <3 sorry for falling off the face of the earth 🙈 school has been dragging me through the mud lately :( i literally had a student yell at me right in my face today and i had to get onto him and idk if it’s my school specifically but some of my kids are so insane and unhinged that i want to rip my hair out.
but in better news, i’ve started reading again and i’ve already read 7 books this month woohoo! & i just applied for my first teaching position and im so nervous, but really hope i get an interview because i feel like its a position that i would really enjoy. ooh and i took ramona on a tiny road trip to see my girlfriend and so im finally enjoying my weekend (even though she’s trying to get me into fortnite and it is not working because im absolutely shit at video games)
honestly it feels like a million things are going on in my life right now, but i promise i haven’t forgotten about you <3
˚₊‧꒰ა this post is sfw, but my blog is 18+ so minors and ageless blogs dni please !! ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Thinking about Johnny actively trying to get you pregnant in February or early March so you two have your first baby for Christmas <3
The snow outside falls in thick flakes that flutter to the ground, gradually coating the world around you in a sheet of pure white. Despite the frigid temperature, you and Johnny are as warm as could be. Your husband stokes a fire to life in the living room while you soak up the heat from your oven. Wordlessly, Johnny slips into the kitchen and wraps his bulky arms around your waist. A smile crosses your lips as you savor your lover’s presence.
“Thought I’d make some fresh bread to go with dinner tonight,” you say while kneading a lump of dough. Johnny just hums softly in response to your statement.
“I ken wha I want for next Christmas, mo ghràidh,” he whispers lowly before pressing kisses into your neck.
“It’s a bit too early to be thinking about Christmas, don’t you think?” you giggle and shake your head, eyes not leaving the ball of dough on the counter.
“Nae too early fer wha I have in mind,” Johnny’s voice trails off as his large hands slide from your waist to the front of your abdomen and gently press into the space just below your navel. Your lips part and a small gasp escapes you before you turn around to face your husband.
“You want to have a baby with me?” you ask, your eyes soft and full of hope.
“More than anythin, hen,” Johnny whispers before leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. The two of you spend the remainder of the evening in bed, keeping one another warm while working on creating your little Christmas gift. Your lump of dough sits abandoned on the countertop as you shift your attention to putting a different kind of bun in your oven.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 🌷͙֒ ✧˚.༘⋆
“Mo ghràidh!” Johnny calls out from the front door of your shared cottage. “I finished the planting in the flowerbeds out front. Do ye want me tae get started on the back too?”
Johnny’s question is met with silence and his thick brows knit together as he slips off his dirt-covered boots and steps further into your home. “Hen? Ya here?”
You step into the front hallway, hands clasped behind your back and a wide grin on your face. Johnny approaches you and smiles, using his fingers to gently tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ear. “Wha’s got ye so happy?”
“Looks like those flowers aren’t the only thing you planted,” you say with a soft giggle as you hand a positive pregnancy test to your husband. Johnny’s sky blue eyes go wide with awe and his lips part as if to speak, but he can’t make the words come out. “Looks like we’re getting what we want for Christmas!”
“Oh, mah hen!” your husband exclaims as he wraps his burly arms around you and peppers kisses to your face before finally planting one to your lips. “This is gonnae be the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”
More of fae!Price and his magic fingers because I'm so *screaming into pillow*
He presses you down against the bed, kissing you. You hold his face, scratch your fingers through his beard, as he turns you, stretches out alongside you. He hooks his arm behind your head to keep you close and only pulls away long enough to tell you, "takin' these off," it that way that feels like half a question. You're quick to help him get your panties down, quick to shiver and spread your legs when he rubs his finger along your slit, stopping to circle your clit. He gives it a light tap and trails his finger back down to your hole.
You raise your hips a little, just enough to entice him to press his finger into you, and you feel yourself make a soft noise against his lips as he pushes in. He licks the noise out of your mouth, his tongue twisting with soft movements against your own. You half expect him to start in on you, but he eases you open with his finger, the gentle in and out as he strokes your walls makes you shiver and try to follow the movement with you hips. You can feel him smile against your lips when he brushes over your sweet spot and you let out a quiet whine.
It's enough encouragement for him to add a second finger. When you attempt to break the kiss to watch him, Price pulls you back in, licks his broad tongue over your lips and tips your head back. You're dizzy trying to keep up. He jabs you sweet spot and you moan against his lips, his fingers twist and you whimper. You feel your hips buck, and your back arch off the bed to try and keep up with the jab, jab, twist of his thick digits. Each time he works you up, hits the right spot, he pulls back to stroke your gummy walls. Teasing until you moan with each thrust of his fingers, and your own grip his shirt so tightly you worry it might rip. You're hardly kissing him, panting against his lips as you arch against his chest, your head tipping back as your eyes roll. Price nips at your throat, his fingers focused on hitting the soft spongey spot that makes your stomach tighten. You could light a fire with the heat he fucks into you, the pleasure that zips up your spine is unlike anything else.
His fingers work you faster, more precisely, and the sound changes. The wet smack of his fingers is different, doesn't need his palm to hit you to be loud and noticeable, and it is loud. You'd be more concerned if it didn't feel so good, everything just keeps getting hotter and tighter in the pit of your stomach. Price groans, his lips just brushing your ear, "Fuck that is a good girl." You clench on his fingers, feel him pull back to add a third, twisting them in and out of your cunt, giving you a burn so delicious it almost makes up for the coil in your stomach. He draws back, rubs his wet fingers up over your clit. "Little break sweetheart, then back to it," he tells you, kissing your cheek. Break from what you don't know, but the attention to your clit adds a new tension to your spine that tingles over your skin. He doesn't stay there long before pushing two fingers back into your cunt.
Again. The work up to those loud squishing noises is shorter this time, his fingers are more precise, they give you less time to get used to the short jabs of pleasure. The pressure doesn't stop building, and you can't do anything but pant and moan. Price kisses you, and murmurs sweetness that you hardly understand. He asks you a question, you think. You try to get a word out, any word, but you feel too scrambled to talk, his fingers don't stop. Your everything feels tight enough to break, like you're holding something back. You nearly cry when he pulls out his fingers to play with your clit again. You want nothing more than for him to fuck you right now, his fingers aren't enough to break whatever dam he's beating at.
