🍭🧁🪽Bimbo Doll🪽🧁🍭

pairing: husband!simon “ghost” riley x wife!reader

summary: fuck the space! you need your husband back

part 2!

part 1, definitely doing more harm to you

masterlist!

a/n: requests are open!! been having bad writer’s block :(((

“soap m’ tellin ya,” simon begins, taking a sip of his beer, “never seen ‘er so upset.”

the british brute decided to call his mate when you kicked him out, asking him to meet at their local bar. “be there soon, ghost.” johnny didn’t miss the troubled tone in his lieutenant’s voice, so he knew something serious was going on.

both of the muscular men were two beers deep, now working on their third— just teetering on the brim of tipsy. it sucked being so big sometimes.

“she’s been in ‘tis rut for multiple days. m’ tried and tried to help ‘er out, but nothin’,” simon continues, eyeing his wedding band. he brought his right hand to fidget with the jewelry, “it got so bad tonigh’…”

a pause— silence consuming them, becoming a part of the conversation. simon struggled to resume, still in disbelief himself about what happened just a few hours ago. he took another sip of his beer, maybe more of a long gulp, then, a deep breath, “she started hittin’ m’. thought m’ sweet lass was gonna hurt ‘erself.”

johnny, sharing his lieutenant’s disbelief, couldn’t stop it from showing on his face. the scottish man’s eyes widened and his mouth fell agape, “hit ya? y/n hit ya?” you wouldn’t even hurt a fly, how could you hit your husband?

the man nodded, confirming, “couldn’ believe it either soap, but tha’s not tha point. we both know she didn’t cause any pain.”

finishing the last drops of his beer, simon slammed the empty glass on the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. the thud from the glass caused stares from onlookers nearby, but a scary, threatening glare from the brit made them turn away.

“tha point ‘s that she got so stressed out, it lead to ‘er havin’ a total breakdown. m’ didn’ know how to help ‘er, johnny. m’ sweet wife…” the larger man started to trail off, his rambling quieting.

the scott hated seeing his mate upset, never seeing his lieutenant in such a perturbed state.

johnny let a few seconds pass before trying, “ya gave ‘er what she asked for. tha’s all ya can do, LT,” finishing his beer now, “ya did everythin’ right.”

ring. ring. ring.

simon’s phone started vibrating, the ringtone barely audible over the bustling crowd and music at the bar.

both men glanced down at his phone on the table, your caller id flashing across the screen, “m’ told ‘er to call when she needed m’.”

johnny smiled at his mate, patting his back, “go help yer wife. i’ll cover us.” “thank ya, johnny. for everythin’.”

the military men gave a final head nod to each other, your husband answering your call on his way out, “hello? luvie’?”

simon was frantic, long strides getting him to his truck, “are ya there? m’ comin’ home to ya.” the brit waited for a response, turning his radio all the way down to hear.

he almost missed it, the subtle sounds of your sobs, “can hear ya, hon. shhh, it’s alrigh’. yer husband’s comin’,” he coos, trying to console you.

“s-si!” he heard you hiccup out. “yes, sweet’eart. m’ ‘ere.”

“i’m s-so, so sorry,” more wailing left you, “i can’t believe i hit you, kicked you out— oh my gosh, si, i’m sorry.”

simon imagined what his wife looked like, body curled into itself, hands tugging at your poor hair. he knew you would have the worst headache after all this crying.

“sweetie, it’s alrigh’. know ya been strugglin’ lately. jus’ wanna help ya-” “exactly, simon! all you’ve tried to do is just help me and i keep p-pushing you away! i’ve been a terrible wife to you,” you interrupted him, voice trembling when it raised, “you’re such a caring husband, a-and i treat you like shit.”

