#never written for Price so

[thee-great-enigma]

What about– and hear me out– Price just sitting and watching TVin just some boxers or nothing at all, completely ignoring you who is tied up and unable to do anything. He might even have you blindfolded so you can only smell him not even touch or see him. And you want to do bad, to touch him, run your tongue along his cock, bury your face in his pubic hair and smell his musk. You're whining and begging to just be able to do something more, to be able to shove his cock down your throat, to have his attention on you instead of some stupid show.

And when he finally gives you just a bit of attention, he puts his foot on your dick, digging his heel into your balls to make you whine and squirm, bucking up into his foot for just the slightest amount of pleasure.

Eventually he permits you to get closer, shoving your face into his hairy crotch. But he doesn't take off his boxers, he makes you suffer knowing that there's cloth in the way of the thing you really want.

Thinking about Price wearing nothing but boxers and lounging on the couch, while you’re down on your knees, hands tied behind your back, just a hair away from his clothed cock

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, can smell his musky scent, can practically taste him on your lips but he acts as if you aren’t even there, leisurely stroking his cock while grunts and groans roll off of his lips, won’t acknowledge you until he’s inching closer to his release, only when he comes undone does he put a hand at the back your neck and shoves your face into his now wet crotch, your nose rubbing upon his clothed shaft, and you’re so desperate so eager for it, blindly mouthing at his dick, eagerly taking whatever he’s willing to give

Or Price making you work for it, watching the way you’re using your nose and mouth to hitch his boxers up his thighs so you can get to his cock, only to almost lose your mind when you see the underwear roll back down. He’ll only chuckle at your frustration before encouraging you to try again “come on you can do” voice low and hoarse as he gazes down at you from where he’s sitting

Or or or Price sitting on your face while wearing nothing but his boxers, he’s just gotten home from the gym so he’s all sticky and sweaty you can smell the musky scent on him can practically feel his sweat soaked dick but you don’t care, feeling more than happy to have his sweaty balls and cock resting on your face, letting him sit on it for as long as he pleases, maybe he’ll even teasingly grind down onto your mouth til his underwear is not only soaked with sweat but also with precum and spit

Or or Price teasing you all day pretending he isn’t affected by any of it, only for you to see that he’s practically soaked through his boxers, his fat pussy lips fully outlined by the thin fabric and when you point it out he’s shameless as ever and asks if you plan to do something about it or will you just continue to stare at him

[bunnyreaper]

shy fingies

im having a really bad dysphoria day

if possible can i have some trans masc reader/141 comfort? no pressure, im just havin a hard day bc i have medical issues that make a medical transition unsafe and my dysphoria is kicking my asssss

hi!! no need for shy fingies! the dysphoria has been coming too for me lately, so im sending my love your way!! if this sucks im sorry in advance!! ;__;

tf141 x trans male! reader, platonic. brief mentions of transphobia, protective!141, reader users a binder.

It had been a shitty day all round, and things only continued to get worse. 

The day had started with forcing yourself into the shower, in the pitch black darkness, because you just couldn't face it with the light on. Your chest felt tighter than usual, and your skin just felt distinctly not like home. 

When you'd made your way into the canteen for breakfast, the new recruits were staring again, clearly talking about you amongst themselves as they snickered and judged and whispered words and phrases you really never wanted to hear.

Your only salvation was that you were ending this shitty day with a movie night with your task force. 

"Lad!" Soap calls out to you as you enter the rec room with a bag of snacks in hand. "It's yer lucky day, you get ta pick the movie." 

Soap pats the couch beside him as Ghost, Gaz, and the Captain offer their usual smiles. 

"Uh, I'm not too fussed, you can pick." You offer Soap a forced, tight smile as you try your hardest to get comfortable, despite the constriction at your chest. Today it felt a little worse than usual. 

Gaz lets out a groan, as Ghost's eyes narrow. "He picked last week." 

Offering a shrug, you remember you need to grab a drink before you get too settled into the plush of the couch. When you approach the kitchenette, you notice Price beside you.  

