pricesbug

[pricesbug]

you’re drunk - simon ghost riley

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

based off a request i got - tispy simon riley x drunk reader. simon is a man of morals, even when you make it very very hard for him to exercise them. 18+. lots of detailed dirty talk.

find part two here.

————-

it’s honestly not even your fault.

you’ll blame it all on soap, if anyone asks - he’s the one who had a tab open, a devil on his shoulder, and kept pouring shots as if they were free. now you’re blackout-adjacent, stumbling through the hallway with simon’s arm wrapped around your waist in some makeshift tourniquet while everything spins like a goddamn carousel.

simon always gets stuck on clean-up crew. mostly because he’s the only one who can handle their fuckin liquor.

needless to say, he’s used to this by now. used to the way you’ve been rambling on about nothing for the better part of five minutes - doesn’t say much when you stop and get distracted by something stupid for the billionth time. doesn’t complain when you grab his arm and lean a little too hard into his side, as if he’s a lifeline in the sea that is the floor beneath your feet.

he’s tipsy, sure, but somehow still annoyingly steady. classic simon.

“jesussi—you’re big.” it’s slurred and breathless, broken by your own laughter as your head drops lazily onto his shoulder. “like, industrial grade. military-issued big.”

the corner of his mouth tilts. if you were sober you’d see the smirk he’s biting back.

“tha right?”

“mmm. like a fuckin tank,” you hum, fingers kneading the muscle under your palm. it’s involuntary - just like it’s involuntary when he twitches. “or an armoured vehicle. y’should come with airbags.”

simon bites his cheek. the devil in you is dancing in the waves of tension rolling off him.

maybe he’s not as used to this as he thought - because this isn’t just drunk-banter. this is you, murmuring compliments with all that heat behind them. personal. stupidly involuntarily honest.

hes not used to compliments. not ones that sound like that.

“you’re drunk,” he breathes.

you grin. “so’re you.”

“not even half as much as you.”

you let out a giddy little laugh that makes him glance down, at that. it’s quick and brief, the way his eyes flick over you, like he’s checking to make sure you haven’t stripped mid-hallway. it’s just the bickering that gets you. makes you warm inside.

“m’not that drunk,” you lie through your teeth with all the drunken confidence you possess. “i mean—i am, but not like…memory loss drunk. i’m still gonna remember how wide your shoulders are tomorrow.”

it’s only seconds after that and your fingers are moving again, crawling down his arm to where leather edge meets skin.

“..and how insanely big your hands are,” you sigh in continuation, unable to help yourself. “like—biblically destructive. ruin-her-life-in-a-single-night kind of hands. anyone ever tell y’that?”

and that might just be precisely when it starts - the feeling in his gut. brought to life through the filth you’re beginning to feed.

“don’t.” he says, and it’s torn. “not now.”

he’s all but begging you - and however miraculously, his pace doesn’t break. still steady as ever even as you switch from squeezing to tracing his tattoos with your finger. the only response he gives is a devastating clench of his jaw as he keeps you moving - steering past flickering lights and sterile walls.

“y’ever choke a girl out with them?” you press, unfettered. “not like, unconscious, but like. in bed?”

he exhales. slow. almost a growl.

“jesus. stop talkin’.”

“why?” you blink up at him, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks, far too innocent for someone who’s very much not being innocent. “am i makin’ you nervouuus?”

his head tilts just slightly, just enough to peer down at you again.

“no,” he says, and even drunk you hear the grit in it. “you’re makin’ me hard.”

he says it like he hates himself for it. like it slipped out - cut from the meat of some deep place the inebriation in his veins simply won’t let him keep inside.

and you?

you blink slow, lips parting in surprise.

“fuckin’ finally.” you exhale with a smile. slow and crooked and dangerous. “thought i’d have to be on my knees and naked for you to admit that—“

he doesn’t let you finish that thought.

“fuck’s sake, y’little minx.” he’s dragging you now, as if he’s realizing the dangers that are surfacing the more this conversation continues. by this point he’s half-carrying, half-hauling your giggling form down the hall like you weigh nothing. “y’need to stop talkin.”