Again. He kisses you until you can't hold it anymore, until your eyes are squeezed shut and you're arching off the bed. Price's teeth tease your neck, you dig your nails into his shirt and bemoan the fact that they aren't digging into his skin. His fingers- you are going to ban him from fingering you- his fingers jab, hard and fast, up and down, in and out, until you are writhing, begging (with no words, "Can't even talk, can you?" Price coos) for a release. "Come on," Price encourages, the deep rumble of his voice in your ear as you sob and moan for him gives you little comfort, "come on, give it to me sweetheart, one more."
Something breaks. The pressure doesn't release, but something does, something warm and wet. You feel it when it leaves you, feel it soak the bed under you, feel it soak your thighs, hear Price moan and feel his hard cock press against your leg as he holds you open. He pulls back and watches your pussy, pulls his fingers from you and rubs them over the slit. You heave in a breath, look down at him between your legs, watch him studying you with rapt attention. His shirt is sprayed with drops of wet, and you can see it glistening on his forearm. You shudder when he drags his fingers over your clit. You feel boneless.
"Fuck that is sexy," he breathes, leaning down to drag his tongue over your dripping cunt. It's a short but broad stroke, enough to wet his beard before he sits back again. Your hips jump away from his fingers as you try to get your bearings.
"What did-"
"Didn't think you'd squirt like that, should've gotten undressed," he fills in. Your eyes roll back as he pushes his fingers into you, he jabs your sweet spot with another few short quick thrusts and you feel another break of wet. It's strange, you've never- you didn't even know you could- it doesn't feel the same, but the release... you reach down to feel the slick coating your thighs as Price pulls his fingers free.
"Fuck," you whine, you can feel how soaked the bedspread is, your thighs aren't any better. Price sucks his fingers clean and opens his fly, pushing his pants down to pull his flushed cock free. You've never seen him so hard. You own fingers spread your pussy for him and you hear the growl deep in his chest as he strokes himself to the sight.
"That's my girl," he tells you, lining up his cock with your entrance, "always wanting more, greedy little-" whatever you are is lost to the loan groan he lets out as he fills you, lost to the soft gasp you draw in at the stretch. "Fuck, this pussy," he praises and you whimper.
"John, please."
He shakes his head and you watch his shoulders moving with the effort of drawing in each breath as he waits to move. "Never wanna hear anyone say my name but you," he says finally, pulling out to slam back into you, "so scream it loud sweetheart."
TAGS: smut, fwb!ghost, car sex, degradation, name calling, PIV
A/N: I said if I got sleep token tickets I'd write more smutty simon drabbles. This is a bit different than how I usually write him tbh but sometimes you don't need to be worshiped and adored you just need to get fucked in the back seat of a car and be called a slut *shrugs*
Simon Riley was all smoke and fury, wound tight beneath rippling muscle and an aloof demeanor. He was a bastard at best and cruel at his worst. He was an impossible to read man.
When he was gone, somewhere far over seas, you would tell yourself you didn't need him anymore. You had more self respect and deserved someone who wanted all of you, not just a quick, meaningless fuck.
But you were always the first person he called when he was home. Maybe that meant something or maybe it just meant he was a lonely man. Either way, he called and you answered every damn time.
He took what he needed from you with primal, untamed desire, and when it was over, he was gone until the next late night call. And you were left angry and frustrated at yourself, at him.
You hated recalling your pathetic mewls and broken moans. The warmth of his skin pressed against your, slick with sweat, as he fucked you, burying his cock deeper into your needy cunt.
With your legs around his waist, your knees burned against the leather of his backseat with every sharp thrust that seemed to knock the air out of your lungs.
Times like those were when you wished you could steady yourself in his hair, silence your moans on his lips, but he never took his mask off. You called him Simon, but you only ever saw Ghost.
So, your hands were forced to find security in the meat of his bare shoulders as he gave you no choice but to sit and let him bounce you on cock.
You hated his voice, always mocking and dripping with venom that made your cunt flutter and chest ache.
“Desperate slut,” he grunted. His harsh breaths fanned over the shell of your ear. “You always take me so good.”
Simon’s hands squeezeed the flesh of your ass. His nails left their cresent marks on you the same way yours did on his shoulders. It would be the closest thing to declaring your ownership over the other. He dragged your hips closer, forcing you to grind down on him.
The stir of his cock inside you pulled a moan from you. You worked yourself against him, almost rutting, feeling him deep inside you.
“Go on. Show me what you can do.”
He went hands off and you did your best to take over. He'd already given you two orgasms before stretching you around his cock. His fingers did well enough to leave you exhausted.
You rose slow with your knees and allowed gravity to take you back down. The slick noises of your bodies meeting seemed to echo in his car. The windows had fogged hours ago from your combined breaths. You were completely consumed by him all around. Nothing mattered, but him and you.
Your stamina was no match for his and you were slowing your movements when your breath struggled to catch up.
He scoffed. His lids lowered as cold eyes focused on your sluggish movements, the wetness glistening on his cock and your cunt wrapped around his tip. “Fuckin’ pathetic. Tired already?”
“Make me come, Simon,” you begged, clawing down his chest. Your hips came down to a slow grind against his, urging him to take over.
Simon never took kindly to your orders. You assumed he got enough as it was from being a soldier.
“Wanted you to work for it, slut.”
He bucked his hips, filling you to the brim once again, kissing your cervix with the head of his cock. Your head fell back as you moaned and clenched around him.
“But I'll make you come,” he promised with each word after followed by a heavy thrust. “Again and again and again.”
thank you to @/saradika-graphics for the dividers!
There is a man that always stands in the alley every night somewhere beside your apartment complex, under the streetlight that could be viewed perfectly by the window of your bedroom. Sometimes you just leave it open to look at him, miserably giving yourself excuses that it’s for fresh air.