"Everything alright, son?" He asks, his hand clasping down on your shoulder as he offers a soothing smile. "Not yourself tonight." 

Son. As the youngest in the taskforce, Price's sweet and affirming nickname for you makes your heart soar.

You struggle to meet his eye as you mumble your response--a clear lie. "I'm fine, just tired." 

Your captain doesn't seem convinced in the slightest, as he remains by your side as you move round the kitchenette. 

"Can always talk to me, you know that? Or any of the boys?" 

"I know." You sigh, knowing they'd be supportive even if they never can quite understand. 

Another body comes closer, joining in the concern party that Price is throwing. It's Gaz, the same look of worry plastered over his face.

"Something happened?" He asks. 

"No." You snap, just a little too quickly, and the entire room falls silent with Soap and Ghost's conversation ending as they turn their attention to you. "Oh god, can you all stop staring at me?!" 

Gaz's hand replaces Price's on your shoulder as he tries to soothe you. "Talk to us, c'mon." 

Ghost and Soap join you all in the kitchen, and the pressure of them all worrying about you is almost too much to handle. They all look so worried, so protective--though you'd long come to accept that it was mostly because you're the baby of the team. 

"The new recruits were talking shit about me behind my back, you know, that kind of shit." You sigh, staring at the floor and wishing it would swallow you whole. 

The atmosphere of the room changes in an instant. 

"I want names, now." Price's words are a demand laced with anger, though not a shred of it directed at you. 

"Captain..." You call out, as Price is already halfway to the door ready to pull the recruits out of bed and give them the dressing down of a lifetime. 

Soap shakes his head. "Easier if you just tell him, lad." Soap's eyes are kind and soft as he considers you, though you know that he will have some choice words for them too next time he's training them. You almost pity them. 

You mutter out the names of the ones you had recognised, and try not to flinch as Price nods and slams the door behind him as he leaves.

"How long have you had your binder on for?" Ghost asks, his gaze severe with concern. 

"Uh... since 6am." 

He sighs, in his 'not mad, just disappointed' older brother way. "Did you take a break at lunch like you're supposed to?" 

You give him a sarcastic look, and cross your arms over yourself defensively. "It'll be fine, promise." 

The door swings open, Soap coming back into the room with Gaz in tow, and you hadn't even realised they have left in the first place. 

Soap holds out a massive bundle of black fabric, while Gaz has a silky garment in his hands. 

"Biggest hoodie of mine I could find, lad, and a fresh compression shirt." Soap explains, as passes the clothes to you. "Binder off, yeah? Then we'll get under the blanket and turn off the lights." 

"And you still have to pick the movie." Gaz smiles.

You nod in compliance before you head to the bathroom to get changed--freeing yourself from the binder and quickly covering yourself with Gaz's shirt and Soap's hoodie. While your chest still aches just a little, the unease you expect doesn't come on as strong as you expected. 

Maybe it's the sense that you get to go back into that room with a group of guys who accept you for who you are and have never made you feel lesser. 

When you get back to the rec room, Price has returned, and the room is cast in darkness. The Captain gives you a nod, but offers no further comment--which means he won't be addressing it tonight. 

You get comfortable on the couch between Soap and Ghost, and try to ignore the groans as you make suggestion after suggestion that they all hate, and you eventually settle on something all of you have seen before. 

You snuggle under the blanket with Soap, and feel euphoric when Ghost wordlessly accepts your toes wiggling under his thigh. Every once in a while, you'll meet the eyes of your captain and see his fond gaze, or Gaz will look to you when there's something funny so he can see if you're laughing too. 

Right there, on that couch, you feel at home with your brothers, with yourself. 

[saviourkingslut]

not to be about opera again but to be about opera again. as an art form it has the reputation of being super stuffy and something for snobs who don't know how to have fun only but honestly this was one of, perhaps even THE main theatrical entertainment for centuries. i wish people knew how hard these things can go and how engaging they can be. like characters kill and die and fight wars and (almost) commit human sacrifice left and right. characters fall in love they mourn they're ecstatic they cry they're furious it's an extremely dramatic and emotional art form! and i understand that opera does not appear approachable bc of the general conventions of the art form but i promise old works can be fun and engaging if you go watch them with some preparation beforehand (reading the libretto helps) - not to mention not all operas are old bc there are so many modern operas which engage with topical events! also the music slaps.

