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꒰ july or demi. she — her. adult. nsfw and taboo blog. second page made for reblogging many things including fics ꒱
› main blog masterlist ✦ main blog

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⭑I͙ 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 ; 💭 about spending summer break at 𝓙𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝓟𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 ’s house.
i unfortunately cannot get this idea out of my head.. oh, to bikini around an older, more matured— yet, perverted john price who is at a constant battle within himself. one who, clichély, knows better than to be having the kind of thoughts he's been having of you recently.
🗒️ ; 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 I͙⭑ NSFW | MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
best friend's dad. age gap. corruption.
it was unusual, having him around for so long at one time. teddie’s dad was gone more often than not, leaving this big, beautiful house lonely for most of its currently-owned days. normally on some foreign nation’s mission or doing desk work in his city office, john didn’t have much of a reason anymore to spend at home. of course with his daughter off at her university with her best friend, that left him little to nothing to stop by the old residence for aside from the occasional sleeping and showering.
but here he was, relaxing poolside in his lounger, watching your tits bounce in that tiny little triangle you want to call a bikini. sitting on the sunbed and finishing up a call, he summoned you over with two long and touching fingers— curling them in the air, just the way you’d imagined him to be good at so many times before. he sat the device down before placing his cigar back to his teeth. looking to teddie to find her preoccupied with her phone– surely texting her boyfriend in her pineapple-shaped intertube, her father’s hands were free in an instant.
you hadn’t even noticed, the small mishap of your top– exposed and slipped open, revealing your pretty, perky little nipple from the side. in a sweet effort to not embarrass you, he stood tall from his seat, guarding your decency with his chest, softly tugging at the wet fabric. his eyes were looking down at you, he was fatherly in his attempt– yet, fevered in his eyes, ones showing a lot of restraint.
“are you going to join us, mr. price .ᐣ ” you asked up at him meekly, arms by your side so you could allow him to do what he was; soft-groping, grazing your forbidden flesh. his gaze broke when he thought of doing something unspeakable.. running his thumbprint over your peaked and poking out print.
“not today, darling.” he said in the same way he speaks to teddie, kind and comforting. the mr. price comment sat quietly in his mind as he ashed his lit delicacy.
“what if i asked you nicely .ᐣ ” you nearly whispered so sweetly out to him, knowing that your interaction was carrying on already a little too long for everyone’s liking. your fingers hooked within one another and sat behind your back, resting at the base of your spine; making your breast push out and become much more prominent. his eyes returned to where they were. he knows he’s not supposed to be looking at you like this. he’d kill simon if he were to ever catch him with teddie, let alone for hearing the thoughts inside of his head if they were even somewhat similar to his own. hypocritical bastard.
an entertained hum groaned from his mouth without ever splitting his lips from his smirk. his eyes did a lot of the smiling, but for now they were staggeringly solidified. he looked at you like you were promiscuous prey, drenched in temptation. you were asking for it.
“on you go.” he nodded back to the glistening water, warning you for the last time.
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okay hmo on this. like Arthur, who is such a giver, after a long day is so exhausted and reader just wants to please him and what better way then a blow job?
⭑I͙ 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 ; 💭
oouuu we love a hardworking man being rewarded around here I͙ this was so fun to write so thank you for sending this in & having the patience & grace with me for the time it took to turn around I͙ i hope it was worth the wait I͙ 🫶🏼
🗒️ ; 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 I͙⭑ NSFW | MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
lipstick blowjob. praising.
there wasn’t an ounce of regret that you felt from the successful trade you had made with miss molly o’shea— gifting her a green, gemstone trinket for this perfect, paint pot you hold in your hand. it was the most adorable rosy shade of red available in all that you could find from the array of her spread out collection. the emeralds were more suited for her, anyway— and the reward that arthur was going to give you was worth more than a hundred gem mines over. all of the money in the world couldn’t buy what satisfaction his sexed groans and moans did to you— pulling them out carefully, one by one, out of his chest and into your ears— down into your core, before settling into your heat. nothing compared the to anticipation that came with warming your walls in readiness for him, knowing that you’d soon replace your mouth with your tight hole. so you couldn’t imagine what he was going to do with you when you surprised him like this; with tinted lips, desperate to stain his hardened shaft with each and every bob of your slick lips.
