laraaaale

[laraaaale]

it probably feels good as fuck to freak out and scream really loud and break shit

[laraaaale]

I so badly need my pussy eaten by someone who is starving for me 🫠

[laraaaale]

trying to seductively get on my knees for you but my knees crack so loud it echoes and i’m stuck there for five minutes

[laraaaale]

[laraaaale]

Whos that?

[laraaaale]

Being a prostitute for a man written down as S.R. capital, formal and little to no detail about him other than a masked picture of him. You don't know what you excepted of him but you didn't expect a behemoth to come for your services. Or well for you to go to him but hey, you get additional $500 if you do, to hell with life.

Its even odder when he just told you to sit and look pretty in his house, shushing you when you tried to flirt and rile him up, the three hours he paid for used just for him to absentmindedly grope and touch your chest and stomach.

Pulling you close to his chest and grabbing your squishy waist from above and behind. It wasn't harsh but it wasn't light, almost experimental as if he wanted to see what was comfortable with you.

"You mind getting tied up, bird?"

Asking you somewhere after thirty minutes and confining you only to lay his head on your thighs, using you as a head pillow and something for his hands to squeeze and get sat under while he sleeps. Snoring the rest of the time away until you're both awoken by an alarm he set.

He schedules another appointment as soon as you leave. Your manager tells you it was prepaid.

[laraaaale]

How it feels to read a really good fic and find the author has dozens more like it 

[laraaaale]

simon is the kind of man to sit somewhere behind you while you do your makeup, silently watching. starts out scrolling through his phone but abandons it halfway through to focus on you instead

doesn't mind if you have more of a soft personality. he may come across cold and unfeeling to most, but when it comes to wiping away your tears at the end of a rough day he does it with the gentlest of touches

needs to put your necklaces on for you. borderline pouts when you come out of the bedroom with one already clasped around your neck

leaving a doodle of a skull on a random piece of paper in your kitchen and simon coming home with it added into his tattoo sleeve not even a week later

loves a good breakfast. he's a perpetual early riser so on his days at home he'll slip down to the kitchen and hover over the oven, making eggs, sausage, fried tomatoes...brings you a plate in bed if you're feeling extra sleepy

"thank you, sweetheart." "you're welcome, lazy arse."

will absolutely wear a 'kiss the cook' apron if you buy him one (expects you to take the words as seriously as he does)

goes into full dad relaxation stance after a day of working around the house. you'll find him spread out in a chair on the porch, fingers lazily wrapped around a tumbler of whiskey with his head tilted back

simon who pauses in front of the butcher's shop in town every time you two pass by, examining the cuts of meat hanging in the window. doesn't always comment on what he sees, but every now and then will drop a "blade needs to be replaced" before continuing on without another word

likes to read. loves a good thriller novel, especially coupled with your legs in his lap while you both sit on the couch, your hands busy sewing up the fraying spots in his mask

goes nuts when he comes home to find you milling about the apartment in leggings and his shirt branded with the name 'riley' across the back

throws you over his shoulder and stomps to the bedroom, responding to your squirming and giggling with a light smack to your ass. "s'about time i made the name permanent. what d'you think about that, lovie?"

a/n: hello!!!!! i apologize for my sudden absence, i truly did not mean to be away for so long. i was in ireland for a couple weeks and then hit a creative slump to say the least when i returned home, but i have missed writing so much and i am so happy to be back! MWAH i hope you all enjoyed please let me know what you think xxx

[laraaaale]

no boyfriend no drugs no girlfriend no therapist im rlly raw dogging life here

[laraaaale]

bitches will see the words grief loneliness melancholy yearning nostalgia hope tiramisu and hit reblog

[laraaaale]

[laraaaale]

[laraaaale]

ok guys but hear me out..,

back before simon was drafted and he was still working in some butcher around the outskirts of manchester, he remembers a little bakery a few blocks down from his shop. although never particularly crowded, he's noticed the older locals go by in the mornings for coffee, kids guided in by their parents after schools to get a snack. but he doesn't seem to lounge in the corner of that cafe for either of those reasons- instead, he finds himself fawning over the pretty baker.

and you're nice to him, too- always smiling when you see him around, voice so sweet when you're at the butchers to buy some meat for the pies, sneakily trying to slip him a discount whenever he goes to buy a sandwich- 'hospitality workers gotta stick together, right?' it's no wonder that he finds himself falling for you, a stupid puppy crush that he tries, and occasionally fails, to suppress. and sometimes, simon lets himself believe you like him too, with the way the blood rushes to your cheeks when you spot him across the shelves, with he notes how you nearly fumble a frothing pot of milk when caught staring at him. it's a little attempt of young love that he thinks will be smothered out as he gets older.