“you like it,” you slur between unsteady steps. “y’like me like this cause you’re a freakkk—“

his grip tightens. morals in tatters. control evaporating.

“i’d like you more if y’were unconscious.” he huffs, hard. “or duct-taped.”

that makes you giggle more. worse, it eggs you on.

“was that supposed t’be a threat?” you ask, lips glistening. “cause if so, it’s workingggg.”

he grunts - some deep, violent sound in his throat like that one hit a nerve. “bloody hell.”

by the time you make it to your door, he’s breathing heavy. less from exertion and more from sheer fucking restraint. it takes two seconds before he throws the hinges wide, kicks it shut with his boot, and all but drags you onto your bed.

and you hardly even realize you’ve reached it until the cotton caresses the side of your cheek. but that feeling is quickly forgotten when simon, the gentleman that he is, leans over you - one knee braced on the mattress as his hands go to work on the laces of your boots.

your thighs tense. he notices.

“fuck, simon.” you can’t stop yourself. not even god himself could, at this point. “i’ve been into you for ages, y’know.”

he pauses. boot in hand.

“…what?”

he says it low. like a warning - like a don’t you fuckin start. but you’re too drunk to care - especially when all you smell is him and all you see are those shoulders, leaning over you while you’re flat on your back beneath him.

your lashes flutter.

“jus sayin- since, like. you’re in my room, on my bed above me like one of my codeine fever dreams.” you slur, brain sloshing. the room spins with it. “thought y’should know.”

he looks at you like you’ve hit him with a brick.

your head lolls. glassy eyes dragging up over the length of him. “used to think about it—you—when i couldn’t sleep.”

he swallows, and you watch his throat work with it. the grip he’s got on your ankle could shatter bone.

“….you tellin me y’think bout me when y’touch yourself?” he asks.

“god yes.” you don’t even realize you’ve said it. “you. your hands. bending me over the sinks. in the showers while muttering filth in my ear, tellin me to behave—“

“—fuck.” it punches out of him like it hurts.

the silence falls heavy. he doesn’t blink, breathe, or move for what feels like forty minutes, when in reality, it’s like forty seconds - just long enough for him clamp the leash back on whatever beast is tearing through him.

not fully, but enough.

you stretch like a cat, oblivious to it. arch your back. sigh. “d’you think about it?”

he doesn’t answer. not at first. then—

“only when i breathe.”

your stomach lurches. your thighs twitch. “you mean that?”

he looks at you, finally - eyes darker than the devils deal, filled with filth and heat from the fire you started without even trying.

he shakes his head, his jaw clenches with the effort of keeping the beast at bay. “i mean, if you don’t stop talkin, m’gonna fuckin’ fold.”

the alcohol in your blood just roars, at that. fuel to the flaming fire inside you.

“tell me.” you murmur. “you think about fucking me? what i’d sound like moaning your—“

before you can finish that thought, his hand is over your mouth. it swallows your face, makes you twitch in all the wrong places — and he sees it.

“enough.” it’s barely a whisper. “christ. fuck. you’re gonna make me do somethin’ stupid.”

you moan against his hand - it spills out of you, vibrates against his fingers. he curses.

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

his palm silences everything but your pulse, which is roaring, at this point.

your fingers come up, shift a few of his digits until your voice finds room to leak out. “please.”

his eyes snap shut.

“y’dont know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart,” he mutters, grabbing the edge of the blanket with his free hand and yanking it over your hips. “ain’t gonna wake up with you hatin me.”

even drunk you realize he’s a man of morals.

“you think i’d regret it?” you whisper. stars in your eyes. he doesn’t respond. “simon. i just told you i’ve fantasized about fucking you. i wonder how big you are, if it’d hurt—“

his palm tightens over your lips again.

“one more fuckin’ word and i’ll forget every goddamn reason why i shouldn’t touch you right now.” he spits. “if y’even remember this tomorrow, y’come say it to me sober. promise on every grave i’ve ever stood over i’ll bend y’over on the spot and fuck the idea of regret right outta you.”

then he pulls back, moving slow like it hurts, and you smile.

“guess i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“mhm.” he hums, take a step or two toward the door. “fuckin hope you will.”