awaiting his return, you sat in his cot— outlining your cupid’s bow with a thin, sharp brush. you steadied the handheld silver mirror, coating your lips in a thin and pretty layer with the other. you tousled your hair, relaxing it to a more elegant but effortless look. the distant sound of his return was nearing.
lost in his thoughts, it was easy for arthur to come in without a fuss, peeling off his working gloves and ready to kick the heels of his boots off. he pitched his hat and satchel to his bed before leaning in to kiss your temple. it was only then did he slow down enough to notice, taking a second look to see just exactly what you were up to.
“my,” he smirked his crooked smile, narrowing his eyes in curiosity. “what’ve we got here .ᐣ ” arthur asked, shuffling you to slide over and allow him space to sit by your side. you pulled his hands into your lap with your own, holding on to them dearly before planting a stained set of lips to the back of one of his. he took note of the mark immediately, wordless at the divine femininity that comes from you in such a sweet gesture.
“been thinkin’ of how i can help you relax.” you said kindly, moving only to kiss his cheek next— leaving a second and more faded set of lips among his skin. he was sure it was there, for all to see the second he left his tent— but could care less for now, slowly stirring the ache in his stomach, toying with him with in allurance— and he’d be dammed if he wasn’t going to give into it.
“that so .ᐣ ” he asked, eyes glazing your body with a certain gleam. a soft and flirty ‘mmm-hmm’ confirmed his suspicions, wise enough to know what you were insinuating. you really did it for him when you dropped to your knees, sinking your bones into the dirt below— lying your hands at his and trailing them up seductively.
arthur knew to choose his next words carefully, sensing the delicacy of the quiet moment and rare occasion.
“now, what’d i do to deserve this .ᐣ ” he asked, low and steadily— his eyes never leaving yours, patient to see this little plan of yours play out, but still disciplined in restraint from shoving your face into the hem of his crotch like how his mind wanted him to. impulsive thoughts were a hell of a thing.. simple, fleeting urges that sometimes weren’t so off-putting the longer you contemplated them.
"nothin' out of the ordinary." you smiled as you spoke up at him, your pupils pretty in the lamp light— lips puckered to mimic another kiss before blowing it in the air and fluttering your eyelashes. it was a sight arthur was spoiled rotten in, pampering him before you even began— clawing at his belt line with your small hands and growing his cock with the seductive blood-rushing tension. his first melodic moan escaped, that’s when you knew that it was time to start. arthur truly relaxed. he rested his back against the wooden wagon, leaning on it for support. he wanted to feel nothing but what you were willing to do for him.
"i miss you when you're out, you know." you admitted to him, dropping the smirk to slip into a different sort of act. a girl who could do no wrong; that's what he liked to think of you; and when you spoke to him like this, it was true.
"shit." arthur struggled to keep in his secret thought, huffing out a breath unvoluntary as his brows furrowed at the comment. the sweet admission and way your nails were dragging along his thighs were a sensation he couldn't describe. still, you slowly toyed with him.
"i know you do, baby." he said confidently— something sure to buckle the more you undid his. his natural desire to touch was growing by the second, urging him to reach out and grab you. "'s why i get back to you, quickly as i can." his chest rose and fell as he spoke, hitched when you pulled his thumb into your mouth and sucked it to the pad of your tongue for a preview.
"you’re a good man, arthur.” you said as you took his finger out, keeping his nail pressed against your lip— the tip of his digit a bright hue. it pained him, mere minutes and he was pressing against the seam of his jeans.