but now it is twenty years later, he is working with the sas, and he is meant to be dead. but simon finds himself strolling his hometown, genuinely surprised that he sees the cafe still up, that he sees you, still working behind the display cabinets. you're older now, more mature, but your smile is just as pretty as it was those years ago. and he sees that glimmer of recognition in your eyes, how your head perks up at the sight of his figure outside of the window.

ghost smothers his cigarette and bins it before walking through the doors. may as well pay the bird a visit.

[laraaaale]

loser!Simon who the guys tease into approaching you at the pub, snickering amongst themselves as they watch the way Simon stiffly makes his way towards where you sit alone in your little booth

only to stare, gobsmacked 15 minutes later as they watch a very shocked, wide eyed Simon be dragged out of the booth, looking back at them with awe in his eyes as you lead him towards the exit

all he had done was ramble about the latest tea he had tried, asking if you’d like to try it with him sometimes

[laraaaale]

[laraaaale]

part two to simon’s work wife

the transition in your relationship—if you could call it that—with simon was easier than you anticipated. he practically herded you into his apartment.

helping you pack, doing all the heavy lifting, and grunting softly when you’d ask if some of your decor would clash with his. “wh’tver you want in our house will go, doll.”

our house. our.

shivers ran down your spine when you’d hear him refer to your things as our. you didn’t mind it—albeit it did confuse you a bit because just two weeks ago you were single, and now you were living with your lieutenant, and sleeping in his bed, and he’d cook for you—even knew how you liked your coffee in the morning.

the only weird thing was that he didn’t touch you.

well he did, like placing a heavy hand on your lower back to guide you, or pressing up against you to grab a cup from the shelves because you couldn’t reach it, or letting his thumb trail down your throat as you spoke to him.

but he didn’t touch you.

that plagued your thoughts all day, even as you slipped into bed with him. letting out a small huff as he turned to face you in the dim light of the room.

“what’s wrong?”

“nothing.”

you could tell his brows pinched together but you didn’t mention it. picking at your cuticles to stop yourself from looking at him.

you were still so confused; he clearly wanted you if his actions meant anything. and you couldn’t deny that anytime he’d refer to you as his ‘missus’ that warmth curled in your belly and left you a mess.

a needy, horny mess. it was his fault really.

he grunted, thick fingers wrapping around your soft thigh to pull you closer to him, “we ain’t supposed to go to sleep mad at each other.”

your nose scrunched up at him as you somehow found yourself under him, “and who sets these rules?”

he stared at you for a second before that same hand that was curled around your thigh now moved to curl around your throat gently, his eyes glued to your lips.

“me.”

you huff again, but make no move to move from under him—a move simon doesn’t miss. “what’s go ya’ so worked up, sweetheart?”

the gravel in his voice had your skin heating up, nipples pebbling as you met his gaze, “you.”

“me?”

“mhm.”

the amusement was clear in his eyes, staring down at you as he let his weight sink into you and you had to bite back the moan that threatened to leave your lips.

god, you felt pathetic. just the feeling of his cock on your belly, the scent of him, had you reeling.

“tell me what you need.”

one of his hands trailed lower, thumb barely ghosting over your nipple and a breathless whine left your mouth. “well—i-i need you to perform your duties-”

a rumbly laugh left his mouth as his nose dipped down to your throat, licking up your neck and nipping softly, “my duties?”

heat coiled in your belly, arousal pulling between your thighs as you tried to control your breathing. “and what duties have i been falling short on?”

your mind went hazy as he cupped your breast, lowering his hips to press his cock against your cunt, heavy and thick and just there. teasing you further by not moving.

“have i been neglecting my missus?”

that pulled a moan straight from your parted lips, hips bucking upwards to grind against his cock as he grunted lowly. “y-yes, been neglecting me.”

he nipped at your neck, thick fingers easily snapping away that lacy fabric that sat on your hips as he growled out softly, “m’sorry, baby. i’ll make it up to you.”

[laraaaale]

I’m crying because when my dad was eighteen he was going to join the airforce and then the night before he had a dream that Jesus slapped him in the face with a gigantic fish and asked him what he was doing and he woke up and thought, “Jesus is right what am I doing?” And that’s why my dad did not join the military.