[pricesbug]

I’m anxious and need to avoid doomscrolling! Ask me things!!!!

[pricesbug]

No cuz a diet Dr Pepper and an ice cold cigarette would fix me right now

[pricesbug]

Sorry but running through the woods barefoot and covered in blood (some yours, some theirs) while they run after you, boots hitting the ground so hard the sound thunders in your ears, your chest heaving so hard that blood speckles your tongue and bile rises in your throat while they scream after you how they’ll fucking kill you and gut you like bitch you are is so romantic :)

[pricesbug]

Hot hot hot hot hot ho—

down on my knees

full version on bluesky | twitter | patreonearly access + nsfw on patreon

this short comic was drawn as fanart of the fic Won't you help me (down on my knees?) by @c4tto626, which is very explicit and incredibly hot and also gave me brainworms <3 send them a kudos and a nice comment if you like the fic!

[pricesbug]

something about moonlight

[pricesbug]

Hmm a nice roasty toasty dove indeed🙂‍↕️

Ps I’m glad you like!!! Kisses!!!!

Sorry but forced pleasure is…top tier. Johnny holding you down with a bruising hold, his grabby hands kneading at the soft plush of your body. While Simon is perched between your wriggling legs holding a vibrator to you, all swollen and messy. They of course pay no mind to your pitiful begging and pleading. They ignored it when they swept you off your feet and brought you “home”, why would they humor you now?

[pricesbug]

The chokehold this has on me

Floor of the mactavish house is covered in toys and the fridge has about 8 layers of art projects stuck to it and there’s a wall sign in the kitchen with a pasta sauce stain on it that says “clean enough to be a healthy home, messy enough to be a happy home”

And yes Price’s divorced ass hates having to visit

[pricesbug]

Meanie!Simon who almost always has to stuff you full with his dick. So full you can’t even think straight, thighs are shaking, and if you’d press your stomach he’d be right there, a hiccup of, ‘ ‘s too much!’

His reply?

A soft pat on your cheek, while he grabs a steady hold of your ankles above his head, this is what seems to be his version of ‘encouragement’ and then, almost like he’s informing you of the situation— a nod,

“You’re good, yer gonna take my cock luvie. Not much of a fuckin option.”

And then gives you the most brutal, borderline cynical yet, enthralling thrusts of his life, in and out of your poor sticky cunt that just manages go take everything Simon’s giving you. Thrusts that had you seeing stars and traveling to Venus, you’d cum on his dick twice while drool pooled from the corner to the pillow your head rested in, and there’s a snide chuckle, a kiss to the forehead. Tsking,

“See? Can take Daddys dick just fine. You always think too fuckin much when Dad knows best swee’art.”

a/n: walk with me a bit, idk

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱<3: @bruisedfig @tessakate @sevikasblackgf @mocha-the-muse @nightfwn @mims900

[pricesbug]

cry harder, lost lamb

cw: slasher horror, period sex, non con, vague gore

you clasped both of your hands over your mouth to try and silence the heavy panting, fingers digging into your cheeks; only letting one drop when you felt your friend, faith, grip onto your shirt. you linked your hands together over your hip, both sweaty and covered in blood and dirt, but it didn’t stop either of you from holding on tight.

you heard her whimper and darted your eyes to her in silent horror.

she had clenched hers closed so there was no way to tell her to stay as quiet as possible with your desperate wide-eyed look. you weren’t risking speaking to calm her or even giving a gentle shush.

he’d found the others for less. if you had to you’d cover her mouth like you were your own, shaking hands or not.

as you shifted where you crouched, you could feel the uncomfortable stick of blood between your thighs. of all the times to be on your period. you’d bled through your pad a while back and paranoia had you feeling like you were leaving a trail behind you for him to follow even though you knew it wasn’t true, not even if you were at your heaviest. it was more likely he’d just be able to sniff you out like a shark.

regardless of blood or noise being your downfall, you weren’t feeling so lucky that you’d be able to get away if he did find you; from the lack of screams in the forest, it had seemed that the attacker had already caught the rest of your friends so there’d be no distractions to give you a head start.