“don’t make me beg.” arthur sighed, desperate. a man of few words in moments like these.
his dick stood tall, wavering in the thick air between your face and it. arthur’s expressions showed that he was at an internal war with himself— debating whether to take control or leave you be. your dolled up features being right there wasn’t helping— he was so close, so what would it hurt if he slapped it on your tongue for you .ᐣ your cheeks or the tip of your nose, your spit-wet lips .ᐣ there were those impulses again, mocking him.
planting a thick kiss to the tip of his cock, it pulsed back in reply— heat warming your lips as it left a pretty shade of scarlet behind. he couldn’t help himself. arthur grabbed the base of his lengthy, thick cock before tapping it to your teasing tongue with just the strength of his fingers. “fuck me.” he whispered, ready to paint the prettiest picture possible with the smudging stains; grateful for the reward and recognition.
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© ESSIEWRITES '26. please do not reupload, plagiarize or post any of my works on other platforms. likes, reblogs, and comments are welcomed and appreciated. ★ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
once again i am thinking about simon riley's bratty!missus and her fucking awful attitude even though her heart is full of love.
sometimes you're a pain in the ass just because you can be.
sprawled out on the couch, deliberately taking up the entire thing so there's no room for him when he gets out of the shower. when he asks you to move, you just look up at him with big eyes and fluttering lashes and a massive grin plastered all over your face and whisper, “no.”
simon stares at you for a beat, realizing what kind of mood you're in, then simply reaches down, wraps his hands around your ankles and yanks you towards him.
before you get a chance to even squeak, you're on your stomach, one of his hands holding both of yours behind your back, the other landing on your ass with a smack.
“yer an ‘orrible woman, you know that, don't you love?” he mutters - fond, not angry, not even a hint of malice in the words - head tilting to the side as he watches the way you arch into the next spank, knowing you're more than content with your situation. “my fuckin’ ‘orrible woman, though.”
ten minutes later you're curled in his lap, pressing soft kiss to the underside of simon's jaw like you weren't just testing every ounce of his patience for fun.
Arthur taking reader’s virginity?? 🧐
⭑I͙ 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 ; 💭
hmm.. i could see a young fawn turned doe, around the same age as tilly or so, taking an interest in him— and it’s hard for her not to. hot summers and hormones don’t help her when he’s working on the camp’s needed chores. chopping wood and hauling his hunts to pearson’s block did nothing but wonders for arthur’s muscles, tucked tightly in his rolled up sleeves. she’s inexperienced, but knowledgeable of the words in mary-beth’s books and quiet night conversations about the subject through passing school-girl giggles. she’s curious, and wants to know what it’s like, looking and leaning towards arthur as a safe choice to teach her. how long he’d be able to resist that temptation .. time would eventually tell. but i think he could be convinced, depending on however old she may be.
🗒️ ; 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 I͙⭑ NSFW | MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
cherry-popping. talking reader through it. coaxing.
you were right to confide in arthur, gentle and sweet arthur. deviant, but kind in his gestures. his lips were warm and surprisingly soft with how often he smoked, how many splits the sun gave them. rich enough in kisses that proved he wanted to be in this bed just as badly as you did. he was slow, sure to be calm in pushing it in. it’d been years since arthur sank himself into a woman, and even longer so in being her first. he paced himself, breathing hefty enough to feel the tight pressure of your pussy cling to his thick cock, but steady enough not to lose his control. he was a man, not a boy. you didn’t want the boyish options at hand; you wanted him. he who could wield the axe so lightly uses the same frame to fuck himself deeper into your virgin hole; one never used before.
“ya alright, sweetheart .ᐣ ” he asks, broad shoulders beaming with a sweat glow from the nearby oil lamp. arthur’s efforts were showing; laying you on your back so it would hurt less, renting a room to allow you as long as it may need, gentle confirmations to keep going. “mhmm.” you nod in approval; tears peaking at the corners of your eyes, ready to take all he has to offer.