Simon, if you recall his name correctly, is your neighbour. Though he never greets, barely even acknowledges your presence. An enigma that had begin haunting you with curiousity, like a trap leaving you for more and more. You had to admit that he was fun to watch despite his actions being nothing short of monotonous to many, simply leaning against the brick wall while he’d pull out a pack of cigarette, the street light falling onto him. It’d give him an almost eerie glow, like a lonesome ghost lurking in the quiet of the streets, unnoticed by everyone. You just happened to be observant enough to notice the hidden.
You could sometimes see him stare quietly at that pack of cigarettes, as if trying to not take one out, almost in frustration. Maybe he hated it, maybe not. You were nothing but a silent watcher from afar, content enough with entertaining yourself with the sight of your neighbour, reading more and more into him, to uncover the truth behind that mask of his. Oh, that mask. You found it cheesy the first time you saw it, though now it was nothing but an obstacle.
You wondered if he knew of this routine of yours, if he could feel you looking at him, not with malic but undying curiousity, like a detective trying to uncover the impossible. It had even became a small agreement between you both at this point, not knowing if he was oblivious of it.
Your suspicions were proven true when you saw his eyes meeting yours one night, not even flinching. Both of you just stared at eachother, every fiber of yours begging to look away and not seem like a fool while he appeared to be nothing short of nonchalant, almost uninterested, dark eyes fixed on you intently, studying you.
Puffing out some smoke, he’d torture you with his mask resting above his nose, not letting you uncover the truth you yearned for. You felt mocked, embarrassed even.
If only you were aware of him deliberately standing outside where he could be seen, simply to get some ounce of your attention greedily. If only you knew that he had been watching you the whole time, just like you had been watching him.
i was wondering if you could write Price praising/body worshipping his girlfriend (the reader) for being so good even when he gets home from a mission? ᰔ She’s been so good waiting for him to get back and always listening to him in bed, he missed her so much and wants to thank her for everything she always does
instead of him coming home and crashing he’s so happy to be back with her and praises her endlessly while fucking her so good !
oh price would just be the sweetest!
cw — cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, soft sex he's so in love, subtle religious imagery.
this mission was a brutal one, grotesque images simply etched onto price’s head as he opened the door of his house, his mood nothing short of foul. that was until he smelled the comforting scent of his home and you that his mind started to clear a bit, features softening up out of pure adoration.
oh, you. he could never be less grateful, just so enamoured by how dear you were. quickly undoing his boots and putting them aside, he marched towards the bedroom, fully determined to thank you properly for waiting for him.
ending up in between your legs while he kneeled on the ground with all your clothes scattered besides him, he didn’t even let you greet him properly after you saw him, silencing all your worried questions with his mouth that was busy with your cunt, his tongue dragging up and down your sensitive clit deliberately slow while applying just the right amount of pressing, two thick fingers gently thrusting in and out of your warm hole, curling up inside to hit that sweet spot that made you moan oh so deliciously.
“been so good f’me, hm? such a sweetheart, always doing an amazing job taking care of everything while m’gone for work.” he mumbled and pulled away for a second, letting you catch a glimpse of his beard glistening with your wetness, those blue eyes of his half open and soft, looking at you so fondly.
he hated leaving you all alone in this house in agonising suspense whenever he’d be gone for missions, even after all the promises he’d make of coming back safe to you, promises he never broke. still, all the time away from you was simply torture. he needed to make it up to you, show you how lucky of a man he is.
diving back into your cunt, his fingers continued to thrust into you while his mouth latched onto your clit, gently sucking onto it until you came apart on his fingers, letting him patiently taste you up, the moans leaving your lips sounding nothing less than the songs sung by angels.
“oh, john…” you breathed heavily softly, your orgasm leaving your body feeling tingly, eyes looking down at price who was still on his knees, beginning to press soft kisses on your thighs now, moving down to kiss both your knees and calves, kissing you over and over, mumbling sweet praises to you — he adored and worshiped you as if you were his very goddess, which you were. he’d even get on the ground and kiss it to show how much you meant to him, how you are the holy light comforting the filthiness etched within him.
“you’re beautiful.” the smile adorning his lips made your heart skip a bit, watching him get up on his feet once more before climbing on top of you, gently easing you down onto the mattress. “i love you. fuck- i love you, sweetheart.” with a groan, he moved down to press some more kisses on your neck, making you feel the rough edges of his beard scratching your skin. “can never tell you enough of that, y'know? never.”
he nearly melted right there and then when he felt your fingers gently scratching his scalp, your breathing soothing his nerves. “my baby, i love you.” he just couldn’t stop repeating it, it almost hurt. he didn’t deserve you, didn’t deserve someone so perfect who was still willing to put up with a wrecked mess like him hidden beneath all that sternness.
“i love you too…” your voice came out quiet yet assured, brimming with nothing but pure love.
soft rustles of clothes could be heard as price got rid of his own a bit too eagerly, eyes fixed on you. “oh, fuck.” he grunted under his breath once his hand held the base of his cock, all girthy and already leaking almost pathetically. he gently tapped the tip of his cock on your puffy clit a few times, grinning at the little whine that escaped you before he finally aligned it against your tight hole, gently pushing it into your cunt. your warmth enveloped him, his hips stuttering just a bit once he was overcome with emotions, poorly hiding them.
“my sweet, sweet love.” slowly caging his strong arms around your head, he felt your legs wrap around his hips while he began to slowly thrust his girthy cock into you, fully pressed down on you. your hands dug into his back while his face was aligned with yours, giving him the perfect chance to press loving kisses on your forehead and nose.
his embrace felt like a prayer of its own, his thrusts not losing their momentum despite his body aching to go a bit faster. no, not today. it was all about you today, to give you all the gentle love he held deep within him. you could feel his bushy happy trail rubbing against your clit, making it a bit achy in a good way. he probably didn’t have time to trim it properly during deployment, and oh were you grateful.