bile rose in the back of your throat as tears dripped down to the tight seal of the hand still clamped tight and harsh over your mouth. you couldn’t think about the others right now, the state you’d seen some of them in, the sounds you’d heard.

you let out a slow, shaky breath through your nose and squeezed faith’s hand. there had been no noises after she’d initially whimpered; not from her or the forest.

the silence had you uneasy. it felt like he was close.

crouched as you both were behind the large, old fallen tree trunk, you wouldn’t have the best start to run for it if needed. you swallowed and tried to listen for any footsteps but there was nothing.

you frowned. you should be hearing something at least; the cicadas, or the owls or foxes, not just nothing. your heart dropped to your stomach and you scoured the forest from your point of view with darting eyes. you tugged faith to get her attention and nodded your head forward, towards the light in the distance, when she looked at you.

we need to run, you tried to convey. she understood going by the renewed flood of tears and tired slump of her shoulders. she shook her head defeatedly and you tensed waiting for her to make a noise and reveal your spot to the predator you knew was lurking in the shadows.

you squeezed her hand and nodded back firmly. this wasn’t going to be a debate, you didn’t have time and this was your best shot for survival. removing your other hand from your mouth you tried to smile at her reassuringly and wipe away her tears as she clung to your hand with both of her own. after a moment she relented and with a loud sniffle that had you jerking to look over her shoulder you both clumsily pushed up from the rustling leaves and started to run on weak legs.

“come on, come on, keep going,” you whispered desperately, breathlessly, as you dragged her along with you. he’d have already spotted you, there was no point staying silent now and faith needed all the encouragement she could get. she’d twisted her ankle and although you’d done your best to wrap it, it had made her significantly slower. “the cabin is this way. the car— if we can get to the car...”

you looked back over your shoulder as you ran, paranoid and ignoring ever horror movie rule you could remember, and choked on a wet gasp when you saw him.

he’d lost the hammer he’d arrived with, smashed gina’s head in with; the axe he’d taken from the cabin you and your friends were staying at and used to hack jason to pieces; the bear trap you’d watched him drag scott away with; but that didn’t make his presence any less frightening.

faith heaved loudly, sobbing hard, as you tried to pull her along faster, faster.

but her ankle gave way and her hand slipped from yours as you automatically kept running.

“no, wait, wait! please, no, please,” she cried and begged as you slowed and turned back to her. he was barely twenty paces from her now, if you went back you’d both be—

and the cabin was just there, you could see it, you could see the lights and the car parked next to the back shed. the keys were in your back pocket.

you turned away from her and sprinted.

“w-wait, please! don’t leave me, stop, you fucking bitch, don’t leave me, please!”

you skidded to a stop at the shed and opened the door, pulling out the first garden tool you could get a hold of - a shovel - and looked back at the sound of her scream getting cut off.

the light was dim with how far they were from the cabin’s porch light, the trees were not too tightly packed however that you saw how he knelt over her, strangling her as she kicked and clawed at him uselessly.

it would be a slow enough death that you could still get to the car without him catching you and try to drive on the shredded tire, even with the delay, but instead you ran back towards your friend.

you heard her gasping gurgles as you got closer and let out a guttural cry as you swung the shovel at the man. the monster.

his hands let go of faith and caught the metal edge with a wince and a huffed groan before it could hit his head. you heard faith suck in a gasping breath before choking on the sudden airflow and build up of saliva in her mouth.

he stood, still holding the end as you struggled to pull it back, and you saw where the edge had cut into his palms from the blow you almost landed. human after all, you almost laughed deliriously at the realisation. it only encouraged you to keep fighting back.

you tried again to pull it from him and he snarled, holding tight as you yanked and yanked until he finally let it go just as you put the last of your strength into it. the momentum caused it to reel back and you smacked yourself in the face with the handle. you stumbled to the ground with a cry, the shovel dropped and forgotten as you tried to catch yourself on the cold ground. your cheek throbbed, already beginning to swell, and a sharp ache echoed in your teeth where the handle had landed.

faith hadn’t stopped crying once she had her breath back, stuck laid prone between his feet, but when she started whimpering pleas you tearily looked up to see him lifting the shovel back up and spinning it so he had hold of the wooden end instead of the flat, metal spade. he raised his arms over his head, the shovel parallel with his body, and slammed it down, cutting off faith’s begging with a sick, slick crunch. you barely had time to look away before her blood spattered your temple and cheek.

you shuddered, your breath coming in short and thin.