“you hafta breathe, darling.” arthur cood, keeping his eyes locked with yours, sweet missionary forcing you underneath him to listen. the pain peaked as he pushed, your back tightened at the prodding intrusion. “breathe, breathe.” arthur reminded you, ever-so-slightly pulling just to push again. his hips moved agonizingly slow, but he planned for this— he’d take as long as it needed to see this through.
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© ESSIEWRITES '26. please do not reupload, plagiarize or post any of my works on other platforms. likes, reblogs, and comments are welcomed and appreciated. ★ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

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t141 + könig and their reaction to sleeping on the couch after an argument
—price when you banish him to the couch, he could be one of two ways—mature and forces you to talk it out nicely or toxic, flat out refuses, and fucks you back to your senses. the first way, when the words spill from your mouth, his shoulders slumped with dejection as he steps from the room. no point in arguing when you're worked up. after stewing in your anger for thirty or so minutes, he returns—armed with food—and talks it out with you. the other way, he flat out refuses to sleep on the couch. i could see him manipulating you with the "I paid for that bed, and I'll sleep in it." you're stubborn, muttering something about you sleeping on the couch then, which is how you end up getting your brains fucked out.
—soap I imagine soap just pushed your buttons way too much that day. you know how he is sometimes—over the top, hyper, and an all-around instigator. he was looking for a reaction, and he found it—just not the one he wanted. immediately pouts, acting like a dejected child before he goes on to try and convince you to change your mind. real annoying about it too, doesn't give up until you're at your breaking point.
—kyle the only one that I see actually accept his banishment with stride. he knows he made you upset, respects the boundary you placed with him and doesn't take it to heart. there's also a big possibility that, by the end of the night, you end up talking it out anyways like mature adults. he knows you needed to get it out of your system, and you serving punishment to him did just that.
—simon the second the words leave your mouth, he shuts down. you see the moment he deflates, doesn't try to reconcile, and just accepts it. he doesn't want to upset you further or make you more mad than you already are. simon doesn't respond well to domestic conflict. the second his back hits the cushions? he's tossing and turning. he barely fits the couch to begin with, and you both learn you need each other to sleep—bonded like a pair of cats.
—könig he's not fitting on the couch, and that's what makes it more satisfying. maybe he was being too persistent about his horniness, hands wandering too far until you snapped and threw your finger to the couch you know he can't fit. he whines about it for sure, trying to whip you with puppy eyes and convince you to change your mind. he apologizes until you're sick of hearing it, allowing him back in bed just to get him to shut up.
A little (unfinished) Arthur Morgan study because I just started playing Red Dead Redemption 2 and I’m already obsessed with him💕🥹👉👈
cw: dubcon/noncon ꒰ 𝜗୧ ꒱ mw4 captain price ( 18+ )
𝓙ohn 𝓟rice returning home to see you after an unforgiving year of no contact—entirely from his end. You’ve tried to move on, to make sense of his sudden abandonment and the colossal hole he’d left so carelessly in your life. Your calls went unanswered, messages left on delivered.
But one fateful night, John finally returns, picking the lock on your front door with ease, catching your startled self from nearly tripping over in the dark, attempting to scuttle away from the suspected burglar. You’re frantic, flailing in his arms like a prey animal fighting for life. Perhaps it’d be cute if John had more time, but as of right now, he doesn’t care for your melodramatic nonsense—he’s here for one reason only. And so, he forces you up against the wall, his hips pressing forward into yours. His touch is rougher than ever, but you know it’s him. The thick scent of cigar smoke, the feel of his muscular torso, his laboured breathing.
It’s him.
You’d condemn him for leaving you, but you’re stopped before a single word leaves your lips. John doesn’t ask if you want the kiss he forces onto your mouth, and he doesn’t care that he’s bruising you while he drags you into your bedroom with desperate hands, tracing over your body as if they still hold any claim over it. He doesn’t worry about your protests or how deeply your nails claw at his skin, trying to pry him off with angry discombobulated words.