“j-john, feels so good.” you moaned blissfully into his ear, pleasure coursing through every fiber of yours, your walls clenching around him with every kiss he gave to your face, drowning your moans once he pressed his lips to yours.
it wasn’t long until your orgasm came crashing down on you once again, washing over you pleasantly while you drenched his cock. he twitched inside you, grunting as his arms came down to wrap around you and pull you impossibly close, his head burying into your sweaty neck while he continued to fuck you until he felt his balls tighten, filling you up with his warm cum.
he wasn’t willing to get away from you after that, running you a warm bath and washing you while he kissed your tits, hands massaging your thighs with the foam of the soap, the sweet aroma of lavender lingering in the bathroom, both of you fully content.
ty for the tag Pasi! omg you have good music taste too?? can we please be in a quadruple with choji?! <3
Press Play - Nicki Minaj ft Future (queen of rap and pluto DEVOURED)
OTW - Khalid (my comfort song)
Fantasize - Ariana Grande (can this bitch stop playin and RELEASE THIS SONG!?!?)
JT - Sideways (ate and left ZERO crumbs)
Lemonade - Internet Money ft. Don Toliver, Gunna & NAV (this is my fav song pole dance to rn!)
(runner up FTCU - Nicki Minaj cause like 10x a day I'm quoting this song saying "high heels on my tippies, dolce and gabbana thats on my tiddies, cop me vetements when i ride the dickie")
No pressure tags for my bbs: @littlemochabunni @biscuitsngravie @ryomens-vixen @halobuns @screampied @oreo-creampie @lowkeyremi @dawgkuna @bunny584
Thank you for the tag mamas! Did it take me some time to figure what my favs are? Yes. Did I try to phone a friend? Possibly. Did I figure it out? 👀…anyways 🥹
Top 5 favs currently:
Do you love her - Jessie Reyez (because I can be Inko’s little monster occasionally <3)
BIA BIA - Bia ft. Lil Jon (curb stomping anthem)
Gucci Gucci - Kreayshawn (Don’t know why I knew this song by heart at 8 yrs old)
Angels in Tibet - Amaarae (will forever throwing my back out for this one)
Loser, baby - Andrew underberg (hazbin hotel is my new comfort show)
No pressure tags!: @peachy-dove @cookiepie111 @tojisbutterfly @hoshigaby @supervaca @connorsui & anyone who wants to join
rugby player soap fucks you after a win. that’s it. extension from this post of mine
cw for dubcon smut, noncon exhibitionism, and gross johnny + simon
-
“Did ya see that, hen?”
Johnny’s words come out stifled behind his mouthguard. He smiles, and it’s bulky, a little dim-witted in how he darts his tongue out, licking up a wash of blood that sluices down his lip. His eyebrow is split and his nose is bent out of shape, his cheeks all swollen and ruddy.
He pulls you into a crushing hug, shaking like an ebullient dog that’s unaware of how big it is. His jersey, a royal blue, turns cobalt with his sweat. It sticks to his skin and outlines his chest, peeling off of your shirt when you sheepishly pull away.
The pitch is glutted with celebrating teammates and their loved ones, but the broadcast camera is raptly focused on you and Johnny. On the grudging hold he has on your waist and the unwieldy trophy he’s just won for his team.
Johnny grins like it’s a challenge. Like he wants to make the camera turn away. He forestalls the protests on your tongue by sinking into you for a hard kiss, bruising, and almost brutal in its force. It’s like he hasn’t separated himself from the game yet. Like he doesn’t want to compartmentalise you from the barbarous sport he plays.
The scruff of Johnny’s stubble tickles you as you try pushing him back, try twisting out of his hands. But his fingers, as bandaged and torn as they are, press dimples into your jawbone and keep you in place. Keeps you squirming and shameful beneath the dissonance of celebration.
He peels away with a kitten lick, pressing a wet smooch to the corner of your mouth. He’s smiling, pulling your jeans against the bulge beneath his spandex-like shorts, chuckling.
“Scored that last try for you, hen,” he pants. Spits out his mouthguard and passes his tongue over his bloodied teeth. “Did’ja see it?”
Johnny stinks of iron musk and sweat. He hands the trophy away and uses both hands to pull you close, clemently kissing your jaw.
“I did,” you hum. You consciously lilt your voice upwards, telling it to Johnny how he always needs to hear it. “You did so well, Johnny. So good.”
He whimpers into your neck. Just barely gyroscopes his hips against you.
“Did it for you,” he slurs. Johnny’s words are all soft, melting on his tongue as if he’s drunk. As if his brain is belated and stuck in the grip of your praise. “Did so good, right? A’practiced so hard.”
You take the bait that Johnny has given you, petting him, because if not, he’ll get ratty and make a scene. You pull back and cup his face, preening under the cornflower blue of his eyes and the puppy-like dip of his lips. You smile. “So good. I’m so proud of you.”
Johnny is half-lidded and dizzy, nodding to himself, swallowing your praise like an empty-headed dog. Impatience and lust are written into him—you can tell by the darkened shade of his eyes and how hard he clutches your hand.
“Let’s go,” he says, leading you through the stadium entrance, shouldering past fans asking him for autographs and photos. “We’ve time before the team goes for dinner. Nobody’ll be in the change room.”
Your cheeks flare with the implication of Johnny’s words and how purposeful they are. Marked by firm determination, leaving no room for objection.
He tugs you like a puppy pulling its owner. Excited, working against its leash, your feet struggling to catch up. Johnny pulls you into his team's changing room, slamming the door shut behind you. The sound of you getting pressed against the lockers is thin, tinny, and fleetingly impairs you. When you reorient, Johnny has his skinned knee between your legs and against your pussy. His hand palming his cock through the tight material of his rugby shorts.
“Johnny,” you pant, “what if someone comes in?”
“Let ‘em,” he huffs out a laugh. “What’re they gonna do? Ban me from the league? I just won us a trophy. ’m on top of the fuckin’ world, baby.”
Annoyance cycles in your stomach at his lack of consideration. You try wiggling out and mewling, but the thigh between your legs is an immovable object. Your clothed clit catches on his sinews at every angle, pushing a gasp out of you regardless of how you twist and turn.
“Haud y’r wheesht,” he barks. A hint of aggression bleeds into Johnny’s words, and that makes you pliant. “We’re just celebratin’, hen, no need ta ruin my win.”