“f-faith, faith,” you mumbled. you could see her, what he’d done to her, in your peripheral and it had you frozen. “oh god.”

he stepped over her, into the puddle of blood spreading ever closer to you, and crouched in front of you so you couldn’t see her.

“that was brave,” he said surprisingly softly, looking at you with inquisitive eyes. he gently tilted your face closer to his own and he smiled when you shut your eyes tight, your lips pressed closed thinly to hold back your scared sounds. “you’re more interesting than i’d thought. not so cowardly after all, eh?”

you didn’t answer as his palm drifted over to your plump cheek. it left for a moment but you didn’t dare move; his palm had been warm and the brief interlude before coming back left your skin cold in his wake. his fingertips were wet as he traced them along your cheek, dragging in the crude shape of a heart.

you opened your eyes as his hand pulled back again and saw his fingers covered in blood. faith’s blood.

your shoulders heaved with a gag and a sob while your stomach clenched as it tried to upheave your lunch for the nth time that evening.

he laughed as he watched you hunch over your knees dry heaving and stood to his full, looming height.

“i’m going to give you a chance, little lamb,” he offered plainly. “get running, let’s see if i catch you.”

you could tell by his grin this wasn’t going to be fair by any means, that this ‘chance’ was really just an extra layer of sociopathic fun for him. the hunt isn’t fun if your rabbit just lays down to die, the chase brings excitement.

you were tempted to say no, but you were well aware he could still manage to drag this out, painfully so if he wished; you could still hear faith’s chokes echoing. shakily you got to your feet and waited for him to indicate you could go, tempted almost to ask how much of a head-start he’d give or to try and dive for the shovel again.

“good girl. off you pop,” he said dismissively, and waved his hand as if shooing you away.

you scowled back, pissed that you were not only about to be murdered, but that it’d be done by a condescending prick, just to rub salt into the wound.

his smile widened and you knew your disgust was written clear as day across your face. you didn’t dawdle any further though, and instead turned on your heel to run towards the car not twenty five feet away.

you didn’t look back as you tried to pick up the pace, unsure on how long he’d give you your head-start, though maybe you should have if only to brace for the impact as he slammed into your from behind. he dragged you to the floor and pressed you flat even as you struggled wildly.

“get off me! get off!” you screamed, blubbering.

he grabbed your head and slammed it once into the ground, dizzying you and making your movements sluggish. your nose ached furiously and fresh tears sprang to your eyes.

he leant up and shuffled so he was knelt just behind your arse, keeping your legs pinned tightly together. you thought you could see lena in the distance from where you were laid, where he’d impaled her next to the fire pit.

you wanted to turn your head away but you didn’t have the strength and he kept one hand pressed between your shoulder blades while the other rested at your waistband.

“you on the rag, love? bled through a tad,” he snickered as he caught sight of the stain leaking through your jeans. you felt embarrassment wash over you and hated him all the more for it. why couldn’t he make it quick like he had with the others? or had he spoken to and taunted them the same? “let’s get a better look, shall we?”

he tugged at your jeans, letting go of your back to use both hands to pull at the sides until the button and zip gave way at the front beneath his ministrations.

realisation as to the intention of his actions came over you slowly, your imminent death clouding your thoughts until suddenly your arse was bare and his fingertips were running between your bloody lips.

“stop, what are you—?” you reared up to try and shake him off, but he pushed you face first back into the dirt. at least now you were facing away from lena.

“i just want to know if this pussy is more of a crybaby than you are,” he sneered into your ear before pushing two fingers inside. the blood helped slick his way, but you yelped regardless, feet kicking uselessly behind him. he set a rough rhythm and pulled more surprised cries from your throat.

“please,” you begged wetly, snot running from your nose and causing dirt to cling to your face alongside the tears. “just stop—“

“bleats like a lamb too,” he laughed. “the gift that keeps on giving, aren’t ya?”

he pulled his hand free and shifted your shirt up to your shoulders. using his slick fingers he drew on your back, another bloody heart. he snorted at the sight of it.