He’s exasperated—can’t you just be happy to see him? He backs you up against your bedroom door, holding you still with a horrifying amount of strength. You’re unable to fight him off. His lips brush against your ear, and he mutters without an ounce of hesitation, “You’re gonna let me have this, lovie, alright? Stop fighting me. I’m trying to be nice.”
Even despite your dread, you don’t concede at his words, continuing to sputter out pleas that pass right through his head without a second thought. He’s got only one thing on his mind—the feel of you wrapped around him—and he doesn’t plan on leaving until he’s satiated. You’ve been on repeat in his brain since Laswell deemed coming home safe enough, and not indulging in you is simply not an option.
John finally throws you down onto your bedsheets with a grunt, his big sinewy body clambering over you, caging you beneath him indefinitely, his face hovering above yours. His lips curl, and unceremoniously, he warns you, “I’ll strap you to the fuckin’ headboard and fuck whatever hole I want if you keep fighting me, love. I came back for you, didn’t I? Just be a good girl. Don’t make me hurt you.”
lighthouse keeper!daeron hcs
a/n: i need you guys to walk with me here...
cw: modern au, mdni, 18+, f!reader, substance abuse (alcohol), hallucinations, mental health problems, obsession, darkish daeron
──── ♖ ────
๑ he is certainly mad, the town folk liked to say, utterly insane. they called him the dreamer and told their kids haunting stories about the lighthouse keeper, who moved to the coast, trying to run away from the visions
๑ some say he is from a wealthy family sent here as punishment, some say he is a fisherman's son, dutifully doing his job, some say he is a hopeless alcoholic, some say he is a real seer, connected to the old spirits
๑ no one knows enough, so every statement is just a speculation. the town sits around a harbor. a few miles away, on a rocky cliff that juts into the sea, stands the lighthouse. the lightkeeper lives in a cottage beside it. that was everything people had, which only fed the whispers of the supernatural
๑ what was certain is that he is a recluse. everyone in town knows that daeron doesn't need or want any sort of company besides his black newfoundland that barked and snarled at the mere sight of another human approaching
๑ the visions, the voices, the dreams have never left him, even here in this godforsaken place, they were torturing him, stealing any hope of peace. many mornings, he found himself lying in the sand, wet and shivering, even though he was sure to close his eyes in his bed before falling asleep
๑ though sleep was a generous word for the scraps of unconsciousness he was able to get. his days were cold, draped in a thick fog of agonising dread, while nights were hot, full of distant fire and pain, he never fully witnessed but felt deeply
๑ sometimes it was more than just dreams, sometimes nightmares leaked into daylight as voices calling his name somewhere far away, sometimes they came as visions, twisting his sanity into something barely recognisable
๑ daeron drank more at such days. much more. alcohol never fully helped, only dulling the gnawing never ending terror that lived in his mind, poisoning everything that was unfortunate enough to appear in his pathetic life. he could go days without showering, barely eating a thing, drowning all his feelings in brandy
๑ his days were repetitive and simple, barely differing at all. sometimes he felt like he was living one never ending day. not that it really matter. daeron treated his job seriously, because it was the only thing in his life he could keep under some sort of control. so he checked the weather, repaired railings, walked the cliffs with his dog, lighted the beacon and drank
๑ still it was better than in the city. it made sense, for him being here. even though, mostly because here he had you. his salvation. his ethereal curse. his safe place. his siren. the first time daeron saw you he was convinced you are one of his hallucinations, soaked wet from the rain, banging on his door
๑ once you appeared in his life, many things started to make sense. the only thing that didn’t make sense was how you found him and why you stayed. daeron didn’t dare to ask. he was simply grateful, no, more than that. he was in utter disbelief, praying to whatever gods he believed in for you not to vanish, not to be a trick of his ill mind
๑ you were always leaving in the morning and coming back in the evening, and it was the first time in his life that he had caught himself eagerly waiting for the day to end, just to see you again. no liquid could ever sedate him like your scent could. nothing ever could bring him the peace he felt when you were holding him close
๑ sometimes he woke you up in the middle of the night, babbling nonsense and drenched in sweat, calling your name and begging you to stay, not calming down until you pressed your lips against his, shushing his feverish mumbling with your tongue
๑ on good days, when the dread somewhat feels bearable, he is completely different: attentive, sweet, happy. daeron is so touch starved. ideally, he would keep you in his bed forever, spending hours between your thighs, listening to your moans and whimpers
๑ daeron is deeply affectionate. holds your hand constantly, lays his head in your lap, and nuzzles your neck, feeding you breakfast, pulling you into his lap whenever he can. boring days suddenly evolved into your personal version of heaven. he smells of sweat, salt, and the lingering sweetness of liquor, mixed with something uniquely him. something that you associate with happiness
๑ daeron is all raw emotions and insatiable desire. he is a deeply obsessive man, and he is starved. derranged and filthy, gross and perverted. in his eyes, you are still unreal, something ethereal, overworldly that he has a chance to put his greedy hands on.