Your eyes are on the door while Johnny shucks down his shorts. It rolls down his thighs and he leaves it at his knees, too eager to toe off his cleats and pull it all the way off. He stands awkwardly now, a little stilted because he can’t stretch his legs all the way, but that doesn’t stop him from bevelling his thigh into you and flexing, grinding into you.
Johnny peels your shirt—a replica of his jersey—off of you, and kisses you deeply. You can taste the salt and blood crusted against his lips, feel his small smile.
Johnny spins you around and folds you over the bench. Your knees bruise against the rubber flooring and your chest flattens against the cold wood, your brain reeling in the gross implications of it, whatever Johnny and his friends get up to in this locker room.
He rips down your jeans, almost popping the buttons off, almost burns your skin with the denim, and settles himself behind you. Johnny grabs a fistful of your ass and spreads you open, swatting your pussy with his other hand.
“Johnny…” you mewl, and he chuckles. Gives you a waggle, slipping his large hand over and thumbing your clit.
“Thought you were feart of bein’ found?” He asks, lowering to his knees and kissing your dewy folds. “Why’re y’being so loud?”
Johnny waits for a second, giving you time to think of a reply, but with the first sound to leave your mouth he’s licking a fat stripe up your pussy, collapsing your words.
He laughs at himself and it sends vibrations up your spine. Your bones are grinding together, your nerves filaments of live wire under Johnny’s hands that dig divots into your thighs and his mouth that sucks on your clit, tonguing your sticky folds.
He spits on your cunt, spreads the wad of saliva around with his tongue. He pulls you into his mouth and suckles, moving his wet lips against your dewy ones.
You stretch your arm back and tug on Johnny’s fleecy mohawk, scratching your fingers against the dew-skinned, shaved parts of his head. He expels a groan against your clit and you mewl, pushing into him, wiggling so his nose buries further, his tongue plunging into you and licking a stroke up your walls.
You’re quivering now, shaking against the cold bench and Johnny’s hot mouth. A knot of energy crackles in your stomach as he wraps his lips around your clit and slurps.
“Gonna come on my mouth, hen?” Johnny pants, but pulls away before you reply. Punches a whine out of you by spinning you onto your back against the bench, pulling his cock out and giving it a few tugs, his dick so hard it droops with laden weight and a slaver of precum.
“Or would’ya rather do it on here?” He asks, stroking himself. His balls low-hanging in front of you, the fat head of his cock all ruddy and red and flaring as he pinches it.
You stare, dull-headed, with your mouth hanging open and a hazy film behind your eyes. Johnny giggles.
“Cannae think with this in front of ye?” He smears his cockhead on your lips. “Sweet girl. So cute.”
Johnny winces and pulls away. He swings one leg over the bench, settling himself on top of you. His cock is a heavy mass of muscle between him. Swinging, bobbing in place. Dumb and drooling with precum that drops onto your navel.
He slips himself between your puffy folds, panting like a dog. Equally as impatient as one, squeezing his cockhead past your first ring of muscle, writing off your small cries of pain. He thinks cupping your cheek offsets the burn—still, Johnny’s cock is so heavy and so big inside you. Spreading you open, stretching you out. Making a home inside your belly.
You hic his name, and he shushes you with a kiss. Johnny weaves into short, quick thrusts, because pulling himself to the tip means losing most of your warmth, and he can’t have that. He settles on barely rolling his hips, focusing on burying himself deep, folding himself into a frog position if that means fucking you meaner.
“Takin’ so much cock, bonnie,” he moans into your neck. “So good. So good.”
Johnny’s ears turn pink and his eyes turn glassy. He keeps rocking inside you, his cock filling you out so well, so full, your thighs shaking and damp with slick. He fingers your clit, and in his pace, wild and unfettered, you wrap your legs around his waist like a cobbled together leash that you use to pull him closer.
Johnny grows feral at that. He slaps his balls harder against you, biting your shoulder. Sweat and blood rolls down his cheek and onto your face, augmenting the icy gold of his first place medal. It drags along your chest with each of his thrusts, turning into a ball of liquid fire as your body saturates with sweat. Johnny leans down, his lips slick as he kisses you, the push and pull of his hips ripening into a more jagged, desperate rhythm.
“Gonna fill y’up, hen,” he pants. There’s a strong dissonance that impairs you, echoing within the locker room. Johnny’s degenerate moans and the slap of skin against skin. The pitched sound of the wind being knocked out of you, the sticky sound of your cunt getting spread open on his big cock.
Something else poises itself on Johnny’s tongue, something impure, but it gets shaved-off as he cuts himself off with a long, flinty moan. Johnny quivers as he comes, and that pushes him deeper as he fills you with his warm ropes.
He presses down on your clit, pushing the rise of your orgasm out of you. Your spine curls off the bench, your nails digging divots into Johnny’s arms, your mouth hanging open and a rough wave of pleasure curling over you and breaking into your skin. Your orgasm is so consuming it burns, eating you whole.
It chews you up and spits you out. You tremble around Johnny’s softening cock as he peppers kisses down your sternum, and while you reorient, you see an unearthly spot of colour in the corner of your eye. It isn’t composed of matter—it’s big and blurry and hides between two rows of lockers.
Then, you realise the drapery England flag, the absence of a Scottish one.
The man who stands in the corner is blonde and huge and has his fat cock out, curling his fist around it, pumping. He’s so quiet, an ambush predator as he just stands there, continuing to beat his dick even after you make eye contact with him.
Things That May Be Causing Your Writer's Block- and How to Beat Them
I don't like the term 'Writer's Block' - not because it isn't real, but because the term is so vague that it's useless. Hundreds of issues all get lumped together under this one umbrella, making writer's block seem like this all-powerful boogeyman that's impossible to beat. Worse yet, it leaves people giving and receiving advice that is completely ineffective because people often don't realize they're talking about entirely different issues.
In my experience, the key to beating writer's block is figuring out what the block even is, so I put together a list of Actual Reasons why you may be struggling to write:
(note that any case of writer's block is usually a mix of two or more)
Perfectionism (most common)
What it looks like:
You write one sentence and spend the next hour googling "synonyms for ___"
Write. Erase. Write. Rewrite. Erase.