“you and i are about to have some real fun, love,” he promised. at the sound of a belt unbuckling you clenched your eyes shut.

[pricesbug]

The gasp I gusped

There’s nothing the 141 boys love more than a fat pussy. Like I’m talking no thigh gap, thick thighs, cushioning and hiding your pussy away nice and snug until they open your legs to eat you up. They’ll thank you for keeping their meal warm too.

Better yet if they’re fucking you. Holding your legs together and pushing your knees to your chest so they can watch your juicy pussy take them nice and deep.

They love when you wear bikinis, tight little shorts, anything that frames your pussy nice and pretty when you bend over.

Pussy jobs 100 percent. They love slotting their thick cocks between your puffy pussy folds and watching how cute it looks getting teased.

You bet they have cheeky little polaroids of you bending over with a cute shy expression on your face showing off your pussy. And don’t be surprised if they share them with the rest of the team 🫣

[pricesbug]

dad!simon when his oldest daughter is rambling about some celebrity to you. he’s sat at the kitchen table with a cigarette, scrolling through the 141 groupchat that he’s already left 4 times but someone always adds him back.

“i just think that twenty-four years isn’t a bad age gap.” he looked at her over that, chin tilted down toward his phone but eyes up. sigh.

“like tom hardy, how old is tom hardy?”

“forty-seven says google.” the middle child sat down on the sofa, eyes glued to her phone. “he’s good looking though.”

“he’s the same age as your dad.” you looked at your two kids, then your husband who blinked.

“christsake.”

[pricesbug]

Y/N: You don't get to tell me what to do.

Price:

Gaz:

Soap:

Ghost:

[pricesbug]

Sorry but forced pleasure is…top tier. Johnny holding you down with a bruising hold, his grabby hands kneading at the soft plush of your body. While Simon is perched between your wriggling legs holding a vibrator to you, all swollen and messy. They of course pay no mind to your pitiful begging and pleading. They ignored it when they swept you off your feet and brought you “home”, why would they humor you now?

[pricesbug]

Girl blogging but it’s just me obsessing over fictional men and fantasizing about them doing horrible things to me

[pricesbug]

Happy Mother’s Day from Simon, no you two don’t have any kids but he’s gonna try his hardest, and I’m mean HARDEST, to make you a mommy

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Simon finds out he has a breeding kink.

Now, the prospect of it was just a joke at the time, you and a few friends had been diving into the dirty topics of your relationships over a few drinks.

There’s no harm in a little gossip after all.

But when one of those friends piped up with the fact that their man had the biggest breeding kink on the planet…it had you thinking how Simon would react should you pull that card in bed…

Just a harmless little joke right?

Wrong.

This man utterly loves you, you are everything in his life and he worships the ground his pretty woman walks on.

Whilst he knows there are no actual risks of pregnancy simply due to you being on birth control…the moment the words “Let me make you a daddy.” Tumble out of your mouth so casually when you returned home…

Oh it had him seeing red.

This man would never purposefully hurt you, you both know it. But the possessive itch the mere thought of getting you pregnant properly gives him has him bending you over the arm of the sofa before he can even check your secure enough.

He wouldn’t even bother taking your clothes off, he’s too impatient…too greedy. Instead the bottom of your dress would be shoved up around your hips and your underwear shoved off to one side in a rushed movement.

Now. Simon knows how important prep is, he’s not exactly small and he doesn’t want to hurt you. But the sheer ferocity in the way he dropped down behind you and pressed his mouth to your cunt was borderline feral.

He can’t get words out, even if he’d normally be spewing out the most erotic filth…all you’ll be getting from him is these hungry sounding groans like he’s barely holding himself together.

And the moment he knows you’re prepped enough? He’s ruthless. Plunging in as deep as you’ll take him with an almost pathetically desperate moan leaving his lips.

But even when he came, when you took everything he could give…he still kept going, he’d be merciless, unforgiving. Aching to give you everything you could ever want from him.

“Gotta make sure it takes lovie. Gon’ keep fillin’ this pretty cunt up till we have a little one.”

Even if he knows it most likely won’t happen.