“luvie’, please. m’ almost home,” he took a left turn. only two right turns before he makes it to you, “let m’ take care of ya.” you cried out to your husband, “si.”

when he entered the front door, he saw you in the same spot he left you— right in the entrance way, though, you were sitting on the floor now, back against the wall.

he frowned at the revelation, “oh, m’ sweet fawn,” stepping towards you, the familiar creak of the hardwood under his size 13 boot. he scooped you into his strong arms, guiding your legs to wrap around his built torso, something you’ve done hundreds of times before. encircling your arms around his neck, you placed your head onto his chest, “s-simon. i’m sorry.”

you felt him slither his hands along your spine, the deep shhh’s rumbling from his chest encouraging your cries to assuage. “yer husband’s gotcha, sweet’eart. m’ ‘ere.”

he walked you both to your shared bedroom, sitting on the bed with you still in his hold. he let you rest in his arms, still gliding his hands up and down your back. he would let you start when you were ready.

a couple minutes passed, then, “i don’t really know what’s wrong with me.”

you leaned away, hand fiddling with your wedding band, a fidget you and simon apparently shared. your husband’s hands moved to either side of your hips when you leaned back, a soft squeeze and “go on,” encouraging you to proceed.

“i feel so useless, si. i haven’t been able to get out of bed, help around the house— i- i haven’t had the energy to do anything! all my projects are forgotten! my days are wasting away! i’m w-wasting myself away,” you were getting worked up again, your husband frowning when he watched you pull at your strands of hair.

promptly grabbing your hands to stop your actions, he brought you back into his hold. “the world f-feels like it’s eating me, simon. l-like i’m sinking and can’t swim up.”

“luv’, didn’ know ya were feelin’ like tha” he kisses your forehead, “we’re gonna get ya help. m’ promise.”

over the next few days, that’s what your husband did— he spent time researching for a high-rated therapist that would accept your insurance, scrubbing your body clean in your shared showers, cooking you meal after meal, cuddling with you. your husband even drove you to your therapy appointments, “m’ so proud of ya, luvie’,” when you’d return, littering kisses all over your face.

he monitored your medicine, assuring you consumed it at the correct hour every day, picking up your refill prescription when it ran out.

pairing: husband!simon “ghost” riley x wife!reader

summary: maybe some time apart is the thing you and your husband need— maybe you more than your husband

part 1!

part 2, he would let you start when you were ready

masterlist!

a/n: requests are open in my ask box!!! part 2 is posted and linked!!

“don’ know whatcha wan m’ to do ‘ere, luvie’,” your husband worriedly tells you, his massive biceps flexing as he brought his hands to his head. “m’ wanna help ya.”

he felt his heart breaking at the distraught look on your face. seeing the fat tears rolling down his wife’s pretty, puffy cheeks made him want to die, the brute wanting to do nothing more than pull you into his arms— try to take away every ounce of your pain.

you’d been going through something lately, simon noticing the changes in your behavior immediately.

sleeping in bed until the late afternoon hours, only a few bites taken out of your meals, “just don’t have an appetite,” you’d shrug, brushing it off, spending twenty minutes out of your days to let it all out, sobbing while music blared through your headphones. your husband was so concerned about you, missing seeing his sweet fawn so active and full of life.

and the worst part? he didn’t know how to help you because he didn’t know what was bothering you!

his attempts to help— trying to wake you around early afternoon with brunch, feeding you spoonfuls of your meals himself, wiping away each and any tear that started in your doe eyes. but nothing seemed to support you.

“c’mere, hon,” he took a single step toward you, the hardwood creaking under his size 13 boot when you stopped him. “no,” shaking your head now, “stay away from me, simon.”

like a deer in headlights, the man was stopped in his tracks. eyeing you as you continued, angrily unfolding your arms from your chest, voice quickly raising, “just get the fuck out!”

your husband’s eyes widened at the command. he couldn’t believe what his precious wife was saying to him. what had the man done to hurt you so badly?

“y/n-” “get out!” you interrupted him, fists balling. stepping towards simon, seeing nothing but red, “out! get the fuck out of here!”

without delay, you started punching the man, fists colliding with his chiseled chest, definitely doing more harm to you than to your husband.

he stood there taking every hit— weak blows incomparable to the things he endured during his war days.