Should I even start writing this scene when I haven't figured out this one specific detail yet?
I hate everything I write
Cringing while writing
My first draft must be perfect, or else I'm a terrible writer
Things that can help:
Give yourself permission to suck
Keep in mind that nothing you write is going to be perfect, especially your first draft
Think of writing your first/early drafts not as writing, but sketching out a loose foundation to build upon later
People write multiple drafts for a reason: write now, edit later
Stop googling synonyms and save that for editing
Write with a pen to reduce temptation to erase
Embrace leaving blank spaces in your writing when you can't think of the right word, name, or detail
It's okay if your writing sucks. We all suck at some point. Embrace the growth mindset, and focus on getting words on a page
Lack of inspiration (easiest to fix)
What it looks like:
Head empty, no ideas
What do I even write about???
I don't have a plot, I just have an image
Want to write but no story to write
Things that can help:
Google writing prompts
If writing prompts aren't your thing, instead try thinking about what kind of tropes/genres/story elements you would like to try out
Instead of thinking about the story you would like to write, think about the story you would like to read, and write that
It's okay if you don't have a fully fleshed out story idea. Even if it's just an image or a line of dialogue, it's okay to write that. A story may or may not come out of it, but at least you got the creative juices flowing
Stop writing. Step away from your desk and let yourself naturally get inspired. Go for a walk, read a book, travel, play video games, research history, etc. Don't force ideas, but do open up your mind to them
If you're like me, world-building may come more naturally than plotting. Design the world first and let the story come later
Boredom/Understimulation (lost the flow)
What it looks like:
I know I should be writing but uugggghhhh I just can'tttttt
Writing words feels like pulling teeth
I started writing, but then I got bored/distracted
I enjoy the idea of writing, but the actual process makes me want to throw my laptop out the window
Things that can help:
Introduce stimulation: snacks, beverages, gum, music such as lo-fi, blankets, decorate your writing space, get a clickity-clackity keyboard, etc.
Add variety: write in a new location, try a new idea/different story for a day or so, switch up how you write (pen and paper vs. computer) or try voice recording or text-to-speech
Gamify writing: create an arbitrary challenge, such as trying to see how many words you can write in a set time and try to beat your high score
Find a writing buddy or join a writer's group
Give yourself a reward for every writing milestone, even if it's just writing a paragraph
Ask yourself whether this project you're working on is something you really want to be doing, and be honest with your answer
Intimidation/Procrastination (often related to perfectionism, but not always)
What it looks like:
I was feeling really motivated to write, but then I opened my laptop
I don't even know where to start
I love writing, but I can never seem to get started
I'll write tomorrow. I mean next week. Next month? Next month, I swear (doesn't write next month)
Can't find the time or energy
Unreasonable expectations (I should be able to write 10,000 words a day, right????)
Feeling discouraged and wondering why I'm even trying
Things that can help:
Follow the 2 min rule (or the 1 paragraph rule, which works better for me): whenever you sit down to write, tell yourself that you are only going to write for 2 minutes. If you feel like continuing once the 2 mins are up, go for it! Otherwise, stop. Force yourself to start but DO NOT force yourself to continue unless you feel like it. The more often you do this, the easier it will be to get started
Make getting started as easy as possible (i.e. minimize barriers: if getting up to get a notebook is stopping you from getting started, then write in the notes app of your phone)
Commit to a routine that will work for you. Baby steps are important here. Go with something that feels reasonable: every day, every other day, once a week, twice a week, and use cues to help you remember to start. If you chose a set time to write, just make sure that it's a time that feels natural to you- i.e. don't force yourself to writing at 9am every morning if you're not a morning person
Find a friend or a writing buddy you can trust and talk it out or share a piece of work you're proud of. Sometimes we just get a bit bogged down by criticism- either internal or external- and need a few words of encouragement
The Problem's Not You, It's Your Story (or Outline (or Process))
What it looks like:
I have no problems writing other scenes, it's just this scene
I started writing, but now I have no idea where I'm going
I don't think I'm doing this right
What's an outline?
Drowning in documents
This. Doesn't. Make. Sense. How do I get from this plot point to this one?!?!?! (this ColeyDoesThings quote lives in my head rent free cause BOY have I been there)
Things That Can Help:
Go back to the drawing board. Really try to get at the root of why a scene or story isn't working
A part of growing as a writer is learning when to kill your darlings. Sometimes you're trying to force an idea or scene that just doesn't work and you need to let it go
If you don't have an outline, write one
If you have an outline and it isn't working, rewrite it, or look up different ways to structure it
You may be trying to write as a pantser when you're really a plotter or vice versa. Experiment with different writing processes and see what feels most natural
Study story structures, starting with the three act structure. Even if you don't use them, you should know them
Check out Ellen Brock on YouTube. She's a professional novel editor who has a lot of advice on writing strategies for different types of writers
Also check out Savage Books on YouTube (another professional story editor) for advice on story structure and dialogue. Seriously, I cannot recommend this guy enough
Executive Dysfunction, Usually From ADHD/Autism
What it looks like:
Everything in boredom/understimulation
Everything in intimidation/procrastination
You have been diagnosed with and/or have symptoms of ADHD/Autism
Things that can help:
If you haven't already, seek a diagnosis or professional treatment
Hire an ADHD coach or other specialist that can help you work with your brain (I use Shimmer; feel free to DM me for a referral)
Seek out neurodiverse and neurodiverse writing communities for advice and support
Try body doubling! There's lot's of free online body doubling websites out there for you to try. If social anxiety is a barrier, start out with writing streams such as katecavanaughwrites on Twitch
Be aware of any sensory barriers that may be getting in the way of you writing (such as an uncomfortable desk chair, harsh lighting, bad sounds)
And Lastly, Burnout, Depression, or Other Mental Illness
What it looks like:
You have symptoms of burnout or depression
Struggling with all things, not just writing
It's more than a lack of motivation- the spark is just dead
Things that can help:
Forget writing for now. Focus on healing first.