[wonder-worker]

"Hannes Kleineke cites Dean and Canons of Windsor MS XI.B.6, rot. 2, for evidence of a deathbed codicil by Edward IV concerning a dispute between the knights and canons of Windsor"

remember when I said that we don't know what Edward IV's deathbed codicils were as they haven't survived? that there is no reason to automatically assume they were relevant to his son's minority? that it's entirely possible that they weren't very important at all considering how dismissively Croyland spoke of them ("some codicils thereto", with no emphasis or elaboration whatsoever)? I LOVE being proven right <3

[licorishh]

Replayed Modern Warfare 3 2011 on Veteran tonight and goooooooood night. Blood Brothers never gets any easier to watch no matter how many times you've done it and the ending really never misses huh

I apologize for the amount of yapping in the tags I reread it all on mobile and started giggling because it went on for so long but eh. Blessed are those who won't shut the freak up and all that

[nyxypoo]

PRICE AND GHOST SANDWHICH

Johnny is where I never see the appeal….it’s his haircut…..

PRICE AND GHOST SANDWICH OUGHHHH ik i've read a few of those and

[cyrafoam]

Okay never sacrifice sleep to draw art. because I slept for 14 hours today and had vivid dreams about meeting Neil deGrasse Tyson at a gas station that he is in love with. listen I don't know either.

[death-does-grip]

thinking about how ghost probably isn’t up to date on a lot of pop culture things. couldn’t name the last movie he saw, doesn’t know any current celebrities, but i know he hasn’t stopped listening to music.

he listens to every release of his favourite bands, branches out into new micro-genres, and he’d never tell a soul but he has a playlist for each of his family and closest friends consisting of songs that remind him of them.

[hide-your-bugs-away]

“...It was 2 o’clock in the morning and we’d been working pretty hard. Mickie Most behind the desk, looking like a fresh-faced high school kid, wasn’t ready to give up. As long as the band wanted to record, he’d be there, pencil in the mouth, sitting in the producer’s chair, feet up on the console. Relaxed. Over the intercom, into the main room, he spoke. It was the voice of God, the producer. ‘OK, if you guys feel you’ve got something else to come up with, we need a B side for the new single. Have you got anything?' In the middle of the room AP sat behind the red-topped Vox Continental, his feet nervously tapping out a fast gospel-type rhythm, his fingers skating up and down the keyboard surrounded by baffling and studio blankets.

He was playing fast, uptempo, hot and nasty gospel. I was in the isolation booth, headphones clamped on my head. Pricey opened, swirling through the changes.” - Eric Burdon, I Used to Be an Animal, but I’m All Right Now, 1986 (p. 132).

[josephtrohman]

i just bought a new (to me) car. finally.

[fishyartist]

Wanting 2 make a scope creep nightmare of a visual novel vs my inability to focus on jack shit ever in my life.

[jojotier]

ghost quartet is one of those amazing musicals that the first time you see it and the full brunt of it settles on you, your brain chemistry gets changed, and then on every subsequent relisten theres diminishing returns until you realize youre just looking at this self contained circular story which cares more about justifying its own metacontextual existence of storytelling and being experimental instead of caring about having characters strong enough to keep you coming back or like. good music.

[doomednarrative]

Could never understand being a Michinaga hater the guy has carried the Entire series for me at this point

[glompcat]

Reminder that most anti-intellectual posts are part of antisemitic bs.

Honestly and truly a large reason why I have a bug up my ass about the way people talk about newspapers online is if you look further in the notes of any given post bashing papers the unmasked antisemitism shows up pretty fast.