๑ daeron doesn't just adore you, doesn't just worship you, he devours. devours the same way he empties the endless bottles of alcohol he drinks you in, fucking, kissing, sucking, licking until you physically can't take it anymore
๑ you are his magic pill to everything. his treat, his painkiller, his favourite meal that he can never get enough of. the more you spend time with him, the more daeron hates it when you leave, fueled by the fear of you never returning, vanishing, dissolving in the sand like another dream
๑ to him it's not just. it's a ritual. an overworldly way of showing his devotion, of letting go of his ache, at least for a few hours. it is a soul merging bonding that makes the horrors feel survivable and the life worth living
๑ sometimes he fucks you slow and tender, guiding your hips down on his throbbing length as hard rain drums against the windows. sometimes he is fucking you hard and fast, pressing you against the slick stone wall of the lighthouse, biting your lips until your saliva is filled with the coppery taste of blood. sometimes he is making you sit in his lap near the fireplace, toying with you, his fingers teasing the dampness between your thighs with agonizing slowness, pretending not to hear your pleading and begging. sometimes he is eating you out with your back against the hard shore cliff, hiking your leg up his shoulder, taking his time, savouring the moment of complete power he has over your pleasure
๑ he is certainly mad, the town folk liked to say. and perhaps he was. but it doesn't really matter when you are the one driving him mad, does it?
──── ♖ ────
taglist: @valarrsgirl @silkaurum @userhotd @magicmaekar @ladydoebaratheon @smooth-like-crunchy-peanutbutter @alaeratrrn @bleb3 @shaichai @imsonotweird
dating golfer!daeron headcanons/scenarios
a/n: had to do my research for this one
cw: possessiveness, jealousy, alcohol use, emotional dependency, infidelity scare, sexual references, dirty talk, obsessive devotion, love bombing, controlling tendencies, public intimacy, he’s a bit toxic, groveling, angst, reconciliation
⚐ he insists on teaching you how to play. like, it’s not even a question. you’re sitting on the couch scrolling your phone and he just appears with two putters and a sleeve of balls, those big blue eyes all hopeful. “come on, sweetheart, let me show you.” and you can’t say no because he looks at you like you hung the moon

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ghoul i had a premonition that if johnny ever found out about omegaverse, he'd probably fuck dick and balls into the same hole just to simulate the feeling of a knot
ough
Johnny wiggling his finger into your cunt beside his cock, crooking it just enough to give you some extra stimulation. it's fun and it feels good and you're cock drunk enough that you don't care what he's doing as long as he keeps doing it. then he adds another finger, and another and it pinches a bit, the stretch starting to burn alongside your confusion. what the fuck it he doing? but every time you try to get the words out he's pinching your clit and kissing at your neck, making you just a little looser, a little more pliant for him until finally he feels like he has a chance at doing what he wants
he pulls out enough to wrap his fingers around his cock, reaching lower to grip his balls, tugging the loose skin up to press against the underside of his dick. he keeps them tight there and then presses in again.