Seek professional help
If you feel like it, use writing as a way to explore your feelings. It can take the form of journaling, poetry, an abstract reflection of your thoughts, narrative essays, or exploring what you're feeling through your fictional characters. The last two helped me rediscover my love of writing after I thought years of depression had killed it for good. Just don't force yourself to do so, and stop if it takes you to a darker place instead of feeling cathartic
life was never going to be the same. suddenly every day was grey skies and it seemed like every tree was as stripped naked as you felt. the world without your lover was so gloomy and bleak. you felt sluggish and exhausted no matter how long you rested.
you looked at the state of your bedroom: clothes strewn everywhere, cups filling your nightstand, and riley lying in the empty space on the bed whining softly. you felt your heart start to migrate to your throat and your lungs cinch tightly. you pad over to where the dog is somberly laying and when you pick up the pillow you notice it’s lacking it’s familiar scent. your stomach twists as you let out a deep, broken sob.
you knew this would happen eventually, one day all the little pieces of him would cease to exist. but god you weren’t ready for that yet, if ever really. riley begins to whine louder and you want to scream at him - beg him to just shut up because simon was gone and he was never coming back. the fury dies out quickly as you realize you’re both in this journey of grief together. simon was both of your entire worlds and now you two were spinning out of control with nowhere to land.
“guess it’s just gonna be me and you from now on huh?”
you bury your face into riley’s soft fur and for a moment you’re transported to a time when you’d come and riley would pile into the bed with you and simon demanding his attention. it would always crack you up because of course the most emotionally closed off man ended up with a dog who loved him more than anything. god you’d do anything to go back there. to a time where life was filled with the love and joy of knowing simon riley.
a/n: needed to write something sad again oops sorry! played oats in the water by ben howard on repeat as i wrote this :,)
Ghost grips your throat and pulls you back onto his cock, squeezing his fingers tight until you gasp and your eyes roll. He keeps the muzzle on, feels too aggressive, too dangerous, he needs you to hold his leash even if you're the one begging. He loves you like this, loves the way your hand raise off the bed to hold his wrist, to reach back and claw at his hips. He loves the way you bounce on his cock, the way your thighs shake with the recoil of each thrust. He presses his nose against your pulse, breathing you in as his mouth waters for you. You smell so good, like sweat and sex, like home.
Your sweet little pussy clenches on him so tightly, gummy walls trying to keep his cock inside as he batters the blunt tip against your cervix. He knows you like the way he stretches you out, the burn of his fat cock dragging at your entrance with each stroke. You're so good for him, pretty toy. He growls against your neck, squeezes his fingers a little tighter until you gasp and plead his name, head tipping back against his shoulder as your knees work to move you up and down his length. You hardly keep up with the short quick thrusts he hammers into you, and you make such perfect noises for him. Loud, God he loves that you're loud.
He reaches around to rub your clit, thick fingers moving back and forth, rubbing you hard and quick with his thrusts until your back is arching and you're panting his name like a prayer. You nearly lift your hips off his cock you arch and squeeze him so tight. The flood of slick between your legs foams so nicely around his cock, makes it sound that much more debauched as he fucks you. Your fingers shake, reaching to grip the straps on his muzzle, holding him close against your neck. God he could rip you apart, he could sink his teeth into you and shake, he could leave a mark you'd never get rid of. He'd hate himself for being proud of it. As is he can only pant, heaving in air through his nose as his drool sticks the leather of the muzzle against his skin.
"Si-mon," You whine, when his hips don't give you a break, fucking you through orgasm and drawing another crashing over you before you finish the first, "inside, please." And how is he supposed to refuse such a request? How could he ever hold back from spilling inside you when you beg for him so nicely? His perfect match, this time it'll take for sure.
this is sub!simon’s punishment and you can’t tell me otherwise. making him cum with his boxers on, not getting to touch you or see you, being overstimulated and using his cum as lube after he cummed without ur permission
The link isn't pulling up for me :(((((
But yes, his punishments are always more humiliation than pain. Ghost has had enough pain in his life, and negative reinforcement works just as well. Take something away from him and he'll be begging for it back. You keep him on his knees, keep his arms bound with a soft length of rope and a blindfold over his eyes. He's sat, kneeled, on a magic wand, the vibrator positioned for him to grind his clothed cock against. You stand over him, one hand threaded through his hair holding his head back while the other rubs your clit.
He keeps his mouth open, tongue held out like the perfectly trained sub that he is. He still flinches when you drip onto his tongue, groans low at the taste of you. His hips buck against the vibrator, desperate for more than the low rumble that shakes through his aching cock. He can hear the wet sounds of your fingers as you toy with yourself, the soft panting noises you let out, he holds his focus there, and fucks his cock against the vibrator, wishes it was you. Fuck, he could handle this torture if he could just... taste you properly.
He can't handle the spare drops of you that fall onto his tongue. He's strong enough to break your hold, to push past the hand in his hair, but he doesn't want to. He wants to take his punishment, prove he can take it, that he's a good boy for taking it. He doesn't mean to come, doesn't even realize it until it happens, too focused on the next drip of your heady slick to notice he's been pushed over the edge. His hips stutter and buck quickly against the vibrator as he moans, feels himself spill in his boxers, the mess making the fabric stick uncomfortably to his skin. He shivers at the feeling, not his favorite sensory issue.
It's somehow better and worse when you release your hold on him. He surges up to try and taste you, but you've already moved away. You settle in front of him, fish his softening, sensitive, cock out of his boxers and adjust the vibrator. You stroke his cock while the wand assaults his balls, you lick the moans out of his mouth, drag your tongue against his to try and taste yourself. You groan when you do, squeezing his cock so he pushes his hips up into your grip. "Baby," You purr, using his come as lube to slick the stroke of your fingers, he feels his eyes roll, "you know you need to ask if you wanna come. Do I have to change your punishment?"
"No," Ghost groans, "No, please, just-" You shush him, lick a stripe along his jaw.