“luvie’, please, stop,” he started, accent thick. his gruff hands reached to grab your soft ones, halting your strikes, “yer gonna hurt yerself.”

dropping yourself into him, your head rested against his chest, more sobs left you, “please… please, just leave, simon.”

he had you in his hold, his strong arms wrapped securely around you. after days of trying to comfort you, this was the closest you had let your husband to you.

if space is what his sweet wife needed, the brute was gonna give it to her. anything to help you.

kissing the top of your head, giving you a final squeeze when he heard another whimper depart you. “m’ miss ya, sweet’eart. doin’ ‘tis to help ya.”

your husband pulled away from you, grabbing his coat and car keys before heading toward your shared home’s front door.

before exiting, “jus’ a phone call away, fawn. wanna give ya yer space,” he opens the door, “ya call when ya need yer husband, yeah?”

he watches you nod your head.

“love ya so much, y/n.”

body language masterlist

a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

550 words to say instead of fuckin said

638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

Soldier Boy x fem!reader

summary: the hunt for V1 led you to Mr. Marathon's house. you thought this would go smoothly, until the weirdo admits that he used to jerk off to your old Playboy shoots—and Ben isn't happy to learn he is the only man in this whole country to not know about those.

wc: 2,681

tags: V1 supe!reader, smut, a lil jealousy, playboy bunny suit, making out, dry humping, implied size difference, fingering, p in v, orgasm control/denial if you squint, dacryphilia, one mention that reader has a bush, rough sex, doggy style, creampie

a/n: so... this took the whole month to write. this was pitched to me by @ukor02 in my comments and i just loved it so much. so sorry for the lack of content lately, life is rough lol

available on ao3

to honour my mother before me and her mother before her and so on and so forth

only angels’ have wings

tw. trailer park princess! reader x soldier boy. alcohol use. pillow humping. age gap. reader is of age. southern aesthetic. icky ben! loss of virginity (r). p in v. cowgirl position. creampie. pet names (baby, honey, dolly, sweetheart.) sex under the influence. title from only angels have wings - nicole dollanganger.

the trailer park squatted at the edge of town like a stray dog too tired to bite. rust-buckled trailers leaned crooked beneath a bruised southern sky, porches sagging under ashtrays and dead plants and old men too drunk to remember what year it was. weeds swallowed fence posts whole, cicadas screamed loud enough to drown out the highway. every evening smelled like wet dirt, gasoline and somebody frying meat in reused grease.

dirty and sometimes too rough, but the only home you’ve ever known.

you lived in lot seventeen with your mama’s old floral curtains still hanging in the windows and a busted washing machine sitting permanently in the yard like lawn decor.

and three trailers down in lot twenty, lived ben.

nobody called him soldier boy around here. not unless they were stupid. to everyone he was just ben- the broad-shouldered veteran with mirrored aviators, cigarettes tucked into the sleeve of his white T-shirt and enough violence simmering under his skin to make stray dogs avoid his porch.

he’d arrived six months ago in a black pickup with new york plates and a duffel bag that looked heavy enough to carry bodies. folks whispered, said he killed a man in pure rage. said the government was after him. said he wasn’t right in the head.

you mostly noticed how lonely he looked.

sometimes late at night you’d see him sitting shirtless on his trailer steps under the jaundiced porchlight, smoke curling around him while old songs from before your time crackled from a radio inside. almost like he was waiting for something that would never come back.

one afternoon he caught you snooping out the window, your fingers gently folding the curtains back and he smiled. whistled and held up his lit joint like an offering, frowned when you cowered back inside with wild thoughts and a pillow between your legs, pink panty clad pussy grinding against the plush while thinking about him.

the first time he spoke to you, you nearly dropped your groceries.

“hey, dolly.”

you froze halfway up your porch steps, clutching a paper sack full of canned beans and bread. ben leaned against the railing of his trailer porch, beer bottle dangling from two fingers.

“ya’ got a second?”

you glanced around like maybe he meant somebody else but there was nobody else.

your cheeks went hot as you crossed the dirt path between the trailers slowly, flip-flops crunching over gravel. up close he smelled like old Spice and cigarette smoke and something metallic underneath. blood maybe. or motor oil.

ben looked you over in that lazy dangerous way older men did around town sometimes- except somehow meaner and softer all at once.