it's a tight fit, and you huff and fight him on it the whole way. you don't understand, poor thing, but he's dizzy with the thought. maybe he can't knot you properly but this is the next best thing right? you'll like it once he gets them in, you'll drool and moan like the omegas in those naughty little stories he's caught you reading.
then again they always kick up a fuss too.
thinking about jaime lannister being insecure about his prosthetic golden hand. not wanting to touch you or be touched in fear of disgusting you with his weakness.
what better way to show him you're anything but than to guide said hand between your thighs and hump it until you cum while making heated eye contact?
genuinely keep thinking about this post and soap being obsessed with his friend's mom, a woman he's known for years, who helped bandage his knee when he fell off his bike, who he has affectionately called auntie his whole life, and who he wants to fuck so badly he sneaks off to wank in her bedroom every time he's on leave.
shoving his nose into the pillows of a woman old enough to be his mother, fisting his cock to the thought of how you'd push at him and insist that this was wrong, that he shouldn't want you, laying his tongue against your pillow and imagining it's your tits he's burying his face in, panting and groaning and hoping you'll come upstairs so he can finally pin you down and fuck you properly, like you deserve, like you haven't been fucked since your husband died years ago. poor teen soap couldn't contain his glee but you'd never have given him a second (or first) look then, now though, now he's a man, big and strong and eager.
and you... well you certainly would never suspect that sweet Johnny, who always shyly gave you the daisies he plucked from the garden before running off to play with your boy, was the sort of man to rifle through your dirty laundry and stroke his cock to the lingering smell of your cunt. youre old enough to be his mother after all.
Keepsake previous - masterlist Ghoap/female reader - omegaverse au
The voices wake you.
Keepsake previous - masterlist Ghoap/female reader - omegaverse au
Your phone is missing.

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marathon sex with tt!aerion…🧐🧐🧐
thoughts on horny marathon sex with tt!aerion ⋆.˚
"get over here," he growls, not even waiting for the door to click shut. he's on you the second you're in range, shoving you back onto the couch. he rips your shorts down, his knuckles grazing your skin, and doesn't waste a second. two of his rough, calloused fingers shove straight into your soaking cunt.
Dad bf!Simon, Like ruffling your hair, pats to the ass, checking your outfit all curt like that makes you feel all confident (lifting your chin up, fixing your shirt, kissing your forehead). Helping you calm down when you’ve got big emotions you can’t describe. Sitting you in his lap, rubbing your back.
Or telling you to “Watch your mouth.” When you get too smart. Or drawling out his words, “Coool it,” when you’re doing too much.
Doesn’t mind wrangling you up out of the truck and making you apologize to the rest of the 141 after being a brat for half the night, drawling out your name, a warning, leans against the hood. The much needed cigarette already to his lips. And you’re a hiccuping and babbling mess while you apologize, it’s all embarrassing because it not like you. You know that, but it’s all too much, tears burning your cheeks as they fall.
You wipe your tears with your wrists, eyes glancing at Simon and more tears building up. Letting out the littlest meek of ‘Dad’
He’s scuff, one end of his lip curving upward, “Fuckin hell, come ‘ere.”
You’re lucky you’re cute, adorable and his, gently tugging you into his chest by the back of your neck. Letting your feet stumble as they catch up to himhim as your sons get muffled into his shirt. Poor thing doesn’t even know what’s wrong with you, Simon does though.
“Kids just stressed, lil things more than tired.” Simon explains to the men who are all ‘aww’ing’, talking as if you’re not there. Just small, by his side.
“Still got her workin mate?” Gaz asks.
“‘F she likes it, ‘f it’s too much I’ll pull the plug…” his thumb rubs your nape, feeling his arms wrap around you, voice coming out so much softer, “But… can’t say no to ‘er.”
a/n: oh shut up his is cute!! You’re his baby🥺 Im actually get Deja Vu and might have written this already ☠️☠️