[heavenbarnes]

anyways, as i was saying about older bf!simon and his willingness to please learn

pt 2 to this

“you ever heard of a nut video with sound on?”

obviously, he hasn’t- far as he’s concerned, if you haven’t told him about it then it doesn’t exist to him.

no skin off your nose, you’d spend the rest of your life teaching him about the ‘latest trends’ if it meant he kept sending those filthy fucking videos to your phone.

(your favourites on tiktok were purely filled with ideas)

he’s holed up in a remote location, killing time till he can be home and actually do something to you rather than send you a bloody video about it.

your instructions come through clear and concise, just how he likes:

“it’s what’s written on the can, si- you can pick the setup but i just want to see you cum and, most importantly, i want to hear it”

you’re lucky simon is such a practical guy and maybe you could thank price one day for making him so good at following orders.

when he’s got his alone time he’s setting his phone up to record on the edge of the window sill, moonlight fighting through the curtain to illuminate him.

he’s lost the bulkiest of his gear, down to his tactical trousers and a compression t-shirt. the images in his tattoo sleeve almost move when the light catches them right.

balaclava on (the one that just shows his eyes above the painted image of a skull) and he’s standing up to undo his belt (that you think looks like an airplane seatbelt).

you can hear his boots against the floorboard as he steps back to give you the full view of him undoing his trousers, taking his sweet time because he knows it drives you fucking batty.

he’s so big that the phone is working overtime to get all of him in the frame but you see exactly what you need to- thick thighs at your eye line and massive hands drawing down his fly.

on (you assume) the other side of the globe, you’re at home in your shared bed and you’re propped up right in the middle with the smell of simon engulfing you as you watch the video play out before you.

(if you’d thought about it you should’ve cast it to the bedroom tv, hoping the neighbours didn’t mind)

simon sits back down with his legs spread wide, one hand gripping his thigh as the other rubs himself over his boxers. his eye contact with the camera was fucking intense, like you’d hoped, just like when he’s on top of you.

he’s dressed in all black and the moonlight is obscured but you can still see him firming up in his pants. his eyes flutter, an infinitesimal amount but you’ve been tuned into his every move since you met him.

your thumb leans hard on the volume up button and you can hear the diegetic sound of the building expanding and that usual technical hum that comes with a video. but at this pitch, you could hear him.

his breathing was chopped, chest expanding visibly as he pulled his cock out into clear view. jeeeeesus christ, it was never something you just got used to.

long, reasonably straight, fucking thick. even his hand struggled to make it look smaller as he wrapped around it, giving one dry tug.

as he closed his palm over the tip, you saw him make a swipe before he brought his hand back down considerably smoother than before. you’d had your hands down his pants enough times, man leaked like a fucking faucet.

simon’s head tipped back as he started to pull himself off, balaclava raising just enough to expose some of his throat. if you were there you would be perched in his lap, letting him do the work but running your tongue under the lip of the fabric.

one of the best things about the videos simon sent was, he didn’t really understand how sexy he was. he didn’t think any of the videos particularly watchable so he’d just send them on first take. if you liked them, you liked them- yours was the only opinion that mattered.

what that meant was, you never got b-roll. everything he sent you was unbridled perfection. captured exactly as it happens with no faffing about.

always whatever you’ve asked for, whenever you ask.

(simon’s nothing if not inexplicably obedient)

he brings his hand under his chin to spit into the wide span of his palm, wrapping back around his cock and tugging. his foreskin moved over the head, rolling back down and thick veins bulging under his grasp.

you’d almost forgotten the conditions of your request, totally fucking enamoured by the sight in front of you when it caught you off guard.

a guttural moan ripped out of simon’s chest as he twisted his wrist.

his free hand moved to cup his balls, big and heavy, he rolled them in his palm as another groan sounded out of him. what you wouldn’t give to be knelt between his thighs with the whole lot in your mouth.

you knew how much of an ask this was, you really had to work him up to making noise when it was just you two in bed. these days? you couldn’t shut the man up when he was balls deep and his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

but this was another step, this was him on his own with his crew just through the walls. he’d be a plain liar if he said there wasn’t that rumbling trepidation in his chest. he’d put it to bed though.

all he had to think of was you, one hand gripping your phone and the other between your thighs as you watched him through with a hazy smile- that kept him going.

with the thought still heavy on his mind, you didn’t have to strain to hear your name drift off his lips. his hips bucked into his hand as he did, speeding up the motion of his strokes.

you were going to black out, his tattoos flexing and his chest expanding with every stuttered breath. simon looked like a god among men and he fucking sounded like one too.