“you livin’ at seventeen, right?”

you nodded.

he tilted an empty beer bottle toward you.

“need a favor.”

you stomach fluttered nervously, what could ben possibly need from you?

“…what kind?”

“the gas station down the road. he reached into his pockets pulling out crumpled bills. “need’a beer.”

you blinked, boots nervously scuffing against the dusty road. “they won’t sell it to me…”

“sure they will.” he held the money out. “ya’ got one of those faces.”

“what’s that suppose to mean?”

“innocent, young. just flash em a bit a cleavage’ they’ll serve ya.” he said it like it amused him, no hesitation at how inappropriate his words may be.

mama always warned you about men like ben. men with charm sharpened into weapons. men who smiled like they’d already survived the electric chair once before. you should’ve said no. its inappropriate and illegal.

but you’d been lonely yourself for so long that sometimes loneliness made bad ideas feel holy.

so you took the money.

the corner store sat beside an abandoned car wash twenty minutes away on foot. neon faulty beer signs buzzed in the windows. old men crowded around scratch cards whistling when you walked past, cleavage on show just like ben had said.

you bought the cheapest six-pack they had and the cashier barely looked you in the eye. on the way back you didn’t pull your top back into place, you wanted ben to see what you did just for him.

“took your sweet time.” he called.

you held up the plastic bag. “they only had warm ones..”

“tragic.”

he stood and took the bag from your hand. his bruised knuckle velvet fingers brushed yours, eyes trailing down your body, lingering at your chest.

your heartbeat stumbled.

he pulled a beer free and cracked it open against the railing, liquid sputtering down his fingers.

“you want one?”

“I’m not really supposed to drink..”

he barked a laugh. “jesus, kid.” then he looked at you again, slower this time. “i aint’ gonna ask again.”

you should’ve walked home then. instead you made your way up his steps, boots clanking against the wood taking a seat next to ben.

ben laughed when you coughed after the first sip.

not a mean laugh. low and rough and surprised, like he hadn’t expected anything genuinely sweet all week.

“easy there, sweetheart.” he leaned back in the rusted lawn chair, boots kicked up on the porch railing. “beer ain’t’ supposed to be fought hand-to-hand.”

you wiped your mouth quickly, embarrassed. the can felt ice-cold in your hands, condensation dripping over your chipped polished nails.

“it tastes awful.”

the bitterness made your face scrunch up. ben smirked around his cigarette.

“jesus’ ya really never drank before?”

you shook your head.

“not even at parties?”

“i- i don’t really get invited places…”

the words slipped out before you meant them to. bens expression shifted into something- not pity but worse somehow. like he understood too well.

“you serious?”

you shrugged staring into the can. “people around here think I’m.. weird.”

“that’ so?”

“mama says I’m too soft.”

ben huffed smoke into the humid night air. “ya’ mama’s probably right.”

you glanced at him, fingers tight around the metal.

“but” he added, “ain’t the worst thing to be.”

the beer made everything warmer after a while. your cheeks tingled. your limbs felt floaty and loose, porchlight glowing syrupy gold around the edges.

ben watched you carefully.

“you okay?”

“mhmm..”

“ya’ sure?”

you giggled unexpectedly at the seriousness in his voice. “think my head’s fuzzy.”

“that’ll happen.”

he stood then, broad and imposing even in the dim light and crushed his cigarette beneath his boot.

“cmon’ dolly.”

you blinked up at him, “where?”

“inside. before mosquitoes carry you off.”

bens hand closed around your elbow as you stood before you could stumble. the touch sent a strange nervous flutter through your chest.

“tsk. ya’ lightweight.” he muttered.

“sorry..”

“s’ alright, sweetie.”

the rusted door of the double-wide groaned as ben pulled it open, the stale scent of cheap beer and unwashed denim washing out into the humid evening. the inside was dim, a single yellow lamp casting long shadows over a sagging couch, empty bottles scattered. He kicked the door shut behind you, the latch clicking loud in the sudden silence.

his eyes narrowed, hands still holding on your hips as you looked up at him nervously.

“yknow why i invited you here, dont you smart girl?” he mumbled.

you nodded breathe heavy lingering with his.