"Then I'll make you come," You promise, your lips against his ear, "Until you beg me to stop."
the silence in the room, occasionally interrupted by muffled sighs, muffled groans and creaks of the bed, which makes one know about its old state, feels heavier than if everything was clogged with conversations and gentle whispers.
it started so long ago that it already feels like a routine, several weeks, if not months of silence, before one late evening, which is not even worth circling in red on the calendar, a dull knock is heard at the door, and then an absolutely tense, pitch black body collapses, making it clear that this is a person only when meeting with eyes lost against the background of gunpowder, bottomless, like an abyss.
his appearance in your apartment is comparable to the appearance of a ghost, silent, the room seems to suddenly become quiet and you can’t even hear his steps, you can’t hear how he inhales through his nostrils under the balaclava with zeal, as if on adrenaline, and all attention is focused on him, the walls narrow until you are looking only at him — not even at the dirt stains left from his boots, at the huge thick bag, obviously filled with his things and which you have never seen before
you only watch as he rips the gloves off his hands, throwing them somewhere randomly, before his bare hands, covered with scars and once washed from blood, cling with bending fingers to the edges of his balaclava to throw it away, exposing disheveled blond strands, a sharp face, lips compressed into an even thinner line than they actually are, and you look, look even when he closes the distance between you with a practical roar, pressing into your lips and licking them with his tongue, pushing inside and slotting up, while his hands explore and squeeze uncontrollably, and yours stroke his face and cling to his dirty strands.
a few steps back along the parquet until your back meets some surface, allowing simon to take full initiative and pick you up in his strong arms, he shakes slightly, he squeezes you until there are marks on the skin under your clothes, turns around with you on hands, navigating the darkness as if in his temple, before catching onto the image of dim light through the slightly open door of your bedroom, paving a new path, a few more steps until you appear naked before him, on rumpled sheets.
you serve as his temple, the center of his peace when his hips snap with unrestrained zeal, thrusting them into your quivering and warm pussy with shallow thrusts, his thighs tremble with tension, his face is buried in the curve of your neck, the heat and sweat between you only turns you on even more, making everything more intimate.
simon kisses and licks the skin under his lips, leaving wet and warm marks on your neck, his nose rubbing against the soft flesh, reaching for your hair as he inhales deeply, inhaling your scent, greedily, as if you were about to slip away, as the depth of his thrusts knocks the air out of your lungs, his cock thrusts deep inside you, hitting your spongy spot, the sensation is both intense and satisfying, stretching warmth of your hole as he takes you completely.
all the words die on your tongues at the same time, after he drowns in the wetness of your cunt, picking up the pace with slightly faster thrusts, somehow randomly pounding and pursuing the feeling of your velvety walls wrapping and squeezing his meaty girth, sucking him deeper, until your wheezing and moaning is interrupted by the vulgar squelching of your slick, enveloping his cock down to the very balls and leaking down your folds, thighs, leaving a wet spot on the sheet.
he continues to penetrate deeper, his movements make you choke on your moans and sighs, as if piercing you, while simon lowers his face, lifting himself up slightly on tense, shaking hands, just to watch how your cunt swallows him to the brim.
wet, squelching sounds fill the room as your hole spasms and clenches around him, perfectly in sync with the throbbing and kick of his cock against your spongy spot, and he bites his tight lips, swallowing a satisfied growl, digging his fingers into his palms on either side from your head without touching you.
the feeling of an approaching orgasm twists and tightens in your lower abdomen, and your walls squeeze him tighter, pulsating non stop in time with your muffled moans, and your hands intuitively reach out to cup his face, urging him to look at you, the connection between your eyes is electric, tense as if a string that is about to break, and his light eyelashes flutter, his gaze softens spontaneously, as if the abyss is dissolving, letting you in with a desperate wheeze, like a wounded animal
— “i can't„
in front of you is a wounded doe, begging for mercy, asking not to look at her with such eyes, full of trepidation, full of tenderness, love that he is afraid that he cannot return, cannot repay in full, so he begs, hoarsely, desperately, he is shaking all over, and the thrusts grow in intensity, driving him deeper, hitting your cervix, knocking out all the sounds from you, not allowing you to connect a word while he chants again and again
— “i can't, you know i can't, stop.. stop looking at me like that„
the unspoken “please„ curls on his tongue and dies deep in his throat, but is silently reflected in his eyes, he doesn’t know that he has long been completely naked in front of you, body and soul, with readable emotions in his habitually bottomless eyes, which are now open only to you alone, as you part your lips, only to end up with a muffled cry and flare up.
your body tenses and trembles, a scream escapes your lips, choked with pleasure as you throw your head back slightly and your eyes roll back, lost in the sudden, overwhelming sensation.
coil inside you snaps, causing a powerful wave of orgasm emanate from the pit of your stomach, as your hips buck uncontrollably, your thighs tremble as you are consumed by intense pleasure, fire like liquid flows in waves from the pit of your stomach and to your core, mixing with the slickness and cum that coat his cock.
your spasming walls clench around him, sucking him in and milking him as you ride waves of ecstasy, the pulsating, vice like gripping sensation triggering his own release and he gives in with a sudden loud, strangled moan, as your vision snaps back to see the way his body tenses, his spine arches and he's assaulted by small tremors, making him bend over you, trembling, as his cock throbs and he spills his thick, hot cum deep inside you.
his tip kicks and spurts rope after rope of milky liquid, painting your walls until the last wheeze from his lips, the last drop of sweat from his sharp chin, before he goes limp, his body is still trembling, muscles are gradually going limp, but he does not have time to hide his nose in the arch of your neck when you, with slightly trembling hands, through the haze of a gradually receding orgasm, cup his face, hoarsely uttering those accumulated words that he did not allow you to say to him all this time, knowing that then, he would definitely break
— “i'm going to fall in love with you again and again, simon„
simon's gaze waver's, his lower lip visibly trembles and compresses into a line again, you feel him trying to lower his head, hide, to block himself from the words that he doesn't think he deserves, but your hands are squeezing slightly, and his is completely limp, so there is nothing left for him but continue to listen, even when his eyes become wet and his throat burns, holding back bubbling sobs, closing his eyelids tightly when you press his face to your lips, kissing a path from the corner of his mouth to his ear with warmth and tenderness, letting his hands slide over the sheets, curl and clench them into a white fist, before his rough, tingling fingertips touch your waist and squeeze, gradually wrapping them around you, as your whisper caress his ear