“fuck, sweetheart- you’re so fucking filthy giving me orders like this”

your cheeks were burning, he wasn’t wrong but you weren’t expecting him to call you out quite like this.

“what does that make me? always so fucking eager to do what you say? make a dirty old man, yeah?”

wheeeeeew that’ll do it, your thighs snapped together around your hand as your eyes nearly rolled back in your head. whenever you thought you couldn’t take any more, he was always there to do you one better.

“only for you, pet- you can always get whatever you fucking want from me”

and you knew he was serious, that’s what made it all the more debilitating. simon was unshakeable, you’d seen him go out of his way to defy orders if he didn’t think the person worth his time.

when it came to you? you could tell him to kill and he would.

(he probably had)

simon’s hips were twitching, back arching in a way he’d rather die than have anyone else know about. his mouth was hanging open beneath the balaclava, your name and a string of expletives falling off his tongue.

so quick you nearly missed it, the hand that was cradling his balls moved to grip the fabric of his shirt and push it up his toned front. you couldn’t call his abs cut and defined, there was aged layer to them, but they were undeniably there.

you’d rested your head on them, pressed your palms against them, even ridden them enough times to know they were there. regardless, he looked fucking perfect under the moon glow as he stroked himself hard and long.

eyes locked onto the camera, broken moans on his lips, you saw his hips lift one last time as thick spurts of cum began to paint his stomach and chest.

scars illuminated under the night sky, mirrored by shiny patches of hot cum splattered across the same stretch of skin. the hairs on his chest were matted with sweat and were now being splashed with how far he was shooting.

you could only watch with your mouth hung open as he tugged himself through his orgasm. soon it was only the sound of his laboured breathing, chest rising and falling as he tucked his soft cock back into his pants.

just when you thought that was it, you found one of his hands lifting up the edge of his balaclava till his lips were exposed. two fingers of his other hand swiped up some of his spend before he lay them on his tongue.

knuckles in your mouth, biting down to suppress a scream, simon readjusted his clothes as he stood and took a heavy step towards the camera.

one hand braced on the window sill, the other gently gripping himself through his trousers- his voice was so fucking gravely it could’ve reverberated round your room.

“what’s next sweet’art? you name it, it’s yours”

[readwritealldayallnight]

in case you missed it, little add on to this idea where Simon decides you’re his wife

When the Captain first overhears tidbits about how his Lieutenant is supposedly giving the newest recruits an especially hard time, he chuckles to himself, thinking that it isn’t anything they can’t handle, not if they’re going to make it in this line of work anyway

But then he catches the end of a conversation between two medics, complaining about how they’ve never had to tend to so many injuries from the rookies in training before, and he thinks maybe Ghost was having an off day at the time, needed to let off some steam, no real harm done in the end

Which is strange though, when one of his sergeants comes whining about how ‘LT’s gone right soft, pure gallus! One bonnie lass was all it took and he’s now got manners, ya ken! Absolutely braw sight I tell ya, Cupid’s arrow stickin’ out of his arse-’

Price wasn’t even entirely sure Simon knew how to use his cell phone, surprised to find him suddenly glued to the device, answering only for a specific chime, but always answering instantly when it went off

It isn’t all that long however, until Price walks into his office one day and finds Ghost already sat at his desk and waiting for him, wanting to know more about marital leave, and benefits for spouses, and how soon could the Captain become ordained because there’s a ceremony he’d like him to officiate soon if he wouldn’t mind-

You’re especially confused when the guard who checks your ID at the gate each morning tells you ‘Congratulations by the way, Mrs Riley’ as he hands you a new pass that- sure enough- has Riley written as your last name

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