“say it.”

“b-because you want me… and i want you..” you whispered.

“thats right. ya gonna’ let me pop that cherry right here on my couch.” he let go of your chin and stepped back, pussy fluttering at his words.

your hands shook as you fumbled with the buttons of your blouse from the excitement that ben could actually like someone like you. he watched patient as a cat, his eyes tracing every inch of skin you revealed- your collarbone, the curve of your breasts in their cotton bra, the trembling line of your belly as you pushed your shorts down your thighs. when you stood before him in nothing but panties and bra he let out a low whistle.

“sweet’ jesus.” he muttered, his hand moving to the front of his jeans, palming the obvious bulge straining the denim. “turn around let me see that peach.”

you obeyed turning slowly, your hands clasped behind your back. his palm landed flat on your bare hip then slid down, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass cheek. he squeezed hard enough to make you gasp

“perfect body, honey.” he breathed. “now get on the couch for me okay?”

you climbed onto the worn cushion, knees sinking into the ancient foam as you faced him. he unbuckled his belt with deliberate slowness, watching your tongue peeking out between your lips like a puppy to a bone. He didn’t bother pulling his jeans off- just shoved them down enough to free his cock. springing up thick and heavy, the head flushed with a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip.

“this is what’s gonna fill that tight little cunt.”. he said, wrapping his fist around the shaft, giving it a slow stroke.

“i-its big..” you mumbled innocently.

“thats okay honey, feel better snugged in that little hole.” he settled onto the couch, back against the armrest and pulled you onto his lap. your thighs straddled his hips, the rough denim of his jeans rasping against your sensitive inner thighs. his cock pressed against your belly hot and hard. he reached between you hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tore them off with one sharp tug.

“no need for those..” he grunted tossing them aside.

his hand slid down, fingers finding your pussy. they were rough and calloused, knowing exactly where to press. he circled your clit with his thumb, laughing as some of your juices sputtered onto his hand.

“look at you..” he murmured, his eyes dark and hungry. “so wet already. you were made for this weren’t you? made to take my cock.”

you whined deep in your throat, hands digging into his shoulders. “mmmf- mhm.”

he lined himself up, the fat head of his cock nudging your slick folds. you felt the pressure, the stretch and you braced yourself.

“ready, dolly? say ya want it.”

“i want it.” you whispered, voice trembling but sure.

he smiled and then he thrust up. the pain was sharp, a burning stretch that stole your breath. you whined out, your nails digging into his skin. he held your hips stilling you, letting you adjust.

“shh.. take it slow.” he said with a voice surprisingly gentle. “first time always hurts.”

you nodded tears pricking your eyes. he stayed still with just the tip buried inside you until you relaxed. then he slid deeper inch by inch until he was fully seated, his balls pressed against your ass.

“fuck- yeah..” he groaned, his eyes half-closed. “feel that? your so tight. so fuckin’ tight.”

he gave you a moment to breathe then he began to move—a slow deep grind that rocked your whole body. his hands found your hips, guiding you into a rhythm. up and down, your pussy gripping him sliding down his length. each stroke sent fresh waves of sensation through your core, the pain melting into a deep aching pleasure.

“thaaats it..” he encouraged. “ride me. show me what you got.”

you found your pace, your body moving instinctively, your breasts bouncing in front of his face. he leaned forward taking one nipple into his mouth sucking hard, his beard grazing the sensitive peak. you moaned with your hips moving faster, the friction building into something urgent desperate.

“i-im close i think..! you gasped though you barely understood what that meant.

“good job dolly- cream on my dick..”

his thumb found your clit again rubbing in tight circles and that was it. the orgasm crashed over you like a wave your whole body tensing, your pussy clenching around him in rhythmic pulses. he groaned his hips thrusting up chasing your pussy burying himself deep as he spilled inside you hot, thick filling you up.

you collapsed against his chest, breathless your skin slick with sweat. he wrapped an arm around you holding you there, his cock still twitching inside you.

“good job, honey. did so good just f’me.”.

“j-just for you ben..” you mumbled breathlessly and full, letting yourself sink into his warmth.